Blah, blah, usual disclaimer here:_.

Murph's POV

You'd think I'd be immune to hangovers by now.

Light leaking through the open blinds had woken me from my alcohol induced sleep. My head pounded. I sat up and looked around Ericka's once immaculate living room. Roc had overtaken the couch, trash can placed by his head. Beer cans were lying all over, along with a box of half eaten pizza and a deck of cards- Irish poker had kicked my pathetic Irish ass.

My stomach gave an all mighty lurch. Bathroom. Now. I stumbled towards the bathroom as quickly as I could in my current state. The contents of my stomach spilled into the basin of the toilet.

I hated throwing up. Well, who doesn't hate throwing up? I mean, really- is there anyone who finds it enjoyable? I rested my head on my arms in between vomiting fits, breathing hard, eyes streaming, and sweating buckets. What in the fuck did I drink last night? Fuckin' hell. Connor will never let me live this one down.

Shit, where is he? I coughed as the nausea overtook me again and I all but stuck my face directly into the shitter. It took a while, but as soon as the dry heaves ceased, I stood up and hobbled to the sink. Cupping the tap water in my hands, I took a drink and swished it around in my mouth. Nothing like the taste of stomach acid in the morning. I turned the tap off and slowly walked out of the bathroom, sure that the heaving would start all over if I left its confines of puke green tile and porcelain. Thankfully, there were no more crippling waves of queasiness and I gave a silent thank you to the saint that controlled such things as hangovers and puking.

I passed an open door. Wondering if it was where Connor had passed out, I peered into the dim room. Sure as shit, Connor was there in bed- body wrapped around Ericka- literally. I wasn't sure, but judging by the way their bodies were positioned, he had a legged draped over her. Connor looked younger somehow; the worry lines that I thought were going to become permanent features of his face had smoothed out- he even had a ghost of a smile on his face. Ericka looked peaceful- no sharp looks or wry smirks on her face- I noted that she was wearing the same long sleeve shirt from last night, which seemed to dispel the notion that they had had slept together. I sighed, grateful for that at least, and then walked to the kitchen, intent on making coffee. Discovering that there was still some leftover in the coffeepot, I poured myself a cup and nuked it until it was hot. It would do- all coffee tasted like shit anyway, so I doubted the age of the crap would matter much. I stared into the ceramic mug filled with dark brown liquid, as if the bitter substance could give me solace.

I knew that sooner or later, Connor would become involved with someone- I sure as hell wasn't the twin who was going to get caught up in the angst ridden world of love. I was smarter than that. Connor, with his ardor for film, was a helpless romantic. Not that he would ever own up to it, but I knew he enjoyed the occasional chick flick. He about fuckin' bawled when we watched Titanic on tv one time- though he insisted it was his allergies acting up. I snorted. Guy is a shitty liar. As see through as a two way mirror.

I dug the heels of my palms into my eyes. We don't fuckin' need this shit right now. It's enough to have to cover our asses, and Roc's- we don't need to watch over yet another person. I sat hunched over in my chair for a while, wishing desperately the throbbing behind my eyes would cease.

"Good morning sunshine!" I looked up and found Connor walking around the kitchen, wearing his infuriating 'I know you have a hangover' grin. He poured himself a cup of caffeinated shit, making as much noise as possible.

"Bi ciuin! Ta tinneas cinn orm!" A groan escaped me as my head gave a particularly painful throb. Conner looked at me concerned.

"Ya look like shit, Murph."

"Aye, I bet. I feel it." I glanced down at my clothes- and then realized with a start that they were stained with dried blood- Maria's blood. The coppery smell hit me in the face. The previous night came rushing back, and the nausea than had tapered off came flooding back in full force. "Jesus Christ." I pushed Connor out of the way and ran to the toilet, making it just in time.

Connor came into the bathroom and knelt down next to me, patting me on the back, cringing sympathetically as I gagged. When my body stopped quaking, I pushed my brother away again- Not that I didn't appreciate the attempt at comforting me, it was more about making room, creating space than anything else. I needed some air desperately. Nodding silently to Connor, I got up, knees weak and threatening to give out. He slipped an arm around my shoulder, but I shrugged it off, bound and determined to make it to the patio on my own. He took a cue and walked behind me, giving me distance but I knew he was watching me like a hawk.

I opened the sliding glass door and stepped outside, cold air greeting me. The morning was stunningly beautiful, even if there was no snow on the ground. I had always loved winter, and I loved summer. Extremes. Polar opposites. My moods tended to act in the same manner- one side of spectrum or the other- good mood, bad mood. It was all black and white. Poetic. I scoffed at myself.

Connor pulled out two cigarettes, lighting both of them and handing one to me. I muttered a thank you and sat down in one of the chairs, taking a puff. Smoke swirled around in my mouth. The nicotine worked its magic, calming me down enough to stop the shaking I hadn't been aware of.

I stared out at the sky, the only sounds coming from the wind, the burning cigarette hanging out of my mouth, and Connor's breathing in the chair next to mine. We sat quiet like that for some time before I caved- like Connor knew I would. One of those stupid twins things.

"I feel bloody fuckin' awful about Maria. She shouldn't have been caught in the middle of that shit. How old is she anyway? Fifteen? And she's already seen so much in her life?" I gritted my teeth and bounced my leg up and down. "She doesn't deserve that, she's just a kid. So is her brother."

"Aye." Connor gave me a thoughtful look. "Imagine if we hadn't been there? She'd be another body in the morgue, along with Jose. You saved her life- regardless of if your gun fired the bullet that landed in her. You didn't pull the trigger with intent to hurt her."

I chewed on my already gnawed off thumbnail. I felt a surge of anger, and the words- however blunt they may have been- left my mouth before I had even formed the thought. "I want to take out that fucker who's been using those kids. And all of his fuckin' lackeys." Connor looked over at me, ever the calm and collected one.

"Thought that went without saying."

I nodded, staring at a passing cloud. "Evil men. Dead men."

'Nuff said.

AN: "Bi ciuin! Ta tinneas cinn orm!" translates from Gaelic as "Be quiet! I have a headache!" Trying to tie in other languages has been a real challenge- especially when I know nothing of the languages being spoken. And did you know there are different forms of Gaelic? The Irish form and the Scottish form are entirely different from each other! (Kind of like Italian and French- same roots, a few of the same phonetics, but different.)

Speaking of challenges, I'm trying to write in other character's POV. It's hard to write their perspectives differently- I want each one to be different, though I felt it was easier to write from Murphy's perspective- possibly because he isn't as conflicted as Connor when it comes to their "Sainthood."

One more thing: Please, please take the time to review- even if it's something as simple as "Hey, this was good." Or "Hey, this sucked, fix it." Either way, all I'm looking for is feedback- and I'm sure you readers have plenty to say- I'm fairly certain that if you're reading BDS fanfiction, you probably drop the F-bomb at least thirty times in a day- Come now, don't be shy! :)