September 2009 - Crossmaglen, Northern Ireland

Dessie blindly felt around the nightstand for his phone. When he found it, he pressed the home button, only to be half-blinded by the light. Seeing that it was barely passed two o'clock in the morning, he shoved his face back into the pillow.

Surprisingly, that didn't seem to stop the ear-piercing wail coming through the baby monitor.

"You get him," Catherine pleaded.

He felt her sock covered foot dig into his hip.

Dessie groaned into the pillow, "Until my alarm goes off, he's your son."

"I've been up with him every night for the last three weeks."

"I've been workin' thirteen-hour shifts for the last month and I start another one in five hours."

Realizing this was a contest she wasn't going to win, Catherine abruptly conceded. Throwing the duvet off her body, she shivered once the cool air hit her toasty skin. Grumbling choice words under her breath, she left the room to tend to the fussing infant.

Curling his arms under the pillow, Dessie managed to find a comfortable position. He closed his eyes ready to drift off again, though he found it nearly impossible to do when he heard Catherine's soothing voice over the baby monitor.

"No more tears, my sweet Danny. Mamma's got you."

Dessie squeezed his eyes tighter, imagining Catherine holding Danny against her chest as she rubbed his back and tenderly kissed his head. He could hear just how exhausted she was, yet she never broke her benevolent tone.

"Sonofabitch," he muttered.

Tearing the plush comforter off, Dessie jumped out of bed wide-awake. Marching out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen, he made Danny's bottle before heading back up.

Stuck somewhere between utter fatigue and self-reproach, he understood it wasn't fair he'd practically forced the burden of caring for three kids onto her shoulders. He recognized the selfish behavior which destroyed the relationship between him and his daughters was once again rearing its ugly head.

This time around Dessie was older, wiser. Not to mention wholly in love. The love he had for his family would make the sleepless nights and weary days all worth it in the end if that meant keeping Catherine by his side.

He waited outside Danny's bedroom. It wasn't long until she emerged with the cradled baby still fussing in her arms.

"I made a bottle," he said, sheepishly showing it to her.

And then something happened he never could have predicted.

Standing in the hall wearing her baggy, bleach stained joggers, his Sex Pistols t-shirt, with her oily hair tied into a messy bun, Catherine started to cry.

"Thank you," she choked. "Thank you, so much."

He hadn't realized how defeated she was. After how strong she had been while caring for Eamonn and Sean after Darragh died, Dessie failed to stop and remember that hadn't been her choice. He promised her she would never have to fight alone again. And here he was, leaving Catherine out to dry when she needed him most.

Right then and there, Dessie decided he'd take a raincheck on a pint with Connor after work.

"C'mon," he urged. "I'll feed him in bed."

Reaching out, Dessie wiped her damp cheeks dry. She smiled weakly before heading down the hall to their room. He walked in first, setting the bottle down on the nightstand so he could turn on the lamp. Once the room filled with incandescent light, he nearly had a heart attack.

Over Danny's cries, he hadn't heard the faint giggles of two little boys.

"We scared ya!" boasted Eamonn, climbing out from under the blanket.

"Now you've done it!" Not giving them a second more to escape, Dessie wrapped them in his arms as he fell onto the bed.

Catherine's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. She snapped the waistband of Dessie's boxers, irritated that he thought two a.m. would be a good time to rile up Eamonn and Sean.

"Absolutely not!" she scolded. "If your wee arses aren't back in bed in five seconds-"

"We wanna stay with Danny," said Sean from under the blanket.

Tangled in Dessie's arms, Eamonn looked at her with big, begging eyes. "Please, Ma?"

Worn down beyond all belief, Catherine didn't have the vim to fight any more battles. She saw it as win-win; maybe they'd sleep-in.

"Alright, fine. But then it's straight to bed, and there better not be any lip."

Tossing Eamonn down, Dessie settled on his side of the bed before Catherine handed Danny to him. As he fed the baby, Sean curled up against him.

"I thought you said he wouldn't cry," Sean whispered. His small finger traced the blue and black nautical star tattoo on Dessie's shoulder.

Chuckling to himself, Dessie could sense Sean hadn't warmed up to Danny quite yet. "I didn't say he wouldn't cry at all. Think of it this way; when you get hungry or you're feelin' a wee sick, you tell us, yeah? When Danny's hungry or uncomfortable, cryin' is the only way he can tell us something is the matter. Ya just gotta be patient with him, Seany. It won't last forever. He's your wee brother, you've gotta help keep an eye on him just like Eamonn does with you."

Sean's expression softened as he moved his gaze from Dessie to Danny. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of his brother's head. "I'll be the best big brother ever."

When Danny finished his bottle, Dessie glanced over finding Catherine sound asleep with Eamonn in her arms. He could hear Sean's light snoring.

"Looks like we're the last men standin', Danny-boy," he whispered.

Setting the empty bottle on the nightstand, Dessie held Danny against his chest, gently patting his back. He didn't have the slightest clue why he was doing it, but he'd seen Catherine do it so he figured it was important. It had been over twenty years since he was last in charge of a small human, and so far it didn't seem as scary as it had when he was seventeen.

After burping Danny, Dessie looked at the time again on his phone. He groaned, wondering if there was any point in trying to get any more sleep considering his alarm was scheduled to go off in a couple of hours. Deciding drifting back off would more than likely end up doing more harm than good, he was about to exchange the iPhone for the television remote when it started vibrating in his hand.

Dessie's heart hammered against his ribs reading Paddy O sprawled out on the screen. Nothing good came from phone calls at three in the morning. Birth announcements and news of engagements waited until the light of a new day. A hard lesson Dessie quickly learned was that it was always death that came knocking in the stillness of the night.

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Dessie quietly answered the call. "What's the craic, Paddy?"

"It's fuckin' rainin', come let me."

That was all Patrick said before ending their conversation.

Dessie moved slowly as he got up as to not wake Catherine, Eamonn, and Sean. He trekked down the hall to lay Danny back down into his crib before jogging down the stairs to the front door. After turning off the alarm system, he opened the door.

Olivia and Fiona barged in first, leaving Dessie bewildered as they shed their jackets and headed straight into the kitchen to start the kettle for tea.

Patrick stepped inside, took off his flat-cap and simply shook his head pointing in the direction of the women. "They're so rude. Waltzin' in like they goddamn own the place without even a hello to you. Where's Catherine?"

"Sleepin'…it's three in the morn, Paddy. The hell are youse doin' here?"

"Huh - figured she'd be up with the wee one."

Pushing passed Dessie, Patrick took the steps two at a time. When he reached Catherine's bedroom door, he gently opened it to find his daughter and grandsons curled up and out cold. The last thing he wanted to do was wake her up from sleep she undoubtedly needed, but this news couldn't wait a second more.

Crouching beside the bed, Patrick stroked her cheek with his knuckle. "Catherine…Catherine, I need ya to wake up."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing the memory of the last time he woke her up like this out of his mind. She stirred, unwrapped her arms from Eamonn and shoved her face into the pillow. Patrick scrubbed his hand over his face, wishing like hell he didn't have to do this.

"C'mon, baby girl, ya gotta get up. Dessie, your ma, and Fi are downstairs waitin' for us."

She jammed her fist into the cream upholstered headboard beyond irritated no one would let her sleep. Placing his hand between her shoulder blades, Patrick rubbed her back like he had done countless times when she was a child.

Twisting her head to face him, Catherine opened her eyes slowly so they could adjust to the soft light from the lamp on the nightstand.

"Who's dead?" she asked groggily.

"No one. Not yet, anyway."

Taking a deep breath, Catherine hoisted herself up. Patrick moved back to give her space. He helped her tuck the boys in, and he kissed their foreheads before leading her out of the bedroom.

Once downstairs, Catherine was surprised to find Fiona standing in her kitchen stirring milk and sugar into five mugs.

"Ya look like hell," Fiona chuckled with endearment, handing Catherine a mug.

She raised her eyebrows and blew across the top of the mug, taking a sip. She took note of how Fiona's eyes were bloodshot and bloated. "That's motherhood, so it is."

Catherine brought her mug, along with one for Dessie, to the table. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. He thanked her for the tea with a kiss to the temple.

"Someone care to tell me why I've been dragged from bed at this wee hour?"

Olivia, Patrick, and Fiona settled around the table. Uneasiness washed over Catherine to see Olivia's face showed signs of crying, too.

What took Catherine by the most surprise was Fiona reaching out to grab her hand. She gave it a tight squeeze.

"Jimmy called with news from America," she said, choking back a fresh round of tears. "He didn't have much to tell; Eddie Hayes told him there was a car bomb at the SAMCRO clubhouse and Filip was hurt. He's in the ICU…at St. Thomas Hospital with a serious head injury."

Catherine froze. She badly wanted the words spewing from Fiona's mouth to be a lie, though the solemn heaviness told her it was far from. Ripping her hand from Fiona, Catherine dove straight for Patrick. He wrapped her in his arms, nuzzling his nose into her hair as her nails dug into his back.

She couldn't take it anymore. She wanted the bloodshed, the death, all of it to stop.

Hearing Catherine's muffled cries, Dessie dropped his head and wiped the stray tears sliding down his cheeks. He couldn't imagine the utter helplessness she felt with her uncle being hurt and so far from home. The news hit especially hard considering he was still healing from his accident two months ago.

Peeking up, Patrick saw Dessie slowly unraveling. Not because he was empathetic to his wife's melancholy, but because he too felt the void of Chibs' absence in Northern Ireland. It wasn't only Jimmy who helped shape Dessie into the volunteer he is, Chibs also had a hand.

Reaching out, Patrick grabbed Dessie's shoulder. He pulled Dessie, who slightly hesitated before giving in, and wrapped his arms around both Catherine and Patrick. What completely broke Dessie to pieces was feeling Patrick grip the back of his neck. Not in the intimidating, threatening way he'd done when Dessie first started dating Catherine, but in a way that brought warmth and comfort.

"He's gonna be fine, youse hear me?" Patrick croaked. His voice was thick, clearly trying to hold it together, too. "Half a lifetime in Belfast couldn't take him down; a goddamn car bomb across the pond won't either."

Olivia buried her face in her hands, afraid she'd start crying again if she kept watching Patrick try to bring solace to the two. It was difficult for a man like him to show his vulnerable side, but it always managed to come out when needed the most.

When Patrick let go of Dessie and Catherine, they settled back into their shared chair with Catherine wasting no time to light a cigarette.

"I'm headed to Charmin' tomorrow afternoon," Fiona told Catherine. "Youse should come with me. It would brighten Filip's spirits to see you, Dessie. And especially you, Catherine."

Her jaw trembling, Catherine rested her forehead in her hand. She couldn't shake the mental images of her uncle lying in a hospital bed without them. But jumping on a trans-Atlantic flight just didn't seem feasible.

"We - we can't go. Not with Danny home now, and the boys…"

"Since your ma doesn't like to fly, she's gonna stay here. She and I will watch the boys if youse wanna go for a week."

Dessie shook his head, taking a drag from Catherine's cigarette. "I'll stay back with 'em. Catherine you should go."

"No!" she shrieked, spinning around to face Dessie. "I won't go without you!"

Patrick's heart sank when he realized this wasn't Dessie just trying to be difficult. Sending Catherine to the United States without him when she'd surely be spending copious amounts of time with Jimmy wasn't something he would voluntarily do.

The cigarette still clamped between his fingers, Dessie grabbed Catherine's head and placed his forehead against hers. "You've no idea how badly I wanna go with ya, Cate, but I bloody can't. God-forbid anyone finds out I've left the country, my license'll defo be revoked and I'll spend the next thirty years in prison. It's too big of a risk for us to take right now; the peelers are still up me arse for the pipe bomb goin' off, you know that."

Catherine slapped her fists onto his chest. "But Jimmy-"

"You don't need to worry about him," Fiona interrupted. "If he's really there for business, he won't be around much durin' the day. And I don't think he'd try anything with me and the lads there. If you keep your distance, I'll make sure he keeps his."

While Fiona made the offer sound far more tempting, Catherine still couldn't bring herself to leave despite wanting to see Chibs so desperately.

"I can't go. I really can't leave Danny so soon."

Patrick and Dessie glanced at one another, with Patrick raising his eyebrows. He asked Dessie, "Are you gonna tell her, or am I?"

"Tell me what?" Catherine's eyes ping-ponged between her father and husband.

Exhaling sharply, Dessie stubbed the cigarette out. He drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, wondering the best way to delicately go about this given the circumstances. Turning to Olivia and Fiona, he didn't feel good about having to ask them for a moment alone.

When the women left the kitchen, Catherine slid into one of the newly occupied chairs. "Okay, what in the bloody hell is goin' on?"

"One of the ex-pats McKeavy used to meet with for help movin' hardware reached out to me about a week ago thinkin' I'm still part of Jimmy's crew," Dessie began. "The long and short of it is: the AK's we sold the True army may not be goin' to SAMCRO like Jimmy made us believe they are."

Catherine left Dessie and Patrick wildly confused when she got up from the table. It made sense when she grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and three glasses. Sitting back down, she poured them each a healthy amount of booze. After tossing it back, Catherine poured herself another.

"So, Filip gettin' blown half-to-hell happened at the best possible time for you then, huh? Youse don't want me to go just to see Filip - ya want me to check up on Eddie Hayes and his da."

Dessie nodded. "I know it's a shite thing to ask of ya given what's happened, Catherine, but-"

"No, I get it. With ATF sniffin' around 'em, we can't have our guns just floatin' around. If they get into the wrong hands it could be disastrous."

"Just keep a close eye on Cammy and Eddie," instructed Patrick. "If you notice somethin' seems off, let us know. We won't hesitate to pull our hardware because we don't need this shite."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," she mumbled into her glass. "So I'm leavin' tomorrow afternoon then?"

Patrick polished off his whiskey. "Aye. We don't want you there for any more than a week. If Fi ends up stayin' longer, we'll get your arse on a flight outta there."

She snorted, "I've been flagged by Interpol, Da. I can't just get on an Aer Lingus flight, can I? Once immigration takes my fingerprints in customs, they'll arrest me and put my arse on the next plane out."

"Such wee faith ya have in your old man, Catherine Mary," Patrick snickered. "As much as I hate the bastard, Jimmy and I both agreed you and Fi flyin' commercial is outta the question. He's currently negotiating a price with a group of German smugglers who are headed to Nevada. They're former Luftwaffe, I guess. They'll be under the radars; no immigration or feds to worry about. Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"

"Meine Sprache," she said, tapping her lips, "international."