Happy St. Patrick's Day! And since it's two years to the day since I started writing this thing...happy anniversary/birthday/whatever to "Warrior Shepherds." *throws confetti* Sounds like a couple good reasons to celebrate, am I right?

This chapter, subtitled "The Muddled Psychology of Renata Malone and the MacManuses Attempts To Help Sort Her Out," was actually fairly easy to write...barring certain sections that needed a little more confusion and self-loathing. The title was taken from lyrics to "It Must Have Been Love" by Roxette, which was a fitting song on many levels, but the main source of inspiration was "Inside Us All" by Creed, mixed with "Let Love In" by the Goo Goo Dolls. We're now entering the portion of the story that's been my favorite to write so far, which will shortly be followed by the section that was the toughest so far. Yay!

You lovely people feel free to enjoy this and leave me some love on the way out. I'll be stuck at work for another few hours, but I'll definitely be kicking back later with a Guinness and watching a movie. Betcha can't guess what it is! Happy St. Patty's! Sláinte!

Rocco's necessary inquiries, made with all the discretion he was capable of, took the better part of two days, and he shared his information with Connor, Murphy, and - grudgingly - Renata. Her continued presence and the nature of her relationship with his friends did little to lessen the animosity between them, which was one of the reasons why the brothers decided she wouldn't accompany them on this job, though she argued vehemently against staying behind.

"I thought I was part of the group!" she stormed. "The fuck if I'm sitting this one out!"

"The fuck if ye're comin," Connor told her. "Roc's told us about this asshole, an' he's a fuckin sicko."

"Oh, so now you're trying to keep me out of harm's way?"

"Fuckin hell, woman, we already told ye once," Murphy shot back, "we didn't save yer ass so ye could get yerself fuckin killed. 'Scuse the shit outta us for carin."

"So that's it?" she demanded. "You're still pissed at me for taking off after Reg!"

"Maybe you need to open your fuckin ears," Rocco broke in, "but there's going to be a lot more than five guys at that poker game -"

"Which is why you need all the help you can get!" she interrupted.

"Which is why we can't be keepin one eye on ye ta make sure ye're where ye're s'posed ta be," Connor corrected. "'C'mon, Renata, this is Rocco's deal, an' he says it's best ye sit it out."

She snorted. "Rocco's deal, and it's no girls allowed."

Rocco rolled his eyes. "I swear, you guys are fucking a feminist," he grumbled.

"Eat me," she snapped.

"He'd better not, that's my job," Connor interjected, trying to alleviate some of the hostility; she cracked a smile before she could stop herself, though Rocco pulled a face that clearly said "too much information." Connor returned Renata's smile and went on levelly, "We know ye can handle yerself, all right? It's just that...things are a bit different this time around, an' we'd all feel a little better with ye outta the line a fire on this one."

"But Connor..." She halted, then began again, her voice low and urgent. "Connor, you promised."

His brow furrowed and he exchanged a look with Murphy, comprehension dawning on their faces, and a slow, sinking feeling like an anchor disappearing into deep water settling in their bones.

Rocco looked between them all, confusion plain as the nose on his face. "Hello?" he prompted. "Someone wanna tell me what the fuck-"

"It's nothin, Roc," Connor said. "Just...step out for a minute, would ye?"

Rocco heaved a sigh, then shrugged and disappeared into the hallway.

The brothers turned to Renata, looking serious. "Might as well spill it now," Connor said. "What's so bad about bein alone?"

She gave an awkward half-shrug, looking uncomfortable. "It's not just being alone, it's - it's sort of hard to explain..."

"Ye gotta try, girl."

She hesitated, pressing her palms to her forehead as if she had a migraine. "You'll think I'm crazy..." she replied.

"We know you're crazy," Murphy assured her. "A little more won't hurt."

"Fine, it's just...I can't be alone in the quiet. I just...can't. I can't handle it, I start thinking about bad shit..."

"What shit's that?"

She closed her eyes against the pain and fear in her mind and shook her head, unwilling to give voice to it. She couldn't face it in silence, so she sure as fuck couldn't share it with them. She could never share it with them...

Murphy took pity on her and simply prompted, "The shit that made ye start usin in the first place?"

She hated admitting even that much, little as it was, but it was the lesser of two evils. "Yes."

"Ye don't have more pills stashed anywhere, do ye?" Connor inquired sharply.

"No, you flushed the last of them," she replied. "I swear, you did. But still, I...I can't stand silence. There's too much that tries to fill it, and it's-" She broke off, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "It's too much."

Murphy looked to Connor. "We can't, man," he told him. "Can't just let her sit an' stew."

"She can't come," Connor replied.

Renata watched them both, her eyes pleading silently. They couldn't do that to her, they couldn't abandon her to her demons while they went off to save the world. It was more than she could stand to tell them just how afraid she was, left alone to face the things that haunted her, face-to-face with the worst of herself, and she despised her weakness in hiding from it as well as the evil thoughts she was hiding from.

Connor continued to shift his gaze between Renata and Murphy, knowing he and his brother were of a mind as usual. This next job was Rocco's idea, and it was best if Renata didn't go. On the other hand, they had made a promise to her, and how could they go back on their word? "We got ourselves in a bind again, didn't we?" he asked Murphy in Latin.

Murphy nodded and Renata burst out, "Would you can it with the foreign language shit? You know I can't stand that!"

"Should we try it in French, then?" Murphy asked. "Ye seemed ta like that one last time." She narrowed her eyes at him and he shrugged. "Just a thought." He paused for a moment, then said, "It's bound ta get quiet now an' then, no matter what we promise, an' I hate ta be the motherfucker ta leave her with nothin good ta fall back on. I think we need ta teach her another kind a silence, Connor, show her what else can fill it."

She gave him a skeptical look. "And how do you propose we do that?"

They pulled up to the curb outside St. Augustine's and Connor put the car in park, turning to Rocco and asking, "Ye comin in?"

He shook his head. "This is your thing."

Connor left him the keys and he, Murphy, and Renata got out of the car. She hesitated on the pavement, still looking disbelieving. "I don't know about this," she said. "I know you Catholics love your pageantry and all that shit, but..."

"No talkin shit about our religion," Connor rebuked.

"It's not even about religion," Murphy told her. "Faith's between you and God, yeah?"

"Then what is it about?"

"I already told ye, silence."

Her look of skepticism deepened. "You think bringing me to church to sit among the pious will magically cure me?"

"Well, the Lord works miracles, ye know."

"Murphy."

"Lemme rephrase, then. Peaceful silence. There's no bad shit allowed in here."

"Do you have no respect for my agnosticism?"

"We're not tryin ta convert ye or anythin," Connor insisted. "Just come inside, sit the fuck down, an' keep yer wise-ass mouth shut." She looked ready to argue some more, but he went on, "I know ye don't believe in any a this, but we're doin what we can, all right? D'ye think we'd be doin this if we didn't have to?"

"Forgive me for being a godless heathen, then."

"Renata-" He paused and took a deep breath, getting a firmer hold on his patience. "We don't want ta leave ye alone anymore than ye want ta stay behind, but it's the way it's gotta be, an' we'd feel better doin it if we thought ye'd be okay on yer own. Just...do us a favor an' work with us? Please?"

If she could have thought of a decent argument, she would have stood her ground, but as it was, he and Murphy had already turned and headed inside the church. She glared after them for a moment, then followed.

There were no services being held, so it was exceptionally quiet inside, the very atmosphere alive with the reverence and humility of the few worshippers who knelt in prayer. Candles flickered in red votives and sunlight spilled through the stained glass windows, shafts of gold falling across the pews and tinted with jewel-bright color. In a straight path up the nave stood the altar, and behind that, a great crucifix bearing the figure of Christ.

Connor and Murphy made their way up the nave and knelt before the figure, crossing themselves before rising and walking to a pew. Renata followed, feeling like a fish out of water as she sat beside them and watching them draw their rosaries from under their shirts as one and kneeling in perfect unison, bowing their heads and closing their eyes in silent supplication.

She remained seated, her eyes never leaving them as she fleetingly considered the peace they had brought her in search of. It was fairly obvious they had no trouble finding it here. They exuded serenity that seemed otherworldly, bathed in sunlight and yet disregarding its warmth, as if they drew heat and comfort from something more insubstantial but somehow just as existential. She knew they took their beliefs seriously, but she had never fully appreciated just how deeply they were invested in them, and she slowly found herself rethinking their idea to bring her here. If this was their great plan for helping her, what did it say about them, or what they thought of her? Soldiers for God, giving spiritual guidance to a lost soul, perhaps?

Well, maybe that was unfair. She knew them well enough by now to know when they were sincere. And they were certainly the picture of honesty: Connor bore the virtue with pride, visible for the world to see on his capable hands, and Murphy was an open book, his heart on his sleeve where deception was impossible. This was simply their way of trying to care for her, a gesture that exposed them to her regard more than they possibly realized. Though she had never been more inclined, she couldn't be cynical at a time like this, not when they had brought her to their sanctuary in the earnest hope that once there, she could find a fraction of what they did. She considered them for several long moments, growing steadily more convinced that she had never believed in anything the way they believed in this, whatever it was they sought when they knelt to pray, and not for the first time she felt unworthy sitting next to them, a lost sinner with no clear path before her and not even the heart to find one unaided.

Suddenly abashed to be staring at them so intently as they prayed, she cast her eyes around the church; it wasn't much different from the church of her childhood. More elaborate, of course, there were few frills on the Sundays of her youth, but she could recognize that same feeling of sanctuary here, of being removed from the chaos outside and offering shelter to those willing to ask for it.

But what shelter could she hope for? She couldn't turn her thoughts inward and find peace in her soul like Connor and Murphy could. Her soul was where the darkness lay, and it had grown deeper the further she wandered from what was good and just, and it seemed lately that every step she took was a step closer to disaster. She envied the brothers' perfect faith, their unshakable belief that there was a master plan and all would turn out as it should. Yet if she brought herself to share that belief, it was almost an acceptance of her own tarnished soul, condemned to unrest and regret because that was how it should be, and after struggling against it for so long, she wasn't sure she knew how to accept it, even if she could bring herself to try.

As if summoned by her dread and doubt, that empty bedroom in Reg's house conjured itself onto her memory, the night she found Stacy there after she had gotten on Benny's bad side and needed to be taught a lesson, the night that made her certain beyond doubt she had no fucking right to be sitting here with Connor and Murphy MacManus, God's chosen instruments to eradicate evil and smite the wicked.

She fought the memory and renewed her attention on them, feeling a sudden pang in her chest. They were her perfect counterparts, secure in every aspect of their world, certain of themselves and their work, convicted in their faith. Maybe that explained why she was so drawn to them; it was the transgressor within her looking for a guide to salvation. Yes, that sounded right...that was at least part of it. They balanced out her hopelessly slanted character and awoke what better nature she possessed. Not necessarily good, but better.

But there was more to it than that, wasn't there? There was the matter of the chemistry between them and the intense attraction that had existed almost from the start. It had begun purely sexual, it was true, but it had worked its way into something deeper, holding her in place when she could have left - should have left - long ago. That was the most inexplicable of all. She had sworn to herself she'd put her faith in no man again after her misplaced trust in Kevin Reid led her to the worst catastrophe of her life, and now here she found herself trusting not just one, but two of the best men God had created. Their paths had crossed for reasons beyond her reckoning, giving her the first glimpse of hope she'd had after resigning herself to darkness.

But how could she hope to keep them, as she so badly wanted? She was faithless, self-centered, and untrustworthy, and once they found that out they would want nothing more to do with her, and the thought awoke a fear and desperation she hardly understood. Who were they, who could command such a hold over her? The only man who had never broken her trust died unable to recall her name, and every bond she had dared to form thereafter had been shattered until she no longer trusted her heart to anyone. She had flings and one-night stands, enough to satisfy her base urges but never anything more. Now her fear was that she had put herself on the line without meaning to, and it was already too late to turn back. She had cared enough to stay, and she left herself vulnerable again to the pain of loss.

She turned her gaze to the crucifix, reading Christ's expression. It was the same in every rendering, such agony and suffering, pain beyond comprehension with death the only hope for escape. She couldn't imagine what would inspire someone to endure such unspeakable barbarism, or the love behind such a supreme sacrifice. On the other hand, she had no doubt that if Connor and Murphy had lived back then during the execution of the most innocent man who ever lived, they would have dispensed the same justice they were bound to in the age they were born to.

The edge of the pew bit into her legs and her feet were falling asleep, but the brothers showed no sign of moving. She set herself to watching them to the exclusion of all else, her own thoughts included - it sure beat the shit out of letting her mind wander more than it already had. Connor's lips moved with words he didn't speak aloud and she recalled his tender, inviting kisses. The sunlight cast a burnished glow on Murphy's hair, and she resisted an impulse to run her fingers through it one more time. Oh yes, there was no denying it. She cared, and the admission held as much dread and terror as her own polluted memories.

Finally, as if on a cue only they knew, they stood and walked back up the aisle to the crucifix, kneeling again before kissing Christ's feet. They turned and headed for the door, and Renata hurried into the aisle to catch them. "How did it go?" she asked.

"Could ask the same of you," Murphy responded. "How was silence?"

She shrugged, brushing it aside. "We're not on any better terms, if that's what you're aiming for. I mean, it was a nice thought and all, but..."

"Well, maybe with a little time..."

"Time for what? To wait for a miracle?"

She wasn't angry, and her sarcasm wasn't meant in mockery but frustration; it seemed Murphy understood, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a brief hug. "Ye never know," he said. "Stranger things happen."

They walked outside and back to the car. Rocco stood on the curb, leaning against the bumper and smoking a cigarette. "Things went well?" he asked.

"Well enough," Connor answered. "We're comin back tomorrow."

"Oh, we are, are we?" Renata demanded.

"Sure. Ye don't have a hankering for Percocet, do ye?"

"No..."

"See? Progress."

"But I could use a drink."

He shrugged. "Let's just take it one day at a time, then."

Later that night, Connor, Murphy, and Renata sat around the table in the brothers' apartment, the remnants of a pizza, empty beer cans, ash trays and cigarette butts scattered everywhere. Renata reached into her backpack for the bag of Twizzlers and bit off a piece, twirling the strand in the air like a lasso and slouching in her chair.

Connor leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "Let's try an' get ta the bottom a this, shall we?" he said.

"Bottom of what?" she asked, still chewing her licorice.

"What makes bein alone so fuckin terrible."

She bobbed her head rhythmically, tilting the chair back on two legs. "You're my shrink now?"

"Just interested."

"Right." She set aside the half-eaten licorice and went for a cigarette, lighting up before continuing. "Is this genuine interest, or are you still trying to leave me behind?"

"Ye can't do anythin but stay behind," he told her. "An' yeah, I'm interested."

She shrugged and exhaled. "My 'broken home,'" she put air quotes around the words, the cigarette held firmly between her thumb and fourth finger, "didn't help much. The school counselors that tried to analyze me decided my childhood was sufficiently disturbed to cause me to act out. Which is just quack speak for daddy issues."

The brothers smiled at her flippant attitude.

"So after my father took off, I leaned even more on my granddad," she went on, "and after he died, I went from one guy to another, looking for someone I could rely on, and it hurt like fucking hell to find I couldn't."

Connor nodded thoughtfully, then asked, "What's that got ta do with bein alone?"

"I was alone at the worst times of my life," she replied. "When Dad left, when Granddad died, when that douchebag Kevin took off and left me neck deep in shit with one foot on a banana peel...they tend to haunt me when I'm all on my lonesome, you know."

"Sounds like a phobia ta me," Murphy remarked.

"Monophobia," she said. "Or autophobia, whichever you prefer."

"Oh, ta be sure. Is that more high school English?"

"No, that's Psychology 101 at University of Missouri. Go, Tigers."

Connor ignored their exchange, studying the expression in her shaded eyes and reading more depth of feeling and complexity than in the past. There was a trace of sadness there, weariness that went further than physical exhaustion, and the restlessness that always lurked in her gaze. But beyond even that, there was fear and guilt creeping over the wall of her sarcastic, devil-may-care manner, hiding something she refused to share. "What else?" he asked.

"What do you mean, what else?"

"What more made ye start usin?"

The wall hardened in defense of her secret. "Isn't that enough?" she demanded, dismayed she had revealed so much. "It's bad enough to start taking the shit because I was lonely and depressed."

"C'mon, Renata, ye've got more balls than that."

"Maybe you've overestimated me."

"I doubt it."

"That's your problem, not mine."

"So that's all?"

"Yeah. That's all."

She was just going to clam up and shut them out; he expected as much, no matter how it was troubling her...whatever it was, but it didn't make it any less frustrating. They couldn't help her if she shot them down whenever they tried. He considered pushing farther to see if she would open up, then decided against it. She was stubborn enough to resist all effort to force a confidence she didn't want to give, and there was no point in getting anyone all worked up for nothing. He changed the subject. "What d'ye mean, couldn't rely on? Are we talkin walkin out like yer da, or what?"

She looked surprised, perhaps expecting him to keep interrogating her about her habit and what drove it, then answered, "Well, up to that point, my dad was the most important man in my life, then I saw him fucking my babysitter and he left soon after that, so yeah, I'd say that made an impression."

"Fair enough, but what about others?"

"Oh, you mean friends, boyfriends, and fuck buddies? Lying, cheating, selfish pricks, the whole pack of them."

Murphy pondered her answer, leaning forward to look more closely at her. "This is yer experience with schoolboys, yeah?"

"High school, college, somewhere around there," she replied. "Same difference."

"There's yer problem. We're assholes when we're young an' thinkin with our cocks 'stead of our brains."

"You mean that stops when you get older?"

"Sure, as soon as we find a stronger urge. Ours, ye see, are mainly drinkin an' prayin, so our cocks have ta compete with dry throats an' hungry souls."

"Hm. Sounds like a terrible affliction."

"Sweetheart, it's the fuckin worst."

"I'm curious, though," Connor said. "Don't ye think ye might be relyin on us ta save yerself from bein alone?"

"You're leaving me alone to go with Rocco," she replied. "I already know you're going to disappoint me."

"We're human, Renata. We're bound ta disappoint each other now an' then."

"Fine, have it your way. I'm a hypocrite getting cozy while preaching against it, and a pushy bitch demanding attention."

"Strong words, an' they're all yers."

"I've heard stronger regarding my numerous faults and failings."

The brothers traded wry looks at her peevish attitude. "She was right, she does have issues," Murphy remarked in Gaelic.

"And I used to think our family was strange," Connor replied, cracking open another beer.

"Would you quit that shit!" she stormed. "How juvenile is that? Act like fucking adults!"

"Ye hear that language?" Murphy asked Connor, trying to get even more of a rise out of her when she was already riled. "Completely inappropriate, comin from a lady."

"Because you wanted me to act like a lady when I had your dick in my mouth, right?"

Connor choked on his beer. Murphy thumped him on the back and he managed to force out, "She got ye on that one, Murph."

Murphy whacked him over the head. "Who's fuckin side are ye on?" he demanded.

"Just givin credit where it's due," he insisted. He cleared his throat several times and raised the beer in salute. "Touché, Miss Malone."

Renata smirked.

"Back ta my question, though..."

She rolled her eyes.

"Aren't ye puttin a lotta faith in a couple a fellas ye barely know?"

"I can put my faith where I damn well please, Mr. MacManus."

"That's not what I-"

"I know what you meant. And you know how I ended up here?"

"Ye said Kevin left ye."

"After my mom tried to talk me out of dropping out of school and coming to Boston with him. I walked out on her, just like my fucking father, because I wanted to follow my heart. What it got me was stuck in jail after I found out he was cheating on me and I went off on him and the bitch he was with in a crowded bar. I made bail and went home, and he wasn't there. Just gone, without a fucking word and leaving me hanging to dry. I spent a few weeks in a shelter, trying to find work so I could pay my court costs before they threw my ass back in jail, but nothing came of it.

"And then I walked into the Sin Bin...

She broke off, tilting her head back on her shoulders and staring at the ceiling. "I could sit here and spend the rest of my life talking, and I couldn't even begin to tell you what that was like. I've done some pretty stupid shit before, but to be forced to that point, to sink that low...it's different for the people coming in looking for a good time, but you can't imagine how that feels, to be worth only what someone was willing to pay to look at you. I made more money selling that poison than I did for my own body. And you know what?" She gave a half-hearted chuckle. "It still pisses me off that the pills were worth more than me."

"Well," Murphy said softly, disliking the subject, "ye gotta have yer pride..."

Her laughter turned bitter. "Yeah, pride. I thought I'd kissed that shit goodbye when I started stripping, but make better bucks selling pills than your own ass, and see how pride handles it. That's what I lost after Kevin. My pride. My self-respect. And to end up there, of all places, to be a part of the shit that happens in there...after Kevin, I decided it wasn't worth it again, not for anyone. No fucking way I'd try defying gravity for someone who would just let me hit the ground at the bottom."

Connor was silent for several minutes after her story. He glanced over at Murphy and saw the same sympathy and compassion he felt written all over his twin's face. The same frustration, as well. How could she trust anyone after what she'd been through...but how could she judge them based on the behavior of others? "It defeats the purpose," he finally said, "pushin everyone away when ye don't wanna be alone."

The look that came into her eyes was dead and hollow, a brief glimpse of emptiness before she spoke again. "That's what the pills were for."

"An' they were the only company ye'd allow anywhere near," he concluded for her. "What the fuck else were ye tryin ta escape in bein alone?"

"Why is it so important to you?"

"I'm askin ye the same thing, aren't I?"

She reached across the table for his beer and took a swallow before replying, "I have a pathological fear of boredom. I also want to have sex right the fuck now, so if you're done playing Dr. Phil, take off your clothes and show me what you've got."

It was a conversation worth continuing later, though under her suggestion they weren't about to argue with her. Words all but dissolved in mere moments, and touch became communication as she welcomed them to her once again. She made it exciting every time, matching Connor's suave sensuality and Murphy's raw intensity and giving all of herself in return. Well, all of her bodily passions, perhaps. She kept the rest tucked away, maintaining her stubborn silence, and breaking down those last walls she held in place would be a lengthy process...if it was possible at all.

She lay between them later, fast asleep and looking peaceful in a way she never managed awake. Murphy propped himself up on one elbow and brushed her hair away from her face so he could look at her. "What d'ye think?" he asked Connor softly.

"I think she's full a shit about somethin," he replied, laying on his side and running his fingers up and down her spine. She shivered but slept on, and he drew a blanket over her still form.

"But what?" Murphy questioned. "What the fuck's goin on in that head a hers?"

"Christ, I don't know if even she knows."

"It's serious, though."

"Aye, it has ta be..." It couldn't just be men weighing so heavily on her mind. There was something more driving her to self-destruction, a darker shadow than a troubled childhood, and she didn't trust them with it any more than she trusted herself. Understandable as it was, they both felt the sting of it, the same urge to draw it from her like venom from a snake bite and the same vexation that she wouldn't allow them.

Murphy sighed and lay back down, settling close to her. "She's in trouble, isn't she?"

"I reckon so, as long as she's on her own."

A slight pause, then, "Ye think there's somethin we can do?"

Connor gave a sigh to echo his brother's. "I hope so, Murph. I hope so."

So, this chapter grew in thousand-word increments in every stage of editing...yikes! I let Renata spill her guts a little, then a little more, then a little more, etc. She tends to ramble when she's on a roll. LOL I'm off to the next chapter, so be patient. I can promise it's one of my favorites so far!