o(2)o
Murphy awoke to the sun streaming in the hospital window, a painful spasm in his back and the sound of his brother's breathing. He had fallen asleep, holding Connor's hand.
Again.
It had been four days since the night he had almost lost his brother and Connor was slowly, slowly beginning to heal. They had taken him off the ventilator yesterday and Murphy had wept, unabashedly, certain that he had never been prouder of his twin as Connor had taken those first struggling breaths on his own. He had spent the rest of day holding his brother's hand, speaking words of encouragement in every language they knew.
Now, wincing and stretching Murphy stood, "'Morning Assface." He said to the inert form in the bed. "You should open yer eyes; it's a beautiful day out."
He moved around the room, stretching the stiff muscles of his back, and tidying up. Murphy kept the hospital room impeccably neat, not out of any desire for cleanliness, but because it was something to do. It provided a much needed channel for the stress that often threatened to overtake him, swelling until he was sure that he would simply explode from the force of it.
Glancing at Connor's bedside table, he saw a cup of coffee, a newspaper, and a doughnut wrapped in wax paper, all indications that Danae had been by.
Murphy had only seen her a handful to times since the night they had met, but he knew she stopped by often, always leaving some sign that she had paid a visit; usually a cup of coffee, or a magazine. But there had been a couple of times when he had fallen asleep at his brother's side and had woken up that morning wrapped in a blanket.
On the occasions he was awake to greet her, she would scrounge up a deck of cards and they would play various games until either she was called back to work, or he dozed off, usually the latter.
Smiling, Murphy took the Styrofoam cup, bracing himself for the bitter burn the liquid imparted, and took a drink. He was surprised to find that, while still unbelievably vile, it was mostly hot.
He must have just missed her then.
Taking another swallow of the coffee, he reached out and squeezed his brother's hand, feeling the reassuring presence of Connor's pulse under his thumb.
"I'm going out for a smoke, don't do anything too reckless before I . . ." He stopped as His brother's hand tightened around his own. Connor's eyelids fluttered and Murphy's heart missed a beat. For a moment he was shocked into stillness, completely gobsmacked, then his brain got an adrenaline charged kick-start.
"Open your eyes, Connor." He said, "Listen ta me, now, and open yer eyes. Listen ta Murphy, Connor, and open yer fuckin' eyes. Open. Yer. Eyes. Connor. "
Connor's eyes slit then opened, revealing blue orbs that were unfocused and unaware. He looked at Murphy for a moment, then heaved a breath, eyes again slipping closed, falling back into the abyss of sleep reserved only for the grievously injured and ill.
"Stay with me." Murphy reached out to his brother, cupping Connor's cheek in his hand. "Connor, stay with me, now. Open yer eyes and look at me."
After several moments, Murphy realized that his brother couldn't be roused. Swiping impatiently at the tears that were forming, he took Connor's pale hand in between both of his own and began to pray.
He was still praying when Danae came to visit that night.
"Murphy?" she lingered just outside the doorway, waiting to be invited in, as she always did when he was awake.
He looked up briefly, nodding for her to enter and then turning his attention back to his brother.
"What happened?"
"Connor woke up this morning. It wasn't . . ." he stopped swallowing "It was only for a minute, but he fuckin' opened his eyes and looked at me."
"You've been here since?"
He nodded.
"Have you eaten?"
"No, I didn't even think about it. Christ, I haven't even taken a piss. What time is it?"
"A little after midnight,"
"No wonder my back teeth are floatin'." He stood up slowly, groaning as his body protested the movement after such a long stretch of stillness. His knees and back were stiff and sore, he felt old. "Ow, fuck."
"Are you okay?"
"Aye, just a little stiff."
"Why don't you take a walk and get something to eat? You'll feel better for it."
"No . . ." Murphy hesitated, looking down at his twin. Fuck, he didn't want to leave Connor alone, but a walk in the cool night air sounded so good, and his fingers were itching for a cigarette.
"I'll stay with him until you get back." She cocked her head and smiled "Go on, you'll be glad you did."
Slowly, he relinquished his brother's hand, hesitant to give up the feel of Connor's pulse underneath his thumb. Danae took his place at the bedside. Her hand, smaller and darker than his, broke the twins' contact, but instead of holding Connor's hand, she was clasping his.
"I'll take good care of him, I promise." She said, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze, and Murphy noticed how warm her hands were.
"I'll be back in an hour."
She nodded, letting go of his hand and turning her attention to his brother.
o()o
Murphy burst through the double doors of the hospital, shivering as the first gust of cold wind hit him. Reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette, he turned his back to the wind to light it. Inhaling, he made a sound of satisfaction deep in his throat. He had to be smoking the best fucking cigarette ever created.
Although, he supposed, the fact that he hadn't had one in 16 hours had something to do with that.
It was a clear night, white stars sparkling coldly against the darkened sky, and the air was chilly. It surrounded him and soothed him as he started walking.
Danae had been right; it felt good to be out of the stuffy hospital room and away from the endless array of machines, nurses, and doctors. Now, the only question was where did he want to go? Buttoning his coat, Murphy took another deep drag off his cigarette and looked to his right. It seemed as good a direction to go as any other.
It was strange to be out without Connor. His left side felt exposed and his stride seemed off without his brother's footsteps to judge by. He had no one to talk to, no one to reach out and pat or push affectionately, and most importantly, no one to share the happenings of day with. It was like a part of himself was missing, and in a way, Murphy supposed it was.
He came upon a pub, and while a pint sounded pretty fuckin' good, it didn't seem right to drink without his brother. Once you wake up, Connor, he promised silently, passing the building, I am going to take you out, and get you so fuckin' buckled that you won't be able to see straight.
He wandered past a church, reminding him that tomorrow was Sunday, and he wondered if Danae would watch over Connor so he could slip away for a couple of hours and attend mass. He had done more praying these last few days than he had in his entire life, but Murphy felt that somehow being in church would be better, that lighting a votive for Connor would get his words a little closer to God's ears.
Finally, he stopped in front of an all-night diner. It was a little hole in the wall place, with hand lettered signs declaring the day's specials and even the sign seemed vaguely greasy. The smell of cooking food permeated the air and Murphy's stomach growled, protesting the day's fast. "Food it is then." He said to nobody in particular and pushed the door open.
When the waitress sat the plate in down front of him, Murphy grinned. A hamburger with everything, so greasy that the bun was soggy, french-fries slathered in ketchup and a Pepsi, this was definitely better than hospital food or some random sandwich from a vending machine.
Chalk up another point for Danae.
Picking up the pepper and shaking it vigorously over his fries, he smiled, thinking about his twin. Connor was a french-fry purist, liking just a little salt and nothing else on his chips. Murphy, on the other hand, loved anything and everything on his fries, ketchup, mustard, honey, his chocolate milkshake, anything. It was like that with any meal, Connor liked his food simple and basic, while Murphy crammed together as many flavors as he could possibly manage.
He could almost hear his brother's amiable complaints as he ate. Christ, Murph, I can't believe yer fuckin' eating that! What a disgustin' waste of good fries.
But Connor wasn't there; he was in lying in a hospital bed, comatose, maybe forever. The thought struck like lightning, stealing Murphy's good mood and his appetite. Suddenly he was achingly lonely for his twin, desperate to feel Connor's pulse beneath his thumb, to reassure himself that his brother was still alive and getting well. He hastily left his half-eaten meal at the table, paid the waitress and left, walking briskly back to the hospital.
o()o
Although he would never admit it, it took Murphy a moment to recognize Danae when she walked into Connor's room Sunday morning.
And although he would never admit it, he thought she was much prettier this way. Her normal work outfit of slacks and a sweater had been replaced with curve-hugging jeans and a well-worn hooded sweatshirt. Her glasses were missing and her hair, normally pulled back and secured with a pencil, was down, framing her face.
She raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking, and Murphy realized that he was staring. Quickly he looked away, clearing his throat.
"Thank ye for doing this," he said, "especially since its yer day off and all."
Producing a doughnut from the sack she was holding, Danae took a bite and offered him the bag, "No problem."
"Christ, woman," he said opening the paper sack and seeing two more doughnuts inside "if ye keep this up I'm going ta be too fat ta kneel at the altar."
"I doubt that." She said, pulling a chair to Connor's bedside and taking his hand, "You know, you don't clean up half bad."
Slipping his rosary around his neck and dropping the crucifix into his shirt, Murphy grinned at her, "I was just thinkin' the same thing about ye."
"You just can't go wrong with comfortable weekend-wear."
He gave her an openly appraising look, grinning when she blushed. "I guess not."
Danae chuckled softly, her cheeks still red, "You should get going; you're going to be late."
"Aye." Murphy smoothed his shirt, brushed a chaste kiss against his brother's forehead, and on a sudden impulse, planted one on Danae's cheek before walking out.
He didn't see the astonished look on Danae's face or the way she raised a hand to the cheek he had kissed, smiling into her palm.
o()o
When Murphy sat with Connor, he talked. He told stories and nattered about childhood memories. He prayed and whispered words of encouragement in an array of languages.
When Danae watched over Connor, she hummed.
Murphy had noticed it first upon returning from Mass and had caught her a few times since, lingering outside the door to his brother's room. She never sang, never spoke to Connor except to tell him hello or goodbye, but she hummed a remarkable variety of songs from classical to heavy metal, gently tapping Connor's hand to the beat as she did.
He liked listening to her, and was mildly disappointed that she would stop whenever he walked into the room. Today was no different.
"Ye don't have ta quit on my account, ye know."
Danae looked at him, guilty at being caught. "Sorry."
"Don't be. I'm sure he 'ppreciates it. It's probably a nice change from listenin' ta me all the time."
"Yeah, right." She turned her eyes towards Connor's limp hand and tilted her head. "Veritas." She said softly.
Murphy looked at her, surprised at her accent. She pronounced the word whair-ee-tahs, like it was in old Latin. Not many people did that. "Aye." He said.
"What does it mean?"
"It means truth."
She nodded and turned to him "And yours?"
He held his hand up for her to see. "Aequitas. It means justice."
"Good to know." Danae murmured, staring down at her hands. Her expression was distant and a little sad, an unexpected switch from her normal good humor.
Murphy frowned at the top of her head, unnerved by her sudden change in mood. "What about you," he asked, "any tattoos?"
She blinked, shaking herself from whatever long thoughts she had been thinking, and Murphy was pleased to see her wry smile return.
"None that I can show in public.
o()o