He told Leah he would be right out with his gear, when they drove up to his house. He noticed that she did not seem any too eager to go into the house.

"Whatcha doin?" Murph asked, having slipped silently into Connor's room, as he stuffed some extra clothes into his camping bag, which like Leah's was always ready to go. Of course, hers had all the sunscreen in it. Every bag of Leah's had sunscreen in it. She was always after him to put on sunscreen. He would roll his eyes and say he didn't need it.

This, of course, was a ploy, and one that actually consistently worked. She would tackle him, straddle him and rub sunscreen on him. Naturally, he had to pretend to put up a bit of a fight then act a bit miffed that he had been slathered. Then there was a second most pleasurable go round when she would wipe the dreaded "sunscreen boogers" off his face and neck.

To be tackled, straddled and rubbed by Leah? There was no way in hell he was putting on his own sunscreen. Besides he really didn't think he needed it.

"Leah and I are going ta the beach." He answered without turning around.

"She told ye."

At that, Connor turned around to face his brother. "I made her a promise that I wouldn't let what ye did be a problem between us. But Murph, I am going to say this to ya. Do ya know what you did? You made her feel as though she had done something wrong. Ya made her doubt herself. Ya made her feel uncomfortable about herself as a woman. Believe me, I know ye care about her. But this isn't just about Leah here. Ye've got to start listening ta people and being more sensitive ta them. Yer so fuckin' smart, Murph, but Christ, yer so fuckin' blind at times. For fuck's sake, Murph, some fucker fondled Leah when she was fourteen in the market. She doesn't know how to feel about her body, guys, anything. And then ya go and kiss her without her asking ya to. God, I hope ye didn't cop a feel. God, I hope ya wouldn't be that slimy. Jesus, Murph, she sees ya screwing around with every girl that passes by on this campus. What does that say ta her? That she's just one of them to ya, some object? 'Cos that what that bastard I would fucking kill if I could made her feel like. So what about all those girls, Murph? They have stories too. They're just like you and me. Just like Leah. Life is fragile, so fucking fragile and precious. Do ya want to do harm? Do ya? I know ya don't. I know ya better."

"What did ye say? Someone hurt Leah?" Murph's eyes had become narrow slits. Connor could see he was filled with fury. Let him learn his lesson, if he could. Let it burn a hole in him.

"Yes, Murph. Someone hurt Leah. And don't ya see, all those girls ye dally with could be Leah in one way or another? They're definitely someone's daughter or someone's sister. Why don't ye think of that before ye cast them aside without another thought of them! And don't ya ever tell Leah I told ya or I'll fuckin cut yer tongue out. What the fuck am I doin? Leah's waiting for me. See ya, Murph."

He left his brother, standing in the doorway of his bedroom. He didn't know if Murphy would take any of what he had said to heart. He was just running as fast he could to Leah, who was waiting for him. And they were going camping on the beach.

"Connor, if you get in the water, you're not getting in the tent wet!" she warned when he started tearing off his clothes after dinner. "It's too cold."

"Oh, yer coming too. Yer joinin' the Polar Bear Club this time!" He laughed, pulling on her sweater.

"You and your stupid polar bear club." She groaned, then laughed at him. "Underwear stays on, Connor."

"Fair enough. Underwear stays on."

"No looking."

"It's bloody dark outside. I can't see me hand in front of me face much less yer silly arse." He chuckled, poking her in the ribs.

"Towels out by the tent. No water in the tent, Connor. I mean it." She said, pulling out her towel, recalling how he had come in to the tent last winter and shaken water all over her, waking her up, laughing the whole time. Then soaking wet, he slid into their sleeping bags they had zipped together and first made her cold then turned their sleeping bags into a steaming, soggy mess. He had since been schooled in proper sleeping bag etiquette and maintenance. However, he could always use a refresher, she thought. "Get your towel out."

"I'm getting it, der fuehrer." He was digging through his pack as she watched him in the lantern light. Long torso, flat belly—and that was when she saw it. His jeans were a little loose and sagging a bit on the hip, and she saw something so gorgeous she could not believe there was yet another part of him to trump the others, maybe even those eyes. It was the place where his stomach and hip met, the indention—a magnificent mystery she suddenly feared above all, yet she found herself wanting to trace the area with her finger, lips too. Dammit, Connor!

Idiot, she thought, you had to know the view without pants wasn't going to be ugly when the rest of him is exquisite. But he's more exquisite than Michelangelo's statue of David. Better hips than David? Dammit, Connor!

"If you forgot your towel, you can use mine and I will gladly stay here." She said quietly, looking away, fiddling with the zipper on the sleeping bags. Dammit, how am I ever going to sleep again next to those hips? Better hips than a creation of Michelangelo!

"Ha! Here it is. No way yer getting out of this." He grinned triumphantly, shaking the towel at her, then yanking at his jeans before she could turn off the lantern.

"Can we go back now?" she asked, starting to shiver in the water after they had splashed around in the winter ocean water and were thoroughly soaked. "Am I initiated?"

"Cold?"

"Yes, moron!"

He grabbed her before she could run away and carried her back to the tent. She was squealing and wiggling the whole way.

"Still cold?" he asked, his breath on the back of her neck, when they were bedded down in their joined sleeping bags. Connor of the Perfect Hips was sleeping only in his boxer shorts. The Perfect Hips were covered by very little material and exposed totally by her imagination. No, dammit, I am not cold at all, especially with your arms around me. Terrified, yes, but definitely not cold.

"Nope. I think we made it back just in time before the frostbite would have taken our extremities." She hoped she sounded glib.

"Are you glad we came to the shore?"

"Yes." She answered honestly.

"Me too." He said, hugging her closer to him.

"Go to sleep, you crazy polar bear."

"Murph, wait up." She hollered, as she watched Murphy practically stomp toward the hospital. He had not come by the lab as he usually did on Thursday so they could head to the hospital just as they had done every Thursday for over a year. In fact, this had not surprised her. He had not shown up at the library to study with her and Connor all week. She had not seen him on the Bryan Center walkway on her way to her Plant Physiology lab as she did every week. "Murph, wait!"

He stopped in his tracks, his shoulders slumped, but did not turn around. She caught up with him and approached with apprehension.

"Did you want to go by yourself, Murph?" she asked his back.

"Not really."

"Then why didn't you come by to get me?"

"I feel like a shit."

"You don't look like one. Or smell like one." she said lightly, putting her hand in the center of his back, on the rough wool of his black coat, a match to the one his brother wore.

"How can ya just joke around like that? How can ya forgive me when I can't forgive meself?" he demanded, spinning around to face her in the setting sunlight. He looked miserable, dark circles under his eyes, as though he hadn't slept for a week.

"It was the easiest thing in the world because I care about you. Looks like you need to learn to care about yourself, dummy. That's how." she answered, picking up his hand. "Executive decision, Murph. We're skipping the hospital tonight. You need some ABBA therapy. Maybe you do look like a shit."

It didn't take long after Indian take-out and dancing around like idiots to ABBA, Barry Manilow, and The Village People to bring back something resembling Murph, and a version she thought she was going to prefer. The boundaries were clear now. It was clear he had every intention of respecting them. When Connor arrived at the apartment, she could not entice him to join in to an interpretive dance of "Fernando" but he did give them a grin that told her he too was glad there was order back in the world.

A/N:

Translation:Sunscreen Boogers: clumps of sunscreen that don't get rubbed all the way into the skin, especially when someone is wiggling and knows the object of his affection is so fastidious that she will rub them in rather than look at them.

You may have noticed I am a major SPF fangirl. But the man has ruined his skin in the sun! Recent close up shots of his face make me want to cry. SPF, use your sunscreen!