Author's Note: This chapter was a pain in the ass to write. I ran into writers' block with each of the three POVs, and then I got really mad at Niamh about halfway through the chapter [which quite honestly isn't unusual; she and I don't get along very well 98% of the time]. I will say, however, that my favorite parts of this chapter are the conversation [per say] between Murphy and Connor, and Niamh's flashback. I loved watching Con and Murph's interaction, and the memory Niamh has is of a conversation between herself, her mother, and Ma MacManus, and I find it glorious even though it's horrible and evil. Which probably says something about me, but there you go.

Disclaimer: Yes, I gave Murphy tattoos that Norman Reedus doesn't have. I, having freeze-framed certain parts of BDS far more than is healthy, fully realize this. It's called artistic license. It was a story point I wanted, so I sacrificed reality. Don't have Troy Duffy hurt me.

Special Thanks: I was talking to my beta George [aka Magnus] while I was writing/editing Niamh's flashback, and he got us both unbelievably mystified about what was going on and why everybody was doing what they were. It was confusing as hell while we got ourselves straightened out, but amazingly comical. So thanks to him for keeping me from killing Niamh for annoying me so much.

Una
Murphy lay in bed, perfectly content to lay still, blinking lazily in the warm sunshine, and reverently staring at and touching the most beautiful woman in the world. Words couldn't describe how incredibly content he was to lay in bed with her among the tousseled sheets and the warm September sunshine. He was quite positive he could happily spend forever like this.

She was still asleep, covered only by the rumpled sheet that rode low on her hips. She lay on her stomach, her head pillowed on her arms, her shaggy hair laying in all directions. Though this hairstyle suited her, Murphy mourned the loss of the waist-length mane she had once had. Much of Devin's physique had changed, and Murphy wondered how much more her personality had altered. She was sleeker all over, more toned than he remembered. In addition to her ears, her nipples were pierced, a fact that drove him wild. She had more tattoos now- in addition to the St. Joseph on the right side of her neck [the tattoo she shared with her twin] and the celtic braid in the form of a shamrock with the phrase Mo Chroí right between her breasts [which matched the one between his pecs], she now had Fidelis tattooed on her left hand, angel wings that covered most of her back, and a celtic cross on her right forearm.

Murphy's gaze lingered on the cross. Nestled amongst the braiding that comprised the circle encompassing the top of the cross were three names- Connor, Murphy, and Cillian. It had long been a custom in the MacManus and MacCoy families to tattoo the names of deceased loved ones on their bodies; he and Connor had tattooed an R on their arms recently in honor of Rocco, and Murphy had 'Norman,' the name of a dear high school friend who'd died in a car accident, tattooed over his heart. A troubled look passed over Murphy's face as he wondered who Cillian was, and what he had been to Devin that merited his name being tattooed onto her arm.

He should let her sleep, Murphy admonished himself. But he couldn't seem to keep his hands off her. No matter how much he had touched her last night, part of him was still convinced that he was dreaming, that at any moment he would wake up, and she would disappear, and he would be alone again, with nothing but an aching heart for company.

Devin emitted a soft sigh and stirred lazily. Murphy hitched himself up onto his elbow, running his fingers along her incredibly sensitive spine as she slowly woke up. She shivered, then focused on him, blinking once, twice, before smiling.

"I wasn't dreamin'," she said wonderingly, her voice still adorably thick with sleep.
"Nah, love. Unless we're havin' the exact same dream," he grinned, leaning down to kiss her.

The kiss turned from soft and sweet to as passion-filled as last night in a moment's time. Half-consciously, he shifted so she was pinned beneath him, needing to know she couldn't get away from him. When the kiss finally ended, Murphy rested his forehead against Devin's while she cradled his face between her hands.

"I thought I'd never see ye again," she murmured, but there was no sadness in her voice; only a profound awe.
Murphy winced, a heavy guilt settling in his chest as he was reminded of Niamh's lie. "I never meant ta be gone so long, Devin. I dunno what I was thinkin' of ."
"It doesn't matter, Murphy," Devin said, her voice becoming choked with emotion. "What's done is done, there's no changin' it. But now yer here, and I'm here, and tha's all that matters."
"I'll not let ye go again, Mo Chroí," Murphy whispered. "I'll not survive it a second time."
Devin bit her lip. "It's been ten years, Mac," she said softly. "An' we've both changed, maybe not fer the better. Maybe it's best to get reaquainted before you start promisin' forever."

Though quite sure he wasn't going to change his mind any time soon, Murphy respected Devin's need to reorient herself, to adjust to Murphy's reappearance and the changes that came with ten years' absence. He would give her all the time she needed, as long as she came to the conclusion that she was still his.

They stayed in bed for hours, caressing, kissing, holding, staring at each other. It was their stomachs that finally drove them from bed. Murphy grinned as he handed Devin a shirt and pajama pants of his; he found it incredibly sexy to see her wearing his clothes.

"What're yeh hungry for, love?" he asked as he led her into the kitchen.
"I've missed yer grilled cheese sandwiches-" Devin replied, before stopping in her tracks.

Though she didn't consciously recognize the gray-haired, beared man who sat at the table reading the paper and drinking coffee, Devin knew she knew the gentleman. Something about him- the look in his eyes, the butterfly tattoo on his hand- was annoyingly familiar; recognition nagged at the edges of her mind, but she just couldn't place him.

Murphy turned to see what had caught Devin's attention, then grinned. "You remember me da from the pictures, don't yeh? Da, remember Devin MacCoy?"
"O'course I do," Mr. MacManus said, setting down his paper. "Yer a wee bigger than yeh were, last I saw yeh."
Devin blinked, staring. "Noah… I thought yeh were dead! We all did!"
"Not dead, jus' imprisoned," Noah MacManus replied, stepping forward to embrace his goddaughter.

By now, Devin had gone through so many reversals and surprises with the MacManus men- learning the twins were alive and that Niamh had lied about it, spending the night with Murphy and learning he still loved her, and now seeing her godfather alive and well- that she had lost her ability to be shocked. It was almost as though her mind was protecting itself against futher emotional damage, and only processing positive emotions. So the only thing Devin felt as she relaxed into Noah's embrace was a profound joy.

Murphy smiled to himself as his da and Devin sat at the table, getting caught up on the past three decades, give or take. He turned to the stove to cook Devin's grilled cheese, confident that his da would welcome Devin into the family with open arms.

Murphy looked up and grinned as his twin walked in, though the smile dimmed when he saw how tired and pale Connor was. He looked awful, as though he'd been out walking all night [which, knowing Connor as Murphy did, he probably had been]. Connor stopped at the threshold, leaning against the wall and folding his arms as he took in the scene before him.

Con and Murph had always had the uncanny ability to have full conversations without saying a word. Sensing that Connor wasn't really in the mood to join the domestic scene before him, the twins began speaking in silence.

Murphy raised his eyebrows, tilting his head.

Where were you?

Connor shrugged, looking down at his worn boots.

Out.

Connor looked up, smirking faintly, eyebrow cocked, tilting his head toward the table where Devin and Noah laughed, oblivious to the blond twin's presence or the conversation going on around them.

You get lucky?

Murphy looked at the table, his face softening, a small smile gracing his lips.

Yeah, I did.

Connor rolled his eyes and shook his head, a mocking smile on his face.

You sound like a fucking woman.

Murphy rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning back to his cooking.

Ass.

Connor caught his twin's eye, a faint but genuine smile on his face.

I'm happy for you, brother.

Murphy smiled, then furrowed his brow.

Are you alright?

Connor shrugged, looking away.

I don't wanna talk about it.

Murphy nodded, watching his brother silently disappear down the hallway to his bedroom. It didn't take a genius to realize that after Murphy had raced after Devin last night, Connor had remained behind with an irate Niamh. Apparently, whatever had transpired between them hadn't gone well.

Murphy felt for his brother, truly, even though he had yet to forgive Niamh for what she'd done to Devin and him. But Murphy had always suspected his brother of being sweet on the other MacCoy twin, even if he didn't fully realize it, and he knew how it pained Con to be at odds with his best friend.

Maybe, after he got done being mad at Niamh, he'd help his brother. Until then, though… he fully intended to enjoy this one day he had with Devin before she returned to Brooklyn.

Enjoy it he most certainly did. After eating, Noah encouraged the young folk to go for a walk and enjoy the streets of Boston. It didn't take much to persuade them, and when they were gone Noah laughed, shaking his gray head.

"Ah, young love," he muttered, his mind straying to his Annie and yearning for home.

They walked through the streets [Devin dressed in Murphy's clothes so she wouldn't have to wear last night's sundress, which was a bit too cold for the fall day], enjoying steaming cups of coffee and each other's company. Though they spoke some about the years they'd been apart, neither asked questions that were too prying; each felt that the relationship was too new and too fragile to bring in the demons of the past just yet.

He took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, amazed at how their hands fit like puzzle pieces.

"Yer still wearin' this," he said quietly, raising her hand and studying her claddagh ring.
"Aye," Devin replied, just as quiet. "Always."
"Yeh never dated?" he couldn't help but ask, the mental image of Devin with another man nearly choking him with jealousy.
She shook her head. "Never. They weren't you."

Though he felt better knowing that no other man had ever tried to claim what was his, he couldn't help but wince, the guilt tightening his chest again. He'd never meant to leave her, hadn't wanted to condemn her to a cold and lonely ten years. He'd wanted to give her a home, a family of their own, a fairy tale life.

But he had left, and he had become a Saint, and their dreams would have to remain just that- dreams.

Murphy could feel the icy chill of reality settling in, cooling and tempering his burning passion for Devin with a distressing finality. As long as he was a Saint, as long as his mission hung over his head, he could never give Devin what she deserved. How could he put her in danger like that, to put her on the hit list of every enemy he'd made in his tenure as a vigilante? How could he be a worthy father if he risked getting killed every night?

That idea, once thought, refused to be dislodged, and cast a pall on the perfect day. And, once thought, it gave him pause. Should he really pursue a relationship with Devin when he couldn't give her what they once dreamed of?

A shiver from Devin drew Murphy from his chilling thought train.

"Yeh cold, love?" he asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
Devin nodded, huddling into him. "I lef' me coat in the bar las' night."
"Well, I'll jus' buy you a new one!" he grinned.
"I'll not ask yeh ta do that," she started.
"Yer not askin', I'm tellin' ya," Murphy said firmly. "I'm gonna take care o' me girl."

Protest she did. Futilely. Murphy marched her into a store and damn near stuffed her arms into coats until they found one they agreed on- a peacoat in a beautiful shade of green. Murphy grinned and paid for it, deaf to Devin's protests, then led her back to the streets.

"When do ya have ta go back to the hotel?" Murphy asked.
Devin checked her watch and sighed. "An hour."
Murphy nodded, tamping down his unhappiness, knowing their separation was inevitable. "What'll we do with the time, then?"
"We'll go to the park," she replied. "An' we'll sit in the sunshine, an' we'll be together."
He nodded. "Aye. Alrigh', mo chuisle."

They walked to the park and sat on the grass, basking in the sunshine. Murphy wrapped his arms around Devin, holding her close, begrudging every passing minute. Lord, he didn't want to let her go. Who knew when he'd manage to see her again? He didn't want this fairy tale day to end.

But end it did, as all things must. He walked her to her hotel, they kissed one final time, exchanged cell numbers… and then she went inside, and it was over.

He took his time walking home, clinging desperately to the warmth of her memory as the chill of reality closed in about him. He couldn't give her what he once promised her- a life, a home, marriage and family. He was a marked man, set apart from the world he protected. The only way he could have Devin was if he was willing to expose her to his life- his full life, killing and all. He couldn't do that to her.

He had to let her go.

His heart immediately ached at that, rebelling at the prospect of letting her to so soon after he'd found her again. There had to be something he could do to have both his life as a Saint and the life he wanted with the woman he loved…

Murphy ran an agitated hand through his hair. "I need Da."

Veritas
He'd spent another long night pacing the streets, lost in his thoughts. He was getting too old for this, Connor thought ruefully; he should've been past the stage where a fight with Niamh caused him to lose sleep.

The moonlit hours had slipped by quickly, with Connor unable to form a single coherent thought, memories of what had transpired senselessly chasing each other through his head out of sequence. Numbed by the countless questions he had- none of which seemed to have an answer- he'd reluctantly returned home.

The scene he'd found in the kitchen only confused him more. Niamh had said that Murphy had ruined Devin's life, and yet there she was in their kitchen, laughing with Murph and their da like she belonged there. Maybe Niamh's accusations would've made more sense if Devin had avoided Murphy, or smacked him across the face at the bar. But seeing her like this- so completely happy to be around Murphy, so patently in love with him though she was obviously trying to deny it to herself- how did this fit with what Niamh had said?

He could've joined his family in the kitchen, and felt perfectly at his ease. He would've enjoyed teaming up with his da to take the piss out of his twin and Devin. But he was tired, and confused, and he needed to think. So after a silent conversation with Murphy, he'd retreated to his room for some much-needed privacy.

He locked his door, then removed his peacoat and kicked off his boots, shedding his clothes down to his boxers before dropping onto his bed. He kept his mind carefully blank until he was reclining comfortably, and then he went over last night's events slowly, methodically, trying to make sense of each piece before moving onto the next.

From what Niamh had said, Murphy had broken Devin's heart. And yet Devin was still wearing her claddagh ring, and wearing it on her left hand. She was using Murphy's old peacoat for her own. The way she'd clung to Murphy when he kissed her indicated anything but hatred. Was it possible that Niamh had misinterpreted her sister's feelings?

No, Connor decided immediately. Niamh and Devin had been every bit as close as he and Murphy, could read each other just as accurately. There was no way that Niamh could mistake what her sister thought and felt about Murphy.

Niamh hadn't told Devin that she'd been visiting Connor when she came to Boston. Moreover, she'd let her twin believe that Connor and Murphy were dead. She'd told Devin ten years ago that the boys were dead, and had kept up the deception ever since. What had driven Niamh to tell such a lie? Though she often ran her mouth when angry, Niamh wasn't by nature a person who enjoyed causing others pain; Connor didn't believe for a second that she had enjoyed decieving her twin. From her comments, Connor knew Niamh had done what she did because she honestly believed she was protecting Devin.

The question was, what was she protecting her sister from? What could Murphy have done that was so horrendous that Niamh had decided to remove him from Devin's life?

For some reason, Connor didn't think it was just the fact that he and Murph had left, though that was the only reason he could see. Had Murphy done something like end his relationship with Devin before they left? From what Connor had seen, that wasn't bloody likely. Murphy still had every intention of marrying Devin, and she looked more than happy to agree to his plan. So what hidden transgression had Murphy admitted that pissed Niamh off so thoroughly?

There was something off about the entire situation, something not quite on the level. But damned if Connor knew what it was.

He didn't want last night to cost him his best friend. The fight was too ridiculous, the accusations and anger too outrageous to believe. Connor wasn't really mad at Niamh anymore… but what the bloody hell had she been talking about?

The question continued to plague him as his heavy eyelids closed, but before he could find an answer, he fell asleep.

Parilitas
Niamh hadn't slept well. She had tossed and turned, throwing off and pulling on the covers as she twitched and shifted. She'd suffered from insomnia; when she finally could sleep, it was only in short bursts, and each time her dreams had been plagued by faces- her sister, devastated and hurt; Murphy furious; Connor incredulous, then cold and distant. When she'd given up on sleep at 2 am, she had curled up in one of the room's armchairs, blankly staring at her Bible as her fingers moved over the rosary bracelet on her wrist. Though she saw the words on the page, she didn't comprehend them at all; nor did she register the prayers she methodically recited. Her mind was elsewhere, waiting for a reasonable time to call her mother.

She didn't have a long wait, but while she sat she observed. She was still alone in the room, and Devin's bed was pristine, her bag still in the middle of the mattress. Which meant she hadn't come back last night. Niamh hadn't really expected her to. Though she knew her sister was completely capable of taking care of herself, Niamh still worried, hoping that she hadn't run into any trouble last night. She even found herself grudgingly hoping that Murphy had found her; better for Devin to be in that bastard's company than helpless and in the hands of some thug, though she didn't really believe that her twin would actually be helpless if a thug were to find her. Actually, if a thug did stop her, Niamh felt sorry for the poor bastard; he'd be in a world of hurt by the time Devin was done with him.

Shaking her pretty head, Niamh reached for the phone and called her mother in Carrick-On-Suir.

"Dia Dhuit."
"Ma, it's Niamh."
"Well it's about time ya got around ta callin' yer poor old ma!" came a warm, maternal voice. "And me wonderin' fer t'ree weeks an' more where ye are, and if yer alright!"
"Sorry Ma, we were tied up," Niamh explained.
"Well, yeh've called now and set me worried heart at ease, and that's all that matters," Aileen MacCoy said. "What's new in America, then?"
Niamh drew a breath. "Devin knows. About Murphy. They met up in the bar las' night."
"Oh," Aileen said after a pause, her voice now tired and strained. "Well, we knew it had to happen someday."

There was a moment of silence on the phone, and Niamh found her mind wandering back to the night when she and her mother had agreed upon their deception.

19-year-old Niamh and her mother Aileen MacCoy stood in the MacCoys' kitchen with Annabelle MacManus, keeping a vigil through the hot July night. Niamh and Annabelle clutched glasses of ice water while Aileen walked around the kitchen, preparing medicine, cool cloths, and hot broth. They spoke in hushed whispers, each straining to catch any hint of sound from the darkened room upstairs where Devin lay in a fevered delirium.

"Surely yeh understand why we're doin' this, Annie," Aileen said anxiously as she worked. "It's been a year now, without a word from either of 'em. An' on top o' this new sorrow…"

She glanced to the ceiling, half-hoping but half-dreading to hear any whisper of sound from the sickroom they'd prepared when Devin fell ill. She had been in bed for almost three weeks now, and her fever was still dangerously high, her breathing still horribly labored. Doctor O'Malley had suggested more than once that she be brought to the hospital, but Aileen and Padriac had refused, saying they would tend to their daughter at home or not at all.

"The grief is too much fer anyone ta bear," Aileen said.
"An' you think tellin' 'er Murphy's dead will lessen the sorrow?" Annabelle asked, her voice gravelly from too much cigarette smoke and booze, and rough with concern. "Yeh don' know Devin, then. Seems ta me that tellin' her she's lost Murphy again, an' this time forever, will make the grief worse."

The conversation was cut off as a whimper was heard. It was weak, both in volume and in strength, but it was clear. Devin was crying out for Murphy, searching for him even through her fevered delusions, begging him to find Cillian, and for the both of them to return to her.

"She still calls fer 'im, then?" Annabelle asked softly, her well-hidden [or so she liked to think] tender heart hurting for the girl she'd once thought would be her daughter-in-law.
"Sometimes, when the fever spikes or when the medicine's wearin' off," Aileen nodded, sighing. "Sometimes it's a whimper, sometimes it's a scream. She can't keep waitin' for 'im to come home, Annie, it's killin' 'er."
"I'd say it's the fever is killin' her, an' the love fer Murphy keepin' 'er alive," Annabelle said caustically. "If ya take that hope from her, who's to say what'll happen? She could die of a heart thrice broken."
"She'll move on," Aileen stated. "She needs ta forget any o' this ever happened."
Annabelle scoffed. "Yeh think she'll forget? Not fuckin' likely, Lee," she said, using the nickname she'd given Aileen when the two women met as children. "She'll carry the sorrow o' this to her grave, ye mark me words."
Aileen shook her head. "The young forget easily, tis in their nature."
"She'll not forget this," Annabelle insisted. "Not now, not ever. Ta lose 'em both, an' within a year of each other… ta lose Murphy twice, as yer proposin'… no, she'll not forget."
"But we have yer promise?" Aileen begged. "Yeh'll not tell 'er Murphy still lives?"
"Nay, I'll not tell 'er," Annabelle agreed heavily. "But yeh'll not stop me from callin' me boy and tellin' 'im his girl's ill. I should've called 'im the day she came down wit' the fever, but I held off because ye asked. Now, though…"
"No, 'e can't know!" Niamh burst in. "'e'd come straight 'ome, and she'd think it a ghost. She can' take the strain, Annabelle."
"Yeh've already got me keepin' one secret from me son, somethin' he's every right in the world ta know," Annabelle said, her eyes narrowing. "If 'e were ever to learn of it, it'd break 'is heart. Now yer askin' me to keep from 'im that the girl he loves is dyin'?"
"If 'e loved 'er, he'd not have left when she needed 'im," Niamh said tightly, trying to control her temper. "But 'e knew of 'er situation, an' he packed up anyways and left 'er behind. Left 'er alone in the world after he promised her everythin'. 'E doesn't deserve ta know."
"Don' be so sure," Annabelle said. "I know me boy. 'E's an ungrateful little pissant, but if he'd known anythin' about it he'd not have left without 'er. 'E'd'a done the right thing by 'er."
"But 'e didn't do the right thing," Niamh pointed out. "'E gave up the right ta know. Please don't tell 'im anythin', Annabelle."
"It galls me ta the bone ta do it," Annabelle said. "But I'll hold me tongue. But I tell the both o' yeh, someday he's gonna find out, and Devin will find out yeh've lied to 'er. And they'll never forgive the two o' ye."
"It's a risk we'll have to take," Aileen said. "I'm doin' this fer her own good, Annie. Ye know that, don't yeh?"
"Aye, I know it," Annabelle said heavily. "I know yer tryin' ta protect 'er. But I tell ye, Aileen, yeh'll come ta regret it."

"Niamh?" Aileen asked, pulling Niamh from her memories. "Ya still there?"
"Aye. Sorry, Ma, I was thinkin'," Niamh replied.
"How is she?" Aileen asked.
"She didn' come back las' night. She musta been with 'im. She's still not back," Niamh said heavily.
"D'ye think she's told him?" Aileen asked.
"I dunno, Ma," Niamh said. "But I doubt it. She never mentions anythin' of it ta me, an' I don't think she's ever told anyone else. I don't think she'd tell 'im so soon."
"Maybe you girls should come 'ome fer a spell," Aileen suggested. "Three years is a long time ta be gone."
Niamh hung her head. "We don' have the money right now, Ma. I wish we did. Anyways, Dev an' me both have work. An' I don't think anythin' could drag 'er away from 'im again, not now. But I'll bring 'er home soon, I promise."
"Take care o' each other, ye hear?" Aileen demanded. "'Specially now that cad's back in Devin's life. Don't let 'im hurt her again."
"Believe me, Ma, I won't," Niamh promised.

Notes About Names
I got Noah MacManus' name from the imdb .com page for BDS2. So blame Duffy, not me.

Guide to Latin [translations from tranexp .com]
Una: "together"