Irish Faery Tale (AU/no aliens M/L Mature) Ch 6 2-21-06 [WIP

[Syke]

Title: Irish Faery Tale
Author: Syke
Category: AU M/L
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: You know I don't own 'em so don't even ask.
Summary: In Northern Ireland blood is shed every day, truces are broken, and love struggles to survive. There'll be no happy ending...Peace is an Irish faery tale.

Warning: This story contains material that may be unsuitable or offensive to some readers. This fic in no way, shape, or form is commending the acts of the IRA, PIRA, CIRA or any other guerilla or terroist group throughout the world or galaxy for that matter. It is not meant to romanticize, glorify, or support any terriorist actions or their perpetrators. Killing people and setting off bombs is bad no matter what the cause, those who do it should be punished, etc. etc. This fic contains strong language, violence, and many other unsuitable things. Please, please, please read at your own risk!!!!!!!




Ch 1


It’s raining again, not uncommon for Belfast but on this particular morning it was the last thing I needed. Here I am sitting in a shoddy hut that reeks of shite, half blown away by their bombs, our bombs, waiting for the apocalypse and it starts to fuckin’ pour, aye, what a day?

I look across the way and see Rory scanning the courtyard with his M-16. He catches my eye and throws me a huge, goofy grin from under his black ski mask. Rory Miller, bloody eejit, but I’ve known him since I was a wee one. We’re rarely ever apart; you’d think we were brothers except my skin is a healthy, Irish, albino white while his is the color of a freshly poured Guinness. The peelers from England refer to Rory as ‘Black Paddy’ he just laughs it off telling me I don’t care what they call me as long as they don’t call me ‘caught.’ I can’t really argue with that, freedom is reason #3 of my existence, the second is fighting for our cause, and the first…well, without the first reason the second and third are irrelevant.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! I’m pulled from my thoughts by a spray of bullets kicking up the ground around me. Bloody hell, apparently we didn’t plan this as well as we thought I muse before diving into the next war-torn house. Those damn army bastards are everywhere with RUC peelers along side. I lean out the broken doorway and heave a smoke bomb into a crowd of them. Rory fires his M-16 into the smoke; I can hear the sickening crunch of each bullet hitting its mark. In all the confusion it’s easy for me to sneak through the alleyway, the black Mercedes sits alone, rainwater rolling off it’s expensive wax job, through the darkly tinted windows I can barely make out the three figures inside.

The gunfire is becoming hurried the smoke must be lifting. I quickly search through my knapsack letting out a victorious grunt as I find what I’m looking for. The rain soaks through my sweater as I drop down on my belly and crawl under the Mercedes. My hands shake nervously as I fasten the small box underneath the fuel tank. As soon as it’s in place I roll out from under the car and run. The buildings beside me rumble at the force of the explosion and a hubcap nearly takes my head off. Suddenly there’s a searing pain in my thigh and I meet the pavement harshly.

“Bloody peeler,” I mumble before reaching for my pistol cautiously. I can hear his footsteps approaching before I can react there's a gunshot and he’s in a pile before me and all I hear is the sound of screeching tires. I roll on my back as the junker stops suddenly, the rusted door creaks open…

“Always saving your arse,” she gives me a wry smile as I pull myself into the passenger seat. Her tiny foot slams down the gas pedal just as I get the door closed. I look over at the girl beside me as she strips off her ski mask and tosses me a playful wink.

Reason #1 of my existence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house is dark as we stumble inside. My arm is thrown around her shoulders but she’s barely able to offer any support to my large form. I limp over to the bed leaving a smear of blood along the floor. She rushes into the loo and I can hear her rifling through the cabinets.

“Take your trousers off,” she yells from the other room pulling me from a daze. I wince at the sharp pain that follows my movements. Right above my left knee there’s a grazing wound, not deadly but deep and bleeding profusely. She comes to my side and takes in a sharp breath looking over the damage.

“Bloody peeler,” she whispers before she begins to clean out my violent gash. I watch as her tiny hands wring out the blood soaked cloth before cleansing the wound again. She worries her lip in concentration as she bandages and tapes the area and I can’t help but smile. A strand of hair slips from behind her ear; I reach out and tuck the silky offender back in place. She looks up at me, her dark eyes filled with tears.

“Oh Liz,” I sigh pulling her into my lap. “I’m fine, I’m okay, it’s finished.”

Liz shook her head softly as the tears coated her cheeks, “It’s never finished, you know that better than anyone Max. It’s never finished.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We were only children when our lives fell apart. Liz and I both came from families deeply involved with the IRA. I was eight and Liz was four years younger than me the night it happened. I was fast asleep when the first bomb exploded; the house went up quickly filling with fire and thick, black smoke. A neighbor dragged me out and there in the rain; I stood and watched as my home burned to the ground with my family inside.

Liz watched as two men gunned down her da and ma at the dinner table. She still won't talk about it. A local sympathizer took us both in. When Liz came to the house she looked so broken, four years old and to see that kind of violence. I swore that night that I would always look after her and it’s the one promise I’ve kept.

For years I used to hold Liz while she cried herself to sleep and I curled her soft hair between my fingers. As the years passed her crying subsided but she would still crawl into my bed when she awoke seeking the comfort we could only bring each other. Even now at twenty years of age she still shares my bed. She tucks her head safely under my chin; her tiny hands creep under my shirt and stroke my chest, as I bury my hands deep in her hair coiling the soft strands around my calloused fingers.

I’m roused from sleep by the sudden urge to piss. It takes me a moment to disentangle myself from Liz without wakin’ her. The stone floor is freezing under my bare feet shooting a shiver through me and my leg screams as I put my weight on it, already stiffening up. With a tired sigh I limp towards the head.

After finishing, I wash up and lean against the sink staring at my reflection in the glass. Those bastards have stripped me of the man I should have grown into; my dark hair is shaggy and it badly needs a cut while most of my face is covered in a rough beard, I’m much too thin (thank god for the bit of muscle I have), and my eyes, well, they don’t hold the life they used to when I was a lad. I honestly couldn’t tell you why she’s with me. Every day I tell her to run and never look back, she won’t do it; she won’t leave me and, God help me, I don’t want her to. Today’s bombing was supposed to be the end of it that black Mercedes held the leader of our opposition not some big political icon, no, but he ran everything behind the scenes. The figure inside that car was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of Irish brethren…and my da. It took us months to plan this attack; one last deed and then we’d disarm and pave way for peace in Northern Ireland. Liz is right though, this fight is far from over and there’ll be no happy ending…

Peace is an Irish faery tale.

[Syke]

Here's the next part my darlings, sorry it's so short but I just wanted to lay some character groundwork. Thanks for the FB.


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Ch. 2

Liz and I laid low for a few days after the bombing. We needed to make sure the peelers hadn’t seen our faces. While it was a speculated that I was heavily involved in the violent activities in Belfast the authorities had yet to find any real proof.

The lads had sent word that we were in the clear. Liz decided that we needed to celebrate. So here I am, sitting at McRudy’s Pub a pint in one hand and a fag in the other with one of my best mates, Sean O’Leary: bad with a gun but great with a lock pick.

“Finally out of hiding. Bet it feels good to get out of that shack eh?” Sean laughs patting me on the back.

“Oh, I don’t know about that Seanie. We kept ourselves very well occupied,” I catch the jealousy that runs across his features for the briefest of moments. You see, Sean ‘as always had a hard-on for Liz, when we were younger he told me he’d be the one to pop her cherry…he didn’t.

In fact, that perpetrator would be me.

I remember when Liz was fifteen and I was nineteen, no, it didn’t happen then. It was early spring. The two of us had climbed onto the roof; she wanted me to show her the constellations. I was pointing out the different clusters when she asked me to kiss her. I sat there for a time staring at her beautiful, brown eyes and her full, pink lips…and I told her I’d give her a kiss when she turned eighteen. I may be a criminal but I’m not completely stupid. Plus, Liz may have been growing up but there was still more of that vulnerable four-year-old in there than she’d like to admit.

She didn’t ask again. I figured she finally realized I was not the kind of lad she needed. I had girls on and off but they never lasted long, could’ve had somethin’ to due with a certain girl always occupying my bed…maybe not. Anyway, on her eighteenth birthday the lasses took her out all day. When I got to the pub Liz was out on the dance floor with Seanie. I was in the process of ordering a pint when I saw Liz stalking over, and I do mean stalking. She looked fantastic, a short red dress and heels; her hair was in a high ponytail showing off her delectable neck. I couldn’t help but stare. Liz just smiled and said, ‘Aye, Maxwell Evans, there you are. I’m here for my kiss.’

And kiss me she did.

I’ve never felt anything like it. I took her home and we made love for hours that night. I awoke entangled in her naked body; mine was still slick with sweat. And as I watched her sleep I’d never felt more whole…or more tormented in my entire life. It was in that moment that I knew I’d love her till the day I died and she would bury me before I was twenty-five.

“Maxwell, here’s a pint on me, Happy Birthday!”

“Rory, you drunken bastard, my twenty-fifth is in three months,” I laugh as Rory leans against me softly singing ‘Happy Birthday.’

“We can celebrate early,” he slurs slapping me on the back.

“Ah, does that mean my drinks are on you tonight?”

“Aye, it does.”

I briefly contemplate the morality of taking advantage of my best friend in his horribly drunken state.

“Morrie, pour me a Guinness!” I shout to the barkeep.

Eh, I never said I was moral.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Max, my love, will you get me a drink?” I hate when she looks at me like that, battin’ her eyelashes and such. Like I could ever say no.

I tap the bar hoping to get Morrie’s attention away from the televised soccer match. He reluctantly looks my way.

“Can I get a vanilla Stoli and coke,” I shout over the noise of the crowd. “Oh, and put it on my birthday tab,” I add with a wink.

Liz smiles gratefully at me as I hand over her drink and I feel my heart speed up. I’m so whipped it’s almost pathetic…almost. Rory swears that’s why I joined the conflict, so I could wear the pants in one aspect of my life.

I suddenly don’t feel so bad about the birthday tab.

“I think Rory’s drunk,” Liz laughs watching my best mate trying, unsuccessfully I might add, to hit on a less than attractive woman near the bar. At least I think it’s a woman.

“Eh, just a wee bit,” I say pulling her close. “You look fantastic tonight Ms. Parker.”

She just laughs and pushes me away, “Your charms won’t work on me Maxwell Evans.”

I flash her a purely predatory grin before answering, “I know exactly how well my charms work on you little Lizzie.”

I smile victoriously as her eyes widen and her cheeks flush. That’s when I go in for the kill and crush my lips to hers. After a few moments she pulls away breathing heavily.

“Damn,” Sean laughs. “Those must be some charms there, Maxie Boy!”

“Ah Sean, your always after my Lucky Charms,” I cringe as I realize what I’ve just said. The lads crack up as I bury my reddening face in Liz’s neck. There will be repercussions due to that slip…for years I suspect.

I can feel Liz laughing as she slightly pulls away before addressing the pub. “And with that ladies and gentleman, I’m takin’ him home.”

[Syke]

Warning: This story contains material that may be unsuitable or offensive to some readers. This fic in no way, shape, or form is commending the acts of the IRA, PIRA, CIRA or any other guerilla or terroist group throughout the world or galaxy for that matter. It is not meant to romanticize, glorify, or support any terriorist actions or their perpetraitors. Killing people and setting off bombs is bad no matter what the cause, those who do it should be punished, etc. etc. This fic contains strong language, violence, and many other unsuitable things. Please, please, please read at your own risk!!!!!!!

Hey there kiddies, I'm back after a short hiatus. Here's the next part of IFT hope you enjoy and I'll try to be back soon.

Keep on truckin
Syke

It’s six in the AM, I have the worst hangover in the history of man, and Liz making a fucking racket in the kitchen while singing “Always On My Mind” at the top of her pretty, little lungs. Right now I ‘m pondering whether or not I could plead temporary insanity if I went out there and strangled her.

Before I have a chance to decide Liz breezes through the door with a glass of water. The bed gives a little as she sits down beside me flashing a 1000-watt smile.

“Finally up I see,” she states looking me over.

“Finally?!? It’s six AM for fuck’s sake!” I instantly regret raising my voice as my head begins to feel like a leprechaun is doing a jig inside my skull. It must be noticeable because Liz’s bottom lip starts to quiver.

“Poor baby,” she dotes in mock sympathy informing me I won’t be getting any from her. But to my delight she hands me the glass of water along with a few pills.

“Breakfast is ready,” she informs me before leaving as quickly as she came.

All I want is a few more hours of sleep but it’s obvious that’s not on today’s agenda. With a loud groan I pull myself up and throw on a pair of boxers at the end of the bed hoping they’re somewhat clean. I slowly make my way to the loo and lean my forehead against the wall behind the toilet to keep my balance. Surely, I make a lovely picture.

I don’t even bother glancing in the mirror before making my way out to the kitchen. As I step onto the linoleum one thought jumps to the forefront: I should have stayed in bed. My eyes narrow at the smiling cartoon leprechaun laughing at me from the large box of Lucky Charms sitting in the middle of the table.

“Hope your hungry, I went out and got some milk this morning,” Liz says absently as she flits around the room.

I growl something resembling her name.

“Is something wrong Max?” She turns to me with her innocent doe eyes but I can see the ghost of a smile on the corners of her mouth.

Suddenly she’s pinned up against the wall, mouth open in surprise…I’m a little surprised myself with the speed of my alcohol-tattered body.

“You think that’s funny do you?” I whisper leaning into her body.

The surprise has faded and now she’s smirking at me, “Aye.”

I can’t help but give her a grin of my own before kissing those pretty, pink lips. She responds eagerly. Good thing I decided to get up early.

RING!!!

“Bloody hell,” I groan before letting go of Liz and grabbing my cell phone off the table.

”Max?”

“Seanie, I’ll ring you back? It’s kind of a bad time,” I grunt.

”Don’t hang up, we need to meet. Be at the bridge in fifteen,” he tells me and my skin immediately begins to itch. I don’t like the shutter in his voice.

“Sean, what’s going on?”

He pauses for a moment and when he answers he sounds like himself again, ”Stop being such a bogtrotter and get down to the bloody bridge Maxie.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll be there,” I hang up and give Liz an apologetic smile before going to get changed. She follows me into the bedroom and flops onto the bed.

“Stay with me?”

“I wish I could but I can’t,” I say while pulling on my black wool sweater. As I’m searching for a clean pair of jeans Liz slips from the bed and stands in front of me. I’ll never forget the look of anguish coloring her features as she looked up at me. Her tiny hands tugged gently at the hem of my sweater.

“Please stay.”

My large hands easily engulf Liz’s as I pull her closer. The confusion I’m feeling must be evident on my face because she answers my silent question.

“I’ve a bad feeling about this Max.”

For a second I believe her, “Love, it’s just Sean. Nothing is going to happen. I’ll be back soon.”

She offers no more pleas as I kiss her softly and make my way out of the apartment. Soon I’d be wishing I listened to her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The streets are dead as I make my way down to meet Sean. I pull my jacket tighter when the wind kicks up causing me to shiver. What I wouldn’t give to be on some tropical island with Lizzie right now, sipping some shitty fruity drink and layin’ in the sun. Instead of walking this war torn street in the freezing cold. I’m almost to the bridge when I see him.

“Maxie, you made it,” Sean whispers nervously, he’s glancing around with big, bloodshot eyes. Liz’s words flash through my mind and suddenly I want nothing more than to be back in bed with her.

“What’s goin’ on Sean?” I ask but he doesn’t meet my gaze.

“You know you’re my best mate Max. I’d never do anything to hurt you but,” I can hear the tears in his voice and I feel the panic constrict my chest. “They threatened Maggie, she’s not even five. I can't lose her, I…I’m sorry Max.”

“What did you do Sean?!?!” I spit out realizing I’m in a very bad situation.

Sean finally looks at me and I can see the pain in his eyes, “I’m sorry Max.”

Then he begins to back away from me, and that’s when I hear the others. I shut my eyes tightly and try to think of something to do; anything but I know it’s too late. Sean sold me out to the peelers to save his daughter; I’d be impressed…if it wasn’t my life that was about to end.

Pop! The first shot catches me right in the shoulder. The pain is searing and I hear myself cry out. I grab my shoulder and begin to run, I can’t believe I didn’t even bring a gun, or a knife, or a fuckin’ slingshot. The next bullet catches me in the side and I stumble down to the ground. The only thing I’m thinking about right now is Liz, what will happen to her after this? What if they go after her? I pull myself back up and grab the ledge. My blood is everywhere, soaking the street beneath me. Another shot cracks the wall beside me and I do the only thing I can, jump.

The fall is short and the icy water quickly engulfs me. My lungs are burning, my entire body stings. I feel the cold tugging at my consciousness, fuck, this isn’t good. I try to stay awake, I try to swim but I don’t have the strength. My last thoughts are of Liz, the love of my life, my only reason in this world and I can’t protect her. Then nothing.

[Syke]

Hey there kiddies, this part is short...I know just bear with me I'll have a much longer part for you soon.

Keep on truckin'
Syke


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A small boy sits outside an old stone shack. He sits alone staring up at the dismal, gray sky above. It’s Christmas Day. Inside his family sits at a long, wooden table dining on cooked goose and potatoes. Even as the delicious smells waft into the outside air, the boy still sits patiently in the biting cold. It is not Christmas Day yet, not yet.

“You aren’t waiting for me, are you laddie?”

The boy slowly drops his eyes from the sky and looks upon the man standing before him. Like melting ice a smile quietly forms on the boys face.

“Da!”

A small squeal is heard as the small boy launches himself into the arms of the weary form. They embrace tightly for a moment before the man pulls back ruffling the boy’s hair.

“I thought you were going to miss it,” the boy sighed with a quivering lip.

His father just shook his head slightly, “Not for the world Maxwell, not for the world.”

The tiny, raven-haired boy tucked his head under the older man’s chin; yes now, now it was Christmas, and the last one that that small boy would spend with his father.

A grown man’s eyes opened slowly, painfully. My eyes.

Above me there’s a single, flickering fuckin’ florescent light and I briefly wonder if this is Hell. The pain that is shooting through my body tells me that it’s not.

“Max?”

The voice is soft, feminine and filled with tears. I desperately begin to work my throat trying to assure her that I’m here but every movement is agonizing, if I didn’t know better I’d think I’d been shot a few times…oh fuck.

“Bloody peelers.” That’s fuckin’ great Maxwell, Liz is sitting there with tear stained cheeks waiting for God knows how long for you to wake up and the first scratched out words from your throat are ‘Bloody Peelers.’ I grimace and look over at the girl beside me, she’s smirking, I guess she expected as much out of me. “What happened?”

Liz just leans forward placing a soft kiss on my temple and brushes the bangs off my forehead. And then there’s a big, black head in my vision grinning down at me.

“I wasn’t sure if you were gonna make it mate,” Rory laughs sitting down next to Liz. “I heard the shots and went running down the street…that’s when I saw you Maxie, saw you go over the bridge.”

Suddenly my groggy mind is bombarded with images, feelings…Sean, Maggie, shots ringing out around me, the pain, and the cold that seemed to be freezing my soul.

Rory begins again, “By the time Danny and me pulled you out…God we were sure you were dead.” His voice fell along with his face, “You can’t stay here Max, they’re looking for you. The Peelers have been draggin’ the river…they want to make sure.”

I sit up and my body screams in agony, “And where do you suggest we go mate?” I know that I shouldn’t be angry with Rory, after all the bastard just saved my life but I haven’t been fighting for the last fifteen years just to run away now.

“Across the pond Maxie,” he pauses glancing at Liz and I do too. She’s just sitting there staring at a spot somewhere across the room. Not at me, she won’t look at me. My blood boils that much more.

“You’re okay with this?” I spit at her harshly causing the desired effect, she looks my way…actually she glares at me before getting up and pacing the floor. Her eyes are bloodshot, she looks tired.

Liz finally stops and looks at me before running a shaky hand through her tousled hair, “This isn’t a fuckin’ game Maxwell, they know it was you and if you stay here those ‘bloody peelers’ will end your life!”

“So we run! Is that it? What about our cause?! What can we do from the States?!?!” I shout as much as I can in the condition I’m in.

She levels me with a glare though her eyes are shimmering, “Yeah…what can you do from the ground?”

I open my mouth to reply but…I got nothin’. Rory lays his hand on my arm startling me out of the staring match currently going on between me and Liz.

“Maxie,” he voice was soft almost pleading. “We’ve got tickets for you and Liz. Danny’ll get you into Dublin and you’ll go from there.”
I want to object, I want to protest but when I look over at Liz, my reason, my only reason, the face I feared I’d never see again…I can’t. I just nod.

[Syke]

Hey there my darlings...

Thanks for all of the wonderful feedback. Oh, and 'peeler' is a slang term for a cop in the RUC.

Here's the next part, enjoy!

****************************************************

Did I ever mention that I hate flying? I don’t just dislike it I seriously fucking hate it. And thanks to the drugs Rory’s quack of a doctor prescribed to me I can’t even have a pre-flight whiskey without puking my guts out. I look over at Liz; she’s flipping through a guidebook to Boston…the bloody town they’re putting us up in. I reach down to pick up my satchel and give a little grunt as pain shoots through me. All of the holes in my body are less than seventy-two hours old and fuckin’ killing me.

“You okay Maxie?” Liz asks me. Her delicate features are twisted in concern.

“I’m fine, fine.” I’m lying but I don’t want her to worry about more than she has to. I feel like a fuckin’ invalid with my arm in a sling and my leg wrapped so tightly that I have to limp through the damn terminal. As I’m digging in my bag they suddenly call out that our flight is boarding. I stand up slowly, shoulder my satchel and offer a hand to Liz. As she slips her hand in mine I’m still amazed by the smallness of this girl before me. I’m also reminded of how much I’ve fucked up her life.

She must be reading my mind because suddenly she’s reaching up and tucking a few stray hairs under my ball cap and stroking my stubbled cheek. “Wild horses Maxwell, wild horses,” she whispers before heading towards the plane.

I stand there dumbstruck for a moment as a memory floods my senses.

The wind howled through the trees as gunfire was heard in the distance. It was well past midnight when the door to the tiny bedroom creaked open. A ten-year-old Liz Parker shuffled in standing beside Max’s bed. Her head was cocked to the side as they stared at each other.

Max finally lifted up his sheets letting her slide in beside him. Her tiny arms wrapped around his body as sobs started to rack her fragile frame. The boy quickly engulfed her in his tight embrace and he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

They laid like that for lord knows how long before her tears subsided and she went to scramble from his bed. But Max held her firmly against him as she whispered worried apologies. His slim fingers ran through her hair, “It’s okay Lizzie. I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

She sniffled rubbing the tears from her cheeks, “I’m sure you don’t want to be stuck next to me all night Maxwell.”

He just offered her a small smile pulling her back against him, “Wild horses Lizzie, wild horses…”

*****************************************************

I slept through most of the plane ride after Liz turned down my offer to join the Mile High Club. She said that I’d probably bleed to death if I overexerted myself; I told her that I couldn’t think of a better way to go. Liz wasn’t amused. I was stiff as hell when we finally landed but eventually made it out of the plane.

“Stop being such a bogtrotter,” Liz laughed at my sour expression. “It wasn’t that bad”

I glared at her and pointed to my side, “Says you woman. I’m the one fuckin’ bleeding over here.”

The girl actually had the nerve to roll her eyes and I’m pretty sure she muttered something along the lines of ‘serves you right for not listening to me.’ If I didn’t love her so much I think I might strangle her right now.

There’s a tall lanky man standing at the curbside and when he spots us he rushes over quickly. I grab Liz shoving her behind me with my good arm.

“Hi,” the man says glancing around before leaning in. “Evans, right?” He whispers with a small smile.

I nod slightly and he throws out a large, thin hand. “I’m Alex, Alex Whitman. Reilly sent me to get you two set up.”

“I thought this was supposed to be secretive for fuck’s sake,” I bite out looking Whitman over.

He waves me off and reaches down picking up our bags, “I’m the only one here in Boston that knows, just trust me mate, everything will be fine.”

It’s on the word ‘mate’ that I finally notice. Alexander here has a bit of an accent, he’s from Belfast, I’m sure of it. My bullet-riddled body relaxes and Liz pushes past me introducing herself to Alex and climbing into the back seat of his car. I heave a sigh and slip into the passengers’ side.

“Okay,” Alex starts after were a few miles from the airport. He reaches into the glove box and pulls out a large manila envelope. “In there you’ve got you’re house keys, car keys, birth certificates, passports, some cash, and a safe deposit key. I need you to toss the fake Irish passports you used A.S.A.P. From now on you two are Thomas and Victoria Devaney from Cork, Ireland. You’ve got a little house on Briar Street and the rest is up to you.”

I rummage through the envelop for a second before glancing at Alex, “What’s in the deposite box?”

Alex smirks, “Just some cash and contact information that I don’t feel comfortable carrying around”

I nod and turn my head towards Liz. She’s staring out the window with a look of pure innocence. This is the first time either of us have been out of Northern Ireland. The way the sun lights up her face…she’s unbelievable. She turns and gives me a smile, which I return, although I’m sure mine’s not as bright…it never is.

After forty-five minutes of listening to Alex and Liz talk about shite to do around Boston we finally pull up to a small two story house. The three of us stand admiring the structure for a moment before Alex moves to the trunk and pops it open. I move to help him pull out the bags but he shrugs me off pointing to my shoulder. I sigh for the millionth time today and limp toward the front door pulling out the keys Alex gave me. Soon we’re all inside looking around the barely furnished house.

“Well, I’ve got to get back to Isabel before she skins me,” Alex laughs and shakes my good hand then moves to give Liz a tight hug.

“Thanks for everything mate,” I say clapping him on the back.

He just shrugs, “Cheers Tommy…Here’s my number. If you need anything just call.”

I take the business card from his lanky hand and watch as he jogs back to the car. Tiny hands suddenly wrap around my waist and I bite back a painful grunt not wanting her to let go.

“Bed?” She whispers in my ear. I just nod and let her lead me upstairs. Maybe this life won’t turn out to be absolute shite after all.

[Syke]

No I didn't abandon my baby but my disk got trashed so I'm trying to redo it. It's going to be a little slo coming out because I'm trying to remember how I wrote it before.

Here's a short little chapter but I prominse this fic won't be forgotten. Thanks for all the FB.

Keepon truckin'
Syke

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BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I roll over and bash the offending object with my free hand smiling slightly as I hear it hit the floor. The house is barely furnished but of course they didn’t forget the fuckin alarm clock. I reach over to pull Liz to me but instead of warm flesh I find only cold cotton. With a deep sigh I sit up and immediately regret it. Fuck, must’ve forgotten about the bullet holes. The room’s completely empty and I frown, it’s been a long time since I’ve woken up without her in my arms. My body burns as I get out of bed and pull on my boxers before making my way downstairs.

“Liz,” I call out.

No answer. Shit.

After checking all the rooms in this fuckin house I still can’t find her. A wave of panic shoots through me. What if they found us?

And that’s when I see it. I open the front door hesitantly before I stare down at the porch swing. In that moment it hits me just how much I might have lost that day. She’s staring off into the distance with smile lighting up her face.

“With a smile like that you must be thinkin’ abou’ me.”

She laughs softly, “Ay Maxwell…abou’ what an ass you are.”

My mouth drops open and I give her the best hurt puppy look I can muster. She doesn’t fall for it though; Liz doesn’t even look my way she just takes a sip from the white mug steaming between her hands. I sink down next to her and cross my arms over my chest with a pout. It doesn’t take long for her to finally look over but instead of an apology I get a light punch to the bicep.

“Didn’t you get enough last night?” She asks motioning to my boxer-clad body and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

I love seeing her in a good mood…it makes life worth living.

“Ah, no. I could never get enough when it comes to fuckin’ you.”

I can only watch in amazement as she tosses her mug to the ground and climbs into my lap. There’s a hint of chocolate on her lips and I can’t help but moan.

She suddenly stills above me, “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to-“

I silence her with a kiss before pulling back with a chuckle.

“That wasn’t because I was in pain little Lizzie.”

At my words she blushes, fuckin’ blushes, god I love this girl.

“So Mr. Evans,” she says brushing the bangs from my forehead. “What’s on the agenda today?”

I pull her closer letting my fingers dance along her stomach then give her a teasing smile.

“It’s a surprise.”