AN: Thanks to anyone who reviewed. I think I'll give it a bit longer, see if it catches imaginations or not. Enjoy.

The panther is upon me. It's pinning me to the floor, using its weight and power and strength to hold me to the ground. Its pale, intense eyes read my soul, its vicious teeth are so close to my neck, it could rip me apart in a heartbeat, but I don't feel an ounce of fear. Its weight is a comfort, its strength and power part of its magnificent beauty. Its teeth are there for my protection. I feel more secure than I ever dreamed possible.

But now I know it's not real. Nothing is, not the magnificent teeth, not my hyper-sensitive skin, not the swirling mouth of misery that's opening up behind my panther. I still scream. I don't want it to be pulled away. I need it, I need its muscles and teeth and fearsome power, and I try to hold on to it, even as it is swallowed and stolen by the by the gaping monstrosity behind it.

I scream and scream. I don't make a sound.

Brendan's hands are still secured in the police handcuffs that an officer had shoved on him in apparent fury. Maybe they'd thought he was trying to run from them. He wasn't. He was trying to run to Steven.

Every moment he is stuck in this box with these self-righteous idiots is another step further away he can feel Steven slipping. He spent the first hour of his arrest as a violent mess. The coppers don't dare come near him yet and so he's trying to be calm, trying to be pragmatic. As long as this lot think he's mental he stands no chance of getting out and tearing the world apart so he can find Steven. He has to reason with them. He wants to rip anything standing between him and Steven into a thousand tiny pieces. But that will keep him locked in here for longer. He tries to be calm. He's almost never managed it before.

A middle aged man steps in. He's gruff, and looks at Brendan with unfriendly eyes. Brendan doesn't exactly welcome him. He watches the man, waiting for the moment he can pounce. No, he can't pounce, he has to sit through it and answer their questions and keep his temper.

"Brendan Brady," says the man. It's not a question. He knows who Brendan is. But it's a police routine and he's followed by others; a young woman who may be his colleague and an older woman who Brendan suspects is a lawyer.

"That's me," said Brendan. "Can we get this over with?"

The man ignores his words. Brendan gets a nasty feeling that this is going to be the theme of the day.

"This is DI Morgan, this woman is apparently your brief, and I'm DCI Lawrence. You calm enough to answer some questions now, Mr Brady?"

"I thought it was customary to be able to discuss with your brief before the…" (he considers saying pigs, but holds back. It won't help.) "…police try and make up crap you're supposed to have done."

"Under normal circumstances, yes Mr Brady, but we have reason to believe that a man's life could be in danger if we do not speed this along."

The weight on Brendan's shoulders eases a little. Maybe they just want his help. Maybe he hasn't been arrested. Maybe this was all just a way to get him to the police station so he could help them look for Steven, and it was only his own reactions of panic that made them feel the need to cuff him.

The gruff man turns on a recording device and mumbles the date and the names of the people around him. Then he looks at Brendan with barely concealed contempt.

"Mr Brady, when was the last time you saw Steven Hay?"

Straight down to it. That was good. "Two days ago," said Brendan, "he stayed over at my flat."

"Why did he stay at your flat?"

Brendan rolls his eyes, "We were having a slumber party. We shared a cup of cocoa and watched Strictly Come Dancing. What do you think?"

Lawrence doesn't show any reaction to the sarcasm. "You had sexual intercourse?"

Brendan flinches a bit, but nods.

"For the benefit of the tape, Mr Brady nodded his head," Lawrence announces, "Can you describe your relationship with Steven Hay?"

Brendan flinches again. He can feel his face fidgeting. He's never really found this sort of thing easy. "He's my boyfriend," he says, not quite making eye contact.

Lawrence taps one finger on the table. Maybe he's wondering what to say next. Maybe he's hoping he can make Brendan feel uncomfortable. He succeeds in the latter, because Brendan wants this over with. He needs to find Steven.

Eventually he says, "And how would you describe your relationship?"

Brendan squirms again, and sees the light of satisfaction in the policeman's eye. He decides to try to make him squirm back. "Fucking hot as hell," he says, "Can't keep our hands off each other. Only person I've ever met more insatiable than me, is Steven."

Lawrence does not look impressed. "Is that how it's always been, Mr Brady?"

Brendan sits back and crosses his arms. "This has got fuck all to do with anything. We need to be out there, looking for Steven, not wasting my time."

"Answer the question, Mr Brady," is Lawrence's only response.

"Yes!" snaps Brendan, "it's always been roses, chocolates and fucking. What are you doing to find him?"

"That's not what we've heard, Mr Brady."

"Well bully for you, get on with it!"

"We've got reports that you have been violent to Steven Hay, on more than one occasion."

Brendan's lips purse. "Well, if you know that why the fuck are you asking me?"

"Would you say you have a temper, Mr Brady?"

Brendan lets out a noise of disgust.

"Would you say that you lash out when you're angry, Mr Brady?"

Brendan snorts, he can hardly deny it after his reaction to being arrested.

"What did Steven Hay do to deserve your temper, Mr Brady?"

Brendan's cuffed hands form fists. "I've done nothing to Steven," he growls, "he was at my house two nights ago. He left the following morning to see his kids. He's due back tomorrow."

"Is that so?" Lawrence smirks.

"Yes," Brendan growls, knowing this man is going to shove something in his face.

"Because he never arrived to meet his children. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Brendan doesn't manage to get in a denial before Lawrence goes on.

"What time did he leave?"

Brendan shrugs, but he can feel the aggression filling his body, "I don't know, ten?

The copper puts his head on one side, and asks in an innocuous voice, "Are you sure he didn't come back at all?"

Brendan's breathing is growing hideously rough. "Nope."

"So, are you saying you didn't see him after ten a.m. that morning?"

"Yes," hisses Brendan, "Now are you going to let me look for him?"

Lawrence ignores the comment. "In fact, he sent a message at ten thirty saying he'd left his keys at your house and he was going back for them."

Brendan is barely holding his temper. He doesn't want to accept the purpose of that question. "What are you doing to find him?!"

Lawrence doesn't even blink, "Do you know anyone who might wish to do Mr Hay harm?"

Brendan actually growls at him. Who would hurt Steven? No one that planned to live past Brendan finding out. They'd have to be mad to try.

Lawrence leans forwards and says "Except for you, of course." His words are unhurried and casual. They make Brendan surge to his feet, unable to contain his fury.

"Where the fuck is Steven?! Stop asking me stupid questions, you ignorant bastard. Let me find Steven! I need to find him! Where the fuck is he?!"

"This is a very interesting act, Mr Brady," said Lawrence. "You're known for your temper, you let your temper get the better of you with Mr Hay, so you decide to use it when questioned in the hope that we'll think that it's worry over your lover. We aren't buying it, Brady."

"What the fuck are you on about?" Brendan shouts, though he knows. They're pinning Steven's disappearance on the nearest person. Lazy arse police work.

"I think it's obvious what happened to Steven Hay," Lawrence tells him, "just like he's done a thousand times before, he accidentally said something or did something that made you angry. Maybe he forgot to do the dishes, maybe he suggested going out when you wanted to stay in, fuck knows what sets off an animal like you. But he crossed some line, didn't he?"

"I have done nothing to him!" Brendan growls, the sudden new fear of what could be about to happen enough to terrify him to still calmness. He forces himself to sit down again.

"I'm sure you didn't mean for it to go so far. You never wanted it to be anything so permanent did you. I mean, where are you without your punch bag?"

"That's bull shit!" Brendan says, each word like a punch, voice low and menacing. If he wasn't cuffed, these people would be quacking.

Lawrence doesn't react at all. "Are you telling me we won't find his DNA all over your flat?"

"He's my boyfriend! Of course his DNA's all over my flat!"

"And the blood?"

Brendan freezes. Blood? Is Steven hurt?

"Yes, we found it on the carpet by the sofa. Easy to overlook. It's at the lab now. Will we find that it's Steven's?

Brendan racks his rains. Is there an innocent excuse for Steven's blood being in his apartment? Was there a nosebleed or a cooking accident he's forgotten about? Or has someone hurt and taken Steven in Brendan's own home?

The woman, Morgan or something, leans forward now, voice gentle, with none of the accusation of her colleague, "Just tell us what happened, Brendan."

Brendan is panicking. Who would hurt Steven? Brendan has plenty of enemies, but Steven is the most wonderful man on Earth. No one would want to hurt him. Except to get at Brendan. "I told you, he left at about ten, and that was the last time I saw him. I text him last night but he never replied. I assumed he was busy with the kids."

"Do you think this is helping, Brendan?" says Morgan, her voice more patronising than Brendan thinks she intended. "If you tell us everything, this goes down as a crime of passion. Tells us where the body is, and the judge will go lenient. You keep lying, you fail to cooperate, then it's murder. That's a life sentence right there, Brendan."

"I'd never hurt him." He wouldn't. He'd rather die. He'd rather murder everyone else on Earth.

"Never hurt him?" cries Lawrence, "you call the cracked ribs not hurting him?"

Brendan snarls. It's not the same. How can he explain? "I love him!"

"Yeah, so much so you put him in hospital."

"Brendan, think of his family," urges Morgan. Her voice is infuriatingly gentle and sweet. "They need to know what happened."

"I haven't hurt him," Brendan repeats. "I've not done anything to him. Now stop wasting time and go look for him!"

Both coppers observe him for a few moments. Eventually Lawrence says "Is Steven Hay dead?"

Brendan wants to rip this idiot's throat out. "If he is, I will be coming after you."

Lawrence's lip curls, "Are you threatening a police officer, Brady?"

Brendan tries to remember he is not in control here. He cannot rely on his natural fearsomeness. "Let me out of these fucking cuffs and this fucking cell and let me look for Steven!"

"What happened, Brendan?" asks Morgan, "you need to tell us where Steven is so we can help. Is he alive?"

Brendan wants to punch her. "I don't know where he is! How many fucking times, I don't know where he is!"

There was a moment's silence after Brendan's latest outburst. The police turned to each other, then turned back to him.

"We have the right to keep you in custody for twenty-four hours," said Lawrence, "Have a chat to your solicitor; see if she can talk some sense into you. I should let you know, forensics are going over your apartment with a fine-tooth comb. Have a good think about what else they'll find."

Lawrence stands and strides out. Morgan looks at Brendan one more time.

"Make this easier on yourself, Brendan. Tell us the whole story."

And she follows her colleague. Brendan is left fuming as his brief starts muttering the same spiel about doing what's best, what's easiest. He only bothers protesting his innocence a handful of times. He knows he's about to lose it again

I can feel a change. I'm beginning to recognise a soft duvet covering me and a springy mattress beneath me. I can feel cool air on my face, and there is light on the other side of my eyelids.

I blink my eyes open.

I'm in a pleasant enough sort of room. The walls are a cheerful shade of blue. It's neat and light, and cupboards line one wall.

I still feel like throwing up.

"You're awake!" a voice gasps.

I turn to look for the source. A man with brown hair is getting up from an easy chair, coming towards me, putting a hand on my head.

"How do you feel?" he says, voice urgent, hurried, low.

I'm groggy. My lips are dry and I think my throat might have closed up in my sleep. I don't know if any sound will come out, and I don't know what sound I aim for. It comes out as a groan.

"Groggy?" he says, with a small smile, "They said that would happen."

He strokes my hair in a very familiar way. I flinch away a bit and see a trace of sadness in his eyes. "How much do you remember?" he asks.

"Er…" I can't really think anything. It's taking all my energy to stay in this room right now.

"Yeah, the doctor said you might feel a bit fuzzy," he says, "but it's OK, now. I'm here to look after you. Here."

He grabs a cup from beside the bed, and puts it to my lips. He helps me raise my head high enough to drink, and it does help my throat, and maybe it clears my head just a little. He smiles at me, and wipes a drop from my chin before putting the cup carefully back down again. I look at him. I don't know if I should ask the question that plagues my mind. It seems rude and ungrateful. He's obviously been looking after me, and maybe it will come back to me. But the question is still there, nagging on my lips.

"Who are you?"

He blinks. Then he frowns. "Are you being serious?" he asks.

I want to smile. I want to say 'of course not! You're my…' but I don't know the end of the sentence.

"Cam!" he says, "It's me, Simon."

I frown at 'Cam'. Is that my name? It doesn't feel like my name. But I can't think of a better one. And I don't know if Simon means anything to me either.

Simon sniffs with sadness, but tries to hide it behind a warm smile. "I'm your brother," he says.