AN: Dunno what to say about this one, except that it's good to be back.

Slainté

-Shazzy

-Grief-

McGinty's was somber afterwards.

The usual joviality was lost in the grief that surrounded Blaise. The cops had stayed away, going to the more police-oriented pubs to drown their grief. Blaise, Connor and Murphy sat at the long bar in silence. Even the regulars were paying their respects to Blaise and her father.

"He was a good man." Someone said.

"Thanks." Blaise replied flatly.

After an hour of condolences, Connor and Muprhy dragged Blaise to the corner booth, getting her away from the rest of the patrons. It was still relatively early and Rocco hadn't shown up. The MacManus boys were considering making sure Blaise was gone before he arrived, or getting her very, very drunk.

"What am I gonna do?" Blaise asked finally as she leaned against Connor.

"You're gonna keep fuckin' writing is what you're gonna do." Murphy replied, lighting a cigarette. "Use it ta' fuel yourself. All this emotion an' shit, write something gratuitously violent."

Connor shot his brother a look but didn't disagree.

Blaise smiled at the thought. "Yeah, he'd want me to." She agreed quietly.

"Do you want us to find out who did it?" Connor asked.

"No." Blaise replied. "I know who it was."

"Who?" Murphy asked, the itch for a fight returning.

"Doesn't matter." Blaise told him. "It was a mob thing. They're untouchable."

"Blaise, look at me." Murphy demanded.

Blaise turned her eyes on the darker brother.

"I will kill the bastard who did this to you." Murphy said in a low and dangerous voice. "You give me the word, and I will kill every last mother fucker who had anything to do with it."

Blaise nodded and reached across the table to pat Murphy's hand. "That's illegal." She said with a smirk. "But I appreciate it."

Connor glanced at his brother, who shrugged in return.

"Da' left me the house." Blaise said after a long while. She wasn't drinking much, she'd been nursing a single beer all night, as if the grief was too much and she was filled with it. "I guess I could jus' rent th' apartment?"

"Might be the smart thing t' do." Connor agreed.

"Th' house is so big though." Blaise countered, arguing with herself. "Maybe I should rent the house instead?"

"Could do that too." Murphy agreed with a grin.

Blaise sniffled and stared at the dark beer in front of her. "Do you wanna move in?" She asked suddenly. "I mean, there's enough space at the house..."

Connor and Murphy exchanged almost panicked looks.

"Now is not the best time t' be askin' that kind of question." Connor said diplomatically. "We might not get along."

Blaise laughed and drank the rest of her beer. "I think I'll go home." She announced. "The apartment tonight." She added. "If y' need ta find me."

She got up and went to pay their tab.

"Go home with her." Murphy instructed. "She's in a bad way."

Connor nodded. "She's not right, Murph. I'm worried."

"It's grief." Murphy said sagely. "She'll be all right after. Just... give her some time."

"We're still gonna find th' bastards right?"

Murphy shrugged. "Not yet. She doesn't want vengeance."

Connor opened his mouth to argue but Murphy held up his hand to silence his brother.

"Let her grieve." Murphy said. "We haven't got the manpower or anythin' to go after a mafioso right now." He cast a look at Blaise, who was still talking with the boys at the long bar, likely getting their condolences. "She's tough, Conn. She'll be alright. B'sides, she's got you now."

"Don' sell yourself short, Murph." Connor said with a smirk.

Murphy chuckled. "Go, before she leaves or does something she'll regret." He told his brother. "I'll be fine, Roc should be 'round any minute now."

Connor nodded and grabbed his coat, patting his brother on the shoulder in thanks as he left the table.

Murphy lit a cigarette as he watched his brother wrap a gentle arm around Blaise's shoulder and lead her out of the pub.

Murphy's prediction of Rocco arriving came true as Connor and Blaise were stopped just inside the door by the Italian.

"Blaise, I didn't think you'd be here." Rocco stammered.

"Sorry to disappoint you?" Blaise replied.

"No, I mean... I heard..." Rocco stammered. "I'm sorry."

Blaise smiled sadly. "Thanks, but it's no' your fault, right? Nothin' you can do."

Rocco opened his mouth to say something but caught the warning look Connor was giving him and changed his mind. He held out his arms instead and Blaise hugged him.

Connor pressed his finger against his lips, warning Rocco not to talk about his job. There were some things that the MacManus brothers hid from Blaise. Rocco's job was one of them.

"Goodnight, Roc." Blaise said quietly. "Watch out fer Murph tonight okay?"

Rocco nodded. "Got it." He agreed.

Blaise smiled and walked out of the pub.

Rocco smiled and nudged Connor. "Have fun." He said with a suggestive smirk.

"Shut it." Connor snapped. "It's no' like that."

"Right." Rocco said. "You've been dating for what? Five years an' you've never taken her to bed? An' I'm the Queen of England."

"Fuck off." Connor replied lightly as he followed Blaise out of the bar.

Rocco sauntered over to the table where Murphy was still sitting and made himself comfortable.

"You didn't 'ave anything ta' do with her Da's death, didja, Roc?" Murphy asked immediately.

"What?" Rocco replied. "Are you insane? I'm a fucking package boy. I don't see shit."

"Y' better not be lyin'." Murphy warned. "She'll be out for blood in a few days."

"Trust me." Rocco said. "If I knew a damn thing about it, you'd be the first to know."

At the apartment, Blaise moved like a sleepwalker. She went through the motions of being a polite host, offering Connor every luxury, every amenity she could think of. It wasn't until Connor forced her to sit down on the couch that she stopped.

"I'm lost." Blaise said after a long moment of leaning against Connor.

Connor had sat with his back against the arm of the couch, his legs sprawled out in front of him and Blaise had curled up between his knees, resting her head against his chest.

"You'll be all right." Connor assured her. "I'm here."

Blaise smiled but didn't move.

Connor was afraid that she was on her way to becoming catatonic from the shock. He stroked her hair gently. "Talk to me, then?"

"About what?" Blaise asked.

"Anything," Connor said honestly. "I'll listen."

Blaise sniffled. "It's funny, y'know? You always expect it when your Da' is a cop. Always expect that he might not come 'ome tonight. But then, when it happens, you're not ready for it. And everything breaks."

Connor said nothing.

Blaise sighed and draped her arm across Connor's chest, pulling him closer. "It's no' fair."

"It never is." Connor agreed.

"Did Murph mean wha' he said earlier?" Blaise asked.

"I dunno." Connor lied. "He's always been a bit more emotional, that one. A bit more brash, talks big but doesn't consider the consequences."

"Pity." Blaise sighed.

Connor tilted his head to look at her. "You serious?"

"I dunno." Blaise replied quietly, lifting her head to stare at Connor. "I feel... nothing." She frowned. "Like I've grieved all I can and now the emptiness is just there. It's like a nightmare that I can't wake up from and I don't know what to do anymore."

Connor nodded slowly, not sure what to tell her. He couldn't imagine what it was like to lose a family member. He'd been lucky so far, and he didn't want to try to imagine what she was going through.

She kissed him suddenly, passionately, pulling him close.

Connor wrapped his arms around her in return.

Blaise pulled away from him. Carefully, she stood from her spot and pulled him to his feet, taking him by the hands. "I don't wanna be alone tonight." She told him.

"I wouldn't leave you alone." Connor replied, letting himself be pulled off the couch.

Blaise smiled. "Come to bed with me?" She asked quietly.

Connor nodded and let himself be led down the familiar hallway and into bed.

The next week was difficult to endure, and Connor and Murphy spent more time than they intended in the pub after midnight, trying to cope. Blaise was a wreck. She had decided to move into the family house, rather than rent it, and she was slowly going through all of her father's possessions, getting rid of the ones she didn't need.

She kept his badge and decommissioned gun on Connor's insistence, sending it off to be framed in a shadow box as a keepsake and a reminder. Most of his other things were being donated left right and center, and Blaise was replacing beds and furniture. Every inch of the house seemed like it was haunted.

"She's gonna kill herself." Murphy said one night as the brothers sat smoking at the bar.

"She's not suicidal." Connor argued.

"No, I mean, it's gonna devour her." Murphy replied. "She's not gonna take her own life, but she's definitely losing her spark."

Connor nodded quietly. "I don't think I'd be doing anything different if I was in her shoes." He considered. "I mean, if you died, Murph, and God willing that'll ne'er happen, I'd fuckin' lose it."

Murphy snorted. "Well, I ain't got any plans to die jus' yet." He assured his brother. "We gotta get her out of the house or somethin'."

"It's been barely a week." Connor replied. "She's just gotta get this out of her system, right? I mean, she's alone now. An orphan. It's gotta be rough."

Murphy sighed. Connor was right. As always. "What d'you suggest?"

Connor shrugged. "No idea."

Murphy smirked and rested his head against his arm and the bar. "It's a damn good thing we both love 'er." He mumbled. "Because I couldn't deal with this shite for anyone else."

"It's a damn good thing she's tough as fuckin' nails." Connor shot back, snubbing out his cigarette. "Because anyone else probably would have lost it worse by now."

They went to check on her in the morning.

She was directing a moving crew on where to put the new furniture she was having delivered. She was dressed casually, jeans and her black hoodie, but the sad, empty shell of the woman was gone, replaced with the vibrant, energetic Blaise they'd loved.

"Mornin' boys!" Blaise called as she saw them approaching. She embraced Murphy and kissed Connor. "How hung over are ye?"

"What did you do with Blaise?" Murphy asked.

Blaise shrugged. "It's been a week, love." She replied. "I need to move on. Da's gone and no amount of tears will bring him back."

The brothers exchanged nervous glances.

"I'm all right." She assured them. "I owe you both a debt of gratitude that I can ne'er repay. You both let me cry on yer shoulders, stayed with me, comforted me. I can't e'er repay that kindness." She smiled. "Neither of you slept much in the past week an' I'm sure you're both exhausted beyond comprehension. The least I can do is move on now."

Murphy nodded slowly. "A'right, if you're sure you're okay."

"I am." Blaise said with another, brighter smile. "Besides, there are better things to do than to mope around the house anymore."

"Like what?" Connor asked with a crooked grin.

"Drink an' fight." Blaise said easily.

"Aw, yeah, I fuckin' love your girlfriend!" Murphy crowed with a laugh.

Connor chuckled and shook his head. "I still think you've replaced our Blaise with a robot or summin'."

"I told you I was a cyborg the first night we met." Blaise countered with a smirk. "But naw, I'm really okay. Drinkin' and fightin' sounds like a much more productive use of my time right now anyway."

Murphy snorted a laugh, pointing towards the movers. "But first we need to finish moving your furniture."

Blaise smiled. "Aye, first we need to finish that."