Author's Note: BEFORE YOU READ THIS CHAPTER! I was very unhappy with the final results of my first three chapters on this story, and then I had a sudden flash of realization that they didn't have to literally be the final results. Many thanks to Siarh and bleedingrose0688, two fabulous authors on this site who helped me dig down deep and pull out some much more satisfying work. I've redone the first three chapters and added a fairly significant amount of text and story. I think I even doubled the first chapter. Please, if you can, give ti a look because I'm so much happier with it. Thank you for following the story. Now on the to good stuff!

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The next day, I fight every instinct I have not to pack up and get on the first train back to

Boston. I can't remember the horrors of last night's dream; all I have is a sense of foreboding comparable to what Cassandra must have felt when she tried to warn Troy about the incoming Greeks. Without understanding why, I just know that I need to see Connor and Murphy as soon as I absolutely can.

But I can't miss this last day of training, and I hope to God someone from Boston will call me if there's an actual emergency, so I plaster a smile on my face, slather some extra concealer over the shadows under my eyes, and head in to meet more of the bigwigs and executives I'll be reporting to directly in my new position. If I seem distraught or off my game, no one notices or says anything. I even manage to make some decent jokes and small talk at the last meet-and-greet. Before I know it, I've muscled my way through the evening, and I can finally leave.

I get back to my room as fast as I absolutely can and start packing, frantically stuffing things into my bags, wondering why I didn't do this last night as soon as I got off the phone with Duffy. I'm just zipping my suitcase when the phone rings. Even though I'm all the way across the room, I have the receiver in my hand before the second ring finishes.

"Connor? Murphy? Are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?"

"We're fine, lass."

Connor's voice washes over me in a warm, comforting wave, and my knees melt from sheer relief. I drop heavily onto the bed, and to my infinite embarrassment and shame, I can feel tears spring to my eyes as a knot forms in my throat.

"I'm packed," I manage to choke out despite my cracking voice. "I can just make the last train home if I leave now, and-"

"Lass, ye don't have t'leave t'night," Connor says quickly. "Ye've already got yer ticket paid fer t'morrow mornin' in, what? Ye bought yer ticket fer th' 4:30 train, so yer gonna leave in about eight hours anyway. Ye don't have t'worry 'bout us, we swear we're fine. If ye left now, ye wouldn't even get in 'til somewhere around one in th'mornin'. Ye don't need to-"

There's a muffled sound in the background, some thumps, and then Murphy takes over.

"We're gonna meet ye t'omorra at th' diner, yeah? Just like we planned. Yer train gets in around 9:30, ye come t'th'diner straight from the train station, then th'whole day is just for us. Been plannin' fer two months now, love. We're really fine. Got some scrapes an' bruises, but that's a typical night out fer us."

"But your typical nights out don't land you in jail," I bite out, my worry being pushed to the side by my growing frustration. "You didn't call me, Rocco didn't call me, and apparently every freaking person at McGinty's knew how you were doing, and no one called me!"

"Aye," Murphy says slowly, and I can hear the shame in his voice. "Dat was tot'lly our fault, lass, we told everyone not t'tell ye. Afraid ye'd worry too much."

I let the silence stretch out, long, heavy, and uncomfortable, until Murphy finally says, "We've figured out dat was t'wrong call, an' we don't plan t'leave ye outta t'loop like dat again. T'ing is, shit got real complicated over t'last couple o'days, an' we're still tryin' t'figure it out. We're gonna tell ye everyt'in', but we're kinda out in public right now, an' it's not t'place fer dis kinda discussion."

"Why aren't you calling from your place?" I ask, mystified. "What's wrong with your phone? I keep getting a busy signal when I call, and it was disconnected the last time I called. Did you forget to pay your phone bill or something?"

The phone slips against my palm, and I realize my hand has grown slick with sweat, though it's nowhere close to hot in my room. I swipe my hand across my slacks, irritated, and wait for one of them to answer.

I hear the phone change hands again, and Connor says, "Apartment flooded, an' we can't really stay dere fer a while. Gonna crash at Rocco's t'night"

"Why don't you just stay at my place?" They sound so normal and unconcerned, but after the dream from last night that I can't even remember, something is so off kilter about this whole situation. I'm still very much of a mind to jump the next train back to Boston.

"We would, but we're already set up at Roc's place. Listen, lass, we can't wait t's see ye t'omorra, we swear. Do ye believe us?"

"I do, but-"

"Den ye gotta trust us one more time when we ask ye t'wait til t'morra t'come back. We love ye, an' we'll see ye first t'ing at th'diner. We hafta go; please just trust us."

"I love you," I murmur, and I can't tell whether my heart, my brain, or my stomach is in the most knots right now. "You've got me worried as hell, you know that, right?"

"We know," Murphy chimes in. "There's summat we've gotta take care of at 9:00 t'night, so we gotta go, but we'll explain everythin' t'morra. We swear. We love ye. Get some rest, an' we'll see ye in th'mornin'. Gotta go."

He hangs up, and I sit on the edge of my bed, listening to the dial tone until I finally remember to hang up the phone. They know they've got me worried; they literally said as much. And neither of them even hinted at apologizing. This one detail is so off-putting that for a long moment, I just stare at the floor, not sure what I should be doing right now. Everything in my world has just been shifted a tiny bit off course, and it's thrown me for a loop I can't seem to step out of.

Eventually, I force myself to go through the motions of getting ready for bed, robotically pulling on my t-shirt and boxers and brushing my teeth because that's what I'm supposed to do. I fold down the bedspread and lie back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling until my eyes adjust to the darkness. I watch random shadows flicker around the room as traffic passes by long into the night, and I try my hardest not to think about anything whatsoever.

Tonight, I don't sleep at all.