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Authors Note: Just a note to say thanks to everyone who's R/R Martin's Masterpiece, Play It Again, Sam and this, or course! It's you guys that keep me writing and I appreciate you guys so much!
Nifty fact for the day: Die Essiggerken jagen mich means 'the pickles are chasing me' or literally, 'the pickles hunt me', apparently Murphy was having a very strange dream.
After the fact: A huge and belated thank you to juvenile_justice for the correction of my (or rather Connor's) German . . . I appreciate you keeping me in the right. :)
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Danae awoke in the middle of the night with a start. Her first thought was I'm late for work! Which was followed almost immediately by Ow, my head.
She moved to press a hand against the ache in her skull, only to jerk it away again with a hiss of pain. Oh, right, giant bruise, she'd have to make a point to remember that.
"Danae?" she recognized Connor's voice in the darkness, "Are ye up?"
"Yeah. Sorry, did I wake you?"
A nearby lamp clicked on, revealing Connor propped up one elbow on the bed next to hers, palm pressed into his bandaged side, and Murphy sprawled across the couch on the other side of the room, fast asleep. She ferociously ignored the fact that they were both shirtless, revealing well-muscled torsos and arms.
"Ye didn't." he said, "I was just lyin' here, thinkin' about going out for a smoke."
"How are you feeling?"
Connor chuckled, reaching for his shirt and tugging it over his head with a groan, "Probably about as grand as ye are."
"That bad?" She asked with concern and he nodded.
"I didn't realize how much it fuckin' hurt until I didn't have anything to dull the pain. I'm fuckin' miserable."
She winced sympathetically, remembering that all of his pain medications had been left behind in their haste to flee the hospital.
There was a muffled grunt from the couch and Murphy shifted in his sleep. "Die Essiggurken jagen mich. . ." he muttered indistinctly before settling again.
Connor snorted, shooting his brother an amused glance. "Fuckin' Murph," He said affectionately.
"What did he just say?" Danae asked, whatever it had been, it hadn't been English.
"Die Essiggerken jagen mich." Connor repeated, speaking the words clearly. "It's German."
"Murphy speaks German?"
"Murph fuckin' dreams in German, but yeah, we both speak it."
"What's he dreaming about?"
"Senf . . ." Murphy made another small noise of distress, brow furrowing, and Connor slid out of the bed, limping painfully over to where his brother was sleeping.
"I don't think we want ta know. It sounds as though the condiment aisle is gettin' the better of him."
Gently Connor placed a hand on his brother's chest. "Alles ist fein, Murphy." He murmured, and Murphy quieted. "Du bist sicher."
Danae watched, fascinated; she'd always wanted to learn another language and loved hearing one spoken aloud. "What did you just say to him?"
"I told him that everything was fine and he was safe. That's usually all it takes ta get him ta calm down." Connor gave his brother one last compassionate pat on the cheek before straightening up, wincing as he did. "He'll be all right."
She looked at the now peaceful Murphy lying across the couch. . His hair was damp and ruffled making him look younger and more vulnerable than when he was awake and his hands twitched every now and then, fidgeting even though he was sleeping soundly
For a moment, Danae found herself wanting to touch him; her fingers itched to weave themselves into the darkness of his hair and find out if it was as soft as it looked.
Connor cleared his throat loudly, startling her. "When yer done ogling my brother, maybe ye'd like to keep me company while I step out fer a smoke."
Embarrassed, Danae quickly looked away from Murphy, heat flooding to her cheeks. "Yeah, sure, okay." she said.
Using the wall for support, Connor shuffled over to the door and held it open for her, never losing his knowing smirk, "Let's go then."
The chill of the evening sliced through Danae's work clothes as they stepped out of the hotel room. Crossing her arms, she sighed out a deep breath, watching it plume and fade into the darkness.
Beside her, Connor lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, his head falling back as he did. "Not quite as good as Percocet, but it'll have to do." He tapped another cigarette out of the pack and offered it to her.
Danae shook her head, "Thanks, but no thanks."
"Ye don't smoke and ye don't drink, I'm startin' ta think ye're too borin' for yer own good."
She laughed, shaking her head. "If this is what the exciting life is like, I think I'll stick with boring."
"Amen to that." Connor chuckled, replacing the pack in his pocket. "Ye know, Danae," he said, looking at her meaningfully, "Murphy is really growin' fond of ye."
His words took her by surprise, making her heart kick up a notch.
"We both have a soft spot for ye, of course, ye're a good friend," he continued, exhaling smoke into the night sky, "but I've seen the way Murph looks at ye sometimes, and it's not a look my brother gets very often."
Danae remained silent, trying to organize her suddenly anarchic thoughts. And the plot thickens, she thought with a mental sigh.
Murphy cared for her. Murphy, who smoked like a chimney and swore in half a dozen different languages. Murphy, who fidgeted constantly, and went to Mass every Sunday and dreamt in German. Murphy, who had once almost kissed her over a game of chess, and who made her heart miss a beat every time he flashed that captivating grin of his.
Murphy, who also just happened to be a vigilante and a killer.
Speak of the devil, The motel door opened and he stepped out, yawning and shrugging into his coat. Or rather, speak of the Saint.
"It's fuckin' freezin' out here." Murphy mumbled, reaching into the pocket of his twin's jacket and withdrawing a cigarette, bouncing a little to keep warm.
"Ye should put some fuckin' shoes on, ye dope," said Connor, shifting slightly to lean against the building, flicking open his lighter. "Ye'd be warmer."
Danae and Murphy both looked down at the same time, and Murphy wiggled his toes, a rueful smile curving his mouth.
"I s'ppose so." He took a deep drag off of his cigarette, making a sound of gratification deep in his throat as he did. "So what the fuck are ye two doin' up this early?"
"It's my normal time to be awake. Actually, it's my lunchtime right now." Danae said quietly and he nodded, turning his attention to his brother, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.
Connor shrugged, scratching the top of his head, "Couldn't sleep. My fuckin' side feels like its bein' dragged over hot coals."
Murphy's eyes widened, concern showing on his face. "Are ye all right, do we need ta get ye some help?"
"No, I don't need help; I'm fuckin' standin' out here smokin' aren't I?" Connor half-chided, half-teased, "Besides who the fuck would ye call?"
Giving his twin one last appraising glance, Murphy looked away, chewing on his bottom lip. "I'd find someone." He said absently and Connor smiled.
"I know ye would." He placed a hand on the back of Murphy's neck, "I know."
Taking one last drag off of his cigarette, Connor flicked it away. "Hurry up and finish your fag so we can get back inside where it's warm."
o()o
Morning found the three of them huddled together on the couch, covered in a comforter, asleep, with Danae sandwiched in between the brothers. Yawning, she slid out from between them shivering at the chill of the room, and padded to the bathroom.
When she came out, Murphy was awake, scratching his head sleepily. "Mornin'."
"Good Morning." She replied hunting for her shoes. "Sleep well?"
"Well enough." He said, burrowing back down into the warmth of the comforter. "Fuck, its cold in here."
"Yeah, it is. I'm glad to see that Connor finally nodded off." She picked up a shoe from beside the door. One down . . .
"Myself as well, he wasn't lookin' too fit last night."
"I know, he was . . . Aha!" Danae reached under the bed, and then stood up, brandishing the other shoe triumphantly.
"Where the fuck are ye goin'?" Murphy asked as she sat down, sliding on her newly discovered shoe and tying the laces.
"I'm going home."
"The fuck ye are."
Danae raised an eyebrow in challenge; she didn't appreciate being told what to do, and her natural independence reared its head. "And why not?"
Murphy flung the comforter back and strode over to her. With a single finger, he gave the injured side of her head a sharp tap, pressing his lips together when she flinched.
"That's why not. It's not fuckin' safe."
Raising her own hand to the now smarting bruise, she shot him a deprecating look, "That hurt Murphy."
"I know it fuckin' hurt, and it'll hurt a lot more if those fuckin' guys come back ta finish what they started with ye."
"Nobody knows where I live, my house is perfectly safe . Besides, I can't just skip work."
"For Christ's fuckin' sake!" Murphy made an aggravated gesture with his hands, his eyes stormy.
"Lord's fuckin' name," Came a muffled, irritated, voice from the couch. Under the dingy comforter, a Connor-shaped hump stirred, "What the fuck are ye two goin' on about, then?"
Murphy turned to his twin for assistance "Danae here's goin' home,"
"The fuck she is." The Connor-lump said, still hidden under the blanket.
Danae rolled her eyes wondering if anything could possibly be more stubborn than crabby MacManus men first thing in the morning.
"Listen guys, what happened yesterday was terrible; beyond terrible in fact, but it doesn't change the fact that I still have bills to pay and a life to live. You guys are safe, they can't connect us, I am going home now and I'm going to work tonight."
"Danae,"
"No." she shook her head obstinately "No arguing, this is my decision and neither of you are going to change my mind, so stop trying."
"Fuckin' stubborn woman," Murphy muttered under his breath, just loud enough so she could hear, and the Connor-lump repeated something that sounded remarkably similar.
"Never forget it." She said, flashing them a wide smile as she opened the door.
"Danae, wait," Murphy cupped her elbow, pressing something into the palm of her hand.
Looking down she saw one of the plastic cards that unlocked the door of the motel room. "Check by before ye go in tonight." He said, his tone softening, "and on yer way home."
"I will."
"Danae, please, promise me you'll be careful." Murphy's eyes were wide and somber. Behind him, the Connor-lump made a grunt of concurrence.
"I promise." She said, giving him a small smile before tucking the card in her pocket and slipping out of the door.
o()o
Agent Paul Smecker glared at the telephone on his desk, willing it to ring. When it refused to comply, he reached to pick up the receiver, then thinking better of the act, he left it alone.
He'd called Mitchell County Memorial at least a dozen times this morning and had received the same answer each time. Connor MacManus and his brother disappeared yesterday. No, they didn't sign out against medical advice, and no, they were not transferred to another facility. They had simply vanished.
With no way to get in touch with them, all Smecker could do now was wait.
Running a hand through his already disheveled hair, he made a noise of frustration. He'd been up all night, surrounded by folders and boxes trying to connect the dots from a hundred newspaper clippings and a hundred files to form a picture, some idea about these men that were out to destroy the Saints.
He'd been about to give up, when a newspaper blurb had caught his eye. It was the starting piece to a puzzle assembled out of dossiers and articles. The image it created wasn't a pleasant one: yet another cluster-fuck of criminals trying to worm their way into the city, using violence and degradation as a foothold. As if the city didn't have enough of those things as it was.
And the Saint's had unwittingly stepped right in the middle of it.
The phone rang, startling him, and he grappled for the receiver, nearly toppling his coffee cup as he did. "Hello?"
"Agent Smecker."
Smecker pinched the bridge of his nose, relief sweeping through him at the sound of the lilting voice on the other end of the line.
"Murphy. Where in the hell are you guys? I've been trying to call you all damned morning."
"We ran into a little trouble at the hospital." Murphy said, and Smecker heard Connor speak in the background. "Shut it, Conn."
"What kind of 'little trouble?"
A sigh, "Those men we talked to ye about came back lookin' for us, this time with guns."
"Jesus Christ."
"We got out okay, but we can't go back ta the hospital, we're staying at a motel until this cools down a bit and we can get out o' the city."
"That may not be good enough." Smecker said, wondering how exactly to mete out his news."
"What do ye mean?"
"I've been working on this all friggin' night and let me tell you, it's not a pretty picture. You both may want to listen to this."
There was a moment of silence, followed by a couple of muffled thumps, and Murphy's voice came back on the line, "We're both here. Now, what did ye find out?"
"The tattoo your friend saw, Red-something and something-angre. I did some checking around, talked to a couple of guys in Corrections, and it turns out that the tattoo actually reads Redima con Sangre."
"That's Spanish." Murphy said quietly.
"Redeem with Blood." Connor interjected, and the detective couldn't stop a small smile from escaping at the sound of his voice. Smecker would never confess to it, but he had been worried about the lighter-haired man. Even for a Saint, being shot was a serious occurance.
"Yeah," he said, "that's what they told me it meant. It's characteristic of a certain gang in Columbia, called Sacerdotes De la Calle."
"Street Priests?" Murphy said incredulously, translating, and his brother snorted.
"That's fuckin' pathetic."
"They were small time until a couple of years ago. I haven't found any record of what changed yet, but this petty little gang suddenly became very, very important in the drug world."
"So what's this have to do with us?" asked Murphy, and Connor echoed the question.
"They've been trying to expand into your area for months, except it's not easy with the Russian and Italian mafias already established there. Rumor has it that the drug-deal you guys stopped last month was actually a major shipment, it was supposed to be these guys' big break."
"And we ruined it for them." Connor finished the thought grimly.
"Fuckin' brilliant."
"Listen, guys," Smecker began, "be careful. The things I've read about this group in some of these files . . ."
He stopped, realizing that his words were suddenly falling on deaf ears. A hand had covered the receiver, muffling their words but he could hear the brothers talking impatiently to one another, voices rising and falling as they spoke. After a lengthy discussion, Connor came back on the line.
"Thanks for the info, Smecker. We'll be in touch."
Smecker stared at the phone for a moment as the line went dead, then turned his attention back to the stacks of files and boxes that cluttered his desk. He had a lot more work to do.
Murphy hung up the phone and exchanged a glance with his brother. "Fuckin' hell." He said, reaching for his jacket and shrugging into it.
"Where are ye goin'?"
"I have ta get our bags from where I stashed them after ye got shot. If these bastards are lookin' for us, I want to have some protection on me."
Connor nodded, reaching for his own jacket. "Let's go."
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