o()o
Author's Note: My muse is back! My muse is back! This makes me very, very happy. Thanks to MKOLO and Aranatta for their enduring patience and brainstorming at all hours of the night, you guys are the best. Thanks also to everyone who has read and reviewed so far, I appreciate it!
o(20)o
Murphy started the day with sound of his brother's not-so-quiet snores and the hangover he had known that he would have when he went to bed the night before.
Reaching up he nudged his twin roughly, "Turn over, Connor, ye sound like a fuckin' chainsaw."
Connor muttered something inaudible and mashed his face into the pillow. After a blissful moment of silence, his snores started again, louder than before.
Aggravated, Murphy debated giving his brother another shove but decided against the idea, it probably wouldn't do any good. Besides, he was already awake.
Making a disgruntled noise at being robbed of his sleep, Murphy reached for his shirt and tugged it on, wincing as the motion made his head throb.
Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was well into the morning, almost 10:00. He also spied a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin sitting on the nightstand, left by Danae no doubt.
Smart girl.
With one last uttered curse toward his slumbering twin, Murphy got to his feet, tossed back a couple aspirin with a swallow of water, and left the bedroom, meandering noiselessly through the house.
He found Danae in the kitchen, engrossed in her book, absently scrambling eggs. He watched her sway, shifting her weight from foot to foot, curiously silent as she read.
"Good book?" he asked, grinning when she jumped. He was growing enormously fond that 'Eeep!' noise that she made whenever he startled her.
"I can't put it down." She confirmed.
"So I've noticed. What is it anyway?"
Holding the book up so he could see the cover, she grinned over the top of it. "Into Thin Air."
He returned her grin, "Ah, that is a good read."
"You've read it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and Murphy nodded, it was actually one of his favorites. His own copy had been dog-eared and stained, regrettably left behind at his and Connor's old place after the Russians had come after them.
"I have, aye."
"Good to know." She said, turning her attention to the eggs on the stove, "How are you feeling?"
He couldn't quite suppress a groan at the question. "Like hell."
"Do you want breakfast?"
Murphy grimaced, his stomach objecting to the notion of food. "Not before a smoke and a shower. Thanks though, luv."
Danae shrugged and reopened her book. "Suit yourself."
Grinning, he gave her backside a quick smack before grabbing his jacket. "I always do."
Danae shot him a sideways look. "Also good to know," She said with a wry smile.
After so many years of enduring the hit and miss plumbing in their old apartment, it still seemed like a luxury to him to be able to stand under the shower and not break out in gooseflesh. Bowing his head, Murphy let the water sluice over his neck and back, beating over his knotted muscles and easing his alcohol-induced headache.
He noticed that Danae had supplied a new bar of soap, saving him from the undesirable fate of using her scented body-wash, and smiled shaking his head. He could get used to having someone to take care of him the way that she did.
Grabbing the bar, he scrubbed away the layer of smoke and sweat that only a night of drinking could produce. By the time he rinsed the last of the soap from his skin, Murphy was feeling much, much better.
Turning off the shower and wrapping a towel securely around his waist, he stepped out of the bathroom and saw Danae standing in the front doorway, body tense, clutching a large flashlight behind her back, her fingers nervously squeezing the handle. At first, he didn't understand, what she was doing, and then he realized that the flashlight was a weapon.
They've found us.
The thought jolted Murphy into motion, moving soundlessly, he grabbed his gun from the kitchen counter and pressed himself against the wall, ready to take the first available shot.
"I'm sorry, there's nobody here by that name." Danae's voice was deceptively cool and professional, but her grip on the flashlight tightened. She shifted slightly obscuring his line of sight.
Move, he willed her silently, Come on luv; get the fuck out of the way.
He couldn't hear the reply, but Danae stiffened and shook her head. "I don't know where you got that information, but it's wrong, I'm sorry." She tried to shut the door, but a hand pushed it back open. "Hey!"
Deciding that subtlety was no longer the best option, Murphy cocked his gun, moving to stand behind Danae, aiming over her shoulder.
"Don't fuckin' move." He said dangerously to the person outside the doorway, "Or I . . . Smecker?"
For a moment, he could only blink in confusion, surprised at the stare down going on between the Agent and Danae. Both of them had their eyes narrowed, glaring at each other obstinately. Then Danae's eyes widened.
"Smecker?" she said quietly, glancing up at him. "As in Agent Smecker? Your Agent Smecker?"
"Aye." He said lowering his gun with a relieved chuckle. "Sorry, luv, we should have warned ye. I guess we sort of forgot."
She nodded, stepping back, giving him a reproachful look. "I guess you did. I apologize Agent, please come in."
Murphy turned away, setting his gun on the coffee table, when he turned back, he noticed that Danae was looking at him and remembered that he was wearing nothing but a bathtowel, which had begun to slip down his hips.
He couldn't help a vain smirk from escaping as he watched her eyes rake over his body, libertine thoughts blatant across her features.
The smirk was quick to die on his lips, however, as he noticed a similar expression on Smecker's face.
"I'm goin' ta get dressed and wake Connor." He said, hiking the towel back up, suddenly desperate to leave the room.
o()o
Connor slumped as far into the couch as he could, rubbing at the sharp pain behind his eyes and wishing that the aspirin would hurry the fuck up and kick in.
The only problem with Friday night, he reflected wearily, was Saturday morning.
Smecker was talking about the Street Priests and Connor nodded in all the right places, listening halfheartedly, and knew that his twin was doing the same. None of the things Smecker was telling them really mattered. In Connor's mind, there were only two things that mattered:
Where they could find the bastards, and how soon they could go in and kill them all.
Danae had disappeared into the kitchen as soon as they had all sat down, but now she reappeared holding three cups of coffee in slightly shaky hands.
She offered Murphy a wan smile. And his twin placed a hand against the small of her back, a comforting gesture that both boys had adopted from their Ma, and took the cups from her, distributing them around the table.
"Thanks Danae." He said softly, and she nodded, retreating into the kitchen.
Connor looked into his cup dubiously, and then exchanged a glance Murphy, debating on whether he could handle both the vile liquid and a hangover at once.
Smecker picked up his cup, taking a drink and Connor had to give the agent credit, he barely made a face before continuing with his information talking about something regarding the local police and some new drug.
Unsurprisingly, Murphy's patience with Smecker's detailed account was the first to break.
He had been thrumming wordlessly next to his brother, worrying his thumbnail between his teeth as he listened to the detective talk, and Connor recognized the signs of an impending Murphy-Meltdown. It was only a matter of time before his twin . . .
"Smecker," Murphy said, bringing both hands down on the table with a loud rap that made Connor flinch, "Why the fuck are ye tellin' us all o' this? We don't need ta fuckin' know this shit; all we need ta know is where these fuckers are and when they'll be there next."
Connor shot his brother a glance that was part exasperation and part relief. Leave it to Murphy to cut right to the chase.
Smecker arched an eyebrow and took another drink of his coffee, grimacing as he did.
"Okay, wise guy," he said, "here's the abridged version for you. There's a group of these guys doing business just outside of town, pedaling this new drug they have and trying to reestablish what they lost after their first encounter with you guys. There's a decent sized shipment of this drug coming in on Thursday, and as far as I know a handful of the bigger players will also be there. It's an opportune time to hit these assholes where it'll hurt them the most."
Connor nodded and Murphy smirked at the agent as he reached for a pack of cigarettes.
"Perfect."
o()o
Danae sat at the kitchen table, an untouched cup of coffee sitting before her, fighting the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
With each word that Agent Smecker had spoken, the clenching, acidic sensation had worsened, and by the time the conversation had ended, she was certain that she was either going to burst into tears or throw up.
She told herself that she had always known that this day would come. This was what Connor and Murphy did; it was part of who they were. It was dangerous and violent and she had known that from the moment they had come through the doors of the ER, beaten and bleeding.
She couldn't be surprised at their casual attitude toward the entire ordeal, the ease in which they talked of executing complete strangers, or how calmly they planned a venture that could very well get them killed in turn. She couldn't be disturbed by the steely coolness in their eyes, a dispassionate precision that was nothing like the men she had grown to love. She couldn't be upset, because she had known that this day would eventually come.
The only thing she could do was try to be grateful that it hadn't come sooner.
For a fleeting moment, she hated Smecker. She needed someone to blame and the stylishly attired F.B.I. agent was the most likely victim. Danae hated him for knocking on her door with this information, for sending her world, once again, into upheaval and for providing the information that could get her friends killed.
She despised him for turning the MacManus brothers back into the Saints.
As quickly as it had struck, the feeling faded, leaving her empty inside. Connor and Murphy would have found the Street Priests with or without Agent Smecker's help; it would have only been a matter of time before they did. No matter what happened, the MacManus brothers' first priority was their slanted sense of justice, believing anything else could ever take precedence was naive.
Murphy walked into the kitchen, glancing at her as he dumped the dregs of his coffee down the sink and rinsing the cup.
"Are ye all right, luv?" he asked quietly, pulling a chair next to her and sitting down.
Danae pressed her lips together, looking away from him. "Fine." She said.
"Are ye sure about that? Ye don't look fine."
"I said, I'm fine."
Murphy frowned at her, and she could almost feel him trying to figure out what was wrong, but she couldn't explain it to him right now.
How could she make him understand what she was feeling when she didn't understand it completely herself?
His warm hand covered hers and she pulled it away, being so close to him was too much right now, she was overwhelmed enough as it was.
"Danae?" said Murphy, looking at her, his blue eyes wide and wounded
"I'm sorry, Murphy. I can't right now," she stopped, swallowing, fighting the tears that were threatening to fall. "I just can't."
Grabbing her coffee cup she got to her feet, dumping the now cold liquid into the sink.
"I have to get out of here for a while," she muttered, reaching for her jacket, "I'm going to lose my mind if I don't."
She barely made it to the front door before Murphy's fingers closed around her wrist. "Danae, what the fuck?"
"Please, Murphy, let me go. I'll be back in a little while."
"Not until ye fuckin' tell me what the fuck is wrong with ye."
"Murphy, please." She protested.
"No, not until ye fuckin' talk ta me."
He was backing her into a corner and she despised the feeling, warmth gathered in her eyes and she blinked it away angrily. She couldn't deal with this right now. She needed to be alone; to think and to come to terms with what was about to ensue, but Murphy wasn't about to let that happen.
"Don't you have a massacre to plan?" she gritted out, surprised at the venom in her voice.
Had she really just spoken those spiteful words? She must have been because she heard Murphy's sharp intake of breath and the hand around her wrist loosened.
"Suit yer-fuckin-self." He said icily, "I don't give a fuck anyway."
Already caught up in her own tumultuous emotions, Murphy's outburst only added fuel to the fire, and suddenly Danae was furious.
"I know you don't give a fuck!" she cried, pushing away from him. "You don't give a fuck about anything but your perverted sense of justice and whatever bloodshed it may bring. You're going straight to the men that almost killed your brother and are still trying to kill you, and for what reason?"
This time, Murphy let her go, somehow managing to look both enraged and stricken at the same time, and Danae was two blocks away from the apartment before she realized that she was sobbing.