Woo! My first Green Street fic! There's seriously a lacking of these, especially Pete/Matt ones (which is what this is, by the way, so if you can't stand slash, don't read, please!) I apologize in advance for the end, which is abominably gruesome fluff. And also doesn't give much closure. Hopefully it's not too bad. Heh Anyway, that's about all I have to say about this. Hope you enjoy it.

Warning: Again, this is slash. Just warnin' ya

Disclaimer: Only the plot belongs to me. Sadly, not the movie. I don't even own a copy.

I Always Wanted Blue Eyes

Matt stared down at the bruised and battered face below him. Blood covered every inch of the usually glowing bronze skin and purple-yellow eyelids were not quite closed over dead eyes. His hands gripped the bloody fabric of the man's jacket. A small droplet fell and landed with a tiny splash to blend with the red liquid staining Pete's clothing. Matt quickly moved his hand to wipe away its followers. As he stared down at the cold, lifeless face and willed in vain for the tears not to come, one thought raced through his mind.

I never even got a chance to tell him how I feel.

And then a voice in his mind spoke out to him. It was that little voice in his mind that appears only when you need it and never when you want it; that tells you the truth, but never says what you want to hear. Matt had always had conflict with this voice. In the sixth grade, he remembered, when some of the popular boys had dared him to sneak into the office, sit on the photocopier, and leave the graphic picture on the principal's desk, it was this voice that warned him against it; told him he would get into trouble and that his mother would take away the television. He had listened to it.

It had been right, of course, but what grade school boy wants to be right?

It had been that incident which caused his remaining years of middle and high school to be spent alone and unpopular; it was that loneliness which led to his joining the school paper; and that paper which led to his interest in journalism. Wasn't that why this whole thing began?

It was this voice, then, Matt concluded irrationally as he stared at the bloodied ground beside the head of his best friend, that caused this. He vowed never to listen to it again.

This time, however, the voice had not come to offer advice.

You had the chance. You had plenty of chances, it told him with contempt,You didn't take one. Coward.

He cringed as the word was spoken; he knew it was the bitter truth.

Pete wasn't a coward. Pete wasn't afraid of anything. Not of spiders or snakes; not of pain because it meant he was doing something reputable and he'd come out of it stronger; not of death and not of being in a cage, because he knew that he's always find a way to break out.

Matt hated spiders; screamed like a girl at the sight of them. He had always grown a bit woozy at the sight of blood and, even after fighting for so long, he still noticed his heart freeze up at a fist battering towards his face. Death horribly terrified him and he knew that if he ever was to be put in a cage, he would be stuck there for eternity. He was afraid of that, too. Maybe that's why he fell in love with Pete. Pete made him feel confident and brave; like he could do anything. But when it all came down to it and Pete wasn't right by his side to boost his courage, Matt was still just a frightened boy, like a lost puppy drowning in the fear that clouded his mind. Matt hated that more than anything. That hole that he'd dug for himself. A hole filled with nothing but Pete and love for Pete and contempt that Pete could never love him back.

He was stuck in it.

Matt cursed himself.

Now Pete was going to die – maybe he already was dead – and he was never going to have known how completely and selflessly Matt had loved him. At least, that's the way Matt thought of it: selfless love. But if it really had been selfless, Matt would have told him, without worrying how it would make others see him; how it would ruin his reputation with the firm; how it would change he and Pete's friendship and therefore his own happiness.

Without worrying if Pete loved him selflessly back. Now he would never know.

Matt shut his eyes tightly, then lifted his chin and opened them wide to stare at the endlessly bright blue sky, uncharacteristic of an English winter. Fitting, however, Matt couldn't help but think, for Pete's death. The sun had come out to say goodbye.

With that thought, Matt's tear-brimmed eyes overflowed and he dived into Pete's bloodied chest, grinding his face into the stained fabric.

Two firm members then had suddenly moved to Pete's shoulders and were hurriedly pulling the unmoving body from beneath Matt, as if it had just sunk in the severity of what had happened and the haste with which Pete must be saved.

Matt's eyes were wide and fearful and deep within them was a hint of understanding that Matt would not have believed was there even after seeing it himself. When his head had lain against Pete's body, the chest rose neither up nor down and the comfort he had expected to find in the beating of Pete's heart had been pointedly missing, as Pete had not had a pulse.

Matt cried out to the sickeningly blue sky and wept.

--

Matt had been in the hospital a total of six days before Pete finally woke. Literally, he had not left the hospital once since he'd arrived with Pete after the fight. The doctor and all of the nurses had told him multiple times to go home and sleep, that he looked horrible and needed rest, that Pete wouldn't be awake for days or weeks, even. Matt didn't listen. He wanted to be there the moment those beautiful eyes opened; he needed to be assured that Pete was alive, at the very least.

Now he finally was.

As dull turquoise eyes slowly adjusted to fluorescent lighting and brilliantly white walls, Matt desperately held down the urge to fling himself on the man before him. Instead, he stared at the intense color of those unfocused eyes set in tanned skin. Watching them like that, Matt wished he had been born with those same greenish eyes, as they captured him and nearly took his breath away. He wished he could use them to do the same to Pete. Once Pete's eyes had adjusted, Matt spoke.

"Morning sunshine," he quoted his friend with a terrible impression of the man's accent, "How's you feel?"

Pete looked at him, his glance unreadable for a moment. Then it passed and he let a small chuckle escape his chapped lips.

"Little sore," he quoted back, earning him a dazzling smile from the boy across from him.

"God, it's good to hear your voice," Matt let slip out. He said it quietly, but Pete heard.

"Worried, were ya?" Pete asked.

Matt wondered how he managed to smirk through the pain he must have been feeling. He shook his head.

"Of course I wasn't."

Pete's expression was one of mock hurt. "You weren't?" he asked dejectedly.

"Nope. I knew you'd pull through."

It was a lie. Of course Matt had been worried. He'd been dead worried; it was why he had not left the hospital for six days. Pete looked at him with that unreadable expression again and Matt stared back at him with equal intensity. It took a while before Matt said:

"I was worried sick. Why the hell did you have to go and do something like that?"

Pete scowled, "That idiot Hatcher needed to be told off. What I told him was the absolute truth and he needed to hear it."

"But not like that, Pete," Matt protested. He could tell he was nearly whining now, but he could not help it. Not when it came to Pete and his safety. He continued, "Not when he was already enraged over the fight. That wasn't telling him the truth, Pete. It was provocation. You knew it was suicide when you started! You knew you would die and you knew what that would do to everyone around you! Don't you understand that I was killing myself over this? If I hadn't come down to fight, Shannon wouldn't have followed me there and you never would have had to save her. Don't you see that if you had died, I'd have blamed myself?"

Matt did not realize he was yelling until he stopped and a deafening silence echoed around the room. All the while, the scowl gracing Pete's face deepened, sharpening and creasing his features.

"Don't be so conceited," Pete told him. He rolled his face towards the window and stared out at the grey sky.

Matt stayed silent for a long time. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, he heard a slight shuffling of shoes behind him. He could not rip his eyes from Pete's form, but Pete twisted his head to survey the doorway.

"Bovver," he said slowly.

"Petey," Bovver replied. His voice was quiet and there was definite shame in his tone.

Matt had since turned his gaze to the floor and so missed whatever signal Pete must have given to Bovver. Bovver walked to the opposite side of Pete's bed and tentatively reached out his hand. Pete took it and pulled Bovver down to his chest. Matt's eyes were on them now as Pete placed a hand on Bovver's cheek and gave him an unmistakable look which Matt recognized in an instant.

"For fuck's sake, Bov, never do that again, eh?" Pete said quietly.

Bovver, with tears in the very corners of his eyes, merely nodded his head.

Matt stood then, his chair squeaking harshly on the linoleum floor. One hand sheepishly scratching the back of his head and the other lifting his backpack, Matt started towards the door.

"I haven't been home for a while. Now that I know you're alright I'm going to go get cleaned up and all."

"Home," Pete said. It was a question.

"Shannon's," Matt answered, "If I've still got anything left at your place, I'll go back for it. Don't worry. I'll be gone by the time you get back."

"Matt…" Pete started, but he had already gone out.

He turned back to the man in front of him, who had observed the scene with curious eyes.

"Go now, Bov."

It was said in frustration and Bovver scrutinized the wrinkles and creases in the young man's face. He did not dare question it.

"I'm sorry. For everything," Bovver said slowly, "I'll come back sometime, yeah?"

Pete offered a small smile and a sliver of a nod.

--

Pete sat later in a hospital room a way's down the hall. The doctor had not told him he could move yet – in fact, she had warned him against it – but who was Pete to obey authority. His brother's eyes fluttered open then and he stared down at a face aged by years of fighting and stress – and even more by the recent birth of his child.

"Pete," Steve said. His voice was not at all accusatory. Instead it was soft and there was clearly understanding behind it. "Shannon's told me what happened. I-" he coughed, then paused for a moment before continuing, "You're an idiot. But thanks, I guess."

Pete's face twisted into a tight smile. "You look better."

Steve nodded. "I feel better, I guess. Not great, of course, but better. You must feel like shit. Fucking beating you took, if I heard right." It felt smooth to slip back into his old tongue; the way he used to speak in his GSE days.

Pete's smile widened at the vernacular and he nodded.

"That I do," he paused and glanced out the window, "Shannon comes by, yeah?"

"I thought she would have left. She comes by every day. Even brought Ben by a while ago," he paused and a dismal expression flashed through his features, "She should have left."

Pete did not disagree. He said nothing for a while.

"Next time she comes, tell her I'm looking for Matt, yeah?"

Steve nodded his head again, then looked over his brother's beaten form. "Go get some rest."

Pete stood and replied: "Always the big brother, eh?"

He made his way slowly down the hallway and back to his room to sleep. Matt never came by.

--

It was a little over four weeks later that Pete was well enough to go home.

"You're lucky," the Doctor told him as he packed the few things Shannon and Bovver and Steve, once he had been discharged, had brought him over the course of his stay, "You cou-"

"Could've died, could've gone into a comma, could've had to stay much longer. Yeah, I got it. So I been fucking told," he mumbled the last part.

"Still got that ever-persistent attitude, I see," his doctor just smiled. "I'll see you again soon, then?"

Pete shook his head. "I'm not so sure this time, doc."

Pete did not go straight home. Instead, he took a detour to Steve and Shannon's home. He knocked on the door and after a moment it was opened by Shannon.

"Shannon," he greeted her. There was still an apology in his tone.

"Hello, Pete," she smiled.

"I'm looking for Matt," he said, as if it should have been obvious.

Her smile faded. "Matt left a week ago."

She did not fail to notice how quickly Pete's face fell.

"Yeah?" he said, and she also couldn't help but hear the disappointment in his voice, "Left, did he?"

She nodded. "I'll be calling him later. Is there anything you want me to tell him?"

Pete shook his head and started away from the house. It was about six minutes before the door opened again and Steve rushed out of it, calling Pete's name and catching him just before he turned the corner at the end of the street.

"Steve?"

"You come by my house and don't even stop in to say hello?" Steve asked him. When Pete did not reply, he continued, "Matt's got an apartment."

"A what?" Pete asked intelligently.

"An apartment," he repeated, "It's a little one and temporary. Smells like shit."

Pete just grinned.

--

"Pete."

He stood at the door to Matt's apartment. Steve had been right. It was a tiny, one-room apartment with a cot-like bed in one corner. Matt's duffel bag was open on the floor and a few items of clothing spilled out of its top. An odor such as that of fish seemed to emanate from the miniscule space into the hall.

"I figured you wouldn't want to…" Matt paused, an uncomfortable frown on his face, "want to see me again."

"What in all hell gave you that idea?"

"Well, you and…"

A neighbor – a middle-aged man, beer gut protruding from a slightly too small tank top – came up the stairs and looked over at the two huddled in the doorway.

"I can come inside, yeah?" Pete asked.

Matt stepped aside and Pete wandered in, settling on the edge of Matt's bed. Matt leaned against the desk on the other side of the room.

"What were you saying?" Pete prompted when the silence became deafening.

"Nothing," Matt replied, examining the thin layer of dirt which blanketed the floor, "Not important."

The silence came again and Pete thought that silence had been all too common lately.

"Come back to my place, will you?"

Matt shook his head and said, "I can't, Pete. You know I can't."

"No Matt. I don't know," Pete said, his voice frustrated and angry, "I don't know and you're not making it any easier to understand. Why the hell can't you? Why the hell are you putting up this wall?"

"Me?" Matt asked in a quiet, disbelieving voice. He wanted badly to yell. "I'm putting up a wall? What about you, Pete; you and your gang and your secrets and your interminable hatred? I'm putting up a wall? I think maybe it's time you stepped back and took a good look at yourself, mate."

Pete stared at him. "Matt, I opened up to you. I let you into my life and shared things with you I've never shared with anyone."

"And you always held back. Like that Steve was the major – when were you going to tell me that? – and that you're deathly scared of failing your brother and even more of being left behind – that one I had to figure out on my own."

Pete narrowed his eyes. "I can't… don't put this on me, Matt."

Matt knew it was unfair, this scrutiny of Pete's emotions, but he needed to separate himself from Pete and the only way he knew how was to make him angry. They were getting too close. The room was quiet for a long while.

"Are you feeling better?" Matt finally asked.

Pete exhaled in a soft, breathy laugh.

"Oh, Matt…"

"And Bovver? Or… you and Bovver?"

All traced of Pete's amusement vanished. "Me and Bovver?" he questioned.

"Well, yeah, you and Bovver. Aren't you…"

"Fucking… I'm so fucking tired of this! Bov and I are friends, okay? We've been friends for a long time. We've been through a fucking lot together, got it? Rougher stuff happened to us in the fifth grade alone than to you in your entire life." Pete dragged one hand over his face and rubbed his knuckles across his chin. "We're close. We're not… together, or whatever you think."

"You're... not? You're sure?"

"You're shitting me, right? Is it really that hard to understand? I don't love him. I hardly even like him, most times."

Matt let out a long, relieved breath. "God, that's good to hear."

Pete looked at him oddly. "Is it?"

Matt nodded. "I-" he faltered and was suddenly too frightened to continue. He cursed his spinelessness. This was the sixth time it had failed him in this matter; he'd been counting.

Pete stood and in two long paces, was standing so close to the other that Matt could feel his breath ruffling his hair. He inhaled a quick intake of breath and began to cough. Pete stepped back.

"Matt?" he asked, "Matt, you okay?"

He nodded vigorously through the coughing.

"Fine," he said when the fit subsided.

Pete pivoted to face the door. "I should be going."

"Wait."

Matt had reached out for Pete and the first thing that he grasped was Pete's hand. Pete turned back and stared down at the connection. Matt mumbled a quick apology and hastily pulled his hand away.

Without saying a word, Pete caught it again and weaved his fingers through Matt's. He moved both hands to Matt's neck before pulling the boy up and towards him until their lips connected.

When Matt had imagined kissing Pete, he had for some reason imagined it to be gentle and soft; that is, of course, how Pete's lips had always looked. He'd also imagined Pete's hands to be wanderers; that is, of course, how Pete's persona had always seemed.

It was not at all how he expected. Pete's hands stayed intently put, gripping his neck, and did not travel anywhere lower. Pete's lips were not soft, instead slightly chapped and rough as they glided over his own, and Pete's slightly unshaven face scraped against his cheeks. Somehow that felt right; it seemed to create sparks and electricity between the two of them that tingled through Matt all the way to his toes, which curled into the cushioned soles of his shoes. Matt's hands gripped the front of Pete's shirt so tightly that he felt it might be wrinkled forever. The kiss was long and rough and eager and ended abruptly, with Pete pulling back and looking into the endlessly bright blue of Matt's eyes.

"It's not fair," Pete said.

Matt's eyebrows furrowed. "What's not fair?"

"I always wanted blue eyes."

Matt laughed out at the sheer irony of the statement, as just weeks before he had thought the same thing about Pete. Then his face was all serious scrutiny as he stared up into Pete's own dull turquoise orbs.

"I like the color of your eyes," he said, then added softly, "but I don't think my vote counts."

"And why is that?" Pete asked.

Matt ran one hand through his chestnut hair.

"I like everything about you."

And they lived happily ever after. Yup. Well, maybe not. Who knows. Either way, hope you enjoyed it. I'm sure you thought something while reading this. Why not write it down? In a review! You know that little purple button is calling to you… press me… it says.