Hello, is anyone alive out there?

I am so sorry I haven't written this little story in so many, many months. I have recently been diagnosed with hypoglycemia and it has taken a lot of my time up. I was really low for a long time so its take a little while for me to gain some weight and get my strength up into writing again. I have had some requests backed up, asking me to continue, so here I am - much too late, but still hoping enough of you have this on Story Alert that you might let me know what you think? I think my writing has improved quite a lot, but God knows, you might hate me now.

Anyway, here it is. There's more to come if you guys tell me you want it. This is dedicated to anyone who likes it.

I never feel I'm quite enough

GORDIE

I mean, come on, its not the first time Chris Chambers had taken a fall.

So I was relieved when he bounced back after a few moments of me frantically shaking his shoulders whilst simultaneously trying not to make any noise. I instinctively knew things would only get worse if Mr. Chambers saw us down here. It wasn't the first time Eyeball and his cronies had joined in with an assault on Chris, but judging by the marks on his skin these attacks had been on and off all day. There was a cut still oozing blood just beneath his hairline, a nasty bruise beneath the hollow of his left eye. Who knows how many cuts and scrapes and, fuck, burns were hidden beneath the layers of clothing? I ran quiet hands over his neck, checking his pulse. Thank God the window had only been first story. Enough to shake him up, but nothing that would kill him.

He came to after a couple whispered calls of his name. His eyes were dazed, off focus. Old water collected sickeningly in the corners and blood slipping gruesomely over his face. I wiped it away with the sleeve of my shirt and breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Chris was alright, he was alive…

"Gordie?" Stunned by his fall, Chris was somehow forgetting the necessity to remain deadly silent. I could hear his Dad and the other guys moving around above us, probably cracking open more beer as they laughed raucously at some disgusting comment. I ran a shaky hand through Chris' matted hair, anger boiling in my chest and all the way down to the pit of my stomach.

"Shhh, Chris. Shh, its okay. God, man. I'm so sorry… So sorry." I murmured, slowly straightening up and forcing him into a sitting position. He mewled painfully when I moved his left arm.

"Ahh, it hurts, Gord-iiiie, it hurts…" At least his voice was a little softer now.

"I know, I know, man. But its gonna be okay." I soothed him, wishing I had a bottle of whiskey or something to numh the pain. Who knows how many bones he'd damaged?

Delirious with pain, Chris started babbling as I managed to somehow force his good arm around my neck and haul us both to our feet. Must have been adrenaline or some shit because usually there was nothing I could do to budge him. I guess he'd lost weight in recent months.

"Gordie, man, I sure am shit sorry… Ugh, I didn't fucking mean…. you know I… you know I-"

"Shh, Chris. It's alright, I get it. Just be quiet so I can get you the fuck home and cleaned up."

"Awww, Gordie. Always look, ahh, l-lookin' out for me.."

"Yeah. Now shut up."

In hindsight I guess it would have been better to keep him talking, keep him functioning so he wouldn't go batshit crazy or something, but I was so terrified of his Dad coming after us I shoved a gentle hand over his mouth and staggered off back through the trees and on to the dirt road. He closed his eyes, grimacing.

When we were far enough away I was sure no one would hear us, I pulled him into the treehouse with me and laid him out across the old wooden floor that we had long outgrown. This scenario was all too familiar a reminder of our childhood. Chris with cuts and bruises and sprained bones, looking for comfort which I gave in the form of filched beer, wooden splints and shy one-armed hugs. Now I could barely do better. I leaned over him, grimacing and forcing eye contact. His arm stuck outwards at a nasty angle I'd only had to deal with once before. We'd been thirteen and he'd fallen out of a tree and I'd had to pop his right shoulder back in. He'd screamed so loud he'd made Verne scream too, and that was with alcohol as anaesthetic.

"Okay, Chris, I gotta move your arm. I think its been knocked out the socket or some fuck, and I need to pop it back in. Its gonna hurt like hell and I'm sorry, but you gotta trust me okay?"

"Trust you, man."

"You ready?"

"Fuck no." This sounded more like the Chris I knew.

"I'm gonna put my hand in your mouth, alright? Bite down on it."

"Gordie, what?"

"Just do it, Chris. Or we'll be in a lot worse shit than we are now."

"Ahh, Gordie. If it hurts you gotta kiss it better."

I laughed dryly at that, he was definitely delirious but I told myself I could hear that distant hint of my old friend, the cocky bastard. He didn't fight me as I shoved the skin of my left hand between his lips.

"Ready?"

I didn't wait for a reply and went for it, closed my fist over that protruding length of bone and tugged it in the right direction. Chris' teeth sank hard into my hand and drew blood as I felt something give beneath the skin. Seemed I'd hit the right spot because when I ran a hand over his arm it felt normal, solid. But, boy, would it be bruised.

Glancing at Chris' face, I fought my instinct to cry out and instead leant over him. His eyes were screwed up in pain. His good hand moved up to clench on my cold bare back, pulling me downwards as if for comfort. I leant in, gave in because he was hurting and he needed me and I needed him just as much.

"S'over, Chris. S'all right now."

It wasn't a total lie. His arm would heal, he'd live through the physical shit. But other than that, I might as well have told him santa was going to appear and shit fairies over his bloodstained face. He made an unintelligible grunting noise and his mouth fell slack, allowing me to ease my aching hand out and wipe it on the wood of the floor. It was damp, but not soaking.

Funny, I hadn't even realised it had stopped raining.

"I'm sorry." And when I said it, it wasn't just for the pain I'd inflicted when I'd shoved his shoulder. I meant for getting him into this situation in the first place, ever.

I was still awkwardly perched over Chris, knees either side of his calves as I strained not to injure him while he held me fast, like he'd be pulling me down if he wasn't so sleep deprived. His eyes drifted open, still hazy but laced with pain which far spanned that of a dislocated shoulder.

"Gordie, I-"

"Shhh."

I carefully moved his abused arm - it was lolling uselessly with dead weight - and laid it carefully away from his body so it spanned out at an angle. I didn't want him lying on it. Then I carefully shimmied out of his lax hold on my skin, moving to perch on my knees by his head. He looked at me again, lips moving even as a traumatic cry for sleep moved over his body, a product of exhaustion. His body saying enough was enough.

"Gotta sleep now, Chambers. I'll still be around when you wake up. We can talk then. Stay still."

But he refused, weakly struggling. A light sheen formed on his forehead.

"I meant it." He said, his voice almost a growl as he radiated some kind of need, frustration.

"What?"

"Kiss. It. Better."

"Chris, what?"

"I'm hurt, Gordie."

And he was. Because of me.

So, wordlessly, I bent my head and pressed a kiss to his mouth, not the area he'd specified but I knew the one he intended. It wasn't like I didn't want to.

When I moved my head back, Chris was dead asleep.

***

When I woke, we were still cramped in our old treehouse where we had pretty much begun whatever we were. I was damp around the edges and looked up to see Chris watching me, blue eyes conscious and lucid in the grey light of the early morning.

He was still here, I thought numbly. Hadn't booked it and run off in the middle of the night.

After a few minutes of staring at each other, I broke the silence.

"How's your arm?"

"Hurts like a bitch." He cleared his throat roughly, ran a sleepy finger across his face. In that moment he looked young enough to spark off so much déjà vu it made my head spin. Years of bruises and checks for damage and hugs that were halted for fear of broken bones.

We said nothing for a few minutes. All I could hear was the scuffle and squawk of irritable birds nesting in the trees.

"You're still here." We said at the same time. And this jinx would normally have resulted in a catcall, laugh or at least a grim smile - but now only matching sad grimaces.

"We're getting too old for this." Chris said, looking around. Somehow I didn't think he was merely referring to the treehouse.

"I know." I agreed, because it seemed like a good way to fill the tense air.

Chris bit the bullet because of the two of us he has more balls.

"You saved me."

"Saved you? Christ, Chambers, you've lived through worse without my help."

"You came and picked me up off the floor and made me better."

"Yeah. And you nearly broke my fucking hand."

And then he was suddenly there, how I don't know; he must have still been in quite a bit of pain, but he was. Picking up my hand - which still had teeth marks and smeary dried blood imbedded in the skin - and running his rough palm over it.

"Yeah. Guess I did."

He stared at our hands, not at my face.

"Chris-"

"I know, Gordo. I know."

"What the fuck happened last night?"

"Same as always. My Dad was on a mean streak and my brother's mates helped him out."

"I heard what they were saying."

"Makes no difference. Would have happened anyway."

"But-"

"This isn't your fault, Gordie. They would have found out sooner or later. Wouldn't have been able to stay away from you forever. Probably've shoved you on the floor in a corridor and fucked you senseless if you'd kept up the silent treatment."

I gasped, the bluntness of his speaking made my head spin. I really wanted to say something, but at the look he gave me I shut my mouth. He swallowed, as if fighting some instinct that gnawed at him from the inside. I caught a glimpse of his Dad pass across his face. Downturned mouth, ferocious eyes that made me want to flinch back.

But then he was Chris again. "Look, I gotta say I'm sorry for everything I've, uh, done to you. Fucking around with that girl wasn't ever enough and we both know that. But I just couldn't… couldn't do it, you know? You were all there and holding your fucking hand out and what did you expect, Gordie? What the fuck did you expect?"

He lifted his eyes to mine, not so much angry but pleading with me to understand.

"I don't know."

"It's not that I don't care, Gordie. Can't you fucking see that? I'd fucking kill for you, die for you a thousand times over, man. I fucking-- you're my fucking guy, alright? It's you and it's always been you and there ain't never gonna be no one else. But, Gordie, man… Why did you have to do that?"

"I don't know."

I tried to pull my hand away, but he snatched it up again. Closed the callused fingers of his good hand around my wrist in a grip just borderline painful.

"I would never, ever, hurt you, Gordie. But can't you? Fuck-"

The pressure increased, his words heating up as he leaned in even closer. All I could see were his eyes and they scared me.

"I know, Chris. I know."

"No you fucking don't! You think I'm a heartless bastard because I push you away again and again and I- Fuck, you know I do don't you?"

"Yeah, I do, Chris. You don't need to say it."

"Would you say it:?"

"No."

He laughed a little at that, breath tickling my cheek and eyelashes touching mine. His hand convulsively moved from my wrist up to the back of my head, knotting in my hair and pulling on the strands.

"This is the only thing that makes sense now," He said. "You're the only thing that makes sense. When really this shouldn't make any fucking sense at all. Jesus, we're so fucked up man I can't even find myself."

"Chris, Chris… christ, I know."

"I know you know."

"And I know that you know that I know you know."

"Shit."

"Fucker."

"Pussy."

"Freak."

"Ass."

"Dipshit."

"Touch me."

So, I did.