Ste

You think that you know a person, really know them. Better than anyone. But sometimes it just doesn't work out the way you thought it would; people react differently to how you expect them to.

I don't know how I expected Brendan to react to this. I knew he would shut down, that he'd take a long time to get things clear in his head. I knew he wouldn't be able to look Cheryl in the eye; but then I don't even know if he remembers all of the later stuff between the three of them. I didn't expect him to want me near him.

I was careful not to touch him when he realised. I remember all the times when I was hit and hurt and didn't want anyone to touch me. But after Cheryl pulled away from him to tell Nate what had happened, he immediately pushed himself closer to me, just enough for me to feel his shoulder rub against my own.

Since then we've just been sitting, not saying a word. I pull my legs up towards me, crossing them on the sofa. I don't know how long we're gonna be sitting here for. Brendan is just staring ahead, his eyes shifting back and forth, the only part of him that's moving. I wonder what he's thinking and then hate myself for it. All I can think of right now is that I wish I could kill Seamus. It's ridiculous and pointless but it's there, it's been there since that day. Sometimes I'd even dream about it, all the different ways I could kill him. Hands around his throat, gleaming knife in my hand. Sometimes I imagine myself in Cheryl's place, holding the gun. Those were the hardest to take. How easily it could have been me, how different things could have been.

Something must show on my face because suddenly Brendan clears his throat and I realise he's looking at me.

"Are you okay, Steven?" He asks, his voice rasping.

"Am I okay?" I shake my head incredulously. "Don't worry about me."

Brendan purses his lips, his expression turning stern.

"Can't help it."

"Just once…" I trail off. I don't know why I'm having to control my temper. I'm not angry at Brendan. Who am I angry at?

I stand up, unable to stop myself. I pace back and forth, Brendan's eyes following my every move.

"How much?" I ask with difficulty.

Brendan blinks, almost surprised by my question, like he's forgotten. He doesn't seem like he's here at all.

"Just when I was young, at first. Then other things started coming back to me."

"Yeah?" I try not to sound hopeful. It's selfish to be thinking of us right now, I know that.

He looks at me apologetically. "I don't remember here, this place."

"You mean the village?"

Brendan nods. "I remember being an adult, I remember Ireland. It's a bit hazy though."

"What about Eileen, your boys?"

"Yeah." Brendan bows his head. "A little."

I swallow thickly, unsure whether to voice my next question.

"What about… um."

Brendan stares at me blankly.

"It doesn't matter. It can wait."

Brendan doesn't argue with me, which is weird. He looks exhausted.

"Maybe you should go and lie down for a bit," I suggest.

"I'm not ill, Steven," he says flatly, but without any real annoyance.

"I didn't say you were."

I start to walk in the direction of his room and after a moment, he follows me. I close the curtains again, blocking out the sun beaming through the window. He sits on the bed, his shoulders slumped. I press gently against his chest to get him to lay down and eventually he does. I've never seen him so lifeless; it's as though the fight has completely drained out of him.

He stares blankly at the ceiling and I decide he might need some head space so I begin to leave. Instead he grabs my wrist tightly in his hand, his eyes piercing through me.

"Stay," he says weakly.

"Of course," I mumble, taking my side of the bed and laying down beside him, still not touching.

We stay that way for some time. I wait for him to say something, anything, but the silence is driving me crazy.

"Pretty weird, isn't it?" I say carefully. He turns his head a little to look at me.

"What is?"

"That you remembered so much, in such a short space of time."

"They told me that could happen, at the hospital. They said sometimes there are triggers, and some memories unearth a whole lot more."

"I guess that makes sense." We lapse back into silence once more.

"Are you wondering why I haven't remembered more about you? About us?" Brendan asks after a time. He sounds thoughtful.

"It's the last thing on my mind right now, Bren," I tell him, but it isn't strictly true.

"I always knew the bad memories would get me first," Brendan says quietly. He sounds so unlike himself that I turn my body to look at him properly.

"But you remembered our first time before all this."

"That's true." A small smile touches his mouth. "But since then it's only been flashes. This is the first thing I've remembered completely, and look at how much else it's brought back for me."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you myself, I wanted to."

"No, you didn't." He looks at me, his gaze soft. "Why would you want to tell me something like that? Why would anyone?"

"I'm not anyone, and I'm supposed to be looking after you."

Brendan snorts. "Come on, Steven. I know enough of myself now to work out that isn't how things work with us."

"That's not true," I say quickly. "There's been loads of times you've needed me and I've been there."

"That's not the same though, is it? This is who I am, Steven. You know that."

"You don't have to be tough, not now." I shake my head, the lump in my throat almost painful.

"I gotta be, what else am I gonna do?"

"What was it like?" I blurt out, unable to stop myself. "Remembering I mean."

Brendan turns away from me again, looking at the ceiling once more. "Like waking up in the morning and going about your business, and then suddenly remembering a nightmare you had that night. It's not like I was there again." He shudders a little, such a slight movement that I can only tell from being this close to him.

"And when you remembered us? Was it like that?"

He frowns, considering his answer. "Not exactly. I think because it was all so physical. The memory came to me in the moment of doing something similar."

I repress my own shudder, my mind drifting to impossibilities and the alternative to Brendan remembering. I tell myself Seamus is dead, long gone, and try to push it from my mind.

"Steven." Brendan jerks me out of my dark thoughts, his gaze fixed on me again. "I think we should try and get outside a bit more, go to places I might remember."

"Why?" I ask warily.

"I want to get all my memories back, it might help."

"We should leave it a few days, until you feel better."

"I'm not sick, I told you. I need to get out of the flat. I need air. I need-" he cuts off, sucking in a breath. "Please, Steven."

I sigh inwardly. "If you think it will help."

He nods; he won't be moved on this.

I leave him to get his shoes on while I go and speak to Cheryl and Nate. They're talking together in their room, voices low and soft. I knock before I enter and Cheryl offers me a watery smile.

"How is he?"

"Better than I thought he'd be," I tell her honestly. "He wants to go out for a bit, get some air."

"That sounds like a good idea," she says, almost to herself. "Does he want to speak to me first?"

"Oh, I don't know." I glance back; Brendan's hovering by the front door. "Maybe wait until he's cleared his head a bit?"

Nate whispers something in her ear and this seems to relax her a little. "Okay. Tell him I'm thinking of him."

"I will."

My shoulders relax as I leave their room and make my way over to Brendan. He's already half out the door before I reach him. Our flat is on the ground floor so we're outside within moments.

I wait to see which direction he wants to go in and then follow when he turns right. It's a struggle to keep up with him at first, his strides are so long and purposeful. Eventually he slows down for my benefit, casting a look over his shoulder now and again to make sure I'm still there.

He takes us to the edge of the village and suddenly I'm the tense one. He senses my hesitation and stops with me.

"What is it?"

"I don't come around here much."

"Why not?"

I shrug, not wanting to go into details right now. "Bad memories."

"No one's giving you trouble, are they?"

"No, not anymore," I say quickly. There are people I'd rather avoid but Brendan doesn't need to know that. Chances are I won't even see them.

He takes off again as though there was no interruption. First we end up outside what used to be the deli. I frown at the old place, not feeling much about it anymore. Brendan frowns himself a little but he moves away quickly, seemingly finding nothing of worth in the building.

He stops again at the steps of the club. I've lost track of who's running it these days but this is a significant moment for Brendan. He stares at it for some time, particularly the balcony. I feel myself shiver at my own memories; screaming for him while he gave himself up, feeling utterly helpless and alone, little realising that was exactly how I was going to feel for years after.

He shakes his head, something new in his expression. I say nothing, allowing the memories to form for themselves but I'm not sure they are. He takes off quickly again, this time in the direction of his old flat. Shit.

"Brendan, wait." I stop him with my hands, taking his arm gently.

"What?"

"We can't go there." I nod up the steps.

"Why?"

"I… I know who lives up there. I don't want to see them right now."

Brendan frowns at me, for the first time not absorbed in his own thoughts. "You told me you weren't in any trouble, Steven."

"And I'm not. But there are people up there who I haven't spoken to in a while and I don't really want to start again today."

Brendan stares me down. "Is it another man?" His voice is tight, clipped.

"Don't be stupid," I hiss. "It's my family, alright? Or at least what's left of it."

"Your family?" Brendan struggles to take this in. "Why wouldn't you want to see them?"

"We aren't on the best of terms these days," I say cagily.

"How come?" He tries to sound concerned but I'm not buying it. I find myself beginning to smile. "What?"

"You don't care, do you?" I'm not being accusing, I'm stating a fact.

"What you talking about?"

"About me not wanting to see my family. It doesn't really bother you, does it?"

Brendan tries to look affronted but doesn't quite manage it. "Alright, maybe it doesn't. Is that normal? Do I normally react this way?" There's more self-awareness in his question and it makes me happy.

"You've always wanted me to yourself," I tell him, still smiling.

"Not a bad thing, is it?" He counters.

"Not always, no."

"So we can't go up there? I'm guessing this is where I used to live?"

"You remember?"

"I don't know." He squints upwards. "Something about the place, you know?"

"We can go see, they probably aren't even in."

"I don't need to go inside or anything."

"I still have a key, if you do."

He nods, moving towards the steps. "You coming?" He turns back to me; I haven't moved yet.

"Sure, come on." I lead the way up the steps, trying to ignore my instincts to turn back.

By the time we reach the top, Brendan's out of breath.

"I need to do more exercise. Being in that hospital bed did me no favours."

"It's 'cause you're getting old, that's all," I tease, earning myself a playful shove.

"Watch it, boy."

Brendan turns to look at the doors, trying to work out which one was his no doubt. It takes him a moment but eventually he settles on the right one.

"You reckon they're out then?"

"Probably."

He raises his eyebrows at me.

"Come on then, let's have a look." I take out my keys and find the right one. "They might have changed the locks though."

"Doubt it. They probably hope you'll come back one day."

"Maybe," I say doubtfully.

The flat is blissfully empty when we open the door. I let out a breath in relief, staying close to the door while Brendan has a look around.

"Doesn't look all that familiar," he says.

"They re-decorated. I hate it."

He smiles at me. "What did it look like before?"

"Very purple. Not sure if that was you or Cheryl, mind."

"Have to ask her," he says, but then he tenses at the thought.

"She wanted me to say she's thinking of you," I tell him carefully.

"That's good," he murmurs, but offers nothing more.

"She's probably really worried."

"Mm."

"You should maybe talk to her, when we get back."

"Maybe." He scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know, Steven. I don't know how to talk to her right now."

"You remember her, that's gotta be important, right?"

"It is. I just wish…" he trails off, lost in thought.

"I don't know how much you two got to talk, when you were inside." I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice but it's difficult. "It might be weird for her too."

"Probably is," Brendan agrees. "I'm just not sure I'm ready to talk about it yet, not with my little sister."

"I get that," I say quietly.

"These your sisters?" Brendan points at a picture on the wall.

"Yep, that's them. And my niece."

"They look alright I guess."

"Don't go overboard, Brendan." I nudge his shoulder.

"That your dad?"

I nod. Brendan doesn't offer anything about him.

"We better go, in case anyone comes back," I say after a while. "I don't think you'll get anything out of this place."

Brendan glances up the stairs at my words, looking thoughtful. "Whatever happened to Lynsey?" He asks suddenly.

"Lynsey?" I try not to sound too alarmed. "Maybe we should talk about that somewhere else." My eyes drift to the sofa unintentionally. It isn't even the same sofa but it still makes me shiver.

"She's dead, isn't she?" Brendan says flatly.

"You remember?"

"I know." He sounds hollow.

"Come on, let's get out of here." I tug on his arm. I'm only able to relax once we're safely out of the flat.

"Maybe you're right, Steven. Only bad memories around here." Brendan looks upwards, as though an answer will come to him.

"Not all bad." I can't help feeling the same though. It's part of the reason I left this place. Somehow things don't seem as bad though, with Brendan here. I tell him so.

He laughs a little. "That's good to know."

"We should get home. I'll make us something to eat."

He sighs, taking his time down the steps. "Guess I could eat."

"You can if it's my cooking," I tell him.

"You're probably right there."

"Ste?" Another voice pierces through our moment. I jerk, my hand instinctively finding Brendan's.

"Can we go?" I whisper urgently to him.

"Yes," Brendan says without hesitation. We move away quickly, neither of us turning back. The voice doesn't give up.

"Ste!"

I cringe a little. "This is bad."

"It's your dad, isn't it?" Brendan sounds eerily calm. That's not good.

"Yeah."

"Did you end on bad terms?"

"It's a long story."

"One I'm sure I'll want to hear sometime," Brendan says pointedly.

"Not today though."

He gives me a sideways look but says nothing.

"Think he's gone now," I say when we're out of the village and on our way back to the flat. "I doubt he'd follow us."

"Better not."

"Did that help?" I ask him, wanting to remind him what's important.

"A little, yeah." He gives me a sideways look. "Your dad must be worried about you."

"Yeah, well he'll have to deal with it, won't he?"

"Not planning on running back to the happy family then?" Brendan asks, trying to sound casual.

"No. I'm with you, aren't I?"

He smiles a little then, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'd like to say I wouldn't stop you from going, but that's just not true."

"You were willing to give me up before," I say, then immediately wish I hadn't. "Sorry. I know you don't know anything about that."

"I will someday, and I'm sure I'll have an explanation for you."

"Not sure it matters, I'm still not going anywhere."

"That right?"

"Can't live my life without you, can I?" I hold my breath for a moment, hoping my words will spark some memory in him. He looks thoughtful but doesn't say anything for a while.

"Maybe we should find our own place," he says eventually.

"That might upset Cheryl."

"I know. I'm just not sure it's best, us all living under the same roof."

"It's a good idea, Bren but neither of us has any money."

Brendan looks at me in some surprise. "I've got money."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Cheryl mentioned it in the hospital. Sale from the club or something."

"Oh right." Something occurs to me after that, but I decide to save it for Cheryl's ears only.

When we arrive back at the flat, Nate is in the kitchen cooking while Cheryl is putting the boxes away. She looks up when we enter, her gaze fixing on Brendan's face.

"Hey, bro," she says weakly.

Brendan doesn't say anything back, he simply goes to her and holds her. She begins to cry in his arms, clinging tighter to his back. I turn away, for some reason uncomfortable witnessing this moment.

"Need any help?" I ask Nate.

"Please. I'm not best equipped to do this." He looks relieved as I take over. It feels good to be doing something with my hands, it clears my head a little.

Once everything's in the oven, Cheryl comes over to me with Brendan at her side. She's wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

"Thanks for doing this, Ste."

"It's no bother. Love cooking, me."

"I wasn't on about the cooking." She hugs me then and I feel safe. There's something about Cheryl, even now, that makes me feel that way. I pull away quicker than I used to though and can't quite meet her eyes afterwards.

"We were thinking it might be time for us to move on," Brendan says. I'm surprised he's brought it up this soon. I wait for Cheryl's reaction.

She surprises me by smiling. "We've been talking too; it's almost time for us to head back to Ireland. We both have jobs there, and friends. I didn't want to leave too soon before I knew you were getting better though, and if it wasn't for Ste…"

"I understand." Brendan kisses her cheek.

"You can stay here for a bit though," Nate says. "Until you find somewhere better."

"Thank you," Brendan says, giving Nate a nod. "I guess we should make the most of all this then." He gestures to the food.

"I'll get us a bottle of wine out," Cheryl says, attempting to sound cheerful. I can tell she's still struggling with all this and decide to follow her.

"Chez? You okay?"

"Oh, Ste." She turns to me, her smile a little tense at the edges. "Is he really okay? He told me he remembers me, and more about his life before this place. I can't believe so much has come back to him this quickly."

I mumble something about triggers but I don't really know what I'm talking about.

"Listen, Cheryl. I wanted to ask you something… about Seamus."

Cheryl baulks but recovers well. She nods for me to continue.

"What happened at his will reading? I remember when I came over to Ireland after… you know, you mentioned it was getting sorted?"

Her face relaxes. "We gave his money to charity, a children's one." Her expression darkens and it's the first time I've ever seen her so angry. "I asked Brendan first of course and he agreed that was best. We didn't want a penny from him. His other estates were a bit more complicated but Nate's lawyer is very good and was able to help us out. Do you need the money, Ste? Is that why you're asking?"

"No, it's not that. Brendan says he's got enough for himself."

"For both of you," Cheryl encourages.

"Well, I need to get myself a job anyway, a proper one."

"I'm sorry I wasn't around more, love. I heard you had a pretty hard time of it without Brendan. I thought you'd be okay with that new family of yours but…"

"It's fine, you did what you could." I probably wouldn't have accepted her help anyway. "I just wanted to make sure there wasn't anything else to sort out."

"It's all covered, don't you worry."

I nod, relieved. "Cheryl, why didn't he tell me he was getting out sooner?" It's a question that's been niggling me for some time and I need to ask it now before she leaves.

Cheryl's face softens. "He didn't know for sure, and he wanted you to live your life."

"I figured," I say darkly.

"He's got some explaining to do, when he remembers everything." She gives me an odd look then. "About the accident, Ste-"

"What you two whispering about, hm?" Brendan interrupts us then, his hand snaking around my waist. He strokes my hip absently, the skin bare from where my t-shirt has risen.

"Talking about ya, not to ya," Cheryl teases, bustling past us to set the table.

Brendan gives me a questioning look but I simply shrug.

We eat in relatively good spirits. Brendan's quiet throughout but we don't push him. Cheryl tells us they'll be here a few more days and then they're off. I try not to feel too relieved but I can't help it.

Brendan brushes my leg under the table and gives me a heated look. It doesn't feel right to do anything tonight but maybe in a few days we can get back to normal, whatever that means these days.

After we've cleared our plates Cheryl and Nate announce they're going for a walk. The minute they're out of the door, Brendan fixes me with an intense look.

"Come here, Steven," he says, voice low.

I go to him immediately then stop myself, shaking my head incredulously. "What do you want?"

"You, obviously."

"That's not really a good idea, Bren…"

"What are you talking about?" He's in front of me then, hooking his fingers in my shirt. "Don't you want me?" His breath is ghosting across my face, his lips inches from mine.

"You know I do," I swallow thickly. "It's too soon though."

Brendan's expression changes instantly. He completely shuts down, moving away from me.

"Right."

"Don't be like that, I'm thinking of you."

"Are you?" Brendan's voice sounds strange.

"What else would I be thinking of?"

"I don't know, maybe that I'm damaged goods?"

"Brendan! How can you say that?" I move towards him but he immediately retreats. "I didn't think that before, and I don't think that now."

"It's not the same as before though, is it? I know now."

"Exactly, and you need time to process it-"

"I don't need to process it. It's always going to be there. This is it, Steven. This is me."

"And I love you, you know I do."

Brendan shakes his head. "Is it enough? Am I enough?"

"Why are you saying this now? Nothing's changed for me. Nothing's ever gonna change."

"Maybe not now, but one day you might decide you deserve better. I remember some of the things I used to do, Steven. The boys I used to have, the ones I hit and loathed myself for."

I bite the inside of my mouth; that's my question from earlier answered then.

"You're not that man anymore."

"I don't know who I am!" Brendan shouts. "How can I be what you need? How can I compete…"

"Compete with who? There is no one else."

"Not yet." Brendan shakes his head. "I need some air."

"Don't walk away from me, Brendan! We need to talk about this."

"I can't." Brendan holds up his hands, moving towards the door. "Maybe you should go back to your dad, he can't be all bad."

"Fuck you," I find myself saying. I can't explain the anger I'm feeling right now. Brendan doesn't look offended by my words, he looks calmer.

"I'll be back later," he says, opening the door.

"You better be," I warn him, my hands balling into fists. "If you think I'm gonna give up this easy then you're an idiot."

Brendan pauses by the door. "I'm an idiot now, am I?"

"Yeah, a fucking idiot."

Something crosses Brendan's face and suddenly he's coming towards me. I feel a flash of panic, wondering if he's going to hit me. Then I stand firm. He grabs my face in his hands and kisses me so violently I almost fall over. I kiss him back just as hard, biting his bottom lip and groaning into his mouth. He backs me against the wall, his hands now on my arse, squeezing.

I suddenly can't remember what we were fighting about as he tears my clothes off and pushes me against the wall, kicking my legs apart and feeling between my arse cheeks. He isn't gentle and I don't want him to be. I tell him to fucking hurry up and he listens, spitting onto his hand and coating his cock in saliva, pausing before he pushes the head inside.

I can barely keep myself upright as he pounds into me, the wall rattling with the shock of it. He bites down hard on my shoulder and I twist my hands around to slap him but he grabs my wrists and pins them behind me.

"Okay?" He whispers, overwhelmingly gentle all of a sudden.

I nod, turning my face to kiss him while he fucks me. It's over within minutes, the adrenaline still coursing through us as we come, Brendan filling me up, me spilling all over the floor.

While we begin to catch our breaths, Brendan crowds behind me, kissing the mark he's made on my shoulder. He doesn't say sorry, and I don't want him to. It's pointless to analyse things right now and I doubt my brain is capable of it anyway after that. Instead I turn myself around and kiss him again, wiling us both to remember what this is and what it means. It's not something we're ever going to forget.