Rating: R for language, drug use, way too much alcohol consumption and a tiny bit of sexual content.

Pairing: Maxxie/Tony.

Spoilers: Up to and including episode 7. It's set several days after.

Disclaimer: I don't own it, or them. I'd like to, but life isn't that good to me. I think you've got the idea by now.

Summary: After the inevitable happens, Tony talks Maxxie into coming to Brighton with him for a few nights, because, quite frankly, there isn't anyone else.

Chapter 1

I don't know how I let him talk me into this. Actually, that's a lie; I know exactly how he managed to talk me into this. He blamed me. He threw all the blame onto me. Michelle found out. Everything he'd been working for backfired. Even Sid hated him now. I mean, really hated him. And for all of that, he blamed me. But it wasn't my fault; it isn't my fault… not entirely at least.

Sat on the opposite side of the room, Tony is holding his head in his hands and groaning in some obscure manner. He wants me to make a comment, ask him what's wrong or something. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction right now. I can't be bothered.

We're sat in a hotel room in Brighton of all places. 'You'll love it Max, think of all the gay men,' he'd said to me only yesterday. Thanks, Tone, it's so great to know you were thinking of me when you booked this retreat. But he hadn't been, not to begin with. He was supposed to be sat here with Michelle now, not me. Although I doubt very much they would have been sitting all that much. This was clearly not what Tony first had in mind.

The truth is I'm here because I feel out of place back home, too. I guess I am partly to blame for the trail of devastation Tony left in his wake. Should have kept saying no to him and none of this would have even happened. Curiosity had got the better of me, he was so persistent and I was drunk and the rest is history as they say.

'You owe me,' Tony had enforced, still attempting to convince me to join him on his little getaway. I owed him for what exactly? Giving in to his advances for a moment and doing exactly as he'd wanted all trip? Or maybe he meant that I owed him for the final rebuff I handed him, the spectacle I made of him in class? Either way, I personally didn't think I owed him a fucking thing. But it was an excuse to get out of Bristol so I took it.

Pulling my knees up against my chest, I glare over my shoulder at my companion as he begins to mumble something about Michelle into his hands. He looks up and I'm greeted with the sight of his still blackened eye and the small cut adorning his left cheek. It's taking a while for him to heal. Sometimes I wonder if he regrets it now because he's ended up looking such a mess. Tony needs his good looks to get by in life. Without them - and excuse me here if I'm a little blunt – all he really amounts to is a conniving egotistical twat. That's the way he is and the way he's always going to be. Fuck what he says. We all know that deep down.

But here we are, sat back to back, alone once more and Tony doesn't look as distracted as he did several minutes ago.

'So I fucked up,' he says.

I'm inclined to agree with him. Tony is actually admitting he went one step too far. It's shocking. If ever I could freeze a moment in time, this would have to be it. He's still looking over at me, the corners of his mouth turned up into an awkward smile. He has nothing to smile about, but he's trying to go on as normal.

I shake my head, clasping my hands in my lap and force myself to return his gaze. 'Yeah, you did,' is my feeble reply.

Tony is looking quite enthused now, beaming from ear to ear as if he's just concocted a plan. 'Sid'll act like a wanker for a couple of days and then he'll realise that I've actually done him a favour,' he adds, pointing over toward me as though I should know he's right and this is some sort of awe aspiring revelation.

Is he actually serious? He's definitely not done anyone any favours.

'It's fucking life isn't it? You've got to have fun with it or what's the point?' he adds and then gets up from the bed, and I stare at him, I stare at him hard, in disbelief more than anything. 'Come on, we're going out.'

No we're not, not yet.

'You can't fuck people around like that, Tony,' I reply, even though I know his questions were rhetorical. 'People get hurt.'

He's knelt on the floor now, his case open in front of him, clothes spilling out onto the carpet. 'Oh yeah, like who?' he asks.

A part of me is screaming to tell him to go fuck himself and walk out. But that's pathetic really. I can't do that. Even Tony knows I'm not that spineless. He needs to be told. He needs to understand what he's actually done to me, to us… to everyone.

'Me Tony, you hurt me.'

There, I've said it, it's out there and to be honest, I'd rather not hear his reaction. I could leave now. Open the door and run until my legs give out. Sounds like a brilliant plan actually.

I keep watching him, waiting in vain for his response, but he's not retaliating. In fact, it takes me several minutes to realise that he's no longer looking through his case, he is in fact rifling through the contents of mine, throwing things around without a care in the world. He pauses, a plain t-shirt in his hands and then tosses it over to me.

Catching it, I shoot a quizzical glance in his direction, moving around so that I am sprawled across the bed and have a good view of him on the floor. I don't need to ask what he's doing; he'll gladly offer me the answer to that question before I even put it forward. He reinforces that we're going out. We're not going to sit around and be miserable like the others are probably doing. He doesn't apologise though. Tony can't simply apologise to me, or to anyone else for that matter.

'Get changed then. I'm not sitting here all night.' Tony already has his jumper over his head and he's making his way to the bathroom.

What the hell, we can talk about it tomorrow.