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Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, but this is not the end!! I still have chapters to post. :)
Nifty Fact for the Day: A bucket of snots is an Irish term meaning a very ugly person.
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The day was bright and unusually warm for this time of year, a nice change from the string of storms they'd been having. Standing on a small hill, watching the funeral that was taking place several yards away, Danae ran a hand through her hair, still trying to get used to the feeling of it being so short.
Bill Croghan's service had been a big one, the church had been crowded to the point where there was only room to stand at the back. She had watched as dozens of the man's family and friends filed past her to pay their respects. She sang the hymns and listened to person upon person come up and extol his virtues.
He was a good man, they said, a valued member of the community, a doting husband and father of three boys. He was captain of the precinct softball team, loved fishing, and played a mean game of poker with the boys on the weekend. He was a great cop and a better friend.
And she had killed him.
The thought alone was enough to make bile rise in the back of Danae's throat and tiny needle pricks bit into her palm as her hand tightened around the single white rose she held, her homage to the murdered officer.
The papers proclaimed that Dectective William John Croghan had been shot and killed while investigating a criminal case. Murdered by a gangmember amped up on some new drug. . He was dubbed a hero by the media, an unfaltering champion of innocent.
Killed in the Line of Duty
Nobody would ever know that he had been a part of the criminals he was so ardently investigating, and nobody would ever know that he had lost his life at the hands of a terrified ER registrar.
Nobody would ever know who the real heroes were.
It was a bizarre conversion of belief, the change from killers and vigilantes to heroes and saviors, but she had gotten an up close and personal look at what the Saints were fighting against and somewhere along the line, realized that this wasn't pleasure killing, or some twisted personal vendetta. They were doing good, real good in the world and whether it knew it or not, the world needed them.
A gentle touch on her shoulder broke her free from the thought and she turned to see Murphy standing there, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He was dressed in his normal torn jeans and black jacket, squinting into the bright autumn sun.
"How did you know I was here?" she asked, surprised.
Murphy chuckled a little bit. "Ye left the paper open ta the obituary on the table this mornin'. It was pretty easy ta guess that this was where ye'd be."
"Oh."
"How're ye doin'?" He asked softly, his smile fading into an expression of concern.
"Okay." She lied.
Murphy lifted a skeptical eyebrow, "Did ye sleep at all?"
"About an hour today."
He nodded with a sort of reluctant approval; it was a vast improvement that she was sleeping at all. "Have ye eaten?"
Her stomach lurched at the thought of food, "No, everything still smells like gunpowder and blood to me." She said, swallowing against the growingly familiar nausea, wondering if the stench would ever fade away.
Turning away, cupping his hand as he lit his cigarette, he took a long pull, looking out over the cemetery.
"It's hard to think that we're the only ones who'll ever know what he was really like." He spoke her thoughts to her.
"What if this," she gestured to where the mourners that had gathered around Croghan's gravesite were beginning to disperse, "is what he was really like? A good man? " The question made her eyes prickle. It was the same thing she'd been asking herself for a week solid, ever since she had picked up Connor's gun in that mansion and taken another human's life; What if she had made a terrible mistake?
"I think yer missin' the big picture here," Murphy said quietly, "Ye killed that man ta save me brother. If not for ye . . ." Murphy's voice broke and he had to pause before continuing, "If not for ye, we'd be at a wholly different funeral right now."
Looking at him, Danae was taken aback to see that his eyes were wet. He offered her a slightly shaky grin, running a hand over his face and taking another fortifying drag from his cigarette. "Ye had ta make a choice, Danae, and it was a hard one, but given the circumstances I'm mighty fuckin' glad ye chose the way ye did."
His words took her completely unawares and she blinked as what he was saying sunk in, her already overtaxed imagination creating a bleak image of Connor's funeral. The prickle in her eyes gave way to warmth and Danae bit her lip, trying to will the tears away.
"Smecker thinks that he may have killed his old partner, that the man found out what Croghan was inta and Croghan made sure he could never tell anyone."
Danae raised her eyebrows, grateful for the change in subject. "How is Smecker?"
Grinning, Murphy shook his head, his composure already sliding back into place "Stubborn bastard. The bullet nicked one of the bones in his shoulder and he'll be in a sling for a good long while, but the doctor says that he'll be fine in time. Connor's there now."
Danae nodded, looking across the cemetery, Croghan's gravesite was almost empty now, and only a handful of people remaining clustered around the marker where the headstone would be. "Why didn't you go?"
"It's safer if we aren't seen together for a while. Besides, I wanted ta be here with ye."
They stood in silence, watching the rest of the mourners depart as the sun set. When the gravesite was empty, Danae sighed, twirling the rose absently between her hands. Did she really want to do this after all?
"Do ye want me ta come along?" He asked, pulling another cigarette from his pocket.
Danae shook her head. "This is something I have to do on my own."
He nodded, reaching out to touch the blunt ends of her hair, rubbing them between his fingers. "I'll wait for ye here then?"
Giving him a grateful smile, she turned and made her way down the hill. Standing before the fresh grave, she stared down at the earth, thinking about the man she had put beneath it. After a moment, she added her own rose to the masses of flowers that were there and placed a hand against the dark soil.
"I'm sorry." She whispered to the dead detective before rising to her feet, rubbing the moist earth between her fingerstips, and making her way back to where Murphy was waiting.
o()o
What is it with hospitals, Connor wondered, navigating the winding, brightly lit hallways, that makes every single one of them like a fucking labyrinth?
He'd been wandering around for a good 20 minutes now searching for a hallway that didn't actually seem to exist. He'd stopped and asked how to get to room 202 twice and both very attractive nurses had sent him on his way with an improved and even more complicated set of directions.
Although he would never admit it, Connor knew that Murphy had inherited the sense of direction between them. His brother could find his way blindfolded out of just about anywhere. He, however, was constantly making notes of landmarks, turning to look at things from the opposite way just in case he got turned around. He consoled himself with the fact that Murphy could barely change the batteries in the remote control.
Now, seeing the sign that declared this hallway the Medical/Surgical floor, Connor breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. "Fuckin' finally." He muttered under his breath.
Smecker's door was open and what Connor saw stopped him dead for a moment. The guy from Smecker's hotel room was there, holding the agent's non-injured hand and laughing. More amazingly, was that Smecker was laughing along, his face alight.
"Never would have seen that coming." He muttered to himself. Knocking loudly on the doorframe he couldn't help but be amused when Smecker snatched his hand away and shot the man a disparaging look.
The Asian man just rolled his eyes and exhaled a long-suffering sigh. "You are such a bitch, Paul." He said good-naturedly and a trace of Smecker's smile returned.
"Come in." The agent called and Connor walked into the room, grinning.
"Glad ta see ye're doin' all right." He said to Smecker, pulling up a chair. Then, to the man next to him, "Glad ta see ye're wearin' clothes this time."
"Hey, nothing says first impression like full frontal nudity." The man said, extending his hand and returning Connor's smile. "I'm Nigel by the way."
"Connor." He replied, giving Nigel's hand a hearty shake. "Pleasure ta meet ye."
"Likewise. I hear you're quite the superhero Connor."
"If you're quite through flirting with the straight man," Smecker snapped, giving Nigel's hand a sharp slap and rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Why don't you make yourself useful grab me a cup of coffee?"
Eyebrows raised, Nigel shot the injured agent a flippant look and rose to his feet, leaning over to murmur something in Smecker's ear that made the agent's eyes widen in shock.
"Get out of here!" he retorted, scowling, and Nigel simply chuckled, slipping out of the room.
"Ye fuckin' told him?" Connor asked, in disbelief. "What the fuck's wrong with ye, man?"
Smecker shook his head. "I didn't say anything, he just kinda figured it out on his own. He said it was pretty obvious the night you came to tell me about the girl. Hell, I'm not even exactly sure how he figured out I was here. Cocky bastard should be a friggin' detective."
"So how much longer are they keepin' ye?" asked Connor, settling into the uncomfortable hospital chair, stretching his legs out in front of him.
"They're talking about letting me go tomorrow. I'll be wearing this thing," Smecker tugged at the uncomfortable looking sling, grimacing, "for the next 5 weeks though.
He gave the agent a reproachful look, shaking his head. "Serves ye right. What the fuck were ye doin' in that place anyway?"
"Being as worthless as the first time, clearly." Smecker said through a disenchanted sigh.
Connor snorted. "Well, look on the bright side, at least this time ye weren't in fuckin' drag."
"Asshole."
"I'm sorry, but if ye were goin' ta get injured, at least ye managed ta do it and keep yer dignity besides. Because, and I hate ta tell ye this, but as a woman ye were a complete bucket o' snot."
"Oh, my." Nigel's subtle lisp came from the doorway where he leaned, holding two cups of coffee, and grinning. "Paul? In drag? Do tell."
Connor bit back a laugh as color stained the FBI agent's cheeks. The ever-cynical, imperturbable, glaringly sarcastic Smecker was actually blushing. Oh, how he wished Murphy were here to see this.
Pushing off of the door, Nigel offered Connor a cup of coffee, chuckling as Smecker snatched the second one from his hands.
"Where's your brother?" the agent asked, and Connor noted that for all his angry bravado, Smecker's eyes hadn't left Nigel since the other man had made his presence known.
"He's looking after Danae right now, said he'd be by later. We thought it'd be best if we weren't seen together for a bit."
Smecker nodded his approval. "Smart. And how's the girl doing?"
Connor shrugged, frowning. "Better than I thought she would ta be honest. She's got mettle, no fuckin' doubt about that."
"She's the one that killed Croghan, isn't she?"
"She was, aye." The memory of Danae's face that night made Connor grimace, his chest tightening. "How'd ye know?"
"The police reports said it was one of your guns, a 9mm, but the angle was all wrong, too low to be either of you guys."
"Craziest fuckin' thing." said Connor, shaking his head. "T'was a perfect fuckin' shot. Perfect. Later she tells us that she was aiming for his knees, only Danae could be aimin' for man's knees and blow his fuckin' head off by accident."
Smecker chuckled a little at that, wincing as the movement jostled his injured shoulder. "Sometimes truth really is stranger than fiction."
"Amen ta that."
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