Aoife felt like she was in a deep pool, struggling to surface and breathe. She forced herself into consciousness, to survey her surroundings and make sure that whoever had rammed her wasn't coming to finish her off. Her tongue tasted the blood on her lips, and she pushed her eyelids open. Her left arm was numb, and the rest of her body ached. She leaned back gingerly and her head lolled to the left. She panicked at the sight of someone approaching the car and scrabbled on the bench seat for the gun in her shoulder bag.

Then the out-of-focus figure spoke. "Ma'am?" Wayne Unser inquired. "Miss McIntyre, is that you?" Aoife tried to nod, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Unser yanked open the crumpled door to check her vitals. She heard him radio the dispatcher to request an ambulance before he spoke to her again. "It's Chief Unser, Miss McIntyre. The paramedics are on their way. I'll stay with you until they arrive." She let her eyes flicker closed. As she passed out, she heard wailing sirens and motorcycle engines.

"Pardon?" Chibs asked. He had no idea who had just spoken or what they said to him. He looked up, blinking.

"More whiskey?" McKeavy's barkeep buddy offered, the bottle of Bushmill's already poised over the tumbler. Chibs shook his head and put his hand over the glass. He wanted McKeavy to get this meeting over with and go find a prostitute to fuck so that he could call Tig or Juice back and check on his lass. He'd already caught himself gnawing on his nails twice, a nervous habit he thought he'd cured himself of in grade school.

"Are you alright there, Chibs?" McKeavy broke into his thoughts.

"Aye," Chibs lied. "Just tired as all hell. Not used to traveling all over creation for days on end." He forced his hand to steady as he raised the glass to his lips. McKeavy watched him curiously but said nothing. Chibs returned his look with what he hoped was a casual grin and then feigned interest in the Gaelic football match on the television above the bar.

The door to the pub opened, and a man stepped inside, out of the misty rain. "Michael!" he said with a broad grin.

"Brian!"

While McKeavy and the newcomer were busy hugging and slapping one another on the back, Chibs snuck a look at his phone. Nothing new. He texted Juice and Tig both with a single question: "Is she OK?"

Aoife drifted in and out of consciousness during the ambulance ride and for a while in the ER. She woke up in the emergency room still strapped to the stretcher, her neck immobilized until the doctors could verify there was no damage. Hospital staff bustled around her. A nurse with a cloud of gray hair was cleaning the cuts on Aoife's face. A familiar, distant sound caught her ear – Juice's voice. "Juice," she pushed the name through her bruised, swollen lips.

"What's that, honey?" The nurse, whose name badge identified her as Janet, asked. "You want some juice?"

Aoife wanted to shake her head, but of course the neck brace prevented that kind of movement. The swelling made her lips feel slow and unwieldy. With great effort, she enunciated. "No, my friend Juice. In the waiting area. Mohawk, tribal tattoos."

"You want your friend Juice? We limit visitation to family so it doesn't get too crowded in these rooms."

"No family here. Juice. Please," Aoife pleaded, tears of frustration and pain burning in her eyes.

The nurse nodded. "Okay, honey." She disappeared from view. Aoife stared at the ceiling, waiting, and then she felt a warm, calloused hand envelope hers.

"Hey, sweetheart."

"Hey, Juice." She squeezed his hand. She tried to ask if he had let Chibs know what had happened, but the only word that she got out was, "Chibs?"

"Tig's trying to reach him now. You rest as much as you can. I'll be right here." Juice stayed by Aoife's side, releasing her hand only when necessary. He informed her that Tig was waiting outside so they wouldn't miss Chibs' call.

As the nurses wheeled Aoife back from radiology with the neck brace mercifully removed, Aoife spotted Tig on his phone in the hallway. She overheard him say, "Chibs, I just saw them wheel her back from x-ray. Let me see if you can talk to her." One of the nurses moved to intercept Tig as he plowed into the little exam room, but he was too fast for her. "Hey, doll, I got someone on the phone who really wants a minute of your time." He passed the phone to Aoife.

Tig put up a hand to slow down Janet, who was glaring at him. Juice, who had built some rapport with the nurses, explained, "It's her old man. He's out of town, and I'm sure he's worried sick. It'll do both of them good to talk to each other."

"Filip?" Aoife asked into the phone, smiling as much as her bruises would allow. The anti-inflammatories were working, and only the edges of the her words were mushy now.

"Aye, lass. It's so fucking good to hear your voice. I was scared to death. You're alright?"

"Bunch of scrapes and bruises, stitches, slight concussion, broken arm." Aoife could hear Chibs' anger flare as she inventoried her injuries. "Considering I was run off the road, I'm doing ok."

"When I find the bastard who did this to you, I'm going to get bloody, lass. I will fucking end him," he growled.

"Save a piece for me. I'm the one about to get a cast on her arm. And it looks like they're ready to do that right now." Janet the nurse nodded in affirmation. "I have to go, Filip. Come home soon. Cronaím thú. Tá grá agam duit."

"Tá grá agam duit."

"Who was that?" Chibs jumped at McKeavy's voice. Internally, the Scotsman cursed.

Chibs lit a cigarette, biding his time. After two leisurely drags, he said, "A friend."

"A friend?" McKeavy repeated. "Not your 'cousin' in Derry?" Chibs heard the air-quotes around the word cousin. Steeling his nerves, he took another drag and raised one eyebrow at McKeavy. "You've never had family in Derry." Chibs continued to smoke, willing his face into impassivity. If he spoke, his traitorous voice would tremble and betray him. McKeavy watched him for a minute, assessing and calculating. "Look, I don't know what game you're playing, Filip, and I'm a smart enough man to know that when you poke your nose where it doesn't belong, you stand a good chance of getting it sliced off. But we both know Jimmy wouldn't see things the same way. And if you hurt Fiona or Kerrianne, all bets are off. Watch your step."

cronaím thú - I miss you.

Tá grá agam duit - I love you.