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Authors Note: Love and cookies to everybody that's read and reviewed so far.
You guys are the absolute best!
Nifty fact for the day: 'be wide' means be careful. (Be dog wide' means be extra careful)
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Something hurts.
Danae opened her eyes slowly and corrected that thought; everything hurt. She still was sprawled out on the asphalt of the hospital parking lot, the entire left side of her face throbbing.
Gingerly touching her temple, she was only mildly surprised when she drew away reddened fingertips. Pistol-whipped she thought disjointedly, isn't that what they call it on TV? I've just been pistol-whipped.
Slowly, each movement sending another stab of agony through her head, she sat, and then rose laboriously to her feet, using the nearby cars for support. The parking lot was empty except for her, and Danae sighed with relief seeing that her clothing was all still intact and, safe for a splitting headache, she seemed otherwise whole.
One foot in front of the other, she told herself, pushing open one of the more remote doors into the building. Keep moving. Carefully, she navigated the back hallways of the hospital, avoiding the staff that was bustling around; somehow, it didn't seem wise to let them know what had just happened.
What seemed like an eternity later, she was standing outside of Connor's hospital room. Tapping on the doorframe, she wondered at the idiocy of knocking on an open door with a bleeding head wound. Etiquette had to have a limit sometime, didn't it?
Both brothers looked up at the same time and she was met with identical, startled, blue stares.
"Danae?" Connor's eyes were impossibly wide.
"Oh my God." Murphy uttered, rising to his feet, nearly knocking the chair over as he did.
"I think," she said, wincing and raising a hand to her throbbing head, "That now more than ever, you owe me the truth."
Murphy was next to her in an instant, "What the fuck happened?" he said, moving her hair away and inspecting her bloodied scalp. "Fuck, yer still bleedin'."
"Somebody hit me over the head in the parking lot as I was leaving. I don't know even how long I've been out."
"Sit down, Danae," Connor said as Murphy moved away from her. She could hear water running in the bathroom, "Let us have a look at ye."
She obeyed, sinking gratefully into the plastic hospital chair. Murphy emerged from the bathroom and knelt in front of her, wielding a damp washcloth. Carefully, he daubed at the half-dried blood that had crusted on her face.
"Christ," he murmured, "They cracked ye a good one."
Danae nodded, flinching in spite of his gentle touch, "It feels like it."
"Who did this to ye?"
She hissed in a breath as Murphy touched a particularly tender spot and turned her attention to his brother's question. "I didn't get a good look at him, he grabbed me, hit me, and the next thing I know, I'm coming-to on the pavement."
"That's all ye remember?"
"He said something to me just before he hit me, Los mentirosos no viven de largo."
Murphy looked up at her sharply, and then met his brother's eyes over her head. "Are ye sure that's what he said?"
"Pretty sure." She said replaying the words in her mind, "What does it mean?"
Connor scrubbed a hand over his face. "I don't know."
He's lying.
Danae had no real reason to think so and no way to prove it, but suddenly she was certain of the fact. Connor knew exactly what it meant, and she had a feeling that Murphy did as well.
Narrowing her eyes at both brothers, she pushed Murphy's hands away, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly.
"You guys can't just keep me in the dark here, letting me wander around clueless until the next guy comes along and decides to clobber me over the head with a gun. I need to know what's going on."
What followed had to be the longest silence in history. Frowning, Danae watched as the MacManus brothers had a complete conversation without ever saying a word. The tilt of one's head: a silent question, a slight shift and furrow of the other's brow: the answer. They never broke eye contact and she could almost see a line running across the room, connecting their minds.
Finally, the discussion ended with Connor looking away and Murphy glancing down at the floor, nodding slightly.
"Danae, what do ye know about the Saints?" Connor asked softly.
"Only what I read in the newspaper. A couple of vigilantes," she missed Murphy's wince at the word, "taking out criminals in the South Boston area early last year. There were rumors going around for a while that they were brothers and . . ."
Danae stopped, closing her eyes as realization crashed over her like a tidal wave. "You." She said, "You're the Saints. Of course you are, I should have known."
"Aye, we're the Saints." Connor said, watching her carefully.
"We were bustin' up a drug deal when Connor got shot." Murphy added, "We think the men involved might be lookin' to settle the score."
"Those guys from last night," she said weakly. Oh how it all made sense now, somewhere in between the budding migraine and the sudden feeling that she'd just stepped into the 'Twilight Zone', Danae managed to feel stupid.
"Danae," Murphy began beseechingly, but she shook her head cutting him off.
"No, just let me get my mind around this for a minute. It's not everyday I find out that the two sweetest guys on the planet are actually cold-blooded killers."
"We're still the men ye know." Connor said, reaching out to his stricken brother. Murphy looked as though each of Danae's words had been a physical blow. "We still joke and laugh and drink that damn vile coffee ye make."
"What we do doesn't change who we are. Before we're Saints, we're Connor and Murphy MacManus." Murphy said quietly.
"I know, I know, this is just a lot to absorb at once."
"It is, for certain. The question is what are ye going to do now that ye know?" Connor worked to keep his voice steady. All it would take would be for Danae to panic and call the cops . . . he didn't want to think about the mountain of shit that would bring down on their heads.
Danae smoothed her hair, wincing as her hand slid over the spreading bruise at her temple "How did they know you were here?"
"We don't know. Maybe someone saw us and talked."
"Or maybe they were checkin' all the hospitals ta see if they could find Connor."
"And you can't stay here now." she said, slowly, as if processing what she was being told.
"No," Murphy said, "It's not safe here anymore."
"Do you have someplace to go?"
"Not yet. We'll get a motel room somewhere and lie low until this thing blows over."
She raised her eyebrows at Connor "And you're okay to travel?"
He smiled at her, "I'll have to be."
Danae was silent for several moments, staring at her hands, biting her bottom lip thoughtfully. When she spoke again, it was so softly that Connor barely heard her words. "You'll have to share a room."
Murphy frowned "What?"
"I said, you'll have to share a room, my place only has two bedrooms, but it's out of the way, and safer than a motel."
Met only with bewildered silence and disbelieving stares, Danae sighed, "Listen, you have to assume that if these guys are smart enough to check the hospitals, the next thing they'll check are the local motels. Nobody would expect you to be staying with me."
The brothers exchanged a glance. She was right, but involving her in something like this?
"No." Murphy said tersely, "It's too much of a risk."
"I'm not abandoning you now." Danae's calm was forced, but Connor admired it all the same, the girl had mettle, there was no doubt about it.
"No." his brother repeated stubbornly
"Murph," Connor began, but Murphy rounded on him angrily, eyes blazing.
"I fuckin' said no! Period!" he yelled, pushing past his twin and storming out of the room.
Connor sighed at the slamming door and reached for his crutches. "I'm going ta go talk to him," he said to Danae, "stay here, all right?"
He had to hurry to catch up to his twin, his wounded side protesting the exertion. "Murph!"
Murphy didn't stop, "Leave me the fuck alone, Connor."
Stretching out his hand, Connor grabbed his brother's shoulder, spinning him so they were face to face. Blue eyes met blue eyes; both pairs snapping with anger as Connor finally lost his temper.
"What the fuck is the matter with you?" he yelled into Murphy's face, "Get a fuckin' hold o' yerself, man!"
Murphy slapped his hand away, "Fuck you! She's already been hurt because of us. If we get her involved she's goin' ta get fuckin' killed. It'll be just like . . ." he broke off, going pale, and Connor closed his eyes in understanding.
"Just like Rocco." He completed his brother's thought softly, and Murphy nodded, the ire fading from his face.
"We let him in and it got him killed. I can't," he stopped, swallowing "I can't fuckin' have her blood on my hands too"
"Roc knew what he was getting' inta when he joined us, Murph. Listen now, this is a good idea, and you know it. They can't connect us to Danae and they won't be able ta find us."
His twin scowled, "I don't like it. You heard what that man told her, Los mentirosos no viven de largo. Liars don't live long. She was a fuckin' warning to us, Connor. What if the next time the decide to send us one o' her fingers instead?"
"Then its better that we stay near her, innit? Murphy, ye know we won't do this if ye don't want ta, just roll it around a little, all right?"
"No." Murphy said doggedly, shaking his head. "Good idea or not, Conn, I'm not getting her inta this. We stick with the original plan; get a motel room and lie low."
"Fine." Connor said, incensed "Well get the fuckin' room and . . ." his words trailed away as two men rounded the corner at the end of the hall, guns drawn.
"Oh fuck." Murphy whispered.
The twins exchanged a glance, "Get Danae, and go." Murphy said, "I'll meet up with ye at the hotel we were talkin' about earlier.
"Be wide, Murph." Connor said, "Don't go playin' the hero now."
"I won't. You be careful as well."
Connor moved as quickly as he could back down the hall toward his room. "Danae!"
Her head snapped up at the tone of his voice. "What's wrong?"
"We have ta get out o' here, right now."
"It's them, isn't it?" She said grimly, rising to her feet. "They've found you."
"Aye." Said Connor, as he grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it, leaning on his crutches awkwardly.
"Where's Murphy?"
"He'll meet up with us. Come on, now, let's go."
They were halfway down the hallway when they heard the first loud crash, followed by a not-too-distant scream. Danae jumped at the sound, turning wide, alarmed eyes toward the noise.
Connor tugged on her hand as another crash resounded through the corridor. "Shit, they're kickin' down doors, lookin' for us. We have ta keep moving."
Sucking in a deep breath, Danae nodded. "We'll go out through the morgue."
Moving as quickly and noiselessly as possible, Danae directed them though the seemingly endless network of hospital hallways until they came upon a door that looked better suited to a meat locker than a place of healing. Danae punched a succession of buttons on the lock and pulled the door open gesturing Connor inside.
He expected the morgue to be expansive and sterile like they were on TV, this place was anything but. Tiled in a nauseating shade of green, the room was little more than a closet with a chrome table in the middle of it. Connor was fine with that.
What he wasn't fine with, however, was the corpse on the chrome table, covered with a sheet, and the overpowering reek of formaldehyde.
"Holy fuck," He muttered, his step faltering.
Danae offered him a steadying arm, "Come on, we're almost there." Slipping through a final door at the end of the room, she led him out into the daylight.
"Where do we go now?" she asked, squinting against the sun.
"This way," Connor indicated the direction with a jerk of his head, and gave her a wan smile. "Ye did good, Danae."
She made a noise that was part sigh of relief and part-bewildered laugh. "Thanks."
"Come on, Murphy's probably worn a hole through the floor by now, waiting on us."
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