Murphy's arms engulf me the second I enter the diner. Connor skirts carefully around us, heading for Rocco and our usual table, but Murphy stays glued to the spot, refusing to let me move. His face is buried in my neck, and I can feel the muscles in his shoulders straining to not crush me even harder than he already is.
After a solid three minutes of this intensely silent embrace, Murphy finally straightens and turns my eyes to his, his hands on either side of my face holding me steadily in his gaze.
"No thinkin' t'day," he says softly, only for me. "Mean it, Grace, gonna do whatever I can t'keep ye from thinkin'. Promised ye." He kisses me gently, his lips pressing tenderly against mine, and I very nearly ask him to keep his promise right then and there, regardless of our audience.
I manage to choke down a few bites of my cheeseburger, even laughing at a couple of Rocco's jokes, but there's an underlying tension with everyone, and nothing we do or say is quite as relaxed as we're pretending.
Murphy hisses once under his breath when I accidently brush against his injured arm, but he stops my apology before I even get it halfway out. Despite his earlier bravado, Connor's wounded leg is obviously bothering him, probably due to him dropping me in his lap on the subway and then climbing all those stairs. He has it stretched across the booth into the space between Murphy and me, and I'm careful to not jostle it. Rocco is doing his best to act inconspicuous and completely at ease despite his missing finger and the bulky bandage covering it.
"I swear I can still feel it," he mutters, glaring suspiciously at the bandage as if it's hiding his missing appendage.
"Told ye it ain't dere," Connor sighs, shifting to adjust his leg again.
The walk back to my apartment is slow, as we all keep pace with Connor's painful, stilted walk. I have to physically bite my lip to keep from saying something, knowing it won't change their minds and will only make us all even more miserable and possibly distract them when they can least afford to be distracted.
At the bottom of the stairs, Connor pauses, his hand on the railing. His face is paler than normal, and there's sweat beaded across his forehead despite the cooler temperature outside, but the fierce look in his eyes keeps me from asking if he needs anything.
"Just gonna take a second, ye c'n all go ahead. I'll catch up."
Before any of us can move past Connor, though, the door to my super's apartment swings open, and the building manager Mr. Cassidy steps out, carrying his toolbox. He shuts and locks his door behind him and makes for the stairs. I step back out of his way to let him pass, and he glances up to say thanks before realizing who I am.
"Gracie, girl, good t'see ye. Headin' up t'yer old apartment t'fix summat."
I fall into step next to him, Murphy and Rocco trailing behind us while Connor stands at the bottom of the stairs, doing his best to pretend nothing is wrong. Hanging around him after he's asked us to go will only hurt his pride, so I opt to take him at his word and continue on.
"Is it the air conditioner?" I ask. "Nothing else ever broke down while I lived there. I mean, five years I was there, at least, and they've only had the place a couple of months before they break it?"
"Nah," Mr. Cassidy says, smiling his gap-toothed smile. "Somebody kicked down th'front door, trashed th'place, took all deir valuables an' whatnot. Dese menfolk are keepin' ye safe in yer new place, though, aintcha, fellas?" This last question is directed at Rocco and Murphy, who readily agree with him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the two of them exchange a glance and stop a couple of stairs down from me. I pause and look back as they bend their heads together, having a quick but intense conversation. Rocco abruptly takes off back down the stairs, and Murphy starts up after me, snagging my elbow and propelling me past the old man.
"We'll keep 'er safe'n'sound, don't ye worry, sir," Murphy calls back with false cheer as we step out of the stairwell and into my hallway. I wait until we're actually in my apartment before turning my confusion on him.
"What the hell was that about?" I ask as he snaps my chain and deadbolt into place. He turns, his eyes sweeping across the living room and kitchen, reaching inside his coat.
"Stay next t'th'door," he snaps. "Ye hear anythin', y'get th'fuck outta here an' find Connor. Don't argue wit' me."
My retort dies on my lips, and I step back from him as he draws a guns from the shoulder holster under his coat. I flatten myself against the wall next to the door, my fingers resting on the chain, ready to fling it open. I still have no idea what's going on, but there's no way in hell I'm going to argue with Murphy when he has that look on his face.
It probably takes Murphy less than two minutes to search through the few rooms and closets in my apartment, but it feels like hours before he stalks back down the hallway, holstering his gun.
"Can you tell me what's going on now?" I ask hesitantly. "Is this something to do with my old apartment getting broken into?"
He nods, scrubbing his face with both hands and exhaling. "Sent Roc down t'tell Connor dey need t'find a payphone t'call th'FBI agent again. Ask 'im fer some protective custody or somethin' for ye t'night."
"Call the FBI agent again? When did you call him the first time? Murphy, what is going on? So my old apartment was broken into. So what? This building gets broken into sometimes. We don't have a very secure front door. Mr. Cassidy tries, but he can't keep the building as fixed up as he used to. What's with the worrying?"
"Y'don't t'ink it's a bit of a coincidence dat yer old place was broken into when th'people ye spend all yer time wit' are out killin' mobsters an' pimps?" he asks slowly, an incredulous look crossing his features. "Lass, coulda very well been some of Yakavetta's men lookin' fer us or even lookin' fer you fer leverage against us."
"Well, no, that thought didn't occur to me because I'm not used to the paranoid, vigilante lifestyle yet," I mutter, pushing myself off from the wall. I feel ridiculous standing next to the door, poised to run at any second. "Besides, I'm serious. It's probably a huge coincidence. This building gets broken into at least once every six months. I really don't think-"
Murphy is in my space suddenly, his hands vice-like on my shoulders, his eyes sparking an intense electric blue. His voice is low, sharp, and well beyond discussion. "Ain't takin' a chance wit' yer safety. Ye don't get t'argue on dis, Grace. Don't matter if yer buildin' gets broken into every other day. It got broken into t'day of all days, yer old apartment of all places, and dat's somethin' I won't just accept as coincidence. We're gettin' ye protection t'night. End of it."
He kisses me fiercely, then releases me to stalk around the living room, checking the locks on all the windows and drawing the curtains tightly closed. He begins pacing the room, but I stand where I am, dazed by both his outburst and the kiss.
Shaking myself from my stupor, unsure what to do, I finally perch on an arm of the sofa and watch Murphy pace back and forth until I hear a knock at the door. Murphy is instantly alert, his gun out and cocked before I can even turn my head toward the door.
"Get b'hind th'sofa," he hisses, and I obey without thinking, crouching and peering towards the door. My heart is hammering wildly in my chest, and I wonder just how much I still believe my apartment being broken into is a coincidence.
"Just us, Murph," Connor's voice sounds from the other side of the door, and Murphy immediately uncocks and lowers his gun. I let out the breath I was holding and stand as Murphy throws open the chain and bolt, letting Connor and Rocco in before shutting the door. I notice that he adds the security bar in addition to setting all the locks this time.
"Smecker said he'll send dose t'ree detectives t'watch 'er t'night, t'ones from t'station. Said he'd tell 'em t'get here 'bout six, say she's a witness fer anudder case dat needs watchin' but won't leave her place."
"Wouldn't'a been better t'get 'im t'take her somewhere else, just in case?" Murphy asks, his tone worried. I want to point out to both of them that she is standing right here and can hear everything they're saying, but I have a feeling that won't really make a dent in the conversation.
"Thought o'dat," Connor admits, easing himself down on the sofa and propping his leg on the coffee table with a grimace. Instead of getting on to him or knocking his foot down, I grab a pillow from the couch, gingerly sliding it under his foot, and he offers me a tired half-smile.
"Rather ye be somewhere I know I c'n find ye if I need to," he says to me, resting his fingers on my cheek for a moment.
"Means we gotta be outta here b'fore dey get here, though," Murphy adds. "Dey'll recognize us from th'station, can't let 'em see us. Roc, can ye go check the bags, see if dere's anyt'in' else we need?"
Rocco nods without a word, starting off down the hallway to his temporary room. After a couple of minutes of strained silence, I can't stand the tension in the room anymore and just say the first thing that comes to mind.
"So...when did you guys get on speaking terms with the FBI? I thought we were avoiding Agent...Smecker, you said?"
"Had an...incident at church dis mornin'," Connor says, his eyes flicking irritatedly in the direction that Rocco disappeared. "Roc was...let's just say we had an inkling Agent Smecker'd be a good person t'talk to about our plans t'night, an' it turned out we were right. Had his card wi't his cell number from b'fore, wit' the Chekov t'ing, so we talked t'him about th'hitman dat attacked us yesterday, an' he said he'd look into it. We're t'call 'im t'night when we're done."
"Oh." So now the FBI is involved with their crusade? This week just keeps getting better and better.
I offer Connor some of the strongest pain meds I have, short of the narcotics I was given after my injuries in December, and he takes them gratefully while Murphy continues to pace. I watch the clock creep by until around 5:20 when Rocco comes back out of the room, a duffel bag in each hand.
"Time t'go," Connor says, rising slowly but surprisingly steadily from the couch.
No. It...I can't…
Suddenly, there's not enough air in the room. There's not enough air in the world. Panic, thick and coppery-tasting, rises in my throat, and I turn from them, my fingers clutching hard at the back of the sofa just to keep myself upright. The room spins, and I close my eyes, forcing my unwilling lungs to function.
Get your shit together, you cannot do this to them. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth…in through the nose, out through the mouth. Calm down and breathe.
After a solid minute of breathing exercises and trembling, I straighten and turn to the three men facing me solemnly.
"Come back to me," I manage to say with a surprisingly steady voice. "That's not a request, and there are no other options. All of you come back to me."
Years later, I will remember every detail of my goodbye to the twins: what their stubble felt like against my face as they hugged me at the same time; the smell of cologne, cigarettes, and gunpowder that lingered in their coats; the tightness of their arms around me; the press of their lips on my damp cheeks; but I have no recollection whatsoever of what any of us says to each other.
I turn to face my friend, my stomach in so many knots I don't know if I could throw up even if I wanted to. Rocco meets my eyes with a sad smile, and I feel the tears on my cheeks turn from a trickle to a steady stream. Without a word, he holds his arms out to me, and I stand on my toes, my own arms tight around his neck.
"You know I love you, right?" I whisper. I don't know what else to say to him. I can't give him justification for what he's doing, I can't comfort him or give him any advice that will make this easier.
He squeezes me tighter than he ever has before and places a kiss on my cheek. "Love ya, hun," he whispers. Then he stoops to grab the bags from the floor by his feet.
"Th'detectives'll be here not long from now," Connor reminds me as he shrugs on his coat. Don't let 'em in 'til dey show you deir IDs. Dolly, Duffy, an' Greenly, good lads all. They're th'ones helpin' Smecker on th'case. Murph, ye got it?"
Connor reaches past me, taking something Murphy offers him and holding it out to me. It's a gray, plastic object about eight inches long, thick and rectangular with prongs on the ends. If it had an antenna, I'd almost think it's some sort of radio, but I have a feeling communication is not what the boys have in mind.
"Stun gun," Connor says shortly. "Hit th'safety dere, make sure th'prongs are touchin' whoever ye want t'take out, and pull the trigger button. Keep it pressed against th'person fer four or five seconds, if ye can."
"O...okay," I say, numbly accepting the weapon from Connor. "Is it that simple? I don't-"
"Ye won't need it, love, dis is worst case scenario," Murphy interjects. "Th' detectives'll be here; ye won't have any trouble. An' ye have th' cash, still. First train t'New York, if we give ye th'call. If we don't, if it goes t'plan, we'll call ye t'night t'let ye know we're okay, an' again when we get t'th'city t'morra."
I don't want to ask my last question, the one I've been avoiding even thinking about all day, but I realize I won't get another chance if I don't ask it now.
"When will I see you again?"
Connor and Murphy share one of those silent conversations before turning back to me. For the first time since we've been together, I am on the same wavelength as them because I swear I actually get what they're thinking. They have no idea when we'll be together after this, and they're terrified to say it aloud.
I nod slowly, feeling the beginnings of breathlessness again. Instead of speaking, I pull them to me one at time, first Connor then Murphy, and place a kiss on each of their lips before releasing them and shoving gently in the direction of the door.
"Go before the detectives get here and recognize you. I love you."
"Love ye, lass." Together, of course.
Rocco starts to move past me, following the twins as he always does, but I grab him before he makes it past me. I have to physically fight the urge to restrain him and keep him from walking out the door at all. I cling to my friend with all my might, terror and guilt ripping my insides apart. If I let him go, knowing what's going to happen, is that the same as making it happen?
Rocco's arms come around me one last time, and he pulls me close as the twins watch impassively from the hallway.
"Ain't yer fault, hun. Gotta do what I gotta do, right? Take care of these stupid micks for me."
He pulls out of my embrace long before I'm ready to let him go, and all I can do is watch them disappear down the hallway without looking back. I have enough presence of mind to shut and lock the door and replace the security bar underneath the door handle.
Clutching the stun gun to my chest, I lean against the wall, sliding until I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the front door, listening to the silence reverberating through my empty apartment.
I expect tears to come, but they don't. I expect the pain to shoot through my chest. I expect to start screaming and not stop until I see all three of them safe and whole again, but I don't. I sit, the deadened and dazed lack of sensation spreading over my nerves and through my thoughts until all that's left is the sight of the floor underneath me and the stun gun in my hands.
Author's Note: It's not going to be very funny from here on out. If you're not familiar with the movie itself...I don't know if I should tell to to go watch it now or two wait until after you read this bit. Because...it's kind of...Spoilers. Let me know if you want me to keep going with this. Thank you for reading. As always, thanks to bleedingrose0688, who probably read through this chapter as many times as I did, and Siarh, both of whom have fantastic stories that need to be checked out ASAP.