Disclaimer here=lkandlkkdnfdlkfndfhaldjs'[lopa;

AN- First off, HOLY CRAP this took forever to write. There were so many ideas i had involving plot that it took a while to narrow it down. And apologies if this chapter is hard to choke down, but i felt i couldn't break it all up- it made more sense to have it all at once...anyway, i'll shut up here and let you guys read.

Oh, and is anyone else watching The Walking Dead? Holy shit, it's such a good show.

Murphy POV

I woke out of dead sleep to the sounds of someone vomiting violently in the bathroom. The clock read 10pm. Groggily, I got up from the couch and went to investigate, and possibly hold hair back if it was who I thought. Sure enough, it was Ericka slumped over the toilet. Again.

"Ya know, you're obscenely loud when you puke." I muttered. She looked up, sweat shining on her forehead. "Sorry, Murph." She panted. "I'll make sure to vomit quieter next time."

And then she was face first in the toilet again, coughing up the lasagna Roc had made earlier. I sat down on the floor next to her, holding her lion's mane of hair back, wishing that Connor had been the one here to do this. However, Connor was off helping Roc sort through his old apartment, trying to find anything useful towards Roc's effort of getting out of Boston and forming some semblance of a life elsewhere. I felt a pang of sadness as I remembered that Rocco wouldn't be coming with us. It was for the best though; Roc thrived on the chaos and clutter of city life. If he actually got his act together and stayed out of trouble, New York City would be perfect for him. Connor and I just couldn't function the same way anymore, not after playing God. Our escape would be found in the green fields of home.

Ericka surfaced again, waving me off of her. She leaned back against the wall, the lighting of the bathroom bringing out the dark circles under her eyes and the pale pallor of her skin. She was the very embodiment of the phrase 'death warmed over.'

"Thanks." She mumbled, pulling her hair back with a likewise pale hand.

"Sure you're not pregnant?" I asked. She shook her head. "No… just the stomach flu. Or food poisoning. Roc is a piss poor excuse for an Italian, he can't cook for shit." She laughed weakly before falling silent.

"Where's Conn?"

I raised my eyebrows at her. "Over at Roc's, cleaning out his place. You asked this the last time you woke up and started puking, which was about an hour ago."

"Oh. Why aren't you over there with them?"

"Pretty simple, actually. Connor knows what buttons to push on Roc to get 'em to listen, or as much as he listens to anyone anyways. And someone has to stay here. You know, make sure you don't drown in the toilet bowl." She gave me a half smirk of amusement- I doubt she could've managed more than that.

"Hey, remind me in the morning… I need to go to church tomorrow."

"Uh… why? You're sicker than a dog. Ya shouldn't be going anywhere."

"Bad dreams, Murph. They're like bad omens. Ever hear that?" She asked, shutting her eyes tightly.

"Nope."

"My brother used to say that to me all the time. I go to church every time I have a nightmare, maybe exchange my bad karma for good. However that works." She said vaguely, attempting to stand up, but stopping when her knees began to shake. I stood and picked her up, carrying her out to the couch. She didn't even try to fight me, just laid there limp in my arms. Her lack of a fight concerned me a little. She must be feeling pretty awful.

I sat down next to her, giving her the blanket I had been using. She latched onto it, staring at the wall, eyes glassy from apparent pain. I reached out and felt her forehead with the back of my hand; she was burning up. I got her a glass of tap water; she took a couple feverish sips before pushing it away. I thought about dragging her to the hospital myself, but with all the sudden heat on us, leaving the apartment seemed like a bad thing to do. The only option was to keep her talking until Connor showed back up or until she passed out- whichever came first.

"So… what was this bad dream you've had?"

She blinked a few times before answering. "I dreamt that you three were tied up somewhere, being beaten to death and all I could was watch." Her voice was terrifyingly quiet and faint; It seemed to take her an immense effort to speak. "I couldn't help because there was a pane of glass separating us." She swallowed hard. "Nice change of pace from the usual, I will say that much….hey,Murphy?"

I looked over at her. "Yeah, Ericka?"

"Are you guys really going to be done after you go home?" I didn't need to ask what she meant by 'done.'

"Yeah…of course."

She smiled serenely. "That's…. good." She said before slipping into a coma-like sleep.

I curled up in a ball at the end of the couch, not having the energy to move. Ericka's question hit me hard, probably because she had voiced aloud my own doubts. Are we really going to be done? Are we really going to throw away our guns and ignore our calling from God? I felt the other side of me argue back. You've killed enough evil people. You've answered your calling to the fullest extent of your abilities. What more could God want from you?

"Murphy?" I felt myself being shaken awake by a bright eyed and wide awake Connor. "C'mon, get your arse up."

"What time is it?" I groaned. I hadn't even realized I had fallen asleep. I sure as hell didn't feel like I had.

"Nine-ish."

"Oh, what the hell Connor? Let me fuckin' sleep."

"Nope. Church. Let's go. Aller!" He said, breaking into French. Connor could never quite get the hang of French phonetics, thus causing him to speak the flowing language with a weird lilt. It was irritating to me, and he knew it too.

"Fine, fine. I'm getting up, just stop talking in that language."

"Warum?" He asked, switching to German.

"Weil, Sie klingen verzögert." Because. You sound retarded.

He rolled his eyes at me. "C'mon. Let's go. Roc's already in the car."

Roc looked as thrilled as I did to be awake "Fuckin' shit, Conn. This couldn't wait until later? Really?"

"Hey, where's Ericka?" I asked, suddenly remembering her. "She said she needed to go."

"At work, apparently." He scowled.

"Oi! What the hell? You actually let her-" He raised a fist threateningly and I closed my mouth. "Save it. She wouldn't listen to me."

I shook my head at Ericka's stubbornness. "Hasn't been able to keep food down for two days, but is going to go to work anyways. To work with other sick people. Friggen twit." Connor nodded his head in silent agreement. With any luck, somebody on staff would notice how awful she looked and force her to go home. Or force feed her some meds. Either way, the girl needed an intervention before she keeled over and died.

Roc pulled up to the curb outside of the massive stone building. He called out to me as Connor and I walked away from the car. "Hey, Murph! Look, this early morning church shit has gotta go."

"Have to go in the morning. Keep up appearances, ya know?" Roc grumbled and went to park the car. I followed Connor into the church and sat down in a pew in the back, keeping my head down. I felt Connor sit down beside me and immediately start praying in Gaelic. I half listened to him, attempting to collect my own thoughts, which were hazy at best.

At this point in time, we were supposed to be home, in Ireland with everything put behind us. Instead, we were a month and half past when we had planned to pop Papa Joe(due to recovering from gunshots wounds), and were running out of time to make our move. Hiding out in Ericka's apartment was starting to take its toll; we were all at our breaking point as far as sharing living space was concerned. And, after the appearance of the bearded guy with six guns at our last job, there was a good chance someone was following us.

What we need is a plan. A real plan- not some scheme taken from movies or one made up on the spot- a real solid fucking plan with every variable thought of beforehand. Too much to ask?

I felt Connor stir next to me, rising from the pews. His footfalls sounded bouncy against the thick carpet in the aisles. Connor always seemed lighter, less burdened after we spent time in a church. He had always been a big believer in the power of prayer. Me? Not so much. I took time to pray or course, but when things got rough, my faith tended to wane until I could I fix the problem myself.

Maybe that was the problem. Just a straight up lack of faith.

I bowed my head and started to pray feverishly, holding onto my rosary so tightly, the wooden edges cut deep into my palm.

God… you brought us into this mess, now please…..get us out of it alive.

Connor POV

I was going to kill Rocco.

What in the fuck is he thinking, ambushing a fucking priest?I peered through the mesh wire window of the confessional booth, looking at the back of Rocco's head as he pressed a gun to the small of the priest's back.

"Sorry you're gonna have to see this." Whispered Roc.

"I didn't see anything!"

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" I stuck a finger through the mesh, trying to poke at Roc.

"Don't do this my son." Said the priest, breathing heavily. "Don't you have any fear of God?"

"That's who I'm doing this for, now open the- I'll fucking do you right here!"

"God, oh God… have mercy on my soul."

Too far. Roc had taken this too fucking far. Right as the priest opened up the confessional window, I punched through the wire, pulling Roc's head into my booth.

"Let 'em fucking go or I'll kill you right now!"

"Okay, just calm down! He could hurt us! He could ruin the whole thing!" That was the least of my worries at the moment- jumping a priest for whatever reason- in a house of God of all places- was not cool with me.

I pulled harder on his hair, hoping to get my point across. "Listen. You let him fucking go or I'll deliver you right fucking here!"

"No, Connor you won't! You love me man-"

"Hello?" came a fourth slurred and slightly drunk sounding voice, silencing us immediately. "You there?"

"Y-yes, my son." Said the terrified sounding priest from the other booth.

Roc growled at the priest. "Don't fuck this up, Father. Just do your thing, alright?"

I heard him take a deep breath before talking to the tormented soul the next booth over. "How long since your last confession?"

"Oh Christ...I've never confessed." The tone of his voice became much clearer. I…come here for advice. Not….slawlvation."

How fucking drunk is this guy, holy shit….

"Why have you come to a church for counsel if you're not religious?" Father failed to disguise the irritation in his voice- though I suppose having a hairy Italian guy holding a gun to his his head might have had something to do with it.

"It's…ethics. I put evil men behind bars….but the law has miles of red tape and loopholes for these cocksuckers to slip through." I felt my eyes widen in comprehension. Roc hadn't jumped a priest randomly…. That was fucking Agent Paul Smecker in confessional…the very man who was tracking our movements and investigating the deaths of the white collar criminals we had killed since that fateful St Patty's day.

"I found these two guys that are fixing the situation with an iron fist, as if they had God's permission to do so."

My stomach sank. He knew we were the Saints. He had somehow pieced it all together and figured out who we were….and yet, somehow he was feeling conflicted about the whole thing? It didn't make sense to me.

Father scoffed at him. "God's permission? God doesn't grant-" Roc should Father's shoulder roughly, silencing him long enough for Smecker to start rambling again.

"In this day and age…. I believe what they do is necessary. I feel it is correct." It struck me how truly articulate and intelligent Smecker really was- drunk at nine in the morning, but still somewhat put together mentally. I had to applaud that aspect of his character- man was sharper then a tack.

"It is the spirit that gives us feelings." Father spoke slowly. "It's like a conduit through which the Lord speaks to us. You felt your answers would be here in the house of the Lord today. And you feel these men are necessary. So… the Lord has spoken to you twice today."

"Has he now?" I could practically hear the raised eyebrow in his tone.

"You were the one who came into this church speaking of beliefs and feelings. Is it so hard to believe that God has brought you here?" Father shot back at him.

"I guess not."

"It's very easy to be sarcastic about religion. It's much more difficult to take a stand for what you believe in." it sounded like it hurt for father to say those words. Roc and I strained our ears to listen, hardly breathing for fear of missing something.

"I want to stand for what I believe, Father…"

"First you got to know what your beliefs are."

"I believe that these young men are right." I couldn't believe my own ears.

"You know them personally?"

"Yes.

"Would they ever harm an innocent person for any reason?"

"No! They would never do that. Well," he amended. "The two Irish guys wouldn't. The Italian guy, he might, he's kind of an idiot." At that, Roc tried to get away but I pulled him back further, still straining to hear the conversation.

"I'm beginning to see… all of the things I wish I could do…these guys are doing. Wha…what should I do?" he asked hopelessly. "Because I am a man who is supposed to uphold the law."

Father seemed to be choking on his own words. "The laws of God…. are higher than the laws of man."

"Yes! Yes! I was thinking that too. No- I was feeling it." Said Smecker, sounding completely sober, sarcasm leaking though. "All I needed was to hear you say it!" there was a tense pause before he muttered. "Amen. I will help them."

Father looked to the heavens. "Father forgive me…."

"Thank you, Father." Came Smecker's voice. There was a loud thud; I suspected he had attempted to cross himself and elbow hit the side of the booth. "Whatever. Amen. Goodbye. " After I heard Smecker climb out and walk away I pushed Roc roughly through the wire netting and leaving the booth, slamming the wooden door behind me.

I was livid. I was going to kill Roc- not just for assaulting a priest in a church, but for going after Smecker after we told him not too. The silver lining though- we had an ally. And something told me with this last job of ours, well, we could use another one of those. I glanced back at Murphy and Roc, still slightly glowering at the latter. Roc threw an arm around Murph's shoulder, chuckling to himself. "The Lord works in mysterious ways." He grinned.

Murph looked at him like he had lost his goddamned mind, oblivious to what had just occurred in confessional. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Ericka POV

"That means you really should not be here right now, Sug." Annie stared at me. "Seriously, Ericka. Go home. Take a couple days off, you need it."

I shook my head. "No really I'm fine!" I lied. My voice gave me away as it cracked. Annie rolled her eyes at me, consulting the thermometer that had just been in my mouth.

"You're running a fever of a hundred and two. You are going to go home and you will stay there until you are fully recovered. No coming into work, no working out- hell, no sex until you are better. Do I make myself clear?" She punctuated every word in the last sentence. I wasn't about to argue with the southern belle. She was like a Rottweiler- cute and cuddly until you pissed it off, and then it was liable to gnaw your arm off.

My head swam a little as I stood up from the chair I had been sitting in. "Yes, Annie."

She smiled at me, back to her sweeter-than-punch self. "Good. Oh, and by the way, Connor is waiting for you out in the lobby. Now get the hell out of here."

I did as I was told, practically falling into Connor's arms as soon as I saw him. "Babe. I think I have a problem." I moaned into his coat. "I think I actually caught the flu."

He chuckled. "You're human. Happens to the best of us."His arms suddenly tightened around me.

Instinctively, I knew something was off. It was all in the way he held me. His grip was too tight and the embrace lasted a few seconds longer than it should have. I looked up at him and saw how dark his eyes were.

A storm is coming in.

We walked home in complete silence, knowing we couldn't talk until we were someplace safe, where people couldn't overhear. It was a cold Boston day, but the sun was out, shining brightly. My head throbbed painfully when the light reflected off of cars and into my eyes. Connor handed me a pair of sunglasses when he noticed me walking with my hand over my face. I recognized them as Murphy's- they had slightly bent frames and the ends had been chewed on. I slipped them on, wondering why Connor had his brother's shades with him. Where the hell is Murph? Are they expecting something to happen?

The definite answer turned out to be a yes.

"Smecker is on our side." Announced Roc as soon as I walked in the door. I shrugged off my coat and shoes, sinking wearily into the couch.

"The fed?" I asked. Connor nodded, looking like he really wanted to slap Rocco upside the head. "How'd you-"

"Long story, we'll fill you in later." He sighed. "Look, Ericka…." He looked around before speaking. "We're looking to hit Papa Joe tonight

"Tonight?" I repeated in shock. Well that was unexpected.

"Yeah, we just talked told Smecker. He ran through a couple data bases and found the guy that got us- the bearded geriatric one with six guns." As if he could be more specific- not too many old guys were hardcore gunslingers. "Nothing is known about him aside from the fact he's been paroled out and then placed back in prison two or three times in the last twenty five or so years."

"Which means he's somebody's weapon and errand boy." I muttered, filling in the blanks.

"Which also means he's been tracking us. I guarantee it." Murph chewed on his thumb, hardly containing himself. He reminded me of a lab rat- one that had been fed a huge dose of crack. "We really haven't the time to wait. If this guy is coming for us, he's coming soon. No sense in making ourselves sitting ducks."

I nodded. "Alright, so what's the plan?"

Connor stared down at me. "As far as you're concerned there is no plan."

"Excuse me?" I shot at him.

"You're not coming with us. You can't handle it with the fucking state you've been in that last few days-"

"Oh fuck you, Connor!" I made to punch him, but Murph grabbed my arm, pushing me into the couch forcefully and pushing Connor back with his other hand.

"Calm down, okay? Look, he's got a point. You seem fine now, but you were looking fucking awful last night. The stress might set you off all over again."

"No it won't." I said simply. "I'm coming with. You were the one who asked me to come with y'all on this job. I will not back out because I'm not feeling a little under the weather."

"Under the weather? Under the fucking weather?" Murphy interrupted me. "You spent most of last night throwing up, I think that's a little more than under the weather!"

I ignored him, standing up on suddenly unsteady legs and looking Connor dead in the eyes. "And ya know what?" my rant picked up speed, like a car travelling down a huge hill. Or rather, like a car travelling down a gravel road and eighty miles an hour, like the time Eric and I 'borrowed' our dad's truck to go to a concert in a town three hours away. That was one horrific crash and it was a miracle we had made it out without a scratch. At the time, I felt the wreck coming but couldn't stop it. Now it was the same thing-I felt the impending crash coming, but that couldn't stop a damn thing. I just had to roll with the words coming out of my mouth and deal with the consequences later. "If I'm supposed to just up and leave behind my entire life to go all the way across the goddamned Atlantic with you, then I might as well as have a hand in it."

And then the angry ,tough and violent me was gone, like something had sapped away all my energy. I sat down onto the couch and let my head spin a little, trying to keep talking, to make them understand. "Look, I couldn't live with myself if something happened to any of you, and that's the honest to God truth. I love all of you too damn much…." I felt something hot roll down my cheeks. I was crying. I wiped away my tears with a shaking hand, trying hard to not lose my head completely.

I felt Connor sit down next to me and pull me against him, stroking my hair. Murph sat down next to us, taking a hold of the hand that wasn't in Connor's. Rocco lingered somewhere in the background, watching nervously, afraid of intruding.

I felt so damn weak- both physically and emotionally. Before I met Connor, I never cried, never doubted myself or my decisions- I was a perfect pillar of strength. And then something happened somewhere and I was turned into an emotional moody mess, one that couldn't even function properly in the past month or so. But still, moody or not, I wanted to be there with them, and they couldn't stop me. It was a case of ethics- sometime even Saints need a guardian angel on their side.

"Ericka." Came Connor's voice. "Nothing is going to happen, alright? We're gonna be fine."

"Wish I could believe that." I muttered. A saw Murphy glance at Connor and give the slightest of nods. He walked out of the room, footsteps heavy. By now, I could tell which brother was in the room by the sound of their footsteps. Murphy had heavy footfalls, and they were hardly ever in a steady rhythm. Connor's were lighter, consistent, like he always had a purpose for being wherever he was at that moment.

Connor kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes for a brief moment and then opened them. He was staring at me as intensely as the night in the alleyway. Don't want to forget your face, he had said. I felt a sudden wave of panic flood me. That was exactly what he was doing – memorizing details- just in case something happened to him. It wasn't a just in case thing- he was fully expected something to go wrong. That was why he didn't want me there.

"Connor…" He silenced my protests with a kiss, slow and sweet. My heart felt like it wanted to fall right out of my chest. No. No, no, no. This isn't happening like this.

Murph appeared at my side again, holding a couple pills and a glass of water. "Here, take these." He said.

I looked at him suspiciously. "What are they?"

"Just some off brand Tylenol. It'll help your fever. C'mon, humor me here." His face was innocent. I could trust him- I could trust any of them, that much I knew. So I sat fully up and took them, draining the entire glass of water. He took my glass back to the kitchen, leaving me with Connor. He pulled me back down to his chest, holding me close. He was warm, like my own personal furnace. He smelled faintly of cigarettes and his cologne, a warm musky scent; It was comforting.

I felt my eyes grow heavy; I closed them and felt myself slipping under. As I felt Connor gently laid me down on the couch, something clicked far too late for my liking.

Off brand Tylenol my ass. They are so dead.

I fought hard against the impending darkness tugging at my eyelids. I heard the sounds of metal clanking against metal, bags zipping shut; the air smelled of cigarettes- they were chain smoking, no doubt.

The last sounds I caught before I finally gave into whatever drug was in my system were the voices of my Saints.

"Ericka is going to kill us when we get back…. You do realize that?"

I heard a faint chuckle. "Yeah….I'm counting on it."