A/N: Cigarettes, tattoos, and guns coming soon! Wish I could say it was creamy breasts and Audrey Hepburn caliber shoulders…

"Ye awake?"

Connor stepped inside Murph's bedroom. It was about three in the morning, and Murph was wide awake wondering what he was going to do with his brother much less with himself.

"Yeah." He said, lifting up the covers. Connor slid in next to him. He smelled like the fescue lawn, the American elms, the ligularias, the hostas, the astilbes, the heucheras, the fritillarias. In short, he smelled like her garden. Of course, Connor had been sitting by the air conditioner compressor but the smell of her garden was on him. Murph breathed deeply and saw her in her wide-brimmed garden hat, cutting tulips and roses and greenery as he followed her with a bucket of water so she could arrange the flowers, while he looked on amazed that flowers could look so pretty in a vase. He often found a flower in a single bud vase on his desk in his cubicle when he would return from a break at the hospital.

"I can't stay here anymore, Murph."

"I know, Conn."

"I can't go back ta work at the firm."

"I can't go back ta the hospital."

"But yer residency?"

"Fuck me residency." He hadn't told Connor. About the hospital or about the possibility of going to Mayo. Man, a residency at the Mayo Clinic.

"I want ta leave."

"Where do ya want us ta go, Connor?"

"Listen to me. Ye've got ta do yer job. Yer the best they've ever seen. I heard 'em sayin' it that night. I heard 'em. Ye've got ta do what ye were made ta do, Murph. Yer professors know it. I know it."

"Connor, yer all I've got. I'm goin' with ya wherever ya go."

"I don't think ya want ta go where I'm going."

"Where's that?"

"Somewhere ugly, somewhere nothin' comes easy, where fightin' is second nature. Somewhere I can blend in with our own and learn ta use my fists rather than my fuckin' brain." Connor's voice was a snarl. "I'm gonna find them if it's the last thing I do."

"I'm with ya."

They started arguing the next morning when Connor wanted to just leave the house. Just put yer shite in a duffle and let's get the fuck out.

"No, Connor. Think about what yer doin'. The Winslows put a shitload of money in this house. If ye just walk away, the bank takes the house. Ye can't do that ta them."

Connor glared at him.

"We're not leavin' like this. Like fuckin' thieves in the night. Like fuckin' cowards." Murph said evenly. This was something he would not agree to.

"Then ye keep tha' house, Murph. Ye stay here. Fuck ya then."

"Yer not listenin', Connor. Please listen ta me. Ya lost yer wife and yer baby. Her parents lost their baby too. She was their life, and ya know it. And whether ya want to think about it or not, yer all that's left of her ta them. Ye've got ta be respectful of that. Those people love ya. They love ya like their own child. They love us both more than Ma ever thought of."

"Murph, stop." Connor warned, his eyes narrowing. But Murph continued, prepared for whatever ugliness that was going to erupt.

"No parent should have ta bury a child, brother. You loved her, Connor, but she was their child. They loved her from tha moment they knew she existed. Neither one of us can begin ta understand how it feels ta lose somethin' ya loved and nurtured with every thought of yer being for twenty-six years."

"Don't ya even try ta talk ta me about losin' somethin'!"

Connor was on him in an instant. He had expected it. He expected to be beaten bloody but didn't really care, as long as he could draw some sort of acknowledgment of the truth out of Connor.

"Yer not the only one who lost her, ya bastard! I loved her too. Just as much as ye did. But ya had her. She loved ya the way I wanted her ta love me. And ya had that fer eight years. Eight years. Why can't ya be thankful fer what ya had? Ya lived what I dreamed of." Murph hollered at Connor, who was pounding the crap out of him. The blows ceased. "So ya can hit me all ye want. Ye can direct yer anger at me all ye want, but yer not gonna take it out on her family."

"Christ, Murph." Connor groaned, covering his face with his hands.

"I promise we will get those bastards or die tryin' but we're not goin' ta make her family suffer more than they already have. We can't leave a mess fer someone else, especially, Jack and Clarissa, ta clean up."

"What am I supposed ta do?"

Murphy heard Connor was crying and struggling to breathe. He ran to the medicine bag Helen had given him and instructed Connor to take the diazepam.

"What yer gonna do, brother, is we're gonna go down ta the title office and ye'll sign this house over ta the Winslows. And they'll decide what ta do with it." Murphy said. "Then we'll call them and tell them."

"I can't talk ta them."

"I'll talk ta them, Connor. It's fine." Murph said, seeing that Connor was watching him intently. "What?"

"Yer bleedin'."

"It's okay fer now. Listen, Conn. There's some other things we have ta do before we leave this place. Ya can help if ya want or ya can go wherever it is ya go all day, but all the stuff in the refrigerator and the pantry has ta be cleaned out. Anything we don't take with us that belongs ta us, we're donating ta the shelter. We can't leave a mess for the Winslows ta clean up."

Connor grimaced and bit his fist. "I don't think ya understand, Murph. I can't stay in this place another fuckin' minute."

"Believe me, Connor. I understand. I promise it'll be over soon, but we've got ta be respectful of her, of her family. How would ya want Ma treated?"

"Christ, Murph."

"Just go pack yer duffle, Connor. And then we'll go ta the title office."

Murphy made the phone call to the title office and asked for papers to be drawn up immediately for a transfer of title for the house. He knew the window of opportunity was limited to convince Connor to take these necessary steps, so when talking to the woman at the title office, he explained that—well, the truth—that the strain of his wife's murder had caused his brother to want to leave the house immediately. The woman was in tears by the end of the conversation and promised that the papers would be ready when they arrived and Connor would just have to sign them and would be able to leave without event.

His call to the Winslows was painful. Clarissa said she was not surprised. She said she would have a cashiers check sent to the title company for the transfer that afternoon and make sure everything was in order. Did he want them to keep the house? No, Clarissa, 'tis only a shell now of a life we once knew. Perhaps another family will enjoy it, she said, trying to sound cheerful. I hope so, he agreed, attempting to drink in every note of her voice, so he could remember it when he needed to.

"Just go, Connor. Just go. I'll take care of it. Just come back before nightfall." Murphy said, as he began filling a trash bag with perishable items from their refrigerator and Connor looked on desperately.

"I—"

"Just go."

"I'll be at tha church." He said, his head ducked. "It's where I go. It's where I hide."

Murphy nodded without looking at his brother then turned back to the well-stocked refrigerator.

Then all of a sudden Connor came close to him and put his arms around him. "Thank ye, Murph."

Then he hurried out of the kitchen and out of the house.