A/N: St. Brendan the Navigator is an Irish saint, the patron of boatmen, travelers.
Chiseller is Irish slang for young child, baby
Psalms 68:2 As smoke is driven away, so drive them away. As wax melts before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God.
Thanks to Goddess Laughs for allowing me to borrow her MacGuyver reference and for Ice, Ice Beta.
Also, thanks to the people who have taken the time to review! I appreciate it!
CHAPTER 12
Without opening his eyes, Connor sensed his twin rising from his knees and leaning forward, placing his lips briefly on the feet of the carved wooden crucifix suspended before them. Murphy's hand brushed his shoulder affectionately as he went to sit in the first pew to wait.
His brother told him more in that light touch than most people could convey in an entire conversation. He felt the stillness in Murphy's soul that was always present when in church, and the relief that they were both safe, despite their earlier carelessness.
After a few more moments of silent reflection, he rose and turned towards his brother. "Candles?" He asked.
"Aye." Murphy replied, tucking his carved wooden rosary back into his shirt and rising to meet his twin.
Connor followed suite and they walked over to the array of votive candles flickering in the semi-darkness of the sanctuary.
Connor selected a candle and lit it. He offered up a prayer that had been repeated many times since he and Murphy had started on their chosen path. The significance of the words were increased a thousand-fold in the face of the trip that they were preparing to take.
Saint Brendan, lead us on a straight and true course so that our journey may lead us and the souls we dispatch always towards God.
Lighting his candle, Murphy intoned, "As wax melts before the fire, let the wicked perish before God."
Connor smiled; Murphy did love the Psalms. Choosing another candle, he leaned forward and lit the wick.
"For Luciana."
He saw Murphy nod in agreement and cross himself.
Connor slapped his brother on the shoulder, feeling both grateful and annoyed. It seemed Murphy always knew what was best for him, whether he liked it or not.
As if sensing his thoughts, Murphy said, "Feelin' better?"
"Don't gloat, ye arse." Connor replied, noting the smug grin that was threatening to overwhelm his brother's attempt at seriousness. "It's unbecoming."
"Look at this face!" Murphy said, a wide smile now brightening his features. "Nothing I do is unbecoming."
"Yer so modest, yer makin' me blush." He retorted, adding, "Fuckin' eejit."
Making their way out into the frigid night air, the twins made the rest of the journey in amiable silence. Connor's thoughts straying from Luciana to the trip they were preparing to take. He was beginning to feel the first real traces of excitement, wanting to be back in action with Murphy by his side. The night's activities proved to be both a cautionary tale of preparedness and the spark that fired his desire to return to their mission.
Connor realized Murphy was humming, so he listened intently, trying to catch a few bars of the tune. After a beat, he smiled, shaking his head. Murphy's thoughts were apparently traveling along similar lines.
On the road again, I just can't wait to get on the road again.
After a moment, he slung an arm over Murphy's shoulders and belted out, "Like a band of gypsies, we go down the highway."
Murphy laughed and they continued on with the chorus.
Two blocks later, they were standing in front of a rather shabby looking apartment building. Stepping into the lobby, Connor walked over to the intercom and pressed the button next to the listing for Unit 32, B. Greenly.
"Yeah?" Greenly's voice crackled over the speaker.
"It's yer two favorite fuckin' leprechauns." Murphy said, his accent so thick that he sounded like an actor in a B movie. "Can we come up?"
Their only response was the buzzer as the door was unlocked.
They made their way over to the elevator, and Connor pressed three. As they rose toward Greenly's floor, the tension that evaporated in the church began to snake its way back into Connor's gut. He dreaded looking into Luciana's eyes and seeing terror or disgust reflected there. He looked over and saw Murphy biting at his thumbnail distractedly.
Stepping off the elevator onto the third floor, Connor followed the sign pointing towards apartments 30 – 38. As they neared apartment 32, the unmistakable beat of reggae music came seeping out from the slightly ajar door.
Connor raised an eyebrow at his brother. "Are we sure it was apartment 32?"
"Yeah, Mon." Murphy said, adopting a ridiculous Jamaican accent. "Dis be da place."
Murphy began to sway back and forth, waving his arms in the air. Connor shook his head, grateful once again that he had inherited the rhythm in the family.
Nudging the door open with the toe of his boot, Connor heard Greenly say, "And I've been hooked on reggae ever since." Luciana's warm laugh followed the words.
Laughter is good, he thought and stepped into the living room.
Luciana and Greenly looked up and Connor felt a wave of relief to see them both smiling.
"Greenly, what the fuck?" Connor asked, casting a wary eye around the apartment. "We were expecting to find a bunch of fuckin' Rastafarians in here."
Greenly grinned at him and then at Murphy, who was still engaged in his pathetic dance attempt, turning in a slow circle, arms waving and hips shaking. "So, how did it go?"
"Well enough." Murphy called, over his shoulder. Abandoning his dance in favor of the kitchen, he was headed toward Greenly's fridge, no doubt in search of a beer.
"Make yourself at home." Greenly called after him, sarcastically.
"Grab me one, too." Connor called after his brother, before turning to answer Greenly. "Dolly and Duffy got everything squared away for us and Ramon came in to close up the theatre."
"How on earth are they going to explain away the extremely beat up junkies?" Luciana asked, managing to look skeptical and nervous all at the same time.
"Well, Ramon was helped out by three good Samaritans who came out of the theatre at just the right time." Connor smiled, quite pleased with the story. "Two Puerto Ricans and a white guy, I believe it was."
"Aye. It's a shame they took off before they could be properly thanked by Boston's finest." Murphy added, returning from the kitchen and handing Connor a beer.
"I can't believe it." Luciana said, looking incredulous. "Wrapped up so nice and tied with a bow. Won't people start to wonder when the creeps claim it was two Irish boys and a girl behind the counter?"
Connor opened his mouth to answer, but Greenly beat him to it.
"Naw, those three were higher than kites when they came into the theatre. They wouldn't have noticed if Barney were standing behind the counter selling balloon animals." He smiled. "At least, that's what the official statement will say, I'm sure."
"Got it in one." Connor said, nodding his head.
Taking a long drink from the beer bottle Murphy handed him, Connor turned to Luciana. "Are ye alright?"
She held his gaze for a long moment, before dropping her eyes. "A little shaken up, but I'm not hurt. Can't say the same for your brother, though." Turning to Murphy, she said, "You look awful."
"Boy, you sure know how to stroke a guy's ego." Murphy said, assuming a wounded expression.
Connor followed her gaze to Murphy's face. The cut was still oozing slightly and the dried blood smeared across his cheek did nothing to improve matters.
Murphy suddenly realized that there were three sets of concerned eyes pointed at his face. Rolling his eyes, he said, "Listen ye three, I'm fuckin' fine! It's a fuckin' scratch."
"Just the same, we should get ye home and cleaned up." Connor said, standing and draining his beer. "Christ himself only knows what kind of infection ye could get from that knife."
Greenly and Luciana also stood, the top of her head barely reaching his chin. She looked up into his face and Connor watched the interplay between them with interest.
"Brian," Luciana began.
Connor heard Murphy choke on his beer. He met his brother eye and tried hard not to give in to the laughter that was threatening to burst out. Neither of them had known Greenly's first name until that moment.
Luciana ignored them and continued, "Thanks for everything. I really appreciate it."
She stood on tiptoe and gave Greenly a kiss on the cheek.
Greenly muttered something inaudible and turned a bright shade of crimson. Connor grabbed Murphy, who was almost as red as Greenly from trying not to laugh, and propelled him out the door. Luciana followed Murphy out, rolling her eyes.
"Thanks for everything, Brian." Connor said, extending a hand.
"Fuck you." Greenly said, ignoring Connor's hand and looking pointedly at the door.
Chuckling to himself, Connor left Greenly in peace. He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as he entered the hall. That had gone much better than he had expected.
Luciana seemed mostly recovered from the terror that had gripped her in the theatre, and it looked like she and Greenly would get along just fine while he and Murphy were away.
Connor fervently hoped that the next few days would pass without incident so he and Murphy could get on the road.
---
On the walk back to the apartment, Luciana caught herself humming "No Woman, No Cry."
The absurdity of the situation was not lost on her. If someone had come up to her a month ago and told her that she'd find herself strolling through South Boston at four in the morning after just being assaulted, with two vigilante Irish twins, while humming a Bob Marley tune, she would have assumed they were either high or crazy.
And yet, here she was.
When she realized that Connor was humming along with her and Murphy was singing the lyrics under his breath, she just couldn't help herself.
It started with a giggle. Then, like an avalanche, it began to gather momentum. As she continued to laugh, tears threatened to fall. She gasped for breath and clutched at the stitch in her side.
Leaning against the nearest light post, she looked up and saw Connor and Murphy looking at her quizzically. Their puzzled expressions provoked another spate of laughter.
"What in the fuck are ye on about, woman?" Murphy demanded. "Are ye drunk?"
"Yeah, just how many beers did Greenly give you?" Connor inquired, raising an eyebrow.
Recovering herself, she retorted, "Not enough to make the pair of you sound even remotely in key! Bob Marley must be rolling in his grave."
"Are ye sayin' ye don't like me brother's dulcet tones?" Connor said, conveniently ignoring the fact that she had insulted both of them.
Before she could reply, Connor started singing and doing a horrible impression of Murphy's dance from before.
She was almost able to maintain a straight face.
Almost.
Murphy was doing his best to look offended but even he wasn't immune to how ridiculous Connor looked and sounded at that moment. Before his twin reached the chorus, Murphy had joined her, snickering appreciatively.
"Fuck off, ye retard." Murphy said, between chuckles. "At least I can whistle!"
It was Luciana's turn to look puzzled. "Are you telling me you can't whistle?" She asked Connor.
"It's not that I can't." He said, defensively. "I choose not to."
Murphy laughed uproariously at this pronouncement. Recovering himself, he said, "Me brother cannot fuckin' whistle. That's why we never had a dog growin' up. Ma said he'd never be able to call it."
Connor delivered a well aimed but deliberately soft punch to Murphy's kidney. Murphy turned preparing to do battle, but Luciana cut him off.
"Come on, you two. I'll end up with frostbite if I have to wait out a MacManus brawl." She said, rubbing her arms to warm them up. Noticing the fresh rivulets of blood snaking down Murphy's cheek, she added. "Besides, all that laughing broke open the cut on Murphy's face."
She linked an arm through each of theirs and began walking in the direction of the apartment, pulling them along. She smiled slightly then pursed her lips, beginning to whistle. Connor groaned, but Murphy caught her tune and joined in. The reggae melody accompanied them all the way back to the apartment.
--
"Try to keep still." Luciana said, leaning over Murphy's upturned face. "This might sting."
"Oh, I think I can handle it." He said, in a patronizing voice, which she chose to overlook.
He certainly seemed able to handle it. He and Connor had proved to be more than competent at everything she had seen them attempt in their few short weeks together. They were charming, funny, smart and, most pressing in her mind, deadly.
She opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol and prepared to drizzle it over his cheek. Originally, Connor had intended to nurse his brother but when she saw what his idea of cleaning up was, she put her foot down.
"Dish soap and a wash rag are not 'just what we need.'" She had exclaimed when Connor had stated his intentions.
Digging around under the bathroom sink, she had turned up some rubbing alcohol and some Neosporin. She had sent her silent thanks to their Da; at least there was one MacManus out there with some common sense.
When she began to pour, some of Murphy's tough guy attitude seemed to desert him. He let out a soft grunt and sqeezed his eyes shut.
"Stop being such a fuckin' chiseller!" Connor said, punching Murphy in the arm. "She could be using a fuckin' iron."
"Don't remind me!" Murphy called after his brother, who had plopped himself down in the living room. The only response from the living room was the MacGuyver theme song blaring out of the TV.
"I'm not even going to ask what that whole iron thing is about." She said, continuing to pour alcohol onto the cut and shaking her head in exasperation.
Feeling she had done all she could to clean the wound, Luciana grabbed the towel from the table and pressed it over the gash in Murphy's face. His eyes flew open and, when she looked into them, she shivered.
Now that she was no longer oblivious to it, the aura of danger that clung to the twins seemed to hover in the background: intangible, yet very real.
It was like trying to find the big dipper in the night sky or your baby's fingers and toes on an ultrasound. At first glance, you don't see anything out of the ordinary, but once it's brought into stark relief you had a hard time seeing anything else.
The MacManus brothers she had grown attached to were still there, but now she was seeing the entire picture clearly. The darker side that was the counter balance of the light. This more dangerous aspect seemed to complete each of their souls like they completed each other. Each was necessary for the other to flourish.
It was both beautiful and terrifying.
She didn't know whether to run towards it or away.
As if reading her thoughts, Murphy touched the hand that she was holding to his cheek.
"This is what we do, Connor and I." He said softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Ye've no need to fear it."
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
His eyes closed and, after she was sure her hands were steady, she began applying the Neosporin to his face.
She was just finishing taping a piece of gauze into place when Connor wandered back into the kitchen. He stopped to look over her handiwork and nodded his approval.
"Ye done good." He said and kissed the top of her head. "I'm goin' to fuckin' bed."
"Best idea ye've ever fuckin' had, mi hermano." Murphy said, before giving in to a huge yawn. He looked at her questioningly. "Ye comin'?"
"I'm going to finish up down here before I turn in." She smiled. "I don't want to clean up blood while I'm having my coffee."
"Want some help?" He said, giving her a searching look.
"Go to bed!" She said, giving him a nudge towards the door. "It'll only take me a minute."
"Suit yerself." He said. then touching his cheek, he added. "Thanks for this."
"Murphy, you wouldn't even have had that mark if you weren't looking out for me, so thank you." Then, realizing Connor was still standing in the doorway, she added, "Both of you." Before either of them could say anything in reply, she put her hands on her hips and pointed down the hall. "Bed, now."
"Yes Ma'am!" They chorused; Connor throwing her a mocking salute.
As soon as she heard the bedroom door shut, she collapsed on the kitchen chair. Giving in to the physical and emotional exhaustion of the day, she put her crossed her arms on the table, put her head down, and let the tears come.