A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! As a present, here's another chapter for you. Thank you to Sith Happens, ivyshortcake, BelhavenOnTap, betty-boo, IrishSaints, dayamiracle and Sara for reviewing. I'm still convinced that this fic isn't one of my best, but hey. As long as you all are enjoying it, then I'll continue to write it! Expect about ten more chapters after this. There's so much more to come! xx IFHD

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Chapter 21: Resistance

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"Cannonball"

By: Damien Rice

Still a little bit of your taste in my mouth
Still a little bit of you laced with my doubt
Still a little hard to say what's going on

Still a little bit of your ghost your witness
Still a little bit of your face I haven't kissed
You step a little closer each day
Still I can't say what's going on

Stones taught me to fly
Love taught me to lie
Life taught me to die
So it's not hard to fall
When you float like a cannonball

Still a little bit of your song in my ear
Still a little bit of your words I long to hear
You step a little closer to me
So close that I can't see what's going on

Stones taught me to fly
Love taught me to lie
Life taught me to die
So it's not hard to fall
When you float like a cannon

Stones taught me to fly
Love taught me to cry
So come on courage!
Teach me to be shy
'Cause it's not hard to fall
And I don't wanna scare her
It's not hard to fall
And I don't wanna lose
It's not hard to grow
When you know that you just don't know

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I absentmindedly stared at the steam that drifted away from the mug of coffee that I had in between my hands. The MacManus household was deathly silent, save for the periodic clanking and thud of some object being moved or replaced. No one made an effort to start conversation, let alone try to speak about what had just transpired. After Ma MacManus had handed me a thick, wool blanket and the cup of coffee, she withered beside me upon the couch in fatigue, obviously drained from this entire experience. I had no doubt that she knew what Ciaran had done. From her expression, though, I could see that she was relieved and thankful that we all returned safe and sound. Her only worry now was her husband, who still did not reappear.

My eyes automatically fell upon Murphy's form as it appeared in the kitchen. He shrugged his dirtied, bloodied woolen coat off, revealing a few bumps and cuts upon his arm. Though, his expression didn't show any signs of pain whatsoever, and he went about his business unpacking a black duffel bag without attending to any of his wounds. He paused for a moment, placing both of his hands upon the counter and propping himself up with his arms. Lowering his head for a few seconds, he let out an audible exhale, lost in thought. Then, without a word, he made his way purposely out of the kitchen and bolted upstairs.

Murphy hadn't looked at me, let alone spoken with me, since the docks. Now, I was more than confused. He had come to my rescue; didn't he care about me even alittle bit? Why does it seem like in his absence, he had taken a vow of silence? This simultaneously angered and hurt me, but right now, Murphy's behaviour was the least of my worries. Ciaran was still out there if Mr. MacManus hasn't returned. Will I ever be safe in my own home? And what of my parents, my family? Oh dear God, please not let him hurt my family!

The fear that engulfed me elicited more tears. Wrapping the blanket more tightly around me, I bowed my head, allowing silent tears to cascade from my cheeks and plummet to the ground. I felt Mrs. MacManus' hand rubbing my back comfortingly. Leaning forward, she informed me, "Lourdes, when I found out what happened I had no choice but to tell yer parents everythin' about Ciaran. They went straight to the police station ta seek help and protection, and now they 'ave it. That was the safest thing that they could've done at this point. I just told 'em that yer here safe and sound. As for 'em, the Garda will provide for 'em until Ciaran's caught and brought ta justice."

I gave her a thankful embrace, somewhat relieved that my parents were now under the protection of the Garda. Dear God, how my mother must be worried sick about me. For some reason, I just couldn't speak with her at this point; I couldn't bear it. Hearing her pain-filled voice would be my undoing. So, seeing as Mrs. MacManus had already informed her that I was safe, I decided to speak with her when I felt a little better.

"Love," Mrs. MacManus called out to me as she slowly stood, "'fraid I must get ta bed. My old body's weak and I'm more than drained." When I gave her a nod of understanding, she threw me a smile. Languidly walking towards Connor in the kitchen, she placed a hand upon her son's shoulder, then kissed him on the forehead. After sharing a few, quiet words with him, Ma then retired into her bedroom.

"Lourdes, ye hungry?" Connor's voice then called out to me, his head tilting sideways in order to meet my gaze.

"Famished." I replied simply, forcing a weak smile.

"Yer in luck, then." Scraping the legs of the wooden chair upon the floor as he stood, Connor placed some stew in a bowl, placed a spoon within, and headed towards the living room. Taking a seat beside me, he handed me the steaming bowl, a pleasant smirk appearing on his face. When I gave him a questioning look at his expression, he motioned his head towards the stew and beamed, "Made it meself."

Now, everyone knew that Connor was a terrible cook; so terrible that even the hungriest of men would pass down a meal that had been concocted by him! So, as I took a first, mockingly cautious sip of the stew, I coughed jokingly. "I think I'm gonna throw up."

Connor looked genuinely stung by this. With a frown, he took the bowl from my hand and placed it upon the table. Seeing that I had severely wounded the man's ego, I pushed him playfully upon the chest, shaking my head in disbelief. "I was kiddin', you big oaf. It tastes great – so if you don't mind, I'll have my bowl back, please."

Beaming once more, he handed me back my bowl, leaning back and merely observing me eat. Feeling slightly unnerved at this, I flickered my eyes upwards, instantly meeting his gaze. "I feel like I'm behind a glass case in a zoo by the way you're watching me." As I finished, I placed the empty bowl back down upon the table. "What's so interesting?"

"Ye." Connor rested his palm on the side of his head, elbow propped upon the back of the couch. He shrugged and simply said, "Just how strong ye are."

"What?" I eyed him curiously with a smile.

"How yer handling what has happened to ye," he explained further, rolling his hand. He added with a mischievous grin, "and the fact that ye haven't once tried ta make a move on me brother yet."

The latter part isn't hard, I thought wryly to myself, Murphy doesn't even want to look at me, let alone touch me.

Connor cleared his throat after a few moments, thinking that he had made me slightly uncomfortable. "Look, why don't ye get cleaned up? I'll be down 'ere if ye need anythin'."

Giving him a nod as we parted, I slowly walked up the stairs, heading towards the nearest washroom. As I turned the corner, Murphy came out of the washroom, wearing only a towel loosely tied around his hips. Still dripping wet, his eyes immediately flashed to my form, and I suddenly felt embarrassed. This emotion saddened me, for it made it seem as though I had no sense of familiarity when it came to Murphy, that I felt discomfort in his presence when I knew that I shouldn't. With a frown, I decided that I couldn't go through with this and began to head back towards the stairwell.

Exhaling, Murphy took a few steps after me and lightly took my arm. "Come on." He beckoned his head towards the washroom, reaching out his arm inside in order to turn on the light once more. Complying without a word, I slowly followed him inside, keeping my gaze fixated upon the ground. He closed the door behind him, immediately gathering a handful of towels from the bottom cupboard. Letting the first soak in hot water, I saw him eye me from the mirror for a brief moment.

I almost couldn't bear this awkwardness between us. Murphy was acting as though he really did think that he would never see me again. I suppose he really did expect to keep his promise of never having contact with me whatsoever. Feeling somewhat angered by this, I didn't even flinch when he lightly commanded, "Take off yer shirt."

He had said this in such a callous, indifferent manner that it only inflamed my anger. Distastefully removing the dirtied, ripped fabric from my torso, I flung it carelessly upon the ground. I didn't care that I now stood there in front of Murphy in merely my bra and jeans. It worked out quite well, for he didn't seem to care either.

Wringing the steaming towel and slightly turning off the tap, he placed the hot fabric upon the crook of my neck where Ciaran's fingers had instantly bruised me. As Murphy placed a bit of pressure upon the black and blue wound, I let out a slight hiss through clenched teeth. He didn't seem to notice this, for he said nothing and continued to firmly apply the towel upon the wound. Dabbing the wet, now dirtied, cloth upon the nape of my neck, he then slid it down my collarbone, shoulders, and finally upon my wrists. He did all of this without a word, without even so much as looking me in the eyes.

"It'll only bruise for a while." He suddenly stated in a quiet voice, observing the marks all over my body. "I'll apply some of the shit we 'ave downstairs to lessen the pain."

I actually rolled my eyes at this. Like I actually cared about the fucking bruises! Visibly annoyed, I pushed his arm away from my body. In the same tone that he had used on me, I declared, "I'll be fine. Thanks for your help."

I could tell that this wasn't the reaction that he had expected of me. Disregarding his expression, I retrieved my shirt from the ground and placed it on once more. I then pushed past him, bumping his arm harder than I had intended to. When I reached for the door handle, I saw a flash of his arm, then heard the loud thud of his hand holding the door closed. I jumped in surprise at this unexpected action, my heart beginning to race as I felt him move closer to me.

I twisted my head to face him. Murphy's eyes smouldered with so much intensity that it wholly engulfed me. His lips were curled into a slight snarl as he kept his jaw tight. Whether it was Murphy's current state, the shock of the entire situation, or a mixture of both, I felt my façade of strength waning. Pressing my back against the door, my head fell into my hands as I began to uncontrollably sob. My body shook involuntarily as I remembered once more what I had gone through that night. Death had smiled upon me – but even more than that; the people who I cared about could have died as well.

Murphy lowered his arm from the back of the door and gingerly rested it upon my waist. Gripping the side of my shirt and tugging at it, he brought me closer to him, our bodies lightly colliding. I could now feel the heat of his bare body and the warmth of his breath upon my skin as he fully wrapped his arms around me. His lips traced the side of my face before his chin rested upon my forehead. "It's been a tough day," I heard him whisper through my hair, "Ye need ta get some rest."

I nodded my head upon his broad chest before we gingerly pulled away from one another. Opening the washroom door and leading me out into the hallway, I followed Murphy straight into his bedroom. Pushing the door open, he motioned his head inside, hand still clasping the doorknob. "Ye can have me bed." As I stepped inside, he made a move to shut the door as he finished, "Sleep well."

Without another word, Murphy closed the door behind me, leaving me alone in his cold, dark room.

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A/N: Murphy, quit it! Poor Lourdes. I wonder how long she'll be able to take this bloody tension? xx IFHD