o(15)o
She felt the explosion as much as she heard it, the thundering crash deafening her even as the percussion knocked the breath out of her lungs, throwing her onto the ground.
A flaming chunk of the MacManus brother's door as well as chunks of stone and glass hurled themselves through the air, pelting Danae, but she felt none of it, her body numbed by the sudden onslaught of adrenaline.
The world slowed down to nightmare speed as flames sprouted then grew, turning what had been Connor and Murphy's room into a blazing inferno. Danae lay on the ground, stunned for a moment, then scrabbled to her feet.
Conscious thought dissolved into panic as a single notion screamed over and over in her mind.
Connor and Murphy are in there!
Sprinting toward the burning building that had once been a motel, spurned on by nothing other than the instinctive need to get her friends out of the blaze, Danae heard a keening shriek going on and on in the background. Dimly, she realized that she was the one making the wretched noise.
A sudden arm clamped around her middle, jolting her to a unexpected stop. Danae thrashed savagely against it, shrieking her loss and dismay. She had to get to Connor and Murphy!
The grip tightened and she redoubled her effort to get loose. "Let me go!" she screamed, "Let me go! I have to get them out! I have to get them out!"
"Danae! No! " A familiar voice shouted, "what the fuck are ye doin'? Have ye lost yer fuckin' mind?"
"Connor!" She gasped, "Where's Murphy?"
Connor was forcibly dragging her away from the burning building and Danae, under the influence of adrenaline had no idea that she was still struggling against him.
"He's okay. He's over at the diner. Jesus Christ, woman, stop fighting me!"
She stilled, and he loosened his grip slightly.
"We're both here, Danae. We're fine. Murph and I are fine. Do ye understand me? We're here and we're fine."
She nodded and he gave her a gentle shake. "Tell me that you understand."
Gasping in a breath she nodded again. "I understand."
"All right." The arm around her waist disappeared and she whirled on Connor, looking him over.
"You're hurt!" she cried, eyes wide, "There's blood all over you!"
He glanced down at himself and drew in a sharp breath. "Christ, this isn't mine, it's yers."
Connor grabbed her hands and turned them over, revealing several shards of glass sticking out of red-lipped wounds across her arms. "Fuck."
"Did ye fuckin' see that? "Murphy shouted, running up to them, eyes wide "I can't believe that just fuckin' happened!"
"Murph." Connor said, drawing his brother's attention away from the flames consuming their motel room.
Murphy turned and saw Danae, bloody and disheveled, "Oh my God."
"She was about ta run inta the fuckin' fire."
"Christ," Murphy's eyes were impossibly wide "are ye fuckin' crazy?"
"What the fuck were ye thinking?" added Connor, his voice rising in a mixture of anger and worry.
Danae, however, was deaf to their questions. She stared at what remained of the motel building, her overtaxed mind repeating a single thing.
She'd almost lost them. If it hadn't been for a single twist of fate, they would have been in that room when it had exploded. Then she would have lost them both.
"Danae." Murphy cupped her elbow, carefully avoiding the wounds. "We have ta get out of here." When she didn't move, still transfixed by the inferno before her, he raised a hand under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Come on, luv," he said softly, "we have ta go."
She nodded, forcing herself to focus on him. "My place." She said arduously
o()o
Danae sat backwards in one of her kitchen chairs, gingerly holding her arms out over the rungs in front of her, and eyeing the array of makeshift medical supplies that were spread over her table.
A bundle of her hand towels, a pair of pliers dredged up from only God knows where, a bottle of peroxide and a tiny first aid kit from under her kitchen sink.
Probably more dust than actual supplies in that one, she thought grimacing.
Murphy walked in from the bathroom, pulling a chair up and sitting so they were face to face. "Are ye ready?" he asked softly as he picked up the pliers.
She nodded, "You could have at least passed up my good towels though."
He snorted, shaking his head "Ye never stop bein' a smart ass, do ye?"
"No, I have to laugh, if I don't, I might just lose my mind completely." She glanced around the room, frowning, "Where's Connor?"
"He's cleaning our guns in the other room."
"You brought your guns?" she asked incredulously.
"Luv, now is not the time ta go all girlie on me."
She shook her head at his misunderstanding. "No, I mean you had them on you when you left the motel room?"
"Aye, better safe than sorry. Now, are ye quite done stallin' so we can get these cleaned out?"
She nodded extending her hand, trying to still the slight tremors running through it. "Do your worst, Doc."
Murphy wrapped his fingers around her wrist, holding her arm firmly in place, and Danae bit her lip, suddenly nervous. She jumped as he leaned over the first wound, jerking her hand away before he even had the chance to touch her.
"Christ!" he muttered, jumping a little himself.
"I'm sorry." She said, offering her hand to him a second time, "Let's try again."
Three tries later, Murphy sat the pliers down and sighed, exasperated. "Jesus, Danae, if ye don't fuckin' hold still we're never goin' ta get these cleaned up." He stopped, eyes narrowing. "Wait. C'mere."
Without waiting for her to respond, Murphy grabbed the seat of her chair and pulled, spinning her so she was facing away from him, and then scooting his own chair nearer.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Makin' it so ye can't pull away from me." His arm snaked around her, holding her steady, his breath tickling beside her ear. "All right, luv, let's get this over with."
Danae nodded, fiercely ignoring the sensation of his well-muscled chest against her back. She tried to recoil as he grasped a shard of glass between the pliers, but this time he held her hand tightly, and leaned against her, making it impossible for her to draw back.
She could feel his heart beating and the rhythm of his breath, as he held their bodies close together. His hand was warm around her wrist, and his cheek prickled against her neck. It was a shame sensations this erotic had to be wasted on something so painful, she thought with a sigh.
As he yanked the glass out of the wound, she bit out a curse and felt him chuckle behind her,
"I didn't know ye knew that word."
Three sizable chunks of glass, plus a few smaller splinters later, Danae's wounds were clean and bandaged. She sat quietly on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket, eyes heavy and fatigued. Murphy looked in on her one last time, leaning in the doorway quietly. When he was certain that she was all right, he went to find his brother.
He found Connor in Danae's spare bedroom, sitting at a small desk in the corner.
"How we feelin'?" he asked seeing his brother hunched over their weapons, carefully inspecting them.
"I've been better. Help me up, now."
Connor slung an arm around his brother's neck, groaning as Murphy hauled him to his feet.
Looking at his twin, Murphy felt his eyes widen as he saw the blood staining Connor's jeans.
"Fuck! Yer fuckin' bleedin', man!"
Connor nodded, leaning heavily on his brother, "I think I tore a couple o' stitches back at the motel. Danae was fightin' like a demon to get in there." He winced and pressed a hand against the crimson that was seeping through his jeans. "Fuckin' crazy woman."
"We have ta see how bad it is. Can ye get yer cacks off?"
Connor nodded, using one hand to loosen his belt, the other still holding onto Murphy for support.
"Christ," Murphy breathed inspecting the wound "all of these fuckin' stitches are torn. Fuckin' wound's wide open."
Looking up and meeting his brother's gaze, the twins exchanged a grim look. They had to seal the wound and there was only one way they knew how to do it.
Sliding an arm around his brother's waist, Murphy half-supported and half-carried Connor into the kitchen, easing him into the same chair Danae had inhabited not twenty minutes ago.
Paging Doctor fuckin' Murphy. He thought unhappily, Doctor fuckin' Murphy to the ER.
Connor groaned then leaned over his leg, picking the remaining black threads out of his injury.
Murphy turned away as his stomach lurched. Blood was just blood, he knew, but his twin's blood was different, more precious, and seeing it spilled bothered him.
"Danae," he called into the opposite room. "Do ye have an iron?"
"Of course I do. Why?"
"We're gonna have ta borrow it." Connor said, wincing as he tugged at a particularly stubborn thread. "Fuck."
Danae appeared in the doorway, frowning as she walked over to Murphy and Connor. "What on earth do you need my iron for . . .oh God." She froze at the sight of Connor's leg, the color draining from her face.
"What happened to you?"
"I tore a few stitches is all." Connor said.
"But how . . .oh . . .oh, no. . . .I did it. At the motel? I'm so sorry Connor."
"It'll be fine." Murphy said, wondering how his voice managed to be so steady when his gut was in knots. "It just needs ta be closed."
"With my iron?" Danae's voice began to rise, her eyes widening. "You need medical attention, not household appliances!"
"I can't go back ta the hospital, ye know that." Connor said, "This is the only way."
Danae sucked in a deep breath, looking up as though she could draw strength from the heavens. Murphy could almost see the wheels of her mind turning, coming to terms with what was about to happen, and felt a tremor of gratitude. If nothing else, the girl had grit.
When she met his gaze, her eyes were steady and focused. "What can I do to help?"
Murphy shared a glance with his brother, confused. They had never done this with just the two of them. First, there had been Rocco, and then there had been Da. But Danae wasn't strong enough to hold Connor . . .
"Just get the iron." His brother said, solving the dilemma. "We'll do the rest."
Murphy took the iron from Danae and offered her a small smile. "Thanks luv, now go inta the other room. This won't take long."
Lighting the gas burner of her stove, Murphy sat the clothes iron over the flame, grimacing as he did.
Fuck, he hated this. The reek and sizzle of cooking blood, the feel of muscles spasming under the iron's searing heat, the sound of agony muffled only by a dishrag, he loathed every last bit of it.
"You have all those stitches out yet?" he asked, swallowing another twinge of nausea.
Connor looked up at him; sweat beading along his upper lip and hairline, his normally golden skin ashen. "Aye."
Carefully checking the iron, he turned to his brother. "Next time ye get to fuckin' play the doctor, I fuckin' hate this shit."
"Agreed." Biting down on the twisted rag, Connor gripped Murphy's shoulders and nodded, "Do it."
Forgive me, Murphy thought, closing his eyes and pressing the iron down on his twin's thigh.
Connor jerked, his fingers digging into Murphy's shoulders. Murphy winced, but remained silent, his own leg twitching.
Count to thirty, he reminded himself as Connor bucked under him. Count to thirty because if you don't do it right then you'll have to try again and nothing hurts worse than a burn over a burn. Keep going, ignore your brother's screams, and keep counting. We're almost there . . . almost there. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine . . .almost there.
Murphy yanked the iron away from his twin, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.
Slowly, the unyielding grip on his shoulders lessened and Connor's breathing evened out.
"Okay." He said, inspecting the wound with a trembling hand. "Ye did good."
Murphy nodded, setting the bloodied iron in the sink, trying to settle his stomach. He felt a pair of eyes watching him, and turned, frowning.
Danae was standing in the doorway, her eyes swallowing the rest of her face and Murphy knew what she was seeing.
Blood.
Sealing a wound was messy business and gore was everywhere, smearing the counters and spattering the floor, not to mention all over Connor and himself.
"Oh God." She whispered, backing away. "Oh. My. God."
"Danae," Murphy stopped, torn between comforting her and staying with is brother.
A pained grunt drew his attention and he saw Connor rising laboriously to his feet. "Go talk ta her." Connor said wincing. "I'm fine."
Murphy didn't move watching his twin, unwilling to leave him so soon after something so harrowing.
"Murph, go ta her. Make her understand."
Murphy reluctantly left the kitchen, with the help of a shove from his twin. He found Danae on her patio and fiddling handful of strange fat leaves, staring off into the distance.
"Are ye all right, luv?"
Avoiding his gaze, she nodded. "Don't worry about me. I'm not the one that just had my leg cauterized with a clothes iron."
"Connor's okay, Danae, we got his leg closed up just fine."
She wiped under her eyes, sniffling softly, "This isn't the first time you've done this, is it?"
"No."
"And it's been done to you?"
"Aye, tisn't fun, but it's necessary."
"And Connor's . . . okay?" her voice broke and she took another swipe at her cheeks.
He nodded. "The first night is bad, but after that it heals fairly quickly.
Danae looked at him, and, along with the tears, that keen, searching look was back in her eyes. "What about you, are you okay?"
"As long as my brother's all right, so am I." He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, "Though my shoulders are goin' ta be fierce sore tomorrow."
"Why?"
Murphy pulled up his shirtsleeve to reveal five angry red marks around his shoulder. Already bruising, they were perfect imprints of each of his twin's fingers.
Danae winced and turned her consideration back to the fat green leaves he held
"What're those?" he asked, nodding toward them.
She held one up for him to see. "Aloe Vera. It's good for treating burns. I thought it . . ." she looked down at them, sighing, "I thought it might help."
Murphy smiled at her, "Always lookin' out fer us aren't ye?"
"Somebody has to." Danae shivered slightly, pulling the blanket more snugly around her. "Bad day." She murmured, "Bad, bad day."
"I know. Arra it could have been worse."
"I know. It's just . . ." she sighed, "I'd like to step out of the Twilight Zone and back into my life now please.
"Ye're okay, luv." He said, laughing in earnest, "Don't ye worry."
She shrugged, "I guess, if nothing else, at least I dropped the beer off before coming to see you guys."
Murphy turned to look at her a smile forming on his lips just as Connor's voice came floating outside.
"Did somebody say somethin' about beer?"