On The Outside
I have just got back from what was meant to be a four day trip to the Highlands of Scotland. Although technically I am not back yet, about 1/3 of the way home. England has ground to a halt due to snow! BUT...this, and a few other fics which will be posted later, are the fruits of that trip. Photos will come later as well.
Yay for civilisation!
Boondock Saints fic follows...from Noah's point of view, set in between movies.
Noah doesn't claim to know his sons. He's spent far too long apart from them to lay any claim on them, to say that he's a father to them. But they look at him like he's been there forever. And he loves them no matter what.
But he can't shake the feeling that he's missing something. Like he's not part of their conversation, even when they aren't talking. They don't need words between them, and it so much more than a twin connection. Noah can see that. Can't even begin to understand it. Isn't sure that he even wants to try. But there is something the boys are hiding between them.
It started when they got back to Ireland. It probably started before then, but Noah only noticed it when they were back. Murphy getting steadily more twitchy, coiled tightly like a spring, Connor always watching him with dark eyes. Occasionally Connor would ask Murphy to do something and Murphy would still for a second, his whole body going taught, eyes shutting, before doing exactly what Connor asked.
The usual expected brotherly banter was there, the childish fights, and the insults thrown across the room. But there was something underneath them, like they weren't said with feeling, like it was for show.
Noah can't even begin to understand what the boys went through. First, growing up without a father, then the whole situation that made them have to leave their home. Even though Ireland is in their blood and they both seemed to relax as they stepped onto the land, America was their home.
He watches them carefully. Watches Murphy touch Connor, watches Connor's eyes grow wide when he does, the almost imperceptible shake of his head and Murphy would back away.
When he's being honest with himself, he would say he knew exactly what was going on. But what father would want to admit that. When he's not being honest, he can put it down to them being twins, growing up in a dangerous place with only themselves as company. Noah can blame himself then, and he's more than willing to take the blame for his children damning themselves.
He's pretty sure he nearly catches them once. They seem to spring apart when he comes through the door. Murphy's breathing is slightly accelerated and Connor's hands seem to shake as he pours a mug of tea and shoves it into Noah's hands. Noah can't miss the bruised look of Murphy's mouth, or the way he keeps licking his lips, or the way Connor drags his hand across Murphy's shoulders as he walks past.
It makes him sick to think about it. About his sons together, and there is no way in hell that he would ever condone their actions, but it almost makes sense.
After that they're careful. Murphy doesn't seem to touch Connor as much. Connor's eyes don't follow Murphy around the room, tracking his movements in a way that makes Noah want to slam his fists on the table and shout at them to stop.
But then the touching stops all together. Noah notices the way Murphy seems to withdraw into himself. Seems jittery and how Connor stops watching him, instead watching where he used to be, like he can still see him there. Like that's important and Connor needs to see Murphy. Murphy seems to shudder whenever Connor comes close, Connor's fingers twitching, Murphy almost leaning into Connor. But they never touch. They hardly look at each other. They still talk, still bicker, but don't seem to look each other in the eyes anymore. Connor seems more agitated, snapping more, cursing when things go wrong, ignoring Murphy's “Lord's name, Conn” when he does curse. His hands more than not seem to be balled into fists.
The jokes, smiles and laughter come less often. The mood in the house is strained and quiet, even after the boys come back from a full day by themselves. Noah finds it oppressive. Finds it wrong. No matter how wrong he thinks the boys relationship is, even though he's not sure that his worst fears are true, he can't bear seeing them like this. Murphy withdrawn and curled into himself, Connor hard and angry all the time.
Noah watches them one day, sitting on the wall outside the house, legs dangling over the side. There is a space between them that Noah knows is too big for them. They both hold themselves upright, as if they are conscious of not touching. Connor passes a cigarette to Murphy, and Murphy's fingers don't even touch Connor's hand by accident. Its all careful and orchestrated and something in Noah craves to see his sons the way they were before.
His feet carry him out of the door before he's truly aware of what he's doing. He pushes himself into the large space between them, taking both their hands in his own. Murphy's eyes slide shut and Connor almost gasps when their hands touch. But they both stay still, Connor's eyes flicking between him and Murphy. Noah feels Connor's thumb move, rubbing over Murphy's skin and Murphy opens his eyes, stares back at them both.
“You're good boys.” Noah says. Connor seems to stiffen, and with him, so does Murphy. Reading each other even now.
“Da?” Connor question. Noah shakes his head once, trying to clear it.
“You're...there're some things I don't understand.” He starts. Connor's hand tries to slip out from his, but Noah holds on tighter, pressing the boys hands together in the process. Murphy just continues to look at both of them with wide, wondering eyes. “But I don't need to understand them. You're my boys.” He pats their hands once and pushes himself off the wall. Connor and Murphy both turn and watch him leave, he can feel their eyes burning holes in the back of head.
Noah has been around long enough to know that people can be good, and people can be bad. The boys are good, they've been dealt a bad hand, but essentially they are good boys. And they need each other. Its something Noah will never fully understand, no matter how long he spends with them, or how well he knows them. They are just them, and Noah regrets ever trying to suppress that.
There is no way he could ever come to terms with what he thinks they might be doing (in his worst nightmares). But he needs to see them smile again. And Noah can come to terms with helping them damn themselves even further if it means his boys are happy. They deserve that much.
The next time he sees them, Murphy seems relaxed, hands touching Connor as he passes him, Connor watches Murphy with those dark eyes. Noah tries to ignore the way the whole thing sits heavily in his stomach, and with his conscious, because his boys are smiling again, and isn't that all that matters?
Part 5: Cognitive Dissonance
Yay for civilisation!
Boondock Saints fic follows...from Noah's point of view, set in between movies.
Noah doesn't claim to know his sons. He's spent far too long apart from them to lay any claim on them, to say that he's a father to them. But they look at him like he's been there forever. And he loves them no matter what.
But he can't shake the feeling that he's missing something. Like he's not part of their conversation, even when they aren't talking. They don't need words between them, and it so much more than a twin connection. Noah can see that. Can't even begin to understand it. Isn't sure that he even wants to try. But there is something the boys are hiding between them.
It started when they got back to Ireland. It probably started before then, but Noah only noticed it when they were back. Murphy getting steadily more twitchy, coiled tightly like a spring, Connor always watching him with dark eyes. Occasionally Connor would ask Murphy to do something and Murphy would still for a second, his whole body going taught, eyes shutting, before doing exactly what Connor asked.
The usual expected brotherly banter was there, the childish fights, and the insults thrown across the room. But there was something underneath them, like they weren't said with feeling, like it was for show.
Noah can't even begin to understand what the boys went through. First, growing up without a father, then the whole situation that made them have to leave their home. Even though Ireland is in their blood and they both seemed to relax as they stepped onto the land, America was their home.
He watches them carefully. Watches Murphy touch Connor, watches Connor's eyes grow wide when he does, the almost imperceptible shake of his head and Murphy would back away.
When he's being honest with himself, he would say he knew exactly what was going on. But what father would want to admit that. When he's not being honest, he can put it down to them being twins, growing up in a dangerous place with only themselves as company. Noah can blame himself then, and he's more than willing to take the blame for his children damning themselves.
He's pretty sure he nearly catches them once. They seem to spring apart when he comes through the door. Murphy's breathing is slightly accelerated and Connor's hands seem to shake as he pours a mug of tea and shoves it into Noah's hands. Noah can't miss the bruised look of Murphy's mouth, or the way he keeps licking his lips, or the way Connor drags his hand across Murphy's shoulders as he walks past.
It makes him sick to think about it. About his sons together, and there is no way in hell that he would ever condone their actions, but it almost makes sense.
After that they're careful. Murphy doesn't seem to touch Connor as much. Connor's eyes don't follow Murphy around the room, tracking his movements in a way that makes Noah want to slam his fists on the table and shout at them to stop.
But then the touching stops all together. Noah notices the way Murphy seems to withdraw into himself. Seems jittery and how Connor stops watching him, instead watching where he used to be, like he can still see him there. Like that's important and Connor needs to see Murphy. Murphy seems to shudder whenever Connor comes close, Connor's fingers twitching, Murphy almost leaning into Connor. But they never touch. They hardly look at each other. They still talk, still bicker, but don't seem to look each other in the eyes anymore. Connor seems more agitated, snapping more, cursing when things go wrong, ignoring Murphy's “Lord's name, Conn” when he does curse. His hands more than not seem to be balled into fists.
The jokes, smiles and laughter come less often. The mood in the house is strained and quiet, even after the boys come back from a full day by themselves. Noah finds it oppressive. Finds it wrong. No matter how wrong he thinks the boys relationship is, even though he's not sure that his worst fears are true, he can't bear seeing them like this. Murphy withdrawn and curled into himself, Connor hard and angry all the time.
Noah watches them one day, sitting on the wall outside the house, legs dangling over the side. There is a space between them that Noah knows is too big for them. They both hold themselves upright, as if they are conscious of not touching. Connor passes a cigarette to Murphy, and Murphy's fingers don't even touch Connor's hand by accident. Its all careful and orchestrated and something in Noah craves to see his sons the way they were before.
His feet carry him out of the door before he's truly aware of what he's doing. He pushes himself into the large space between them, taking both their hands in his own. Murphy's eyes slide shut and Connor almost gasps when their hands touch. But they both stay still, Connor's eyes flicking between him and Murphy. Noah feels Connor's thumb move, rubbing over Murphy's skin and Murphy opens his eyes, stares back at them both.
“You're good boys.” Noah says. Connor seems to stiffen, and with him, so does Murphy. Reading each other even now.
“Da?” Connor question. Noah shakes his head once, trying to clear it.
“You're...there're some things I don't understand.” He starts. Connor's hand tries to slip out from his, but Noah holds on tighter, pressing the boys hands together in the process. Murphy just continues to look at both of them with wide, wondering eyes. “But I don't need to understand them. You're my boys.” He pats their hands once and pushes himself off the wall. Connor and Murphy both turn and watch him leave, he can feel their eyes burning holes in the back of head.
Noah has been around long enough to know that people can be good, and people can be bad. The boys are good, they've been dealt a bad hand, but essentially they are good boys. And they need each other. Its something Noah will never fully understand, no matter how long he spends with them, or how well he knows them. They are just them, and Noah regrets ever trying to suppress that.
There is no way he could ever come to terms with what he thinks they might be doing (in his worst nightmares). But he needs to see them smile again. And Noah can come to terms with helping them damn themselves even further if it means his boys are happy. They deserve that much.
The next time he sees them, Murphy seems relaxed, hands touching Connor as he passes him, Connor watches Murphy with those dark eyes. Noah tries to ignore the way the whole thing sits heavily in his stomach, and with his conscious, because his boys are smiling again, and isn't that all that matters?
Part 5: Cognitive Dissonance