When John Paul McQueen was 17 years old he fell in love. It wasn't a love he expected and on many levels it wasn't a love he wanted. It was a love that made him confront the thing he had been trying to ignore for a long time. It was a love that made him admit who and what he was. When he was 17 years old John Paul McQueen fell in love with his best friend.

When Craig Dean was 19 years old he stood on the edge of the world and stared down into the abyss. He had known love and friendship, he had known heartache and pain and he was ready to let go of it all. He took a single step forward and prepared for his descent. But strong arms pulled him back from the edge and held on to him tightly. When he was 19 years old Craig Dean remembered what it was to be loved by his best friend.

---

John Paul stretched as the buzzing from the alarm clock broke into his dreams. He made no effort to silence the clock as he knew, like every other morning that another hand would perform the task. And right on cue the noise from the alarm was cut off.

John Paul turned to his side and lazily opened his eyes. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of Craig looking back at him. Craig's deep brown eyes were bright and alert as if he had been awake for hours, and he probably had. John Paul sometimes wondered if Craig ever slept at all, and if it wasn't for the occasions when Craig would awaken screaming in fear at some terror in his dreams John Paul would be convinced that he never did.

Craig had been through so much during his time in Dublin and John Paul knew that he would never fully understand what the man had suffered. Even now, months later, he knew that there were things Craig couldn't tell him, things he still felt too ashamed to share, things that he still held onto in the dark because letting them go might just destroy him. John Paul knew he could never take away the pain, the shame or the guilt that Craig beat himself with everyday but he tried his best to cover them with his love in the hope that one day Craig would realise that there was so much more to him than those terrible months in Ireland.

"Morning," John Paul said with a quiet smile.

This first greeting of the day was when John Paul would be able to gauge how Craig was feeling and that in turn would tell him how the rest of the day was likely to continue.

If he was greeted with a smile, with a kiss, then John Paul knew that it was a day when Craig felt rested and more confident. It would be a day when Craig would be able to accept that he was loved and he would almost seem to be the man he once was.

If he was greeted with silence then John Paul would know that Craig had let his mind brood over his worries, he had wrapped himself once again in the pain that shrouded him and it would be a day when John Paul wouldn't be able to reach him.

Craig slipped from the bed without speaking and, turning his back to John Paul; he pulled on his dressing gown and left the room.

Today was going to be a bad day.

---

John Paul chatted inanely as he busied himself making tea. Craig was leaning against the kitchen cupboard and had still not spoken a word. John Paul found the silence oppressive and was trying desperately to mask it as he spoke of his plans for the day, something he had seen on TV the night before, a new song he had heard recently, in fact anything rather that listen to the rattle of the teaspoon against the empty cups and the low bubble as the water in the kettle came to the boil.

The kettle clicked itself off as the water inside it reached boiling point and John Paul slowly poured the hot liquid into two mugs, watching as the water inflated the teabags and they rose slowly to the top.

Craig was tense, more so than usual and the fact made John Paul jumpy, his own voice was starting to grate on his nerves and he wished Craig would say something, anything, just to acknowledge John Paul was there.

"Oh for fuck's sake will you SHUT UP!"

Craig's sudden outburst made John Paul jump and he dropped the teaspoon he was holding. He watched as it fell to the floor and clattered loudly against the tiles before looking back at Craig.

The dark haired man had turned his back on John Paul, his shoulders were hunched and they rose with heavy breaths, his hands were resting against the work surface where he had slapped them down loudly.

John Paul took a tentative step forward.

"Craig, what's wrong." John Paul's voice was low and soothing as he approached Craig.

As his hand touched Craig's shoulder John Paul could feel the tension causing hard knotted muscles beneath Craig's shirt.

As his hand touched Craig's shoulder John Paul knew he had done the wrong thing.

Craig spun around quickly, his eyes flashed wildly with a rage that John Paul had never seen and his fist connected swiftly with John Paul's jaw.

The force of the blow sent John Paul staggering backwards as a metallic taste poured into his mouth. He raised his fingertips to his split lip and held out the blood-covered hand to Craig.

"Is this what you wanted Craig," he asked quietly, "Because if it is then you've got it… now what?"

Craig didn't answer. He stood frozen to the spot his eyes glued to the bright red of the blood smeared on John Paul's fingers.

Sickness rose in his stomach at the sight of John Paul's blood, the blood that he had spilled lashing out at one of the few people who had ever really loved him.

He knew he should say something, do something, but he remained motionless, not even reacting as John Paul turned and walked from the room.

It wasn't until Craig heard the front door close that he realise John Paul had also walked out of the flat and he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever come back.

Craig raced to the sink and gripped onto its edges as he vomited into it. The tears streamed down his face but now there was nobody there to comfort him.

---

Craig sat in the silence of the living room. He hadn't moved in what could have been an hour, or a week, or even a month. He had lost any concept of time since John Paul had walked out.

He stared unblinking at his knuckles. The skin was red where it had collided with John Paul's jaw and specks of John Paul's blood still clung to it. He couldn't bring himself to wash the blood away. It served as a painful reminder of what he had done, of what he had become.

Craig's head snapped up at the sound of keys scraping in the lock of the front door. His heart beat loudly with relief that John Paul had returned but when the door to the living room opened it wasn't John Paul who walked through.

John Paul's keys dangled from a hand. Craig recognised them from the key ring, which was identical to the one that hung from his own keys. A simple plastic fob encasing a small photograph of the two of them. A photograph taken in happier times before the world fell apart.

Craig lifted his eyes to the dark gaze that observed him.

"Spike..."

"This can't carry on Craig," Spike said gently as he sat on the sofa facing the distraught younger man, "John Paul can't take much more."

"Is he OK?"

"What do you think? He's hurting Craig, and I don't just mean the cut on his mouth..."

Craig's hung his head and his eyes rested back on the drops of blood until the tears in his eyes made them blur and disappear.

"I didn't mean to…"

"I know that… HE knows that… so why did you?"

Craig simply shrugged his shoulders and watched as heavy drops of tears fell to the carpet.

"Craig look at me." Craig didn't move so Spike slipped to the floor before him. Taking Craig's face in his hands he tilted the man's tear filled eyes to his own.

"I understand what you've been through," Spike said kindly, "You know that right?"

Craig nodded. He was grateful beyond measure for Spike's understanding. There were still so many things he felt unable to tell John Paul and there were some pains he never wanted to see reflected in those soft blue eyes.

"So listen to me when I tell you… you have to let it go. I know it's not easy but you've got to do it… you've got to learn to move on… if you don't…"

Spike didn't finish his sentence. He didn't need to they both knew how that ended, "if you don't you could lose John Paul for good."

"I don't know how to… sometimes… in my head… it's all there is… and then I think of him and…"

Spike frowned for a second, "Him?"

Craig shuffled in his seat as he pulled his wallet from his jeans pocket. He opened it to remove a small newspaper cutting that he handed to Spike. Unfolding the scrap of paper Spike found himself looking at a faded picture of a young blonde man. It was hard to tell from the picture but Spike knew that this man had blue eyes just as he knew who the man was.

"Is this Jonathan?" Spike asked already knowing the answer before Craig nodded. "Does John Paul know you still have this?"

"I don't think so… no… no he doesn't."

"Carrying this around, it's not gonna help Craig, what good can it do?"

"How can I just forget him? What I did to him?"

"You didn't DO anything Craig, when are you gonna believe that. What happened to him, what he did, it was none of your doing."

"But I started it, I made him…" Craig's eyes were wide and the tears poured down his cheeks in rivers.

"What Craig? What did you make him? Did you make him go to X that night? Did you make him follow you into the toilets? Did you force yourself on him? Did you Craig, did you do ANY of those thing?" Spike held Craig's face gently but firmly as he spoke desperate for the reasoning of his words to reach the man.

"No I didn't but…"

"But nothing Craig, what happened, it wasn't you fault."

"If I hadn't…"

"If you hadn't then someone else would have… you know that. You know what kind of place that was… no comes out of there the same as they went in… no one."

"He killed a man." Craig whispered the words as if saying them any louder would make them sound too real.

"I know," the sympathy in Spike's eyes sent fresh tears cascading down Craig's cheeks, "And that wasn't your fault either. Things were always gonna end badly for Pete, men like that… the way they are… eventually he was bound to push someone too far… the fact that you knew both of them doesn't make you responsible."

Craig slowly pulled another cutting from his wallet and handed it to Spike. A small court report that had been hidden within the pages of a newspaper told of the sentencing of the 18-year-old Jonathan Edwards for murder, he had been given life imprisonment with a recommendation that he served 15 years.

"They didn't even believe that it was self defence," Craig said sadly, "No one spoke up for him… I should have been there… I should have said…"

"What Craig? Could you really have stood in court and told them all what Pete did to you? What you let him do? Would you want your family to know that?"

"It could have helped…"

"He went away and bought the gun," Spike said as he wiped the tears from Craig's face, "That makes it premeditated, nothing you said could have helped."

Spike crumpled the two newspaper cuttings in his hand and shoved them into his pockets.

"Let it go Craig, it's time to move on. Please, before it destroys you completely. You have a wonderful man who loves you, isn't that worth fighting for? Isn't making John Paul happy again worth any effort?"

"I'd do anything for him."

"Then do it Craig, do it." Spike got to his feet and stroked his hand over the top of Craig's head affectionately. "I have to go, but think about what I said. It's time to stop blaming yourself."

Craig rose to his feet and took a hold of Spike's arm. "Is he… is he coming home?"

Spike smiled and nodded, "I had to stop him coming straight back, I wanted to talk to you first."

Spike pulled Craig into his arms and held him tightly for a few seconds before stepping back.

"I appreciate what you're going through Craig, I really do, but if you ever touch him like that again, if you ever hurt him like that again I won't be so understanding. I mean it Craig, one time you get forgiven, the second time… well don't let there BE a second time."

"I won't," Craig whispered hanging his head in shame, "Tell him that I love him won't you?"

"No," Spike said stroking Craig's cheek, "You tell him that yourself, he needs to hear it."

Craig fell back into his chair once Spike had gone. He felt as if some of the weight he had been carrying with him was lifted and now he just had to let John Paul know how truly sorry he was. Settling back into the comfort of the armchair Craig waited to hear the sound of keys in the lock again.

---

It's another hour before Craig hears the welcome sound of John Paul returning home. He rises to his feet as the door is pushed open and the blonde haired man steps into the room.

Craig's breath catches in his throat as he sees the swollen cut on John Paul's lip, the bruising around it already turning several shades of purple. Walking slowly, nervously, to John Paul he reaches out a hand and touches the wound gently.

"I'm so sorry," Craig whispers, his eyes heavy with regret.

"I know," John Paul smiles a soft understanding as he takes Craig into his arms.

Spike's warning echoes around Craig's head and he knows that if he ever raised his hand to John Paul again he would gladly take any punishment that Spike deemed fit. If he ever hurt John Paul like that again he would deserve far more that Spike would be willing to dish out.

"I wish you could let me in Craig," John Paul breathes into the warmth of Craig's neck, "I wish you could let me help you."

"I don't know how," Craig admits sadly, "I don't even know where to start."

John Paul loosens his hold on Craig and steps back to look into the pain of his deep brown eyes.

"You know I love you right?"

Craig nods with a half-smile.

"Well don't ever forget that… whatever happens… whatever has happened… I love you and nothing can change that."

John Paul winces slightly at the sharp pain in his mouth as he presses his lips to Craig's forehead in a comforting kiss.

"Spike told me about the newspaper cuttings," John Paul strokes Craig's face softly as he speaks, "It wasn't your fault Craig, none of this was your fault. You believe that don't you?"

Craig desperately wants to tell John Paul what he wants to hear. He wants to say that he knows he's not responsible for the actions of those other men. He wants to let go of the ghosts that are haunting him and move away from the painful memories of the past. But he can't do any of those things. In his heart he still feels the shame and guilt as sharply as the first day it hit him and even the comfort of John Paul's arms can't take that away.

John Paul pulls Craig back into his arms and holds him tightly, offering the man the only support that he is able to and cursing himself that it isn't enough. He would have liked nothing more than to hurt the men who had hurt Craig so badly and to make them suffer the way Craig was suffering. But he knew that he couldn't. One of the men responsible for Craig's pain was already dead and the other one greeted John Paul in the mirror every morning.