Hey guys—thanks for all your feedback from the last chapter. It's really appreciated.
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Several things happen that day.
Murphy is moved to a different floor, now that he doesn't look like he's about to croak at any second. Connor watches carefully, as the porters manoeuvre the bed out of the intensive care room, his arms laden down with all their seemingly pathetic belongings balanced in between his good arm and his casted one, and can't help the growl that comes out of him when Murphy's bed knocks against the wall.
His brother simply winces, and turns to smile at Connor, to reassure him that he's still okay. One of the porters apologises, and the other simply stares into Connor's glare with almost no reaction. Connor lets out a curse under his breath, scuffing his sneaker against the lino floor in frustration.
He squeezes into the lift with them, presses against the rails of Murphy's bed with a scowl, and dares one of the porters to tell him to just meet them upstairs.
Murphy reaches out a hand, still attached to IVs, and grips onto Connor's tatty shirt with a small smile. He's still pretty whacked on pain medication, and all the other things that they were pumping into him, but he's definitely starting to act more like Murph, and that's all that Connor has wanted.
"Keep yer feckin' hair on, will ya?" His brother jokes, though his hold on Connor is tight, "Ma's comin' today, an' I don't want ta have ta tell her that ye went an' gave yerself a heart attack all cause we moved floors on ye, yeah?"
Connor makes a face at Murphy, who makes one straight back, and then the elevator has come to the right floor, and the procession continues. His brother is forced to let go of his shirt as the bed is pushed forward, and there's nothing that Connor can do about it.
He simply tries to get a better grip on their belongings, the belongings being the worn comics and the book and the extra shirt that he has with him and Murphy's shoes, and marches after his brother.
There's more nurses in Murphy's new room, and they swarm towards him as the twins enter. Connor just muscles his way past them, dumping their things onto the bed, and catches Murphy's eye, "I'll be right back. Ye know what I have ta do."
Murphy grins at him, and makes a wild gesture with his arm just before a nurse can anchor it back to the bed by attaching a tube to the IV.
He takes the stairs back up to the ICU, loving the feeling of his feet pounding against the cold concrete, and the sounds that his running makes in the abandoned stairwell. Connor strides back into Murphy's old room, winking at one of the nurses, and grabs hold of the swivel chair that he had fought so hard to steal away. There's no way that he's leaving it behind.
The chair squeaks slightly as he pushes it roughly out the door, and he keeps his eyes glued on the elevator doors as he pushes the button. Connor's grabbing tightly to the worn material that covers the chair, already uncomfortable for having left Murphy down in his new room. His fingers on his good hand clench painfully around the back of the chair, his casted hand simply digging into the chair, as he waits impatiently for the lift door to open.
When Connor enters Murphy's room a few minutes later, dragging the chair behind him, he ignores the stunned and confused looks from the nursing staff.
He just drags the chair up to the bed, letting himself sit stiffly into it, and looks at his brother. Murphy rolls his eyes, and says slowly, "I'm fine, Connor. Everything's grand, ye got yer chair, an' Ma's comin' today. We're okay."
Connor glares at the nurses one more time, and then leans his head back against the headrest, letting himself relax.
"Yeah, we're okay, Murphy."
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After a few hours of being on the new floor, Connor gets called to the nurses' desk to take a phone call.
"Already popular, will ye look at tha'!" Murphy yells after him, and scratches his arm absentmindedly as he looks around the cramped room. He's in the critical care unit now, someone told him, instead of the intensive care unit.
Not that it seems to have made much of a difference.
He's still hooked up to heart monitors and plugged into IVs, and he's still in a hospital bed. The only change that Murphy has been able to work out is that at least his brother seems a little calmer. That's a good thing, in Murphy's opinion, because God knows that Connor had been about to burst in the other room.
Out of curiosity, Murphy presses the palms of his hands against the bed, and tries to lift his hips off the bed. The only thing that he achieves is a burst of pain, and getting a strangled gasp torn out of his throat. He lets out a moan of frustration, and pulls the blanket away from his legs in a quick movement.
His legs look broken and crippled, and it makes him want to scream in frustration.
Within seconds, his curiosity has changed into something darker, some form of self-hatred. His panic levels are rocketing up, Murphy can feel them, but Connor's not there to stop him. He's breathing heavily, probably too heavily, and he needs to get out.
He bows his head, closing his eyes, and begins to pray. It's silent at first, but then a wave of anger and just pure emotion hits him, and Murphy throws his head back to slam it against the pillow. He tries to lift the bottom half of his body again, pressing against his palms against the bed with all his strength to try and lift himself, but again, nothing happens.
Murphy exhales in a rush of anger, and lashes out with his fist to punch the mattress, refusing to let tears fall from his eyes. This needs to be over.
"Jesus Christ, the fuck's wrong, Murph?" Connor appears, looking pale and worried in the doorway, "What's goin' on?"
"I hate this, Connor. I hate this, an' I want ta go home."
His brother just makes his face at him, and it says everything and nothing both at the same time. "I know. We're workin' on it, Murph. Look at what a big step today has been. Yer on a new ward, yer gettin' better. Ye said it yerself a few hours ago, ye said that ye were okay. C'mon, Murph."
"I know what I said, but, jus'—Connor, I'm a sittin' duck. I can't walk ta th' bathroom ta take a piss, I can't even look out th' fuckin' window cause it's too far away! I don't know how much longer I can jus' sit in this bed, and take this!"
"I know! Do ye think that I don't know that!" Connor threw his hands up in frustration, "I know tha' ye can't, and its tearing me apart too, Murph!"
Connor runs a hand through his hair, and suddenly presses the call button beside the bed.
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An hour later, his brother is being helped out of the bed, and into a wheelchair. Connor watches carefully, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as the nurses help Murphy sit up by himself.
He sways and pales a bit, but give Connor a huge grin nonetheless, Murphy's dark hair tousled and scruffy looking. "Look at me, Conn, 'm practically feckin' walking!"
"Take it easy, Murph," He warns, but manages to smile back, "None 'a yer sarcasm fer th' moment, ye don't need ta be annoyin' these poor nurses. They haven't had sixteen years ta learn how to tune yer voice out, now have they?"
Murphy laughs back at him, and bites his lip as things get serious.
Connor can't see through the mass of people surrounding his brother, so he just stares at the ground instead, listening to Murphy's gasps of pain. "Steady, steady…" A nurse mutters, and Connor just clenches his fist with worry.
They move back then, after a few minutes, and Connor is greeted by the sight of Murphy, wrapped up in blankets and still attached to half the IVs and the heart monitor. "Look at me, Conn," He whispers, a smile breaking though his composed expression.
"Look at ye alright…"
Both of them are grinning at each other then, because Connor's allowed to step forward and take the handles of the wheelchair. "You two have fifteen minutes before you need to get back here, do you understand?" The doctor says firmly, and they both nod, Murphy almost trembling with excitement.
Murphy's legs are propped up on the extended footrests, seeing as one of his legs can't bend, and the other one needs to be kept elevated. He looks like an absolute mess, with the IV stands attached to the wheelchair, and the tiny heart monitor machine hooked onto the back of the wheelchair, but it's the happiest that Connor has seen his brother in days.
"Thank ye, doc," He hears himself say, and then he and Murphy leave the room.
They really don't do much, just wander through the corridors, as Murphy calls out which direction to go, but Connor can't seem to stop smiling.
After ten minutes, they end up in an empty waiting room, just staring out the window at the traffic a few stories below. "I have somethin' ta tell ye, Murph." His brother just nods, letting his breath out in a sigh to cover a small portion of the window with condensation, before starting to doodle on it, "Ma says that she can't make it till tomorrow. She has ta cover Maureen's shift at work, an' she really wants ta be here today, but… ye know how it is."
"I do, yeah. It's grand."
"She'll be here tomorrow," Connor tries to make up for the bad news, but it's clear that Murphy is already closing himself off. "I'm sorry."
Murphy lifts his head slightly, to give Connor a pitying look, "It's not yer fault."
They sit in silence for a few more minutes, looking out at the rain, before Murphy grabs the wheels of the chair weakly, and smiles again, "Ye want ta go back?" Connor asks, because he can see his brother tiring already, even if it's only been a few minutes.
He nods, and then they make their way back to the room, where the whole ordeal of getting Murphy back into bed begins.
Connor spins in his swivel chair while his brother drifts quickly off to sleep, staring at the ceiling as his feet push against the floor to keep him spinning. He's so tired again, and it'll be good to have Ma with them tomorrow. She would be able to fix them again.
And then, maybe soon Murphy would start to get properly better.
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Ma comes back into the hospital like a whirlwind the next day, and just makes everything okay.
Murphy is overjoyed to see her again, and she brings with her what looks like half the contents of their room back at home with her, to keep them both amused. Murphy lets her fuss over him, and cry for a bit, and he reads all the get well soon cards that their friends and family has sent him.
Connor sleeps. He greets Ma when she arrives early, and ends up crawling back into the cot bed that he's been sleeping on, and dozes off again. He ends up sleeping for hours, smiling in his sleep at the sound of Murphy's laugh.
Ma comes, and she makes everything better.
In the afternoon, she produces ham sambos, and Connor is woken by the smell of black coffee. He gulps it down, and devours the sandwiches, while Murphy sips on water, and eats some wafers. Then Connor falls back asleep, relieved that the pressure that he's been under has been lifted, and Murphy throws pieces of balled up tissue at him from the bed.
Ma takes over the swivel chair for the entire day, and Connor doesn't even mind. He wakes up again in the late afternoon, and wonders why his hair is full of little tissue balls. Murphy cackles with laughter, and Connor throws the empty plastic coffee cup at him.
When Ma leaves in the evening, neither of them cry.
They just hug her tightly, and listen to her promises to be back as soon as she can. When she leaves, they don't say anything, just turn on the TV, and Murphy holds the pillow that Ma had brought from home. Connor reads the get well soon cards that are all addressed to Murphy, and tells himself that it's stupid to wonder why no one wrote him a card.
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I hope you all liked this chapter. I'd love to hear what you thought of it, while I get started on the next one.
Review…?
Thanks for reading,
ArmedWithMyComputer xx