"Lass?"
Murphy's voice is quiet and timid, so unlike him that I have to actually look up to confirm that he has, in fact, spoken. He sits on the other twin bed, looking wilted and worn out, and all I can see of him is the back of his head and his bowed shoulders.
"I'm...I'm sorry."
I start to answer, but a slight squeeze of Connor's hand stops me. He gives the tiniest shake of his head and tilts his chin towards Murphy. I take the hint and clam up, waiting for whatever explanation is about to come.
" 'M so sorry I hurt ye. I would never...Ye know I wouldn't ever do dat t'ye on purpose, an' I shoulda never let meself do it even on accident. Don't expect ye t'forgive me; don't even want ye to. God as me witness, I'd kill meself b'fore I did anythin' like dat to ye again."
I don't honestly know how to respond. I don't want to torture Murphy or leave him hanging, but I can't think of a thing to say in this moment that doesn't sound placating or dismissive. Murphy deserves an honest reaction, not something thought up on the spur of the moment. After my outburst, though, I'm deflated. I'm not so much numb as I am emotionally exhausted. I don't want to think or feel anything for a long, long time, and after that I'd really just like to sleep for a year or two. But Murphy deserves more of me than this defeatist, self-centered resignation, even after my declaration of selfishness, so I will find a way to give him this chance.
Even if it's the last part of myself I get a chance to give him.
After several tense moments punctuated by diminishing crashes of thunder from outside, I finally make up my mind and stand, tugging gently on Connor's hand.
"I think Murphy and I need to talk for a bit. Your dad gave me some Tylenol earlier, but it's starting to wear off, and I may need something for my wrist after...pushing you around. Do you think you could get me some more Tylenol and then bring your dad back in...maybe an hour? I know we still have more to discuss, but I think it would go smoother if Murphy and I can sort ourselves first."
"I'll get ye summat while I'm out," he promises, lifting my hand to press a kiss to my throbbing wrist, "but if ye need somethin' in th'meantime, we brought yer pain meds ye didn't use up back in December, just in case."
I'm so distracted thinking of how I'm going to deal with Murphy that I don't actually process what Connor says. I follow him to the door, intending to lock it behind him, but he turns suddenly and pulls me close, engulfing me in one of those whole-body hugs that brings me back into the present. He presses a kiss to my cheek and then to my temple before pulling me even closer. My arms go around him automatically, tightening to the point of painfulness.
"Sort it out wit' him if ye can, love. What ye want does matter, even if we can't give it to ye right now," he murmurs against my ear. "Don't give up on us yet." Then he's gone. I set the locks in place and turn back to face my remaining MacManus.
I don't even realize my teeth are worrying away at my lip until I hit a sore spot. Murphy's wrists are pressed hard against his eyes, his elbows resting on his knees, and the last vestiges of my anger and bitterness drain away at the sight of him hunched over so pitiful and wretched on the end of the bed. I want nothing more than to erase all the misery, hold him close and tell him that everything is okay, that we'll all be fine, but I'm done lying to myself and everyone else. I can't just sweep what he did under the bed and hope we can deal with it later when everything else has calmed down. We don't have enough time left for my petty cowardice.
"I'm working on forgiving you, Murphy," I say, trying to find the clearest way to share my thoughts, "but you have to be straight with me. What happened back there? I would never have imagined before today that you could actually hurt me, but now...I know you didn't intentionally bite me that hard, but it wasn't just that. You were smothering me, almost forcing me. I was trying to get you to stop, but it was like you couldn't hear me, like you were completely out of control or even a different person. You terrified me, Murphy, and I don't think I'll ever be able to completely forget that person is inside you. I want to forgive, to move past this, but you have to tell me what happened to you."
His face is still hidden, and his fingers have found their way back to his hair. For one ludicrous moment, I'm a little worried about the state his hairline will be in after this whole saga has passed. I can't tell he's even heard my words until I see his shoulders trembling. He draws in a ragged breath, and a muffled sob escapes before he can stifle it. The sound tears through my emotional lethargy with terrible accuracy and lodges deep in my chest.
"Oh, Murphy." I'm by his side before I even make the conscious decision to move. I pull him to me as I recline against the wall, holding him as best as I can on the narrow bed. His face fits snugly against my neck as his arms wind around my waist, and he clings to me as the collar of my shirt grows damp. He begins to speak before he's calmed down, strung out almost to the point of babbling, and some of his words are slurred or broken. Even so, I still manage to what he's trying to tell me.
"Came in after talkin' wit' Smecker, an' I was a wreck. Barely held m'shit t'gether while we were plannin' t'ship ye off God knows where, an' I just couldn't stand th'thought of it anymore. Just wanted to hold ye fer...fer th'rest o'me life an' never have t'ink about lettin' ye go. Didn't plan on sleepin', but I pulled ye to me, an' I was out b'fore I knew it."
He stops here, and somehow I know what's coming. Another dream, another subconscious terror sent to rip what's left of our hearts into tinier shreds before grinding their remains under heel. As much as I don't want - don't need - to hear this, I don't try to stop him; he has to purge this from his system. I settle a little further against the wall and pull him closer into my side, curling around him as I slide my fingers through his hair.
"You can tell me, Murph. I'm still here." Despite our closeness, I still have to strain to hear him over the pounding of the rain.
"Had a dream, first one I've had since dat night in the jail cell. Was back in Yakavetta's basement, an' Connor an' Roc were tied in th'chairs. Dis time, though, I was standin' in front of 'em, an'...an' you were in th'middle seat, tied up and gagged. Dere weren't no one else in th'room, and I was th'one wit' th'gun dis time, holdin' dat monster of a revolver dat Yakavetta used t'put Roc down. Roc was already dead, lyin' on th'floor next t'ye, an' I knew it was me had pulled th'trigger. You and Connor were yellin' behind yer gags so I couldn't understand what ye were sayin', an'...an' dis voice….dis voice kept sayin' I had t'pick. I had t'shoot one o'ye. I had t'choose between th'two of ye, an' I...I couldn't. I could never fuckin' make dat choice, I-"
God...I thought my dream was bad, but Murphy's makes it seem almost light-lighthearted in comparison.
"I couldn't tell what either of ye were sayin', but I knew ye were both tellin' me t'kill ye an' spare t'other. Me hand started movin' by itself, raisin' th'gun an' tightenin' me finger on th'trigger. I couldn't stop it any more dan I could decide which o'ye to kill." A shudder runs through his body, and I find that I'm holding me breath just as tightly as I'm clutching Murphy. I press my face hard to the top of his head, clenching my jaw to keep myself silent so he can finish.
"Ye both saw th'gun comin' up, an' ye looked at each other. I'd seen ye look at each other like dat a t'ousand times before, seen ye look at me like dat another t'ousand, an' I knew I couldn't end dat feelin' between th' two o'ye, no matter what was tryin' t'control me. Since me arm was already raised an' ready, I didn't even have t'think 'bout what I needed t'do. I twisted th'gun around just as me finger was squeezin' th'trigger, an' took meself outta th'equation. Last t'ing I heard b'fore the gun goin' off was you and Connor screamin', an' den I woke up next t'ye on th'bed, nearly stranglin' meself wit' th'sheets."
Murphy's quiet for so long I think he must be finished, but then he speaks again, louder this time. Harsh, acrid contrition flavors his words, replacing his distress. He grows tense in my arms, but I don't dare let go of him now.
"Ye were so still, so quiet, I couldn't convince meself ye were alive, even though I could hear ye breathin' an feel yer heartbeat. Was like back in December, in dat alley when ye weren't breathin' an' I couldn't get to ye fer dat woman draggin' an' screamin' at me. I needed to hear yer voice, feel ye movin' against me; needed to be as close as I could to ye an' know nothin' in th'dream had been real. Leastways, everythin' 'cept Roc bein' dead. I wasn't listenin' to ye, yer right; don't even know if I could really hear ye a'tall. I was...I was in an' out of me head, goin' back an' forth between you right dere wit' me an' you in th'chair tryin' t'reason screamin' at me an' you beatin' and bloody in th'alley. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, I just...I don't remember everythin' I did, I swear, but it don't excuse anythin'. Den ye smashed yer head back, and dat jolt o'pain knocked some fuckin' sense back inta me. Couldn't figure why I was tastin' blood, though, as ye hadn't hit me mouth an' me nose wasn't bleedin', an' den I saw yer neck, an'...an'...I'm so sorry, Grace, I'm so fuckin' sorry."
I expect him to cry harder, to break down sobbing, to lose at least a little control again. I mean, it's what I would do in his place. He's so tense in my arms he's shaking. All I can think to do is hold him, stroking his hair as my heart aches for him.
"I love you," I whisper. I don't offer any platitudes or false promises of everything working out fine. We both know better. "I love you. I know you didn't mean to hurt me. I'm here for as long as we've got left, Murphy, and I love you."
The tears I expect from him never come; what he gives me instead is more confessions. A year ago, a month...hell, even an hour ago, these confessions would have torn me apart, made me feel like the most worthless person alive, confirmed every self-doubt that I have about my inability to be loved. Instead, everything Murphy says just serves to remind me how little time we have left together, and I cling to him as if it's our last night together as he pours out all everything that's been eating away at him for months now.
"I was more pissed at ye back in December dan I ever really let ye know, but part of dat was on me, as well. Shoulda been straight wit' ye from th'start, let ye know just how much ye scared me an' cut me t'th'quick. An' den on Sunday night, when I found out ye went an' did th'same thing again, goin' t'Yakavetta's house an' throwin' yerself inta danger wit'out thinkin' o' what we'd do if we lost ye. I...I wanted t'shake ye, to scream at ye 'til ye swore ye'd never leave yer apartment again. I wanted ye t'tell me why ye seem so hell-bent on gettin' yerself killed. It's like yer parents fucked ye up so much ye got no sense of self-worth or self-preservation at all, sometimes."
His face is turned into my hair now, his arms clutched around my back like bands of steel, and his voice is a ground-glass whisper that grates my heart raw. It's not what he's saying that hurts so much, though; I understand almost exactly how he feels. What hurts the most is that he's more right than I have time to admit.
"Told ye t'never do dat t'me again, Grace, said I couldn't take it. An' den...even knowin' afterwards dat it was all a dream, seein' th'gun in me hand, pointin' it at ye fer even just a second...I can't stand th'thought o'livin' wit'out ye, but th'thought o'ye dead 'cause o'me, like...like Roc…"
"Oh, God, Murphy, no." I feel the familiar burn behind my eyes, and I have to clear my throat before I can continue. "You didn't kill Rocco, you didn't. None of us wanted him to die, and you know that. You didn't pull the trigger, and you didn't kill him."
"But I coulda stopped him, Grace. I believed ye, I knew what was gonna happen, an' I still let him go. Knowin' he was gonna...an' lettin' him go anyway. I as good as killed him-"
I tilt his stricken face to mine and silence him with a finger to his lips. "I've been through that thought cycle, too, Murphy. All of us knew, Rocco included. He could have stopped himself, as well. We all could have stopped him, but, in the end, Rocco was the only one in charge of where he went and what he did. He decided to go anyway, make his life mean something. You can't take the blame for his death onto yourself. You know exactly who is responsible, and we both know what you and Connor are going to do about it."
Murphy's eyes bore desperately into mine, red-rimmed and haunted but somehow dry. He reaches a trembling hand up to trace a feather light touch over the bandages on my cheek and neck, and I lean down to tap the tip of my nose to the end of his.
"I love you. I will always love you, and I am going to miss you more than I could ever try to explain. Don't let me leave thinking I have to worry about you blaming yourself for Rocco's death. I'm already going to worry about you and Connor and even your dad with your vigilante crusade, but...tell me you understand. Even if you don't accept it yet, tell me you understand Rocco's death wasn't your fault and that you'll try to believe."
"Aye," he breathes softly, laying his forehead on the crook of my neck. I think that surely he's done now, that he's managed to draw the last of the poison out of his wounds, but he has one last revelation to lay before me. His words settle around us like a blanket that's just a little too hot on a cool night, uncomfortable but still needed.
"Grace, ye've driven me t'distraction from th'first moment I laid eyes on ye, an' if I hafta worry 'bout ye, worry 'bout hurtin' ye, I won't be able to...t'do what I hafta. If ye stay, it's gonna be th'death of one o'th'three of us, an' I can't...God, I don't want ye t'go, but ye have to."
Yeah.
I know that now.
The tension drains out of him in a rush, just as I deflated after my earlier choleric fit of temper, and suddenly I'm holding a limp, exhausted boy who is way past his bedtime. I press a kiss to the crown of his head, feeling his arms snug around me once more. The rain quiets down outside, dropping from a constant roar to a whispering rush that chills me even as it soothes some of my frazzled nerves.
"Rest, Murphy," I tell him as his blinking becomes heavy and slow. "I've got you. I'll wake you when Connor gets back. I'm here." But he's reluctant, even with how utterly wrecked he is, fearful of what other visions might come to him in his sleep. His bleary eyes never leave me, and we lie together, studying the contours and shadows of each other's faces and committing every detail to memory.
"We could just run away," he says. I'm half-mesmerized, fixing the location of the beauty mark over his lip firmly in mind, and I have to shake my head to clear my hazy thoughts before I can fully process his offer.
"I...don't think your brother would be too pleased with us," I say. I watch him carefully for a moment, but he face remains grave without a single spark of teasing. I realize that I'm starting to get a cramp in my shoulder from our awkward position, and I use the interruption as an excuse to stretch and relieve my physical discomfort.
I pull back a little, disentangling myself from our embrace. He clings to my hands, and I soften my departure by kissing his bruised knuckles and considering his words before responding. "And that would be another thing you'd never forgive yourself for. Walking away before you've finished what you've started. I know you, Murph. Leaving Yakavetta alive was never an option, not once you and Connor set out on this path. It would be one more thing you'd blame yourself for, and I won't let you do it."
I squeeze his hands as tightly as my aching wrist will allow then release him and turn to push off the bed. As I stand, all of my pains come rushing back to remind me I never took any more medicine. My legs feel raw, my back aches, my face and neck burn, and the throbbing in my wrist has reached new levels of hurt. I sigh, rubbing my gritty eyes and moving towards the sink, intending to wash the bits of my face I can get wet, as I hear Murphy slide off the bed behind me.
"Ye don't want to escape t'some tropical island an' drink margaritas th' rest o'yer days wit' me?" he says, his voice closer than I expect. I turn the handle of the sink, running cold water over my unbandaged hand, and glance up in the cloudy mirror to see him standing behind me, a comically exaggerated pout on his face. I can't help but smile as I reach for the washcloth, but Murphy gets to it before I can.
"Lemme help ye. Least I c'n do."
Murphy tends to me as gently as he can, and I try to enjoy a few moments of near-normalcy with him as I fend off his half-joking advances with caustic admonitions that leave us both feeling a little more broken-hearted by the end.
"Gonna...gonna miss dis, just bein' able t'touch ye an' talk t'ye whenever I want," he says, examining the washrag clenched in his closed fist. I bite my lip again, holding in the laundry list of things I'll similarly miss about him and Connor. I look away, but the movement brings with it a bitter ache along my neck, and I can't hide my grimace from Murphy's scrutinizing gaze.
"Ye never did take any o'dat medicine Connor told ye about. Wanna get some of it now?"
"What are you-" And then Connor's parting words come back to me, and I remember the baggage the boys brought with them when they got here.
Murphy drops the damp cloth in the sink and strides across the small room. He picks up the bags he and Connor set down when they first got here, setting them down on the bed, and looks at me hesitantly. "Da told us to stop by yer place an' get th'things ye'd need. Said ye weren't t'go back der again. Got all yer clothes an' jewelry, yer tapes, an' yer bathroom stuff. I shoved a few o'the things from yer closet inta th'bag, an' a thing or two of Rocco's', but Connor said we didn't have time to get anythin' else, an' we didn't want ye t'have too many bags, so...Yeah. Dis is what we got."
My life condensed into a purse, a sports bag, a backpack, and a suitcase. I don't know why I'm surprised.
"Thanks," I say, and for some reason I'm too rattled to think of a better reply. "It would be nice to brush my hair properly, I guess, but I don't know about those pain pills, though. They knocked me out pretty hardcore; what if I need to be alert for something?"
Murphy thinks this over for a moment before logic wins out, and he nods once, almost to himself. He unzips the duffel, rifling around for a moment before extracting my hairbrush. A manila envelope lying atop the bag's contents catches my eye as he offers me the brush, and I move closer for a better look. My name is scrawled in Connor's handwriting across the front, and I look to Murphy for an explanation.
"A letter an' some things we decided ye needed, but ye can't open it yet," he says. I open my mouth, confused, but he just shakes his head. "Wouldn't mean as much now. Open it later, when ye get wherever 'tis Smecker thinks ye need to go."
Instead of offering the brush again, Murphy gently leads me to a chair, and in one of the oddest and most intimate scenes of our relationship, proceeds to brush out my hair and allow me to talk him through braiding it, a task at which he proves himself to be unexpectedly adept. He ignores my protests, informing me that with my "gimp wrist," it would take me until next St. Patty's day to get it done, anyway.
"But if ye breathe a word o'dis t'me brudder," he warns, his pale face suddenly flushed, "I'll make ye regret it t'th'end o'yer days, love."
"I wouldn't dream of it, Murphy."
Two knocks on the door startle us out of our curiously domestic episode, and I'm on my feet without a moment's hesitation. Murphy slips silently over to his coat and has his gun half-drawn when the follow up double kick raps sharply against the bottom of the door.
" 'S us, Murph, let us in," Connor calls softly. Murphy uncocks his gun but doesn't holster it as he slides the locks open. Connor and Noah step into the room, and, as before, Connor's shoulders immediately relax when his eyes meet mine. He holds out a bottle of Extra-Strength Tylenol as an offering, but I bypass the pills and go straight for a hug.
"Got us th'room next door," Connor says, once I've released him. "Not an upgrade, per se, but it's got a big enough bed fer you, me, an Murph. We'll move yer bags over and get a few hours sleep b'fore we call Smecker, aye?"
I glance at Noah, who quirks an eyebrow at Connor's reasoning behind the room change but doesn't comment. "You'll be okay in here by yourself?" It takes a full thirty seconds of everyone in the room staring at me before I realize the stupidity of my question. I sigh and toss my hairbrush at Murphy's smirking face.
"Shut up, all of you. I've had a shitty week, and I need sleep."
"Your wish, my command," Connor says, not quite repressing a grin. He snags my things from the bed, leaving Murphy to collect their own duffel. I grab my purse and the one bag I brought from the other motel and glance at Noah, offering a tired smile and goodnight. He leans in for a brief kiss on the cheek, saying, "Tap on th'wall if somethin's amiss. I'll see ye later on."
I step into the other room as Connor and Murphy drop our combined baggage on the floor, turning to latch the door behind us. The room is identical to the last one, but there's a queen sized bed where the twin beds sat in the other room, and, despite the aged covers, it looks like absolute heaven.
"Can we push it into the corner?" I ask suddenly. Without a word, Murphy and Connor set to shoving the bed until it's flush against two walls. Murphy helps me undress while Connor gets a glass of water and shakes out some pills for me and himself. He tilts the open bottle towards Murphy, shaking it questioningly, and for once Murphy doesn't turn down the offer. I know we could all use something a lot stronger than over-the-counter strength acetaminophen, but there's no telling what the next couple of days will bring, and none of us can afford to be mentally fogged down by the narcotic pain meds the boys brought me.
We take our time arranging ourselves before settling down. Connor and Murphy have to assure me multiple times that their bandages don't need changing, and I assure them in return that they are not hurting me or aggravating any of my injuries, which is mostly true. I finally end up with my head resting on Murphy's chest with Connor squished between me and the wall. The rain has dried up to the point of inaudibility now, and the city lies quietly outside the hotel, resting in the odd period of quiet that can sometimes be found in the darkest hour just before dawn. I concentrate on Murphy's heartbeat, slow and steady under my ear. Connor's breath tickles the hair on the back of my neck while Murphy's fingers absently smooth across my eyebrow.
"Is this it for us?"
For a moment, my question rings discordant and out of place in the muffled silence of the room. I wonder if the boys have fallen asleep, but Connor's fingers reflexively clench against my hip.
"Dunno, lass," he finally answers; his words are clipped and precise, every inch of them measured before he speaks. I get the feeling he's less than one hundred percent comfortable with the situation. "Smecker doesn't want us t'know where he'll send ye, says tisn't safe fer us to know. Don't know when he'll send ye, either, nor how. It'll be sooner rather dan later. Probably take him a day t'organize everythin' once we've told him yer on board. So...not quite goodbye, yet. Afraid yer stuck wit' us fer another night or so."
I nod, not trusting my voice again. I suppose it wouldn't be safe for the boys to know where I am, not if Smecker wants them to continue on this crusade. One moment of weakness, of missing me too much, and Murphy would be on his way to me in a heartbeat, with Connor not far behind. And then we'd be right back here again. So we're stuck with this shitty non-plan, all of our fates in the hands of a man I just can't find it in myself to trust.
But for right now, at least, we're still here.
"Don't want ye t'go." The words are so quiet, and they seem to come from everywhere at once, and I'm never sure afterwards which of my boys said them.
"I know. I love you, too."
Author's Note: This chapter would not have happened without Siarh and her magic, one-sentence key that unlocked WEEKS of blockage and suddenly made the entire chapter just work.