o()o
Author's Note: Well, I'm having my birthday celebration tonight and since I can't get cupcakes out there to all of you in PCLand, I hope this will work as a substitute. Next chapter should be up in a week or so.
o(18)o
"No, ye eejit, ye have ta wait until the water boils first." Connor said as his brother unceremoniously dumped a handful of pasta into the pot of water that was sitting on Danae's stove.
Murphy turned to rummage through a drawer; searching for something only he was tuned in to. "It'll boil soon enough."
They had called Smecker first thing that morning, filling him in on the past days' happenings and, in return, had received the worst news the agent could have possibly delivered.
No news at all.
Smecker had been working on the case for days now and had gotten no further on the Street Priests.
By the tone of his voice, Connor could tell that Smecker was having as much trouble with the notion as he and Murphy were. The call had ended with the agent promising to contact them as soon as he found something substantial.
All that was left to do now was wait.
"I can't believe I'm even lettin' ye fuckin' do this." Said Connor, "Do ye remember the last time ye tried ta make spaghetti? It took us a fuckin' hour to chip the shite out o' the pan."
For lack of anything better to do, they had dutifully cleaned every trace of blood from Danae's kitchen. Once the floors, stove, counters, and sink were spotless, Murphy had rested his hands on his hips and, much to Connor's dismay, announced that he was going to cook dinner.
All it had taken was for his twin to step into the kitchen and all the cleanliness had been undone, splattered with enough spaghetti sauce to rival the gore they had just scrubbed away. If you asked Connor, the only thing worse then letting his brother watch Karate Kid, was to let him anywhere near a kitchen.
Right now, his twin was happily using a meat cleaver to maim a luckless tomato. "How's yer leg?" he asked in between haphazard slices.
Connor shrugged, shifting a bit, testing his weight on the wound. The pain still took him by surprise, sharp and scorching, but it no longer made his head swim and that was a good sign.
"S'alright." He said, "It doesn't hurt as bad as the last time we did this."
"Good ta hear." Murphy replied, turning his attention back to the tomato just in time to avoid cutting off his fingertips. "I figure as soon as ye're up ta it we'll go out and get some supplies."
Connor nodded, "Let's go tomorrow then. I don't want to waste any more time than we have ta." He blew out a breath and gave an amused chuckle "I never thought I'd be so glad that Da made us split up that money."
Murphy turned to look at him, a smile curving his lips, "Aye, I know. Who would have guessed?"
The twins had balked when their father first instructed them to separate the money they had acquired during their first real job. Connor and Murphy both wanted to keep all the cash on hand; 'in case of an emergency' they had protested. But the old man had squashed their excuses with a firm cuff to the back of each of his sons' head.
"Listen ta yer fuckin' Da." He'd said gruffly, "I know what I'm talkin' about here."
They had finally conceded, complaining all the while about their father's mistrust and how they were adults who could do as they pleased, and split the money into five separate bank accounts, each requiring both brothers' signatures to withdraw the money inside.
Now, with only one change of clothes each, and four guns to their name, Connor couldn't help but breathe a small sigh of relief that they had listened to their Da, and he knew his twin felt the same way.
"See if there's any ketchup in the 'fridge, will ye?" said Murphy.
"Ye don't fuckin' need ketchup, Murph, ye're makin' spaghetti."
"I want ta add it ta the sauce." His twin objected, sweeping the remains of the ill-fated tomato into what little bit of spaghetti sauce he had actually managed to land in the pot. "It'll add flavor."
Connor grimaced, "That's disgustin'! Ye can't fuckin' add ketchup ta spaghetti sauce."
"Why not? It's all made out of fuckin' tomatoes, so what's the difference?"
"It's fuckin' ketchup, ye retard."
"Fine." Murphy rolled his eyes and heaved a long-suffering sigh, "I'll fuckin' add some pepper to it for seasoning, then."
"I'm not fuckin' eatin' that shit if you put ketchup in it," said Connor, shaking his head adamantly, "No fuckin' way."
The remark earned him a sharp crack on the head; he turned and saw his twin wielding a wooden spoon, grinning evilly.
Touching the back of his head, Connor brought away sauce covered fingers. "Ye fuck!"
Reaching for the nearest weapon, which happened to be a handful of dry pasta, he grabbed at his twin, pulling Murphy across the kitchen counter by his shirt collar, laughing. The spaghetti connected with his brother's forehead, exploding in a thousand different directions as it did, clattering off the walls and floor in a shower of brittle confetti.
Playfully swatting at Connor with the spoon, Murphy grappled for the upper hand, calling his twin every detestable name he could think of in between gasps of laughter. In a matter of minutes, Connor had slid his twin off of the counter and they had both tumbled into a swearing, knotted heap on the floor.
o()o
Danae adjusted the headphones more securely over her ears and smiled as the next song started. She hadn't been for a walk in days and it felt extraordinarily good to be out.
It was funny, she mused as she walked, making her way back home, how much her life had changed over the past six weeks. It had been a rollercoaster ride of exhilarating highs and stomach clenching drops. She had hurt and worried for the ones she cared about, while managing to find an odd sense of peace amidst the chaos that was suddenly surrounding her. Somewhere along the way, she had found someone to fill a void in her life that she hadn't even been aware existed, an impromptu family to call her own.
Somewhere along the way, she had fallen in love.
A smiled tugged at the corners of her mouth at the idea. Sensible, levelheaded Danae was finally in love, with one half of an Irish, vigilante, crime-fighting duo, no less.
Sometimes truth really was stranger than fiction.
She couldn't pinpoint exactly when she had realized that she first felt so deeply for Murphy, although sometimes it seemed like she always had. It seemed as though from the first time they had met, in a dark emergency room, in the middle of the night, she had loved him and had wanted to keep him safe.
Keep him safe? She thought, her good mood slipping slightly, and how exactly are you planning on accomplishing that little feat?
If nothing else, she had learned that keeping either MacManus brother, or both of them for that matter, out of harm's way was an impossible task at best. Danger followed them wherever they went. It was a part of what they did, and more than that, it was a part of who they were.
Vigilantes, killers, criminals.
Shaking herself from such disheartening thoughts, she stepped up onto her patio and unlocked the door, pausing as she heard a muffled thud followed by a curse.
Heart suddenly jackhammering in her chest, Danae crept into the house, wishing for a weapon of some sort. The only thing she could find that was even vaguely suitable was her cordless telephone.
Well, it was better than nothing.
How could they have found her place already? She wondered over the blood rushing in her ears. How on earth did they know?
Moving through the house, clutching the telephone receiver in her hand, Danae stopped, readying herself to do something potentially stupid. The sounds of a struggle grew louder; she could hear both brothers swearing heatedly and . . . laughing?
Peeking around the kitchen door jam, she saw a tangle of limbs that could only belong to Connor and Murphy sprawling across the tiled floor. Murphy was walloping Connor with a wooden spoon and Connor was clutching what looked like a handful of uncooked spaghetti, beating his brother with it in lieu of his fist.
Both brothers were so caught up in their scuffle they had failed to notice her standing there.
The place looked like a war zone and smelled like an Italian restaurant, something unidentifiable was smoking on the stove, there was pasta sauce covering every available surface and it looked like the entire contents of her refrigerator had been taken out and scattered over the countertops.
Must have been an interesting evening, she thought, amused.
Lowering her makeshift weapon, she watched the brothers as they fought, never ceasing to be amazed at the variety of languages they used to insult each other, idly wondering just how many they both spoke. Some of the strange words were spit out in exasperation, while others ended in breathless laughter, making her smile.
If you couldn't tell they were brothers simply by being in their company, there was no mistaking it watching them fight.
Even when pummeling the crap out of each other, they had a synchronicity Danae was certain only came with knowing someone better than they knew themselves. It was though they were two halves of the same soul, able to anticipate exactly what the other would do and when. They knew each other so thoroughly, so intimately that there would never be a question about the other's thoughts or actions.
Their movements, although opposing, were perfectly timed, carefully aimed to hurt without causing any actual injury. Their insults, while undoubtedly as vulgar as they were creative, were tossed good-naturedly back and forth.
The tussle came to an abrupt halt as Connor flipped Murphy to the floor, pinning his shoulders, not more than two feet from her. Seeing her standing there, Murphy pushed his brother's hands away, still laughing and turned his head to look at her fully.
"'Llo, Danae. How was yer walk?"
Connor followed his brother's line of sight, and mirrored his grin. "Good walk?" he echoed.
Chuckling, she nodded, "Very good walk, thanks."
Pushing Connor away, Murphy got to his feet, and then extended a hand toward his brother. Connor gripped the offered hand and allowed his twin to pull him to his feet. The lighter haired man grimaced as he stood, but only leaned on Murphy for a moment before regaining his balance.
They exchanged a swift, fond glance, and even as an outsider, Danae could tell it's meaning.
Thanks.
She couldn't help a smile from escaping as she watched them. Their affection for one another was like sunlight, absolute in its purity and intensity. It flowed easily back and forth between them and Danae swore that if she got close enough, that she could feel the warmth of it, compassionate and comforting. It was like being bathed in light.
"I hope yer hungry, I'm making spaghetti." Murphy said, and she raised an eyebrow.
"Is that what's burning on the stove?"
"Fuck!" Turning off the burner, Murphy peered into the pot and grimaced, "all the fuckin' water's boiled out! The noodles are all cooked ta the bottom!"
He turned the pot upside down to demonstrate, and Connor chuckled when a single strand of crunchy-looking spaghetti fell out, followed by a wisp of pungent smoke.
"Looks like we'll be orderin' pizza." He said.
Using the same wooden spoon he had previously been clobbering his twin with, Murphy took a couple of unsuccessful stabs at the pot, sighing when the pasta remained firmly stuck to the bottom.
"It would have been fine if ye hadn't fuckin' distracted me." He said, giving Connor a meaningful look.
"Oh, no. Ye can't blame this on me, boyo. I can't fuckin' help that ye're as useless as tits on a bull in the kitchen."
"I am not!"
"Murph," Connor said in a pseudo-sympathetic voice "Look at the fuckin' spaghetti, man. It speaks for itself."
Murphy frowned, "We still have the garlic bread." he said at the exact moment the smoke alarm announced its displeasure with his culinary skills.
Opening the oven, Danae coughed, waving billowing smoke out of the way and extracted a blackened loaf of what may have once been garlic bread. A thin bubbly layer of something covered the charred loaf and shot Murphy a wry look.
"You left it in the plastic?" she said, fighting the laughter that was welling up inside of her.
Connor rolled his eyes and sighed. "Give us the phone, Danae. I'll take care of dinner tonight."
o()o