He finds Ethan huddled in the corner of his bed, blanket drawn around him, hair sticking up at odd, unruly angles.

Brendan doesn't say anything while he waits for the officer to lock the door. When it's closed for the night he turns slowly, seeing the way that Ethan stares at him warily. He relishes it. It's felt too long since he's been feared; a safe place that he wants to get back to.

"How's Ste?"

The question disarms him, and he falters. It had been near impossible to leave the boy, had felt like his eyes were attempting to memorise everything, scanning Ste's face, and it couldn't have been only three months that they'd known each other. When he thought about life before Ste, it seemed painful in its darkness.

"He'll survive." He has to. Any other possibility isn't something that he's willing to consider. "And before you start your stories or your rumours again, he didn't do it. He didn't kill them."

"I know," Ethan says, a touch of discomfort making him break eye contact, hands clutching the sheets tighter. "I'm sorry, it was stupid. I know Ste wouldn't do that."

Double bluffing: that's what Brendan thinks this is. The boy's feeding him lies, telling him what he wants to hear. Trying to pretend that he's not going to frame them the first chance he gets. Brendan's disgusted at how close he is to believing it.

"I didn't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about," Ethan continues into the silence. "I wouldn't spread it around."

"Wouldn't you?'

"No. I like Ste. And...I'll always be - you know..." He shrugs awkwardly, squirming when Brendan doesn't finish the sentence for him, doesn't say something to make it easier. "I'll always be in your debt for what you did. Protecting me from Warren."

"I didn't do that for you. I did it for Steven." The lies leave a tang on his mouth. Most of it was for the boy, and some of it was for him, but the rest - the rest was for Ethan.

"Right." Ethan tries to conceal his hurt. "Well thanks - you changed my life."

"That's big talk, kid," he dismisses, taking his jacket off, rolling his shoulders to ease some of the tension there. "I didn't do a thing."

He can tell that Ethan wants to argue, but he closes his mouth when he sees a warning glance from Brendan. He looks away as Brendan changes, stripping down to his boxers and climbing into bed. Ethan switches out the light, and Brendan can tell that he thinks this is over, that Brendan wants to end the discussion.

He's not even close to ending it.

Brendan stairs up at the ceiling. It seemed less like a cell when Ste was here with him. Now there's no mistaking the peeling paint and the grey exterior. The entire place is devoid of colour, feels like it hasn't been summer for the past five years.

He misses the air. Wants to breath it again. A few hours spent outside in the prison yard everyday isn't the same; the air feels stale, dirty. He misses everything.

"Would you go back to work? If you could?"

The question is so entirely plucked from thin air that Brendan can imagine Ethan trying to process it in the darkness. It takes him a minute to answer, and when he does his voice sounds intentionally controlled, like it's been a long time since he considered life on the outside.

"No."

"Why not?" Brendan presses. This isn't important - this isn't what he needs to know, but this is how he's going to wear Ethan down: get him to open up, make him think that Brendan cares. "Don't you want to make sure that guys like me are locked up? Scum of the earth?" He doesn't know if he's joking. He would have killed Warren and Silas if he'd had the chance. Is that what he's going to do every time Ste's in danger? Maybe he's safer in here.

"I used to think guy's like you were scum."

Brendan laughs at Ethan's honesty, doesn't know whether to smack him for it or let his boldness pass. He settles for lying back in bed and listening to him, isn't prepared to fuck this up for the sake of his already dented pride.

"Being in here...it's opened my eyes."

"And what? Now you think I'm some kind of saint?" Brendan asks sceptically.

"No," he answers, a little too quickly for Brendan's tastes. "But how can I go back to my job - arrest the bad guys after what I did? You killed your own dad, Brendan. It doesn't mean you haven't helped me more than anyone else in this place."

Jesus. If the kid's acting then he should win a fucking Oscar.

"What are you going to do then? When you leave here."

"Don't know. Can't see anyone wanting to employ me, can you? I'll still be on parole. I doubt many girls will stay with me once I tell them that I have to be inside from seven o'clock at night. When I can't drive them anywhere, or go abroad. Not much of a catch, am I?"

"You didn't...you didn't mean it though. You didn't mean to kill anyone."

"I didn't exactly stick around to clean up my mess though, did I?"

"You got scared. It happens." This isn't what's supposed to happen. He's not meant to defend the kid.

"Maybe you should be my spokesman. Come to job interviews with me. Sing my praises."

Brendan grunts in the darkness. "I ain't doing fuck all for you."

He hears Ethan laugh from across the room. "See, that's the Brendan Brady I know. I was getting scared for a minute there. All that sympathy - it doesn't suit you."

"Momentary insanity. It won't happen again." He squeezes his eyes shut, wants to hit himself for the way he's being. It's one thing to get Ethan on his side, but he doesn't need to butter him up, sweet talk him like he wants a friend.

A friend. Fucking ridiculous.

"Doug?"

"What?"

"Do you know any jokes?"

"It's three in the morning."

"So?"

"So, I don't know any jokes at three in the morning. I don't even know your name at three in the morning."

"Alright," Ste grunts, rolling over in bed, back to Doug, hoping that the cold shoulder will produce some guilt in him, make him start talking. Instead there's silence, and he hears Doug's breathing evening out, getting closer to sleep.

Perhaps he's feeling particularly selfish today, but Ste can't let that happen. The prison seems quiet, eerily so, and he can't be left alone with his own thoughts. If Brendan was beside him - if he could feel his warmth, could see his face - maybe it would be different. But the protection that would offer him isn't here, and Ste imagines a pair of outstretched arms in the darkness, pulling him under until his cries are cut off.

He shakes himself out of it - physically does so, sitting up in bed, legs moving erratically as he fidgets and shakes, needing a distraction, needing to make a noise.

He has to admit it: has to tell Doug, otherwise he'll fall asleep and Ste won't be able to reach anyone at all until morning. It feels like an impossibly long time away.

"I'm scared." His mouth feels dry, and he smacks his lips together to try and produce some moisture. He waits for an echo of laughter from Doug and the other prisoners, but there's nothing.

"Of what?"

Ste tries to gauge Doug's reaction, tries to work out whether he thinks he's a coward. But he sounds more alert now, as though he's left the blanket of sleep, choosing to listen instead.

"Of everything."

The bed dips, and Doug turns to face him. Ste's glad they can't see each other clearly; he's sure there's fear in his eyes.

"Brendan?" He doesn't ask it with the ridicule that Ste expected.

"Especially Brendan. But I'm not scared of him -"

"I know," Doug cuts in, and Ste's glad he doesn't have to explain; it feels like a weight, how much he loves Brendan, feels bigger than the weight of his children and Amy. It was simpler when he had them to worry about. There were solutions, answers. He's never tried to look after something that's so destructive before - perhaps Pauline, perhaps once, but he'd felt like he was fighting to be free of it, untangling himself from her hold.

With Brendan, he's holding on for dear life.

"We've got this plan, Doug." He's sure his eyes are bright in the darkness, and excitement fills his voice, such a contrast from moments before that Ste doesn't know if he's slipped into a dream.

"Is it your plan - you and Brendan - or just you?"

Ste grimaces, knew that something would have to try and ruin it, steal the hope away.

"Same thing," he dismisses. It feels like a single thread is separating him from Brendan, and it's breaking down every day. He can't understand how Doug doesn't see how perfect things could be - how he's going to spend his life with Brendan Brady. The idea feels like a current passing through his body, and everything was cold and still and lonely before, and now, for the first time -

"Do you think he did it?"

"What?" It's a pointless question: Ste knows what Doug's asking. He just can't believe he's asking it.

"Brendan. It's okay, you know - if you think he did, no one's going to judge you."

"He told me he didn't. And I believe him." He says it with a kind of conviction that makes him feel braver than he is.

"Ste." He's exhausted - Ste can hear it. He sounds like one of his old teachers, pleading with him. Ste. Just listen.

"We both know there's only two people in this place who could do it."

"Yeah, and what about Walker? He's the second, right? Why is no one questioning him?" He already knows it's a weak argument. Walker doesn't care enough to do this. He'd barely batted any eyelid at Warren. Ste imagines him holed up in his cell, Kevin for company, not caring that Brendan's in the firing line.

"Love is blind. You and me both know that. And maybe that's why you're defending Brendan."

"Don't give me any of that pretentious crap." Ste wishes he could reach Doug across the room; he'd happily do some damage to his kneecap. He grins momentarily at the thought, but it fades into the darkness. The breath he releases feels like it's being beat out of him.

"He didn't do it." He pretends he doesn't hear Doug sigh. "But even if he did," he continues, firm, "I'd forgive him."

"You can't be serious -"

"They deserved to die."

"No."

"How can you say that? After everything that Warren did to Ethan. After everything he did to me."

"I want - I wanted him dead Ste, okay?" He raises his voice; it sounds strangled, as though he's kept the words locked inside him for too long. "But I didn't want this for you. This is all still new - right now, you're relieved that Warren's gone, that he can't hurt you. But what about a few months down the line? What about when you start thinking about their families?"

Ste draws the covers closer, pulling them over his neck.

"Their families?" He wants to sound disaffected, doesn't want to let Doug know that he's thinking about it all, but he hadn't realised until now - hadn't stopped to think that people like Warren and Silas could have families. They seemed so detached from the normality of that world, of being children once. Ste can't imagine it, can't picture them being Leah and Lucas's age.

"Warren's sister - she used to come and visit a lot. Katy, I think her name was. She was barely out of her teens when he first got sentenced. She used to cry every time she came here."

Ste turns away, even though Doug can't make out his features in the pitch blackness. He doesn't want to hear this.

"And Silas - it was all over the papers. He had three grandkids. That footballer - Carl Costello - you remember him? He was his son in law."

Ste's never been one for football, not like the lads he grew up with, but he vaguely remembers it; is sure that he read stories of the famous Carl Costello hoping to coach his son, see him play for one of the big leagues.

"I had no idea..." Ste trails off, words stuck in his throat. He clenches his fists, stops his legs from shaking. "That doesn't change anything though. Having a sister, and grandkids - it didn't stop Warren from raping me and Ethan, did it? It didn't stop Silas from killing all those girls."

"Ste -"

"No! You must have seen the way he looked at Lynsey."

Even from across the room in the darkness, Ste's sure he can sense Doug tensing, barely breathing.

"What do you mean?"

"Doesn't matter."

"No, go on," Doug says, voice quiet.

Ste can't believe he didn't see it - knows that the only explanation is that he didn't want to see it.

"He was always...looking at her funny."

"How?"

"Like...I don't know..." He shouldn't of done this. He should have stored it away where it could never hurt anyone. "Like she was next," he finishes, has to because he knows Doug won't stop until he does; needs to know when the people he cares about are in danger. It's an all too familiar feeling that Ste wishes he didn't know.

"See? It's not so simple, is it? When it's someone you love. And that's why I have to do this." He feels it now: knows why he hasn't been able to sleep. Knows what he's been working up to do.

He gets out of bed, immediately struck by the coldness of the floor. The room spins for a moment and he feels disorientated, wants to get back under the covers and pretend that the world's safe for a little longer. But he can't. Something pulls him forward.

"What are you talking about?" Doug's beside him, hand on Ste's shoulder, trying to drag him backwards.

"Get off me," Ste says roughly, shrugging free. He doesn't have time for pleasantries. He goes over to the sink, splashing water over his face and blinking into the brightness when Doug turns the small light on.

"You look a mess."

"Cheers." Ste dries his face off on the towel, doesn't care how he looks. Nothing has ever seemed so unimportant. He turns to face Doug, almost startled by how raw his fear is, carved like a map on Doug's face.

"I really wish things were different. I wish I loved someone like you, and I wish that we could have our perfect little life together - maybe run a restaurant somewhere, be someone that Amy could be proud of."

Doug laughs softly, and Ste can see how desperate he is to return things to how they were and make Ste forget about what he's about to do.

"You and me, really? You're not about to try and kiss me again, are you?"

"That ship has sailed."

For a moment they smile at each other, and Ste hopes that Doug knows - hopes he realises how grateful he is for everything he did during the weeks when Brendan shut him out.

"You and me would never work anyway."

"Yeah, I kind of realised that when I found out you like boobs."

Doug snorts, rolling his eyes. "Not just that. You love him too much. Everyone else is just in his shadow, aren't they?"

Ste doesn't deny it; lets his silence answer for him.

"So, let me guess what the plan is. You knock on the door, make a ton of noise, alert the officers, then tell them that you killed Warren and Silas? Save Brendan's ass?"

"Got it in one."

"You're an idiot."

"I know." Ste pulls on his jumper, trousers and shoes. If he's going to be dragged through the corridors, he doesn't want to be in his boxer shorts.

"You're determined to stay in this place, aren't you?"

"I'm not gonna let Brendan go down for this."

"They might not even question him -"

"You said it yourself - everyone thinks he did it." He moves towards the door. It shouldn't take much to wake everyone up. He knows there are officers patrolling right outside.

"You do realise that I'm not going to let you do this." Doug tries to block his path, arms crossed in a stance that should be intimidating, but makes him look like a petulant child.

"I thought you might say that. Sorry, Doug."

"For what?" Doug frowns, edge of worry creeping into his voice.

One punch knocks him to the floor, and Ste doesn't know if it's the impact or the shock, but he's out cold. Ste swears as pain sears through his hand, bringing his knuckles up to his mouth and pressing his lips against them, trying to get some form of relief.

He doesn't allow himself to look at Doug on the floor, knows that if he does then he won't be able to do this. He's not sure if Doug will ever forgive him. He's right: he is an idiot, and he doesn't know what the hell he's doing, but he's not going to see Brendan go down for this. There's a chance - a small, minuscule chance, but a chance nonetheless, that Brendan will get out of this place before he dies, and that's not going to be taken away from him.

He bangs his fists against the door, not even attempting to be gentle. The noise breaks through the quiet, and Ste watches as an officer slowly approaches his door, staring into the window with barely concealed annoyance. He doesn't stop; continues beating his fists against the hard wood, is willing to scream if he has to.

The door's thrown open by a burly officer snarling at him.

"What the hell do you want, Hay?"

"I need to speak to Tony. I have to tell him something." It makes him feel sick, the idea of watching as the hope and belief is drained from Tony's face.

"He's busy." The officer nods over, and Ste follows his line of sight. Tony's in the corridor, and he's not alone. Brendan's with him.

Ste surges forward, past the officer. It feels like everything's happening in slow motion, and he can't reach them fast enough.

Brendan's beat him to it.

When Ste reaches them he feels out of breath, like he's struggling to get the words out.

"Whatever he's told you, he's lying."

Brendan doesn't even look at him. Just stares at Tony and acts as though Ste doesn't exist.

"He didn't do anything. It was me - I killed them. I did it."

"Shut up, Steven." He's still not looking at him. His voice is colder than Ste's ever heard it.

"Yes, do shut up sweetheart."

Brendan and Ste look at the direction of their interruption. The man before them is flanked by officers, his hands cuffed behind his back. He flips his hair until it's out of his eyes, his long neck sinewy and taut.

When he speaks, his voice is full of amusement.

"Oops."