Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to Hollyoaks!

Summary: Brendan suffers long-term memory loss. Will he remember the people around him and everything that's happened to him, good and bad?

Lifetime

A lifetime gone in an instant. Except this time, it isn't anyone's fault.

My ears are ringing and everyone's voices sound the same, blurred into one cacophony of noise. It isn't the first time I've been brought in on a stretcher, at least that's what I heard my sister say. Everything is confusing, loud and disorienting. Bright. Definitely bright. They herd me into a room, several pairs of hands poking and prodding me, saying the same name over and over again.

"Brendan? Can you hear me, Brendan?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting some relief from the blinding light. My voice comes out rasping and sore, like I've been screaming for hours. Maybe I have been, it's difficult to remember.

They give me something and suddenly I feel drowsy. My head goes fuzzy and in my haze I struggle to grasp at something, I don't know what. Before I can reach it it's gone and so am I.

I wake some time later in a hospital room. The light is filtering through the blinds but things aren't as bright as they seemed before. I immediately groan as my body readjusts to being conscious. I ache in all sorts of places, namely my head.

"Bren?"

I look over, registering the woman beside me. Her hair hangs loose over her shoulders, straggly and blonde. Her eyes are red, evidently from crying. Even in my confusion, I can discern that much. She's oddly familiar and it's only when I stop to think carefully that I remember her voice from earlier, when I was first admitted.

"He's my brother! Is he going to be okay?"

I blink, my eyes scrutinising her face. There's definitely a flicker of recognition but it's difficult to hold onto. My head aches when I try.

"Mr Brady?" There's a doctor present too. I stare at him, dumbfounded. Who's Mr Brady? Is he me?

He clears his throat, glancing almost apologetically at my sister, whose eyes well with fresh tears.

"Do you know your name?" He asks me, not patronisingly, but with a certain degree of caution.

"Mr Brady isn't it?" I say easily, feeling the natural impulse to do so. I don't know myself but it feels familiar, safe.

"That's right. Your name is Brendan Brady."

There's silence for several beats. I stare between the two of them, waiting for an explanation. When I don't receive one, frustration gets the better of me and I find myself snapping: "What the fuck am I doing here then, Doc?"

The hostility makes my blood feel hot, causes my fists to clench. There's something in it; it makes me feel powerful even when I'm powerless. The doctor barely reacts, instead he glances once more at my sister before he begins to speak.

"Mr Brady, you were involved in an accident. Do you remember anything?"

"If I did you wouldn't be asking."

The doctor smiles a little. "I'm just doing my job, Mr Brady," he says tightly. I nod for him to continue and he sighs. "We have reason to believe you may have suffered some… brain damage." My sister chokes on a sob and I feel an overwhelming impulse to comfort her, even though I don't know her.

"Brain damage?" I repeat, not really taking it in. "What kind of brain damage?"

"We aren't positive yet. I know it's difficult, but do you remember anything about yourself or your life?"

I frown, closing my eyes so I can consider his question. I don't remember who I am, but I feel my personality seeping through me regardless, words and emotions coming to the surface without my knowledge, shaping the person I am into someone real, someone that still exists. Beyond that, I remember little.

Before I have the chance to answer, my sister inhales sharply, seizing my arm suddenly with a tight grip.

"Ste!" She splutters, eyes wild and filled with hope. "You'll remember Ste!"

"Ste?" I frown at her. Nothing comes to mind, nothing at all. I see the hope dwindle in her eyes, replaced by misery once more. Again I feel myself wanting to comfort her. I lay my hand against her arm. "What kind of name is Ste anyway?" I laugh, and it feels natural, like something I would say.

Her smile is watery as she replies. "Does Steven sound better?"

Something hits me square in the chest and I jolt, dislodging my hand. She stares at me in surprise, staring from me to the doctor.

"Is he okay?"

"Miss Brady, your brother has suffered a serious injury. It isn't wise to push him too early."

"What's wrong with him?" She asks, despair colouring her voice.

Something about her words hits home. What is wrong with me?

"It's too early to say-" he begins but she cuts him off abruptly.

"Give me a straight answer! I need to know what's wrong my brother!" Her face is hot, her cheeks flushed.

"Alright," he says calmly. "I fear Brendan may have suffered some long-term memory loss. Further tests will need to be carried out of course to analyse the full extent of the damage-"

He cuts himself off as she dissolves into sobs once more. I place my hand on her back, glaring at the doctor fiercely.

"Wanna give us a minute, Doc?"

"Mr Brady, I must insist-"

"And I must insist," I growl at him, my voice low and threatening.

Eventually he relents and steps out of the room, leaving us alone. My sister is still sobbing, her face buried in her arms. I rub her back soothingly, making soft, hushing noises.

"Hey," I say gently. "I need you to talk to me. I don't know who I am or what's going on. I don't even know your name."

She looks up at me then, her face blotchy and wet. "You don't?" She asks quietly.

"I want to." I shrug helplessly.

"It's Cheryl."

"Cheryl." I test the name out on my lips, it feels familiar at least, even if I don't remember the person it's attached to. "How did I get here, Cheryl?"

"Call me Chez." She manages a smile, taking my hand in her own.

"Alright. How did I get here, Chez?"

Her smile fades and she looks down at my bed sheets. "It's a very long story."

"I've got time."

She shakes her head. "It's too much information for you. I don't want you to remember…" She trails off uneasily, searching my face for something. "Do you remember anything at all, Bren? About when you were… young?" Her voice cracks on the final word and it makes me nervous.

"Young?" I repeat, confused. I think carefully about her question before I answer. "There is something. It's there, at the back of my mind. I can't reach it."

"Don't." Her voice sounds strange now, twisted. "Please don't."

I nod, taking her word for it even though I know eventually I will remember. It seems inevitable to remember only the bad.

As if reading my mind, she abruptly changes the subject. "You've got kids you know." She smiles at this. "Two boys."

"I do?" I feel something lighten in my chest. "Are they here? Do they live with me?"

She looks troubled again, bowing her head as though feeling the full weight of our situation.

"I'll call them; you haven't seen them in a while."

"I haven't?" Naturally this is news to me. Am I really that kind of father? The kind that abandons his children?

"Like I said, long story." She looks sad again, as though bringing up my boys wasn't the right decision after all.

I make it easier on her. "What about this Ste? Who's he?"

She stares deeply into my eyes and doesn't answer for a long time. "You don't remember," she whispers. It isn't a question.

"I don't remember anything," I remind her, almost angrily. "Who is he? Is he important to me?"

She sighs, rubbing her face with her hand. "I'll bring him in. Maybe…" she trails off, her voice lighter and more hopeful. "You haven't seen him in a while either."

"Why not? Where have I been?"

She looks at me, her face tense. I stare her down, ready to demand an answer if she doesn't supply me with one.

"Prison."

She doesn't elaborate further and I'm too tired to argue with her. Instead I rest my eyes, allowing the oblivion of sleep to protect me from my confused thoughts and unanswered questions.

I dream of someone. His face is cast in shadow but I see the distinct outline of high cheekbones and soft lips. There's something intriguing about him, even though I can't see his face properly. His figure is slight; his hips jut out as though he hasn't seen too many good meals in his lifetime. Even though he appears fragile, he holds himself firm, like he's had to protect himself his entire life. I want to protect him.

I take a step towards him, feeling an odd sense of trepidation and fear. He doesn't retreat but he also doesn't step out into the light for me to see him. I grow curious, wanting to discern if I'll know him when I lay my eyes on him, or even my hands. With that thought comes a shiver of excitement and it feels familiar, like he elicits this reaction every time he's close.

I hear him before I see him. His voice is low, barely a whisper, but I still hear him.

"Brendan," he says, and it sounds like a promise.

I wake up with his name on my lips. "Steven."

I start when I realise I'm not alone in the room. Cheryl is gone and there's no longer any light outside. The hospital takes on an eerie character; sickness and death lurking around every corner, every hushed voice and anxious glance magnified in the stillness of night.

The figure in front of me holds himself awkwardly, hands clasped tightly in front of him. He's glancing around the room as though he's doing something wrong. It's probably long past visiting hours by now. I wait for him to speak but all that stands between us is pure silence.

Eventually he takes a step towards me and I finally see his face. I recognise the cheekbones and lips from my dream but now I finally see the whole profile. He's breathtaking.

He clears his throat, approaching my bed slowly as though walking towards an illusion. He sits on the edge, staring down at his clasped hands.

"Hi." Is the first thing he says.

I blink, not expecting him to speak so soon. "Hello," I reply, somewhat sardonically. I can't wrap my head around this and for some reason it's making me defensive.

He grins suddenly and his entire face lights up with it. Before I know what's hit me, his arms are around my neck, clinging for dear life. His chest is pushed against mine and I can feel his heartbeat, pounding far quicker than it ought to be. Something in my tone must have given him hope.

"I thought I lost you," he whispers against my neck, his breath warm. My arms feel useless against my sides so I wrap them around his waist. He smells fresh; of cheap deodorant and the lingering scent of soap.

"Steven?" I say his name questioningly and afterwards wish that I hadn't. His arms immediately go slack and he pulls away, bottom lip protruding in a miserable pout.

"You don't know me?"

I open my mouth to answer, not having a clue what to say to him. He answers for me by standing up and rubbing his palm against his face.

"Of course you don't, they said you wouldn't. I'm so stupid."

"Hey," I protest, feeling a flare of annoyance at his comment. "You aren't stupid."

A ghost of a smile appears on his face but it fades quickly. "How would you know?" He counters haughtily.

"Are you giving me attitude, boy? I'm the one with the head injury."

He rolls his eyes, drifting back towards the door. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Where you going?" I ask, my voice oddly high. Why do I care if he leaves?

He shrugs, his hand hovering over the handle. "What's the point?"

I blink, stunned by his response. Somewhere in the pit of my stomach there's something like anger bubbling.

"You're gonna leave? Just like that?"

"Why not? You aren't him." His voice is suddenly dull, lifeless. He turns away from me again and I feel the anger reach the surface.

"You gonna give up on me then, hm?" I almost shout, stopping him in his tracks.

He turns around very slowly. "What did you say?"

"Forget it, kid. Don't know what I'm saying."

"I'm not a kid," he says resolutely.

"Who are ya then?"

He comes further into the room once more, a few inches from the foot of my bed.

"I'm Ste." He stares into my eyes challengingly.

"Steven," I respond automatically and there's that bright smile again. He keeps it in check this time, only allowing it to flare for a moment before he's got it under control.

He hesitates beside the bed, glancing quickly at the chair across the room.

"Sit down," I offer, shifting a little to make room for him.

"Thanks," he says quietly, perching on the edge of the mattress.

"Look at that, only known you for five minutes and I've already got you in my bed."

He smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Known you longer than that actually."

"How long?" I ask curiously. It's weird but there's something about him that immediately captures my attention. It's not just his appearance, which is admittedly mesmerising, but the way he holds himself. He's certainly got the attitude, but underneath all of that he's vulnerable. He's easy to read too; whatever he felt for Brendan, for me, it's still there beneath the surface.

He frowns, considering. "Five years or so."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "And that would make you how old?"

"Oi what you trying to say?"

I shrug, lips curling into a smile. "Just asking."

"I was twenty when we first met."

"How old am I?"

He blinks, taken off guard suddenly. "Thirty four."

"I feel older."

"Yeah, well…" he trails off, shifting awkwardly on the bed. "How much do you know? About how you got here?"

"Not much. My sister, she won't tell me anything."

"She's probably just trying to protect you."

"I think I'm past that point now," I say honestly.

He looks away again, towards the door.

"Not keeping you am I? You got a boyfriend waiting for you?"

His face flushes pink. "No," he says a little too quickly.

"Oh yeah?" I raise my eyebrows, scrutinising him closely. "Bet you get offers though, don't ya?"

"Do you remember that you're gay?" Steven blurts out, flushing even pinker.

"You don't remember being gay, you just are," I point out, surprised at how much I believe that.

"But you don't remember anyone, so how can you know?"

"Well, the female staff don't seem to be doing much for me," I begin, half-joking. "Plus Cheryl mentioned you straight away."

"She did?"

"Yep."

"I could be anyone though, couldn't I?"

"But you aren't, are you?"

"You don't know that though."

"I think it was pretty obvious the minute you walked in here."

"How?"

I stare at him, wondering if he's fishing for a compliment.

"What do you think?" I say simply, and watch as he slowly realises and begins to squirm. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Don't be soft," he replies, flashing me a nervous grin.

"So what did you bring me anyway?" I say after a moment's beat.

"Bring you?" His face scrunches up in confusion.

"Don't people in hospital generally get gifts?" I ask. There's an uncertainty in my voice; it's something I instinctively know, and yet I can't remember ever experiencing it.

"Sorry, I'll bring you something next time."

"Next time?"

He flushes again, but this time he looks directly at me. "I said I wouldn't give up on you."

"Did you?"

"Take my word for it?" He breathes out unevenly, as if he's suddenly terrified of my response.

I nod, wanting to offer him something concrete. "I trust you."

It's weird how quickly that happened.

Steven coughs awkwardly, rising from the bed. "I should go before someone catches me in here."

"How did you manage to sneak in without being seen?"

He shrugs. "I know how to be quiet."

"That right?"

"What you saying?" He gives me a pointed look.

"I don't know," I admit truthfully. It's a struggle to keep focused, to try and remember anything about him. The memories are somewhere, locked far away in the back of my mind, but I can't reach them, not yet.

Sensing my discomfort, he retreats further towards the door.

"You will come back?" I can't help but sound vulnerable; even though I'm confused and frustrated, it feels better having him here, grounding me in reality.

He looks at me, his face clouding over with indecision. "I said so, didn't I?" He doesn't sound sure.

"You said…" I choke on my words a little.

"I will. I'll come back," he says quickly. I'm not sure which of us he's trying to convince.

"Good. That's good." I nod, relaxing against the pillows.

"Will you be alright on your own?" He asks hesitantly, hand on the door by now.

"I'm always on my own up here." I point to my head. If anyone says ignorance is bliss then they're an idiot. It seems to me it's far better to know. Without knowledge of ourselves and the people around us, we become nothing. A mere shadow. It's a terrifying thought and not one I wish to dwell on. "I'll be fine," I add as reassuringly as I can. This is a different kind of protectiveness to how I felt about Cheryl. I don't want him to worry about me and yet a small part of me hopes he does, if nothing else to bring him back here again.

"See you soon then." He gives me a strained smile before he goes, it doesn't suit him.

When he's gone there is only darkness and silence, both around me and inside my head. I wonder if it always feels that way when he isn't here, and then decide that I'm not ready for that answer.