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Author's Note: Redone because it sucked just that bad. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but its better than it was and if I don't move on, I'll never get anywhere else. Sorry for the crap chapter, guys.
Nifty Fact for the Day: Loopers is irish slang for nuts or crazy. Ad Nauseam is a latin term that means 'to a sickening degree.

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Murphy knew Danae was avoiding him, he knew that she was probably trying to come to terms with having Connor and himself dropkicked back into her life, and that she most likely needed space.

But he really didn't give a fuck.

They hadn't exchanged more than a scarce few words since he had come to her in the hospital, but there sure as fuck wasn't any mistaking her sudden unease around him.

Each awkward moment that had replaced their normally comfortable interactions had slithered under his skin, all of them combining into a writing knot in the pit of his stomach. At this point he would crawl on his belly through broken glass if she asked, anything to make that putrid sensation that thrummed through him him go away.

Plus, he missed her. He missed the sound of her laugh and her wry smile. He missed the way she felt in his arms, and the taste of her mouth. The thoughts sent a spasm of frustration through him. They had been so fucking close, only to have it fall to pieces right before his eyes.

Leaning against the ungodly orange of her apartment building, trying to soothe is increasingly ragged nerves with yet another cigarette, he waited for her to come home from work. Then they would talk and he would make her decide.

He hoped that they would work things out, but the realist in him seemed to know better.

Try as he might, Murphy couldn't blame her for no longer wanting to be a part of his life. He had nothing to offer her but bloodshed, killing, and endless lonely nights. She deserved better than that.

Inside the apartment, Connor was asleep on the sofa, finally nodding off only after the sun had risen to keep his nightmares at bay.

Instead of time being a gentle thing that healed all wounds, it seemed to be a powerful tide, eroding Connor until, eventually, there would be nothing left.

His twin was reluctant to eat or sleep and refused to go to church. He rarely spoke, and when he did, it was only a few precious words. More than once, Murphy had caught Connor scrubbing his hands in the bathrrom sink until they were red and raw. There were now a handful of washcloths hidden in the back of Danae's refrigerator to soothe the damage done to Connor's hands by the scrubbing and scalding water after such in incident.

Through an unspoken, mutual agreement, both of their black duffels had been stashed in the closet of Danae's guest room and not looked at since.

Everything was going to hell in a handbasket and Murphy didn't like it one bit. Something had to be done.

Replacing the cigarette in his mouth with the edge of his thumb, worrying the nail between his teeth, he glanced again at the empty lot in front of him, wishing Danae would hurry the fuck up so he could get this over with.

He almost missed her, so intent on watching the front gate that he didn't hear her come up behind him. She tried to brush by him, avoiding his gaze, but he grabbed her arm gently.

"We have ta talk," he said.

"There's nothing to talk about," she replied, shaking her head.

"The fuck there isn't! Danae, ye've been acting different ever since we left the hospital and I want ta know why."

"Please, Murphy. I didn't want to talk about this with Connor yesterday and I don't want to talk about it with you now.

"Connor talked ta you?"

"He stopped me on the way to work,"

"Why?"

She made a frustrated gesture with her hands. "Just let it go, okay?"

"How the fuck can I let it go when ye've barely spoken ta me in a fuckin' week?" He took fortifying drag off of his cigarette and continued, "How the fuck can I make it better if ye don't let me know what's wrong?"

"Murphy," she stopped, looking up at him, and Murphy was taken aback at the pain in her eyes. "Please," she whispered, and he reached out, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her.

She stood motionless in the circle of his embrace for a moment, and then he felt her arms go around his waist and her head rest against his shoulder "Can we not talk about it now?"

He wanted to tell her no, that they would talk about it now, and that they would talk about it until it was resolved one way or the other.

But she was finally in his arms and he didn't want to do anything to make her pull away. Not if this might be his last chance to hold her.

He smoothed her hair away from her face, tucking an errant strand behind her ear and looked down at her, hoping the smile on his face didn't look as hollow as it felt.

"Sure luv," he said softly. "We don't have ta talk about it now."

o()o

He smelled like smoke and soap and the subtly spicy cologne he favored. The scent was cool, heady, and distinctly Murphy.

If Danae closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that he was whole and healthy, and not the bloody mess he actually was. Danae had spent a lot of time in the emergency room and she had seen some corpses that looked better than he did at the moment.

The idea sent a chill skittering up her spine and she felt Murphy stir, ducking his head to look down at her.

"Danae?"

Before she could stop them, the words were tumbling out in a rush of impassioned babble.

"When will it be enough? You've been assaulted, beaten into a bloody pulp, shot, what's it going to take before you stop?"

She shut her eyes tightly againt the tears welling there and sucked in a deep breath, attempting to regain some of her composure. But the effort was futile at best, the floodgates had been opened and there was no stopping now.

"I can't help but wonder if you're going to end up dead before you ever reach that point, and I can't sit around waiting for that to happen. I can't watch you die."

"Hey," Murphy's voice was gentle, and when she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see him grinning down at her, eyes sparkling.

"What?"

"Is that what this whole thing has been about?" he asked, releasing her long enough to take her hand, running his thumb gently over her knuckles, "a split lip and a couple of bruises?"

"A split . . ?" she gaped at him incredulously, "Murphy, have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"It's healing up just fine." He shrugged, wincing, "As far as beatings go, it's a wee bit worse than Connor usually gives. There was this one time in gradeschool though . . . "

"Connor did this to you? Our Connor?"

"Aye," a new voice came from the door and Danae and Murphy turned as one to see Connor leaning against the doorway, his face grim. "I did."

"That's insane." Danae wasn't sure which brother to glare at first, "He's the reason you look like you've been hit by a big rig?"

"It's kind of a long story." Murphy said.

"No, it isn't," Connor interjected. "When Mai . . . when the Street Priests followed us home that night, I took things far too far." He grimaced, scuffing designs into the dirt with his boots, "ad nauseam."

"The news," Danae suddenly felt sick. She'd been following the gruesome stories, hoping that whoever had been responsible for such cruelty was caught and brought to justice.

In the back of her mind, she had almost hoped that the Saints would find the media-dubbed 'Saddist' and put a stop to his barbarism, for good.

Score one point for irony.

Looking from one beaten brother to the other, Danae felt the queasy stirring in the pit of her stomach increase, words from the newscasts surfacing in her mind.

Sadistic. Ruthless. Brutal. Heartless. Inhuman. None of these words seemed to describe the Connor she knew so well. A single glance at Murphy, however, was unadulterated testimony as to how wrong she was. What kind of man would that to his own brother?

Connor swallowed and nodded. "I wasn't thinking very clearly. I guess you could say that Murph brought me to my senses."

"With his fists," she stated flatly, realization making her chest clench. Suddenly Murphy's embrace was much less comforting and much more disquieting. "You did this to each other?"

"What's a brother for if not beatin' the shite out o' ye when ye need it?" Murphy's tone was light, but Danae could feel the sudden tension vibrating through his body, and wondered if he really thought he was fooling anyone.

"Aye," Connor said, still staring at the toe of his boot.

"We're healing up just fine," Murphy tried again, "probably gotten worse in a few bar scuffles. Aye, Conn?"

Connor glanced up sharply, gazing over Danae's head, and she knew, without looking, that there was a silent conversation happening between the brothers.

One that had nothing to do with bar scuffles.

An awkward silence fell over the patio, full implication and unsaid words. Feeling like an interloper, she moved to pull away, but Murphy's arms tightened around her.

"No need for that," he murmured to her, still holding Connor's gaze.

After a moment, Connor looked away, ending the wordless exchange with a slight nod. "Aye," he said softly, more to himself than anyone.

"Ye know what we need ta do?" Murphy asked suddenly.

"What's that?" Connor said, still lost in whatever thoughts had taken hold of him.

"We need ta get out and fuckin' relax a bit."

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Danae said, at the same time Connor began to protest.

"Shut it, the both o' ye," Murphy interjected firmly, holding up a hand to stop their objections. "What we need right now is ta be together and be a family. We're fallin' apart here and I'm not just going ta fuckin' sit back and let that happen."

Danae looked up at him, then over to Connor as the lighter haired man muttered something about being the younger twin, a tiny smile quirking his lips.

Rolling his eyes skyward at the comment, Murphy offered them both an imploring smile, "C'mon, it's well past the time for somethin' other than bloodshed."

After a moment, Connor blew out a deep breath and nodded, "Ye're right, I'm going fuckin' loopers in this apartment."

Murphy's grin widened, his eyes alight, "What do ye say, Danae," he said, "join us for a drink?"

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