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Mam had been so angry at finding Padraig was at Granddad's, you'd have thought he'd been playing with knives. She shouted at Granddad and said he wasn't to see Padraig or Declan again. Then she'd rung the school to say the same thing, while Paddy sat in the front seat of the stationary car with his arms folded.

After the phone call, she drove them back to theirs, while telling him off. Paddy sank further into his seat, folding his arms more firmly and sticking out his bottom lip.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Padraig Brady, you knew you weren't supposed to see him. He's not a good man."

"He's fun!" protested Paddy, "and he let me have a burger!"

"You were sent home sick and you had a burger?" They pulled up outside their house. "Were you faking Padraig?"

"No!" said Paddy. Swallowing live creatures was not the same as faking.

"Alright," his Ma replied, "I believe ye. Thousands wouldn't."

They got out of the car, Paddy still with arms folded, and sulky bottom lip.

"Look, I called your Dad earlier," Eileen said in a placatory way as they bustled into the house. "I'm gonna be looking after Granny all next week, so I thought it would be nice if you went to stay with Dad. What do you think?"

What did he think? What was she thinking?

"With Dad? And the queer?"

His mam pursed her lips, but didn't answer. Paddy wanted to know if she was upset he'd said that or upset about Dad and the queer.

She sent him straight to bed when they got in, then brought him up a book and a bowl of soup. He was bored already.

About an hour later he heard Declan get home. He heard him talking to Mam, and then clambering up the stairs. He didn't knock, he just walked straight into Paddy's room.

"Alright, Paddy?" he asked, with a smile.

"What are ye doing? Get out of my room, you rabbit!"

"Don't call me a rabbit," Declan replied, infuriatingly unfazed by the insult, "or I'll call you a bird!"

"That doesn't work! I don't eat like a bird!" Paddy replied, annoyed.

"No?" teased Declan, "that's not what Jimmy Penny said."

Bloody, know it all older brothers!

"Yeah, well, he's a liar!" lied Paddy.

"So, you didn't eat any worms today?"

"No," Paddy sulked.

Declan laughed at him, so Paddy scowled a bit more.

"Mam said you went to Granddad's?"

"Yeah? So?" Paddy sulked further, "we've been there loads of times."

"Yeah," said Declan, slowly, like he was explaining something they'd been over a thousand times before, "but Dad would be really upset if he knew."

Paddy harrumphed. "Like he cares, with his wee boyfriend."

"Yes, actually," Declan countered, "it's because of Ste that we're not allowed to see him."

Paddy glowered. "Yeah, that's what Granddad told me."

"I doubt he told you it properly," Declan replied, ominously. "Dad wouldn't even tell me what Granddad did."

Paddy snorted. It was just like Declan to make out he had more right to know - just 'cause he was older. Paddy knew better. "Granddad didn't do anything! He said so!"

"But he would say that, wouldn't he?" Declan replied, in his annoying 'I'm the oldest, I know better than you' voice.

"Ah, whatever," Paddy said, giving in.

"So, you won't go back again, will ye?"

"No," Paddy lied.

"Good," Declan replied, still in that annoying 'I'm so grown up voice,' "and we're not gonna tell Dad? Or Ste?"

"No," repeated Paddy, completely honestly this time.

"Good," said Declan, patting him patronisingly on the arm, before wondering out with a leisurely, "Get well soon."

Padraig checked his pocket for the fifth time that evening. Thirty quid in crisp ten pound notes. A taxi fare from a road near school to Granddad's and back again.

Granddad would want to know about all of this.


Brendan thought that Steven wasn't nearly as excited by his boys' visit as he should have been. The only thing he'd said after Brendan had told him was 'Oh."

"Oh?" repeated Brendan, in annoyance, "is that all you can say?"

They were in Brendan's bed. Steven had demanded a shower the moment he'd arrived and before they'd had any discussion of anything, however good the news was. Apparently a new member of staff had had an accident with some chocolate sauce just before the end of Steven's shift, and Brendan had relented when Steven had pouted at him. Later, when Steven had finally emerged from the shower, a towel around his waist and water dripping down his slender frame, Brendan had decided the news could wait a little longer, so hadn't shared it until after some fantastic sex.

"I mean… yeah…" Steven said, even more unconvincingly, and Brendan stared at him.

"My boys," he tried to clarify, "both of them, for six whole days."

"Yeah, no, I mean, that's great," but Steven's voice was not his excited one – the one Brendan knew should be annoying but somehow never was,

"What's the matter with you?" he demanded, in genuine confusion.

Steven hesitated before answering, "Well… I…"

The boy seemed unable to talk. They'd been having a great time until that moment, and now Brendan's great mood was dissolving. "Well, spit it out," he said unkindly.

"Spit what out?" asked Steven

"Whatever whiny little thoughts you're having."

Steven pursed his lips. "What, I'm not even allowed to think now?" he said, aggressively, and Brendan realised they were suddenly having an argument.

He didn't really know how to stop it. "What are you wittering on about now?" he said instead.

"Wittering?" Steven exclaimed, throwing himself out of bed in the opposite direction to Brendan, who mirrored the action.

"Yeah, with that little sad, 'I'm-so-vulnerable' voice you use when you don't get your own way."

Brendan felt a very fleeting sense of satisfaction at Steven's shocked expression, before an overwhelming sense of guilt.

"Fine," said Steven, grabbing clothes and tugging them on angrily, "Fine," he repeated, "I'll stay away, let you play happy families, but I'm not waiting for ya! I'm going out every night. If I pull, well, you'll just have to deal with it."

Jesus, when did this become a breaking up argument? "What?" Brendan cried.

"You heard!" Steven nearly shouted, "I'm not messing around anymore. You made all this happen. You could have just let me go to Newcastle, or left me alone when you got out of prison, then you would never have to worry about what your kids or your wife know, but no, you want to keep me dangling and hoping and waiting, and I won't do it!"

He strode to the door, but Brendan got there and slammed it closed before Steven had even got it open enough to step through.

The noise and the movement made Steven flinch away from Brendan, who felt his own guilt swell amidst his frustration. It didn't stop him though. "Stop being a drama queen, Steven, you've jumped to the wrong conclusions!"

"Don't call me a drama queen!"

"Just…" Brendan interrupted, "just.. listen! I don't want you to stay away, alright? I told you because I am excited, OK?" He put a hand on Steven's face, who was starting to calm down. "My sons and my… Steven, all together? How could I not be excited?"

The corners of Steven's mouth twitched upward. That was more like it.

"What were you gonna say?" he asked.

Brendan frowned. "What?"

"Before," Steven teased. "You said 'my Steven'. What was it going to be?"

Damn, he'd picked up on that. "Nothing, it was always going to be Steven, I just said 'my' by accident."

Steven was practically grinning, now. "I don't believe ya," he teased. "My friend? My partner? My lover? My boyfriend?"

Brendan growled. "Are you teasing me Mr Hay? After all that whining over something you imagined?"

Steven blushed. Brendan loved it when Steven blushed, though it was more fun when it was over something sexy rather than something like this.

"I think you should be making it up to me, don't you?" Brendan smirked.

Steven leant forward to kiss him, but Brendan had other ideas. He walked them both back to the bed, and sat on the edge, pulling Steven in between his legs. "I hope you can think of something," he said, glancing suggestively down at his still naked crotch.

Steven didn't move, or laugh, and when Brendan looked up he had a sad expression on his face. "Sorry," he said, "it's just… I know you're joking around, right, but… that's what Michael used to do."

Michael. The ultimate mood killer. Brendan had been so exhausted that night, and so relieved that Steven was alive, it had only been days later that he'd started to see it all again; his father's actions, the look on the young man's face when he'd realised what had happened, the blank eyes as he lay on the concrete floor seeping blood, now all those images haunted him, alongside Vinnie and Danny and the many images of Steven crying. He found some solace for them all in Steven's warm body.

"Sorry," he said, and flopped his upper body down on the bed.

Steven perched carefully beside him, and mumbled his own apology, before a dissatisfied silence descended. After a few moments, Brendan felt a hand find his, and he grasped it firmly. After a few seconds more, he transferred that hand into his other one, and used his newly freed hand to feel his way up Steven's torso, and gently tug the boy so they were both lying down. He stroked Steven's face, then kissed him gently on the mouth.

"I'll never let anyone hurt you again," he whispered, "I swear it."

Steven stroked his hand in return. "I know," he said, "and it's OK. I'm a big boy, you know."

Brendan smiled. There was a sexual response on the tip of his tongue, but it died without leaving his lips. This was the wrong moment. He kissed Steven again, gently.

"So," Steven said eventually, "where are we going to take your kids?"

Brendan hummed in pleasure, and together they planned the week.