Huge, great big thanks to those of you who left such kind words on the last chapter, it made my week. I had to take some time off of work and uni because I had an operation on my knee on Friday, hence the delay in getting this up but please enjoy :) Ready for more flirting and a big ass twist at the end? You know you are…

"So explain to me again how it is you landed your grubby mitts on tickets to a match that sold out two weeks ago?"

Pete smirked from where he leaned against the door frame of his makeshift bedroom at Pat's house, his toothbrush dangling from the corner of his mouth as he watched Bovver scowling down at the pile of job applications in his lap.

"Told you," he shrugged. "Pat knows a bloke,"

"Well unless its Alan Pardew, I'm calling bullshit," the dark haired man shot back.

"Call it all you want, mate," Pete laughed, chucking his toothbrush onto the dresser next to him and ruffling Bovver's already unruly hair as he passed him. "Point is in a few hours' time, I'll be in the stands holding a piss warm beer and cheering on the might Hammers,"

"Don't forget to send us a post card, will ya?" Bovver sniped bitterly, throwing the pen he was holding to the ground and shaking his head. When you had zero qualifications beyond a C grade GCSE in woodwork, what hope did you have of landing a job that paid more than £2.00 an hour in London?

"Oh don't be such a little bitch," Swill piped up as he tumbled into the room with Dave right behind him, his arms full of bags of crisps and cans of beer. "We're still meeting you lot for a few cheeky beers after, yeah?"

"At the Abbey," Pete nodded, scrubbing his short blonde hair with a towel before pulling on a black sweatshirt. "Stevie's getting the drinks in," he shouted loud enough for his brother to hear him downstairs, a moment of silence following before a shout of "Fuck off, you twat" carried back up to him.

Chucking, he flopped down onto the mattress and stared up at the ceiling, noting the glow in the dark stars painted onto it and feeling his stomach sink. Pat and Nancy had turned their attic into a bedroom for the child they would never have; he remembered being around nine when they had painted it, not understanding until he was older why it was Nancy had all but nailed the door shut one day, tears in her eyes as she locked and walked away from it, never intending to return. Moira had explained to him later that after four miscarriages, Nancy found out she was unable to carry a child full term. And so she and Pat had turned their affections to the Dunham boys, spoiling them with money they didn't have to give away to begin with, sneaking Pete and Steve to the cinema when they knew Moira didn't have the money and now…literally unlocking something they had hidden away for the pain it caused them, just to give them a home.

"'ere, did you hear Fábregas is talking to Pardew about coming on side?" Dave interrupted his morbid train of thought and he snorted, sitting upright and staring at the back of his head.

"Fuck off," Pete reached for his trainers, half stuffed under the bed and shoved his feet into them. "As if that tart would take the cut he's on to come over to us,"

"Gospel of Paul, mate," Dave cast a lightning fast glance at him as he stared at the TV screen where Swill was currently doing his best not to get shot in Golden Eye. And failing.

"Speaking of tarts," Pete raised his eyebrows in Swill's direction. "What ever happened with you and that posh bird from Allie's party?"

"You what?" Swill frowned, throwing his controller at Dave and then smirking. "Oh yeah….well you know,"

"Don't go all fuckin' coy on me, son," Pete laughed. "Me and Allie saw exactly what you got up to,"

"A gentleman never tells," Swill answered in his snootiest voice, taking a long sip of his beer and making a point to hold out his pinkie finger for emphasis.

"A gentleman sure as shit doesn't do what you did to that poor bird," Pete snorted, drawing laughter from Dave and even Bovver as Swill turned a rare shade of red. "Oh yeah, mate, we saw it all. Scarred me for life,"

"And what exactly were you two pervs doing eyeing me up with my snake out?" he fired back, narrowing his eyes. "Sexual tension between you ain't bad enough, you 'ave to watch me getting on it?"

"You what?" Pete raised an eyebrow at him as though he was insane. "Mate, me and Harding are a lot of things but we ain't that."

Swill simply smirked at him, Dave paused his game and turned around to stare at him, even Bovver ceased shuffling through the papers on his lap and raised an eyebrow in the blonde's direction.

"What?" Pete burst out.

"Oh, Petey," Swill shook his head, genuine disappointment etched onto his more rounded features.

"Oi, leave 'im alone," Dave nudged his friend, a devilish glint in his eye. "Poor bastard is in denial, you know that,"

"You lot are out of your fuckin' tree," Pete pointed at them, getting very busy looking for his wallet, hoping that if he moved around enough they wouldn't see the blush creeping up his neck. Could they read his mind or something? Ever since last weekend when he had spent the night in her bed, she was all he could think about. Which wasn't entirely unusual, as his best friend she was never far from his mind but now he wasn't just thinking about jokes he had to remember to tell her or films he had to force her to watch. He was thinking about how soft her skin was, how fucking good her lips felt when they brushed his cheek and of course, the menagerie of soft porn underwear she apparently wore on a daily basis.

"Right, so you're tellin' me you've never thought about her naked?" Swill grinned, turning on his bean bag and wiggling his eyebrows at Pete.

"No!" the blonde answered far too quickly. Not that often. Definitely not last night or in the shower this morning. He glanced around at his friends, ignoring the sweat pooling in his palms. "What…'ave you?"

"Fuck yes!" Swill shouted.

"I'm a gentleman, but I ain't a fuckin' eunuch," Dave shook his head.

Pete stared at them wide eyed and then turned to look at Bovver who was surprisingly once again very preoccupied with looking through papers.

"Not you n'all?" Pete begged.

"She's a pain in the arse but she ain't bad to look at," Bovver grimaced as though admitting it somehow meant she would know. "Any of you tell 'er I said that and I'll shred your fuckin' Jacobs off, you hear me?"

"Fuck sake!" Pete shouted, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Oh come on," Swill laughed as he watched his friend pace in small strides and seemingly grow more nervous by the second. "You're tellin' me it's never crossed your mind? You're tellin' me you'd be alright with some bloke all over 'er?"

"Who? What bloke?" Pete barked, coming to a sudden stop and glaring at the lads. Granted, Allie was a big girl and he could already guess some of the colourful words she would rely on if she knew they were having this conversation but if she was getting involved with some bloke then that was unacceptable. It was bad enough when she had dated that bellend William a few months back. Subconsciously glancing down at his left hand, his eyes located the small scar on his index finger which he had gained after slamming his fist into a goal post on the sports field. An action with had nothing to do with the fact he could see Allie and Horsey McPosh across the way with his hand on her arse. Nothing at all to do with that.

"No one, mate," Dave rolled his eyes so only Swill could see. "Calm your tits; she's still single. For now at least…"

"She ain't like that," Pete protested more to himself than them. "She's…"

"What?" Bovver snorted, chiming in again now his omission about not finding her entirely repulsive had died down. "You reckon when she goes to uni she's going to wrap a chain around her knackers and keep a picture of you by 'er bed? Fuck me, Dunham. Come on mate, you're meant to be the smart one of the group,"

"Who the hell told you that?"

All four pairs of eyes darted over to the window where Allie was clinging to the ledge, her hair falling out of the messy bun it was pulled into and into her eyes as she pulled herself upright.

"Fuckin' hell!" Pete cried, running over to her along with the others and pulling her through. From his height, the loose fitting white shirt she was wearing tucked into her black skinny jeans allowed his eyes full view of the pale green lace bra she was wearing and he gulped, letting go of her the second she found her feet in the room. She dusted the front of her jeans off and straightened up, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her dark blue floral blazer and finding her car keys which she chucked onto the bed.

"So come on then," she grinned, perching on the bed next to the pile of papers and craning her neck to see what was on them. "Who told you he's the smart one? Because you were lied to,"

Pete smirked, rolling his eyes but not daring to get any closer to her. She was wearing some kind of perfume that was fogging his brain…and would it fucking kill her to do up ONE more button on that shirt?

"Oh that much we've figured out," Dave winked at her, trying to disguise his laughter as a cough when he caught the dark look Pete sent his way.

"Oh Jesus, what'd you do?" Allie met her best friend's eyes and grinned. He looked so much better than he had last time she had seen him; they had spoken on the phone every night but she had purposefully kept her distance, knowing he needed some time with Pat.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that, sweetcheeks; her brain taunted her. It has nothing to do with the fact you don't TRUST yourself around him at the moment. Because every time it's just you and him, you start noticing his hands and imagine them buried in your hair, you start looking at his mouth and wondering what it would feel like on yours, down your neck, maybe those hands could slip down and start unbuttoning your shirt while he…

"Petey here has never watched Back to the Future, can you believe that?" Swill piped up, pulling her mind from the gutter.

"What?" she raised an eyebrow, hating how husky her voice had suddenly become. "You must have!"

"Nope," Dave answered before Pete could, slinging his arm around Allie's shoulders and meeting the taller man's gaze. "Nuts, isn't it? I mean everyone around him has seen it. We all know its amazing...plus it's been in his face for years and he's never thought to pick it up and check it out,"

Pete growled inwardly, knowing exactly what these bastards were doing; spelling it out to him in front of her. Absolute arseholes.

"Who say's I'll like it?" he shot back, wanting this conversation over with.

"Its very, very nice to look at," Swill told him with a nod.

"Funny, too," Dave winked. "Smart…makes you think, you know it's better that most movies out there but it doesn't know it. I think you're missing a trick if you don't at least consider it,"

Pete clenched his fists, not sure whether to jump out of the window or through Allie though it. Whatever the outcome, he couldn't be in the same room with her right now. Not with thoughts about her naked running through his fucking head.

"You ready, mate?" Steve sniffed, walking into the room and smiling warmly at Allie though briefly wondering how she had gotten into the house. Catching the open window and cobweb on the front of her jeans, he laughed.

"You are aware Pat has a fully functional front door," he told her.

"Old habits," she rolled her eyes, alluding to all the nights she would clamber through their bedroom window in her pyjamas, torch in hand and go on midnight adventures with Pete. They might have stalled for a few weeks when Allie's parents found her bed empty at 4am and called the police but they still managed to sneak out.

"We off, yeah?" Pete stepped into Steve's eye line and nodded manically.

"Christ," his brother frowned and then jerked his chin over to the boys. "You lot let 'im out to do his business on the grass or what? His dandie's are in a right twist,"

"Fuck off," Pete shot back, forcing himself to keep still. "I just want to get out of 'ere…get some air,"

Steve nodded slowly, wondering not for the first time since he had woken up if Pete was well and truly ready for today. The kid was a nervous wreck.

"Alright," he pursed his lips and then whistled through his teeth at the boys. "You lot coming for a few cheeky pre-match beers down the Abbey?" he grabbed his wallet off of the desk and held up a middle finger. "No, you cheeky cunt, they aren't on me,"

The depressed sigh he heard from Swill along with the giggle from Allie let him know his anticipation had been bang on and he turned, playfully slapping Swill's cheek and winking at them.

"If you make it till the end, I'll buy you a kebab later, how's that?" he relented.

"Oh you beauty," Swill grabbed the older man's face and laughed when he shouted and tried to pull away. "Nah, come on, that deserves a kiss, get over 'ere you slag,"

Allie laughed as they fell down onto the bed, Steve caught between laughing so hard he couldn't breath and trying his best to land at least one punch in.

"What're you doin' here anyway?"

Pete's voice broke her out of her daydream and she glanced up at him, horrified at herself when she spotted a droplet of water on his neck from his shower and found herself wanting to lick it off.

Down, girl, she admonished herself silently.

His blue eyes flickered up to hers as he fought to fasten his watch to his wrist, his fingers still bruised and swollen from his encounter with his father last weekend that it kept slipping.

"I was going to see if you wanted to get lunch," she told him, knocking the wind out of him when she pushed his hand to the side and fastened the watch for him, her smooth, delicate fingers brushing his arm as she did so. "I forgot it was football day,"

She pulled back from him and he found himself cold without her touch; truth be told, he was glad the lads were still in the room because he didn't know if he could cope with being alone with her right now.

"Fancy your chances down the pub?" Pete smirked, willing to pay good money to see it.

"Yeah, ok," Allie giggled, rolling her eyes. "I'll go the pub with you and you can come underwear shopping with me as a trade off,"

Pete felt as though his eyes were going to bug out of his head like they did in the old cartoons he used to watch with Steve on a Saturday morning; did she seriously just say that? And more to the point, why the fuck was he considering it?

"You know, we can go get manicures, a nice massage…" she trailed off and he caught the playful glint in her eye. Ok, so she was joking. Of course she was joking.

"Yeah, yeah, alright," he chuckled, slinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a headlock like he normally would to tease her. It was definitely a just friends move…brotherly even. Or at least it would have been if she hadn't pressed her hand against his stomach in an effort to push him away. It was innocent enough but her fingers brushed against the bare skin just under his belly button and it resonated about five inches lower.

Fuck.

Pete let go of her, shoving her away as though she were burning him. So much for playing it cool.

Allie stared at him as though he was nuts, her eyes clamping onto his and a perfect eyebrow arching questioningly.

"You're a little high strung today," she laughed, jerking her chin in Steve's direction as he stood with one foot on Swill's chest, continuing to batter him with a pillow. "Is everything ok?"

Pete knew exactly what she was asking; had anything happened with his father. They had spoken every night since he had moved into Pat's house but made a point of dancing around the subject of Michael Dunham. It seemed ludicrous that now she was finally bringing it up, she was completely off the mark, not understanding the reason for Pete's odd behaviour was actually her.

"I'm fine," he told her earnestly, feeling guilty at the panic and worry which had flashed across her pretty features. "Nothing to worry about…just football stuff,"

"Uh huh," the blonde nodded, clearly not buying it but willing to play along. "So can I look forward to a drunken phone call?"

"Absolutely," he told her with a wink, reaching for his coat and yanking it on. "Probably best to hit a cash point on your way home, I may need bail money,"

"Aye, aye!" Pat's voice boomed through the small room as he leaned against the doorway. "You wankers ready yet?"

Spotting the petite blonde in the middle of the room, a definite smirk playing on her full, peachy lips, he narrowed his eyes and pointed at her with his half empty mug of tea.

"This little piggy wasn't 'ere when I last did a headcount," he cocked his head.

"I scaled the house," Allie nodded to the window and elbowed Pete as she walked past him to give his Uncle a hug. "Everyone thinks he's the reprobate but really, it's me,"

"Always the pretty ones, ain't it?" he directed the question straight at his nephew who smiled far too tightly in return. God help the poor boy, he really was fucked.

"Well, look I'll leave you to it," Allie nodded, giving Pat a quick peck on the cheek before walking over to the bed and scooping up her car keys, jingling them in her hand for a short moment as she battled with how to say goodbye to Pete. Two weeks ago, she'd have thought nothing of jumping on his back and planting a big, wet kiss on his cheek but now if she even attempted that, she had a feeling she might spontaneously combust.

"Lunch," Pete nodded to her. "Tomorrow, yeah? My treat,"

"Sounds great," Allie smiled back at him. "Want me to stop by, force you out of bed and into the shower?"

"You wouldn't need to force 'im, darlin'," Bovver muttered loud enough for just the boys to hear.

The giggling from Steve, Swill and Dave drew Allie's attention and a dark look from Pete while Pat simply grinned, enjoying love's young splendours in all its ignorant bliss and awkwardness.

"Game on, Harding," Pete smirked at her, covertly delivering a sharp kick to Bovver's shin as he crossed the room and gently placed his hand on her back to guide her out.

"Later, blondie," Steve called, giving her a wave. "Give my love to the Lady Lara,"

"Behave," she called back with a giggle as she jogged down the stairs, coming to a stop at the bottom and grunting as Pete, obviously moving too fast, crashed into her and sent her flying backward into the front door.

"Christ!" he half laughed as he grabbed her. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," she grumbled, rubbing her elbow which had connected with the oak door behind her. "I know how Indie felt when that giant boulder was chasing him now, though,"

"Oh, piss off," Pete chuckled. "Always the drama queen, 'ere, lemme have a ganders,"

He took her hand in his and shook it, raising an eyebrow before pulling it up over her head, then down, bending it a few times as she giggled.

"Still attached," he nodded, rolling up the sleeve and peering down to inspect the joint. "Not a mark in sight,"

His hand slid down the unfathomably soft skin of her arm and he wondered briefly why he was torturing himself like this. Maybe this was a phase all male-female friendships went through and all they had to do was kiss and they'd realise it was nothing but hormones.

It's not that, an annoying voice shouted smugly in his head. It's more than that and you know it, you dumb fuck.

"Have fun today," Allie's soft voice broke him out of his own little world and he felt almost relieved. That was until he met her sage green eyes and his mouth went dry. "I know it's been a shitty week for you so just…have fun,"

"You goin' soft on me, Harding?" he teased.

"Please," she scoffed, turning and pulling the front door open, wincing as the early autumn chill in the air hit her square in the face. "I kicked your sorry arse with a Nerf Gun seven years ago and I'll damn well do it again,"

Pete grinned at the memory, opening his mouth to shoot something back at her but then freezing when she turned and gently placed a hand on his face. Holy shit. What was she doing?

Before he could even breathe, his face was buried in her hair, her arms wrapped around his neck tightly as she hugged him hard. She pulled back slowly, their faces inches from each other and when she bit down lightly on her bottom lip, he swore his heart stopped.

"And for the record," she met his eyes, a devilish glint in them. "You can call me Han because we both know I shot first,"

Then with a brush of her lips against the corner of his mouth, she was gone, waltzing down the path all honey hair blowing in the wind and keys jingling as they swung around a dainty index finger.

Pete stared at her as she got into her car and pulled away, unable to move even after her green beetle had disappeared into the ether that was lower Barking. It was only when a large hand clapped down on his shoulder that he blinked, turning to look at his uncle who merely grinned back.

"I'm fucked, aren't I?" Pete half whispered, shaking his head ever so slightly.

"With that girl?" Pat answered, worrying Pete somewhat when he seemed to know exactly what he was referring to. "Son, you never stood a fucking chance."

"Left, son, on your left!"

Edward Joseph Hatcher quickly glanced up, his Uncle's voice bellowing through his ears as he caught sight of the flash of maroon next to him. Taking a hard right and bringing the battered football with him, Eddie spun, volleying it into the air and then slamming his foot back hard, sending it spinning into the goal which was still a good 15 yards away from him. A cheer erupted from the sparse crowd and he grinned, catching the winking old man amongst the others as his team mates jumped on top of him, their celebratory shouts lost as the final whistle sounded.

"There's my boy!" Tommy laughed, clapping him on the shoulder as he ran over. "Fuckin' beautiful, son. Beautiful,"

"Cheers, Uncle Tommy," he panted, downing as much water as he could without stopping for breath. These Sunday morning tournaments amongst the under 21 London boroughs were his only outlet these days; working all the hours God could send in Tommy's garage left little room for anything else, especially university like most of the other lads were going to in a few weeks. Spitting onto the turf, he fought to swallow the jealously surging in his veins; it wasn't that he didn't have a good life, Tommy and Sarah were all he had and though they never said it, he was all they had. Their son Dylan had been killed in a hit and run accident four years ago on his way home from this very pitch. His ghost was always there, Christ, they set a place for him at the table still but that didn't mean they treated Eddie like anything less than a son.

Glancing up, he tossed his water bottle to the ground and frowned when he spotted a man stood across the pitch, his clothes wrinkled and slept in, covered in oil and muck. He was about to open his mouth and shout something to him when he realised the man's gaze was not in fact on him but on Tommy. Snorting to himself, he turned, gently tapping on his uncle's shoulder and pulling him away from the conversation he was steeped in.

"No, I'm telling you, he fuckin' waltzes in, all guns blazin' and I 'ad him up against the wall before he could blink," Tommy laughed, accepting the cigarette his friend Jim was holding out to him. "Typical fuckin' queer starts going on about how he knows I'm over chargin' him and…" he trailed off when he felt a hand gently tapping against the worn leather of his shoulder.

Not a man who enjoyed being interrupted, Tommy turned, his eyes filled with fire but relenting somewhat when he realised it was Eddie.

"You alright, son?" he asked, noting the frown on his nephew's face.

"Think we've made a friend," Eddie laughed, pointing over the far side of the field. "You recognise that geezer? He's been making eyes at you for the last five minutes,"

Tommy squinted into the early morning mist and dew, not seeing anyone that stood out to him. It was mainly joggers and the odd parent leaving the match, no one he could…

The cigarette fell from his fingers, the embers sizzling out instantly as they met the dewy grass at his feet. Inside, his blood turned thick and sluggish, not quite pushing its way around his veins and causing his mind to go blank of anything but shock and anger.

It couldn't be…

"Who is he?" Eddie's voice brought him back to reality.

Just as he spoke the words, the silent figure turned and left, striding through the cars strewn about the grass and into the woodland to their left. Bending down to pick up his fallen cigarette, Tommy smiled grimly and wiped it dry, happily accepting the lighter Jim handed to him.

"No idea, Eddie," he replied, making sure to keep his voice low and even while his brain was doing the opposite, spinning faster and faster, rousing a headache in his left temple as he took a long drag of smoke.

"You get right fuckin' weirdos comin' down 'ere," Eddie shuddered, reaching for his Millwall hoodie and yanking it on. "Fuck knows what he wanted,"

Tommy didn't answer him, too busy searching the dense woodland with his eyes, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of him again and hoping he was wrong. Hoping that he was still pissed from last night's session down the Deacon Arms, hoping he was tired from 6 shifts in a row down the garage.

Hoping with all his might he hadn't just spotted Michael Dunham at his nephews football match with a deadness in his eyes and what looked awfully like a knife in his hand.

Ah-ha! So the Dunham's weren't responsible for Tommy's son's death...something else caused the bad blood between them but you won't find that out until the next chapter...oh and you can look forward to another familiar face coming back not to mention a death in the near future. Come on, guys. Its me. It might be an AU of an AU but its still me. Captain Manic Depressive to the Rescueeeeeeee ;) El xx