A/N: There are only a few chapters left! I will mention though that the last ones become a bit dramatic, angst ridden and a little upsetting. Though when it happens in the chapter, I'll let you all know before hand. Hope you enjoy :D

Thanks: Really big, massive thanks to everyone who reads this and follows it. Especially to those who take the time to review or put this story on alerts. It means so much, it's a great feeling and I can't thank you enough. Thank you, as always to the reviewers I can't reply to, lynny and rubydoo. And lynny, heh, oh yes, there's going to be more Booker/Tom, now especially for you. Give it time though, it's all part of a plan…

Also, sorry about the length of this. It's a little too long, so skim if you want. Ah, before I let you read, if anything seems to be missing in dialogue or wording, blame ffnet; it's having a joyous time screwing with me.

To Be Used
Chapter Eight
Realizations.

- - -"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Home?"

"Home." Doug slung his jacket around his shoulders, collecting a few papers and a half filled cup of coffee.

Judy stared quizzically from her desk, glancing at the clock, "But it's three o' clock! You've still got another two hours left. And then "extra time""

Doug sighed, "Of doing what Judy? Sitting on my arse and rereading over some god damn case? Filling in permission forms of approval? Oh, what a fun two hours of my life that'll be." He kicked past his chair, "I've got better things to do."

Judy let her pen fall from her hand, taking another break. "You ok Doug? You're a little out of sorts today."

"I'm fine."

"Sure?" she looked him over sceptically, "You don't seem all with it."

"I'm fine, Judy."

She sighed relenting, staring down disbelievingly with a roll of her eyes, "If you say so." She stretched lazily, "Have, you heard anything of Hanson lately?"

Doug froze inside, turning slowly and anxiously around, "Of Hanson, Tom? Yea...ah, no…no…why?"

"Just curious, s'alll. Thought you might know as, well," she smiled cheekily, "You are an item all. You guys are really cute together."

Doug sighed in relief, "Yea, yea…thanks Judes…Look I should be going." His tension left him and a held breath was released, he had been worried then. He didn't want to be confronted with topics on Hanson, didn't want to attract any attention.

Judy, though, noticed his relief and called him back, "You alright?"

"I'm fine Judy, really I'm fine."

"You sure, you seem tense," she paused, mulling over her thoughts, "You and Tom okay? Getting along alright?"

It took Doug a while to realize that Judy wasn't referring about last night or previous times, but only in concerned friendship. His lengthy pause and fidget were all Judy needed to voice another question that had been plaguing her.

"You don't know anything about how Tom got that bruise do you?"

Filled with guilt and confusion, Doug stuttered out hesitantly, "W-Which, what…bruise?"

"Which?" she repeated dubious.

"Judy I gotta go," he backed a few steps like a meerkat escaping its predator unnoticed.

"You know something about that bruise, don't you!?" she stood from her desk, suddenly defensive of Tom. Although he appeared fragile at times, he was unexpectedly stronger willed and more violent than what appeared, but underneath it all, Judy knew there was docile boy hiding in the shadows and she always had the urge to protect that part of him.

"No….No, Judy, I don't…I really don't. He fell down some steps I think, I don't know…"

She glared, "He told me he hit a cupboard door."

Doug stammered, tangled amongst himself, "I don't know Judy, Jesus, give me a fucking break." He made to leave but was stopped by her words.

"What the hell did you do to him Doug!?" she moved from behind her desk in front of it, a metre behind Doug.

"Nothing Judy!" he looked blindly for an escape, "Nothing! I swear to God, I didn't touch him! I couldn't do that! I could never hurt Tommy." He trailed off …., fear and sorrow evident in his eyes.

Judy quietened, anger at bay, "You hit him, didn't you Doug?"

"No!" he almost pleaded.

"You hit him and then you let him believe it was his fault. You hit him and left him!"

"No! Judy, leave it…you don't know what you're on about."

Her anger grew again, "Then how the hell did he get that bruise!?"

"I don't know!"

She crossed her arms menacingly, "You're involved with the man for months and you don't know how he got a bruise like that!?"

"Yes!"

"That's pathetic, Doug."

"I didn't hit him," he pleaded, "I didn't hit him." He turned, flinging the Chapel door open and running down two steps at a time. Trying to escape Judy's accusations as she followed him out to the railing.

"I swear to God Penhall, if I find out you hit Tom, I'm going bury you six feet under!"

Doug bolted to his bike, desperate to get home.

- - -

Tom had thought about calling Judy, but found every time he went to the phone he only managed to dial the Chapels number and hurriedly place the receiver down again. He knew he couldn't confront Judy about his situation, knew he couldn't force his problems on her already weighted shoulders, knew he couldn't give her that weight to bear. Not when he knew they still shared feelings for each other. Even despite Tom being in a relationship with Doug.

He sighed restlessly. There was nothing to do, and had there been anything, Tom knew he didn't have the strength or energy to do so. He was too tired. Exhausted; physically, mentally and emotionally. He felt ruined, like a truck had run him down without a second thought, dropping its unforgiving load onto him.

Tom passed the bathroom again and couldn't resist the nagging that begged him to look over at himself. He slumped in, feet dragging along the floor. In the yellowing light, he made out his own sickly yellow skin, eyes circled in black from exhaustion. The first mark that Doug had ever left on Tom slowly fading to a dull pink-brown. But there were all the other marks now. He had been grateful that Doug had avoided his face a little, instead aiming most of the beatings to his torso, chest and legs. There were cuts though, and a green-yellow-blue bruise on his left cheekbone which swelling was pushing up his eye slightly. He ran a hand over his forehead, under his bangs and felt the bumps of dried blood, the forming of a scab. The force Doug had used to slam him into the floor had been excruciating, splitting his forehead open instantly, leaving him sick and dizzy.

Tired of viewing himself, knowing the longer he stood the more he would see and then slowly he would work his way to his body where most of the damage laid, Tom left the bathroom. He circled his apartment several times, idle and fidgety. He needed something to do, something to occupy him, something other than cleaning his own blood from the floor, something to get rid of the one single thought that was slowly breaking Tom down.

Doug didn't love him.

Doug had been confused, Doug had hired a prostitute, Doug had liked her, Doug had stopped loving Tom. It was killing Tom and he couldn't understand why Doug hadn't just talked to Tom about it, hadn't mentioned something to him. They could work through this together. Tom shook his head flopping down on his couch, legs up, head resting on the arm rest. He wouldn't dwell on this, he just had to figure out a way to tell Doug that it was okay for him not to love him anymore- though it was the opposite- and that all Doug had to do was say stop and he would, without Doug assuming Tom had been in his apartment.

This thought alone startled Tom. He had broken into his lover's apartment, breaking and entering. But he hadn't really, had he? After all he did have the key, yet he didn't have permission, Doug didn't have knowledge of his arrival, so on a small technicality, he had broken into Doug's apartment.

Broken…

He'd also broken a possession, though worthless, of Doug's. He had thrown that glass; he had shattered it against the wall. He had left it there uncaringly, too angry at Doug, imagining that Doug was the glass. That Doug was being shattered instead of Tom, that Doug was lying broken on the floor instead of Tom. That-

'Fuck.'

He'd left the broken glass at the base of the wall, left its sharp pieces piercing into the carpet threads. Left it there…

'Fuck, fuck, fuck'

Doug would know, Doug would know….He'd think he'd been robbed, then he'd know….he'd know Tom had been there and he'd come after Tom.

Tom's legs fell from the couch as he bolted upright, pain searing through him from the motion, head clenched in his shaking hands. 'Fuck' He was dead; he was going to die at the hands of Doug. Doug would be livid, he'd want Tom's blood, he'd…

Oh God'

Tom's head swarmed, the room spinning slightly, his stomach rejecting anything left in it. Blindly, he made his way to the bathroom, knocking chairs and books over. He reached the porcelain bowl and heaved, violent spasms wracking him.

Doug was going to kill him. There'd be no relenting this time.

- - -

"Booker!" Judy screeched, "Booker!"

Dennis came from down the fire pole, shrugging his jacket on arrogantly and walking with a flair of smugness that other male department officers wished for. "You called?" he smiled nastily.

"What the hell did you do to it?!" she made a gesture to her desk but refused to take her narrowing eyes off of him.

Dennis stuffed his hands in his pocket's looking over her outstretched arm to his destruction, "Destroyed it." He stated simply.

"Why!" she was beyond furious, beyond control. She wanted to throttle him.

"I didn't like it," he spoke slowly and clearly, patronizingly.

"I don't like you but I don't come along and smash, tear and pull at you, do I?!"

"Baby," his smile grew, knowing he was about to step into no man's land, "You can do all that in my house, my room."

"I hate you Dennis."

He shrugged with a look of disinterest, "It was an ugly looking pot plant, smelt bad too."

"It was a present, Dennis, and it smelt nice."

Booker raised his brows, "Hey, Ioki, did that thing smell nice or bad?"

Harry looked between the two, not wanting to be apart of their dispute, "Ah, well…it…I…." he looked down at his desk, "I have paper work." He ran his hands through folders, looking for something, "Gotta fill in this," he took notice of the words, thing at Rocket Dog…"

"It smelt bad, Judy." He smacked his lips, "At least I let you keep the dirt…and the pot."

"In pieces! And what am I going to do with a pile of dirt?!"

"At least it won't annoy me or the other departments any more."

She stepped closer to him, "That doesn't matter, it was a gift! My gift!" Dennis made to reply, but Fuller cut him off.

Adam slammed the door open, "Booker! Get in here, now." Then let it slam shut on its own.

"Sorry babe, justice calls. I'll make it up to you."

"I hate you!" she called with little meaning in her words.

Booker shrugged his back at her and strolled into Fuller's office. He took a seat before he was requested to, knowing what tone meant what. Fuller's tone before had meant business, held a lot of seriousness in it, so Booker knew to shut up and lay off the wise guy act for a while.

"There's new evidence on the Caitlyn case."

Booker looked his Captain over, watching his body language, his expression and listening to his masked tone of indifference. He came to a conclusion, "But I'm guessing that's not all you brought me in here for."

Fuller stopped and looked at Dennis, then slowly moved from his position at the window to sit as his desk, "No." he calmly dragged a few papers from his desk drawer, "It's about Hanson."

Bookers eyes widened and his heart flittered. He shifted a little before regaining composure, "Yea? Tommy-boy? What about the beau?" He hated the indifference he had to act about a man he had feelings for. Hated the spite and disgust he forced into his voice though he didn't half mind the guy, and definitely liked him in another way. He hated the whole, 'Tom-and-Dennis-hate-each other' relationship facade.

Adam ignored the jab and continued on, "Has he seemed any different on the case, a little…ill of sorts perhaps?"

Dennis thought it over, really thought it over. He knew what he should say; how Tom had come almost in tears to his apartment and for a reason Booker only assumed, but he couldn't. He wasn't positive, it could jeopardize his professional position and he couldn't do that to Tom. Couldn't embarrass him like that. Could he?

"I-no, I mean, he was sniffling a little in the rain the other day…but otherwise…" he paused, curious, "Why?"

"He called in sick today, but I'm not buying it."

Booker rose his eyes knowingly, "Yea, me neither." He mumbled.

Fuller slid the files to the centre of the desk, Dennis catching the top words. He balked a little. "Penhall's back on this case? Penhall!?"

"Yes, Officer Penhall is back on the case. Evidence about assumed Domestic abuse was brought to my attention by him. It could help."

"This is shit, Captain. You know it, this is total bull shit."

"Dennis," he warned.

"Abuse?" he laughed bitterly, "C'mon! I'm working on this case, we've been working on it, me and Tom, and I don't believe it for one minute. I mean everything-"

"Dennis," he cut in harshly, urgency evident in his voice.

"Everything," he continued ignoring his Captain, "Points to suicide. The note we found, the shopping list, the disposal of anything worth disposing, the somehow very convenient tying up of major lose ends. Captain we-"

"Dennis!" He snarled, breathing heavily through his nose, "Will you be quiet for a moment and listen!"

"I'm not working with-"

Adam glared, "Shut up, Booker." His words crisp and sharp, pronounced. "Now, I'm very aware that Domestic abuse is a very unlikely, implausible accusation because Caitlyn was missing the major element."

"A boyfriend," Booker stated arrogantly.

"Contrary to what Doug said, so," he slipped the files further over to Bookers hands, "I'd like you to go over to Tom's place and ask him of his opinion on the case-"

"But Coach! We already know, it'd be pointless and stupid and-"

"-Because maybe Tom has a different view on why Doug suddenly, abruptly, out of nowhere thinks Domestic abuse is why Caitlyn's done a runner. Especially after everything Tom's been through."

Gears slowly clicked in his head, and a wheel churned sounding a bell, igniting the light bulb, "Oh."

Fuller nodded knowingly with a side smile, "And you'll be able to see exactly how sick Tom is because I doubt he's as sick as he's making it out to be." He watched the file slip from his hand, "I think Penhall may have something to do with Tom's absence."

Booker nodded, "Yea," he fingered the paper, giving the duplicate copy back to his superior, "Look, Captain, I…there's something else." Fuller's brows rose intriguingly and he prompted for Dennis' continuance.

"Yea, but it's off the record okay?"

"Alright, so speaking off the record, Dennis…"

He shifted a little, rolling the gum hesitantly in his mouth, "Look, Hanson came to my apartment late afternoon yesterday, seemed real distressed, y'know? Very…anxious and nervous about something. I asked him what Penhall had done and he said nothing, said he hadn't meant it…."

"What do you think?"

"That it's bull. Penhall's done something to Hanson, I mean, Jesus, you don't know how distressed he was. He came over to my place for a start," he laughed a little in disbelief, "And he's drenched, soaked right through and refuses a jacket, a blanket and denies he's cold and it was freezing yesterday. There's…..I don't know."

Adam leaned into his padded chair, angled to the left, hands crossed together on his chest, "What do you think Penhall's done to Tom?"

"The bruise," he stated simply, "its Penhall's doing, I know it."

He narrowed his eyes, "Did Tom say that?"

"No, but…"

"Then we can only assume, and hopefully, it'll stay as an assumption."

"Adam," Booker never dared say Adams first name, but he was desperate, he needed to let him know that he was serious, "Something's not right between the two, and I think Tom's suffering from it."

He stood gingerly, "Look Dennis, just go over and sort out some things find out for yourself, and if it is true…then, well, we'll deal with it when it comes to that." He gestured to the door, "Right now, you've got something to do and I would appreciate it if you could get it done now. This is important," he crossed his hands behind his back, staring hard into Dennis's eyes, "It's nearly three thirty now Dennis and if what you think is right, then we really can't afford to waist any time."

Dennis nodded, "I really hope I ain't." - - -

Harry and Judy watched a distressed Booker hurriedly grab his possessions, stuff some papers into a bag and almost sprint out of the Chapel without a single goodbye. The door banging several times on his departure; Dennis having let his emotions force the door open, all sorts of conclusions and outcomes dancing in his mind. Adam Fuller followed from his office shortly, staring at the slowly swinging door.

"That Booker?" he asked needlessly. He watched the two receiving nods and sighed, "I shouldn't have asked him." He muttered.

Judy caught the muttered words and queried, "What? What's he done Captain?"

"Something very futile. I just asked him to get some paper work to Hanson, and now he's taking some ambiguous words and statements the wrong way concerning Tom." Though he knew heh ad prompted it.

"Why? What's up with Hanson?" Harry scoffed jokingly, "Don't tell me he got in a brawl again!"

Fuller side eyed Ioki, "A brawl?"

He nodded, "Yea, that's how he got that bruise."

"He told me he got it when he walked into a door." His fingers felt the rough texture of the paper uneasily.

Judy leaned against her desk with arms crossed, "Yea, well Penhall told me the he fell down some stairs."

Fuller glanced over back and forth at the two sceptically, "Some ones lying here."

"Yea, but who?"

Harry slung an arm around the back of his chair, "Why, is more to the point" "Look, I don't know what's happened with our wiring here, but I'm sure we've come to a wrong assumption." He moved the paper as he hands gestured nonsensically, "So keep it clear and keep it positive. Tom's just sick, that's all."

Judy scoffed cynically, "Yea, sure. Then why isn't Doug here?"

"Yea, where is Penhall?" Harry questioned curiously.

"Said he couldn't be bothered working the rest of today." She spoke almost as if she resented Doug for leaving her, for leaving work early and unnecessarily. She spoke as if she knew something bad was going down, but there was no evidence to make any accusations. At least no more than what she already had.

"That's alright Hoff's," he couldn't really blame Doug after this morning's discussion they had shared. He knew something was bothering the Officer, and didn't dare push or prive into it. Doug would confide in him later, when whatever trauma Doug had obviously gone through surfaced and he needed some advice. "He's had a rough morning."

"But Captain-" "Leave it Hoff's. Now have either of you got anything else to add or ask?" he watched the two look at another, then shake their heads, "Good. Let's get some work done around here, you've got no distractions." With that, he turned on his heel and closed his office door behind him, an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

Judy waited for the door to click and the sound of a scarping chair before she approached Harry's desk, "Something's going on around here."

He nodded, already back into paper work.

"We should do something about it."

He looked up at her, "Like what?"

"I don't know…maybe we could sneak over and-"

"C'mon Judy, this is Tom and Doug we're talking about. Nothing's going on between them, stop watching those soapies, they're doing you damage."

"But Harry!-"

He moved agitatedly, "Listen Jude's, Tom and Doug are madly in love with each other, they'd do anything for another and we both know that. Doug loves Tom, he looks up to him, and he's so damn protective of him, so he's not likely to do anything to Tom. And Tom, well God," he smiled in amusement, "That kid clings to Doug, it's like he's lost without him, so I doubt if anything bad is going on between them."

Judy sighed, defeated, "I know, it's just….something seems wrong."

"Yea, it's about us doing paperwork while all three of them are out."

Judy smiled thankfully, "Thanks Ioki, always no how to make a gal feel special."

"Yea, yea" he brushed her off, blushing shyly.

"No thanks, I just-I just worry about Tom, he seems so young….And so small next to Doug."

Harry looked into her eyes, making sure his own certainty reflected into hers, "Judy, they love each other, everything's fine. They're probably just going through some troubles. Not everyone's accepting of the gay community, you remember that case…"

Judy nodded, "Yea," she shifted a little before placing a friendly kiss on Harry's cheek, "Thanks Iokage"

- - -

Doug panted hard against the inside of his door, letting familiar surroundings embrace him. He had run several read lights, ignored stop and give ways signs and had accidentally ridden on the wrong side of the road for a brief moment. He was in no way in a clear and collective mind.

Letting his hardly used helmet fall to the floor with a jolting thud, he slugged his way to the kitchen, in desperate need of a drink. He glimpsed at the clock and saw it was nearing three thirty and an astounded laugh emitted from him; usually he was home after four if he left at this hour.

He ignored the fridge and tap and rummaged through a few rarely used cupboards, searching through bottles. Finally, his fingers clasped around a long, cylinder smooth neck ad he pulled out the square base drink with flat sides. He gazed whimsically at the drink's label, 'Jim Bean, pure Bourbon' and unscrewed the top.

"Drink up," he mumbled before titling his head back as he brought the smooth rounded lip of the bottle to his own, letting the gushing cool liquid burn down his throat, dribble from the corner of his mouth. With a pant of breath and a satisfied noise he swung the bottle down to his side and strode over to his couch, flopping 'Penhall manner' onto it.

The flickering television did nothing to sustain his mind, his thoughts running to those of Tom Hanson. Thomas Hanson. The most beautiful boy he had ever met; most intriguing, inquisitive, eloquent, rough, wild, timid boy he had met. Boy….not man, boy….he was so young… Granted, a year younger than Doug was, but he had that child like essence; the fear and vulnerability that made his age seem laughable. The guy was picking up sixteen year old girls for Christ's sake.

He sucked greedily at the bottle.

And he, Doug Penhall, had screwed the only possession he truly had ownership of, the only toy he had cherished, the only person he had loved this much. He had royally fucked it, in every way possible. Yet, he felt no real remorse for his actions, no true regret. This was Tom's fault after all, how dare he put Doug in such a position. How dare he move himself with such a flawless grace. How dare he make stupid, confronting gestures of love to him, seducing him. How dare Tom Hanson make his life so god damn hard and miserable by one simple word, one simple touch, one simple kiss.

He snarled as he took a lengthy drink, laughing nonsensically at nothing. Why did he hate Tom so much, but still love him? It made no sense to him and he felt complete guilt and ridiculously stupid for being in the position he was in. What kind of guy was he anyway? A big, lovable, teddy bear or a big, mean thug?

He again sucked at the bottle, refusing to accept what he knew he was.

Standing, with bottle only a few gulps worth left, he swayed uneasily before wiping the back of his hand against his mouth. He walked sullied around his rooms, yelling out incoherent words and shouts of Tom and love and hate and anything else he could think that resemble their dying relationship.

Doug shook the bottle, watching the last mills swirl methodically. He smiled stupidly, "Round and r-round you gooooo" he tilted the bottle up to his mouth, "Up and u-up a-and up…" he clamped his mouth round the mouth "One g-gulp, twoooo gulp…" his voice echoed within the bottle, "Into Douggie's ," the flammable liquid reach his mouth, moistening his lips, "gut."

He breathed drunkenly as he swallowed the remnants of the liquor, letting the bottle crash to the floor, breaking in two large pieces with shards of smaller glass circling around it. "Opps," he laughed giddily, "Okey dokey," he laughed at his mimic of Tom's favoured words. He walked with arms swaying unevenly at his side, a slight tilt to his walk as he moved sluggishly around his apartment.

"Tom-my!" he bellowed, needing the response. "Tom-MEEE" He stopped, listening intently for a reply. He sighed distressingly on not hearing one. "Where art my Tommy?" he cried pitifully. He staggered to where he kept his phone, planning in his intoxication to call upon the one who angered and confused him so much. The one who he was so sure he loved, and yet so sure he hated.

He ran a hand over the scattered numbers stuck on his wall, blurrily seeing Tom's number. The numbers danced, but it didn't matter; he knew that number off by heart. With phone still in hand, and cord wrapped across his chest, he turned to face the opposite direction, reaching for the glass of water he always kept there. His hands moved blindly across the table, searching desperately for the glass. Without success, he turned around for it. He looked a moment, blinked, regained some vision and slowly untangled himself from the cord.

Where the hell was his glass?

He searched the table futilely again, then pushed himself of the edge, staggering forwards fast into the couch. He had a glass there somewhere, somewhere….

He ran to his front door, thinking that perhaps he had placed it instead on the table there without realising. He wasn't exactly the soberest of minds. He placed two hands on the table by the door to steady himself, blinking furiously to keep his light headedness and dizziness at bay. "Oh God" he moaned…. "Oh holy friggin God." He shook his head a little, waiting for his vision to clear. When it finally did, he pulled himself up, searching for the glass.

A crunch sounded under his soled foot and he looked down at the litter of glass and water spills. "There you- you are!" he cried almost happily. He steadied himself again, aware now that the glass was not in tact but shattered. He bolted up, looking around. Someone had been in here.

He hadn't been robbed, he knew that, nothing of importance had been taken and what theft would come to claim and ruin a cheap glass? No, some one had been in here, some one he knew, someone…

"Like Tommy," he voiced aggressively.

Snarling, he grabbed his helmet and headed out of his front door, sprinting awkwardly to his bike, his inebriation still lingering but clearing up in his rage of fury. He wasn't positive it had been Tom, he could be wrong for all he knew, but he doubted it. Something in him told him that it had been Tom. that Tom had snuck into his apartment. It angered Doug and he sent his bike revving loudly.

Tom has some explaining to do.

- - -

A crash from outside jolted Tom on the couch where he had been gently dozing. Groggy, he rubbed tiredly at his eyes, immediately pulling back as the rough contact sent searing jabs of pain through his face. Swearing, he stood gingerly from the couch, bent over a little, arm cradling his sore ribs.

He peeked out the curtain window, trying to see what had caused the noise outside. Another crash and a familiar cave like shout averted his eyes over to the left of the window where he saw a motorbike and cyclist he had very much been in love with. And still was with the bike. That was one hell of a bike after all.

Tom winced in time with the third crash, and scrunched his face up in an emotion of pain as he watched the heavier man become trapped under the heavier bike. Sighing, he made his way to the front door, still unsure as to why he was about to help the man who did nothing to help him.

He fiddled with the locks; usually, he had only ever had the one drawn/chain lock, but as soon as Doug had moved in it had been a key and deadbolt lock that took three times as long to work. By the time he had slipped the last lock away from his captive, Doug had managed to free himself from the bike and make his way towards Tom's apartment. A course of fear ran through Tom and he immediately began locking the door again, refusing to let Doug in without good reason.

Only just finishing the drawn and chain lock, Tom heard his name called sickeningly. Furiously, he fumbled to get the key lock to lock, but his shaking hands and misses slowed him until a large hand forced its way between the small gap and wall.

"Aren't you gonna let me in Tommy?"

Tom shook his head, lost for words, wanting nothing more to believe that the chain would secure him from the outside.

"No? That's not very nice is it?" he manoeuvred his hand so the palm faced up, fingers near the chain, "Guess I'll just have to break into here like a certain someone did to mine."

Tom froze, eyes petrified wide, mouth dry, "D-Doug…I…"

Doug's fingers clasped on to the chain and he pulled it to the right, letting it unclip itself. "See, this-this is why I made you put the other locks," he hiccupped a little, "locks on."

Tom mentally hit himself, cursing his natural instinct to help those, even when he knew they didn't deserve it. If he had just watched from the window, instead of going to help, he'd be in his room, hiding under his covers.

The door smacked open, Tom having just jumped out of the way, and Doug entered. "Hellooo," Doug called in McQuaid fashion.

On instinct, Tom took a step back. "Doug," he pleaded, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry this time, I really am I didn't…for whatever I've done…I'm really sorry."

Doug let the door close behind him, taking a step to match Tom's step back, "Oh I think you know perfectly well what you've done."

Tom nodded, blurting, "I didn't mean to go there, I…I was…I thought maybe you'd be there…and I…so I…"

"You broke into my house-"

"I had the key!" he pointlessly interrupted.

"-and broke a possession of mine…God Knows what else you've done."

"Nothing!" he floundered, "Honest."

Doug shook his head patronizingly, "Honest? How can I trust you Tom, when you've been nothing but honest, when all you've done is lie to me? How honest are you really?" he took a lunge forward.

Tom jumped back, taking another two steps further again, "Doug…"

Despite how much Doug had drunk of pure Bourbon, he was reasonably stable and his balance-though a little wobbly- was just as good as his reflexes and aim. Due to his size and build- and many years of excessive drinking-, Doug could hold his drink well. He made another lunge for Tom, pinning him in a grip.

"You're such a cock tease Tom."

Tom's nose scrunched from the fumes of the liquor, "You're drunk, Doug."

"Yea," he smiled maliciously, "Which means I'm twice as dangerous, eh?"

Tom's heart beat furiously against his chest and he struggled against Doug's grip, thanking whatever God was on his side that Doug was drunk enough so that his hold was weaker and Tom was able to escape the usual gorilla grip. "Please Doug, go. Go a-away…please. I'm sorry; can't we talk about this, tomorrow perhaps?"

"I'm not going anywhere Tommy, the way I figure it, you owe me something." He ran a finger tenderly down the side of Tom's swollen and bruised face, "So why don't you pay up, and then I'll go," he drew his face closer to Tom's, sucking his jugular seductively.

Tom pulled away, "Doug…" Though his touch was sensual and arousing, Tom refused to let himself be seduced. He couldn't afford it, not in the state Doug had recently been in. Was in. "No?" he laughed, "We'll do it my way." More intimidating steps forward as Tom stepped back in fear.

"Doug," he whined lamentably, pitifully. His back collided with a wall and he looked at the doorframe next to him. His bedroom hung wide open, dark and intriguing. Tom followed Doug's eyes, watching the hungry desire grow in them as they lingered over Tom and then his room.

Tom put two and two together.

"No, Doug!" he started to tremble, his voice weak and hollow, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Yes."

Doug made the last grab, dragging the flailing, weakly lashing Tom inside the room, pushing the door closed behind him. He slammed Tom forwards, letting him escape, watching as he straightened himself up and stood shivering in the centre of his room.

He smiled cruelly, "Time to pay up, Tom."

So I guess it's kind of clear as to what's going to happen next chapter. Please though, don't think I'm about to go into full in-depth detail, I won't. It may not even get that far…
Please review, they're very appreciated and loved XD

- - -

If this shows, ignore it, I'm trying to beat ffnet's stupid editing system…