A/N: This is a baby of an idea that was conceived in Dublin. If anyone's interested, Electric Violinist will be writing a companion piece to this written from Brendan's POV. We once again felt like collaborating in an extremely complicated way again :p This fic will be purely from Ste's POV, I hope you enjoy it :)

The first time a post card like picture came from the letterbox, Ste knew nothing about it. In fact at the time he had been sitting in a circle talking about his drug problem to a room full of strangers. It was part of his rehab and something his Dad and Sam had insisted he did. Ste tried not to roll his eyes at certain points and find the most miserable stories funny, but some of them really were. A lot of people in the circle of trust (he was forced to take part in twice a week) were full of stories, stories that involved long drug filled nights that left them waking up in the most obscure places.

Ste didn't have a drug problem, he just had an unhealthy relationship with escapism. It wasn't his fault the white powder he'd sniffed through his nose had given him a one way ticket out of this hell hole, a delicious train journey into oblivion. It also wasn't his fault that everyone either betrayed or left him, it just seemed to keep happening. And if the drugs helped him with that, what was the problem?

'So Steven.' said the group leader, his name was Simon or something.

'Ste' Ste automatically corrected him.

'Ste,' said the man, the frustration on his face beginning to show. 'Do you want to share with the group today?'

Ste looked down at his hands 'No.'

'And why's that?' asked Simon. 'None of the people here will judge you, you know?'

'No one wants to hear about my life.' said Ste, even Ste didn't want to hear about his own life.

'That's not true.' said Simon. 'We're a listening forum for each others' problems. A problem shared is a problem halved.'

Ste let out a snort at the crap expression, probably straight off a plaque or something. 'Well maybe I don't want to.'

'Well if he doesn't, then I will.' said a male member of the group rudely. He was the member of the group who loved the sound of his own voice.

'No one wants to hear about your problems Mark.' said a small girl in the corner. 'None of us care about your overbearing mother, the fact your girlfriend left you for another woman or that your shirt looks as if it has had a years worth of ketchup over it.'

'Stacy!' said Simon the group leader.

'It's true.' said Stacy rudely. 'If Ste doesn't want to share his problems, why should he? I find it quite refreshing he doesn't whinge about everything like the rest of us.'

Simon looked frustrated. 'It's part of the therapy and drug rehabilitation.'

'Sitting in a circle of pathetic losers and talking about his problems is really going to make him stop sniffing the good stuff up his nose?' said Stacy rudely. 'If you think that, then you're more idiotic than you look.'

Ste stood up and grabbed his bag, causing the two to stop their argument. 'You know what, I'm going to do one. You lot are doing my head in.'

It only took him a minute to storm out the building and walk straight out into a cool summer's day. Ste didn't even know why he bothered. Sure he'd seen the pictures of what drugs could do to your nose, sure he was on a path to self destruction...but why did it matter? He had nothing left to lose now, he had lost everything.

The second picture was again taken away before it even got near to Ste again. He'd woken up late and stretched out for John Paul, only to notice his boyfriend was no longer in the bed next to him. He had got up to make breakfast and had found John Paul in his kitchen, the other man had jumped a little as Ste entered.

'Alright?' asked Ste, putting a hand over his mouth as he yawned.

'Yeah,' said John Paul, shifting something quickly into the back pocket of his jeans.

Ste's eyes caught the quick movement. 'What's that?' he asked.

'Just a bill.' replied John Paul.

Ste nodded and reached into the cupboard to get a box of cereal. He didn't find his boyfriend's behaviour weird in any way, John Paul had his life and Ste had his. They worked, they seemed to love each other...that was all he needed, right? He felt the familiar urge for drugs wash over him and suppressed it.

The third, fourth and fifth time the pictures came and Ste was still left unaware of their existence. John Paul's careful hands had yet again intercepted the pictures and made them disappear within seconds. It was only on the sixth picture that John Paul cleared his throat during lunch one day that Ste finally became aware of their existence.

'How's the support group going?' asked John Paul nervously.

Ste put down his sandwich, John Paul never usually wanted to know about his support group. 'Okay.'

'Listen there's something I need to tell you, but I don't want you to freak out or think it changes things between the two of us.' said John Paul.

Ste's hand immediately touched his empty pocket, an automatic reflex he'd had ever since taking drugs. He used to keep the drugs there like a security blanket. A quick fix if anything went wrong.

'You've slept with my Dad again, haven't you?' Ste said calmly. He could handle this, he could sit here and listen to John Paul tell him that he had once again cheated. Each time John Paul did it, it got a little easier to handle.

John Paul looked hurt. 'I wouldn't do that to you again.'

'You've done it to me more times than I can remember.' said Ste defensively.

'Well you were busy, with your drugs.' said John Paul.

'And that makes it okay?' asked Ste accusingly.

'No,' said John Paul softly, 'but I can't keep apologising for something I can't change now.'

'What ever,' said Ste. Sometimes he wondered why he stayed with the other man, they had been friends at the start and close through their shared experiences...but lately it had all become one big mess. Ste was finding it harder and harder to care. But John Paul was all he really had left, everyone else was gone.

'I called Craig the other day.' stated John Paul.

Ste's mouth fell open, John Paul never usually even mentioned the other man's name. Ste was beginning to think anything John Paul did wouldn't surprise him any more, but this was new. Why had he called Craig, the previous love of his life? They were ancient history, why mention him now?

'I...we have been getting pictures through the post, pictures of a lighthouse in Dublin.' said John Paul finally. 'I thought...I thought they were from Craig, but they're not.'

Ste looked down at the table, trying to absorb the information. 'What did he say?' he asked coldly.

John Paul shifted awkwardly. 'I...he...he has split up with his girlfriend, he realised that they didn't fit. That it didn't feel right being with a woman.'

'Okay.' said Ste numbly. He tried to feel any emotion to what he was hearing, but found there was none there. He was numb before, during and after the drug days. At one time in his life he would have flew into a jealous rage if any of his previous boyfriends had made contact with an ex. But now the emotion wasn't there, nothing was there.

John Paul looked frustrated. 'Is okay all you can say?'

'What do you want me to say?' asked Ste, staring hard at the table.

John Paul ran his hands through his hair. 'Anything Ste, anything to show that you care and it's not just me in this relationship any more. I want you to scream or shout, anything that shows me that you aren't as dead inside as you've been acting.'

'I can't do that.' said Ste numbly. 'Don't you think you gave up your rights to demand things from me when you screwed my Dad?'

John Paul let out a long sigh. 'Do you even love me Ste?'

'I don't know,' said Ste refusing to look at the other man, the only thing he did know was that he wanted the white powder that would make everything go away.

'That isn't good enough.' said John Paul, he let out a sigh and then placed a number of pictures on to the table in front of Ste. 'Do you know this place?'

Ste looked down, he forced himself not to gasp when he noticed a pile of photos; all of them showing the same familiar red lighthouse. He knew that lighthouse, he'd know that lighthouse anywhere.

'You do, don't you?' John Paul let out a bitter laugh. 'All these weeks I thought Craig was trying to send me a message, when in fact it has been a message for you.'

Ste tentatively reached out and touched the photos. 'Nobody knows I live here.'

John Paul rolled his eyes. 'Well someone must. They've obviously from Brendan.'

Ste flinched at the name, ignoring the number of emotions that broke through the wall of ice each time Brenda's name was said out loud by anyone. 'He's in prison. He isn't going to get out for years, Cheryl told me he got life.' He desperately needed this conversation to be over, before he fell apart again.

'Well who else could it be?' asked John Paul.

Ste shrugged. 'I don't know, maybe someone's got the wrong address.'

'Maybe someone's got the wrong address, are you for real Ste?' asked John Paul, failing to hide the frustration in his voice.

'I don't see what the problem is over a load of random pictures of a lighthouse.' stated Ste.

'It is too much of a coincidence to mean nothing.' said John Paul.

Ste picked up his sandwich and began to eat it like nothing had happened. He didn't even spare a look at the pile of pictures.

'I can't do this any more.' said John Paul, his eyes were full of tears.

Ste tried his hardest to find the right words, but none came to mind. He knew what was coming and he didn't care. He even wondered if John Paul's tears were just for show.

'I've tried so hard Ste, but this isn't working. We're better as friends, I can't compete with the ghost of Brendan or the ghost of Doug any more.' said John Paul. 'I don't want to be second best, I deserve better.'

Ste rolled his eyes. 'Thought you weren't going to give up on me.'

'I'm not.' replied John Paul.

Ste let out a bitter laugh. 'Get out.'

John Paul looked confused. 'I live here Ste.'

'I said get out,' Ste almost shouted. 'Go sleep with my Dad or sob down the phone to that Craig, I don't care what you do as long as you do one!'

'Ste,' said John Paul.

'Do one!' shouted Ste.

After that day when John Paul had hastily packed his bag and left, Ste was alone once again. He didn't care, he didn't need anyone but himself and the drugs. He brought a bag of cocaine the next day and kept it in the back of his cupboard in an empty cereal box. He didn't use it, he just needed to know it was there and ready for when he needed it.

John Paul's exit out of his life didn't make much difference to it, other than the flat was now quieter and his bed was colder at nights. But he found the quiet oddly comforting and the cold at least made him feel something. The only thing different in his life was the steady flow of pictures of a familiar red lighthouse through his letter box each day. Ste couldn't help but stare at each one individually throughout the day. The pictures gave no clue to their true origin, other than his address scrawled in unfamiliar writing and a date on the back. No picture of the lighthouse was the same, they were either taken from a different angle or showing different weather.

Each time Ste touched one of the pictures he felt something inside himself thaw, a spark of life that had long since fled from his body. The pictures took him back in time to a person who he didn't know any more, a person who hadn't lost everything and wasn't as broken. Ste mourned for that person every single day. It was like a time machine taking him back to one of the best moments of his life: that freezing cold walkway with Brendan by his side and endless possibilities of their happy ending ahead.

Four weeks later the pictures were still coming and Ste finally lost his temper and tore all them all to pieces. It gave him an odd satisfaction as he watched the pieces fall to the ground like snow. Afterwards breathing heavily he pulled the cereal box containing his cocaine out of the cupboard, ready to take a long sniff that would draw him back into oblivion. He stopped just as he was about to open a bag, noticing one picture that he had missed. Ste shoved the drugs back into the cereal box and instead grabbed made a grab for the photo. For the first time in months as he looked at it, he let himself cry.

His Dad Danny found him sat on the floor clutching it half an hour later, surrounded by a mess of tiny bits of photo paper. His expression was grim.

'Have you taken anything?' asked Danny.

'No,' replied Ste.

'Tell me the truth Steven.' said Danny.

'Nothing.' shouted Ste.

Danny stepped over to the wall Ste was sitting against and slid down it, so they were sitting side by side. 'How did it get to this? What's so bad about the world that has led to my beautiful son becoming this broken?'

Ste shrugged, he didn't have an answer to that question.

'I'm worried about you.' said Danny softly, his eyes full of emotion. 'I'm scared one day Sam is going to come round to my flat and say they've found your body.'

'Wouldn't that be a relief to everyone?' said Ste bitterly. 'I wouldn't cause any of you any trouble any more.'

Danny pressed his lips together in a thin line. 'Don't ever say that.'

Ste tried to ignore the tears that were falling from his eyes. 'It's true.'

'No it's not,' said Danny softly. He finally noticed the picture Ste was holding. 'John Paul came round the other day, said that he was worried that you weren't coping.'

'Did he say that before or after you slept together?' asked Ste.

'Neither. Me and John Paul don't do that any more.' answered Danny. 'He said that he thinks those pictures are from your old lover, Brendan or something.'

Ste flinched at the name. 'I don't want to talk about it.'

'Maybe it's time you did.' said Danny.

'No,' said Ste firmly, staring at the kitchen floor. It was filthy, when had it become so dirty? When he'd owned the Deli with Doug, the deli kitchen was never dirty.

'Just answer me one question, did this Brendan make you happy?' said Danny, his expression lost.

Ste wiped a tear from his dirty face, allowing himself a moment of truth. 'Happier than I ever thought it was possible to be.' he said in a broken voice.

Danny looked sad for a moment. 'Go take a shower son.' he said softly.

Ste mechanically got up and the picture slipped from his fingers, he didn't pick it up. He stood under the hot stream of water, wondering when his Dad would leave. When Danny left he was going to get a bottle of Vodka and have the drugs that were hiding in the cereal box. By the time he returned from his shower, Danny was standing in his kitchen with a bag at his feet.

'I ain't going to live with you again!' exclaimed Ste, automatically assuming that was what the bag was for.

Danny gave him a half-smile. 'I know that.'

'Then why have you put my stuff in that bag then?' asked Ste.

Danny handed a piece of paper.

Ste glanced at it. 'What's this?'

'A plane ticket to Dublin.' answered Danny. 'I've booked you a taxi, your flight leaves in three hours.'

Ste glared at him. 'Have you finally lost it? I ain't going to Dublin.'

'Yes you are.' said Danny forcefully.

'No, I ain't.'

Danny shoved the latest picture of the familiar red lighthouse into Ste's face. 'If there's a chance this is from that Brendan man then you need to go. I've tried everything to fix you Ste, but I'm out of ideas. You go around like a ghost, a ticking time bomb in which I'm terrified at any moment will fall off the drugs wagon or explode. None of us can fix you, but maybe he can. I know it sounds mad, but if there's even a chance that those pictures are from him and he can help you then you need to do this. I can't bury my own son!'

Ste grabbed the picture back from Danny. He stared at it, every part of him feeling more broken than ever. 'I can't do this, I'm scared. What if it's not him? What if it's someone's idea of a sick joke? I can't go through that.' he wiped away a few stray tears. 'I'm not the same man he knew.'

Danny picked up Ste's bag from the floor. 'You don't have to go through anything Ste or be anyone you aren't, you just have allow yourself hope again.'