AN- Holy hell, this took me forever to write. Just couldn't get it right :/ I'm still not satisfied with it entirely, but oh well. Btw, Pedro the Lion is amazing. Check out 'Secret of the Easy Yoke.' (It's relevant to this chapter/story in general, I swear.) Oh, and lacym3, I would love if you would beta for me. Too lazy to send a pm atm. XD

ERICKA POV

Pain surrounded me. I couldn't describe it but good God, could feel it.

I heard myself screaming. I scolded myself, telling myself to stop….it was just another dream with tall people with blurred out faces and agony. I couldn't stop the noise from leaving my mouth.

"Ericka! Love, c'mon, wake up…wake up for me. It's alright. You're alright, I've got you…."

Murphy kneeled next to me as I laid on the couch, gently shaking me awake. I opened my eyes, tears streaming down my face. "Not again." I said in a horse voice. "Not again. Goddamn…."

Murph brushed the hair out of my face with calloused fingertips. "You were dreaming about it again…." He said, more for his own benefit I think. His eyes looked so sad….And after weeks of those same, sad eyes, I couldn't take it anymore. Scowling, I pushed myself off the couch and wandered to the kitchen.

'It' became the codeword for the episodes I experienced when I slept. Weird, almost epileptic fits. They started a few days after the 'incident' at Alice's apartment. Connor and Murphy were both starting to piss me off with their insistent hovering- if I even so much as breathed wrong they panicked. It's been… what? Two, maybe three months of this. It's not new anymore.

I had to admit though, it was nice having them around when these fits first started happening. They scared me at first. The first one had happened when I been in the bathtub- I must have fallen asleep in taking a bubble bath. I woke up in pain and gasping for air; strange thoughts filled my head, hazy half forgotten memories that I wasn't sure were real or made up in my mind. I thought I was going crazy. I stayed there, shaking until Murphy found me hours later after he gotten back from class, the water long since cold. He had wrapped a towel around me; helping me stand up and getting me generally back in one piece. He spent that whole night with me on the couch in the living room, holding me, making sure I wasn't going to totally lose it. At the time, I didn't question it… I thought he was just trying to fill up some void or offer comfort. Connor's reaction to my fits was much more panicky, but nowadays he was a little calmer about it….when he was around for them, at least.

I knew he was working extra hours to make ends meet. I knew that, but it didn't stop me from feeling a little bitter. They both decided on my behalf that it would be best if I didn't go back to work until my fits stopped, and until they found the serial drugger- because God forbid he recognized me, even though all it would take to kill him was a bullet aimed dead center mass- the heart. I didn't fuck around with that headshot bullshit. Shoot to kill, not shoot to look badass. Anyway, it seemed he- whatever the hell his name is- was on the move, or his operations had spread out to other slimy creepers. He was a busy man. Thankfully, no one else had turned up dead.

Yet.

I had no idea how they were going to catch the guy. If Connor wasn't at work, he was catching a couple hours of sleep, a shower, and occasionally a meal and then he was gone again. I couldn't actually remember the last time we had slept together- in any sense of the word. I was pretty sure I had slept on the couch with Murph close by more than I had my own bed in the last few weeks. If he wasn't at class, Murph was at the house with me. I had my suspicions he had either quit or gotten fired from his job, but who was I to judge him for that? I couldn't even have a job, considering I was hiding out because some huge hulking guy tried to kill me.

I was getting really sick of being babysat all the time. I hated sitting inside the house, doing nothing but thinking. I wanted to go back to work and actually do what I was good at- what I loved to do. I was useless just sitting around. I twisted a lock of curly hair in my fingers as I leaned against the counter. Maybe I could cut my hair or something…dye it maybe? Wonder if I'd look good blonde.

Murph came around the corner and stood in front of me. He looked at me for a few moments with that same sad look still on his face, then reached out and tucked my hair behind my ear. I had become so used to him doing that exact motion over the course of the last couple months, I wasn't even fazed by the action, or by how close he was standing to me.

"Ericka. Look at me." He lifted up my chin. "We're gonna get him, alright?"

"It doesn't matter." I said passively. Murph's face was incredulous. "Doesn't matter? Ericka, whatever the fuck that guy did to you really screwed something up in that head of yours."

"I'm fine, Murphy." he noticeably winced when I tacked on the 'y' to his name. "Christ, you act like I'm about to fall apart or something."

"You should see yourself. You're jumpy, skiddish, and those dreams you have? You have them all the time, and I know for a fact that when you do sleep you don't actually sleep. It's like you relive the whole thing over and over…It breaks my fucking heart to see you like this." His eyes were bright, and not in the happy way. Or maybe those were my tears threatening to spill over.

"Alright. Fine. Maybe I am a little fucked in the head now. Doesn't mean you have to hover around and take care of me. Conn sure hasn't been around, I'm sure I'd be fine if you went off and did something besides watching me all fucking day. I'm not a child, and I don't need yours or Connor's or anyone else's fucking sympathy. Yes, something awful happened, but that doesn't mean the world stops moving. Go out. Do something!" I was yelling at this point, mainly because there was so much pent up energy and angst that maybe I took it a bit out proportion. Okay, a lot out of proportion.

Murph looked at me strangely, like he was debating saying or doing something. Instead he took a breath and three steps back from me. "Yeah…. I, um, I'm sorry. Just trying to look out for you." His hand went to his pockets instead of his mouth; that was never a good sign. Nail biting meant he was thinking. Nervous, maybe, but thinking. Hands in the pockets meant something was really bothering him, but he didn't want to give himself away.

"Murph?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

He bit his lip and shook his head, slightly rounding his shoulders. "Nothing, love, it's…. nothing."

Silence filled the air. It wasn't a usual, comfortable silence we could fall into. It was thick, staticky, and unsettling. I knew he had something else he wanted to say….. he was holding back. And if I knew Murphy at all, I knew it would be a matter of time before he cracked and actually said what he was thinking.

I stepped around Murph and pulled out a couple beers from the fridge, handing one to him. Beer had turned into a sort of white-flag, offering of peace between the two of us. We fought, we yelled, and then one of us would come to the other with a couple of beers and a pack of smokes. Murph looked at his bottle pensively, before shrugging and popping the lid off.

We sat down on the couch and sipped our beers in silence. Murphy was still- no fidgeting or foot tapping or his leg bouncing up and down. I felt a little unnerved by his lack of movement. He only got that still when something was seriously wrong.

You know the phrase, 'let the sleeping dog lie'? I should have just stuck with that Zen advice.

"Murph? Hey, look at me for a sec." Murph looked and locked his eyes with mine. "Yeah?"

"You know you can come to me for anything, right?" He gave a dark chuckle. "Sure."

"What?" I asked, growing frustrated at his smug expression. "What IS it, Murph?"

He sighed and put his bottle- which was still curiously full- on the coffee table, looking down at the floor with his fingers interlaced. "Ericka…. Just let it go, alright?"

"No. No I will not 'let it go,' okay? Something is bothering you, and bad too. C'mon… talk to me."

He just sighed again, shaking his head. "I don't WANT to talk about it."

"Why not? What? You think I'm going to judge you or some shit? I would never-"

"On this one, yeah, you would. Just trust me. It's not something you need to know anyway…"

Now I was pissed. Flat out pissed off. Why won't he fucking talk to me?

"The fuck it isn't something I need to know. You spend most of your time around me, it's kind of my fault if you're upset over something."

"Upset?" He snorted.

"What? Is there another word you'd prefer me to use there?" He didn't answer me. I pulled my hair back, buying some time, trying to figure out what I could possibly say to get him to talk about the apparently unapproachable topic. I settled on the truth.

"Look, you want to hear something kinda messed up? I feel closer to you than I do Conn here anymore. I don't even feel like I'm part of his life anymore… it's like he forgot about me."

Murph furrowed his brow at me. "He hasn't forgotten about you? You know he cares."

"When the most you see of someone is their shadow and dirty clothes in the laundry basket, it becomes hard to not resent them even a little bit, Murph." He reached over and took a hold of my hand, as he was apt to do these days. "I dunno what I did or didn't do... I feel like he's avoiding me or something."

He gave my hand a squeeze before drawing back. "I'm sure that's not the case…."

It dawned on me. "You don't even know what he's doing, do you?"

"No… he hasn't said much to me since we found you in Alice's apartment." He paused, face tight. He was pissed. "You know, I thought he was going to pull his head outta his ass and start acting like himself again… it's fucking ridiculous. And I thought I was the headcase…." And that damn bruised and guilty look crossed his face again.

"Murph. For the millionth time now. What is the matter?"

Murph put his face in his hands , voice muffled slightly when he spoke, but he sounded nothing short of… agonized. "Please, just stop, Ericka. Just stop. Forget it." I stared at his back as he got up from the couch and walked away, one hand in his pocket, his other arm wrapped around his torso, almost like he was trying to hold himself together. Or like he wanted to crawl under a rock and never surface again. I couldn't decide which description fit him better.

I was baffled. Granted, Murphy was a mixed, unpredictable and at times volatile bag of emotions, but this was one emotion he had never actively displayed. What is the fucking problem? He's acting… sad. I scoffed at the notion.

Sad? Not Murphy. Not ever.

Time to get the bottom of this shit.

I got up and followed him to the front door, where he was patting down his pockets, obviously looking for something. He had a system for where he kept everything, and heaven forbid something went missing or was in the wrong place. He lapsed into a fit of searching everywhere for that one thing, only to usually find it in the wrong pocket. Wallet in the left back pocket, keys and lighter in the front right, smokes in the left front or right back pocket, depending on how full the pack of cigarettes was.

"Lighter's in your right back pocket. Where you normally lose it." Murph looked up at me briefly before checking for himself. He held up the silver lighter and shook his head before putting in the proper place. I gave him a small smile that he didn't return; he wouldn't even hold my gaze.

Slowly I walked over to him and stood right in front of him. He took a step back, trying to create space, backing into the wall. "What are you doing?" His voice was so quiet, hardly audible.

Good question. What was I doing?

Honest answer. "I don't know." I said, looking up into his eyes. They were blue. Not like the ocean. Sharp, light, almost silvery. They were still sad. I wanted that sadness to go away.

I reached up and touched his face on impulse. He hadn't shaved in a couple days; the stubble was rough against my palm. His eyes closed. "You should stop…" He said in the same quiet and strained voice. I put my hand down and shoved my hands in my pockets, but didn't back away.

He took a breath, opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it. He set his hands on my shoulders and stared down into my face for a moment before pulling me to him. My arms wrapped themselves around his body, head resting on his chest. We stood like that for a while, not saying anything.

Creature comfort, is what they call the little things that make life more bearable, or make them feel at home. Most people defined their coffeemakers and electric blankets as a creature comfort. Mine happened to be the man that was holding me. He wasn't who I needed. But he would do.