A/N: Leah, Connor and Murph are back. They've got some last experiences to endure. I hope you don't hate me for it. I guess I'll know by the reviews. (Hint, hint.)

Murph was listening to his Walkman. He had a mountain of paperwork to go through in this bitch of a rotation. But it was the one he had been waiting to do: gerontology. You couldn't solve all their problems but you had to learn all their medical history and look for any interactions with current meds. And you better be on your feet with Helen Hurdle, looking over your shoulder. Geez. The woman was brilliant but she was demanding. He knew it was the best kind of training he could ever expect to receive. And she had already offered him a residency with her, so he had to act like a resident. It was the dream residency. Two weeks away from his degree but the level of expectation was higher now.

His cell phone rang.

"MacManus."

At this point, he looked at his watch. Fuck, it was seven and he hadn't called Leah or heard from her. He had lost track of time, rummaging through the next day's charts. He was supposed to call Leah at four to make sure she and Stan were heading out for the day.

"Murph."

Leah's voice sounded panicked.

"Leah, what's wrong?"

"Somebody rear-ended the car. Now it won't start. And I'm in ghetto land."

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine but it's really creepy. They're just sitting back there in their car. It's a car full of angry-looking males, wearing bandanas. I swear it looks like something out of that Robert Duvall, Sean Penn movie."

"Where are you?"

"A couple blocks from the Arboretum near the Shitgo murder mart."

"Christ. I'm on my way."

"Oh, god, Murph, they're getting out of the car."

"Leah, don't get out of the car. Lock the doors. Whatever you do. Don't get out of the car. What do they look like?"

"Oh, jeez. They're four of them. Oh, jeez, Murph. What the hell? Listen, it's a black BMW with the windows blacked out. I can't read the license plate. Here they come. I'm going to crack the window. Geez—"

Murphy ran as fast as he could to the car, as he talked to her. "What do they look like?"

"Like they're in a gang, Murph. Shit—"

He listened to the conversation. Hi, let me give you my insurance information. Here's a pen and paper if you'll write yours down.

Murphy could hear the fear in her voice that she was trying to hide. She was trying to sound diplomatic and cheerful. And then he heard something else.

Get outta the car, bitch.

"Leah! Try to start the car. Try anything." He screamed into the phone, as he tore out of the parking lot.

"It won't start. Oh my god. Murph!"

It was the most horrible sound he had ever heard. He heard her screaming. He heard Stan barking. He heard glass breaking. Leah screaming his name over and over and then pleading for them not to hurt her. The last thing he heard was her scream his name for help and then a thud and then silence.

He called the police as he drove and told the dispatcher what had happened. When he arrived at the place Leah described, there was Connor's car, the backend smashed, the driver's side window smashed out, Leah gone and Stan lying dead in the front seat, shot. Winos were lazing about against the mini mart entrance, scumbags roaming. No sign of a black BMW. Darkness had settled over this garden spot in hell but the occupants had come out for a gander.

Looks like a smash and grab, he overheard a cop say to another. Just a matter of time until they dump the body.

Gang initiation? The other cop in uniform asked.

Yeah, grab 'em, rape 'em then kill 'em. We'll find her in a ditch tomorrow.

The detective that Murphy was giving information to must have seen the change in his expression and excused himself for a moment to talk to the patrolmen.

"She's a pretty girl." The detective commented, taking the picture of Connor and Leah he had pulled from his wallet.

"Do ya see the man in this picture?" Murphy nearly screamed. "That is me twin brother. He exists solely for her. I promised him that I would take of her while he was out of town for three days. This is my fault. I forgot the time. I forgot the time."

Less than three hours later, Murph traveled through a series of actions he never could have dreamed. By the time it was over, he had identified the body of the only woman he had truly ever loved, had called his brother to tell him to come home as quickly as he could and called Leah's parents to tell them to come to Boston immediately.

He had never felt so alone in his life, looking at her battered face. As predicted, she had been gang-raped and then beaten to death then left for dead by the side of some shitty road in Jamaica Plain. They wouldn't let him hold her hand because evidence had not been taken yet. He made the phone calls then asked if he could just stay with her a little longer. He didn't want her to be alone. They relented for about ten minutes. He started asking questions about the way they extracted DNA and did they know that too much EDTA in the final storage buffer inhibited PCR. And couldn't they just let him take the evidence from her fingernails? He was trained in a molecular lab for Christ fuckin' sake, and had been able to get DNA out of single cell diatoms for the marine biology lab downstairs when he was an undergrad when none of the grad students could do it. What the fuck was taking them so long? I just want ta hold her hand! Ya bastards, yer gonna fuck this up and they'll never catch the people who did this to her! Ya bastards, she could take the DNA better than ye could, ye fuckers! He was removed from the morgue and driven in the back of a police car to the hospital, where he was admitted by a student that had no doubt looked up to him at one time when he was that student's mentor a few months before.

Helen was called in and whatever she gave him in the injection made him woozy but it was not powerful enough to keep him from hearing her and two of the other doctors with whom he had rotated verbally attack the patrolmen with all the ferocity of a trio of mongooses for handcuffing him and treating him like a criminal. His eyes fixated on the crucifix swinging like a metronome around Helen's neck as she roared at the two men with a fervor he had believed reserved for the pulpit. Go from this place. This young man is a healer. How dare you torture him in his time of need! You leave this place and remember your sworn duty to protect, to serve. Go now and do not return until you are worthy to come to a place of healing!

Helen discreetly admitted him into a private room, where some of the other faculty that he had known began to gather. Others he had never seen in his life.

The bastards had shot Stan, Rick's dog. It was another call he had to make and make the police understand that this dog's body was going to be claimed and they were to treat it with the utmost respect. He began to mumble rather incoherently about it. His mind wouldn't stop working but he couldn't articulate a fucking thing, but Helen seemed to understand. He watched and listened as Helen made the call to Rick and to the police.

People drifted in and out of the room all night and into the morning, where he must have drifted in and out of sleep.

People stood by and watched. Cars had driven past. People had seen this happen. And they had done nothing. I couldn't get there. I forgot the time. I forgot the time. He waked many times in the night, saying these things, his hand sometimes in Helen's, sometimes in a person's he didn't know.

And finally it was in a hand he knew well.

Connor's.

A/N: I am so sorry. But I think the guys got deepened somewhere. And we all know they're real, right? Right?