Fic: Boston, ch. 3
Title: Boston
Chapter: 3
Author: Ladyjanelly
Rating: PG (this chapter)
Disclaimer: Don't own them, please don't sue me.
Warnings: Unbeta'd. Pre-slash and stuff.
Summary: Jimmy "Rabbit" Smith leaves 8-Mile and heads to NY. He gets as far as Boston. 8-Mile/Boondock Saints crossover.
Jimmy wakes up in the grey hour before dawn, aching and sore. His head feels fuzzy inside-muffled. He tries to put together the time between the alley and now, and all he can figure out is about three different flavors of “Gotta get the fuck outta here.”
He bites down hard on his lower lip, trying to burn off some of whatever they gave him and focus a little.
When he’s a little clearer, he lifts his head and looks around. One of them is sleeping in his chair, leg thrown over the arm, his neck crooked at an uncomfortable-looking angle. The darker of the two is taking up the other half of the fold-out couch. Murphy, his brain supplies him.
And he can’t help but remembering the last time he woke up. Murphy there offering him more pain-killers. Murphy half-carrying him to the bathroom to take a piss, strong arm around his waist and serious eyes watching when Jimmy looked to see if Murphy was checking out his junk.
So glad then that the painkillers were knocking out any reaction his dick might have to that. Pissed off and scared and wanting something he knew he couldn't ever have. He knows he’d been rude as fuck, his mouth running on without any help from his brain. He remembers bitching and cussing and calling him a faggot until Murphy slapped him in the back of the head and told him “Shut it before ya wake Connor.”
But he never dropped Jimmy, half-carrying him back to “bed” and laying him back nice and easy. "Was just watchin' for blood, ya dumb fuck," Murph'd whispered, not meeting his eyes.
And fuck if Jimmy knew what to feel about all of that.
With one last glance, Jimmy carefully slides off of the mattress. He’s shaking like a junkie, but he can stand. “Get Lily, get out,” he keeps telling himself. These guys want something from him. They have to. They kill people. He can’t trust them. He ignores the memory of Murphy’s breath on his neck, how grateful he was to be drugged so he wouldn’t embarrass himself by being hard. “Get Lily, get out.”
He pulls on a pair of sweats, finds his shoes by the door. On his way to Lily’s room he half-stumbles over a duffle bag.
It isn’t his, and he’s not sure why, but he opens it. Guns. Masks. Money. Fuckloads of money.
He grabs a packet at random, stuffs it into his pocket, hoping it’s small enough for them to miss it, or at least that it’s not enough to hunt him down and kill him over.
“Get Lily, get out.” She’s asleep in her little pink world, curled up and sucking her thumb. He gets her dressed without really waking her up. Shoes and jacket and he leaves the rest, planning on buying her more when they land were they land.
He’s reaching for the door out of the apartment when there’s a noise behind him, denim creaking against pleather.
“Jimmy,” Connor whispers.
Jimmy freezes for a second. When he’s not shot, he turns around, expecting to see a gun pointed at him.
Connor’s still sitting in the chair. His hands are empty.
“This is how it’s t’ be then?”
Lily shifts against his shoulder, making a sleepy little noise.
Jimmy nods. “I gotta…I gotta get her outta this shit, man.” He keeps his voice soft. Murphy sleeps on.
Connor nods, a look on his face like he agrees but wishes he didn't.
Jimmy turns to go, but Connor calls him back. "Here." He dumps out the duffle, stuffs a jacket and a pair of the stacks of bills back in. "Take care of her," he says as he hands the bag over. "Keep your head down an' get th' fuck out of town."
Jimmy tries to not think that Connor looks disappointed. "You'll tell Murphy?"
"Aye. He'll understand."
Jimmy ducks his head and takes the offered bag. "Thanks," he says, feeling like an asshole and a thief. "See ya."