Obligatory disclaimer: I own nothing of BDS. Der.
An- New *rewritten* chapter! Hope you enjoy, and please, please, please review! :)
Connor POV
"It's been one hell of a week." Murphy tore into the cheeseburger in front of him. "And it's only Wednesday." I nodded my head in silent agreement, half listening to Murphy rant.
We sat in the corner of an old diner we used to frequent when we worked at the meat packing plant. Murph had liked to come here because the waitresses doted on us- him especially. Our current waitress seemed to be no exception and kept refilling our drinks and passing by our table for no apparent reason.
I picked at the food on my plate, not very hungry. My hangover set in long after we had left Ericka's and taken a hung-over Roc home- though thankfully I hadn't puked, and with any luck I wouldn't. I had every intent of going back to Ericka's when she finished her shift in the ER- her place was still in shambles, and while cleaning wasn't my forte, I would gladly do it so long as it gave me a reason to be around her.
"Ya gonna eat that?" Murph snatched the untouched cheeseburger on my plate, not waiting for a reply. I stared at his as he wolfed it down.
"Was thinking about it, ya jackass." He grinned at me from across the table, pleased with himself. I was a little annoyed but relieved to see Murphy was back to his usual rambunctious and (somewhat) aggravating self.
As soon as I had the thought pass through my head, he abandoned his plate, nailing me with a gaze I knew all too well- the infamous 'Murphy-MacManus-has-something-to-say-so-shut-the-fuck-up-and-listen' look. I stirred some sugar into my coffee. "Well, what is it?" I asked wearily.
"We need to do something about Roc."
"What are you talking about?"
Murph gave me an exasperated look. "You haven't noticed? He's being fuckin' stupid lately. As if sticking around the Yakavetta's wasn't bad enough, he's going out of his way to find trouble. Remember what we agreed on when all this started? We don't go searching for missions, let them come to us? After the shit he pulled last night… fuck, man. I dunno."
We lapsed into silence; the dull buzz of the fluorescent lights the only sound around us. I had my own thoughts on the situation- I never thought Roc should have been in on any on this- but Murph had insisted that he would be a good fit and that he could handle it.
Sure, he can handle all the blood and gore- a little too well. Does he have the moral fiber to not kill an innocent person? Could he keep himself in check and not go over the edge?
I doubted it.
A loud crash from behind me broke the silence. Murph looked over my shoulder and groaned. "For fuck's sakes!" He leaped out his seat, sprinting to the counter. I got up and ran behind him, stopping short as he tackled a teenage boy, who had been apparently up in our waitress's face. A plastic bin lay abandoned on the floor with shards of broken dirty dishes and silverware. The girl stood behind the counter, looking terrified.
Murph pinned the guy on his stomach, knee in the small of his back. "So, you think you're a big man, eh? Breaking shit and throwing a temper tantrum for no reason." He twisted his arm. "Fuckin' moron."
"Hey, fuck you man!" the kid gasped. "That's my girlfriend! Shit, I'll fuckin' kill you if you don't get the hell off of me."
"Yeah. Sure you will, kid." I muttered. I turned to the girl. "Are you alright?" She stood there shaking, face ashen and unresponsive. I hopped over the counter, landing next to her. "Are you hurt at all?" There was still no response from her, just wide, horrified eyes as she trembled. "Come on, lass. Let's sit you down, calm yourself a bit." I put a hand on her shoulder and attempted to guide her to the back, away from the action. Something caught my eye. I followed her gaze and saw a group a five teens watching through the window, all male, all Mexican, and all apparently pissed off.
I gritted my teeth, holding in all the angry curses I want to send heavenward. Fuckin' seriously? Can we go at least one night without violence? Asking too much, maybe? I crossed myself, resigned to the fact that we had a fight on our hands.
"Murph! Seems he brought some friends with him." I yelled at him in Gaelic. I turned back to the waitress. "Lass, go into the back and call the police. Come on now." Life returned to her and she stared at me like I had a third eye.
"They're in a gang! No fuckin' way I'm getting the cops in on this shit!" I sighed and pushed her to the kitchen door. "Then stay the fuck outta the way." She nodded and ran, making her escape.
I walked back to Murphy and the teenage kid. "So, you brought some friends now did ya? We can do this the easy way or hard way. When my brother here lets you up, you should do the intelligent thing of getting' the fuck out of here, taking your pathetic friends with you and leavin' that girl alone."
"What's the hard way?" He scowled at me.
Murph answered for me. "You'll get the fuckin' ass beatin' of a lifetime, that's what." He snarled. He got off the kid and pulled him to his feet, backing up to stand next to me. There was a moment of tense silence as his cronies rushed into the dinner. The kid turned his head slightly to speak to one of the other gang members. They spoke in rapid Spanish- I had a hard understanding them.
The last words that punctuated the air before all hell broke loose: "Kill them."
Murphy POV
The six Mexican kids ran at us, splitting up to form two three-on-one fights with myself and Connor. "For the love of fucking God." I swore again as I dodged the first few punches they threw at me. My hand reached for the gun normally at my side- only to come up empty handed. Fuck! No knife either.
Weaponless in a fight and hungover. Wonderful. Fan-fucking-tastic. This is the last time I ever listen to Connor and go anywhere without a gun.
I lunged at the kid directly in front of me, knocking him to the floor. I jumped off him and kneed another one in the groin, pushing him into a table as he doubled over. The third kid- the one who I had pinned to the floor earlier- kicked me in the chest, knocking the wind of me. He landed a few more punches in before I managed to duck away from him. Stumbling around and breathless, I reached for the first object I could find- a plate lying on a table. I threw it like a Frisbee at the one who had kicked me with all the force I could manage. It broke in two as it collided with his forehead. He fell to the ground unconscious.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
I looked up to see one of the guys Connor was fighting scratching at his eyes. Apparently Connor had gotten creative, pouring hot coffee directly onto one of the people he was fighting. He crouched on the counter, armed raised with a coffee pot in each hand. Vaguely, I wondered if he had gotten the idea from some shitty made-for-TV movie as I fought to get my breath back.
The two other guys grabbed his arms and pulled him off the counter- their faces being greeted with heavy glass and piping hot liquid. Connor slipped on the broken glass and dishware as he attempted to keep his balance, landing face first on the floor. The kid with coffee in his eyes took his opportunity at revenge and kicked Connor in the face, stomping on his arm. There was a loud crunch and Connor swore at the top of his lungs.
I grabbed the kid by his coat and pressed down on the first pressure point I could think of- one in the neck. He crumpled to the floor instantly. Resisting the urge to kick the utter shit out of him, I reached instead for Connor, pulling him up onto his feet. He was bleeding fairly heavily, small chunks of glass stuck in his face. "You alright there?" He asked, holding his arm gingerly.
"Why you asking me? You're the one with fucking glass in your face." I yelled as the kid who I had kicked in the groin ran at me, wielding a fork. I stepped to the side at the last second, allowing his own momentum to carry him right into one of his friends who had been trying to attack Connor from behind. His friend gave a loud gasp- I assumed the fork had landed in the guy's stomach. He fell to the floor and his friend started crying. "I'm sorry, Marcus! Oh fuck! Fuck!"
Connor surveyed the mess rather impassively as blue and red lights flashed through the window.
"Bought fuckin' time they showed up. Could've used their help." I said angrily, the last of the adrenaline leaving my system. Connor shrugged, jumping onto the counter. "Think I broke my fuckin' wrist again. Shoulder hurts like hell too." He muttered.
"Police! Hands in the air!"
We raised our hands up as cops stormed into the diner. They all dropped their guns, looking bewildered as they saw the limp bodies on the floor. "The hell did you boys do?" Asked a younger looking cop. Before either of us could answer, another voice cut through the air.
"An act of civil service, so says the anonymous caller who phoned 911 from a payphone down the street." A tall lanky man walked towards us. I recognized him as one of the detectives from the ordeal with the Russians.
"Well, if it isn't the MacManus brothers. I'm Detective Greenly, I worked your case last March. Don't know if you remember me. I sure as fuck remember you two. Had me running errands for Agent Smecker the entire time he was in town." He looked us up and down, zeroing in on Connor's injuries. "Come on. Let's get you to the hospital, you look fuckin' terrible. You can give us your statements after you get stitched up."
"No, really, we're fine. We can tell you what happened and then we'll be on our way." Said Connor, wincing as he went to move his wrist.
Greenly chuckled darkly. "If you guys are fine, then I'm the fucking Pope. Come on. I'll drive you."
Connor sighed, signaling that he gave in. We followed the detective out of the diner and out to his car and let him drive us to the ER.
Another long night. I thought grimly as we sat in the waiting room. I filled out the paperwork for Connor, seeing as how his left hand- the one he wrote with and fired a gun with- was probably broken. I had done this countless times before- I was pretty sure I knew his medical history better than my own.
Fractured right wrist twice, broke the left one three time. Has had three concussions, couple fractured ribs, a broken nose. Allergic to penicillin. Countless stitches. Had the chicken pox when he was six, and I'm pretty sure he lost a tooth in a fight once. Or was that me who lost a tooth?
Connor looked over my shoulder. "You idiot, you're the one with three concussions." I scowled at him, and scratched out the head injuries on the medical history form.
"MacManus, Connor." I looked up at the nurse who had called for Connor. "For the love of God, can't I go a day without you two passing through my ER?" Ericka shook her head and beckoned with the clipboard she was holding for us to follow her.
"Not like I was trying to end up here, you know." He said as she led us into an exam room. She shook her head at him, washing her hands in the sink and pulling on rubber gloves. "You guys could have at least waited to beat up a bunch of kids until I was off duty."
"Aye, but who was going to clean up the mess? Certainly not us." I grinned at her as she rolled her eyes at me.
"Jackass." She muttered, turning to Connor. "Shirt off." He muttered something along the lines of "Not fuckin' necessary," As he started to tug it off with difficulty.
Ericka walked over to him as he grew increasingly frustrated. "Don't be stupid, let me help. Sort of my job." I smirked as I saw a look of calm and a faint smile cross his face as he accepted her help.
She's made for him. I felt all apprehension towards the idea of them being together vanish. Anyone who could pull my brother out of a shit mood with a few simple words had to be something from the heavens.
Ericka started taking his vitals and looking over his injuries. I leaned against a wall, fascinated. I had a grasp on basic first aid- between all the fights we had been in over the years and our recent change in profession, we both had to be. I liked to think if I had been a normal person with the financial means to go to school, I would have gone to medical school and eventually became a doctor. However, we grew up dirt poor so we couldn't afford school.
And in any case we had never been normal.
"Murph, you have any broken bones I should know about?" She said, looking over Connor's chart.
"Nope. I'm fine." She raised a skeptical eyebrow while Connor glared at me. "Fuckin' idiot." Said Connor. "I saw him get kicked in the chest. Check him over."
I sighed and took off my coat and t-shirt, and stood there, fairly annoyed. Ericka walked over to me, and fell into what seemed like an old habit more than anything else. "Tell me if anything hurts." She rubbed a knuckle over the length of my collarbone and felt up my ribs with two gloved fingers. "Anything?" I shook my head no. "Good. Bit surprising, considering the side of the boot print on your chest. Take a couple Tylenol and you'll be fine."
Tylenol. Connor's cure all for everything. Further proof they were made for each other.
I glanced down at myself before putting my shirt back on. There was a purple bruise blooming where the kid had kicked me. I probably wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been pointed out.
"Alright, Connor, I can't diagnose you myself, but if you don't mind, I think I'll venture a guess." She looked at his wrist. "Judging by where the swelling and bruising is, I'd say you've got a fairly clean break. Guessing you'll be in a cast for a few weeks until the bones heal and fuse back together. We'll know for sure when your X-rays come back. Your shoulder is also dislocated, and as far as your face goes, we just need to clean the lacerations up. You're lucky, you don't need stitches and that there isn't any glass embedded in them- it'd be nightmare to clean up."
She turned to leave the room. "Now just hang tight here for a while. I can't do anything for you until a doctor sees you." She looked rather annoyed by that fact. "Could be a while."
The door to the room swung open and a man wearing a white coat walked in. Based on the way he carried himself, I already didn't like him. Based on the way he looked at Ericka as he walked in the room, Connor already hated him.
"Ericka, there you are. I've been trying to find you all day." She cringed. Connor and I grinned at each other. This could get interesting.
"Uh, well, Doctor Caldwell, I've been working all day. Kind of what I'm doing right now."
He looked around at Connor and I. Connor waved his good hand in a sardonic greeting. Caldwell nodded his head. "I see." He coughed and straightened his tie. "Well, Ericka, what are you doing when you get off? Maybe we could go grab a drink?"
Her eyes widened in horror. She opened her mouth to speak. "Ah, well, um-"
"She's coming home with me." Said Connor fiercely. Ericka glanced from him, to me, to Caldwell, than back to Connor, who looked surprised by the words that had come out of his own mouth.
A sly grin appeared on her face and I tried very, very hard to not notice the sudden sparks passing between her and my brother. "Actually, I'm taking him back to my place." She spoke the words carefully, weighting each one so we all knew exactly what we meant.
I grabbed my coat and clapped the now fuming doctor on the back on my way out the door.
"Think that's a no there, doctor."