A/N: This is Fred's side of the story. The very end of Rehab.

Fred sat in his study, he leaned back to stretch his aching back, cracking his stiff joints. He brushed away a few strands of his blonde hair from his eyes, focussing on the paper before him. He rubbed his eyes, wondering the last time he slept or whether he should be waking up or going to sleep.

"Is it even day?" he muttered, turning towards his window. He scratched his bristly chin, he basically worked like a machine, no time for a social life or a break. No, only him and his work mattered. As he gently lifted the curtains, the rays of sunlight gleamed into the room, Fred flinched as the pure light burned his eyes. He immediately stepped away from it, retreating back to his desk. As Fred slump back into the chair, he felt a sudden wave of grief hit him, he didn't know the cause of it. He buried his face in his hands, pulling himself together again. Desperate not to lose himself in his emotions. He lunged himself to his coffee, hoping to calm himself, though the coffee was made three hours before and now tasted cold and unpleasant on his rough tongue. He obviously known why he felt like this- it was her. He grown attached and now couldn't get the girl out of his head. He hated to feel so vulnerable, he never felt so weak. He certainly didn't like that. Fred wanted to be in control, he had to isolate himself. He shrugged off the sting of fear that shot through his body, and glanced at the time on the clock.

"Shit." he growled, roughly pulling his hand through his hair. He half wished somebody would have told him when to stop. To tell him to relax. To quit wasting his life away.

He felt a chuckle escape his mouth, slap-happy laughter caught him off guard. Someone DID tell him to stop, she begged him to, to quit wasting his life away.

If only he listened, but there was no going back for him. Mystery inc was the past. He tried to return, but she taken his role. Fred smiled unthinkingly, with pride, admiration and affection, she was a natural leader, when he tagged along to the Christmas play, she called the shots. He reluctantly remembered the Christmas play at the orphanage- that stupid nutcracker outfit- he remembered Daphne's angel costume, so perfectly fitting. She truly was an angel. He remembered crashing in the snow in attempt to catch the ghost, and the way she rose from that snow. So angelic. He blushed in the dark, dismissing his mixed emotions trapped inside. He remembered the game of poker face they silently played between one another. He waited that dark Christmas for her to break, though she held herself together. He was disappointed.

He slammed his fists, making the desk shake and his cold coffee spill, "Why?" he hissed, he could've yelled- the house was empty- he lived by himself, he moved out of his parents place a month ago. Even his own parents hated him.

"Why do I push everyone away?" he known the answer, it was because he wanted to be better. They pulled him back. Also he was afraid. Afraid of THIS. His feelings that clouded his thoughts, corrupted his decisions and made him weak.

She didn't need him. Not anymore. His smile fell, rubbing away the tears that spilled down his face. Man, grown men don't cry. You're Fred Jones, put yourself back together before you completely lose yourself! A cruel voice snarled in his head, Fred stiffened, slightly revolted with himself to break down so easily. He wasn't the hero anymore, there was no need for him. He couldn't save her, because she didn't need saving. Go back to her, it's not too late- Fred drummed his fingers, trying to drown the thought with the beat of the tapping. He couldn't do that, take away her control, turn her back to the helpless girl she once was. No. She deserve her place. His drumming halted. As if someone just flicked a switch inside his head. Her… and Shaggy. Why didn't he seen it sooner? They spent so much time together, and now…

In the gloom he imagined them both embraced, their mouths locked in a passionate kiss. He raised from his chair as if they actually stood in the room, wanting to punch the beatnik. He felt his fists tighten as his stomach made violent flips, he paced back and forth- as he usually did when irritated. Though the thought was too strong. He needed to physically do something to calm down. He clutched his head, that throbbed with the sight of them together. He pushed away his piles of work, extremely enraged with his hallucination, he wanted to immediately forget. He reached for his bottle, hidden behind the piles of work. He felt the sting of the heavy income of alcohol, after a few long gulps, his headache faded. He gasped for breath. His jealousy faded, as the strong alcohol made his mind swirl. She hated him- of course he noticed the glares- he realised he hated himself also. "Daphne." he called softly, her name still sent chills up him spine, "If only…" If only he looked at her more, to admire everything she was and everything he wasn't-if only he didn't taken advantage of her. If only- you listened. You should've listened to her.

"I know." he whispered, resting his head on the now naked desk. He wanted to drown, drown away in his alcohol, to forget her, to forget him. Just drown.

He will feel the pain tomorrow.