"Say something then."
"What do you expect me to say to that?"
"That you agree with what I'm going to do." Steven puts a hand on Brendan's shoulder, trying to steer him round to face him. It's been more than five minutes since Brendan looked at the boy.
"You're not going to do anything," Brendan says, voice rigid and body unmoving.
"Yes I am -"
"No. No, Steven."
He's thought a million times about killing Warren, and none of those scenarios have included the man dying by Steven's hands.
"Just look at me, won't you? Or do you hate me now, is that it?"
Brendan sighs, knowing that Steven's resorting to childish tactics on purpose. He reluctantly turns and meets Steven's gaze, is half afraid that he'll see something that he's never noticed before in the boy's eyes: a steely conviction not unlike the one that Brendan had the day he murdered Seamus.
"Do I look like a monster now?" Steven asks challengingly, and Brendan wants to laugh; this twenty three year old slip of a boy, arms as thin and weightless as a scarecrow's, asking him if he's become something to be feared.
"You look like you always do."
"And I still will, you know - after what I do to Warren. I'll still be the same person."
Brendan shakes his head erratically, Steven's words ringing in his ears, no viable way in which to escape from the conversation. He could run, could leave the cell, but they're living on constricted time now. Seven days left together, and he's not going to see them be squandered through arguments and the pretense that Steven could ever be a killer.
"You know why I love you, Steven?"
The boy looks shocked by the question, and unmistakably hopeful; Brendan's never done this before, never risked telling him exactly what marks him out from the rest.
"I love you because I see myself in you - the fuck ups, the family, the childhood - I see all that, but you know what I don't see? The decisions. You'd never do what I have. You'd never hurt Terry like that. You'd never screw up your kids lives. You're better than me. You make me try."
"No, that's not true - you're not a bad person, Brendan."
Brendan rests his hand against Steven's shoulder, needs something to steady him, likes the feel of it. He wants to close his eyes, but he knows that it'll make the images more likely to appear. They're less frequent than they used to be, and he's not under any illusion as to why: Steven's a distraction. But they still flicker at the edges of his vision, threatening to become stronger and painfully remind him of what happened on the day that he crushed Seamus's skull into pieces on the floor of the kitchen, refusing to stop until enough blood had been released and he was sure that his father was dead. He couldn't leave even that gap of doubt, that slightest possibility that he had survived.
"Do you think you can just walk away afterwards?" He says hoarsely, doesn't think that Steven's even begun to understand the implications of what he's thinking about doing.
The boy's stubbornness rears its head, can never be kept down for long.
"I'm not a kid. I know it's not going to be easy, but -"
He's cut off by the sound of Brendan's laughter, twisted and cruel.
"You're talking like it's nothing. This is murder - you're not just going to be able to forget about it."
Steven looks determined, is doing a good job of acting like this plan has been forming in his head for months instead of concocted during a panicked moment.
"He deserves it. We both know that. He's scum, a rapist - he killed his own fiancée."
"It doesn't matter what someone's done. It doesn't stop the guilt."
It's never been something he's been able to talk about before. A plea of innocence and years spent pretending he's been wrongfully convicted has resulted in him scarcely mentioning Seamus. The memories and the gnawing remorse has stayed within the confines of his own torturous, punishing thoughts. It's where he'd like it to stay, but he believes Steven, believes that the boy would kill Warren if he was pushed to it. He wants it enough. He's hungry for it.
"I'll deal with it. We'll deal with it together. Bren, please." Steven's hands are all over him, pulling his face towards him, brushing his thumbs over his cheeks and pressing their lips together until all Brendan can hear and smell and feel is him. He can't think clearly when he's like this, can't make a single rational judgement, but he can't pull away either.
It's been days since they were together, properly together, and Brendan needs him.
He gently dislodges Steven from him, the boy making a disgruntled sound.
"What are you doing?" Steven's lips are red, satisfyingly so, his eyes heavy lidded with lust and desperation.
"You're not ready for this."
"Maybe I am," Steven insists, hands trying to resume their previous frantic fumbling.
"You're not ready for any of this. And you never should be - this isn't you, Steven."
Brendan steps back, needing the distance.
Seven days. He thought he had weeks left, still not nearly enough, never enough, but it was something to hold onto. Time in which to pretend to himself that he could get used to not waking up beside the boy, not seeing his face and hearing his voice, planning for a future which is as beautiful as it is impossible.
"I want to be with you." It's a moment of honesty which still feels rare, precious. Still leaves him with that disgusted voice in his head which sounds eerily similar to his father's. A man doesn't talk like this to another man.
But Jesus, he's told the boy he loves him. Few things can be as terrifying as that.
"I want to be with you more than anything." It's easier the second time. Easier than the lies he told Eileen, the lies he's fed to his sister.
The truth will set you free: bullshit. Except sometimes, it does.
"But not like this. You don't belong here." His eyes ghost over Steven's face, taking in his courage and his strength, more than Brendan possesses on his own. "You're so young."
"Don't give me the I've got the rest of my life ahead of me line."
"It's true," Brendan insists. "It took me a long time to realise that I'm going to die here. I don't want that for you. I can't have that for you."
"A life sentence doesn't mean life anymore." The boy's eyes are fiery, passionate. Shining. "You're still going to get out."
"When I'm seventy, eighty," Brendan dismisses. "Declan and Padraig will be married by then, have children of their own. And you..."
He's quiet when he thinks of the possibility of where Steven will be in thirty, forty years time. He can't win: he wants the boy to be happy, but there's a selfish, ugly part of him that wants that happiness to be a direct result of them being together. Not another man, and another man's lips, and another man's body, and another man's words.
"You'll have found someone better than me," he finishes, the images getting more vivid now. The other man is faceless, nameless, but Brendan can still see him, can see them. Steven will find someone else, he's certain of that. He won't hold on forever. He'll grow older, will forget about the three months of his life that was spent in this place, in the darkness with him.
Brendan will have the memories forever. Will spend every day of his existence remembering Steven and how he changed everything. Love has shackled him.
Steven's rejecting of this breed of truth, just as Brendan knew he would be.
"I'm never going to move on." His face is a map of horror, and Brendan desperately wants to trust that he wouldn't, that everything they've shared in here will still exist just as strongly on the outside.
But he can't summon up the bravery to believe in dreams anymore. He needs something tangible. Facts are what he relies on: the time that he has meals every day. His visiting hours. The different ways in which he can manipulate Darren Osborne. The way that he can make a man feel when he's inside him. The birthday's of his children, permanently imprinted in his mind and providing him with the continual ache that he's not with them, that he's driven them away.
Cold, hard facts are what he knows. Hope is an old, distant friend who he hasn't seen in a while. It's safer that it stays buried, the loss of it more painful than he can withstand.
Steven can see the barrier of resistance, is trying to make it crumble. He's convincing, this boy. Made Brendan fall in love with him, makes him feel the first flickers of invincibility that he's felt in years. Together, Brendan's pretty sure that they could take on the world, is filled with that old boyish desire of wanting to be Superman again.
But not here. Not like this.
"I'm going to do it." His lips are mesmerising when he pouts like this. Brendan can't take his eyes off them, hates that he wants him even in the most inappropriate of moments. "I'll get someone to help me if you don't agree to it."
"Who are you going to get - Douglas? Be careful the kid doesn't break a nail."
It makes Steven sulk harder.
"Walker. I'll ask Walker." It's like a light bulb's gone off in the boy's head. He looks smugly satisfied like he's resisting doing a victory dance, celebrating Brendan's defeat and the fact that he's managed to outwit him.
"Simon won't help you." Brendan can be pretty fucking convincing when he wants to be too, and Steven's smile falls the tiniest amount, the light going out. "He still plays for me, Steven. And he owes me."
"Yeah, but he wants to fuck me."
He's seen this side of Steven before, when he uses his own sexuality to get what he wants. But Brendan's never had it used against him.
"He won't do it." He's less confident now; Simon went to extreme lengths to separate them to begin with, and Brendan doesn't have the faith that he won't try and do the exact same thing again, creating a wedge between them and being the one to pick up the pieces if Steven's sentence is extended.
Steven sees his doubt, revels in it.
"Or, you can help me instead." He presents the idea as though it's an attractive alternative, an offer that Brendan won't be able to resist. "It'll be safer if you're involved."
"Why, because I'm an expert in killing someone?" His voice is laden with disgust. "We're not going any further in this. We're not going to talk about it." He can't bear to hear Steven planning it - the weapon to use, the day, how he'll lie to himself that he'll be unaffected by the sight of a man dying in front of him.
He's had enough.
"Sit down, Steven." He motions to the bed, knowing that his tone is irritating the boy, that he's speaking to him as though he's a child. He ignores his annoyance; it's necessary, for this conversation.
Steven reluctantly sits, back leaning against the wall, still beautifully, frustratingly defiant.
"Have you heard of Leah and Lucas?"
Steven frowns. "Yeah, of course I have, what are you on about?"
"Just testing. Seems like you forgot about them for a little while there."
Steven gets it; he crosses his arms and scowls.
"They need you, Steven. They're babies, they're not even - they're not even done turning into who they're gonna be. I didn't need a father, would have been a hell of a lot better without one, but you...you're a good father. You love them. You'd go crazy never seeing them again."
The boy hasn't even thought this through. Brendan can see the dawning relisation spreading across his face and clouding his features, doubt replacing the previous stubborn certainty there.
"Amy will be there for them..." He mumbles it, voice growing softer as the sentence trails off into nothingness. It's a hollow argument and they both know it.
"They'll find out, you know - all about how their daddy is a murderer. Can you live with that?"
Steven runs his fingers through his hair, exasperated at how his plan is increasingly falling to pieces.
"They're gonna be ashamed of me no matter what, aren't they? When they get older, and they find out about how I was in here, how I lied about being in bloody Benidorm..." Steven shakes his head, laughing. He tries to get up from the bed, and Brendan can tell that he's going to try and coax him around to his way of thinking, has that expression that Brendan can never resist, hands already preparing to be placed on Brendan's hips, running his fingers along them.
"Don't." Brendan puts a hand up warningly, needs Steven to stop, can't let him even begin to halfway convince him. "We might not even be together. They could move you at any moment - to another block, to another prison. Someplace where I can't be there to protect you."
Steven opens his mouth to protest, closing it when Brendan's eyes tell him to not even try.
"Nowhere will employ you even if you do ever get released. Cooking, your own business - you can kiss that goodbye."
Steven sinks into the bed, and Brendan firmly hopes that it's in defeat.
"Don't you want to be with me? You say that you do, but..." His voice is so small, so utterly childlike that some of Brendan's anger thaws, and he allows himself to sit beside Steven, not touching but keeping himself near him, always near him.
"I don't want you to be anything like me."
"That's not what I asked."
If he could give anything to Steven, it would be a shred of self belief. The knowledge that he's worth something, so much more than he thinks. That you can't not fall in love with Steven Hay.
He ignores the question. This isn't about his feelings; it's about making Steven see the impossibility of the situation that he's presenting.
"Do you still honestly want to do this? After everything I've said, do you want to stay here with me?"
Steven's eyes look silver with tears that are on the brim of escaping.
"Yes."
"Come here tonight, Steven. I need to tell you something, and then you can decide if you still want to fuck up your future for me."
Steven sighs at his tone, but there's curiosity in his eyes.
"Where are you going?"
"You still want me to see Desmond, don't you?"
"Yeah."
Brendan rises from the bed, smoothing down his shirt which Steven had tugged at greedily to get to the skin underneath.
"Stay with Simon until I get back." He says it with difficultly, but knows that he has to get past that: even with Warren in hospital and Silas being questioned, there's still that risk. There's always that risk.
"Bren..." The boy sounds nervous. "Can't you just tell me now? Instead of tonight."
Brendan opens the door, is unsurprised to see Simon already outside, seems to sense when to come like Brendan's ringing an invisible bell.
"Tonight, Steven," he says emphatically.
He needs to build up the strength to find the words.
"How are you?"
Ste looks at Walker from across the pool table. They'd moved to the game's room shortly after Brendan had left. Ste felt too exposed on the bed, too trapped with Walker in the small cell. He could sense the man's eyes on him as he lay on the mattress, every hike of Ste's t-shirt making Walker stare that much harder.
He's never been a fan of pool, too much need for coordination and skill for his tastes. He's losing, badly. But it's a distraction, and he needs one now; his mind is churning with what Brendan could possibly say to make him change his mind.
"I'm alright." It's a lie of the highest order, and Simon can see right through him, cocking his eyebrows. "No one ever wants to really hear the answer to that question."
"I do." Simon aims with his pool cue like a pro, not even attempting to go easy on him.
"How do you think I am?" Ste challenges, hates these stupid, ridiculous questions. He knows that they come from a place of care, even with this man. But the answer is all too obvious.
"Probably feeling worse than you've ever felt in your life."
Ste stills, startled by Simon's frankness.
"Got it in one," he concedes. He hadn't thought that anything could feel worse than what Pauline and Terry had done. What he'd done to Amy.
He never expected to feel that bad again.
"Have you heard?"
Walker leans against the table, long lithe body on display. "What?"
"Thought you'd know everything that goes on in this place."
Ste makes a shot, cursing when the ball flies off the table spectacularly. Some of the men standing in close proximity chortle, but Walker doesn't join them. He retrieves the ball, handing it to Ste.
"Surprise me."
"I'm getting out of here in a week." He waits for the look of happiness to spread across Walker's face, the knowledge that he's won, that he and Brendan are being separated.
The older man simply stares at him.
"You don't want to leave." It's not a question; it's a mere observation. He already knows.
"I don't want to leave Brendan," Ste corrects, feels like he needs to differentiate between them, in part so he doesn't sound completely insane.
"You can still see each other. Conjugal visits," he says with a grin.
"You've known Brendan for years - does he seem like the type to stay with someone?"
"I didn't think so. But you've lasted this long."
"Yeah, in here. When he's got nothing else, and I'm readily available."
"You make yourself sound like a fast food meal."
It raises a smile from Ste, however dim and begrudging.
"Would you wait? If someone asked you to? If Kevin asked you." He struggles to say the boy's name, forces it out between gritted teeth. The idea of being in the same room as Kevin for more than an hour makes him feel violent; he can't contemplate the possibility of being in a relationship with him.
Simon snorts, making another winning shot. "Kevin's just a fling."
Ste feels oddly satisfied at how quick Simon is to disregard him, has the childish, irrational urge to race and find Kevin himself, tell him that that's two men who he's been rejected by.
"But if it was the right person." Simon looks at him from under his lashes, eyes locked on Ste's. "Then I could wait."
Ste shifts uncomfortably, distracting himself by fiddling with the cue.
"Simon?" Ste knows that the man likes it when he calls him by his first name. His eyes alight with it.
"Hmmm?" His hum sounds strangely, effortlessly musical.
"If I asked you for a favour..."
"Ah, and here comes the catch."
"What?" Ste asks, pretending to be dumfounded.
"I knew you were being far too polite."
"Shut up." Ste hits with the cue, missing again. "It's only a tiny one."
He's not even close to telling the truth, is downplaying what he wants to do, and something in Simon's expression tells him that he realises it. Ste's never been good at keeping the nervous anticipation from his voice.
"Go on."
"What if I just...didn't leave?" He says it lightly, as though it's nothing, thinks that if he makes it seem meaningless then Simon will believe it is, will agree without a moments pause.
His casual tone doesn't seem to work.
"What are you talking about, Ste?" Simon's voice is harsh, his stance stiff, eyes sweeping over Ste's face so that he feels like he's being assessed.
Ste's palms begin to grow clammy. His main interactions in the past few years have consisted of Amy and two young children; even after almost three months here, he's still not adept at keeping his cool around men older and stronger and more intimidating than him.
He's sure that Simon already knows exactly what he's going to tell him. He can see the fury developing, the counter argument already being formed.
"Warren deserves to be put in his place, doesn't he?"
Simon shakes his head, not a denial of Ste's words but a denial of the idea, of what he's planning. He knows; Ste doesn't have to explain anything.
"Don't you fucking dare, kid."
When he'd broached the subject, Ste hadn't expected this. Simon isn't Brendan: he'd anticipated an altogether different reaction, had imagined the man agreeing to help him. Not this coldness and anger sparking within him.
"You don't even -"
"I know exactly what you're plotting in that little head of yours."
Ste feels insulted: little?
"All I'm asking is for you to help me, maybe keep watch while I..." Ste lowers his voice, knows how people love to eavesdrop in this place, nothing else to do but gather gossip and use it for their own means. "You know..." Kill him. Kill Warren.
Simon puts the cue down, doesn't look like he's in the mood to play anymore games.
"You're not throwing your life away for him."
"You sound like Brendan."
"I get it. You tell him, he doesn't agree to it, so you come running to me? Why, because I'm more morally deficient?"
"Got it in one," Ste says boldly, frustration replacing his fear. "I'm not asking for much."
Simon leaves his side of the table, walking towards Ste. He feels distinctly like his prey, the older man's eyes penetrating and dark.
When he reaches Ste he doesn't touch him, just stops inches away from his face and stares him down, but Ste holds his own. If he shows Simon that he's scared then he has no chance of getting him to agree to this. And he has to agree. Doug won't help him - won't do anything to risk his chance of being with Lynsey, can't be haunted by another face that he's helped to rob the life from.
Even with Ethan's motive, Ste can already picture the reluctance there. He won't take the chance, won't do anything just in case the plan backfires and Warren makes it out alive.
Simon's his only option.
The man's voice is clipped, full of the authority and command that Ste wishes he possessed.
"You can beg for a thousand years. You can offer to suck my cock. I'm still never going to help you do this."
Ste's mouth closes, his words dying on his lips.
Walker creates a distance between them once more, stacking the balls to signify an end to their game, and gestures for Ste to follow him as though they never had this exchange at all.
"So I guess this is...you know..." Brendan waits for Desmond to finish his sentence, to fill in the missing gaps, the Irishman motioning with his hands to try and make him understand when his gaze remains blank.
Desmond sits back in his chair, expression neutral. He doesn't help, acts like he's waiting for Brendan to resume the conversation.
Brendan sighs, doesn't even attempt to make it quiet. He had hoped this would be easier.
"This is the end, isn't it?" He finally finishes.
"The end of what?"
Brendan doesn't know if Desmond's being dense on purpose.
"The sessions."
Desmond's eyebrows raise the smallest amount, a question there.
"Why would that be?"
Brendan's words feel caught in his throat; he didn't expect this. Had thought that it would be obvious to the man, that he'd be the one to initiate this exchange.
"I missed yesterday's session."
"Yes, you did." Desmond's voice sounds unaffected, distinctly unmoved as though he's stating a fact.
Brendan leans forward on the chair, wants to know the catch. Wants to know why Desmond's not throwing him out.
"That's it, is it?" He probes when the man continues to not respond. "You're not even going to tell me off?"
"You're not a child, Brendan. This isn't school."
"I thought there would be consequences."
"Thought or hoped?"
Brendan rolls his eyes, letting Desmond see. He hasn't missed the psychobabble, the questions being thrown back in his direction.
Desmond stares at him curiously. "Maybe you wanted me to tell you that that's it - that you're off the hook."
"Don't try and get inside my head." Brendan ignores the fact that this is the whole point of these sessions. It's never going to be a comfortable place for him to be: someone probing and prodding and trying to tear down the walls.
The man doesn't seem wounded by the slight.
"I'm not going to stop our sessions," he says quietly, and Brendan doesn't know how to react, doesn't know whether the corners of his mouth are twitching with surprise or disgust; the two are blended together so seamlessly in this room, in the presence of this man.
Brendan tries to regather his composure. The last session had been a slip up, a fatal error in judgement. He'd mentioned Seamus, and then Steven had been hurt, had got taken away from him and violated. It's the domino effect: he opens up, and everything falls down.
"I suppose you want to know where I was?" He asks acidly, anger peppering his voice.
"Only if you want to tell me."
Brendan huffs a laugh; he's sure that Desmond's dying to ask. Perhaps he's even disappointed that he has to, considers their previous meeting as progress that Brendan's now tarnishing.
"I just didn't want to come." His eyes are blank, lines of his face harsh and unforgiving as he stares at the man opposite him, his voice sounding as though he has a million better things he could be doing right now.
His conversation throughout the session is cold and detached, but he still doesn't leave. He puts it down to Steven and the boy's voice in his head telling him that he needs to do this.
He blocks out the fact that he knows there's his own voice, growing stronger by the day. It tells him to stay and sit this through, that however tedious and difficult it is, Seamus would have hated him to be in a place like this, talking to a person who wants to unlock everything that he's kept buried.
There's a type of satisfaction in that, and he draws strength from it.
Doug's all over him, ruffling his hair and holding him in a bear hug. His accent seems to get more pronounced when he's excited, and Ste would almost find it amusing if he could share his joy. Instead he stands, uncomfortable and fidgety and waiting for the display of happiness to pass. Needs it to pass. He doesn't feel involved, paints on a smile that wilts and burns.
He'd been reluctant to spend the entire afternoon with Simon, had anticipated it at the beginning of the day, trying to form an idea in his mind, envisioning them working out the ins and outs of the plan. Once that had dissipated he'd told Simon that he wanted to find his friends, letting the sting settle in for the man, the fact that he clearly wasn't counted as one of them.
Ste's grateful for the change of company, but he wishes that he'd waited longer to tell Doug his news. It's not a topic that he'll be deterred from; Ste can see it already.
"This is amazing. Amy must be so happy!"
"She doesn't know yet." He can't quite meet Doug's eyes.
"What? Why?"
Ste squirms, knows that it's only a matter of time before Doug sees his hesitance and begins to connect the dots.
"I just haven't got around to it." It's a poor excuse. She should have been the first person he told.
"Phone her now."
"No." It comes out more harshly than he wants, and Doug raises his eyebrows at him, a wordless question: explain yourself. "I just want time for it to sink in."
He just about gets away with it, making it sound plausible like the shock has yet to settle. Ste's barely aware of Doug's words as his mind churns, knows what he should be feeling, but nothing's coming, only a steady, sinking dread.
"This is exactly what you need, Ste. I just wish..." He sees Doug's lip wobble the smallest amount, is disarmed by the sudden influx of emotion.
"Doug?"
"I just wish it had happened sooner. Before Warren could..."
"I know." Ste doesn't want to hear the end of that sentence.
"We haven't really talked about it -" Doug begins, his cheeks warming with embarrassment.
"I don't want to," Ste interjects. He expected this, knew that Doug would want to have this conversation, be eager for Ste to know that he cares.
He gets it, understands the care. But he can't talk about it again.
"Thank you for...the offer," the trails off lamely. "I really do appreciate it. But I..."
"It's okay. I understand. It's too much."
Ste nods, turning away to stop Doug from seeing him come apart for a second.
"Just imagine everything we're going to do when we get out. You, me, Lynsey."
"I thought you two weren't going to be seen in public together for a while?"
Doug's face falls. Ste could kick himself.
"Well yeah, but...once things have died down." He's quieter now, eyes on the floor.
"Sorry, I shouldn't have said that." Ste mumbles, doesn't know whether drawing attention to the awkwardness is going to make things better or worse, but he feels the need to say something.
"No, you're right. If she loses her job, then...I don't know if we could survive that."
"Of course you could. She cares about you more than some poxy prison teaching job. No offense," Ste quickly adds.
"Yes, I'm sure she'll be delighted to be with her unemployed convict boyfriend when she gets fired."
Ste turns round, would recognise that voice anywhere, had almost expected to be interrupted. Simon can't leave him alone for a damn minute, thinks that he needs to be babysat like some wayward child.
"No one was talking to you, were they?"
Simon smirks, nonplussed.
"Can't you learn to knock one day?"
"There's no fun in knocking."
Ste scowls, hates how this man has an answer for everything, thinks he's being witty and intelligent when he's a constant pain in his arse.
"Walker, we're trying to talk here -"
Ste admires Doug for the effort, but it doesn't take much for him to get shot down; a glare from Simon and he closes his mouth, blinking rapidly like the rest of his body is paralysed.
"You can't just do that to him." Ste's in the mood to be brave; these last few days have taught him that he can survive. There's not much that he hasn't come back from.
"Don't get all sulky with me just because I didn't agree to your plan."
Ste freezes, doesn't move or speak, just waits. Sure enough, it happens.
"What plan?"
He hears the curiosity and edge of concern in Doug's voice, hardly dares to breath as he looks at Simon, waiting to see what the man's reaction will be. He sees a smile there; Simon knows how much power he holds, knows that Ste would never hear the end of it if Doug were to find out about what he wants to do to Warren.
Simon stares back at him, a silent proposition for Ste to speak first.
"It doesn't matter," he says, softly but with a firm edge. If Doug finds out then he'll have no chance of following through.
"No, come on. What does he mean?" Doug glances between them. The longer the silence stretches, the more panic floods to Doug's features. He's not an idiot; Ste's underestimated how well he's come to know him.
"It's just Walker playing his stupid games, isn't it?" Ste dismisses, shooting him a private glare that's a warning. "He's always pulling ridiculous stunts like this, isn't he?"
"You're forgotten that I'm the one who saved you, Ste." There's a lightness to Simon's voice that sounds false.
"Did you expect me to thank you?" Ste sneers. Nothing in him feels grateful for what Simon did. Nothing in him feels saved. "I will never thank you."
He ignores the sound of Doug calling him and Walker racing to catch up with him as he leaves the room, striding down the hallway and making his way to the therapy centre. Brendan's session will almost be over, and he can't wait any longer. Can't be with someone who he's keeping a secret from, and can't be with a man who refuses to help him.
He needs to know what Brendan wants to tell him.
"How was the session?"
"It was okay." Brendan's all grunts and limited eye contact. Ste's used to it - knows that this is how he gets after therapy. It can take him hours to recover from it sometimes, to go back to being his Brendan. The one without the mask.
Ste wants to draw it out of him. He doesn't want Brendan to change his mind and delay the conversation any longer.
They've got Ste's cell to themselves. Doug grumbled at first, less of an objection at Brendan and more of a protest of the ending of their last talk. Ste knows he's itching to find out about his plan, can imagine Doug going directly to Simon, putting aside their animosity to discover the truth.
He's confident enough of Simon's dislike for him to trust that he won't reveal any more.
Brendan surprises him, suddenly drawing him into a hug, hand on the back of Ste's hair and stroking. After the initial shock he settles into it, breathing in the scent of the man and closing his eyes.
It's easy to forget what he wanted to talk about. He could do this forever.
"What's this for?" He can't help asking. Brendan's getting better at this, body loose and slack when he holds him now, most of the discomfort at such an intimate gesture being silenced. But it still feels like a rarity. Ste never wants to forget how this feels, that certainty for a moment that he's loved.
"Because I wanted to," Brendan says simply. "And because you're probably not going to like me much after what I have to tell you."
Ste takes in a breath, half relieved and half terrified that Brendan isn't trying to avoid what he promised. He knows that something so important shouldn't be spoken through a hug, but it's tempting to stay like this, engulfed in heat, so wonderfully secure.
Ste kisses him on the cheek before they part, mouth brushing against the merest traces of stubble. It makes him wonder if any part of Brendan isn't covered with hair. The masculinity excites him, even after all this time.
"You might want to sit down."
Ste laughs, partly out of nervousness. It's what people say before they deliver bad news. It reminds him of death.
Brendan sits alongside him, seeming reluctant to face him. There's a confidence behind his words though, a confidence that tells Ste that he means this, that what he's about to say is coming from a place of honesty.
"I'm not going to change my mind." Ste says it hurriedly, needs to get the words out and make Brendan understand that whatever he reveals in this room, he's not going to back out. He wants Warren dead, and he wants to be the one to do it.
"I think I fell in love with your stubbornness," Brendan says softly, sounding like he's speaking to himself more than to Ste.
"Then you'll let me do this."
"No."
"Yes -"
"No, Steven. Just...stay quiet for once in your life, yeah? And if you still want to do this after what I have to tell you, then..."
"You'll let me?" Ste asks hopefully.
"No, but I'll be nicer in the ways I go about stopping you."
Ste sighs, never thought that this would be easy but he hadn't envisaged this; didn't think that Brendan would be so adverse to him hurting someone who they both despise.
"Go on then."
Brendan grips the mattress, fingers digging in. Ste can see the veins on his forehead, purple and vivid.
"I'm going to tell you about the day I killed my father."