DO NOT OWN. Even more lemons. Big drama. Lots of cuddling. Reviews=love.

CHAPTER 5: Narrator, LOCATION: Meegan's rented room

Connor looked around Meegan's room as they took off their shoes and Meegan changed from her jacket to a fluffy pink sweater. It was the first room he had ever seen in Boston that had a color scheme. It was dark purple, Kelly green and metallic gold. That room was one of the few places Meegan had control and she was going to make it look damn good. The pinstripe comforter of her bed was so neat that Connor didn't want to touch it. The green curtains were filtering the sun and the purple walls absorbed the light and the maple pieces fit just as well with their gold inlay.

"Your room is nice."

"Nice," she repeated the way Connor said it. He looked offended. "Sorry, when I hear someone say a word and I like the way it sounds I say it again." This made him smile.

"Nice," he said again, leaning over her. Meegan felt a warm rush of blood to her face. She thought this might happen. When they were in the car on the way there Meegan drove her car with Bridget in the passenger seat and the boys in the back all hunched down.

"Great incognito," hissed Bridget.

"Shut the fuck up. You're gettin' what you want, aren't ya?" Murphy shot back.

"Meegan," Connor whispered to her on the driver's side. "To your place, and no funny business." His breath on the shell of her ear almost made her shudder, but she held it in.

Meegan drove to her place and then Murphy drove off with Bridget still on the passenger side. Connor said the best way for them not to be I.D.'d was to be apart. So now only Connor stood in her room looking at all of her things. He reached for the closet. Meegan's heart was beating out of her chest, 'the wanted posters…'

"Well it's better than a hotel room," she said too loudly distracting him from the closet.

"That it is," he said, taking his hand off the handle. "How long have you been out on your own?"

"Since I was seventeen. My ma died that year."

"What year?" He was hoping she hadn't been seventeen too recently. He didn't like to think of himself as someone who chased jail bait. 'Is that what I'm doing? Chasing her?'

"Two-thousand one, but she had been sick since ninety-eight," she said casting her eyes to the phone. She didn't like talking about her mom. It was hard.

"That's too bad."

"But what am I talking about. You just lost your dad and here I am blubbering about my mom." She said sitting down on her bed up near her pillows, staying close to the phone on her night stand. Connor sat next to her but down a ways, keeping a comfortable distance.

"Not like it couldn't happen. We're in a violent business."

"But you guys haven't done a hit in months," she argued. His blue eyes sharpened. She followed them closely enough to know that, but was she on their side? "And the guy who shot your dad didn't have a ride, didn't have the right gun, was wearing a red sweatshirt. There were a ton of signs pointing out that he was not professional at all." She said turning her body to him, gesturing wildly.

"I know that." He said quietly.

"You do?" She said, leaning toward him.

"Murph and I already killed him." There was silence in the room. The pair looked at each other blankly. She tried to forget that the Saints actually killed people. They killed a lot of people back in 1999 and they had killed a few since. As attractive as the concept was, killing evil men, it was not a joke, or a charade, Connor really did it. When she didn't know the Saints it was easy to think about and it wasn't an offensive thought. But thinking of Connor covered in the blood of some mafia guy hurt her heart, and it painted him darker in her head. He wasn't the angel she imagined him to be anymore and she hadn't even seen him hold a gun. Every time she had imagined him holding her, cuddled together, warm skin touching, she imagined him having some saintly glow. It was impossible in reality but now it was gone from her dreams as well.

The phone rang and snapped her out of her head. "Liam?" She asked knowing it was one of the two people with her phone number. Bridget being the other.

"Yeah, it's me sis."

Connor waited outside for only a couple minutes before Meegan said goodbye. Then he waited through her crying. He could only imagine the stress of having his only relation left on the front lines of a war. Connor didn't remember very often that his country was at war, but when he did; it pained his soul. What a terrible thing. It wasn't like he was so opposed to violence, or opposed to liberating people from a dictator, or killing men that killed innocent people in terrorist attacks. He didn't like America sending decent young men to do it. He sat with eyebrows furrowed, wondering what to say, if anything, to Meegan. Eventually he gave up on the idea. She was a tough girl even if she was crying. Connor decided she was healthier for it; keeping emotions in is dangerous.

He sat on the floor of the hallway waiting for Meegan. Meegan checked her reflection in the vanity wiping her tears, pulling an ice cube from her miniature fridge hidden in the wardrobe to reduce the puffiness, no matter what her eyes were going to be red but she could blame that on her contacts. She opened her door just a crack to signal it was okay to come in.

The first thing he noticed when he came in was the open wardrobe. Meegan's 'other life' was in there. Her TV, workout videos, boxing gloves, a fridge that probably held protein shakes, trophies that had little golden boxers on top and a title belt. Before he knew what he was thinking he closed the wardrobe. There were things that they didn't want to know about each other. He didn't want Meegan's boxing life to take over the room that held her stylish personality and worn violin. The violin was his favorite item in the room. He looked at her, 'well, second favorite item then.'

"How's your brother?"

"At war." Connor let his eyes fall to the floor, and there was silence. "I'm going to bed soon."

"Alright," Connor nodded. Meegan stepped over to the bathroom. There were two doors in the back of the room on either side of the wardrobe at the foot of her bed. One was the closet. The other was the bathroom she shared with another housemate. The bathroom was an absolute mess, much like Meegan's closet. And there was a small pile of clothes she had kicked under the bed when Connor wasn't looking. There was a drawer in the wardrobe of opened mail and a mess of magazines. Her messiness was a secret, her pristine vision of her room was upheld and she could fend off chaos for another night.

She left the door open as she took out her contact lenses and washed her face. He stood in the doorway just watching her. "You going to watch me shower too?" She asked smiling, knowing he'd get the hint.

"Guess not," he laughed.

"The TV remote is in the drawer of my nightstand and there are books on the shelf."

Connor wandered Meegan's room as the shower ran. He didn't even think she might be escaping. She had too much invested in this place. He looked at her tall, thin bookshelf. A book caught his eye because it had a bookmark in it. Probably what she was reading. 'Twilight?' He read the back of the book and laughed, 'this is so ridiculous. Watch this become a bestseller.' Eventually he decided to watch TV. He took off his shoes and stretched out on her bed. Nothing much was on so he flipped between shows until he heard the shower water stop. He closed his eyes and imagined her dripping wet in the steam of the bathroom, letting a towel fall to the tile floor… 'No,' he told himself as he was getting up. He couldn't just bust into the bathroom and take advantage of her.

"What is happening to me?" He asked out loud pacing the room, remote in hand. He almost never fixated on a woman like this. He would watch one pass by and find her attractive, but he never fantasized like this: it was sinful. It almost brought him to action this time. But there was no way he could do that to Meegan. She was young, emotionally vulnerable, sweet, dangerous… He thought of that last word. Of all the things she was that last one was the least expected, but the most interesting. A shelf full of books, a fridge full of muscle milk. A rattlesnake with no rattle.

"Connor? What are you doing?" She asked from the door of the bathroom. Her hair fell in wet curls around her face and she held a green towel around her body.

"Uh, just feelin' restless." He answered softly.

"Then lay down for a bit. I have to blow dry my hair or I'll get a cold. This room doesn't keep in heat very well." She said even though Connor could disagree 100% at the moment. He was burning up.

"Alright, I think I will." He said sitting on the bed. She smiled and closed the door again. Blow drying took about twenty minutes now that her hair was so long. So when she saw Connor lying peacefully in her bed on his back, chest rising and falling softly, eyes closed that he was asleep. She let the towel fall to the floor as she went in the closet pulling out a pair of panties and a big t-shirt. When she turned she found Connor with eyes closed, still sleeping. What she didn't know was that Connor was awake and just watched her change.

When she laid down he pretended the movement woke him and he rolled on his side facing away from her. He didn't know what else to do. He had to hide his crotch from her. The sight of her perfect ivory form wouldn't leave his mind. And he meant perfect.

"Connor?"

"Yeah?"

"How long have you been awake?"

"Through the whole thing, love."

She didn't know what to say. She wanted to ask him if he had liked what he had seen, but then thought that would be a pretty slutty thing to say. Then she wanted to scold him, but that was just because she was confused now. If he had just seen and lied about it she wouldn't be upset at all. She was glad he saw her. Weird as that feeling was she was actually quite happy about it. 'Whatever.'

"Goodnight, Connor."

"G'night, Meegan."