A huge thank you for those of you who review religiously, you're one of my five reasons for being the other four being Charlie Hunnam, gin based cocktails, anything with caramel on it and my car. So...you know, let that make you feel good :D
To those of you giving me PM abuse about the fact 'WE'RE 7 CHAPTERS IN AND THEY HAVEN'T EVEN KISSED YET ARE YOU SHITTING ME YOU EVIL WHORE...'
I feel your pain, I do. But its important for their friendship to come across before they cross that line. And they do. Believe me. Just not quite yet.
We're entering the GSE zone with a heavy dose of flirting so you have been warned. Lip action is imminent.
Though I love that you guys are so passionate about these characters being together that I can actually get you to hate me. You're going to hate me a lot more in the future, you have my word on it. But for now...
Steve Dunham's 23 years on earth had certainly contained better days than this one. As he woke to the sound of bin men cursing and hurling metal at one another, the gears on the truck churning with no regard for those still in the land of nod, he felt only one thing: pain.
Rising to his feet, he reached out to steady himself on the arm of the sofa that had served as his bed and stumbled down the short hallway to the bathroom, yanking a tad too hard on the dangling light switch and causing it to ping back, bouncing off of the wall like a rogue bullet.
"Fuck me," he muttered, catching his reflection and rubbing his hand along his jaw bone which was thick and tinged with purple.
"How much do you remember?"
He cast his eyes past his own face to that of Terry as he leaned against the door frame, still clutching a can of beer and drawing a snort from Steve.
"I remember being in a shitty mood," he cocked his head, recalling how dark his world had become in the split second he walked through his own front door and saw his father towering over his brother, the blonde girl stood frozen with fear in the corner of the room. "Then there was a few beers, about four hours of black, more beers and then some Yid wankers on the way home,"
"I'm all for a ruck but fuck me," Terry hissed as a muscle in his back protested painfully at the simple motion of turning his head. "Give us some notice next time, son,"
"You're gettin' old," Steve smirked, slapping his friend's stomach as he sauntered back into the living room. "I keep tellin' you to lay of them pork pies,"
"Oh fuck off, Dunham," Terry flipped him the finger before slamming the bathroom door shut, the sound of the shower a moment later drowning out Steve's booming laughter.
Shaking his head, he yanked the fridge open and reached for a bottle of water, his mouth suddenly dryer than the Sahara; truth be told, he knew last night was a cheap shot. The lads they had encountered were far from being front line with the Tottenham firm but it was either take his anger out on them or let it fester and risk going home in the early hours of the morning and finishing his father off with whatever sharp object he could find.
Perching on one of the old kitchen stools in Terry's flat, Steve breathed deeply and pondered where to go from here. He knew his mum was at their Auntie's and that Pete was safe with Allie but both those situations were only temporary. Like it or not, they would have to go back at some point and that meant facing Michael Dunham. Steve knew that had he not arrived when he did last night, he'd either be burying his brother or his father in the coming days and judging from the way Pete's eyes had turned almost black as he snarled at their father, Steve had his money on the latter.
Deciding he needed a full English with extra hash browns before he even contemplated his next move, he closed his eyes and brought the cold water bottle to his forehead, feeling a calm seep through his body for the first time in 24 hours.
That was of course until his phone rang. Growling, he flipped it open without looking at the caller ID and barked into the receiver.
"Unless this is the bird from Buffy and its National Blow Job Day, I ain't interested,"
"Don't put visuals like that in a man's head when he's only 'ad four hours sleep, Stevie," Pat grimaced audibly down the line. "And even if it was, what the fuck would she be callin' you for?"
"Get out of it, you tart," Steve laughed. "What the fuck are you doin' up in the land of the living before 10am?"
"Well picture my surprise, Stevie," Pat's voice took on an edge the younger Dunham wasn't sure he liked. "When I get home, eyes on the prize of a cheeky nap and get interrupted by your baby brother knockin' on my door lookin' like he went fifteen rounds with Ali down a glass chute and out through the arse of a camel,"
"Poetic," Steve cocked his head and pursed his lips.
"Where is he?" Pat demanded and Steve knew exactly who he was talking about.
"I dunno, Pat," he sighed. "I glassed him right over the head and left him in the house, so either he's dead or I'm about to be,"
"I ain't letting this go on," Pat told him firmly. "I'm straightenin' this out once and for all,"
"Are you sure…"
"Leave Michael to me," came the reply, his uncle's voice darker than he had ever known it. "And as for Petey…"
Steve held his breath, waiting for the reprimand he was sure would follow. On the other side of the phone, he heard a door shut and Pat lowered his voice to a whisper.
"Did he lose his eyesight before or after Michael floored him because that Harding girl…"
Steve laughed, relief flooding through him as he shook his head and leaned on the kitchen counter, wondering if he should start a tally chart for the people who were left dumbfounded as to why Pete and Allie hadn't figured themselves out yet.
"Don't get me started, Pat," he snorted. "Believe me, I've been fucking waiting on him to get his shit together for going on a decade,"
"Christ alive," Pat groaned. "The fact I share a bloodline with that fuckin' idiot is worrying. But we'll tackle one thing at a time with Petey." There was a pause. "I'm bringing him to Sunday's meet,"
At that, Steve went cold; the Firm was a Dunham tradition, started by Pat and Michael in the mid 80's. At first it had been Pat, Michael, Terry's father Jimmy and a few of the old boys from the building sites but it had grown, becoming an all-consuming monster in East London and so the GSE was born out of fire, recession and a Thatcher generation with a taste for blood. Steve had earned his stripes much younger than any of the other lads, going to a match with his father when he was sixteen and finding himself caught between the GSE and the Red's on the way home. Every fibre of his being had told him to turn and run, to listen to what his father was shouting at him and head for the nearest tube, get the fuck out of there.
But the second one of the Red's had shouted at him, pointed at him, singled him out as though he was an easy bet, a fire spread through him and before he knew what he was doing, he had picked up a bottle and hurled it with all his might, the rage coursing through his veins flourishing as he saw it hit the older man and draw blood. It was something he was meant for, he knew that but Pete…
Pete was different; he was smart for one thing. Even when he wasn't trying, his grades never dipped below the odd B. He had a good heart, he trusted people more than Steve ever had, gave them the benefit of the doubt no matter who they were or where they came from. Unlike Steve's vision of the world, everyone was innocent until proven guilty in the eyes of Pete Dunham.
"You sure about this?" he croaked out.
"You're not, I take it?" Pat countered, his tone not angry but curious.
"He's a good kid," Steve shook his head. "I don't know if this is what's best for him, especially with what's just fuckin' gone down,"
"Michael ain't involved in this," Pat replied, his voice firm. "He has no say anymore, not after this." He paused. "He's out."
Steve closed his eyes, knowing damn well what he just heard was the official declaration of World War III.
"Look," Pat continued, as though reading his mind. "This goes two ways and you know that. Men either embrace the madness or they let it ruin them. Pete ain't the latter,"
Steve nodded to himself, knowing deep down that was the truth; Pete had a licence on his rage unlike most of the other Dunham men. The only two things that could break him entirely of control was anyone posing a threat to either their mother or Allie.
"That's what you think?" Steve asked him again.
"That's what I think."
He breathed, picturing his brother stood beside him at every meet. Their bond was deep as it was but this…this was different. This was a brotherhood they chose.
"Well then, Major," Steve smirked. "Let's show our boy what he's been missing."
"Good lad," Pat told him, the grin evident in his voice as he hung up the call.
Placing the phone down on the counter, Steve tapped his foot manically against the metal footrest of the stool and laced his hands together behind his head. The last time two Dunham brothers had helmed the GSE, it had lost momentum after a few years, its reputation getting lost in the sea of other Firms, its notoriety dimmed somewhat. But Steve knew he and Pete could change that. A new era. Without their father. As he had always dreamed.
"You sure you're alright getting home?"
Allie glanced up from where she was tying the laces on her white converse, trying her best to avoid the Staffordshire terrier who was still hell-bent on licking her to death. Glancing up at Pete, she fought the urge to roll her eyes, knowing that being overprotective was just part of the Dunham package. She had learned that the hard way when he used to force her to wear his coat every time they went anywhere after school to cover what her pathetic excuse of uniform didn't.
"I'm pretty sure I can handle it," she told him, standing up and blowing a wisp of honey coloured hair from her eyes, still sparkling despite the shadows underneath them. "It's the same journey I've made roughly five times a week for the last seven years," she cocked her head thoughtfully. "Not mentioning that a good 65% of those journeys have been made blind drunk on the underground, so if I can get home still clutching my ramen noodles at 4am, today should be a walk in the park,"
Pete laughed lightly, knowing deep down she was right but that didn't shake the guilt he felt at sending her out on her own after everything she had done for him in the last 24 hours. But as she had pointed out, if he drove back with her just to watch her walk through her front door then it meant him having to drag his still black and bruised form across London under the scrutiny of daylight.
"Alright but you call me the second you get there," he told her sternly, crossing his arms and trying not to return the grin she shot at him as she leaned down and engulfed Sandy the incessant staffie in a huge hug and nuzzled her neck. "Allie," he pushed.
"Yes, ok!" she laughed. "Jesus, I might call Nancy and ask her to bring back some Valium," the blonde released the dog and stood, resting her hands against Pete's chest and tried not to think about how firm it felt beneath her fingers. "Stop worrying about me and focus on yourself,"
"I'm fine," he snorted, wishing more than anything that he could have forced a touch more certainty into his voice. "Dose of aspirin and a kip and I'll be sweet as,"
"You off, darling?" Pat called as he strolled down the hallway clutching yet another cup of coffee, thankfully interrupting what Pete knew was going to be one of Allie's 'You're-So-Full-of-Bullshit' speeches.
"I am," she smiled, all peachy lips and glittering eyes. How the hell his nephew hadn't clocked onto this girl yet, Pat would never understand. "Thanks for letting me drool on your sofa and hog the remote,"
"Anytime, sweetheart," Pat told her earnestly. "Nancy will be gutted when I tell her she missed ya,"
He stepped forward and pulled the slip of a girl into his arms, subtly bringing his lips to her ear.
"Thank you don't cover it," he whispered, squeezing her arms affectionately. "You're a diamond, I won't forget this,"
Allie felt tears sting her eyes as she pulled back and saw the sincerity in the old man's eyes; she knew Pat saw Pete as a son, probably more than Pete saw Michael as a father. Their bond had always been so palpable, hence why this was the only place she was willing to leave him and walk away knowing he was in safe hands.
Pete's gaze shifted between them, a frown marring his handsome features as he tried to work out what it is he might have missed. Before he could ask any questions, Pat gently patted Allie's cheek and sauntered back down the hall, whistling yet another Beatle's track as he did so.
"'Hey Jude' was McCartney, it doesn't count," Allie called to him referring to their childhood joke about whether the Rolling Stones were better than the Beatles. Allie had gone with the Stones whilst Pat, ever the patriot had fought her to the death over a Sunday roast as to why the Beatles won hands down. Giggling when he swore loudly without turning around, instead throwing a hand gesture in her direction. "And he has the stones to call himself a Beatle's fan," she snorted, feigning disgust as she slung her purse over her shoulder and walked to the front door. Pete followed her, the heat emanating from his body making her feel jittery just as it had when they sat side by side on the sofa, his bare arm occasionally brushing hers and sending shocks right through her.
"I um," Pete shoved his hands into his pockets as she came to a stop and turned with her back to the door, the black paint framing her and making everything about her stand out even more. Her eyes seemed to grow greener, her skin glowed, her lips…oh fuck, she was biting her bottom lip, reaching her long fingers up to tuck some hair behind her ear. When did all these tiny little things she had probably done for years suddenly seem to scream 'come hither'?
Yanking his hands from his pockets again, he scrubbed his face with his hands and before he even knew what he was doing, placed his hands palms flat against the surface of the door behind her.
What in fuck's name was he doing?
"What do you do the second you get back?" he asked her, trying to keep his eyes on hers and not allow himself so much as a lightning fast glance at her lips.
"I call you," she told him. Was it just him or had her breathing changed? "Pete, nothing is going to happen to me on a 20 minute drive from Barking to Kensington,"
"I know," he rolled his eyes and looked down at the floor for a long moment. "I just..."
Allie fought to keep herself still; this was new. Sure, she and Pete had play fought and been close up like this before but this time…what was he doing to her? Couldn't he see the blush creeping up her neck or the sharp rise and fall of her chest?
"Thank you," he told her, the tone of his voice softer, less demanding. She lifted her eyes back to his and felt as though her ribs were suddenly too small for her body, like she was bursting out from inside. "For what you did last night; I don't think I tell you enough how much…"
He stopped when Allie pressed her thumb against his lips, using the leverage of his arms either side of her to pull herself up and brush her lips over his cheekbone. How was it that splashing his face with water had felt like getting punched all over again but her lips against the bruise felt like rose petals, barely there at all. She pulled back and stared at him, a soft smile on her lips.
"You don't need to," Allie told him, meaning it. She didn't need him to thank her. Jesus, she was his best friend, this is what she did. This is nothing short of what he would do for her. Her stomach sank as she realised that actually had the situations been reversed and Allie had been the one attacked, Pete Dunham would without a doubt be under arrest for murder right now.
"I'll call you later," she let her hand slip down his face and let out her first real full breath as he pulled back from her. Having him that close wasn't good for her health, she was sure. "Get some sleep," she smirked. "And let me know if you change your mind about the makeup,"
"Piss off," Pete laughed, shoving her playfully down the path.
"I'm serious," Allie walked backwards, the sun bouncing off of her hair and making her glow. "I've still got some blue eyeshadow, it would really bring out your eyes,"
Giggling when he merely shook his hand and raised his middle finger, she frowned when suddenly Pat appeared at the door next to him, squeezing through and making his way towards her, his pace faster than it would be usually, a grim smile on his face.
"Pete, do us a favour and feed the mutt, will ya?" he nodded to Sandy who was whining at the door, her teeth bared as she stared across the road at nothing in particular.
"What's wrong with 'er?" Pete frowned; Sandy was the most stoic dog in the world yet here she was about ready to tear into the brick wall she was stalking behind.
"Fuck if I know, she's a woman, changes her mood every four seconds," Pat called back and then sent an apologetic look at Allie as he opened her car door for her. "Present company excluded," he told her with a wink.
"Nice save," she laughed, fastening her seat belt. "Is everything ok?"
"Yeah," Pat nodded. "All's well that ends well and all that bollocks. Just realised I'd left my manners at the barn I was born in and had forgotten to see you out properly,"
"Ok," Allie narrowed her eyes, not quite buying it but knowing with the Dunham men, sometimes it was better to remain in ignorant bliss. "Look after him for me,"
"I will, sweetheart," Pat told her, shooting her a genuine smile. "Now go home and get some rest; he'll be 'ere the rest of the week, I ain't letting him out of my sight so pop round whenever you like,"
Allie nodded and peered out of her window, laughing as Pete fought with the dog, using all his strength to pull her in by her collar. She finally relented and they both disappeared into the house, leaving the door open as Allie's beetle peeled away from the curb and set off down the road.
"Oi, Pat!" Pete's voice boomed from the house. "Help me out with this thing, would ya? She's loosin' 'er fuckin' marbles over something,"
"She ain't wrong, son," Pat muttered, levelling Michael Dunham with a hard stare as he sat in a car across the road. It wasn't his and Pat didn't need to ask to know he'd stolen it in a drunken stupor. What disturbed him more was how long had he been parked there and what was he planning on doing? He had spotted him from the bathroom window and raced down, knowing Allie was about to make her way outside on her own. His concern wasn't so much for her safety but what would have happened if Michael did something stupid and Pete was there; he had sworn last night that if his father had done anything to Allie, he would have killed him and Pat believed him completely.
Whether it was Pat or Steve…or Pete, Michael Dunham was a wanted man. And the trouble with wanted men was that they knew they had nothing left to lose...and that's what made them dangerous.
Hope you enjoyed the giggles and they awww will they/won't they flirting because the next two chapters...all I can do is apologise in advance. #AngstFest2015