Author's Note: I really, really didn't want to write this chapter. Even though it's an important one for Devin and Murphy's story line [we'll return to Connor and Niamh later, I promise]. I've been dreading this chapter ever since I wrote the plot for this story- both because of what I had to do to Murphy, and because I had three or four different options for how to do it. I'm still not sure I like the way I wrote this chapter, but it was the option that made the most sense to me.

But I do like the last sentence. Back when I was still on quizilla, and writing I'm a Loner in a Catastrophic Mind with my dear friend Sara, we used variations of that sentence quite a few times for the angsty effects. Good memories.

Also, I sincerely apologize for Murphy's flashback in this chapter. He acts like a grand master of creeperdom, and I really didn't mean for him to act like Edward Cullen. But neither he nor I could help ourselves. Please don't kill us for the creepiness.

Let's see, what else… oh. I'm kind of pleasantly surprised by the relationship between Devin and Padriac. The MacManus and MacCoy siblings are kind of just there, for the most part; I wasn't expecting any of them to play particularly important parts in this story. But I'm happy that Devin has a close tie with a MacManus man that isn't Murphy. I'm not sure why I like their interaction so much, but I really do. Whee!

Disclaimer: I've gotten several reviews asking when the Connor/Niamh storyline is going to pick up. Sorry to keep you waiting so long. I swear, it is coming; I didn't forget it. It's just temporarily on the back burner while Devin and Murphy angst. Be patient a little while longer and you will be rewarded, I swear on the boys' Berettas.

So I know that the plot twist I'm about to throw at you tends to be overdone, and not written very well. Forgive me; I kind of couldn't help myself. I did my best to work this subplot into previous chapters, so hopefully it's not coming out of nowhere.

Special Thanks: Thanks for the continued support, DemiTeazer, eXsTorDiNaRiLy InViSiBlE, Nindae, and You May Call Me Goddess- Bitch Goddess. I appreciate the ego-stroking. Kidding, kidding. But seriously, thanks for the reviews.

Familia

Aileen, Niamh, Pádriac, Connor and Murphy shot each other silent, confused glances as Noah calmly sat at the head of the table and Annabelle prepared the tea.

"Well… that was anticlimactic," Padriac stated, running a hand through his brown hair and staring at his long-absent father.
"Are ye home fer good, then?" Annabelle asked, doling out teacups.
Noah cleared his throat, his fingers tracing the butterfly tattoo on his hand. "No. Not yet, mo chroí."
"Hmph," she grunted, her displeasure clear. "Don't 'mo chroí' me, ya bastard. What the fuck's takin' ya so long?"
"Annie, what th' fuck's wrong wit' ye?" Aileen asked incredulously. "Noah ran out on ye wit'out a word! How kin ye be so calm?"
"'E didn' run out!" Annabelle scoffed. "Use yer head, Lee! Did ye never guess who the Naomh were?"
Aileen gasped, staring at Noah. "No. You?"
"Aye. Me 'n Sibeal," Noah nodded. "Then I was Called to America, an' Sibeal was told ta remain. An' what about you, Aileen? Whatever happened ta the Aingeals?"
Aileen smiled ruefully. "Tis me daughters now. When Devin recovered from her illness an' got the Call, she said Caitlín an' I were allowed ta retire. That was ten years ago now."

Niamh stared into her tea as the conversation progressed, the words swirling around her head. The parallels of the situation weren't lost on her. Hadn't this conversation just taken place a month ago? But instead of Aileen and Annabelle discussing Noah and Sibeal, it had been Niamh accusing Murphy of running out, and Devin defending him. Were they all destined to repeat their parents' lives? God, she hoped not. But it seemed they hadn't learned from their parents' mistakes, either. Devin and Murphy were separated, just like Noah and Annabelle; Niamh's temper was more than equal to her mother's. That was… depressing.

"Soon, mo chuisle," Noah said to Annabelle. "Me work will be over soon. Especially now the boys've been Called-"
"What?!" Annabelle shrieked, jumping out of her chair.
Noah looked up at her. "Ye knew it would come, Annie-"
"Like fuck I did!" she exclaimed, staring at her youngest sons.
"Wait," Aileen said. "Yer tellin' me yer boys are Called? Like me girls?"
"Aye," Noah nodded. "As our families have been called fer generations. An' if they'll stop behavin' like fools an' get their acts together, they kin all work together. One big happy family."
"Saints preserve us," Annabelle muttered, crossing herself.
"Aye, that's the idea," Murphy grinned.
Annabelle shook her head. "Our boys, doin' God's work… The Almighty has a strange sense o' humor."
"Hey!" the twins and Niamh exclaimed.
"Aye, the Lord truly does work in mysterious ways," Pádriac nodded, smirking.
"Amen, Father," Aileen said solemnly, a twinkle in her eye.
"I don' hafta take this," Murphy said, standing. "I'm goin' fer a walk."
"Right behind ya," Connor nodded, grabbing Niamh's hand as they dashed out after him.

After they left, the adults all shook their heads.

"Can't ye have a word wit' the Lord about them, Pádriac?" Aileen asked.
"I doubt even the Almighty is powerful enough to overcome their stubbornness," Pádriac sighed.
"I'm gonna have some choice words fer the Almighty, then," Annabelle grumbled.

Aequitas

Connor and Murphy had always loved going to Mass. The rituals of the order of the mass and the prescribed sayings, the smells of incense and candle wax, the atmosphere, had always fascinated and comforted the twins. Even as restless children, then rebellious teenagers, they'd always been perfectly behaved in God's house; it had been one of Noah and Annabelle's earliest signs that their boys would be called to join in the family business. Now as adults and Saints, they clung to their faith as an anchor and a comfort, the light in their lives of shadow.

But today, in the parish where they'd been baptized and confirmed… surrounded by the ever-growing MacManus clan and the neighbors they'd known all their lives… their brother Pádriac saying Mass… today, for the first time ever, Murphy was completely unable to focus. And the reason for his distraction was in the pew on the other side of the aisle, on the side of the church that had for generations been MacCoy territory.

She was garbed in a modest black dress, a black sweater covering her arms and most of her tattoos. She knelt in the pew, next to her father, her deft fingers counting off rosary beads as she silently prayed. She was more beautiful than all the angels in heaven, and Murphy found himself worshipping her, rather than God. But he hadn't been smited with a lightning bolt for his blasphemy, so he took that as a sign that the Almighty approved, and contentedly went on adoring his goddess.

As Padriac began his homily about Paul's famous letter to the Romans, the one that spouted all that bullshit about love that he didn't want to think about right now, Murphy let his mind wander.

After they'd run out of the MacManus kitchen yesterday, Connor and Niamh had taken off for the River Suir, where they'd spent nearly all their free time together as youths. Being a wise man, Murphy had refused Connor's unspoken invitation to come along. The river was Connor and Niamh's place, and besides, eventually they had to figure out what everyone else knew.

But since he'd declined the invitation, there was no one to dissuade him from going to the place where he belonged.

He had to smile to himself as he walked down the lane to the MacCoy farm. Nothing had changed. The moonlight still hit the large white house and made it glow, creating brighter light and darker shadows than anywhere else on earth. The ancient fir tree still stood by the side of the house, and it was still easier than breathing to clamber up to the branch right under the second floor window, which as Providence would have it was open, just as he'd always remembered.

It had been creepy of him, but he hadn't been able to help himself. Neither when he was younger, or now. He would shimmy up the tree and slip into the room, just as he was doing now. The bed closest to the window was empty, but in his mind's eye Murphy saw a mop of messy golden red hair, and Niamh's limbs splayed every which way. She'd always been a deep sleeper; she'd never known that Murphy had spent nearly every night in the room with them [though there had been plenty of nights when Devin had snuck out, and they had spent the night outside].

He silently crossed to the far bed, and suddenly he was 17 again. His heart gave the familiar leap of excitement as his hand moved of its own will to caress Devin's silky cheek. He squatted by the bed and just stared at her, his heart aching for what he'd lost.

She had to hate him, he knew. He had made sure of it. And fuck, but did that thought hurt him. She was the only woman he'd ever loved; he'd spent ten years living like a monk and pining for her. And now he couldn't have her, because God had gotten in the way.

He'd once said that he would do anything, sacrifice everything, if God would only allow him to see Devin again, to talk to her once more. Looking back, that had been stupid. How could he possibly think that seeing her just once would satisfy his craving for her? If anything, it had only made it worse. He needed her with every fiber of his being, but he couldn't have her because God had pulled him away.

His face hardened as he stared at Devin's sleeping face. Yes, God had demanded that they not be together, that they give their lives to Him. But Murphy would be damned if he'd let God take her from him. He would never forget her, never stop loving her. He would fight evil in her name, live out his lonely and dangerous life for her. And even if she never knew the truth, even if she married another man and forgot all about him, he would know that everything had always been done for her.

He nodded to himself, an odd resignation filling him. He kissed Devin's forehead, then stood, turning to leave. Then Devin shifted in her sleep, and a soft sigh left her lips.

"Murphy."

It took him a moment to realize that she'd spoken, then a minute more to realize what she'd said. For an instant he panicked, not wanting her to know he was here, before her deep breathing convinced him that she was still asleep.

It only took him an instant to make up his mind.

He'd shed his jacket and boots, then carefully eased into bed behind her, into his place. He'd meant to just lay on his back, but his arm had reached out and and wrapped around her waist, and in an instant he was spooned around her, his arms securely holding her to him, and her fingers laced with his as though no time had passed at all, and he never wanted to move again.

He hadn't slept a wink; he wouldn't let himself. If this was to be the last time he ever held her, he didn't want to miss a moment of it. He'd left as the sky turned from black to gray, kissing her cheek one last time, imprinting her scent on his mind. Then he'd gone home, to stare at his claddagh until it was time for Mass.

And here he was, sitting through a mass that was nothing but torture. His only comfort was the fact that Connor seemed as agitated and distracted as he was. He couldn't wait to get out of here.

He nearly screamed in relief when Mass finally ended. He walked outside as quickly as he could without bowling people over, but in the yard before the church a scene played out before him that he immediately knew would torture him until he understood its mysteries.

Pádriac walked up to Devin, who looked up at him with a sad smile, shadows in her beautiful green eyes. He answered her smile with a warm, concerned one, his eyes asking questions that Murphy couldn't decipher. They looked like two people with a secret, and Murphy found himself irrationally [or perhaps understandably] jealous that Pádriac knew something about Devin that he didn't. Pádriac fingered Devin's rosary and looked at her caringly, asking her a question that Murphy couldn't hear from his vantage point. Her head bowed as she answered him, and she gripped the roasary tightly. He offered her his arm, asking another question, and she nodded, taking his arm. Pádriac drew her close, almost protectively hovering over her, and they began to walk up the hill towards the cemetery.

People who had witnessed this exchange looked after them compassionately, then shot not-so-covert glances at Murphy, as if weighing up his reaction to the mysterious scene.

"What the fuck's all that about?" Murphy muttered, staring after them.

Annabelle, having heard her son, glanced up at him, then followed his gaze. She lay a hand on his back and sighed; though she'd known this day would someday come, she still wished she could protect her baby boy from what he would have to go through, if he chose to follow Devin up the hill.

"Yeh'd best go after 'em, love," she said gravely. "It's time ya knew."

He didn't need any further encouragement. As he quickly made his way towards the hill, Annabelle heaved a great sigh and looked up at the heavens.

"God be wit' 'im," she murmured. "Help 'im bear the sorrow."

Una

Devin and Pádriac took their time walking up the hill, enjoying the pretty walk. They were silent, which Devin was grateful for; words only ever got her in trouble, these days. Though she knew that if she wanted to talk, he would be the best person for that. Ten years ago, after her illness, it had been Pádriac who nurtured her and brought her back to something resembling emotional health. She'd kept in closest touch with Pádriac and Annabelle over the years, and only he knew absolutely everything about her. She'd told him things that she hadn't even shared with her twin, and he was very much her rock. He was a combination of friend, brother, confessor, and comforter. She didn't know what she would've done without him.

"Devin?" Pádriac asked gently. "What's troublin' ye, lass?"
She smiled ruefully. "I'd hoped ta hide it from ye, Father."
He shook his head. "I may not be able to see evil, like me brothers, but I kin read people's hearts, love," he said. "Besides, I know ya too well fer ye ta hide from me."
Devin bit her lip hard. "It's just… I've been havin'… doubts," she confessed.
"About God?" he probed.
She nodded. "The Callin'."
"Ah," Pádriac said slowly.
She swallowed hard before continuing her confession. "I don' know if I kin do it any longer. I've already lost so much… Cillian dead, an' Murphy gone… How much more do I hafta give o' meself? An' why me? How could a lovin' God demand so much o' me? Am I ta be an Angel forever? Never get married, never have a family… I don' think I kin do it."

They reached Cillian's headstone in silence. As they sat before the gray stone, worn from ten years' worth of weather and tears, Pádriac spoke slowly.

"It isn't easy, the life yeh've been Called to," he said, holding her hand with the ease of long friendship. "And yer right, yeh've had ta sacrifice a lot ta fulfill yer Call. I suppose it's only natural that ye'd be questionin' yer faith. I can't pretend I have the answers, but I can tell ya this much. It's those who are the strongest that God gives the greatest challenges to."

He looked down, fingering the Fidelis tattoo on her hand.

"Yeh value fidelity over all things, Devin. Don' give up on God jus' yet. It's when things look the bleakest that He's closest to us; it's just that that's when He's hardest ta see. But I promise ye, He's there. All humans will disappoint ye, but He never will. He gave ya this Callin'. He knows yer strong enough to handle it."

That being said, he kissed her cheek and left her to be alone with the headstone, and the earthly remains that were hers to mourn.

Devin knelt before the grave marker, fingering the tattoo of Cillian's name that was nestled among the braid of the Celtic cross on her arm.

"Hóigh, mo leanbán," she whispered. "I'm here. Máthair's home again. I've missed you, mo saol."
"Devin?"

She froze, whipping around to see Murphy striding towards her. Panic rose within her; she didn't want this, a macabre family reunion in the cemetery. But the panic was soon quelled by resignation. She was about to give up all ties to a normal human existence in order to fulfill her calling; maybe it was best to do it with no strings attatched, no secrets left unsaid.

"What're you doin' here?" he asked.
"Sayin' goodbye," she replied.
He furrowed his brow. "Huh?"

She turned to go, biting the corner of her lip. Murphy, gripped by a sudden determination, grabbed her arm. He didn't know what he wanted to say; he just knew he couldn't let her leave.

"Dev, about what I said, that night-" he said, his voice choked.
A barely perceptible wince flitted across her face. "I don' wanna talk about it."
"It wasn' coz I don' love you," he said, the words flying from him so quickly that they took on an unintended viciousness. "Don' you ever think tha'."

Whatever she was thinking, it didn't bode well for Murphy. She swallowed hard, somehow slipping from his grasp.

"Don't," she said thickly. "Ye were right, Murphy. We're different people now. Love, marriage, families… they can't be fer us. We were meant fer somethin' else, an' it's time I stopped fightin' it."

She reached up and unstrung a chain from her neck, then placed it in his hand.

"Slán, mo anam," she said softly, before walking down the hill, not once looking back.

He looked down at the chain, stunned to see Devin's claddagh gleaming in the sunlight. He looked up at the headstone, dazed…

And then his entire world shattered.

Cillian Aiden MacManus
January 4, 2000 – June 17, 2000

He fell to his knees and stared at the words cut into the stone, his heart confirming what his head failed to process. He leaned his head against his baby boy's headstone, and sobbed.

Notes about Names [from behindthename .com]

Cillian: probably comes from the Gaelic word ceall, which means 'church
'Aiden: anglicized version of Aodhán, a diminuitive of Aodh, which means 'fire'

Notes about Gaelic [translations from irishdictionary .ie/ dictionary and transexp .com]

Naomh: saints
Aingeals: angels
Leanbán: baby
Saol: life
Máthair: Mother
Anam: soul
Slán: goodbye