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Author's Note: I hope all of you out there in PCLand had a great holiday! I don't know about you guys but the day after is always the hardest for me, so I thought I'd post instead of being blue.
Nifty Fact for the day: Putting the heart crossways in someone means to give them a heart attack.Fecky the ninth is Irish slang for a complete idiot.
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The gunshot was deafening.
Murphy skidded around the corner and into the room just in time to see Connor on his back on the glossy wooden floor, the fucking dirty cop standing over him, a gun pointed at his head.
His twin was spattered with gore; his hand over his chest, and Murphy's world came to a sudden, sickening halt as he looked down at the prone form lying motionless before him.
Oh God, no . . .
Suddenly, there wasn't enough air in the room. Time slowed down to nightmare speed, and all he could do was stare, horrified, down at his brother.
Please Connor, no . . . Jesus there's so much blood. . . . Oh God, no . . . No, no, no, no, no . . .Please God, no . . .Connor . . .
But then his twin's fingers twitched over the rosary Murphy knew was in his hand, and Connor's eyes snapped open, looking up toward him. They met each other's gaze and it took Murphy a full second to comprehend that Connor was all right. The blood didn't belong to his brother and the gunshot he heard hadn't taken away the most important, precious, thing in his life.
He barely noticed as the lifeless detective crumpled at Connor's feet, most of his face now missing. His brother was all right and nothing else mattered.
Eyes flitting between the dead body and his unharmed twin, Murphy began shake with relief as much as the adrenaline that was sparking through his veins. A small, slightly wavering laugh escaped him.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Conn, ye put the fuckin' heart crossways in me!"
"In you?" Connor's eyes were wide and slightly glazed, his voice unsteady and his pushed himself up onto his elbows. "In you?"
"Holy fuck." Murphy was laughing in earnest now, relief flooding through him like sunlight.
"Help me up, ye eejit." Connor said, wiping some of the blood from his face, his own laugh a bit too loud.
Murphy extended a trembling hand, still chuckling, and when Connor grasped it, he could feel the tremors running through his twin's body as well.
That was too fuckin' close.
They took turns quickly examining the other, fingers rapidly searching for neglected wounds and broken bones. Each satisfied that the other was whole and safe, they turned as one to look at the dead body on the ground.
Connor gave another unsteady laugh, running a hand through his hair, leaving a streak of crimson behind, "Nice fuckin' shot." He said, "Ye could have hurried it the fuck along though, my whole fuckin' life was passin' before my eyes there."
Murphy frowned at the corpse and then met his brother's eyes as the words sunk in, "T'wasn't my shot."
A tiny sound drew his attention and he looked up from the corpse just in time to see Connor's gun drop from nerveless fingers.
Danae's fingers.
Her face was paper-white, eyes huge and glassy as she stared down at the bloody remains on the ground. Murphy could see her chest rising and falling too rapidly, her breath coming in panicked, shallow, bursts.
"Oh fuck." Connor breathed beside him.
Closing the distance between himself and Danae with several long strides, Murphy stepped directly into her line of sight, blocking her view of the body and pulling her into his arms. For a moment, he closed his eyes, allowing himself of moment of luxurious peace, breathing in the scent of her hair, thanking God that she and Connor both had made it through this alive.
"I had to." Danae heaved out a breath, gripping his forearms tight enough to leave marks and Murphy noticed the blood that was running down his arm, dripping steadily onto the polished wooden floor.
Carefully taking her wrist, he held it up and saw a large, ugly gash marring the skin between her finger and thumb. It had been a while since he had seen one of those, but he knew all too well what it had come from. She'd gotten the webbing of her hand caught in between the moving parts of the gun. He'd had a couple of similar wounds himself when he was first learning to shoot. They hurt like a motherfucker.
He took her hand and curled her fingers into a fist. "Squeeze," he said closing his hand over hers, "squeeze yer hand tight it'll help with the bleeding, there's a good girl."
"I had to." She gasped again softly, eyes still wide and stricken.
"I know, luv." He soothed. "Ye didn't have a choice in the matter."
She choked on a breath, the exhalation coming out a frantic hiccough. "I didn't mean to."
Murphy ducked his head, meeting her gaze. "I know ye didn't, but ye have ta keep it together now, be strong for us. It'll all be over soon."
"We need ta get Smecker and get the fuck out 'o here." Connor said, coming to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We've been here too long as it is."
"Smecker?"
"Aye, the bastard snuck inta the house and got shot before he could even do anythin'. I'm surprised ye didn't run inta him on the way ta the room."
"No, after I killed those men in the hallway there was no one else." Murphy said shaking his head.
Fuckin' Smecker he thought without any real animosity. Fecky the ninth, you are.
Connor dug into his pocket, pulling out two pennies, his face grim "Did ye take care of the ones in the hall?"
Murphy nodded, "I did, aye."
Clapping him on the back, his brother moved to the dead detective, dropping to his knees and placing a penny in the mess of bloody pulp where the eyes should have been, moving with the same care that he bestowed on all of the men they delivered.
Murphy shot an inquiring look at Danae. She was still too pale, her breathing a little too fast, but she met his eyes and managed a weak nod. "Go."
Her injured hand was still clenched into a bloody fist and absently he noted that she was a lefty, like Connor.
Smoothing a hand over her hair, feeling the blunt edges where the bastards had cut it, he left her side to kneel next to his twin, crossing himself as he did. Connor gave him a brief glance and a ghost of a smile as they bowed their heads to pray. Hurry or not, they still had to do things right.
Reciting the prayer he had known for so long, Murphy felt his skin prickle into gooseflesh. No matter how familiar the words had become to him over the years, speaking them aloud, especially with his brother's voice beside him, blending into his own, sent a thrill flickering up his spine and into his fingertips. It was as though God himself had stopped and turned His divine attention toward them as they prayed.
" . . .Spiritus Sancti." The ending of the prayer was met with the whoop of a siren and flashes of red and blue lights.
"Police." Connor said, grimacing as he rose to his feet, and Murphy felt a stab of apprehension.
"Fuck."
From across the room Danae shook her head. "It's an ambulance." She said quietly. When they both looked at her, eyebrows raised in matching expressions of skeptisicm, she offered them a tiny smile, more a quirk of her lips than anything. "The siren is different."
Moving quickly to the window, Connor rose up on his toes, tilting his head from side to side as he tried to get a good view of the landscape below. "She's right." He said and Murphy could hear the relief in his voice. "I can see it pullin' up ta the house."
Joining his twin at the window, Murphy saw the ambulance in question and a figure that looked suspiciously like Smecker hobbling painfully out to greet it.
Clever fucker.
"I'd be willin' ta wager the cops aren't far behind, though." He said and Connor nodded.
"We'll go out the way we came in. It's far enough on the other side of the house that no one should be able ta see us."
Murphy slipped an arm around Danae's shoulders, urging her toward the door, and felt her flinch as Connor mirrored the movement on her other side. "Let's go."
Her reply was so quiet that Murphy wasn't sure she had spoken at all until Connor chuckled and pressed a chaste kiss against the top of her head.
"Amen."
o()o
Murphy awoke to thunder grumbling in the distance and the patter of rain on the roof. He rolled over on his matress, stretching as he looked at the clock. It was entirely too early to be awake, only about 2, but he was already leaving behind the bleary feeling that meant he could fall back to sleep.
Quietly getting to his feet, he checked on Connor, who slept peacefully on the daybed above him, before padding through the house in search of a late night snack. A cheese sandwich didn't sound too bad, or maybe a bowl of krispies, or maybe even both.
Pausing in front of Danae's room, he felt his heart stop when he saw the empty bed. Fighting the alarm that was suddenly pressing against his temples, sending blood rushing through his ears, Murphy slipped through the rest of the house, searching, still to no avail. She was nowhere inside.
A curse on his lips, he started back to the room he shared with Connor, ready to wake his twin, when a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated a single figure out on the patio, unmindful of the rainy deluge.
Opening the patio door, he shivered as the first few icy droplets hit his skin, wishing he'd at least taken the time to put on a shirt before coming outside.
Danae was curled in one of the chairs, hair plastered against her head in a ragged bob. It had been the best he could do with a pair of kitchen scissors and comb after Connor had found her tearfully examining the damage that had been done in her bathroom mirror.
"Murphy?" She turned to look at him, the water beading on her face, her sopping pajamas clinging to the curves of her body.
"Christ, yer fuckin' soaked." He said pressing up against the wall, trying to keep as dry as possible, "What the fuck are ye doin' out here?"
Danae tilted her head slightly, still facing him, her voice distant, and a little sad. "I couldn't sleep."
"So ye decided ta come play in the rain, then? Have ye lost it? It's fuckin' freezing out here, Danae."
"I just wanted . . ." she stopped, sighing, "I just wanted to feel something . . . anything . . . other than this guilt, just for a moment."
Moving to kneel in front of her, the cold rain soaking him from tip to toe and making him shiver, Murphy took her hands, running his thumbs over her knuckles.
"C'mon inside, luv, let's get ye dry and warm."
"No. It's better out here." She said, reclaiming her hands and raising her face once again to the sky, allowing the rain to spatter over her features. A dazzling burst of lightening split the sky and Murphy couldn't tell where the rain stopped and her tears began.
He offered her a fleeting, sympathetic smile, dry and warm wouldn't make her feel better, but he had an idea of what would.
"I can make it better in there." He said as he leaned in to capture her mouth in a kiss that made both of them forget the icy rain.
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Danae returned his kiss agressively, her actions almost violent as she reached up to tangle her fingers in his hair. Murphy could feel all of her pent-up emotion pouring out in that kiss and the intensity of it made him shudder, even as it made his body react.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he hauled her to her feet, barely managing to open the patio door and pull her inside as she fell against him, tugging impatiently at what little he was wearing.
Their clothes became a sodden heap on the kitchen floor and Danae's hands were everywhere at once, as pleading and demanding as her mouth was. Her skin was chilly and wet, creating a clammy sort of friction as she mashed their bodies together.
Murphy broke the kiss, out of breath, his hands smoothing over the soft dampness of her skin.
"Please." Her voice was a raspy whisper, an invitation, and a desperate plea for release that shot straight through his brain and into his already eager sex. She arched against him, fingers digging into the muscles of his back as he found her more than ready for him.
"Please."
Their bodies met forcefully, crashing and melding around each other in a swelling of sensation that rivaled the storm outside. Under him, Danae's movements were urgent and needy, desperate to reaffirm that there was still life amidst all the death she had experienced. Her breath was coming in quick gasps, a single word carried on each exhalation.
Please . . .
They came together in a blinding flash, Murphy with a shuddering moan and Danae with a choked, wretched sob.
Murphy moved from above her, pulling her close to him. Cradling her against his chest, he let her bury her face in his shoulder and rubbed slow circles across her back with the flat of his hand as she wept, purging herself of the last bits of pain and guilt that remained.
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