ANGEL OF THE BRONX
The first set of thoughts Connor had as morning sulight pierced its way through closed eyelids was something along the lines of wondering what the hell he had had to drink the night before. The second set was just where said drinks had led him to, considering the mattress beneath him was more comfortable than any he had slept on before. The third was just on whose soft, decidedly female hands were gently pressing against his bare shoulders. Eyes fluttering open, Connor felt a twinge of remorse as he realized he was in a hospital bed. It had been a good long while since he had felt the flirtateous touch of a woman. At the same time though, he was more than a little thrilled to be greeted by the warm smile of his doctor. The young woman looked barely out of medical school. Her sun-lightened brown hair was pulled back in a tight, feminine ponytail. High cheekbones gave her face a picturesque quality beneath warm, concerned brown eyes. "Ah," she said, her voice like heaven to Connor's ears, softly caressing away the headache breaking between his eyes, "That's it, Mr. O'Reilly. Easy does it." "Who da' fuck is Mr. O'Reilly?" Connor mumbled, sounding sleepy even to himself. He saw a frown cross the pretty brunette's face as she glanced to her right. "Sometimes the medications makes patients a little drowsy," she said calmly, "Unaware of their surroundings." "Hey, I'm bloody well aware of my surroundings!" Connor exclaimed, irritated she was talking as though he weren't there, "I'm in a fuckin' hospital! How the hell did I get here..." "I brought you here, brother," a second female voice spoke from his left. Connor looked over to see a younger woman staring at him with cold green eyes. She might have been beautiful in a different setting then this. Her dark-haired pettite form could have shined in the soft glow of a pub lighting and alcohol induced haze. Course, she would look even better without that perpetual frown that made it seem she had a stick shoved up her arse. "Brother?" Connor responded, "Are ye daft, woman? Yer no sister o'mine!" He looked over at the doctor and demanded, "Where's Murphy? Where's me brother?" The pretty face scrunched in complete confusion. Glancing over at Connor's "sister", she begged for some help. The young woman gave a light shrug, mouthing something. The doctor nodded, backing up a step. The other woman nodded her thanks before leaning along the bed till her face was inches from Connor's. "Yer mate's fine, brother dear," she said in a horribly faked accent, emphasising the word 'mate', "He helped me get you here from the alley. Remember? The alley?" Connor squinted at her, confused. Then, in a single moment, everything came rushing back. The fire-fight. The car. Da. Then, this girl. She had walked past the alley just a moment after the car took off. Sprayed him with mace as though he were a common thug. Delivered a right sharp kick to his side and...oh God in heaven, Murphy! Connor was aware of hands moving to restrain him. He could hear and feel the cries ripping their way up his throat and a faint moistness gathering around his eyes. Pain exploded everywhere, but he ignored it. Anna knew immediately she had said the wrong thing. The man's blue eyes, one moment clouded from the pain killers to help him sleep, cleared in furious rage. Her arms were seized in a vice grip as the man screamed in her in various languages. She could identify a mix of Gaelic and Italian but couldn't understand what was being said. It took her a moment to sense several male nurses pulling her clear of the man. The doctor took her hand leading her back, as the nurses pushed the man back in the bed. Amazingly, he still managed to throw a couple good punches before the doctor managed to puncture his IV with a needle. Injecting the drugs, she took a deep breath as the drugs took instant effect. The patient slumped, still mumbling the name Murphy. Turning back to Anna, the doctor frowned crossing her arms. Crossing the distance between herself and the other woman she leaned in and whispered, "We need to talk." "Svegliarsi il ragazzo!" "Wake up, boy!" A sharp slap to the face jarred Murphy from his doze. Jumping up, he felt the sharp metal of cuffs cut deeper in his wrist. All around him was a pitch blackness he couldn't see through. "Fuckin' hell! What the f-" Another smack across the mouth stemmed the flow of curses. "Parliamo soltanto italiano qui, il cane." "We speak only Italian here, dog." "Chi sono l'inferno la? Dove sono?" Murphy replied, slipping into the language without thought. The voice in the dark chuckled. "L'inferno veramente. Il suo proprio genere di privato un." "Hell indeed. Your own sort of private one." Murphy couldn't stop the pit of the stomach from dropping just a bit. "Dove Connor l'è il bastardo?" he demanded, fear for his brother taking over the fear for himself. The only reply to his demand was a second, equally chilling laugh. A.N.: Dun, Dun, Dun...Hey, you think I could honestly kill Murphy? Well, I promise, no harm will come to him...well, maybe a little...well, maybe a lot. Anyway, enjoy and please review!
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