o()o
Author's Note: Well, guys, I think this is the shortest chapter I've ever written. Thanks, as always, to Archerlove for her tireless work making what I write readable, trust me guys, it's not an easy job!
Nifty Fact for the Day: Tá meathlaíocht éigin orm (I'm feeling under the weather) so remember guys, reviews are better than anraith sicín (chicken soup.)
o(26)o
Murphy awoke the next morning to the soothing sound of rainfall and the steady rhythm of Danae's breathing. He was comfortable and relaxed curled around the warmth of her body.
She was still fast asleep, her dark hair fanned over the pillow and his arm, her lips slightly parted. He brushed a tentative kiss against her temple, half afraid that this was another dream, taunting him with what he could never have. But then Danae hummed sleepily.
"Missed you," she murmured, snuggling a little closer to him and Murphy wrapped his free arm tightly around her, burying his face in her shoulder.
"Aye, I missed ye too, luv, so much."
They had spent the entire night talking. Well, to be perfectly honest, he had spent most of the night talking and she had spent most of the night listening to him.
They had started out in the doorway, the conversation awkward and halting, moving to the kitchen over endless cups of tea, to the couch and then finally to her bedroom.
He told her about the upcoming mission, Maire, and the fight with Connor, anything and everything else he could think of to talk to her about, relieved to finally get it all out in the open.
She had looked away when he told her he knew she had been in the hospital with him, her cheeks flushing. "I had to see you," she whispered.
It was then that Murphy had realized that Saint or no, mission or no, he had spent enough time alone. Connor's words echoed accusingly in his ears.
"So what, now we're nothing but killers? What happened to not letting our entire life revolve around this?"
"I can't leave the mission." He'd said, needing to hear it aloud.
Danae had nodded against his shoulder, sighing quietly. "I never thought you would."
"But that doesn't change how I feel about ye." he'd said softly, finally gathering his courage, "and I know that I can't be the man that ye deserve, but I love ye, and I'll do my best by ye."
She'd answered him by slipping her hand into his, squeezing gently, and pressing a warm kiss against his forehead. "We'll both do our best."
Now, as he slipped a little further into wakefulness, he realized that he was afflicted with the problem men tended to have upon waking and shifted slightly trying to relieve the pressure.
Danae made a quiet noise as she felt him move away, frowning. "Are you okay?" she asked sleepily.
Chuckling, Murphy debated on how to answer that question, finally opting to be a gentleman. "Aye, fine."
"Did we miss the sunrise?" It was such an innocent question, so typically Danae that Murphy felt his chest tighten. A throb of emotion so sweet it was painful coursed through him. Christ, he had missed her.
"No, luv. No sunrise today, 'tis raining out."
Smiling she burrowed further under the covers, drawing her knees up, "A good morning to stay in bed then."
He traced small, hesitant, circles across the soft fabric of her nightshirt, unsure where the boundaries between them lay, but needing to touch her just the same. "Aye."
"That feels good," she said softly, her words a little clearer, and he grinned, moving his hand to stroke her leg from ankle to thigh.
"Does it now?"
"Aye," she said, mimicking his accent, making him laugh as he continued to run a warm hand over the softness of her skin.
When he felt the first questioning touches of her fingertips across his bare chest he pushed her hand away, moving to caress a spot near her hip that made her gasp softly.
Slowly, Murphy explored her body, rediscovering all the secret places he had begun to think only existed in his memories. He was almost as fascinated with how peculiar his fair hands looked against her tanned skin, as he was by her reaction to his touch.
Brushing fingers across her lower back, he was startled when she jerked away making a noise that was half yelp and half giggle.
"Ticklish?" he asked, grinning wickedly.
Danae bit her lip on a smile, shaking her head.
"Liar," he said, tracing the spot again, chuckling at her frantic giggles.
Danae struggled in a tangle of limbs and sheets, breathless with laughter as he tortured her mercilessly. Murphy was certain that he'd never had so much fun until her fingers danced across his ribs, making him twitch as she found one of his own ticklish spots.
Pausing for a moment, she grinned before launching herself at him with a playful battle cry.
"Vixen!" he managed to gasp as the tables were quickly turned and he was the one being tortured.
Sliding a knee on either side of his hips, Danae's eyes widened as she discovered his current state. He heard her sharp intake of breath and froze, eyes wide, wondering how she would react.
His uncertainty was forgotten when she began to rock her hips gently against him her eyes becoming dark and liquid, a wordless invitation. The movement sent a shudder of need through him and his hands circled her waist, guiding her even as he freed himself from the confines of his jeans, his own thoughts turning serious.
She matched his rhythm easily and Murphy couldn't help but think that the cadence they created was perfectly matched to the whisper of the falling rain.
o()o
Rain began to patter on the Plexiglas roof of the bus stop and Connor glanced up at it absently before returning to his dark thoughts.
A dozen buses had come and gone since he'd been sitting there, countless cigarettes smoldering down to the filter between his fingertips, a half-empty bottle of some nameless whiskey between his legs.
He hadn't bothered to return to the apartment, too busy turning his brother's words over and over in his head to want to eat or to sleep.
We can't have a normal life. We have a calling; falling in love doesn't change that.
Murphy had been right, of course he had been. To be the vengeful, striking, hammer of God or to be in love: there had never been any choice, not for Da, not for Murphy, and not for him. Love had no place when you were waging God's war.
In the end, he had done what he knew was necessary, putting the mission above his own wants. But it had hurt more than he ever could have imagined and he was beginning to realize exactly what his twin had been going through since leaving Danae behind last autumn.
Sighing heavily, Connor tapped another cigarette out of the rapidly emptying pack, cupping his hand against the wind and flicking his lighter to life.
It must have been hell.
Taking a long pull from his bottle, letting the searing liquid roll over his tongue before swallowing with a grimace, Connor rubbed unthinkingly at the ache that was spreading throughout his leg.
"Life's a bitch, ain't it?" The unexpected, gravelly voice was accompanied by the feeling of someone settling next to him.
Connor nodded slowly, staring at a piece of gum that was so old it might as well have been a part of the cement. "Aye," he said, "it is."
The man's skin was so dark that it seemed to shine in the glow of the city's fluorescent signs. Readjusting the sunglasses that were perched atop his bald head he shot Connor a thoughtful glance, "You look like you could use a friend, brother."
"Men such as myself don't have friends," Connor chased the bitter words with another swallow of alcohol, running a hand through his hair and offering the bottle to the man next to him.
"Ya gotta have friends, my man." The man accepted the bottle, bringing it to his lips and making a face as he swallowed, "So what's got you down? Your job or your woman?"
He chuckled at Connor's nonplussed expression, returning the bottle. "Those are the only things I know of that can make a man look like you do now. So which is it?"
"Both." Connor sighed, turning his attention back to the chunk of concrete-gum and taking a pull from his cigarette.
"Both? That's the pits, brother."
Nodding, Connor glanced up at the man, suddenly remembering to be mistrustful through the whiskey-induced daze. "It's a bit early to be out chattin' up strangers innit?"
The man shrugged, his broad face softening slightly, "Naw, I spend a lot of time on these old streets. The apartment's just too lonely now that Celia is gone."
"Yer wan?"
"My wife," the man agreed, "The most beautiful woman in the world, life just ain't been the same since she died."
"M'sorry."
"Yeah, so was I. I spent a lot of time feelin' sorry for myself and feeling sorry for her. But you know what she told me?" He laughed quietly, shaking his head at some private memory. "She was in the hospital, hooked to only God knows how many machines, and she said to me, 'Everett, everything in this world is for a reason, whether you like it or not.' She wasn't of this world much longer after that."
Connor stilled, exhaling a lungful of smoke and remaining silent. "Did you believe what she said?"
"I still believe her, man, Celia being gone don't make her words any less true. God has a plan, and it's bigger'n all of us."
A block away, a bus came around the corner, sloshing noisily through the flooded gutters, windshield wipers flinging water in all directions.
"Well, that's my ride," Everett, said, rising to his feet with a groan. "I hope things work out for you, my man."
Connor rose to his feet as well, stifling a groan of his own as he watched the other man board the bus.
"Everything for a reason," he murmured to himself jamming his hands into his pockets, turning to begin the trek back to his apartment.
And what a reason it was.
Destroy that which is evil, so that which is good may flourish.
o()o