Nicholas: Hm...Here's another chapitre for ye dearies. A little Murphy and Malise bonding.

It doesn't come to mind to wonder about anything until asking questions is impossible. Sitting at the table, staring at the bed where twin brothers lay cuddling each other in a way twin brothers shouldn't, she wished she could find the right words to express her curiosity. Malise knew full well how gay sex worked—sometimes wished she didn't, just to spare her mind the thoughts of the disturbingly well-known-as-gay young men at school. She written a few romance short stories about a gay couple or a man and a "she" man, but to think that…incest was wrong as far as she knew. She didn't even have to be religious to know that; it was just a common knowledge she'd adopted from her childhood on. So the fact that she was well aware of the intensity of their relationship should have appalled her, it didn't even begin to make her squeamish. It's funny, really. She'd known them about two weeks, if that, and she was more accepting of them than she'd ever been for anyone else in her life.

It was around six o'clock when one of them stirred, breaking her thoughtful trance. As quickly as she could, Malise looked away from them and pretended to be preoccupied with sorting the pages of her notebook—her second attempt to do so.

"Ah fuck," she heard one of them mutter as feet swung over the side of the bed to hit the floor. "What fuckin' day is it?" Murphy dug mercilessly into his eyes with the heels of his palms.

The other figure in the bed—not quite identifiable as Connor because of the pillow that covered his face—rolled over onto his side with a quiet mutter. His arm bent at the elbow and clamped the soft, white cushion down onto his head, intent on getting a bit more sleep. Looking at his back, Malise noticed for the first time a long, sallow-white, jagged discoloration running down his right shoulder blade on his tan skin. It looked very old, he had probably gotten it years ago, but why hadn't Malise noticed it? Curiously, Murphy dragged the blanket up over him, as if to cover it up.

"Sunday," she stated, a little delayed in her reply.

With a wince, the pale twin rubbed his dark hair back—the long strands were a bit shiny from not being washed. "Damn, that'll make three."

Sitting up strait, Malise gave him a questioning look. Before she could ask, however, he went ahead and explained. "Three weeks," he stated, getting up to open the curtain a little bit. The sun was beginning to rise, and a soft, pink glow came up from behind the freeway. "Three weeks that we haven't gone to church. Three in a row."

"Oh…That's right you guys are Catholics."

With a pause, he looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "Ya say that as if it's a bad thing," he muttered. A laugh sounded as he turned his back and went on a quest for clean clothes.

Malise felt herself blush. "No! It's not a bad thing, just…I'm not and the only Catholics I've known were snobbish jerks. Before I met you, that is."

"Aye, I know what ya mean." A shirt appeared from under the bed Connor was currently snoozing in, and a pair of jeans was tucked away behind the TV. Malise considered asking how they got there, but it seemed moot at this point. "We're not all like that. What about ye? Ya don' strike me as the religious type."

Watching as he pulled gray cotton over the portrait of Michael and Lucifer on his back, Malise shrugged. "I'm not devout, I guess. I go to church sometimes, either when I can get a ride or Dad gets off his rear and drags along with him. I don't know…at times it feels nice to be with God, but others…I don't think He's really listening."

"He's always listenin'," Murphy insisted, tugging worn out denim on his thin, pale legs. His next search was a belt. "Even when ya don' want Him ta be." Something in his voice gave the hint of what he was talking about. It was the first evidence of guilt that the girl had heard from him.

"I'd love to believe that. Maybe He always has His attention on you, but I'd give anything for Him to take care of me once in a while."

Murphy stopped dead, glancing over his shoulder to see her eyes lowered, hair covering her face the way her hat would be if she were wearing it. He wondered for a moment how deep this sorrow of hers ran. Even when she seemed to be happy, her smile was never real. Abandoning the belt venture, he turned around and took careful steps up to her. "Hey," he muttered, kneeling down in front of her seat, "Y'alright?" He bent down to try to see her face a bit better.

Turning away, she wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm fine," she lied.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing…"

He could tell immediately that she wasn't fine and something was wrong. It was just the sort of thing he went through when Connor wasn't feeling right. Damn them for needing to hide their emotions. Firmly, but still tenderly, he lifted her chin and looked her in the eyes—her watery, reddening eyes. "Ya wanna cry, go ahead, but don' ya dare think ya have ta hold it back jus' 'cause o' me. Now, what's wrong?"

Her forehead creased slightly as she stared at him in confusion. Taking a few deep breaths as a reflex to keep from breaking down like she did the other night, she put a hand over her eye to catch a stray tear. He looked so worried about her, and that was something beautiful in itself. It was just so refreshing that there were people who cared about her. And that was the beautiful tragedy of it all. "You guys are so nice to me," she began slowly, carefully fighting the quiver in her throat. "You really want to take care of me and…I don't want to go back. I know I'll have to sooner or later because with your job you won't be able to look after a kid like me, but…I don't want to go back."

Eyes softening invariably, Murphy reached up and brushed her hair out of her face. His smile was a bit unexpected, but he couldn't help it. "Then don't, it's that simple." He was very inspired, seeing her like this, even though he felt that he shouldn't have been. "Ya know what? Don' worry about it. The time'll come that ye'll have ta make a choice, o' course, but right now, don' let it bother ya."

Malise lifted the edge of her pajama shirt to wipe her nose before it started to run away. Blinking away the moisture in her eyes, she recovered herself enough to make a relatively straight face. "What do you mean?"

"Yer allowed ta stay with us as long as ya think ya can, dear. We're not gonna chase ya off 'cause o' yer da."

A few sniffles and vigorous rubs, she dried her eyes completely and straightened her back. "Thank you…You know what? I feel like going to church."

Murphy smiled widely, almost confidently as he stood, keeping her gaze until he looked over at Connor's back. "Well, where's yer church? I might be able to get him up."

"Oh, we don't have to be there until nine-thirty," she said, uncertainly. She wasn't certain, but she thought that Mass was early in the morning. "And it's not a Catholic church, but anyone can go, so I don't think they'll mind."

As he sat down on the bed, he gave a relieved sigh. "Nine-thirty? That's wonderful. I can get more sleep." He lay back, ignoring that he landed lop-sided on his brother. Connor just gave an annoyed grunt, choosing to let it go this time.

More light was coming in through the sheer curtains as the sun finally managed to crawl over the hill and throw itself into the sky. Malise smiled wryly as she looked at it. There was tightness in throat that she was trying to ease away by swallowing over and over again. It wasn't really working and she thought for a moment that it would never go away.

"What about church?" Connor removed the pillow from his face wriggled Murphy off of him.

"We're goin' ta Malise's," Murphy stated, adjusting to lie correctly beside his brother. "Not 'til nine thirty, tho'. Ya can go back ta sleep."

"Thank God in heaven," the blond mumbled, cuddling close to Murphy and nuzzling his face against the other's chest. He didn't quite remember that Malise knew about them, but he was too tired to care that she was watching so either way…

"Ye gonna get more sleep, Mal?"

With a raised eyebrow, she pulled her knees up to her chest on the chair. "Nope, I'm fine. I should probably get started on fixing my notebook anyway." That was a nickname he'd just used, and she had noticed it. She wouldn't question it, though. It was proof of the connection they'd made that morning, the little opening that had officially been created in their family for her. And besides, she liked the name.