First and foremost thank you for all your wonderful reviews, I'm so glad you're enjoying this story! Honestly, I know I say it every bloody time, but it means the world to me, so thank you.

I'm trying to get back to updating regularly, I'm going to aim for a new chapter every weekend. Reviews as always are welcome (don't make a girl beg!) and more than anything thank you for reading, I hope this chapter lives up to its predecessor. The first part was seriously fun to write so I hope you enjoy it, YES there is plenty of Pallie (I LOVE that my obsession now has a ship name!) action in this chapter, its just not at the start.

Thanks again for all your time and love. Big hugs for everyone, El xx

"It's on the house,"

Tommy Hatcher raised an eyebrow at the petit blonde behind the bar, narrowing his eyes somewhat as he caught the tremor running through her fingers as she pushed the pint of Guinness towards him.

"Careful, darlin'," he smirked. "You might go makin' an old man blush,"

"My uh…my old man drinks in the Kings," she stuttered. "And I think you fixed my car last year,"

Squinting at her, Tommy leaned on the bar and peered into her face, noting the redness creeping up her neck and wondering how old she was. At least 18 if she was pulling pints.

"Well then," he pulled back and shoved his wallet back into his trousers. "By my book, that makes us friends,"

"Makes you a fuckin' pedo, more like,"

Tommy snorted, turning to face his nephew was he clambered onto the stool next to him and winked at the blonde who got very busy pulling another pint.

"She's the same age as me, old man," Eddie grinned, clapping his uncle on the shoulder. "Nice try though,"

"Cheeky fuck," Tommy slapped his face playfully and took a long sip of his Guinness. "Fuck are you doin' ere?"

The White Horse whilst just as notorious as the Kings Head was the closest thing to mutual ground this side of the river; granted it wasn't often but on occasion you would see rival firms sat across the bar from one another, no punches thrown or words crossed. Just a few old boys having a beer in a local away from their local. Their own little Swiss amnesty in Bethnal Green.

"I'm surprised you've only just spotted me," Eddie grimaced at the large gulp of Guinness he took and made a note that his next pint would be his usual larger. "I fuckin' chased you like a dog all the way from the station. When you said you was goin' for a beer, I didn't think you meant you were heading to Timbuk-fuckin'-tu."

Tommy chuckled and shook his head, glancing about the pub but spotting no familiar faces. Yet. Once word got out he was here, he dreaded to think who or what would descend on the place.

"Yeah well," he sniffed. "I got business down 'ere so finish your pint and piss off like a good lad,"

He went back to his own drink but caught Eddie staring at him through his peripherals. Of course the kid wouldn't take that as an answer. No, that would be far too easy.

"Business," Eddie repeated slowly. "Last time I checked you was a mechanic."

"Always were a bright spark, you," Tommy told him, tapping his temple for effect.

"Sod off," the younger man laughed. "You know what I mean; since when does fixing motors drag you half way across town to Bethnal Green? Who's car you fixin'?" he snorted. "Ronnie Kray's?"

Tommy felt a smirk pull at his lips, turning to snap back at the little shit when something over his shoulder caught his eye. Christ, somethings never did change did they?

"Not quite," Tommy took a slow sip of stout, baring his teeth as he did so. "But you're not as far off as you'd think,"

Eddie frowned, wondering what the hell his uncle was talking about when suddenly he whistled, the high pitched noise blasting through his front teeth and silencing half the pub. Following his gaze, Eddie felt something go cold inside him. Fuck knows from where, but he recognised the man standing by the doors. His arctic blue eyes held a madness in them that made even Eddie Hatcher feel uneasy; his long fingers were flexing as they hung by his sides, his gaze unwavering as he stared them both down.

"Who the fuck is this?" Eddie whispered to his uncle, clambering to his feet, wanting to be ready if anything kicked off. And from the looks of the man before then who could at best be described as a walking time bomb, Eddie supposed that could happen at any given second.

"You 'ear that, me old chum?" Tommy called, the smirk on his face getting bigger as the man walked closer, coming to a stop next to him but still remaining silent. "My nephew 'ere wants to know who you are,"

The man smiled, it was a sickly smile, one that made your toes curl and your palms sweaty. He looked as though he was on edge, the dark shadows hugging his eyes letting on that sleep was as elusive as sanity these days.

"He want my autograph n'all, does he?" the man scoffed. "I came 'ere for business, son. Not some fuckin' Hatcher family meet and greet."

"He's sound," Tommy snapped, his eyes growing serious. "He won't tell no one, will ya boy?"

"I utterin' a single fuckin' word until his spotty little arse is out of my sight," came the reply. "Your choice."

Eddie snorted, shaking his head and leaning forward to leer at the older man.

"Are you gonna let this cunt talk to me like th-…"

"Eddie," Tommy turned, his eyes sharp but not angry. "Give us ten, will ya?"

Eddie froze, his eyes widening as he processed what his uncle had just said. Some bloke he doesn't recognise walks into a pub, starts getting lairy and Tommy's here telling him to piss off?

"Nah," he jerked his chin out defiantly. "I'm alright 'ere,"

"Eddie," Tommy repeated, his voice firmer. More intimidating. "I asked ya once…"

Knowing what that look combined with those words often meant, Eddie did his best to keep the look of rage and disgust off of his face as he snatched his pint from the bar and found his feet.

"I'm goin' out for a smoke." He muttered, pulling a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "You girls enjoy your little chat,"

He wiggled his fingers at them and did a little curtsey before making his way towards the doors, shoving through them unceremoniously as he attempted to light his cigarette and not spill his pint at the same time.

"Got a right lairy little prick on your hands there,"

Tommy raised his eyebrows, turning to face Michael Dunham as he stared furiously at the now closed doors Eddie had vanished through.

"One's better than two," Tommy reminded him then winced. "Oh that's right. Word on the street is your two failed abortions don't want fuck all to do with ya anymore,"

Michael shot him a dark look and took a step forward, more than aware that behind him a few of the locals were visibly tensing up, clutching their pint glasses a little bit harder than usual.

"I didn't come 'ere for fuckin' father of the year tips," Michael growled.

"Nah," Tommy sat back on his stool and grinned. "You came 'ere because you need a favour. A fuckin' big one if memory serves,"

"Don't act like doin' this won't solve both of our problems," Michael laughed mirthlessly. "We've both got our reasons for wanting Pat Dunham in the ground."

With that, Tommy's smirk faded, his eyes turning almost black with anger. He tightened his fingers around his pint glass, letting go of it just before it cracked under the pressure.

"You really wanna go ripping those old wounds open, do ya boy?" Tommy half whispered. "Because last time.."

"Last time don't count," he replied with a shake of his head. "You think about the damage my brother caused you and tell yourself a slap was enough,"

"I put him in fuckin' hospital," Tommy snapped. "He learned his lesson,"

"Did he fuck," Michael laughed. "Patrick has always been the golden boy. When half the firm went down for that fight with the Zulus way back when, he got off. When I got laid off from site, he got his own fuckin' company set up." He shook his head in disgust before looking at the man before him. "And as for you…" he smirked. "Well we all know what 'appened there, don't we?"

Tommy stared hard into his eyes, not willing to look away. Not willing to let himself be shaken with the memories of Pat Dunham…

"And yet he's still mincin' about as though his feet don't touch the fuckin' ground," Michael whispered. "My sons, my boys," he clenched his fist against his chest. "They think he can't do no wrong. My wife looks at him like the sun shines out of his arsehole…and you. You still walk around with his name hangin' over your head. He made a fuckin' fool outta ya, Tommy."

"I was there," Tommy barked. "I don't need no history lesson,"

"See I think you fuckin' do," Michael shot back. "Because the Tommy I knew back then…the one I called my mate,"

Tommy glanced up at him and felt not for the first time deep down, a sadness at the friendship he and Michael once had. Pat too. A friendship that crossed borders. And then divided them like Israel and Palestine fourteen years later.

"He wouldn't 'ave let that happen," Michael continued. "So do us both a favour and finish this,"

Tommy took in a deep breath, nodding to the barmaid when she picked up his now empty pint glass and raised an eyebrow at the crack running down the side of it.

"What makes you think I still give a fuck?" he asked Michael, his head cocked to the side. "Why should I clean up your fuckin' sorry mess of a life by getting rid of your big brother?"

"Because he hasn't forgotten what 'appened," Michael shrugged. "So why should you?"

"The fuck are you yammering on about?" Tommy scoffed. "He's off playing Fairy God cunt to your boys, raking in the queens 'eads on the building site, you honestly thing he…"

"He went to Dylan's funeral,"

Tommy stopped, those words knocking through him like knives. They sliced at his insides, leaving him barren and open, the tears in his eyes palpable as he leaned forward and got in Michael's face.

"Don't push me, Mikey," he whispered, using his childhood name, one that had been lost from his lips for twenty years. "Because you know better than anyone what I'll do,"

"I ain't lying to ya," Michael shook his head, seeing the sadness in the other man's eyes. He wondered briefly how he would felt if it had been Steve. Or Pete even. Seeing one of them mown down by a car as they left a footie game, their bone and blood smeared across the pavement.

"He went to that funeral, Tommy." He carried on. "He stood there watching while they put your boy in the ground." He shook his head. "So you tell me he's moved on. You tell me he don't think about your boy no more,"

Tommy stared at him silently, his eyes bulging and shimmering with thick tears as his breath came out in harsh pants against Michael's face.

"That'll be £2.60," the barmaid placed a fresh pint on the counter. "I'm proper sorry, my boss said he'll chuck me if I give another free one away."

Tommy turned to her, catching the embarrassment and youth in her eyes and relenting slightly.

"Did he now?" he pasted a shaky smile on his lips before pointing at a tall, lanky lad behind her examining the spirit levels. "That him, is it?"

"Yeah," she felt herself get nervous for some reason. "He wasn't giving me grief or…or nothin'..he just."

"'Cuse me, boy," Tommy called him over. "You got a problem with this young lady 'avin the manners to offer me a free drink?"

"Once is manners," the young man snorted. "Twice is a piss take. If you want free booze, there's a few tramps outside, ask them for a sip of White Lightening on your way out,"

"Don't you know who I am, son?" Tommy cocked his head, his lips twisting into a real yet sickening smile.

"I don't care if you're Prince Fuckin' Charles, mate," the lad laughed. "This ain't a charity. So pay up or fuck off,"

Michael tensed as Tommy turned to him and laughed before reaching for the pint glass once more only this time leaning over the bar, his body scrawled across it as he smashed it hard into the young man's face. The blonde next to him screamed as blood splattered across her face, her boss' agonising shrieks getting lost in the sound of chairs being scraped back and knocked over with everyone rushing to get out of there.

"You didn't see a fuckin' thing!" Michael turned and hissed at them. "And I fuckin' mean the lot of ya. Anyone fancies dropping names to the old bill and I'll burn your fuckin' house down, you get me?"

"What the fuck did you do?" Eddie bellowed as he ran back into the pub, pushing through the hoards trying to get out and away from the carnage.

"Nothin'," Tommy replied, wiping a drop of blood from his cheek. "We just have a very fuckin' clumsy barman on our hands,"

"Get the fuck out of 'ere before the filth start showing up," Michael snapped, shoving Tommy forward and having the air promptly knocked out of him when the man turned and grabbed him by the back of the neck, forcing their foreheads together so he could see the madness in his eyes.

"I ain't doin' it for you," he hissed. "You're as bad as he is. Your fuckin' name don't mean nothing to me. But Dylan's does. So I'll end it. But it ain't for you,"

He shoved Michael back and walked towards the door, turning and taking his last few paces backward so he could point in his face, a confused and horrified Eddie following him.

"I'll 'ave your brother rottin' at the bottom of the Thames. Just you fuckin' stay on my side, sunshine." He nodded to the blood at Michael's feet and shook his head. "Or before you can choke out so much as a hail fuckin' Mary….you'll be there with 'im."

"You seriously have to go,"

Pete smirked against Allie's neck as she raised her arms which were currently pinned to the pillow beneath her in a pathetic attempt at shifting him off of her. Ignoring her as he had done for the past twenty minutes since she first ordered him out of her room, he simply carried on kissing his way up and down the soft skin of her neck, gritting his teeth every time she gently moaned his name.

"If my dad catches you, he'll castrate you," she giggled, flexing her hands again in hopes he might let her go. Not that she would use them to do anything trace the muscles in his back. When the man could kiss like this, pushing him away was never going to be an option. "His words, not mine."

"Yeah but your mum loves me," he grinned, pulling his face up to look down into hers. "She'll talk him out of it,"

"Dunham, if she knew you were sneaking into my room every night, she'd sharpen the scissors for him," Allie raised an eyebrow, tracing his cheekbones and feeling the same flutter she always got when he turned his head and kissed her palm.

It had been eight days since the morning in the garden when they had realised the fight against this wasn't a worthy one. Lord knows she had been happier since admitting she loved him, saying the words out loud and seeing the joy in his eyes.

His mouth found hers again, softly at first and then harder, deeper as his hand came up across her waist to cup her breast.

Actually fuck being happier, she was ecstatic.

The transition from best friends to…well, this, was one that Allie had openly admitted to Pete she had been nervous about. It didn't help that by the time they had pulled themselves away from one another in the garden and walked hand in hand back into the house, their friends and her family had taken it upon themselves to start belting Whitney Houston's 'I Will Always Love You' at them. But every night that Pete had come over started as every other night for the last seven years had; he would clamber through her window, knock something off of her mantle as he did so and then they would watch a film or just sit and talk while she got ready for bed.

Only difference was now that when she kissed him goodnight, it was on his lips and it led to him giving her that look which made her body go weak and walking her backwards until they tumbled onto her bed and spent as long as they could without getting caught doing this.

Allie moaned and bit down gently on Pete's bottom lip as without warning, his hands slipped under her camisole, teasing her over her barely there bra. Feeling her gasp, Pete pulled back slightly, begging his body to stay in control just a little while longer, long enough at least to make sure she was ok.

"Too fast?" he whispered, frowning at how husky and thick his voice sounded.

"It took seven years for us to kiss," she giggled, grabbing his t-shirt and pulling him back down to run her tongue over his lips. "I don't think speed is our problem,"

"Hmmm," Pete smirked down at her, winking as he grabbed her free hand again, linking his fingers through hers and pinning them above her head. "That's my girl,"

"Allie?"

"Fuck!"

The blonde shot up in bed, shoving Pete backward with such force that he hit his head on her cast iron bed railings, biting down on his tongue as he did so.

"Shit!" he cried, grabbing at the back of his skull to make sure it was still there.

"Get up!" Allie hissed, pulling him off of the bed and shoving him to the floor.

"Christ, what the hell is goin' on?" Pete frowned at her. "Did I hurt you?"

He worried briefly that despite her saying it was ok, maybe he was moving too fast. The past week every night he had forced himself to leave her room, the saying goodbye portion of the evening was getting harder and harder for him. Pun very much fucking intended.

"Of course you didn't," she smiled softly, cupping his face and leaning in to kiss him, stopping only when she heard the voice again.

"Allie?"

"But if my mother comes in here, she will hurt you." She shoved him down to his knees and pointed to the space under her bed. "I don't care what cockney Kray brother neighbourhood you grew up in, she will rip your balls off and make you juggle them if she catches you in here,"

"Just say we're watching a film," Pete shrugged, doing his best to wedge himself under there.

"Uh huh and after she buys it you can ride your magic unicorn home or maybe sell her some magic beans," Allie rolled her eyes, climbing back onto the bed and leaning over the side to look at him, giggling when she saw how squished he was. "The woman is a lawyer; not only will she smell our bullshit, she'll tell us where the cow to make the steak we ate to crap out the bullshit came from and what its last meal was."

"If I 'aven't told you already, it's the delicate poetry of your speech that I love about you most, Harding," Pete laughed, wincing as one of her ridiculously tall high heels caught him in the eye.

"Save your breath for your prayers, Dunham," she blew him a kiss. "Because if Mama Harding finds you, we're going to need them."

It was at that exact moment Allie's bedroom door began to creak open so she scrambled to make the bed sheets look neat and grabbed for a bottle of nail polish from one of her bedside tables, sitting with her toes out in front of her and aiming for nonchalant.

"Allie?"

Poppy Harding stepped into the large room, her hair in a towel as she raised an eyebrow at her very flustered daughter.

"Oh, hi mum," she smiled, her voice breathy. "Did you call me?"

"Only the three times," Poppy narrowed her eyes. "Sorry, were you asleep?"

"What?" Allie blinked, praying her skin wasn't turning red as it always did when she was nervous.

"No, I was watching a film and painting my nails,"

"Uh huh." Poppy raised an eyebrow, turning her body completely to face the large TV hanging on Allie's far wall. "With the TV off?"

She watched her daughter's face drop slightly and then caught the item in her hands and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

"And do you always use lip balm to paint your nails?"

Allie glanced down at the tube of cherry Chapstick in her hand and cringed, wondering not for the first time how much easier her life would be had she been blessed with Harry's ability to bullshit.

"I'm tired," she breathed, smiling somewhat manically as she chucked the lip balm back onto the dresser and missed. "Very tired. You know…it's been an exciting week, I think I've frazzled my brain,"

"You should try getting an early night," Poppy smiled, walking over to her dresser and coughing to cover up the giggle in her throat. "Ah ha!" she grabbed the bottle of leave in coconut conditioner Allie always stole and grinned. "Got it,"

"Oh, bugger did I steal it again?" Allie winced. "Sorry, Pops,"

Poppy smiled at the nickname, one Allie had picked up when she was just a toddler having overheard her father calling her mother by that name. It had stuck, just as ladybug had for her.

"I'll forgive you," Poppy rolled her eyes, walking over to the bed to place a kiss on her daughter's forehead. "G'night, darling,"

"Night, mum," she smiled, the tightness in her chest loosening up as she watched her mother walk back towards the door.

"And goodnight, Pete."

Allie froze, her eyes wide as she watched her mother turn slowly like something from a horror movie, a huge grin on her full lips. The woman was a fucking witch. She was at the very least into voodoo. There was no other possible way…

"Next time you want to hide your six foot something boyfriend, you may want to consider the en suite bathroom, the closet," Poppy gestured about the room. "Anywhere except under the bed with his feet sticking out the end,"

Allie cringed and sat up on her haunches, shuffling forward slightly and cursing under her breath as she peered through the railings and indeed saw the bare feet of Pete Dunham sticking out from under her bed.

"We were watching a film?" Allie squeaked.

"I'm sure," Poppy laughed then stopped suddenly and pointed at her with the bottle of conditioner, shaking it for effect. "Your father and I used to watch films in bed. Harry was the result of a Godfather marathon,"

"Sweet jesus," Allie moaned, rubbing her forehead as the sound of Pete's laughter drifted out from under the bed.

Walking back into the room, Poppy bent down and peered under the bed, her eyes meeting Pete Dunham's and forcing his laughter to come to a stop. The woman staring back at him had saved his life along with his families, given them more than they could ever pay back and here he was under her only daughter's bed with peach flavoured lip balm all over his neck and his belt unbuckled.

"If you're still here in the morning, I really will rip them off and make you juggle them," she smiled gently at him then at her daughter. "All I ask is that you don't make me regret this and for Christ's sake don't make me a fucking grandmother,"

"Mum!" Allie cried.

"Pedro?" she ignored her, raising an eyebrow at the young man still huddled under the bed.

"Understood," he saluted her, grimacing at the tufts of dust on his arm as he did so.

"Fabulous," Poppy nodded, standing up straight again and practically prancing towards the door, giggling to herself as she did so. "Watching a bloody film!" she laughed harder, kicking the door shut on her way out and leaving the room in silence until Pete's cackle started from under the bed again.

"That did not just happen." Allie cried from behind her hands as she fell back into the nest of feather pillows on her bed.

Pete laughed harder, trying to keep his voice down as he pulled himself to his feet and wiped the dust from his clothes.

"I told ya," he smirked at her, sitting cross legged on the end of the bed and winking. "Your mum fuckin' loves me,"

"Unbelievable," she giggled, blindly jerking her foot out to kick him and giggling harder when he caught it and pulled her further down the bed towards him.

"She's not half as scary as you are," Pete grinned, shaking his head. "I'd take her walking in on us a thousand fuckin' times over the night you came in and caught me going through your underwear drawer,"

"When was that?" Allie exclaimed, lowering her hands and looking at him with wide eyes. Oh dear God, did that mean he'd seen…everything?

"The night you were fixing me up," he told her, both of them knowing what night he meant and not needing to go into further detail. Things were too good right now to have the mere mention of Michael Dunham ruin them. "You went to get food and some clothes for me and when you came back I nearly tore my finger off shutting the fuckin' thing,"

"Oh my God!" she sat up, laughing as it dawned on her. "That explains the weirdness and the blushing,"

"I did not fuckin' blush!" he pointed at her.

"Uh, yes you did," Allie teased. "If I'd known it was because you were going through my unspeakable drawer, I would have understood."

"Yeah well," Pete laughed, rubbing his jaw and praying with all his might a blush wasn't creeping up his neck as he spoke. "Up until that stage I didn't know you had a fuckin' unspeakable drawer so imagine how I felt seeing all that,"

"Hmmm," Allie folded her legs underneath her so she was kneeling and shuffled over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. She felt goosebumps break out over her skin when instantly his hands found her hips, pulling her closer as he licked his lips.

"So you saw that green lacy thing," she cocked her head to one side and ran her hands down to his chest, feeling his heart hammering underneath.

"Yep," Pete mumbled, swallowing hard and trying to get his voice functioning normally. How the hell she could get him from 0 to 60 in less than a second was scary. The way she was hovering over him so her breasts were at eye level wasn't exactly helping his situation.

"And the red halter neck thing, did you see that?"

Her voice was huskier, her eyes on his but they were darker, making the gold flecks in the ivy green irises stand out even more.

"Yep," he nodded, not trusting his voice to say anything else.

"Hmmm," Allie pursed her lips, letting go of him and sitting back enough to pull her camisole over her head leaving her in periwinkle lace bra, the matching panties to which he could see peeking out from just above her boxer shorts. "How about this one?"

Pete held his breath; granted this wasn't the first time he had seen a girl in a bra. Last year at Bovver's birthday party he had done some pretty regrettable things with Rachel Donahue and like any eighteen year old male, he was no stranger to the internet but this….fucking hell.

He had known since the first time he laid eyes on her that Allie Harding was perfect but never in his wildest dreams had he pictured how soft her skin would look, how tempting.

"This one…" Pete cleared his throat but it didn't seem to rid his voice of any huskiness. "This one I didn't see,"

"Oh," Allie bit her lip and felt his hands tighten that little bit more on her hips. "So what do you think?"

Pete took a deep breath and shook his head lightly, meeting her eyes and making her moan internally at the level of lust in them.

"I think you're making it very fuckin' difficult for me to be a gentleman right now," he told her with a smirk which to his glee earned him a genuine giggle.

"Well," she lifted one shoulder in a shrug and leaned forward, brushing her lips softly against his ear before biting down on it. "Who says you have to be a gentleman?"

Pete moved like lightening, his mouth was on hers before she could so much as breathe and he had her laying under him again, his hands moving over her body making her feel things she honest to God thought were only ever in shitty Glamour magazine articles.

"What if my mum comes back in?" Allie closed her eyes as his lips traced her collarbones, the hollow of her throat and back up. "I think that threat was genuine,"

"Then I'll die a very fuckin' happy man," Pete told her, rolling them over so she was above him and silencing her giggle with another kiss.

They lost themselves as they always did, not wanting to push things too fast. Granted as Allie herself had said, it had taken them seven years to get this far but that didn't mean they were ready for everything just yet. They had time. They had forever, they both knew it. Forever was ahead of them, this was only the beginning and so far against everything Pete Dunham's life had brought with it in its short span, things were perfect.

He had his family, he had the perfect girl, he had-

"Allie?"

They both froze, Pete turning his head to glance at her clock and realising it had only been half an hour or so. No way near morning when he'd promised Poppy he'd be gone.

The door crept open just as Allie had thankfully managed to yank her shirt back on, both of them trying to act casual but giving up on the illusion when Poppy stepped into the room, her blonde hair a fluffy cloud around her head having just been dried and not yet styled into the Princess Di cut she was still going for seven years too late.

"Pete," she swallowed, her eyes heavy. "Darling, come with me,"

"I was just about to piss off," he stuttered, nervous in her presence for possibly the first time in his life. "I didn't mean to…"

"Darling, the police are here," she watched as he froze half way from getting off of the bed, Allie's hand instantly finding his and gripping it hard. "Your mum called saying they were looking for you and she told them you'd be here,"

"What?" Pete frowned, shaking his head. "The old bill are downstairs?" he spoke slowly and pointed downward. "And they want to talk to me?"

"I don't know what it's about," Poppy shook her head and took a step towards him, her eyes blazing and defiant, so much like her daughters. "But whatever this is, Richard and I will be there. We're lawyers and I'll make sure they know that. If they try anything…"

"You're alright," Pete told her, walking over to her whilst Allie pulled on a hoodie and shoved her feet into her trainers. "I'll be alright."

Poppy nodded and gently stroked his face before turning on her heel and walking briskly down the hallway to where she could hear her husband still demanding answers from the two police officers at her door.

"Pete," Allie spoke softly, coming to stand beside him and pulling him to her, her arms wrapping around his middle, her face buried in his chest. "What the hell is going on?"

"I 'ave no idea, sweetheart," he shook his head, cupping her face and looking down into her eyes. "But whatever it is, I'll sort it. You don't have to worry about none of this, you understand me?"

She bit her lip and nodded, her brain running through a million scenarios of what could actually be wrong.

"Allie," Pete spoke firmly, holding her face tighter and training his eyes on hers. "You understand me?"

He didn't want her scared or nervous; he could deal with whatever was going on downstairs but he couldn't walk out of here knowing she was scared. She should never have to feel scared with him around.

"Understood," she whispered, her breath hitching as he kissed her palm and then led her out into the hallway, peering over the bannister and seeing Richard, Poppy and both of the Harding brothers dishevelled from sleep stood in the large foyer staring at the two officers as though they were aliens.

"Mr Dunham?" one of them spoke, his voice younger than the haunted look in his eyes.

"Pete Dunham," he nodded, shaking his head. "What's this about?"

"I'm Officer Gould, this is Officer Marks. We need you to come to the station," the officer spoke. "We picked up a man about an hour ago, wandering the streets intoxicated and he attacked an officer unprovoked,"

"Christ," Pete gritted his teeth and threw his head back. "Fuckin' Steve,"

"He claims to be your father," the officer continued, drawing Pete's attention back to him.

Everyone in the hallway seemed to freeze, a palpable wave of horror descending on them at the mention of Michael Dunham even though not directly by name.

"He won't speak to us until you and your brother come to the station," he shrugged. "We explained we won't let him speak to you before he talks to us but he's adamant you're there."

"My old man hit an officer and he's sat in the tank wanting me to go 'old his hand at 1am?" Pete snorted, shaking his head. "No offense, mate, I know you came all the way out here and I appreciate it but I ain't doin' anything for him,"

"I understand that," Gould nodded. He could see in the young man's eyes he was a good kid and with the exception of his eyes, had nothing in common with the mess that was currently sat in his cell back in Barking. "But you'd be doing us a favour. The sooner you get there, the sooner he starts singing and the sooner I can get him out of my cell because to be honest with you, Pete, I've got bigger and better fish to fry in that part of the city as I'm sure you know."

Pete caught the look in his eye and knew instantly that Gould had grown up in West Ham, that he knew the men who ran that side of the river. That he probably knew Michael Dunham used to be one of them.

"Let me whack some trainers on, yeah?" Pete sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

"Good lad," Gould nodded to him. "We'll 'ave you back here as soon as we can." He grinned. "You can uh, make the journey without your two lawyers, here. You're not in any trouble,"

"You 'ear that?" Pete smirked at Poppy and Richard. "You don't 'ave to bill me for your services after all,"

"Someone might need a lawyer at the end of this," Richard turned to him suddenly, his eyes narrowed. "Its 1am, what the hell were you doing upstairs?"

The two officers laughed in spite of themselves, trying to cover it up with a cough unlike Harry who simply made an obscene gesture to Pete behind his father's back.

"I think that's our queue for your personal safety, Mr Dunham," Gould nodded to the rest of them.

"I'll be with you in a second, lads," Pete smirked, turning to Allie who was bright red and desperately trying to avoid her father's piercing gaze.

"I can come with y-…"

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence," Pete shook his head, rubbing his hands up her arms. "It'd cold and it's late," he lowered his head to hers and winked. "Think I kept you up long enough, don't you?"

She smiled but it didn't quite reach her eyes as she stood on her tiptoes to brush her lips over his.

"Call me as soon as you can, ok?" she whispered.

Pete pressed a hard kiss to her forehead and closed his eyes, breathing her in for a moment before kissing her lips gently.

"I love you," he told her, his eyes searching hers. "I'll be alright,"

Allie nodded mutely, whispering the words back before letting go of him and watching him disappear into the night, the two policemen flanking him as they started towards their car which looked unfathomably out of place next to her father's gleaming Mercedes.

Pete shoved his hands into his pockets and clambered into the back of the car, waiting patiently for the officers to follow suit and tilting his head back wondering how the fuck he had gone from being in bed with his half naked girlfriend to this in the space of fifteen minutes.

"You ok, Pete?" Gould asked once he was in, catching the younger man's eyes in the rear view mirror.

"No, mate," Pete shook his head, leaning forward and staring him down in the mirror. "If you've read my old man's wrap sheet then you know the fucker as well as I do. And you know he don't do chat unless he's got an agenda. And I get the feeling you want to know what it is as much as I do,"

They didn't answer because they didn't need to. Their silence was all Pete Dunham needed to know as the car pulled out of Grenville Manor and into main Kensington, meandering through the empty roads towards the north side of the river.

Towards the one place Pete didn't want to go.

Towards Michael Dunham.

I'm guessing you have questions...well lets just say...to be continued very, very soon...*insert evil laugh here*