Brendan crashed into Steven's door and pounded on it with all his might,. He shouted Stephen's name again and again, then shouted back to Amy for the key. She was still too far away; obviously she had no fear fuelled adrenaline making her feet fly.

He would have to break in then.

…

Every muscle in Ste's body hurt. The door of his flat seemed to have walked itself an extra mile away from his bedroom.

He could hear Lucas crying, calling 'Daddy' but he had to get to the door. Someone was banging on it. He hoped it was Amy.

He held his pyjama bottoms closed and up by hand.

He opened the door to reveal a terrified face.

"Stephen!" Brendan burst through the doorway. "Jesus Christ, you look… are you… fuck!" Brendan tried to grab him. He flinched away. It might have meant to be a hug, but that made little difference to Ste right now. He needed to shower for a week.

"Are you … are you all right?" His lover asked, voice shaking. Ste could barely look at him.

He ignored the question. Obviously he wasn't all right.

"Please," he said instead, "go to the kid's room, take Lucas and find Amy. I can't let him see me like this."

Brendan looked bewildered. "Stephen, what happened? Where's my…"

"Brendan," Ste interrupted, quietly, "please, I need you to take Lucas to Amy. He's screaming."

"She's only…"

"Please!"

Ste moved back clearing space for Brendan to get through, and sighed in relief when Brendan, with a small sound of annoyance, brushed past him gently.

He stumbled into the bathroom and closed the door, listening to Brendan.

"Come on little man," he was cooing over Lucas's desperate sobs. Ste almost crumbled right then under the pain of need to comfort his son, to take the child into his arms. But he couldn't hold a doll right in his arms at that moment, and Ste wouldn't be a comfort, looking as he did, he'd be some sort of nightmare. "Daddy can't come right now, but we can go get your Ma, yeah? How does that sound?" Brendan continued, his voice getting quieter as he travelled through and out of the flat.

When Brendan had gone, the house wasn't as quiet as Ste had hoped. A scraping noise came from the bedroom, followed by groans and footsteps.

"Boy!" shouted the old man, "that was a very stupid thing ye just did."

Ste closed his eyes, and tried to stay silent, burying the sobs. Brady might have been in his fifties, but Ste felt broken all over. He wasn't sure he'd win another round. His head was humming, his torso bruised, and his left wrist wasn't doing as he wanted it to. His right hand was holding up his torn trousers. He wasn't exactly a force to be reckoned with.

"You could have just taken your punishment." Brady cooed, "Brendan would have realised you're no different from the others. It would have all blown over. You could have stayed with your kids, in your comfy little flat and that pretty blond girl of yours. But you, boy, you can't play by the rules, can ye? This wasn't even about you!"

The voice was getting louder and quieter as Brady searched the house for him, but suddenly all Ste could see was the broken lock on his bathroom door. They hadn't bothered fixing it in case Leah got stuck inside trying to be grown up (Lucas couldn't reach yet). He stopped breathing; hoping Brady would think that he'd left if he was quiet enough. Maybe he'd heard Brendan come and go. Or maybe he'd heard the whole conversation, and knew Brendan was searching the village for Amy, screaming toddler in hand. Ste should have hit him harder.

He looked at the scar on his own hand, and thought about the shattered photograph frame now scattered across his bedroom floor and through Brady's hair. Wasn't that a really bad omen? Did it mean the family would break up? Is this how it would start?

His breath was so loud now, blocked by snot and tears. There was no way Brady would fail to find him. His phone was in his work trouser pocket from last night, the house phone in the living room. It could take Brendan ages to find Amy.

"I know you're here, boy." Brady's voice seemed to boom through his head. "I heard what you said to Brendan. How far away is that girl? Does he even know where she is?"

The voice stopped. Ste looked around for a weapon. They didn't have any, of course, they had two small children. He wondered how much noise unhooking the towel rail would make.

As uneven footsteps got closer to the bathroom door, Ste threw caution to the wind. He grabbed at the towel rail, like a man possessed, pulled off all the towels, then twisted and turned the metal bar, desperate to get it free as his pyjama bottoms fell to the floor. Too late. The door opened effortlessly. Ste managed to get the bar free of its supports, but never got to swing, or even raise it in defence, and the fist landed on his cheek. The punch knocked him down. He collapsed against the bath. More pain flourished in his chest as his ribs hit the edge, and he dropped the bar.

Brady bent down, and scooped it up. "Aw, thanks" he said, pleasantly, "my head hurts a bit, this should save me some effort."

Ste put both hands on the bath tub and tried to stand. The rags of his pyjamas tangled around his feet. Tears fell copiously down his face.

Brady raised the bar.

Ste closed his eyes and waited for the blow.

It never came. He heard a loud grunt, and opened his eyes. Brendan was stood behind his father, one hand around the bar, a look of sheer fury on his face.

"Let go, son, this is for your own good."

Brendan wrestled the bar from his hand. It wasn't hard; Ste had quite recently hit the old man on the head with a photo frame.

"Get out!" Brendan's voice was quiet, brimming full of anguished misery.

"Brendan…"

"OUT!"

Ste felt his legs wobble, and sank down to sit on the edge of the bath.

"That boy will ruin you! You'll lose your family, you're business, and for what?"

Brendan grabbed the man by the collar, and dragged him from the bathroom and out of the flat.

Ste forced his body up again, suppressing the pain in his ribs that made him want to collapse in a heap and never move again, and struggled to the living room to pick up the phone. Reaching his arm for the headset pulled a cry from his lips and he heard the door to the flat slam.

He dialled carefully and put the phone to his ear with another flinch.

The phone was prised from his hand gently and the call ended. A further moment of panic flooded him but passed when he saw Brendan's concerned face looking down at him.

The older man paused for a few moments, and Ste was certain he saw tears in his eyes. "I'll drive you to the hospital," he said, "I'll go bring the car around and you can get some clothes on."

Ste sighed, he'd forgotten he was practically naked now.

"Alright, but I still need to call the police."

Brendan looked at him, expression almost dead.

"We need to get you to the hospital right now, we can sort out the rest later."

Ste had no energy left to argue.