o()o
Author's Note: Special thanks to Aranatta for the help with this chapter. You're my hero!.
Nifty fact for the day: Arra is a word that's used after something bad has happened. A little more Irish slang for all of you out there in PCLand.
o(9)o
Murphy paced the motel room impatiently, where the fuck were they? He had escaped the hospital easily, and had been waiting for his brother to arrive for nearly half an hour.
"Murph!" Right on cue, Connor's voice rang out cautiously from outside, just loud enough to be heard. Murphy strode to the door, yanking it open to reveal his twin and a frightened looking Danae.
"Where the fuck have ye two been?" he snapped. "I've been fuckin' worryin' myself to death over ye!"
Despite his sharp words, Murphy was more relieved than irritated. Chuckling, Connor picked up on his twin's feelings, as he so often did, and patted him on the shoulder, hobbling into the room.
"We had ta take the long route out. Those bastards were fuckin' kickin' down doors lookin' for us."
"Christ." Murphy shook his head, bringing his thumb to his mouth, worrying the nail between his teeth.
Connor nodded, "We had ta go through the fuckin' morgue," he said as if that were somehow the worst part of the ordeal.
Murphy made a face at his brother but remained silent.
Did ye have any trouble gettin' away?" asked Connor as he eased himself into a battered, not-quite-clean-looking, recliner. "Ow, fuck."
Murphy shook his head, "No, I went the opposite direction; I don't think they even saw me."
He chanced a look at Danae and saw her sitting on one of the twin beds, ankles crossed, staring at the carpet. Walking over to her, he put a warm hand on her knee, "Are ye all right there, luv?"
She met his eyes and offered him an unsteady smile. "No . . . Yes . . . I don't know. I feel like I should be crying or screaming or doing something else exceedingly dramatic."
"How's yer head?" he asked, gently touching the ugly blackening welt that was continuing to spread across the side of her face.
Danae winced but didn't pull back from his questioning fingers, "In about as good a shape as my nerves."
"We'll get ye some ice to put on that bruise in a minute, looks like yer bleedin' a little again too."
Still looking shaken, she nodded, returning her gaze back to the stained carpeting.
"Ye know what we need, man?" Connor said, and Murphy looked at him, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow,
"What's that?"
"Chinese food and beer."
"Amen to that." Murphy chuckled, "What do ye say, Danae, are ye up for some take-away?"
She nodded again, distractedly, "Sure, whatever you guys want."
o()o
Halfway through the meal, the shock of the day wore off and Danae's mind sprang back to life with surprising vengeance.
Connor and Murphy were chatting and joking, gesturing animatedly with their chopsticks as they ate, and throwing bits of food across the table and into one another's take-out container. Between the two of them, they had put away two six-packs of cheap beer and were starting on their third, as well as a bottle of whiskey.
Danae had been watching them quietly, a makeshift ice pack held to the side of her face, toying with her own food. But now, she sat her chopsticks down and looked at them both. "I can't believe this." She said.
"What?" Connor turned to look at her and Murphy stopped mid-swallow setting the bottle of whiskey back on the table.
"I can't believe this." She repeated, agitated, "What the hell happened here today? One minute it's paperwork and coffee like usual, and the next minute it's guys with guns! In the space of a few hours I've been threatened in a language I don't even speak, hit over the head with a gun, made a mad escape from my job, and now I'm sitting in a dingy motel room with the infamous Saints of South Boston, eating Chinese."
Receiving only a stunned silence, she threw up her hands "Am I the only one that finds this completely insane?"
"It's been a long day hadn't it?" Connor said sympathetically as he fought a smile, and Danae noticed a matching expression on Murphy's face. They were laughing at her.
All of the stress of the day at last reached a breaking point, and she surrendered to it the best way she knew how.
She laughed too.
Danae laughed until there were tears streaming down her cheeks and she could barely breathe. Every time she tried to stop, she would look at one of the twins and fresh gales of laughter would burst through her like sunlight. She couldn't remember what had been so funny to begin with, but it didn't matter anyway.
Finally, she leaned back in the chair, her giggles tapering off, drawing in a deep breath, and blowing it out.
"Feel better, do ye?" Murphy asked, grinning and popping the top of another beer.
"You know, I really do."
Connor offered her the bottle of whiskey and Danae accepted it tentatively, turning it over in her hands and examining the amber liquid inside. In her mind, she heard the screech of twisting metal and the almost musical jangle of shattered glass. Never again.
"It works better if ye drink it." Connor said, and in a moment of defiance toward her memories, she took a deep swallow, then another, coughing as the liquor burned its way down.
Murphy chuckled, pounding her on the back as she spluttered. "Looks like our Danae here's a lightweight." he said, taking a long pull from the bottle before passing it back to his brother.
"I never drink." She confirmed, gasping, "This is the first time since the accident."
"Accident?" Murphy frowned at her, tilting his head quizzically.
The whisky had warmed her and provided a pleasantly fuzzy sensation that spread throughout her body. Go directly to tipsy, she thought amused, Do not pass Go and do not collect $200.
"Yup, I was eighteen, I got drunk, and I drove and I wrapped my car around a light post doing fifty."
"Jesus." Connor breathed.
"I fractured my leg in four places, cracked six ribs, broke three fingers, dislocated my shoulder, and had a concussion. I still have pins in my leg, holding it all together. I was very lucky to come out of it alive."
She shrugged, picking up her chopsticks. "And that's my big secret. Not quite as impressive as yours, but it'll have to do."
"I'd say that's pretty fuckin' impressive." Murphy said, lobbing something green and slimy looking into Connor's take-out carton. "Ye've broken more bones in one sitting than Connor and I both have in our entire lives."
Connor plucked the green substance out of his box and eyed it critically. "What the fuck is this?"
"Bok Choy," Murphy said, his mouth full, "Try it, you'll like it."
"Looks like fuckin' snot to me." said Connor suspiciously.
"It does not!" Murphy took a swipe at his twin, "Now shut it and fuckin' try a bite."
"Yes Mother." Connor laughed, dodging his brother's hand, "Hey, this isn't bad."
"I fuckin' told ye, didn't I?" Murphy looked at the clock and grinned, "Hand us that changer, would ye Danae?"
"What the fuck are ye doin'?" Connor asked, leaning over to pick another chunk of Bok Choy out of his brother's take-out container.
"COPS is on." Murphy took the TV remote control and flashed Danae a charismatic grin, "Thanks, luv."
Connor rolled his eyes at his twin, "For Christ's fuckin' sake, Murph. Are ye really goin' ta make us watch that tripe?"
"What?" Murphy was the picture of innocence, "It's a good program."
"It's fuckin' white trash in trouble, is what it is. Turn it ta that oldies channel, maybe MacGyver is on."
"You and yer fuckin' McGyver." Murphy scoffed, turning on the television and flipping idly through the channels.
"At least McGyver keeps his all clothes on," retorted Connor, "Then again; maybe that's why ye like watchin' COPS so much, all those men runnin' around wearin' no shirts."
"Ye fuckin' eejit," Murphy pitched the remote, his aim as uncannily accurate as it was with a gun, and struck Connor squarely in the face.
There was the clatter of plastic, a split-second of surprised silence, and then the brothers erupted into motion, hands grappling and swatting.
They insulted each other in an array of languages, Connor mostly in Italian, Murphy preferring their native Gaelic. Danae didn't have a clue what they were saying to one another, but it was easy enough to guess.
In a matter of moments, they were a tangle of limbs on the floor, Connor with a leg on either side of his twin, his knees pinning his Murphy's shoulders down. Murphy kicked and twisted, managing to wriggle out from under his brother. Then, wrapping an arm around Connor's chest, he flipped his twin onto the floor, reversing their positions. The battle was on, and it raged with playful ferociousness, peppered with words that Danae made a note to remember for later use.
When at last the scuffle subsided, they were lying side-by-side, laughing and breathless, Murphy's arm slung over his twin's torso and Connor's head resting on Murphy's shoulder.
Connor pressed a hand into his side, still chuckling. "Ow."
"Are ye all right?"
"I am, aye." Connor propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at where Murphy lay comfortably, hands now behind his head. "C'mon and help me up, I fuckin' need a smoke after all that."
Danae watched as Murphy slid an arm around Connor's waist, lugging the lighter-haired man to his feet. Connor balanced himself carefully, using his twin for support and reached for his crutches.
"Steady on?" Murphy asked, watching his brother adjust the crutches, wobbling slightly as he did.
"Aye."
"Good. Are ye goin' ta join us, Danae?"
She shook her head, giving Murphy a diminutive smile. "I'm okay here, thanks."
o()o
A rush of cold wind made Connor shiver as he and Murphy stepped out of the motel room. He started to reach for a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, but his brother already had two lit and was offering him one, a ritual they had both repeated so often it was practically automatic.
Taking the cigarette from between Murphy's fingers, he inhaled a thoughtful drag, looking out at the setting sun, aware of his brother mirroring the action. "Rough fuckin' day," He said in a low voice.
Blowing a perfect ring of smoke, Murphy watched it expand and dissipate in the breeze. "Aye." He said, nodding.
"Arra, any day that ends in beer can't be all bad," said Connor, shrugging. It was a philosophy that both brothers had shared since they had exchanged soda for alcohol at fifteen.
"It can't, at that."
"All things conciderin', I think Danae handled things very well."
Murphy snorted, a corner of his mouth quirking around the cigarette as he remembered her outburst, he'd never seen anybody laugh quite like that before. "Aye."
"She did a fine job gettin' us out o' the hospital, even though we had ta go through the fuckin' morgue." Connor shuddered at the memory, "There was even a fuckin' dead body on the table under one o' those white sheets."
As though it were as infectious as a yawn, Murphy gave a slight shudder of his own. "That's fuckin' creepy."
"Yer tellin' me," Connor took another drag off his cigarette, then eyed it thoughtfully, "I swear ta God the fuckin' thing moved."
"Yer full o' shit, ye know that?"
"Aye," Connor chuckled, nodding. "But it doesn't change the fact that Danae knows what's what now, and she's still here. Fuck, she even offered us a place to stay." He shot his brother a meaningful glance.
"Don't start that shit again, Connor, we're not gettin' her involved any more than she already is."
Connor held his hands up in mock surrender, "I was just sayin' . . ."
"Well, fuckin' don't." Murphy's voice was resolved, but not angry, and Connor wondered was on his brother's mind.
"So, have ye kissed her yet?" he said and had the satisfaction of watching his twin choke on the drag he had been in the middle of taking.
"What?"
"Ye heard me."
Murphy shook his head, looking away, "We don't think o' each other like that. We're just friends."
"Lyin's a sin, Murph."
"Fuck ye, Connor."
Flicking away the last of his cigarette, Connor grinned seeing the flush that was rising out of his brother's collar. Friends my arse, He thought amusedly, turning to go back inside.
o()o