Ok so this is something of the calm before the storm. And when I say storm I mean as in, 100ft waves and all you've got is a little dinghy type storm so be prepared for the next chapter. This takes place the week after Pete comes out of hospital but evertyhing is more or less explained in the chapter so I won't yammer on too much. Cheers for the truly wonderful reviews on the last ch and as a random note for you all to enjoy...the description of the break in Pete's leg is actually from me! I did that very same injury (as described) to my leg two years ago and was on crutches for a year. So I know where he's at, and I gotta tell you folks, its bad times. :D Enjoy!
Bovver rubbed his face tiredly as he exited the job centre, the large glass doors opening with a dramatic 'whoosh', announcing that he was finally free from a day of non stop questioning and more often than not, rejection. Glancing down at the sparse CV in his hand, he snorted and realised that if after 25 years all he was worth was a measly 7 GCSE's, then the chances of him getting a decent job were about as high as his chances of playing for West Ham.
Scrunching up the paper and shoving it into his pocket, he crossed the road and turned the corner onto Regent Street and pulled his phone out of his pocket, noticing that Dave had called him twice. The boys knew he was going for a job interview today, just like he knew that they were going over to Allie's to visit Pete. Dave was convinced that if Bovver just tagged along with them that Pete wouldn't mind, almost as though seeing him would finally make him forget that Bovver had fucked him over and almost gotten his brother killed.
Snorting out loud, Bovver shook his head; he knew differently. If he showed up unannounced then crutches or no crutches, Pete would kill him.
"I'm just doing the food shopping and then I'm on my way home,"
He turned, recognising that voice anywhere; squinting at the small blonde across the street as she stood outside Marks and Spencer's, her arms loaded with shopping backs whilst she desperately tried to keep hold of her phone with one hand and unlock her car with the other.
"Is Gemma still there?" she wrinkled her nose in concentration, attempting to get the key into the lock. "How's he doing?"
Bovver watched as one of the bags spilt open and food spilled onto the pavement.
"Shit!" Allie cried. "Harry, I've gotta go but I'll be home in 20 minutes, ok? Alright, bye," hanging up her phone, she sighed as people continued to pass her by not bothering to help. Having seen enough, Bovver jogged across the road, ignoring the driver who beeped his horn, narrowly missing him and stepped onto the pavement, bending down and picking up an apple which had rolled away from her. Walking over to where she was still bent down, scrambling for the fallen food, he held it out to her and listened to her sigh of relief.
"Oh, thank you so much," she lifted her eyes to smile at the helpful stranger only to be completely taken aback by the sight of Bovver. In a suit.
Bovver stared back at her, noticing that the dark circles under her eyes had diminished, her skin wasn't so pale anymore and even better: she was actually smiling.
"Alright?" he sniffed, shrugging uncomfortably in his suit.
"Yeah," Allie smiled. "Thanks for..." she held up the apple and snorted.
"Don't mention it," he shook his head. "Christ, you look better," he told her earnestly. "Last time I saw you was…"
He shook his head knowing that it was the day he had discovered she was pregnant and after hugging her for a solid ten minutes practically flung himself out of the door and straight back into a bottle of vodka.
"You look really good, too," Allie smiled. "What's with the suit?"
"Job interviews." He shrugged. "Not that any of it was worth my fucking time."
"Sorry, Bov," she winced, raising a hand to shield the sun from her eyes.
"Nah, its not your fault, is it?" he smiled wryly. "Something will come up."
"Yeah," she nodded and they stood in silence for a long moment as the gentle breeze kicked up around them, blowing her hair into her eyes.
"So how're things goin'?" Bovver asked suddenly, gesturing to her stomach.
"Oh, yeah, that's all fine," she smiled.
"You still getting sick?" he raised an eyebrow.
"Oh hell yeah," she laughed. "In fact I think I'm this close to making it an official Olympic sport."
Chuckling lightly, Bov rubbed the back of his neck and glanced about the street, envious of the people strolling about in their suits bitching about what a long day they'd had at work.
"You can ask me about him, y'know," Allie's voice brought him back to the conversation.
"Well, its' uh…" he sighed. "Its not like he'd be too 'appy to know you were having little chats with me, is it? Has he mentioned anything…y'know, about me?"
"I told him that you'd been asking about him," Allie nodded, hating the hope she saw in his eyes. "It's going to take time, Bovver. You know he almost died," she stressed. "Steve almost died, too."
Bovver nodded mutely, his entire body flooding with what felt like ice as opposed to blood; he'd thought about it every day for the past few weeks, but hearing someone else say it was enough to make him feel sick. If either of them had died, it would have ultimately been Bovver's fault. Of course Pete didn't want anything to do with him now.
"Don't give up on him," she shook her head and stared at him sympathetically. "He's a stubborn bastard, Bov, we both know that but at the end of the day, you're his brother. He loves you,"
He smiled back at her and then reached around to open her car door, picking up some of the bags and shoving them into the back of the Porsche.
"Thank you," she smiled, placing a soft hand on his arm. "Do you need a lift anywhere?"
"Nah," he frowned, shaking his head. "You get off home, I've still got some stuff to do in town, so…"
"Ok," Allie smiled once more before climbing into her car and pulling away from the curb, waving to Bov in her mirror before turning the corner and disappearing out of sight.
She had given him the tiniest shred of hope, but he would cling to it, and he would wait until Pete was ready. Because Pete was the only family that Bovver had ever known, and if there was one thing Bovver knew, it was that you didn't give up on family.
"And I swear, if I get told you're not using these, I will personally hunt you down and ram them somewhere that's gonna require a very unpleasant operation to get them out, ok?"
Pete laughed at the petite blonde stood in front of him, holding out a pair of crutches and staring at him intently. He'd been told that between the damage he'd done to his leg in the fight itself not to mention the amount of muscle which had wasted away whilst he was in the coma that he would need extensive physiotherapy for the next month at least and so thankfully they'd assigned Gemma to him, one of the better Physiotherapists who he'd worked with over the last week.
"I mean it, Pete," Gemma warned. "The only reason I'm even letting out off this easy is because you flat out refused to get in the wheelchair,"
"I told you I'm fine," he shook his head, taking the crutches out of her hands and staring at them as though he had no idea what to do next.
"Yeah, well tell that to the steel plate where your knee used to be," Gemma rolled her eyes and took a step back, giving him some more space and gesturing for him to stand up. "Show me one more time,"
"Are 'aving a laugh?" he groaned.
"No," she clapped her hands. "Now, come on monkey, dance for your master!"
"Whatever happened to that bedside manner shit you lot are supposed to be so good at?" he grumbled "Its an urban legend we tell patients to shut them up." Gemma laughed. "You ok so far?"
"Yeah," Pete nodded, slowly crutching across the room, occasionally veering off course but mostly, it wasn't as hard as he thought it would be.
"Hey, you're a natural." She smiled. "My next appointment's in half an hour, if you come with me, you guys can race,"
"Funny," Pete told her, collapsing back onto the edge of the bed and wincing slightly as the movement caused his knee to throb. "But you can count me out,"
"You sure?" she raised an eyebrow. "He's in his fifties, you could easily take him,"
Noting the expression of pain on his face, she walked back over to the bed and gestured for him to lie back.
"You remember the exercises, right?" she gently placed her hand on his knee. "You start off really slow…that means no jumping the gun just because it doesn't hurt. Not feeling any pain doesn't mean your knee has magically healed itself," she tapped the bandage lightly. "And my whole 'no running, walking, or doing anything that will stress the joint' policy isn't just for kicks, alright?"
"I'll be fine," Pete frowned. "You've met Allie, I'll be lucky if she lets me breathe without her supervision, let alone anything else."
"Can you blame her after all this?" Gemma raised an eyebrow and double checked the bandage, making sure it was wrapped tightly. "If it was me, I'd have you locked in a room with no sharp corners and bars on the windows."
Before Pete could answer her, there was a shout of 'You filthy fucking whore!' from the living room and he winced at the expression on Gemma's face.
"Playstation?" she smirked.
"How did you know?" he laughed, nodding gratefully when she clipped his bandage back into place and looked at him. "Right, you're all set for today," she clapped her hands against her hips. "So I'll see you same time tomorrow,"
"Cheers, Gemma," Pete pulled himself up into a sitting position, watching as she pulled her bag onto her shoulder and smiled at him.
"No worries," she pointed at him with her pen. "Just remember what I said about taking it easy, alright? Allie's got my card so call me any time. I'll see myself out," she grinned. "You go play playstation,"
He smiled at her as she left but didn't make any move to get up and join the boys, instead staring down at the swollen, bandaged mess that was his knee. He'd known when Tommy had hit him that the break was bad but nowhere near as bad as this; apparently Tibia Plateaux fractures were more commonly seen in motorcycle accidents, due to the amount of pressure that was needed to cause the bone to break in half like that. So with torn meniscus and a total of 8 breaks in his leg, he was looking at a fucking long recovery if he ever wanted to run or play footie again.
"Alright, my lover?"
Looking up, Pete saw Harry standing in the doorway holding a can of coke which he then opened and handed to him along with his pain killers.
"Your physio's a bit of alright, isn't she?" he smirked. "Don't suppose she's mentioned a boyfriend or anything?"
"You better not let Lara hear you say that," Pete laughed, swallowing the pill and placing the coke can on the nightstand. "Or you can kiss your bollocks goodbye,"
"As if Harding needs a reason to kiss his own bollocks," Benjamin quipped as he walked past the brunette and into the room to sit on the chair at the end of Pete's bed. They'd set him up in the guest room downstairs which overlooked the pool; a much nicer sight than the grey buildings he was used to seeing from his flat back home.
"Come again, Scotty?" Harry frowned.
"Oh come off it, mate," Benjamin scoffed. "Everyone knows the bloke that was in the shower one day, looked down and thought, 'I wonder…' and ended up in casualty with a slipped disc in his neck." He pointed at Harry. "You are that bloke, brother,"
"Think about me in the shower often, do you?" Harry winked causing Pete to laugh properly for the first time in weeks.
"24/7," Benjamin deadpanned and then whistled as he looked around the room. "This is classified as a guest room?" he cried. "Its bigger than my entire fucking flat," his eyes landed on the Queen size bed and he raised his eyebrows. "I take it after a month out of action, you and Allie will be making the best of this, though, eh brother?" he frowned. "It is just your leg that's broken, right? I mean you didn't take a beating south of the border, did ya? Ay, ay, maybe you can play doctor..." he picked up one of the crutches and raised an eyebrow. "I dread to think what you could do with this thing,"
"Fucking hell, mate," Pete laughed. "You do know Harry's her brother, right?"
"Don't mind me, Dunham," Harry rolled his eyes, sitting down in Pete's wheelchair which Gemma had brought over for him 'just in case'. "Personally, I make the conscious choice to ignore the fact that you violate my little sister on a regular basis,"
"Right, I've not had nearly enough drugs to listen to this shit," he laughed. "Now piss off so I can get changed,"
"Ay," Benjamin nodded. "I best be getting back to work anyway, I only came over for lunch," he saw the brief flash of pain in Pete's eyes and winced. "Hey, your boys miss you like fucking crazy," he smiled. "Plus its getting harder and harder to fend off Moby Dick on my own. She keeps asking about you and being the mug I am, I get sucked into the conversation," he pointed at Harry who had his mouth open, about to speak. "Make a joke about me getting sucked and I'll beat you to death with this," he lifted one of Pete's crutches and waved it threateningly.
"'Arry, you twat!" Swill shouted from the living room. "Its your turn and you better pull your finger out your arse coz we're losing,"
"Shit," he muttered, jogging back out into the hallway.
"So how's the Physiotherapy going?" Benjamin asked.
"S'Alright," Pete shrugged. "Gemma's pretty sound, she reckons I'll be back at work by Christmas,"
"Six months?" Benjamin shook his head. "Christ,"
"Its not that bad," Pete argued. "Y'know me, mate. She says six, but give it two and I'll be back out there on the pitch,"
Benjamin knew that was supposed to make him feel better, that he was supposed to crack a joke and smiled at his mate, but he couldn't. They'd all had to watch as Pete threw himself into this mess and now they'd have to watch as he tried desperately to claw himself out and it wasn't going to be easy for any of them.
"I best be buggering off," he jerked his head towards the door. "Before Moby Dick eats all the cake one of the kids brought in," he laughed but Pete knew his heart wasn't it in. "I'll call round later in the week though," he took a step towards the bed and took Pete's hand, shaking it lightly. "You take care o' yourself, brother,"
Walking briskly into the hallway, he left Pete sat on the edge of the bed, letting the silence reign over him for a long moment picturing the fear that had been in Benjamin's eyes. He knew it all too well because he'd seen it in the mirror every day since he'd first woken up. It plagued him, taunted him and robbed him of what little sleep he was getting anyway. It was disturbing because he knew that he should be praying to whoever the fuck it was up there that had decided to wake him up.
But as he stared down at his knee, at the cuts marring the flesh on his hands and arms, he wondered, not for the first time since Allie had brought him home, if really being awake was something to be all that grateful for.
Fire.
That's the only way he could describe it. The pain washing through his leg felt as though someone was dragging scorching hot nails across the inside of his knee. Crutching over to the guest bathroom, Pete reached for the light, almost coming off balance as he flicked the switch, illuminating the honey coloured walls and stumbled over to the small sink, where he clutched the sides of it desperately. Grabbing one of the small towels hanging on the heated rail, he doused it with cold water, spraying some onto the marble counter and his black t-shirt.
"Fuck," he hissed, turning slowly and sliding down the wall, careful not to bend his leg as he slid all the way to the floor, wasting no time in unclipping his bandage and revealing the flesh underneath. It was red and angry looking, the incision they had made to insert the pins into his leg throbbing as the stitches did their job and pulled the skin tighter. Not particularly caring about the consequences that moment, he slapped the cold towel on top of it, hissing in pain but then sighing in relief as the pain subsided for all of a second. The heat from his leg seemed to seep into the cotton and he knew what had to be done.
Leaving the bandage on the floor next to him, Pete gripped the top of the counter and pulled himself up, crying out when his knee bent backwards, too unstable without the bandage to support it.
"Fuck!" he practically screamed. Looking down, he expected to see blood where the stitches had opened, but there wasn't any, there was only raw, angry skin.
Leaning his forehead against the wall, he closed his eyes, ignoring the tears which were a combination of frustration and pain leaking out of his eyes, instead choosing to slam his fist into the tiled wall.
"Fuck it!" he shouted.
Who the hell had he been kidding earlier? He wasn't going to be ok in two months time, he wasn't even sure about Gemma's estimate of six months. Right now he felt like he was dying, like his body was trying to give up, shutting down slowly but surely and trying to coax his brain to do likewise.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, he saw that it was only 4.37am, which meant he'd been asleep for a grand total of two hours. Allie was asleep in her own room upstairs; even though she had wanted to stay with him, as he had quickly point out, she wasn't the lightest of sleepers with her constant tossing and turning. All it would take was for her to roll over or kick him slightly and he'd be right back where he started. A part of him wanted her here, just because she always had that talent for making him feel better, even if it was just with a simple touch or kiss, she could always manage to take his mind off something. But the other part of him, the part which was no staring into the mirror and feeling sick at the sight of the stranger staring back at him, didn't want her to be around for this.
Yanking the medicine cabinet open, he grabbed the bottle of co-codamol and unscrewed the cap, pouring the contents into his hands and then chucking them into the bin, most of them missed, but he didn't care, instead reaching for the next packet.
He didn't need the fucking things, they weren't helping anyway. Gemma had promised that if nothing else, they'd knock him out for a few hours and they weren't even doing that. The sweat was trickling down his face now, stinging his eyes as it clung to his lashes and dropped onto his nose.
Another wave of pain washed through him and unable to stop himself, he actually vomited into the sink, coughing violently and spilling the second bottle of pills onto the floor. In the split second his body jerked, the toes on his right leg momentarily brushed the floor and the pain shot through him like lightening, causing white spots to appear in front of his eyes. His hands stared shaking and despite the fresh droplets of sweat pouring off of his head, he couldn't remember a time when his body had ever felt colder.
Scrambling through the cupboard for the third bottle of pills, he made a point of opening them carefully, dry swallowing three of the fuckers in a mental 'up yours' to the recommended dosage of one to two pills on the label. Bending his head down, he grimaced and then switched on the taps, rinsing his vomit out of the sink only to replace it a second later.
Coughing up the last of it, Pete wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and panted, trying to calm his body down.
"Fuck, I can't do this," he whispered, lifting his eyes to the mirror and almost jumping when he saw Allie standing in the doorway, staring at him in horror as her eyes moved back and forth between his own and the pile of pills next to the sink and on the floor.
Panic flashed over her face and Pete noticed her hands were shaking as she shook her head and took a terrified step into the bathroom, her voice barely above a whisper as tears welled up in her eyes.
"Pete, what the hell have you done?"
To be continued very, very soon...dare I mention the 'R' word?..no, no, I won't. You're smart enough to figure out what I want by now... hahahaha!