Thank you for the review! Here's take two of chapter two… I didn't add much to this chapter, sorry it's still short.

"QUINN! SHUT UP!" The slap was sudden and loud, stinging against her cheek, and though he moved his hand away as soon as it hit, she swore she could feel the burning outline of his fingers and palm on her face. It was all too familiar. And just like that the scream died in her throat, and she remembered a stupid little fight from their teenage years, racing through her mind like a movie.

"I can't even believe you right now! I'm the only one who says anything to stick up for you, and you're so fucking nasty to me!"

"Why don't you quit being a selfish bitch, Quinn! Do you want a fucking award every time you defend me to someone?"

"You know what I should say next time? I'll just lie. It's great! I love having a brother like you! We can talk about guys together, you're not an embarrassment to Mom and Dad, you have so many friends-"

She had been pushing him. She was hurt and she wanted him to feel it, to lash out with cutting words that would tear at everything he was already so torn up about. She had known what was coming, but she couldn't stop herself, spewing out words, just sounds and letters that combined into hateful, angry sentences, with meanings that made his eyes soften with the glimmer of what? Tears? Then abruptly harden and flash with hate. He had screamed at her as he drew back his hand.

"QUINN! SHUT UP!"

And then he had swung out, and slapped her. Just like now.

She opened her eyes slowly, just like last time, tears piling up and spilling over her lashes, and she was back in the present. His face was close to hers, the same face, her Paul, years older and much more tired than that fight so long ago. It was so stupid. Their childish fights, when she had hated him so badly, and after he had left… since she supposed she couldn't say "died"… she had wished so hard she could've taken all those hateful words and feelings back.

She choked and gasped, still crying and not knowing why. And then it ripped through her. She had thought he was dead. She had grieved for him, missed him so much. He had lied to her, and their family. Had let them grieve and go through that loss. Then he had showed up at her home, scaring her half to death. And he had the balls to slap her, and tell her to shut up.

Anger.

"Shut… up…?" She whispered, looking up at him. He rocked back onto his heels, still squatting in front of her, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, smoothing it back into place. This time, he knew what was coming.

"Shut… up…?" The words were stronger this time, boiling up in the back of her throat, like a dam about to burst. And it did.

"SHUT UP!" She swung out blindly, trying to connect, just bash his fucking face in. He scrambled back, grabbing at her wrists and holding them tightly. She struggled savagely, twisting to pull away, just get one fist free and pummel it into his nose…

But she was tired, and his hands were crushing her wrists, and she wasn't getting anywhere. And, deep down underneath it all, she was glad to have her brother back. She slumped in defeat, cooling just as quickly as she had ignited. What the hell were you supposed to feel when someone came back from the dead? Relief? Happiness? Confusion? They tumbled through her body, exhausted from the draining adrenaline rush and she felt sick.

"Still a pistol I see," he murmured, smiling humorlessly.

"I can't believe you Paulie," she sighed.

"I'm sorry. But I had too."

xxxx

Coffee was the last thing she wanted this early in the morning. Really she just wanted to crawl back in to bed, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep if she did. She closed the lid on the coffee maker with a sigh, settling her mug on the small platform beneath and pressing the button. She yawned sleepily as the liquid poured out into the cup, steam curling and wafting away above the brim. Across the room, the tip of Paul's cigarette glowed, and the scent of tobacco smoke filled the kitchen.

She wanted to tell him to smoke outside.

But he was alive.

She hadn't lost her brother. He was right there with her, sitting at the kitchen counter, with his khaki pants and one of his cleanly pressed dress shirts, the sleeves rolled up and cuffed at his elbows. Before, when he had come to visit, she would get pissed off and tell him to smoke out in the entryway. She kept her apartment spotlessly clean, and she wouldn't have it smelling like cigarettes. But there was a weary acceptance, because it was so like Paul to not give a fuck what anyone wanted, and to light up anywhere he pleased, and she had missed everything about him.

She absentmindedly raked her fingers through her hair as she stirred sugar and creamer into the freshly brewed coffee. Paul smirked over the rim of his mug.

"A perm, Quinn? You look like a fucking hippie."

She smiled slightly. So typical of her bitchy older brother, some things never changed.

"I thought it looked better then pin straight. Wanted something different I guess."

"Eh. A little 'Woodstock', if you ask me. But really. You look good."

So this was what it was like when a family member came back from the dead. Nothing to talk about, but everything to say. Quinn peered at her brother, still smirking around his cigarette.

"So…" she started. He held up a hand.

"I know, I know. My time to explain." She leaned against the counter in front of him as he took a generous swig of the coffee. Not the latte he preferred, but it would do.

"As far as you know, I'm still dead. Alright? If anyone asks, your brother is dead," he said sternly, eyes boring into her own. She tucked a dark curled strand behind one ear.

"Why?"

"I'm getting to that. Look. You remember the night I called you." She nodded.

"Well those two boys... I had to help them. So I did. And it made me the target of some… unsavory characters shall we say. And I know this. What they're doing is good, Quinn. I want to keep helping them. And for me to do that, I had to do well… this." She raised one eyebrow quizzically. Her brother had faked his own death to help out two vigilante killers. She wanted to be mad, fucking furious really, but she was so damn tired, and truly glad he was okay. She sighed.

"I don't see how it's good… You know. An eye for an eye and all that…" she trailed off. Paul took another deep drag off his cigarette and breathed a plume of smoke out of his smirking mouth.

"Since when did you believe that shit?"

"Well. I guess I really don't."

"Good. So really, why I came here, was because I need your help."

Nothing like feeling a little used she thought. But like every other thing that had happened tonight that she normally would've latched onto and argued to the death over, she let it go. Hope you realize just how much I care about you, Paulie.

"Go on…"

"The boys need a place to stay. Somewhere outside the city, it's too hot there for them right now. Somewhere close enough that they can go back and take care of business, but also somewhere I can keep track of them. So, I thought of here." He leaned back in his chair, as if pleased he had come up with this completely ridiculous idea. This was too far. This one she wasn't letting go.

"So let me get this straight. You want to dump a babysitting job on me. Two murderers. Well thanks. But really… no thanks."

"Quinn. They need to stay here with you. There's no other way."

"Why me? I live in a fucking apartment and I'm gone all day Paul... I'm supposed to be at work in an hour and I won't get back until God only knows when…" She was making up excuses and he knew it. Hell, they were grown men. It wasn't like they needed her to sit there and entertain them all day… right? But Paul wasn't laughing at her excuses. His eyes were hard and cold as he leaned over the counter toward her.

"They're staying here Quinn. I'm not the only one in danger. If anyone even gets the slightest hint that I may be alive, people will be coming for you. Do you understand me? This is the only way I can keep us safe. They'll be here later today." He was pushing his chair back and standing up, his words ringing in her ears with their finality.

That was it. She wasn't safe. Or rather, they weren't safe.

She had gotten her brother back… or had she?

He was at the door, ready to leave and she started towards him as he opened it.

"Wait!" He turned to look at her in surprise as she practically flew across the room to engulf him in a huge hug, stronger than he had thought was capable of her just over five foot frame.

"I really missed you…" she said, head buried in his shoulder. He stiffened awkwardly, because this had never been their relationship. It had always been constant bickering and teasing, only becoming closer with age and maturity.

But he had missed her too. So he looped one arm around her, patting her back.

"I missed you too, Quinn." And then he was out the door and gone, off into the dawn as if he had never been there at all. Quinn stood in there doorway, shivering in the summer morning air, staring down the stairway where his figure had been, trying to decide if everything had really just happened.

With a shrill screech, her alarm clock went off in the bedroom behind her, shattering the peace of her formerly quiet apartment, as the rising sun tinted everything in pinks and golds.