I'm back! Apparently, I can't stay away from the GSH Fandom, as I broke my 'No-more-GSH-fics' rule. But, I'm hoping this is better. There are no OC characters (because my other fics have been Pete/OC, Bov/OC, etc) and set after Pete's death (and after GSH2. I've not put any (give or take) spoilers for the film in this, just in case anyone hasn't seen it). There are some people who I have just put name's to, like Ike's girlfriend (I named her Laura) and Pete's mum (Maria).

But, don't worry about this being set after Pete's death; there's a series of flashbacks which help with the story, where there will be plenty of Pete!

I have only written this chapter of the story so far. I've been on and off writing it for about six months. I've decided, if I upload it and get some reviews, it will spur me into writing more. So, if you want more, review and you shall get it!

Enough of my rambling, onto the story!

--

The Eleventh Hour

Chapter one

The beginning of old

Dave lays in crumpled sheets, naked. His dark eyes study the ceiling, torso bathed in the sheen of light that is cast over the bed from the sun outside. The clock beside him reads 10.40AM and outside, cars pass the house.

There's a movement at his side and Red stirs, stretching in a cat-like fashion. 'Mornin',' she says lazily, stifling a yawn. She watches him, a slow smile spreading across her full lips, before she reaches out to ruffle a hand through his dark hair. Dave turns his head, kissing the inside of her wrist over her pulse point, before smiling.

'Mornin'.' It goes quiet again and Dave gazes back at the ceiling.

'What are you thinking about?' she asks quietly, fingers tracing circles on his chest.

'The old life,' he replies, shifting to put an arm around her. Red snuggles closer, auburn hair falling over her shoulders. 'I was thinkin' of maybe getting back with them.'

'Dave, not the-'

'Not the fighting,' he sighs. 'Just… I want to speak with 'em. To see 'em.' Red looks up at him. 'I just don't know where to start.'

'Don't you know where they live?' she asks, giving a frown that furrows her brow.

'Yeah; well, I know where Swill lives. But, Keith and Ned tried to get in contact with Bovver and he ain't nowhere to be seen. As for the Yank, he fucked off to American.'

'I could try an' facebook them, if you want?' she says in all seriousness. Dave looks down at her and laughs. Pulling her into a hug, he kisses her neck.

'I fuckin' love you sometimes,' he smiles. Red giggles and playfully bites the flesh on his arm.

--

Dave sits on a bench at the top of Primrose Hill, arms resting across the top as he gazes out at the hoards of people out enjoying the sunshine. His dark eyes settle on a group playing football. It's a group of about ten men and a few children, dashing around, tackling the ball and scoring goals. One small boy runs around after scoring, cheering loudly and punching his fist in the air.

Dave smiles.

15th June 2004

'What the fuck was that?' laughed Dave, as Swill attempted to kick the football back towards him.

'My fucking sister could do better,' agreed Pete with a grin.

'You don't 'ave a fucking sister, you cunt,' Swill replied, flipping them the finger.

'I was talking about Steve.'

'Don't fuckin' let him hear you say that,' Bov warned, tackling the ball from Swill and kicking it at Pete. 'He'd kick the shit outta you.'

They were down in Regent's Park, having a kick around with a battered football. The sun was high in the sky, beaming down on the plush green grass.

'What? With a fucking baby bottle?' teased Pete, firing the ball towards Ned who was in goal. He missed it by inches. 'Oh, yes! Another goal to me!' the blonde grinned, running around with arms out-stretched.

'How is the baby?' Dave asked, tugging his T-shirt off and discarding it on the grass.

'Put your tits away!' Swill yelled. Dave made an obscene gesture back to him,

'Ah, the usual,' Pete said, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. 'Shits, cries and sleeps.'

'No first words?' Swill asked, with a frown.

'He's a month old, you tit.'

'What the fuck do I know? I'm not Supernanny.'

'Don't we fuckin' know it,' Bov smirked, toying with the ball under his foot. 'Move out the fuckin' way, I'm trying to take a shot.' He waited until the three had backed off a couple of inches, before firing the ball back to Ned.

The smaller man leapt, pulling the ball to his chest before hitting the floor. He picked himself up, volleying it to Keith, who managed a swift header to Ike.

'Oi! Oi! To me!' Swill yelled, waving his arms like a deranged pigeon. Ike rolled his eyes and grinned, but kicked it in his direction anyway.

Now

Dave sighs, recalling the memory of when things had been at least half normal. Before the Yank had arrived and everything had fallen on it's fucking head. After a moment, he glances down at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand, studying Swill's address with dark eyes. It had been over a year since he'd seen Swill, or any of the guys other than Ned and Keith for that matter. He moves off the bench and makes his descent on the winding path away from the hill and down into Regent's Park.

--

Dave stands outside the door, the glossy blue front looking newly painted, unable to knock for a moment. Instead, he stares at the rusted 33 that is hung on a clay plaque on the side, before he looks down at the mat beneath his feet. He lifts it up, but there is no key there. Instead, it's dirty and woodlice scurry away, trying to find damp darkness. Dave drops the mat down again. A long time ago, Swill would keep is key there for times when he was drunk and 'dying' on the floor, so all he had to do was reach out and find his key.

Finally, Dave forces himself to knock. He's been standing there for about a full five minutes already. He braces himself before rapping on the wood. It's quiet for a moment, before he hears a key turn in the lock and the door is pulled open.

Surprise echoes on both faces. Swill's blue eyes widened, mouth parting in shock for a moment, before he seems to seize up. His whole body goes tense and his eyes narrow and his expression goes cold. He's lost a lot of weight, light stubble lining his jaw. There's a scar across his left cheek; it still looks red and raw, even though it had been there a year now. Dave can't stop looking at him, remembering every detail of the fight in slow motion.

Swill looks Dave up and down in what is an expression of disgust and for a moment, Dave doesn't know what to say. Finally, Swill steps aside and lets him in. He leaves Dave in the front room, moving into the kitchen and returning with a beer. Swill cracks it open and takes a drink, eyes never leaving Dave's face. Dave is sat on the sofa, nervous. He casts a look around; nothing is how it used to be. It looks like he redecorated; wallpaper now lining the walls, laminated flooring and thick curtains.

He remembered when Swill had started to decorate and then get bored and left it half finished; some walls had been pink, other partly papered, another wall blue. There'd been a lick of green paint of the ceiling and mismatched furniture. It has all changed now.

Swill stands by the window, nursing the can of Fosters in one hand. Slowly, he turns to look at the older man. 'What do you want?' he asks, bluntly.

'I wanted to see how you were, son,' he replies, truthfully.

'Took your fuckin' time,' Swill mutters. 'It's been over a year since… you know.'

'I've been locked up, Swill.' It falls quiet, Swill still watching him closely. Then, he pulls an awkward face.

'Look, I 'ave things to do…' he trails off, hinting that there is nothing to do and that he just wants Dave out the house. The dark haired man nods, getting to his feet.

'It's been nice seeing you,' he offers, but Swill doesn't answer and is looking out the window again.

--

Dave sighs and collapsed into the armchair, running a hand through his dark hair. 'Did you see 'im?' questions Ned, a can of cola in one hand and a packet of crisps in the other. 'You're fuckin' lucky you even got to go inside.'

'He fucking 'ates me, son,' sighs Dave, shutting his eyes wearily.

'Nah, mate, these things take time,' Ned replies, before nudging Keith, who was sat next to him. Keith nods in agreement, before snatching the crisps and popping a few in his mouth.

'I just wanna put things right,' Dave says, looking back at the younger man. Ned frowns for a moment.

'It wasn't your fault in the first place.'

'Yeah,' Dave admits, though he can't help but feel responsible at the way things had turned out. 'I know.'

--

Sometimes, Dave misses the old Abbey so much, it makes his throat go tight and causes a sharp pain to jab in his chest. Ever since he'd first stepped first in there, years back in 1999, he'd loved the place. Dave holds so many memories of the place that whenever he thinks about the past, they overwhelm him.

He remembers Swill etching stick figures of the GSE into their table with a paperclip he'd stolen from work. He remembers going into the pub some lunchtimes and finding Pete there, dressed in a shirt and tie, drinking with the boys instead of doing the pile of marking that's stacked in front of him.

He remembers the time when Ned had joined a 'Rent a Grandparent for Christmas' cause, only to bring the wrong grandma back to the pub and get arrested for kidnapping. He'd only spent a night in jail, of course. The boys had come to his rescue and the cops believed it was a misunderstanding.

Dave goes into the pub. It still smells new, but over the past year, beer and piss have made their mark too. There's no sign that any tragedy had happened; the memory is only imprinted on the minds of those who were there and the ones who'd read the paper the next morning.

'Alright, mate?' smiles Terry from behind the bar. He rests against the smooth, almost perfect glossed wood of the bar, a towel hanging over his shoulder.

'How are you, son,' Dave grins in return, moving towards the bar. He stops beside a figure and looks up to see Steve Dunham.

He can see the twisted, scarred skin under his collar, but there is a soft smile on his face. Since Pete's death, Steve and Terry had been inseparable. Terry had spent months trying to get Steve out of the house when Shannon left. Steve had been an empty shell, had turned to drink and spent most of his time crying in Ben's room. Pete was never mentioned. Steve would seize up and his eyes would glaze over, fists clenched in anger.

'How's Red?' Steve asks. His voice is hoarse and strained. He'd had his vocal cords removed after Hatcher had stabbed him in the throat; the damage was irreversible.

'She's doin' great,' Dave smiles, tugging his wallet from his jeans. 'Carling, please, Terry.' Terry nods and moves to pour the drink. ''Ave you heard anything from Shannon?' Dave asks, almost hesitantly. A few months ago, Shannon had emailed Steve to tell him of Ben's progress; he'd be nearing three years old now. She'd said she'd email again, but they'd be nothing.

Steve falls silent, and then shakes his head. 'Nothing,' he says in that dry, rasping voice and takes the beer that Terry hands over the bar. Dave takes his and pushes the note over to Terry.

'Thanks, son.' At that moment, the doors open again, Ned and Keith entering the Abbey.

'I 'ave no idea what to do,' Ned is telling Keith, who just shakes his head with a shrug. The pub's lamp light makes the scar across Ned's cheekbone look a lot worse than it actually is; a brutal souvenir of prison time. They come across to the bar, a troubled look falling across his face when he sees Dave. 'I need some advice,' he says. Dave raised an eyebrow and sucks the froth from the top of his drink.

'What is it?'

'It's Lucy; she wants to get back with me.'

'That's great, son,' Dave smiles. 'Are you gonna?'

'I don't know,' he shrugs. 'She did ditch me when I was locked up. Then, she was all over me when I got out. Fucking birds are confusing.'

'Are we?' says a voice behind them. They turn to see Red smiling back at them. Her reddish-brown hair is falling over her shoulders in wavy locks, hazel eyes on Dave. Her grin widens and she giggles.

'Well, just a few of 'em,' Ned laughs. Red smiles, coming to wrap her arms around Dave's waist and he cups her face and kisses her nose.

'How'd it go anyway?' she asks, pulling away slightly. 'With Swill?' Everyone seems alert all of a sudden, wanting to hear the news. Dave frowns, shaking his head.

'Not that well, I'm afraid. He didn't want to talk.'

'There's still no sign of Bovver,' Keith puts in, voice low.

'What about Ike?' asks Red, glancing back at the others.

'He's… around,' Ned says slowly.

'Around?' Dave frowns. Ned sighs and nods.

'Last time we went to his place, Laura flipped out. She went totally fuckin' crazy, screaming and throwing things at us and saying how Ike could 'ave been killed and all that crap.'

'Shit,' Dave mutters, running a hand through his hair. 'He's still with her?'

'They're married now, mate,' Ned concludes. 'She doesn't want him to 'ave anything to do with us.'

'You can't fucking blame her,' Dave agrees. 'But, I ain't giving up,' he tells them.

--

Dave enters his home near midnight; the house is dark and Red is already asleep in bed. The red light on the answering machine informs him that there's a message waiting for him. Dave presses the button and shrugs out of his jacket.

You have ONE new message.

Message ONE.

Dave, it's me, Swill. I er…. I can't talk, all right. I mean, I can't talk about the fucking mess that's… There's a growl of frustration from Swill's end. Dave has paused, looking right at the machine as if Swill wis really in the room. I can't chat about how I'm feeling like you lot. I ain't angry at you, Dave. I'm angry at everyone. They can all just lead their lives and carry on like nothing fucking 'appened, but it did! Pete died and maybe it was my fault.

Maybe it was all of our fault, y'know? We could 'ave fucking stopped 'im, but I was as eager for a fucking fight. I was wired, ready to take Tommy and his cunts. I was so excited and then… shit, it was fucked up .I could 'ave stopped it. Why didn't I move faster? I could 'ave got Hatcher off. I could 'ave!

Swill's voice is thick, as if he's trying to hold back tears and Dave sinks onto the sofa, a slight frown creasing his brow.

I got scared when you came. I didn't know what to say, you just turned up out the fucking blue. How could I explain this past year? Fuck. I stood and watched when the cops took you out the church at Pete's funeral. Maria was ready to kill, I swear. We'd grown up with 'er looking after us and now there was nothing she could do. You were all just going one by one.

Swill clears his throat.

I ain't seen Bov in a while. I 'eard he's fucked up though. Drinking, fighting. Like he's trying to take the world on. Swill lets out a small chuckle, but then sighs. I went down the Abbey; ain't the same anymore. I can tell Terry fucking 'ates it. Ain't the same as it used to be. I can't say all this out loud. You gotta understand that. This is what I keep hidden deep in me, in me chest. Me heart, or somethin'. You was my best friend, Dave. But, it ain't the same anymore. Things 'ave changed.

There's a pause, then a shuffle and then the line goes dead. There are tears on Dave's cheeks and he dashes them away quickly.

But, more fall anyway.

--

So, what did you think? Review and tell me!