INTO THE DARK

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"I Will Follow You Into The Dark"

By: Death Cab For Cutie

Love of mine some day you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark

No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for the hint of a spark
If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black
And I held my tongue as she told me
"Son fear is the heart of love"
So I never went back

If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

You and me have seen everything to see
From Bangkok to Calgary
And the soles of your shoes are all worn down
The time for sleep is now
It's nothing to cry about
Cause we'll hold each other soon
The blackest of rooms

If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark
Then I'll follow you into the dark

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Written by: Lourdes, a.k.a. I Fancy Hugh Dancy

Rating:T - MA for violence, swearing and adult situations.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Tragedy/Drama/Romance

Summary: Murphy is used to taking lives. But what happens when one is taken from him? For Murphy MacManus, the road to recovery is never easy. Maybe this time, the saviour is the one to be saved. OneShot turned into story.

Influences: Boondock Saints (naturally), P.S. I Love You, Dexter, The Black Donnellys, Brotherhood, A Walk To Remember, The Departed.

Disclaimer:This story is pure fanfiction. I do not own the Saints. I own all the characters that are non-recognizable in the film.

Author's Note: This is my fourth BDS fic. Stemming from a short oneshot, I've been persuaded by the lovely BelhavenOnTap to continue this story, as there is so much to extract from it. Again, it's another "piece of experimentation", if you will, so it'll be a little different from my "regular" narrative structures/voices. If you have time, check out my other BDS fics: "Even In Heaven","Till Death Do Us Part", and "Path To Sainthood". I would love to hear from anyone and everyone. Any comments, questions, corrections, constructive criticism, suggestions and encouragement are welcome and appreciated!

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A light clink on the carpeted living room floor signaled another emptied bottle of Jameson's whiskey. Slouched upon a leather couch, Murphy MacManus let out a small hiccup, blankly gazing at what was left of his temporary solution. Just another fuckin' trophy ta add ta my collection, he thought wryly to himself, giving the bottle a curt kick and watching it roll away from his form. Tonight's just another night without her. Burying his face upon his calloused hands and then ensuing to run his fingers with annoyance through his cropped hair, he let out a long, jagged exhale. What had become of his existence? Could he really be classified as living when he felt emptier than the bottle in front of him?

Oh God, how he missed her. He missed her, he loved her, and he would do anything – walk through hell and back for all of eternity – to have her back, here, with him. She had entered his life unexpectedly, molded him into a new man, and truly showed him now to live life. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it had abruptly ended, leaving him shattered, broken, and inconsolable. Now, only self-loathing, guilt, depression and unbridled anger pervaded his emotions. Her life didn't just end – it was taken from her.

And Murphy pointed the guilty finger at himself more than anyone else.

"Murphy, you can't keep doing this anymore!" Uncontrollable tears cascaded from her face as she was no longer able to retain her former composure. "We're married now. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

He could feel is patience growing thin. "Of course it fuckin' means somethin' ta me! It means everythin' ta me!" Murphy snapped irritably in return, swirling to face her once more. Drilling a finger upon his heart in an exhibition of his emotions, he steadfastly proclaimed, "But ye just can't ask me ta leave me Da and me brother ta be the Saints. I can't let 'em do all o' this shit on their own! Ye know that. Ye've known that from the very beginning!"

"This isn't only about you or me, Murphy. Think about your mother!" She cried in unbridled upset, arm outstretched in front of her. "Do you know what the fuck she goes through whenever you three are out in the streets of Boston? Do you really want her to someday see three bodybags at the morgue instead of a husband and sons?" Her eyes closed as she began to unsuccessfully quell her oncoming tears. "This is no game, no fucking hobby, Murphy. One day it'll all catch up to you."

He didn't believe her then. Fuck, he didn't want to believe her.

And it would only take one moment to make the unbeliever believe.

"You fuckin' Saint pricks, thinkin' you can run the streets of Boston! Well, as I'll prove to you today, you're fuckin' mistaken."

At this point, Murphy received another blow to the jaw, causing him to spit out more blood and lose his breath. With ragged gasps for air, he twisted his head up to gaze at his wife, who sat across from him, through blurred vision. He attempted to reassure her with a hoarse whisper, "It'll be alright, love, I promise. Don't be scared, alright?"

Her muffled reply seemed so faint, so distant to him now.

"I think she's got somethin' to be scared of."

Murphy's ears then perked up to the sound of a clicking revolver. As he weakly turned his throbbing head, he perceived the barrel of a gun leveled with his wife's temple. With widened eyes, he maniacally attempted to escape from his bounds, though only managing to topple his seat over to the side. Hopelessly squirming upon the ground, he let out a raucous cry, with rivulets of tears cascading from his eyes.

The shot rang through his ears and refused to subside.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry!" At this point, he tried to block out the memories. He wanted so desperately to remember his wife, but he found that he couldn't do so without reliving her last moments on this earth. With a sob, he buried his hands in his arms, grief overtaking him in a stifling chokehold once more. Frankly, he didn't know how he was still managing to breathe at that moment. Murphy was so shattered, so entirely engulfed by misery, that he was even surprised that he hadn't already taken his automatic pistol, planted it upon his forehead, and shot his own fucking brains out till the cows came mooing back home. Ever since she had been taken from him, from as far back as his memory would take him through the years, Murphy would thoughtfully eye his personal pistol upon the top drawer of his closet. He knew it waited for him, called to him. It seemed to mock and taunt him, pushing to see how far his sanity would hold. So far, it held – and Murphy knew there was only one reason for that.

"Daddy, are ye cryin' again?"

The inquiry that came from such an innocent voice momentarily eased the ache in Murphy's heart. With a sniff to regain his composure, he turned his head towards his son, who meekly stood at the entrance of the living room. Disregarding his former inquiry, Murphy lightly questioned, "Liam, it's way past yer bedtime. What are ye doin' up?"

"Me bedtime stinks." At this declaration, Liam wrinkled his nose distastefully, even crossing his arms for effect. "Ye have ta change it, Da. I can't sleep during me bedtime!"

At this, Murphy actually managed to let out a light chuckle, shaking his head amusedly at his son's truly winsome personality. As he patted the empty seat beside him, Liam cheerfully skipped to his father's side, rightly jumping headlong upon his father's lap. Murphy easily caught him by the waist as he admitted, "I can't sleep either, kiddo. I've got lots o' things on me mind."

"Like the time Uncle Connor lit his butt on fire by accident? That was really funny!"

"No, Liam!" Scrunching his face in disgust, Murphy emphatically shook his head. After a slight pause, he then exhaled, "I'm thinkin' 'bout yer Ma."

Expressively furrowing his brows, Liam pouted, sitting up upon his father's lap. He said quietly, "I miss Ma." Tilting his head upwards to meet Murphy's gaze, he questioned lightly, "She's in heaven now, right Da? With all of the angels and saints?"

As he felt more tears threatening to form upon his eyes, Murphy wrapped Liam in a tight embrace. "She's here with us right now, son." He blinked through the tears, eyes reverently gazing up towards the heavens. "She's here with us."