Short chapter this time, just sort of the prologue/build-up to what's coming up.

Oh - and I'm now spelling it 'Steven'. It seems weird and not as nice but... well, Kieron and Emmett say it's spelt like that, so I guess it is!

XOXO

Brendan's history had always been a huge mystery to Ste. It was funny really. In many ways he felt like he knew Brendan inside-out; he felt like he could see through him, like they shared so much… and then when he thought about it, they'd actually shared very little. Brendan was closed, even in their best days together. He'd never spoken about his childhood, even when probed. To be fair, Ste had never talked about his either, though he would have done if Brendan had asked. Part of Ste wanted Brendan to know all that stuff – the bad stuff, the stuff he kept secret because he was ashamed of his stepfathers abuse, his rebellious teenage years, which really weren't very long ago at all. He wanted Brendan to know because he felt it was their connection… it was why he understood Brendan and tolerated him more than others could understand. But he never told him. Mainly because Brendan's reactions to things were unpredictable, and Ste had been hurt enough times in the past to be wary of opening up too fast.

Brendan had only told Ste one thing about his past… and that was about his father abusing him. He'd told Ste in confidence… in a shockingly sincere moment of pure honesty. Granted, he'd told Ste to save his own back… but he'd told him all the same. "I could never duck fast enough." He'd said. "Or hit back hard enough. I was always a 'big soft girl', 'poof', 'queer'."

Those words had haunted Ste. He had wanted to hate Brendan and to stay mad at him forever. He'd wanted to, because that made it so much easier to be apart from him. But his heart ached for Brendan's pain. Despite everything, it tortured him to think of Brendan suffering. It killed him to think of Brendan being hit or hurt. And sickeningly harsh images swam into his brain about his own past; how Terry used to smack him about, scream in his face, hands around his neck, boozy breath washing over him. How he'd cried himself to sleep when he was young, and pushed the pain down with anger and resentment and bitterness.

So yes, he understood Brendan. And he'd gone to sleep that night reeling with hatred… not for Brendan… but for Brendan's father. He hated him like he hated Terry. He hated him more than he hated Terry. He hated the man for ruining Brendan, for making him the wrecked soul he was today. He hated every punch, every sneer, every sick hateful comment he'd sent Brendan's way, in days before Ste was even born.

And he hated him now.

He recognised him instantly.

The man who stood in Brendan's living room, invading the home Ste had grown so accustomed to… was Brendan's father.

He must have been in his 60s. Grey hair, skin lined with age. He had a strong stubble outlining a moustache and beard… a Brady thing, apparently.

But what stood out most were his eyes. Piercing eyes. Tough and cold. Eyes that ran down Ste's body, making him shiver. Eyes that had no soul in them, only harsh bleakness. Eyes that lifted to meet Ste's… and clouded over in what looked like hateful recognition.

Ste's heart hammered in his throat. He shouldn't have come down here. He felt disorientated and drunk and dizzy. And all he wanted to do was escape. Because now Brendan was coming down the stairs behind him, and Ste could feel Brendan's rage washing over him without even looking at him. He was cornered between two vicious men, and right now he didn't know who he was more afraid of.

"What the hell is going on?" Mr Brady whispered in a dangerously low Irish accent. It made Ste's blood curl.

"Um…" Brendan coughed harshly. "Da'… this is… Steven. He's err… had too much to drink, he's jus' on his way home…"

Ste blinked back into reality, and turned to see Brendan behind him. He couldn't make eye-contact; Brendan was staring intently at his father, and Mr Brady staring intently back at him. It was like they were communicating to each other without words, and Ste knew he had best not be here at all.

And then things were starting to make sense… the sleeping figure on the sofa on Christmas Eve… of course it has been Brendan's dad. And… the sickly bruise that lined Brendan's eye now… that couldn't be… could it? Not now… not as a grown man… never would Brendan Brady allow somebody to do that to him… would he?

"Get rid of him." Mr Brady spoke bluntly.

"C'mon Steven, go home." Brendan said in a low voice. He was serious. Deadly serious. No protest… only submission to his fathers order. It wasn't right… Brendan didn't answer to anybody… did he?

Ste's throat was dry. He coughed weakly, trying to clear it, looking hesitantly back and forth between the two men and their silent stand-off. So much he wanted to leave… and yet some part of him didn't trust abandoning Brendan like this…

"Um…" he muttered

"Steven GO. Now." Brendan spat, and that anger he was trying to suppress spilled out gravely as he dragged his eyes to meet Ste's. "Get out!"

"Okay…"

He didn't need telling twice. Ste dodged between them, pulling open the front door hastily, letting it slam behind him. And he didn't stop. He just kept moving… away… as far away as possible… as far away from the older mans hateful eyes… from Brendan's disdain and anger… from the realisation of how badly Ste just fucked up and how much trouble he could potentially have landed Brendan in…

But most of all, away from that powerlessness Brendan seemed to suddenly illuminate. It was a weakness Ste had never seen in him before… a weakness that didn't suit him; that made Ste nervous and afraid himself. Brendan was never afraid, was never submissive… and yet for a split second, he had seemed that he was, back there. It made Ste sick to think of him like that. It made him shiver to think of Brendan with that sort of indignity…

Oh shit, fuck, fuck FUCK. What had he done?

His head and heart and body pounded with a surreal mixture of emotions and memories and regrets… and he keeled over, clutching his stomach, retching over the cobbles as he steeled himself under the bridge. He threw up heavily… alcohol burning his throat as he bought it all back up, and Mr Brady's vicious expression swam around his brain.

Oh shit, I'm sorry. He thought desperately; hating himself and his selfishness, and his stupidity. Don't hate me… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…

He was overcome with dizziness, and sat down on the pavement, head spinning. It was those eyes... glaring at him… bringing back memories he'd long suppressed. The eyes that ran over his body, critiquing him like he was filthy… like he was nothing.

He sat on the pavement taking deep breaths, head in hands for a long time. After half-an-hour or so, something drew him to look up. And his eyes scanned intuitively across to Brendan's front door in the distance… to see the figure of Brendan leaning heavily against the railings, silhouetted in the darkness.

Thank God.

Ste stood hesitantly, making to walk over to him…

But Brendan shook his head sharply. It was a small movement… Ste couldn't even tell in the dark whether Brendan was directing it at him or not… but something told him to stay away. Brendan didn't want him there, of course he didn't. So Ste stood uselessly in the middle of the road, watching Brendan for some sort of demonstration that he was okay…

But all Brendan did was jerk his head in some weird motion… signalling for Ste to leave, to go away.

And so, as usual, he did what he was told.

XOXO

"Cheryl…"

"Yes love?"

"Where's Brendan?"

It was the Monday at work. Ste hadn't heard from Brendan all weekend… not that he expected to… but he wanted to so badly… to know that he was okay. And when Ste had come into work that Monday morning and NOT seen that recognisable face, his heart had sunk. And he'd waited around all day and STILL no Brendan, and so finally he'd had to ask…

"Oh!" Cheryl said breezily, "He's just having a few days off. Personal stuff, you know."

She made to move away into the office, but Ste followed…

"Well… is he alright?"

Cheryl frowned, looking genuinely confused. "Yeah. Well… as alright as Brendan can be anyway, you know what I mean."

"Yeah but… I just… why's he having time off, I mean… it's not like him to leave the club is it?" Ste tried to match Cheryl's tone of nonchalance; he could play the game if she could.

"Well, you know Bren, family first."

Ste licked his lips thoughtfully. "Yeah."

Why wasn't Cheryl telling him about their Dad being back? Why wouldn't she just tell the truth? Ste of all people deserved to know, after all. HE was the one who snapped Brendan out of his stupor, wasn't he? HE was the one Cheryl went to for help. He was the one Cheryl even declared sometimes to be PART of the Brady family. So what now, did that mean nothing?

"So will ya… will ya tell him to ring me?' Ste asked, resorting to slightly desperate tactics, but fuck it, this was more important than his pride. "Just cos… I 'aven't heard from him, that's all. An'… he said he would."

Cheryl sighed slowly… seeming to come to some decision in her head…

"Look love," she spoke quietly to him, "Things are just a little hectic at the moment, alright? I think you should just give him some space for a while until things calm down a bit."

And with that she turned defiantly away. She picked up the nearest paperwork and practically power-walked to the office in her efforts to get away from Ste. But not before he managed to call after her;

"Look, we 'aven't even DONE anythin'!"

Cheryl turned, half in irritation and half in what looked like hidden sadness.

"I know what it looked like but…" Ste stammered, trying to find the right words. "We're… we're jus' MATES! That's all! Nothin' even happened!"

And his body seethed with frustration because, ironically, that was the TRUTH, for the first time ever.

"I know that." Cheryl spoke gravely. "We all know that, Ste. It's fine. Really. You just… need to keep your distance for a while. Alright love? Just keep your head down until things settle for a bit."