After dropping Ian off at work, I went to the firm and straight to my office after bidding Rachel and Cindy a good morning. I'd gotten an email from Allie, informing me that she and Hugo would be spending the day with Charlotte and that I was free to use her office for the day. I brought the most important things with me into Allie's office, but left one of the copies of my ultrasound photo on my desk, to decide where to put it later. Almost as soon as I'd sat down at Allie's desk, Nicholas texted me to remind me that we had a scheduled video conference call with Judge Whitmore in an hour, and that Jasmine would be on her way shortly to prepare with us and to take part in it.

I let Nicholas know that I was there and in his mother's office before I reached into my purse and pulled out my notes, written over the weekend in anticipation of the conference call. It was today that Judge Whitmore would let us know if Jasmine's appeal for sanctuary had gone through in a successful manner, and then would come the final verdict on sentencing for Johnny. Johnny and his attorney then would be patched through, and Judge Whitmore would let us know when that would be, so as we could move Jasmine to a more secure location so as she wouldn't have to see or hear Johnny. I gave a cursory glance to my notes before I returned them to my file folder and got to my feet, grabbing my cell phone as well before leaving Allie's office and walking down the hallway to the conference room.

"Good morning," I said breezily to Nicholas, who was already there, chewing on a granola bar and sipping some coffee. "Good weekend?"

"Fine," he replied shortly. "Yours?"

"Good, thanks." I walked up to the food table which had already been set up, taking an oatmeal cookie, which normally I didn't like but knew it would be better for the baby. I poured myself a cup of tea and made my way to the other side of the table to sit beside Nicholas. "You're awfully chatty this morning," I put in, setting down my notes and sitting beside him.

He shrugged. "The office is rife with gossip."

I blinked, shaking my head at his insinuation as I opened up my file folder and looked over my notes before taking a bite of my cookie, which truly tasted awful, but I somehow managed to force it down anyway. "Meaning?" I asked.

He sighed, his shoulders slacking a bit as he leaned back against his chair. "When were you going to tell me that people in the office think the baby is mine?"

"Goddammit are they still saying that?!" I cried out, and Nicholas held up his hands in a surrendering gesture at my sudden outburst, which could be interpreted as being completely directed at him, although it really wasn't, to come to the point. "Rachel and Cindy said they would put a stop to it..."

"Well, either they didn't, or they didn't do a good job of trying."

I rolled my eyes. "God, what does it matter?" I said, annoyance peppering my tone as I attempted to consider it from his point of view. "I mean, it's not like you are the father—you couldn't be the father, Nicholas, and you know it. The condoms we used when we were together never broke and they weren't expired. Besides, the conception dates they gave me was a full two weeks before first started sleeping together. Trust me—there's no way that you're the father, and you're just going to have to believe that."

Nicholas sighed, his tone slightly testy. "I do believe that, Murphy—I'm just sick and tired of being gossiped about."

I nodded. "I can understand that... We'll discuss this with your parents when they come back and we'll figure it out together."

Nicholas shook his head. "I don't think they should know about this."

"Why? Your mom knows..."

"Did you fucking tell her?" Nicholas asks, his voice stiff.

I turn back and look at him. "No, I didn't fucking tell her," I replied, hurt that he would even believe that, and Nicholas looked humbled at the pain I'd felt at his implication of my supposed wrong-doing. "She pretty much told me that she knew that there was something going on. I assured her that you weren't the father, but, for the life of me, I couldn't understand why she looked so disappointed..."

Nicholas shrugged. "I don't know. I think she wants me to find a nice girl to settle down with eventually, you know?"

I laugh. "Well, it's not me."

Nicholas laughed back. "We agree on something, then!"

"Oh, thank you, thank you," I said, grinning at him, my voice filled with angry sarcasm as I shuffled my paperwork.

"Although, I could do a lot worse," Nicholas put in.

I shook my head. "The Gallagher's are too fucked up for you, Nicholas," I told him, turning back to my case notes and going through them again.

Jasmine arrived shortly thereafter; that day, she wore a pinstripe white blouse and matching blazer, along with a black secretary skirt that reached her knees. She also wore her black patent leather shoes again, and smiled as she came into the room, her lawyer at her side, as was the custom for arrangements like this. After we all shook hands, we returned to our seats, making small talk until Judge Whitmore was due to call. Jasmine gently tapped her long, red nails on the tabletop, absentmindedly chewing a peach as she likely contemplated what she was going to say when the call came through.

Judge Whitmore got into the system a moment later, and Nicholas, who had control of the key pad, pressed the button to allow him access to our feed in the conference room. I found myself automatically straightening up in my seat, not wanting to be given any special treatment, just because of my pregnancy. Nevertheless, once his picture was clear and reception on both ends was established, Judge Whitmore's eyes locked onto mine and he smiled.

"Well, Miss Gallagher, I hear congratulations are in order," he said.

I felt myself flush then, knowing that we shouldn't be taking up the meeting with discussing my personal life, but also knowing that, as a fucking judge, Judge Whitmore had to be treated with respect and dignity. "Thank you, Your Honor," I replied, knowing that it was best to keep things formal during these proceedings.

"And when will Baby Gallagher be born?" he asked.

I tried to keep a straight face as Nicholas kicked me beneath the table, letting me know to wrap this shit up. "Not until May," I replied, swiftly kicking Nicholas back, so much so that he swore under his breath and shot me a look, which I did not acknowledge as I grinned innocently at Judge Whitmore. "Plenty of time to focus on this case, and many others."

"Oh, right yes, the case," Judge Whitmore said, and I was pleased that I'd managed to circle him back to the matter at hand. "Miss Jones, you are known by birth as Jasmina Garcia, is that correct?" he asked.

Jasmine straightened in her seat. "Yes, Your Honor."

"And is there any particular reason you decided to go by an assumed name?" he asked.

It didn't take long for Jasmine's attorney to spring into action, and he whispered in Jasmine's ear before she nodded. "Judge Whitmore—Attorney Barry Wilcox from Davidson, Sherman, and Wilcox," he said, and I found I was surprised that Jasmine apparently had gotten someone so good to represent her. "My client is not on trial here today. Will she be able to walk out of here at the end of this interview?"

"As you said, your client is not on trial here, and, as I'm sure you remember, counselor, was given immunity for everything she did. She signed a statement, admitting to her bystander status when Mr. Sanders committed these atrocious crimes, so she is not to blame," Judge Whitmore explained to Barry patiently. "Nothing Miss Jones says here today will be put to the police department, as if part of her agreement."

"I will answer," Jasmine said, speaking for the first time. "I was forced into prostitution back home, and saw America as a means of escape. This is why I am applying for permanent residence here, to escape the terrible things I was forced to do back home. Unfortunately, crime does not always leave you, and I was forced back into the game, but, this time, as a distraction when my former boyfriend, Johnny, had his clients sample his drugs."

"And what happened on the night in question, Miss Jones?" Judge Whitmore asked. "You stated, in your testimony, that you believed yourself to be in immediate danger."

"Yes," she replied. "Johnny said he'd planted a bomb at the warehouse downtown, and, if there weren't enough people for us to solicit to that night, then he would blow it up, and all of us would be severely punished."

Judge Whitmore nodded. "Yes, I can see the problem," he replied. "Well, that's enough for me on the case of Miss Jasmine Jones. I'm ruling that she may stay in the country, and has an interview with immigration in a month to determine her legal status in this country. You were very brave to stand up against injustice, Miss Jones. I wish you well."

Jasmine looked visibly relieved. "Thank you, Your Honor," she replied, and she and Barry Wilcox left the room.

"We will engage in a ten-minute recess while we await for Johnny Sanders and his attorney to become available," Judge Whitmore ruled, and our connection was paused.

"You seem to be very protective of Jasmine," I say quietly, bringing forward my points in the closing arguments that he and I had already gone over.

Nicholas shrugged. "I guess I kind of have to be."

I blinked, turning to look at him. "Why? Because you're one of her only friends here?" I ask him, genuinely curious.

Nicholas shakes his head. "No. Because she and I... Well, we're kind of seeing each other at the moment," he replied.

I blinked. "I thought you thought the whole dating thing was archaic," I replied.

He smirked. "Well, doesn't mean I can't try it," he replied.

I nodded. "Yeah, no, of course," I said, hating myself for stumbling over my words as I looked over what I was and wasn't permitted to say, once the chat feed opened again. "Can't knock it till you've tried it, I guess..."

"That's what I thought, too," Nicholas replied.

I turned around and looked at him before I smiled. "Well, she's lovely. I don't think you could've found a better person."

Nicholas smiled. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

I shook my head. "You don't need one from me," I replied. "Just be careful, okay? I know you really like her, but..." I shrugged. "You know."

Nicholas nodded. "Thanks," he replied.

I turned back to my notes. "Don't mention it," I replied.

. . .

The end of the week couldn't come soon enough, and as I arrived home that Friday with Liam in tow, we went inside and I sent him directly into the kitchen to do his homework. Ian and I had agreed that we should only help him with his assignments if he truly didn't understand the material, and then go from there. I didn't mind; I would frequently just sit on the couch and go over my own work, for most of Liam's questions were how to spell certain words or to re-explain the instructions in a different way.

A knock on the door about two hours after we got back startled me, and as I got to my feet and walked towards the door, I groaned audibly as I saw Frank standing there. "Liam?" I called back into the kitchen.

"Yeah?"

"Go and finish your homework upstairs, please," I said, keeping my tone firm, and I felt relief when I heard him gathering his things and heading upstairs and opened the door. "How may I help you, Frank?" I asked, crossing my arms.

Frank rolled his eyes. "You're like a goddamned clone of Fiona," he said, and I scoffed at the scent of liquor on his breath.

"Better a clone of her than other members of this family," I replied, narrowing my eyes at him and trying to stand my ground. "Now, what do you want?"

Frank sighed. "Maybe you could call me 'Dad' once in a while, Murphy, because that's who I am, and father's deserve respect."

I straightened myself up then, quickly growing impatient with him. "Let me tell you how many wrong things there are with that statement," I tell him. "You nearly slept with Sammi; you made Fiona mother the children you decided to keep; you let Lip turn into a womanizer; you allowed Ian to go on in life without your support; you let Debbie be uneducated about sex; you let Carl get fucking married; and you sold Liam! Not to mention you let your wife and my mother just get rid of me!" I cried out. "If you knew about me, why the fuck didn't you do or say anything all these years?!"

Frank sighed. "Those were dark days, Murph..."

"I don't want to hear about your dark days!" I said back, hating myself when my eyes filled with tears and my voice shook. "You're a major fuck-up, Frank Gallagher!"

Frank crossed his arms. "You can say whatever you want to me or about me, Murphy. Fact remains that I'm the only father you've got."

"Stop it," I said, cursing myself for showing emotion in front of him. "Just stop it. I don't owe you a fucking thing, Frank!" Ian, I thought you myself, we're close enough now that maybe, somehow you can hear my thoughts in a crisis? Frank is fucking here...

Frank shrugged. "I'm not saying you do. I'm just asking for a chance."

I shake my head at him. "Why the fuck should I give you a chance? You abandoned me, Frank—you abandoned all of us. I may have not been here to see it, but goddammit I know everything that happened from Ian, Debbie, and Fiona. They told me everything, because we're a fucking family, and family's fucking talk to each other."

Frank hesitated for a moment before he reached out then, taking ahold of my scarf, tucked into the collar of my sweater, and yanked me towards him. "You're never too old for me to fucking beat you," he said through his teeth.

I didn't look away from him, not for a moment. "Fucking try it," I said through my teeth. "I've survived far worse, believe me. I don't need to remind you that I'm fucking pregnant either, considering you already knew without me fucking telling you. Go ahead and do it. What do you have to lose that you haven't lost already?"

"I'm not going to hit you—"

"What are you, a goddamn coward now?!" I demanded, not knowing what I was doing. "Too scared to hit your lowly pregnant daughter that you abandoned?! Are you that much of a coward to hit me, when I'm sure you hit the rest of them at least once?! Do it!" I screamed, finding that I wasn't even shaking in his grip. "Be a man and hit me!"

Frank looked as if he would shove me away from him in that moment, but then his fist came at a million miles per hour, slamming into my face, and I heard a crack as it made contact. He released me then, allowing me to fall backwards into the doorway, hitting my head as I went down. He then turned around and walked down the stairs, like the coward he was, and I heard the gate swinging shut behind him.

I felt my mouth filling with blood then, and I knew that, despite the fact that I knew I could fade out in that moment, I needed to turn over before I choked to death. My head spinning, I turned over onto my stomach, feeling the bump already beginning to protrude from the back of my skull where it had hit the ground. My temples were throbbing as I somehow managed to push myself to my knees, and kick the front door closed behind me. I crawled through the living room and into the kitchen, where I just got to the bathroom, where I rose from my crawling position to make a grab for the bathroom counter.

I gasped aloud at what I saw in the mirror—my jaw was slightly lopsided, and my face was red and swollen, not to mention the fact that my lips refused to close completely, which caused a string of expletives to strain through them. My bones felt stiff from the impact the floor had had on my fall and, as I reached up, I felt a hot spot on the back of my skull, where my head had made direct contact with the floor just moments ago.

I reached up then, tentatively touching my jaw, attempting to move it back into place, and I visibly winced, tears pouring out of my eyes. "Fuck," I managed to get out, getting a good look at myself before I turned towards the toilet and vomited, blood pouring from my mouth like there was no tomorrow. "Shit..." I whispered.

The back door opened then and, upon turning around, I saw Ian entering the kitchen, Trevor in tow, with some takeout. Sighing, I felt resigned to the idea of letting them know and when I stepped out of the bathroom, Trevor grabbed the bag immediately to prevent Ian from dropping it as Ian advanced over to me then, his dark eyes full of shock, anger, and fear. I wanted to talk, but Ian held up his hand before yanking me into his arms.

"What the fuck happened to you?!" he demanded, pushing me back gently and getting a good look at me. "Shit. You're jaws' broken—what happened?!"

I sighed again, trying to remember the methods of enunciating from my public speaking class. "I did this," I whispered.

"What?" Trevor asked, walking up to me. "Don't give the lame 'I walked into a door' speech, Murph, really. What happened?"

"It's my fault," I replied, my voice shaking.

Ian shook his head. "Murph, what do you—?"

"Frank...came over," I say, forcing myself to speak, even though I know full well the potential damage of doing just that. "I screamed...at him...for everything...he did to me...and to us. He grabbed me...then I provoked him..."

"Provoked him?" Ian asked.

"He was going...to hit me," I said, trying to ignore the pain. "I told him to...hit me. He said he wasn't going to... I called him a...coward..."

"And he hit you?" Trevor guessed.

"Yes," I replied. "He hit me."

"Son of a bitch," Ian whispered.

"I'm sorry," I replied.

Ian turned and looked at me then, shaking his head. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Murph, do you hear me? Nothing!" he said, pulling me in for another hug. "Trevor, can you watch Liam while I take Murph to emergency?" he asked, pulling back from me.

Trevor nodded, leaning in to kiss Ian before smiling at him. "Of course, man. Does he have any homework?" he asked me.

I nodded to him. "Yes. He's upstairs."

"Cool," Trevor replied, hugging me before leaving the room and heading upstairs.

"Look, I'm sorry," I said again as we moved back towards the front door, and I moaned then as I saw a trail of blood leading from there and to the bathroom. "Fuck," I whispered, my knees weakening at the sight of it.

"Murph?" Ian asked. "You okay?"

"Fine," I whispered. "Just need...my coat," I said, walking past the blood to take it, but the throbbing in my head got worse then. As I grabbed my coat, I turned around to face Ian, and I gasped as black spots threatened to take over my vision.

"Murphy?" he asked, his tone worried.

"Oh, god," I whispered.

"Murphy?!" Ian cried, his tone escalating.

"What's happening?" I whispered, reaching towards him as my knees gave way, and I would've fallen to the ground, were it not for Ian's arms, before I saw black.

. . .

I felt my eyes springing open then, feeling the sensation of being in a sanitary environment as the bright lights momentarily blinded me. My head throbbing had diminished severely, and as I looked down, I saw that I was on an I.V., which I'm sure was deemed necessary. I managed to push myself up slightly, rolling my shoulders and looking around the room, spotting my coat and folded clothes on a chair across the room, and was suddenly aware of the lavender hospital gown on my person. On the chair next to my bed was Ian's EMT jacket, and, as I looked around, I saw the room was completely empty of people, which worried me.

Looking around, I saw, on the bedside table, that there was a box, which appeared like some kind of medieval remote control, with several buttons. One was labeled CALL BUTTON, which did look promising, so I reached over and pressed it. I heard a flurry of activity outside my hospital room then, and when the door opened, an unfamiliar doctor stood there, so I quickly pulled up my hospital blankets to appear modest.

"Good morning, Miss Gallagher, I'm Dr. Fairfax," the doctor said with a smile, my chart in his hand as he crossed the room, taking out a notepad and a pen from his pocket. "We've taken the liberty of wiring your jaw shut, for we assessed it and determined it to be broken. This is how you can communicate for a while," he said, handing over the pad and pen.

Quickly, I grabbed both of them and scrawled something down in the blue ink, my first question being, Where is my brother?

"Oh, you must mean your twin brother, Ian," he said. "He waited up all night after you were out of surgery, so we suggested he go to the cafeteria to get some coffee. He's there with your sister, Fiona, now."

I wrote down another question. Is Fairfax a common name for you doctors?

The man laughed—he was cute enough, I supposed, if you liked a blue-print for frat boys; he had dark brown hair and brown eyes, along with a pleasant expression that seemed to be interwoven into his facial features. "Oh, you must be a patient of my mother's," he replied. "I'm Josh, her son—well, younger son, really. My older brother is a surgeon, and I'm a general practitioner, who specializes in pediatrics. Then there's my sister, Clarissa, who teaches chemistry and physics at Northwestern University..."

How long?

"How long will you be here?"

I wrote down more. Sure, let's start with that.

Josh smiled. "Pending a review by me, you should be clear to go home later on this afternoon," he replied. "We've taken the liberty of writing you a referral to your place of employment, where we suggest you take a few weeks off to recover. In the meantime, get plenty of rest, don't get too much excitement, and you must adhere to a liquid diet for at least a month."

I sighed, nodding. You're the doctor.

"Now, for the matter of your pain medication," he replied. "We're prescribing you extra-strength Tylenol, as it is one of the few pain reliefs that won't harm your baby."

You know I'm pregnant?

Josh laughed. "Of course—I've been given access to your medical records, and it is indicated clearly in several spots. Don't worry—we want what's best for you and your baby."

I nodded, writing, Thank you.

"You're welcome," Josh replied. "Pending an exam, you should get all that junk out of your mouth in between four and six weeks, which is what I recommend you take off from work. Once the mechanisms are out and you can walk and talk comfortably again, we'll think about you going back. Okay?"

Okay, I wrote.

"Good to know we're on the same page. Will there be anything else?"

Can I see my brother and sister now?

Josh smiled. "Of course—I'll head down directly and tell them you're up, as soon as I've checked you over," he replied. He got out his instruments, listening to my heart and testing my vision, hearing, and other reflexes before writing down his findings. "Everything seems to check out here, Miss Gallagher."

I quickly wrote down, Call me Murphy.

"Very well, Murphy—everything seems to check out. Let's take a look at that nasty bump on the back of your head," he said, parting my hair to get a cook look. "The cooling treatment seems to have helped—the swelling has gone down severely, and it could be gone within a matter of days, which is good news. How's your head pain?"

Non-existent.

"Perfect," Josh said, nodding with approval at my supposed good attitude. "I also have to check the extent of your bruising, I'm afraid, Murphy. Would you prefer it if a nurse did it and reported her findings directly to me, or do you mind me looking?"

I shrugged, writing, You're a doctor. You can look.

"Very well then," he said, motioning for me to unlace the back of my hospital gown, and he placed his hands gently upon my back. "I'm just going to apply pressure on various points to ensure that we didn't miss any breakage. All right, Murphy?"

I wrote, Go ahead.

The pressure he applied was minimal, and I was relieved when I didn't cry out, and only winced a little at the feeling of it all. "Well, suffice it to say, the bruising is quite extensive," he replied softly, allowing me to re-lace my gown. "Your brother didn't know the full extent of what happened, Murphy. Can you tell me, please?"

I sighed, pulling the notepad closer to me. I was adopted at three months old, and I only recently found out my birth family when I moved here to work at a law firm—I'm an attorney. Anyhow, I moved in with my brothers, and now we live together. My biological father is essentially a deadbeat, and we've had very little interaction. Last night, he came to the house and we had an argument where he grabbed me, and I ended up provoking him, which ended with him hitting me in the jaw, breaking it. I fell backwards, landing on my head and back, and managed to turn over to prevent me from choking on my own blood.

Josh read my words and sighed, shaking his head. "Do you want to file assault charges, Murphy?" he asked.

I shook my head. No.

Josh bit his lip, almost as if he wanted to say something, but hesitated. "All right. That's your decision, Murphy. I'll go and get Ian and Fiona now."

I nodded, thanking him as best I could before he left the room. I leaned back against the pillows that had been provided for me, which eased the aches in my back. It was silent in the few moments that followed, until I heard Fiona's voice echoing through the hallway a moment later and then my door came open, and there Fiona and Ian stood.

"Oh, my god," Fiona said, rushing forward and yanking me towards her, as Ian had done the night before. "Ian said Frank did this—is that true?" she demanded.

I pulled back, writing, Sorry, can't physically talk. But yes, Frank did this. But it was my fault because I told him to.

"Son of a bitch," Fiona whispered, sitting on my bed and cupping my face. "You listen to me right now Murphy—Frank is a fucking asshole who shouldn't be anywhere near you. You're vulnerable to him because you didn't grow up with him and he might not say it now, but he'll want something eventually."

I sighed. I'm sorry.

"Don't say that," Ian said, stepping forward and pulling his chair closer to my bed before taking my hand in his. "Frank's not a happy person, and he took out some of his unhappiness on you, and I can't tell you how sorry I am for that."

I smiled then and shook my head, picking up the pen again before shopping them the notepad with another grin. Having you around me helps.

Fiona sighed, clasping my free hand. "Well, we're not going anywhere, Murphy. We can both promise you that."

. . .

The swelling on my scalp disappeared by the beginning of the following week, and, by mid-week, a lot of the swelling had gone down on my jaw. My pain was minimal, due to the medication I'd been given, and I was able to open my mouth and even managed to speak for short periods of time by the end of the week. The week was uneventful; I'd given Ian access to my car to drive to and from work, and he was taking Liam to school each day. I mostly spent my time working from home, cleaning, or cooking, which Ian was reluctant for me to do, but I insisted that it helped my healing process.

At the end of the first week, Ian and Trevor took Liam out for a movie on Saturday night, and I had the house to myself. I intended to catch up on some case notes, maybe blend up something for my dinner later on, but fate had other ideas. Just as I was settling in as day turned into night, a knock at the door startled me. I made a grab for a baseball bat, not wanting a repeat of what had happened with Frank but, when I got to the door, Lip was standing there.

"Hey," I managed to get out. "You're kind of late to the welcome home party," I joked. "I mean, everyone's been here—Ian and Fiona are being helicopter siblings; Debbie's always over just to check in, and Carl's even come over once or twice. Liam isn't asking for help on his homework from me—he thinks he's helping..." I broke off then, seeing Liam wobbling ever so slightly on the porch. "You okay?" I asked.

Lip sighed, raising his fist; his knuckles were cut in several places, and were a mix of deep red and purple. "Hand hurts," he replied, and his speech was slurred.

"Oh, my god, Lip!" I cried, grabbing him and pulling him inside, somehow maneuvering him onto the couch in the living room before running back to the door and shutting it. I found the first-aid kit in the bathroom, grabbing it and went into the kitchen, filling a baggy with ice before wrapping it in a towel. "Can you hold this in place?" I asked.

"Yeah," Lip replied, but made no move to take it.

"Here," I replied, reaching out and gently placing it upon his hand, which caused him to inhale sharply through his teeth. "I'm sorry, but it'll help keep it from swelling."

Lip nods. "I know."

"What did you do to get this?" I asked.

"Got in a fight with Frank outside The Alibi," he replied.

"Jesus Christ, Lip," I replied.

He shrugged. "I was up to five shots of whiskey, and I just...snapped. Then fucking Frank walked in, and I just saw red. I couldn't help it..."

"Lip?"

"...so I said we needed to talk, and pretty much just dragged him out of there. I just wanted a straight answer, you know?" he whispered, his speech still slurred. "He refused to give me one, and all he said, over and over, was, 'The bitch deserved it'."

I shook my head at him. "Lip, you didn't need to..."

"Beat up Frank? Fuck yeah I did," he replied, moving to punch the air, but winced, likely because his entire arm was shot from beating up our father. "Sorry..."

I smiled. "Well, I know why you did it. Your proactive side for your sister came out. Thank you, Lip, really—it means a lot."

Lip sighed, his eyelids growing heavy. "Yeah...sister."

I shook my head, pulling an afghan from the back of the couch. "You get some sleep and get some of that booze out of your system," I reply, covering him up. I go to the kitchen then, and take a bucket out from under the sink and placing it beside the couch. "If you have need, and can't get to the bathroom," I explain, moving to leave.

"Murphy..." Lip whispered.

I turned around then, not knowing how drunk Lip was, but also knowing that he was likely exhausted as well. "Yes, Lip?" I asked, taking out my phone and texting Ian the situation, just to keep him informed. "What is it?"

"I wish..." He sighed a little, sleep threatening to overtake him. "I wish you weren't... I wish you weren't my sister."

I smiled a little. "I know, Lip. It's okay..."

"No, s'not," he replied, his voice firm, yet still slurred. "It's s'not okay, Murphy... I wish that you weren't my sister..."

"I know, Lip," I replied patiently. "You said that already."

"No, no, no...no sister..."

I smiled. "You had way too much to drink, Lip," I went on. "You don't know what you're saying, and you sure as hell won't remember tomorrow..."

"I know what 'm saying..."

I laughed a little then. "Sure, Lip..."

Lip sighed, taking every ounce of strength to open his eyes. "I love you, Murphy," he said then, and reached towards me, but I just patted his arm.

"I know, Lip. Love you too, man. You're my brother..."

"Not brother," Lip replied. "Not like a brother..."

I sighed. "Okay, Lip," I said carefully, inching backwards then to leave the room to let him get some sleep. "That's enough now..."

"I wish the baby was mine," Lip said quietly, before his lids grew heavy and his arm slumped down beside the couch in sleep.

I sighed, looking down at my phone again.

So, he defended your honor? Ian asked.

I bit my lip, slowly looking up at our brother, still passed out on the couch, for a moment before texting Ian back. Yeah, apparently so. But I think it means something different to him than it does to me.

Really? Why's that?

I sighed, shaking my head before texting Ian back. I guess because Lip still has feelings for me, I said, hesitatingfor a moment before pressing "send".