Connor looked down at his twin. Murphy lay very still in the half darkness, eyes closed, breathing without a sound. Connor knew he was not asleep, could feel Murphy's mind, more dimly, muted somehow, but present, awake. Watchful, as ever. Connor had been gone only five minutes, making himself a cup of tea, trying to find something, anything, in the kitchen that might tempt Murphy to eat. Anything that might stay down.

He had given up when the nausea projected down their link became overwhelming, when Murphy had silently begged him to stop, and Connor had tasted bile at the back of his own throat, aware that his body was mirroring Murphy's current state of affairs.

Please don't make me, Conn. Please…

He could feel the desperation in the projected plea, sensed Murphy starting to struggle out of the sheets. Desperate to avoid returning to a Murphy yet again hunched over the toilet retching Connor had hastily given up the thought and had concentrated on his own cup of tea instead, and returned upstairs as soon as he'd finished it.

His brother looked so peaceful, that moment. Connor knew the impression to be deceptive, but he drank in the sight nonetheless. Pale and wan, hair mussed and untidy, longer and stragglier than ever in their shared memory. But always, always, Connor thought, Murphy was so beautiful.

Connor sat down slowly on the bed, close to his twin. He lifted a hand, traced his fingers over cheekbones too sharply defined, a throat too hollow, collarbones even more distinct now on his brother's emaciated form than they were naturally anyway. Fragile as a bird and, Connor knew, now dangerously close to the point of no return from muscle wastage, organ failure and insanity. And yet, inexplicably beautiful. Connor pushed some still wet strands of hair off Murphy's forehead.

_._

When Murphy had woken earlier that afternoon he'd asked Connor to help him take a bath.

I feel disgustingly sticky, and 'm sore all over. Would be nice to stretch out in the tub…

That the soreness was due to the muscle wastage and long inactivity, and that a bath would at most be a temporary relief Connor had kept to himself. He'd been glad to do something for Murphy, help him feel better. He'd hunted around the house for clean sheets, too. Murphy had now spent several days in bed, often sweating profusely from the fever that kept gripping him intermittently, and it would be wonderful for them both to sleep in a clean bed again.

Getting Murphy into the tub had been easier than Connor had feared. He was so light now Connor could have practically lifted him off the bed and carried him through to the bathroom. That hadn't been quite necessary, but Murphy had leaned on him heavily enough to make Connor's heart ache with sympathy again. Feeling his brother's fragile body against him had brought tears to Connor's eyes.

He'd hidden his face from Murphy but of course his brother had known exactly what he was feeling. A wispy, feather light tendril of thought had snuck into Connor's head, and when he looked down into Murphy's overly bright eyes he had seen the same tears there, ready to spill over. They hadn't let that happen. Instead, Connor had pulled Murphy into a close embrace, holding him tightly while Murphy clung to him, shaking. Then Connor had helped his brother climb into the foamy water.

In times past Connor would have climbed into the tub with Murphy in an instant, and they would have forgotten the world around them for long, sweet minutes, giving each other pleasure, enjoying the smooth, unfamiliar sensation that water, foam and steam added to their lovemaking. This time Connor had desisted, and Murphy hadn't even asked him to. Connor had wondered if his brother had realized how unlike them it was, to pass up an opportunity like this and to not even comment on it.

Instead Connor had helped Murphy wash himself, letting warm water run down his too narrow back, trying not to count every rib under skin that seemed too taut and paper thin. He had washed Murphy's hair and had been forcefully reminded of their ma doing the same thing for them both, back in Ireland when they'd been small. How he and Murph had loved to splash about in the old, chipped claw-footed tub. Minds already linked together, as yet oblivious to the strange pleasures this would afford them once they discovered how to link their bodies just as intimately, they'd ganged up on ma in that tub, coordinating and intensifying their attack until all three of them were breathless, laughing and soaked to the skin.

Murphy had of course picked up on the memories, and when Connor came back round again and could see his face, his brother's eyes were smiling with fondness, before suddenly clouding over.

"What is it, Murph? Something hurting?"

Connor's nerves were taut, concern about Murphy's condition never far from spilling over into panic. But Murphy had shaken his head.

Just thinking… what d'you think happened to ma?

Connor had looked away. The truth was that he had tried to avoid thinking about their family back in Ireland since this had started. Recently, that had been much easier. His entire focus was now in the present, trying desperately to keep Murphy alive, the one bit of family still left to him. He had sighed and locked his gaze with Murphy's again.

"I don't know, Murph. Who knows, maybe it's not so bad over there…"

A single tear had spilled over then, rolling down Murphy's face. Connor had sighed again stretching out a hand, cupping his brother's face. He'd almost absently-mindedly wiped away the tear with his thumb. Murphy had leaned his face into the caress, closing his eyes. After a moment he'd pulled away, drawing up his knees. Connor had seen a shiver going through his twin. He'd stood up.

"I'll get a towel. Don't move til I'm back," he'd admonished. "I don't need you to fall out of the tub and crack your head open, on top of everything else."

Under normal circumstances Murphy would have bristled at this sort of mollycoddling, but this time he'd not even opened his eyes.

M'kay…

When Connor had returned with the towel Murphy had still been sitting in the cooling water, arms wrapped around his legs, face resting against one knee, eyes still closed. Connor had felt a pang of sorrow, then longing, then guilt. Annoyed with himself for being unable to control this jumble of emotions his voice had sounded rougher than intended when he'd roused Murphy.

"C'mon then, back to bed."

Murphy's eyes had opened and he'd looked slightly hurt. Alright, brother, keep your hair on…

But when his eyes had met Connor's his expression had softened. Leaning on Connor as he'd clambered out of the tub Murphy had flung his arms around him and held him as tightly as he could manage for a long moment. Connor had returned the embrace, not even minding his shirt getting soaked where Murphy was clinging on as tears had finally started rolling down his own face.

_._

And here they were, back in bed. At Connor's gentle touch Murphy's eyes opened. He still looked tired, exhaustion a constant feature now, but Connor thought his brother's gaze was more awake, more present than it had been in a while. Murphy brought a hand up and placed it over Connor's where it rested against his cheek. Connor knew what Murphy had on his mind before he formulated the thought.

Take me, brother.

Connor straightened up, drew back. "I don't know, Murph…"

Please, Conn. There's so little left…

Connor could feel the loneliness in Murphy, the echo-y feeling of a place far away, looming large for Murphy now, always. Not even he would be able to follow his brother there, once Murphy reached the point of no return. So Connor leaned in again, resumed caressing Murphy's face. Murphy's eyes closed, the grip on Connor's mind intensifying at the same time. Murphy, pushing in, threading tendrils, curling up. Stretching out in Connor's head, filling it, like he owned the place.

And with his brother came a cold, an emptiness, a feeling Connor didn't remember ever experiencing before when Murphy linked up their minds. He felt suddenly afraid, but then pushed the feeling, and the fear, to one side, concentrating on his brother lying prone before him.

Murphy's hands came up, seeking purchase on fabric, starting to undo buttons on Connor's shirt. Slower, more fumbling, less sure than Connor remembered. When it became clear that just struggling with his shirt buttons was tiring Murphy out Connor stilled Murphy's hands and pushed himself off the bed. He undid the rest of the buttons, shrugged out of the shirt and toed off his shoes. He undid his pants, let them drop down, pulled down his boxer shorts and stepped out of the puddle of clothes on the floor.

Murphy was watching, seemingly content to be allowed just to do that. The cold feeling in Connor's mind intensified, and with it a growing disquiet in the pit of his stomach. This was wrong. Murphy wasn't strong enough, they shouldn't even be considering this. And yet, Connor knew his brother was right. What was there left for Murphy? What hope that they could fix whatever was wrong with him? The least he, Connor, could do for his brother now was make him feel good, feel wanted, loved.

Connor wasn't very good at initiating their mind link, but he did his best now to let only the love and desire filter through to Murphy, blocking anxiety, fear, and the cold, empty feeling that threatened just off screen. And he seemed to be succeeding. A smile started in the depth of Murphy's eyes, soon spreading over the rest of his face. He lifted his hand again and held it out to Connor, who stepped close, took Murphy's hand and climbed back onto the bed, stretching out by his brother's side.

Murphy propped himself up on one elbow and for a little while took over the initiative. He started gently kissing Connor's face, then wandered down his neck, collarbones, on to his nipples. Connor moaned, then hissed as Murphy's teeth found purchase. Down his twin went, licking a trail down Connor's chest, past his navel, until soft fingers alighted on Connor's belly. Murphy's fingers were warm and familiar as they closed on Connor's erection, and only then Connor realized just how aroused he already was. Murphy began to stroke him in long, languid movements. Connor moaned as Murphy scooted close, head coming back up and resting against Connor's chest. With another pang of guilt Connor realized just how labored Murphy's breathing was sounding, as if he'd just run up the stairs.

Connor pulled his brother close, held him, let him catch his breath. "Shh, brother, slow down. There's no rush."

Murphy's hand continued stroking Connor, but more slowly still. Looking down Connor could see past Murphy's still damp hair to his own cock in his brother's hand, and the sight aroused him even more. He had to have Murph, now.

"Lie back down, 's your turn..."

Connor pushed Murphy back into the pillows and Murphy rolled onto his back without protest. After the bath Connor had helped Murphy into fresh underpants but they hadn't yet bothered with a shirt. Connor let his hands glide down Murphy's bare sides, raising gooseflesh on the too visible ribs as he went. As he straightened up and knelt behind his twin Connor pulled down Murphy's boxer shorts, noting that his own arousal was equally matched by Murphy. He pulled the underwear all the way free and dropped it over the side of the bed.

For a moment, Connor regarded his brother's naked form, and knew that Murphy was observing him in the same way from under half-closed lids. He felt a tug on his mind, familiar, welcome. This was pure Murphy now, fully awake, full of longing, desire, urging him on.

Take me, take me now. I need you, dearthair… brother…

Looking closely Connor saw a flush in Murphy's face. He was looking less wan now, no longer pale or ill. This was his Murphy, panting with desire, writhing, longing for contact. Warm, alive under his hands. Eager for pleasure, eager to connect. And so was Connor.

Connor pushed up Murphy's legs. Murphy shifted, affording access. Connor positioned himself as Murphy, eyes closed again, reached for his own cock. The sight of Murphy stroking himself made Connor's erection twitch. He took his own cock with one hand, leaned down and positioned the tip against Murphy's opening. His twin gave a half-whimper, half-moan and pushed down eagerly. Connor entered him slowly and Murphy's back arched, hand on his erection moving with increased intensity.

There was no resistance, they were so familiar with each other that Murphy had no trouble taking Connor quickly, and without discomfort. But Connor was more gentle now, went more slowly, didn't grip Murphy's hips quite so hard as he started moving inside him. It was too easy now to hurt Murphy, to bruise him without meaning to. But despite it all Connor was glad that they could still relax into each other so completely, and that this familiar ritual gave his brother such pleasure.

It had been way too long since they'd last had an opportunity to be together, and arousal had built to an almost painful level over the last few weeks. Connor knew they both wouldn't last long, and realized that that was a blessing in disguise. Murphy's energy would not hold out for long, so he resisted the urge to draw out the pleasure too much. Connor made sure to hit Murphy's sweet spot just right, not rushing his twin but fully concentrating on the other's enjoyment. Soon he could feel the trembling and quivers of ecstasy that told him Murphy was close. Their mental link allowed Connor to push Murphy over the edge precisely at the moment of maximum arousal but before exhaustion would make it impossible for Murphy to enjoy the peak.

Murphy shuddered under him, arching right off the mattress. Connor closed his hand over Murphy's on his cock and with a groan his twin came hot and fast over their intertwined fingers. Murphy tightening around him was enough to push Connor over, too.

_._

Later, when they lay close together, spent, tired, but for once content, no pain in evidence, no weakness currently an issue, Connor could feel Murphy snuggling even closer against his bare chest. He tightened his arm around his twin.

"What is it, hmm?"

Just thinking… 'm so sorry, putting you through this…

"No need, brother. You didn't choose to have this happen to you. We'll find something that'll help, and soon. Rick will figure it out."

Connor tried to sound more hopeful than he felt. After a pause Murphy sighed, and Connor could feel his warm breath against bare skin. You're right. He'll know what to do. Rick'll help…

But Connor could tell from Murphy's words in his mind, and through their shared emotional connection, that they both knew how unlikely that was, and how little time they had left.