I've never seen a courtroom chapter done well. They're boring in real life, they're boring in fiction, they're even more boring in fanfiction. I really hope this isn't too uninteresting for everyone.

I took some of inspiration (for want of a less pretentious word) for this court room scene from a comedy movie called "It's Different for Girls" (1996). It's on Youtube and stars the gorgeous Rupert Graves (D.I Lestrade, but I prefer him as Alec Scudder). It's well worth a watch if you haven't seen it already. GO WATCH IT NOW! (Well, after you've read this.)

Chester

Ste stared at the television, but everything was in soft focus. He couldn't concentrate on his uninteresting so-called life, when Brendan was heading to court to begin the hell that would be his murder trial. A trial Ste was a key witness for and the two people he loved most in the world were keeping that information from him.

He'd heard. He was pretending he hadn't because he didn't know how to attack the subject, but he'd heard everything Riley had said and he'd heard everything Rae had replied with.

Rae brought him a coffee and was cooking up some bacon from yesterday's breakfast. She was trying too hard. She was so … guilty. She's bought pizza for them last night, she'd allowed Ste to choose the film they watched and when she caught his eye, she'd beam at him as though everything was so perfect.

Ste had never felt the falseness of his pseudo life in this council flat so keenly. It was built on a foundation of deception that he had laid down, and Rae was building deceit up around them. She grinned at him again.

'Bacon'll be two minutes,' she said. 'Is your coffee alright?'

'Perfect.' It wasn't, it was too milky and there wasn't enough sugar, but what was one more lie now?

'Good. You know,' she pushed her hair behind her shoulders as she gave the bacon a prod with a spatula. 'It finally feels like things are going right for us, don't you think Ste?'

'Mmm,' he hummed noncommittally. He was furious at her for keeping Riley's visit from him and with every second that slid by, he was becoming more and more angry.

'Brendan Brady is arriving at court this morning to start Day 1 of his murder trial,' the news anchor said coolly from the television. Ste blinked and stared at the screen. There he was, Brendan Brady. He was wearing a suit but there were bags under his eyes and his usually pale skin was grey and crinkled.

'He looks ill,' Ste mumbled into his disgusting coffee.

'There's been some speculation this morning about Brady changing his plea, Niamh is outside the courtroom, Niamh, what's the feeling in Dublin?'

'Strong feelings here, the family and friends of Cian O'Shaughn….'

The TV flicked over onto an episode of Jeremy Kyle.

'We don't need to watch that, do we?' Rae smiled, pressing her lips to Ste's temple as she put a plate of bacon sandwiches on his lap. The bacon was burned and the bread was soggy, but he told her it was:
'Delicious.' Lying to her was getting easier and easier.

Now that Ste's interest in the TV was lost, he tuned into what Rae was saying. She thought they should go on holiday to Portmerion in Wales:

'Apparently it looks like a fairy tale town,' she rabbited on. 'Hannah was saying that her and Calum went there nine months before Lexy was born.' She raised her eyebrows suggestively and before Ste could stop himself, he'd blurted out:

'I don't want kids with you!'

Dublin

There'd been a delay, and then a coffee break, and then a delay, and then some problems picking a jury … and then there'd been a delay. Mitzeee had been receiving calls from McGinn all morning, updating her on proceedings, but it was mid-morning before he told her to make her way over to the courthouse.

The first thing Mitzeee noticed on arrival was Cheryl. She was dressed like a blind drag queen doing the walk of shame but she was there and she was sobbing bright pink, make-up stained tears into a packet of tissues.

'What are you doing here?' They yelled at each other.

'Ladies,' Doug soothed, or tried to sooth. As usual, he was out of his depth, but Cheryl sniffed a little and sobbed:

'Mitzeee,' she growled through tears. 'I think there's some explaining needed here, don't you?'

Mitzeee wanted to groan. Her history with Brendan was a long and complicated story and Mitzeee knew that Brendan would want her to be honest with his sister. Cheryl looked so emotional and alone. It was exactly how Mitzeee felt, like she was floating in a solitary nightmare; maybe she didn't have to float alone.

'We met at Dublin University,' she began. She explained everything; The Estate, Walker, dating Macca, loving Ste. The more she talked, the more Cheryl's bottom lip quivered, until Mitzeee heard herself ask:

'Look, are you okay?'

'I was so horrible,' Cheryl sobbed, virtually dropping to the floor. Doug caught her and she buried her head into his shoulder. She was loud and dramatic and the press around them were becoming more and more interested. Mitzeee could feel the heat of the paparazzi's flashes.

'You know,' Cheryl continued. 'I told him that I didn't believe he was innocent. But I do believe him. Of course I believe him. I know he's not perfect…' that was the kind of understatement that only a family member could make '… but he wouldn't do this, he couldn't.'

'You have to let him know,' Mitzeee pleaded, clutching Cheryl's shoulders, practically shaking her. 'You have to let him know. He's going to plead guilty if you don't show him you're strong enough to handle this court case. Please,' she felt desperate now. 'Please, let him know you believe him.'

Chester

'What do you mean?' Rae asked. There were tears in her eyes already and they were only going to get worse, but Ste had a feeling of finality about him. It was time to be honest with Rae. It was time to send an earthquake of truth through the foundation of lies and watch the false fairy-tale they'd created crumble down. 'Why wouldn't you want kids with me? I don't….'

'Why didn't you tell me that Riley visited?'

'You knew?' she gasped. 'Why did you pretend you didn't know?'

There were a lot of questions in the air and no one was prepared to answer anything. That was the fragility they'd built between them. Ste closed his eyes and swallowed. When the words came, they were strangled and hurting:

'Do you know why Brendan didn't name me as a witness?'

'He wanted to protect you,' she tried to shrug it off.

'Yeah,' Ste gasped, he could feel himself close to tears. He hated how he felt when he thought about Brendan. There was so much going on, so much twisting of his emotions that he felt like he was hurting all over. 'He's protecting me. He's always protecting me, taking me on trips, giving me special treatment.'

'Well that was his job,' Rae was so embroiled in her own deceit, she was even fooling to herself. 'He had to look after you, you were on The Estate.'

Ste clamped his lips together, tears welling in his eyes as he shook his head.

'No,' he gasped through the first tears. 'No. He didn't have to. He could hardly remember anyone's names, but he knew mine. He knew me, Rae and I knew him.'

'No!' she said firmly.

'I loved him, Rae.'

'No!' she yelled, clamping her hands over her ears.

'I still love him!'

'NO!' Her reaction was too extreme. It was too much and Ste realised with a start that she already knew. She'd been willing to forget it, she'd been hoping for a fresh start, away from Brendan.

'You already knew,' he whispered.

'You're not gay, Steven,' she scowled. 'How could we,' she pointed between them, ' if you were gay?'

'I don't know that I'm gay. I just know that I love him.'

'No.'

'And I can't let him go to prison, if there's something I can do about it.'

'No,' she shook her head. She was weeping now, and his heart was breaking for her and he pulled her into a hug. She tried to fight him but he held her strong and when she calmed a little, he whispered:

'You're worth so much more than this, Rae. You're so much better than this life.'

'So are you,' she insisted, but he just grinned.

'No,' he laughed, and finally he felt like himself again. 'I'm an alley rat me,' he smirked. 'I live on the streets, I nick stuff from OAPs, I get myself mixed up with bad people and I do it for the thrill. I love living outside the law, Rae. I love the thrill of avoiding prison,' he chuckled a little. 'I love dancing around the streets at night robbing people blind as I ask them for directions.'

She was shaking her head, but he could tell she believed him. That she was finally taking off those rose coloured glasses and seeing him for who he really was.

'I love him, Rae. And it's time for me to be to be the hero … or the villain,' he frowned '… or something.'

They talked all night. Ste told Rae everything; the relationship, the trip to Barcelona, the fact Brendan was innocent, that Mitzeee was the landlady, that he'd stolen the TV.

She was heartbroken, but it was better to find out the relationship was a sham now rather than after they were married.

Dublin

Brendan's suit was too big, his beard was unshaven and Walker's mates had found him last night and bloodied his eye and cut his cheekbone. He hadn't been eating well, and his sleep had been worse. He hadn't seen the sun for a while and his usually pale skin was virtually translucent. He might not be a murderer but he sure as hell looked like him.

He was shoved roughly into a box behind Perspex glass. People's fear and the sensationalised journalism had turned him into a Hannibal Lecture figure, maybe he could play on that. Maybe he could convince the whole of Ireland – and Britain, apparently – that he was a cannibal. He'd probably hold the press' attention like a rockstar and get fan letters from desperate little pretty boys. Murders held a kind of power over the public, which they didn't deserve and didn't make sense, but that didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy the fame. Then he remembered Cheryl.

This wasn't the time to play with people's emotions anymore. This was the time to say "I'm guilty" and start the first day of the rest of his short, painful, miserable life.

He noticed the jury first; a few city boys, one agricultural farer type, a female foreman wearing a sharp suit and sharper expression. They all looked disgusted then he caught their eye. They'd clearly already made their minds up – prejudiced knobs. It was probably good that he'd decided to plead guilty, fighting his innocence against these 12 narrow-minded sections of society would have been virtually impossible.

The judge was introduced; a woman who looked fed-up even before the opening statement and the opening statement was cutting. The prosecutor, a blonde woman with piercing eyes and harsh, pointed features. She'd done her research too: she listed a string of childhood rebellions, three psychological examinations during his teenage years thanks to his mad mum and her inability to accept his attraction to Peter from next door. And then there was the three times he'd gone AWOL as an adult and his two run-ins with the police. He sounded like a terrible man. He was a terrible man, but he wasn't a murderer.

Then it was McGinn's turn to speak. Brendan was surprised to find that he'd done his research too. He was actually mounting a defence, which was pointless when Brendan was going to say "I'm guilty" at the earliest possible moment.

McGinn's speech didn't really paint him like and angel. There were lots of reminders that Brendan's guilt would have to be proven beyond reasonable doubt. He didn't sound guilty, he just sounded like he'd been clever about it.

He turned his attention to the nosy gits in the pews instead. Court reminded him of church, lots of blank faces staring forwards with condemnation, listening to stories about a man who will eventually be branded a criminal and crucified by the public. Brendan was just please it was illegal to nail people to the cross.

Then he spotted Anne. She was as dressed up as a supermodel; there must have been a lot of media outside. She gave him a watery smile and he nodded subtlety back. Next to her was ….

He blinked twice. Cheryl?

She was wearing an array of colours and her makeup was running down her cheeks but she was mouthing something at him, he squinted to read her cherry red lips and then he got it:

'I believe you.'

It was all he needed. She was there. She believed him and she'd forgiven him for the lies. She was even holding Anne's hand. If they could stop fighting, then he could start. He wasn't going to let Walker beat him. He had his family around him and he had something to fight for.

Day 2

The prosecution was painting an ugly picture of the monstrous Brendan Brady and his vampiric need for blood. The lawyer sounded so convincing. She spoke with the conviction of a vindicated bringer of justice. The judge nodded along with her as she talked the jury, the judge and the court's congregation through the brutality of Brendan's mind.

But the lack of sensationalised language, had caused a lull in interest around the room. Precise language, detailing specific timings and meticulous descriptions saw the jury's eyelids drooping. This was the most exciting thing Brendan had ever been accused of doing and the 12 chosen adjudicators could barely keep their eyes open. It was ridiculous really that something as bloody and cruel as the massacre of two semi-innocent queers could be boiled down to specifics so tedious that people were actually dozing off.

Day 3

The dreary, monotonous tones of the lawyers careful rhetoric was as relaxing as raindrops on a caravan roof as both cautiously treaded their biased paths around facts of the events.

Brendan was aware of how many gaps were appearing in both sides' arguments. Brendan had failed to provide enough evidence to make himself seem completely innocent and the prosecutors were dead. Murdered men tell no tales.

Brendan spent most of that night talking through his defence with McGinn. He was still nervous that they didn't have enough evidence to sway a stubborn jury, but Brendan wasn't willing to let him give up … not anymore.

Day 4

More snoozing in the jury, more excruciatingly accurate accounts of the night of the murder and Brendan's long relationship with the victims.

The numbers of nosy courtroom viewers were dwindling quickly.

Day 5

Court continued. Only a handful of people remained; Mitzeee, Cheryl and that useless yank Douglass among them. Brendan could also see Macca's mother silently sobbing her way through every minute of this case. That was a joke. The very reason Macca was even with Brendan was because his insane mother had driven him out of the family home at the tender age of seventeen.

Day 6

The media were beginning to lose interest in the case. The original intention of broadcasting a round-up of every day in court had become more challenging than they'd have expected. The only talking point today was that Brendan had sneezed so loudly the jury's foreman had jumped. That would probably help convince her, he was a murderer.

Day 7

Brendan finally took to the stand. He answered some benign questions about his relationship with Macca. They were uncontentious and mostly irrelevant, but they were eliciting severe tears from Macca's now-childless mother.

She was eventually asked to leave the courtroom, which Brendan felt was a little cold and most of Ireland thought he was a murderer.

Week 2

Brendan wondered if sitting in a Perspex box being judged for eight hours every day was the start of his hell. Apart from being able to avoid his prison uniform and getting encouraging smiles from his girls, this felt no different to sitting in a cell listening to Silas ramble on about nothing.

Week 3

More droning, but both parties were beginning to introduce evidence, videos, DNA, forensic guesstimates about the build of the murderer.

The murderer was tall apparently. He'd used a blunt instrument to knock both parties to the ground, before stepping his up homicidal tendencies with more gruesome techniques.

'This is when the murderer began to enjoy himself,' the scientist said as he sat on the stand. He was the lamb to be questioned on Wednesday.

'Hey, McGinn,' Brendan had the idea on Wednesday morning. 'Would the forensics be able to tell which hand the "blunt instrument" was held in?'

'Of course,' McGinn said though a mouthful of complimentary prawn sandwich. 'Why?'

'Walker's right handed.'

'Yes.'

'I'm left handed,' Brendan hissed.

'Are you?' McGinn asked, putting his sandwich down and wiping the mayonnaise off his chin and onto the sleeve of his jacket. 'Brilliant. Brilliant.'

The question was asked and answered:

'From the impact of the wound and the way the skull collapsed,' the scientist answered without flinching, 'we have every reason to believe that the murder was committed by a right handed man.'

'I would like to inform the court that my client is left-hand dominant,' McGinn said smugly, nodding to Brendan.

Their celebration was short lived as their lawyer called Brendan to the stand:

'Mr Brady, which hand do you use scissors with?'

'My right,' Brendan sighed, he could already see where this was going. It wasn't his fault that the world was mostly skewed in favour of right handers. 'I'm useless as cutting though, I tend to just stab at the paper.' He knew that was mistake the second he'd said it. He had to be more careful that to use a word like "stab" on the stand.

'Which hand do you use to open a tin, Mr Brady?' the lawyer asked. She clearly felt Brendan had dug enough of his own grave with his answer that he didn't need her help.

'My right.'

'Would it be fair to say that you, like most left handed people, are able to adapt to using both hands if the situation calls for it?'

'I always played cricket left handed,' he tried. It wasn't much of a defence, his gay gene shone strongly in his inability to do anything even remotely sporty.

'Mr Brady,' the judge warned, 'answer the question.'

'I can do some things right handed, but not well and with little finesse.'

'Mr Brady, do you think it would take much finesse to bash someone on the skull with a wrench?'

'No, I guess not.'

'No further questions your honour.'

McGinn countered with something about someone with a natural preference for left-handedness would be unlikely to have used his right-hand when trying to generate enough power to murder someone, but the jury were suffering with three-week boredom and were very uninterested in whether or not some pseudo-speculation of a forensic scientist and Brendan being left-handed was worth remembering. After all, he still looked guilty.

Week 4

This was the week when they started to call witnesses to the stand, beginning with some O'Shaughnessy's staff.

Brendan's character took a bit of a bashing early on, but his witnesses were going to be called later on and the weakness of his defence really would be revealed.

Manchester

Trying to find Riley was a bloody nightmare for street rat like Ste. If he'd thought Chester was big, Manchester was enormous. Ste had seen on the news that Riley was playing for one of the Manchester Clubs, but trying to find England's latest boy-wonder was more difficult that finding a sober person in Green Zone.

He'd migrated to Canal Street, which was a strange experience for him. He'd become more used to being ogled after his weekend in Barcelona, but it wasn't that he was garnering attention from the muscle queens of Manchester, it was that Manchester's Gay Scene were oddly positive about Brendan.

'He's hot, isn't he?' one man had said, as Ste had sat in a bar sipping a beer and watching someone give a quick round up of week 3 in Dublin. There was film of Brendan walking out of the courthouse. He looked less thin now, court food must have been better than prison food.

'Is he?' Ste asked. He'd assumed that this spell Brendan had over him was unique and that no one – except maybe Mitzeee, and she didn't count – could see the man behind the moustache.

'Yeah,' the man insisted. 'Crims innit, like … I would, you know. I bet he's dead powerful and ripped under that suit, you know.'

'Ripped,' Ste smiled. He liked Brendan's body, it was manly and pale and strong, but he wasn't exactly Chaning Tatum. Brenan was … 'Hairy,' he decided aloud.

'Huh?'

'He's hairy ... I mean, he probably is … I don't know.'

'That would do it for me that. I love me a real man.'

Ste looked at the guy in the seat next to him. He was practically salivating over a man who, for all he knew, was a murderer. That was weird, but not as weird as the thin line of black around his eyes or flouncing clothes he wore.

'I don't know if you'd be man enough for him,' Ste frowned. 'He don't really do queer.'

'Wait, you know him?'

'No,' Ste said quickly. He didn't need that kind of attention. 'No. It's just a guess.'

'You do,' the boy accused brightly. 'You bloody know him.'

'No, no.' He glanced at the TV to change the conversation and saw Riley giving an interview. Sometimes fate just smiled on a person. 'I know him,' Ste said nodding to the screen.

'No way!' the boy gasped. 'The only way us mere mortals get to see Riley Costello is if we hang around the City training ground, but that just feels a bit….'

But Ste never really found out how that would feel because he had all the information he needed.

He felt like a stalker. He was stood behind a blue fence with a bunch of ten year olds who were looking for autographs. He'd been waiting there practically all day. How long could footy training actually last? Wouldn't they get bored after an hour?

Eventually, the players started to filter out. They all looked the same in their regulation team trackies and Ste couldn't pick Riley out in the crowd of athletic young men.

The avid fans around him could, though and when they started shouting: "Costello, Costello."

Ste added his own yell of: 'Riley!'

'Bloody hell,' Riley said, when Ste finally managed to catch his attention. 'This is the second time someone's waited for me like this and the first time, they were pregnant. You haven't got some news for me have you Ste?'

'Oh, yeah, I'm carrying your baby,' he scorned and Riley smirked.

'Good to see you man, give me two minutes and I'll drive around to pick you up.'

::

Riley's flat was ridiculous. He was just renting at the moment. Buying without Mitzeee's consent was too risky apparently, and he didn't want to tell her he'd transferred to Manchester City until after Brendan's trial. Ste didn't really understand most of the football jargon, but he understood Brendan's trial well enough.

'Rae tell you I visited then?'

'No, I heard.'

'You heard? And you didn't come running out?'

'I panicked,' Ste shrugged. 'I didn't want to ruin things with Rae and….'

'Mate, please don't tell me that Rae thinks your away with work or something.'

'I told her everything.'

'How did that go?'

Ste didn't want to talk about it. His heart had torn a little as Rae had wept her way through the break-up. It might have been the right thing to do, but he still felt sick.

They caught up on everything that had happened since Riley had left The Estate. There was a lot and it took a few beers and a ridiculous amount of pizza to get through it all.

By the end of the evening, they'd talked their impending trip to Dublin up so much that they convinced themselves they were saviours. Ste had even dared – just for a second – to suggest Brendan was a pretty princess who needed rescuing, which had made them both laugh far too hard and signalled that it was time to go to bed.

Although the next morning had brought a little sobriety, they hadn't quite been able to let go of the idea that they were heroes. Ste had waited for Riley to return from training, sometime around midday and then they'd set off for the airport. Riley had managed, somehow, to get a few days away from the training ground providing he did his own fitness while he was away.

'What did you tell them?' Ste asked, as they raced their way to Manchester Airport.

'Family emergency,' he shrugged. 'Told them my brother in law really needed my help.'

xXx

Ste quickly realised he and Riley had both seen too many films. Despite their wild ideas, there was no chance to dramatically swing the doors open of the courtroom and shout the courthouse equivalent of "I object". Instead, they got lost three times in the court building as they searched frantically for the right courtroom and when they finally did find it, they were stopped at the door by a lady with a pointed face, wearing black dress robes.

'Can I help you?' she asked, looking them both up and down with distrust. Apparently she wasn't inclined to let two lads in (vastly different) tracksuits into the courtroom without a good reason. That was probably fair, but Ste was still a little groggy from their late night.

'I'm here to give evidence,' Ste coughed awkwardly. He already felt nervous and under pressure and he hadn't made it into the court room yet. He hadn't seen the jury, or the judge, or Brendan.

'Are you a witness?'

'Well, yeah, but he doesn't know I'm here yet,' and because he still couldn't quite let go of the idea, he said: 'I'm the hero see.'

The woman's pointed features twisted into a smirk. Ste probably didn't look like the hero type, but he wasn't her hero. She didn't need him, Brendan did. Ste was about to tell her that when Riley cut in:

'Could you tell Mr McGinn that Steven Hay is here, please?'

Reluctantly, she had to agree. Ste and Riley followed her into the courtroom and she gestured for them to sit in the back row. Ste could see everything from here. It looked almost nothing like it did on TV. The judge just looked like the kind of woman who'd run a village pub, the jury looked half asleep. There were only a couple of people watching. He recognised Mitzeee and Doug; what the hell was he doing here? He thought he recognised Cheryl's enormous hair, from when he'd seen her through a window, but he wasn't sure, but he wasn't really paying any attention to these people.

He was struggling to focus on the wooden benches, he found it difficult to appreciate how much smarter the evil looking blonde prosecutor seemed in comparison to the scruffy looking defence lawyer, because stood in what looked like a glass prison was Brendan. He was staring at Ste with a mix of elation and terror. Ste could only offer a smile in response, but he felt like crying.

This was a whole new brand of torture, to be this close to Brendan again and not be able to touch him. He felt trapped. He felt weak, like once again, he was the one who needed saving. He wasn't feeling heroic anymore.

He watched as the woman from the doorway, walked as quietly as she could manage to whisper in McGinn's ear. The movement certainly seemed to have distracted Mitzeee, who was currently on the stand. She was giving them her version of events. She grinned widely when she saw them and glanced over to Brendan excitedly.

'Something amusing, Miss Minever?' the prosecution lawyer asked. Mitzeee just apologised and continued to regale the court with her story. Or at least she would have, if McGinn hadn't finished receiving his message and jumped to his feet.

'I'd like to inform the court that we have a witness,' he said, jumping to his feet like an overweight kangaroo. 'And request a recess, your honour, so I can take a witness statement.'

There was an objection from the prosecution; wasting court time, late intervention, not rewarding slackness. She was overruled and Ste soon found himself being rushed around all over the place. He was vaguely aware of McGinn giving him last second pointers of things to say, or not to say. He was half-conscious of Mitzeee giving him a hug and then snogging the face off Riley. He was even hugged by Cheryl, who kept saying:

'Is this him? Is this our Bren's Steven?'

And then he was stood on the stand describing, in his own words, what happened that night:

'It was a night out in Dublin. Brendan had driven a few of us into town in a minibus, but we'd all gone to different parts.'

'Which part did you go to Mr Hay?' McGinn asked. He'd promised Ste that he'd guide him through the process.

'I went to Mitzeee's flat.'

'By Mitzeee do you mean Anne Miniver?' McGinn pointed to Mitzeee. Ste nodded. Suddenly Brendan calling Mitzeee "Anne" made sense. It didn't make sense that she called herself "Mitzeee", that was an idiotic name.

McGinn gave Mitzeee's address to the court and then continued:

'Was anyone with you at Miss Miniver's flat?'

'Er, yes. Brendan.' Ste glanced nervously over the man named. Brendan was chewing his nail. He looked nervous, eyes darting anxiously between Ste and the lawyer. What the hell was he worried about? Ste wasn't going to let him down.

'How long were you at the flat with Mr Brady, would you say?'

'I'm not sure, a few hours.'

'Did Mr Brady leave the flat at any point?'

'No.'

'Did he have any opportunities to leave the flat without you knowing? Perhaps you were asleep?'

'N-no. I didn't sleep.'

Ste glanced over to the jury. One woman was taking notes, most were staring straight at him. They didn't look like they trusted him, but he was a scruffy street rat in a tracksuit. He probably shouldn't have raced to the courthouse so quickly. It wouldn't have killed him to steal a suit on the way.

It was clear that the jury didn't trust Brendan. It was clear they weren't going to trust the scrawny boy sticking up for him.

'Where did you go after the flat, Mr Hay?'

'We got back in the minibus and went to pick up the other people from around town. We picked Doug up last, he was O'Shaughnessy's pub and that's when it all kicked off.'

'Kicked off? Could you be more specific, Mr Hay?'

Ste explained what he'd seen. Doug covered in blood, Brendan furious and on a rampage. He described how he, Joel, Mickey and Spike. He mentioned that O'Shaughnessy had goaded Brendan. He told them that Brendan had snapped. He described the fight as accurately as he could. McGinn had told him to be honest. 'They'll know if you're lying,' he'd warned.

'I told him to stop and he did,' Ste explained. His words sounded feeble in his mouth. 'He sent the other boys away, but I waited with him. O'Shaughnessy was still shouting insults at Bren when we left.'

'In your opinion, Mr Hay, was Cian O'Shaughnessy likely to die from his injuries sustained from Mr Brady's attack?'

'Objection,' the bitch prosecutor called. 'Mr Hay is not a doctor, he doesn't have any medical knowledge.'

'But your honour, I believe any person will be able to access whether someone is on the brink of death.'

'Answer the question Mr Hay,' the judge said firmly.

'N-no,' Ste shuddered under the cold stares. 'O'Shaughnessy didn't seem like he was going to die.'

'And Mr MCIntyre? How did he seem?'

'Brendan didn't touch him. He was fine; naked but fine.'

He glanced again at the jury. They were just as hostile as they'd been from the beginning. Twelve ordinary people, with ordinary lives judging him for no other reason than the evil lawyer was guiding them to. He glanced to Brendan, but the intense nature of his gaze was too much for Ste. He couldn't look; it was too painful.

'Did you travel back to Mr Brady's house with him after this incident?'

'Yes.'

'How long did that take?'

'About an hour, I guess.'

'So Mr Brady lives an hour away from central Dublin?'

'Yes.'

'What time did you leave Mr Brady at his home?'

'I'm not sure, probably around 3am.'

'The court has already heard that Miss Miniver arrived at Mr Brady's home between 3.15am and 3.45am. In your opinion, would Mr Brady have been able to get to Dublin and back to his home in less than an hour?'

'No. No way. That's impossible.'

'Thank you, Mr Hay. No more questions.'

McGinn nodded at him as if to say "good work". Ste returned the nod and took a deep breath.

He wanted to vomit. He was so scared of saying the wrong thing. He was terrified of being caught out and accidentally cementing Brendan's fate. He glanced out at the court room; Mitzeee and Cheryl were both their depending on him. Brendan's gaze felt like a soldering iron burning at the side of his head, but he couldn't look at him again. It was too much. He focused on Riley and Doug who were giving him encouraging "thumbs-ups". He didn't feel encouraged, especially not when the prosecutor stood up.

She seemed sharper than McGinn. Her voice was more determined and righteous somehow. She was more switched on, with a manipulative tongue and cruel face and she was suspicious. She didn't trust him and she wasn't inclined to change her mind.

'Mr Hay, what is your relationship to the defendant?'

'I … er….' He hadn't expected that question. He'd expected more questions about the whys and whens, not about his emotions. 'I don't know.'

'You don't know?' the bitch mocked. 'How about multiple choice? He is a.) your boss b.) your boyfriend c.) a "booty call".' She quoted the words with her fingers and Ste couldn't help but smirk. Brendan would hate that so much. 'Or perhaps d.) he's all of the above.'

'Objection,' McGinn called, getting to his feet quickly. 'Leading the witness.'

The judged rolled his eyes a little: 'Mr Hay you are not restricted to one of those four answers, but please answer the question for the benefit of the court.'

Ste glanced up at Brendan. He was staring back, that look of fear and shock in his eyes, but there was something else too. Ste saw it, he could always see it, that fondness that Brendan always had when he looked at Ste.

'It's okay,' the lawyer sighed, 'I'll alter my question. Mr Hay, is your relationship with Mr Brady sexual?'

'It has been,' Ste muttered, straining to turn his attention back to the lawyer. 'In the past.'

'And would you say that the relationship was more than sexual?'

'More?'

'Do you love the defendant, Mr Hay?'

'I….' He remembered what McGinn had said about telling the truth. And if there was a time to be honest about his feelings for Brendan, now was it. 'Sometimes.'

'Sometimes,' the lawyer scoffed. 'The times when he's not murdering people?'

'No. The times when he's alone with me, when he's not trying to be anything special … when he's just being Brendan. I love him then.'

'Would you lie for him, Mr Hay?'

'He wouldn't ask me to do that.'

'It took you a long time to come forward as a witness, Mr Hay. Its clear Mr Brady didn't even ask you to be here. You've turned up out of the blue as a witness who apparently saw Mr Brady walk away from the victims halfway through beating one to a pulp. You see why that doesn't seem a particularly believable story, Mr Hay, so I'll ask you again: would you lie for the defendant?'

'No.'

'No? Tell me Mr Hay, have you ever been in court before?'

'Yes,' Ste sighed. He already knew where this was going. This stupid cow had done a quick check of his background. She must have known he'd pleaded guilty to all those theft charges. She read the out one by one, and one by one he found himself admitting to them all again.

'Why should the jury believe a man who spent most of his teenage years in and out of juvie and who sometimes loves the defendant?' she asked eventually.

'Because I'm telling the truth,' Ste shrugged. 'And because, I might have been in and out of juve for nicking a few DVDs, but that doesn't mean I'd defend someone if I thought they were a murderer. I wouldn't!'

There was a pause, just a small one, but somehow everything changed in that half second of silence. Ste felt strangely as though the hostility in the room was lessened. He felt less mistrusted by the jury.

'Mr Hay. If you knew the defendant was innocent, why did it take you so long to come forward?'

'I don't really watch the news,' Ste explained. 'I don't have a TV or a radio and I work really long hours. I had no idea that Brendan had been arrested for ages.'

'When did you find out?'

'A few weeks ago.'

'And why didn't you come forward then?'

'I tried. It took me a while to get here. Some of us don't have fancy jobs so we can just buy plane tickets to nip over to Ireland.'

'Are you sure you weren't nervous because you know what Brendan did to the last young man unfortunate enough to become his bedfellow?'

'No,' Ste said, before McGinn had chance to object. 'I know Brendan didn't do this and I didn't want to Brendan spend the rest of his life in prison.'

'Because you love him,' she insisted. 'You love him and you have a history of criminal activity. I'm not sure that you are the most reliable sources, Mr Hay. No more questions.'

Ste felt like he'd done a few rounds in a boxing ring. His emotions felt battered and bruised. His head was spinning and he couldn't remember a single answer he'd just given. He could barely remember getting to his feet. He flew back to his seat on autopilot. He was vaguely aware of Brendan's family congratulating him. He ended up sat next to Cheryl. She clutched his hand, she was soft and smelt of flowers. He wriggled closer to her and felt comforted.

Prosecution called Brendan back to the stand. He looked cool, calm and together. He looked like taking the stand was as natural as breathing.

'Mr Brady. What is the nature of your relationship with Mr Hay?'

'It's hard to put it into word,' Brendan said gruffly. Ste shivered like a teenage girl on hearing the man's voice again.

'What about the word "love"? Do you love Mr Hay?'

'Yes,' he sighed. He was looking down at his own hands, but there were no secrets anymore, what was the point in pretending?

'And yet you pushed him away from your home?'

'To protect him.'

'From yourself? Your lovers haven't exactly got a great track record: Vincent Carter died in a car accident, Manfred McIntyre murdered.'

'I just wanted Steven to be happy,' Brendan replied. He seemed so genuine and honest as he spoke. 'I thought he'd get that away from me.'

'He loves you so much, babe,' Cheryl whispered in his ear and Ste was suddenly aware of silent tears stinging at his eyes.

'So you say Mr Hay was with you and watched you walk away from the victims when they were still alive. Why didn't you include his part in your original story, Mr Brady? The jury has listened to you tell your story in that very chair with no mention of Mr Hay.'

'I didn't want him to get mixed up in this,' Brendan shrugged. 'We broke up and I didn't want to drag him back in. I wanted to keep him out of the limelight. Didn't want him to have a target over his head.'

'Put there by the real murderer?'

'Exactly.'

'All very convenient don't you think. You're so in love with this man that you have to keep him safe from the "real murderer",' she mocked easily.

'Fine,' Brendan sounded a little bit like a stroppy teenager. 'Don't listen to me. Find me guilty, and when the real murderer kills Steven, kills Anne, kills Douglass … you'll only have yourselves to blame.'

::

The prosecuting lawyer quickly explained to the jury that everything in the courts power would be done to protect the witnesses if it was deemed they would need protecting. Brendan wasn't stupid. If they found him guilty, they would also decide the witnesses wouldn't need protecting, and everything he'd fought so hard for would be over. All the lives he'd surrendered himself for would be finished. He felt sick. He couldn't lose this case, not now. There was too much riding on it.

'Please don't do this,' Brendan pleaded. He didn't know where the words were coming from, but he had nothing left. Not even his pride. 'Do what you want with me, I really don't care, but don't promise to protect them after this trial if you're not going to. Doug deserves better. Anne is my family and Steven … Steven is everything. Please don't put them in danger just because you've convinced yourself and twelve other people that I capable of this horrific crime. Please.' Then he looked at the jury and begged again: 'Please.'

He looked into the crowd, and despite his best efforts to pick out every one of his family and friends, he could only see Steven, who, with tears in his eyes, mouthed:

'I love you.'

Thanks for reading. x