Chapter Text
Connor stared at himself in the mirror of the posh "powder room," feeling the subsonic rumble of the inevitable landslide that would commence that night, knowing he had no control over it. He gripped the sides of the sink and took a deep, trembling breath.
Murphy had come up with the bright idea of getting their Da drunk and picking his brain regarding their past, more from something to do to keep his mind off Rocco than really wanting to know, Connor realized. He could hardly tell Murphy no, as it would bring up questions that he was unwilling to answer. It was better if he pretended ignorance and played along.
Oh what a tangled web we weave, he thought dismally. Murphy was gonna skin him alive when he found out Connor had known for months. Or never speak to him again. He preferred the beating.
Ever since Agent Smecker had hidden the three of them here in his sister's Cambridge condo three days ago, Da had said barely two words to either of them, and those consisted of the "pass the salt" variety. The twins had no idea how to break the ice, intimidated as they were by his stares and silence.
From the moment Il Duce had laid his hand on him, Connor knew. The older man had put his hands on their chins and stared at each of them, and then lifted Connor's face a bit higher, and looked at him a bit more intently.
He knows that I am not his son.
"We who are about to die, salute you," Connor said to his reflection, rather seriously. He sketched a salute and turned on his heel to face the hangman with a smile.
~~~
Getting Da drunk had evolved into an elaborate Murphy dinner: grilled steak, baked potatoes and a giant Caesar salad. Dessert was baked caramelized pears. And whisky. Lots of whisky.
Da lit a cigar after Connor had cleared away the dishes. He'd offered one to each of them, but they declined, preferring cigarettes instead. Murphy poured him more whisky.
"That was very nice, Murphy, thank you," Da told him, nodding in his direction.
"My pleasure, Da. Glad ye enjoyed it." Connor stared at Murphy in fascination as he grinned shyly and blushed with pleasure at the heartfelt compliment.
"Cheers, then," Connor said, and lifted his glass. The two men joined him in downing the contents of their glasses. Murphy poured another round.
"So Da, maybe we'll have it out of you then, since Ma would never say," Murphy blurted, reckless from whisky and compliments. He winked at Connor, who bit the inside of his cheek. No better way to break the ice, he supposed.
Da eyed him suspiciously. "What's that, then?"
"Who came out first? Me or Connor?"
Da pulled a heavy crystal ashtray closer and tapped his cigar against it.
"I can't tell you either, I'm afraid," he said slowly.
Connor and Murphy stared at each other, disappointment evident in their faces.
But Da wasn't finished. "Not that I don't want you to know, y'see. But it's that I was unconscious at the time, so I have no memory of you two being born at all."
"Unconscious?" Connor asked with trepidation.
Instead of answering, Da pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. He took a sip of whisky and set the glass down, turning it so that the refracted light from the cut crystal kaleidoscoped on the white linen tablecloth.
"Yer Ma never told ya?" Da asked, already knowing the answer.
"She never spoke of you at all, except when she was angry at us," Murphy whispered.
Da barked a laugh that startled the twins into jerking in their seats. "Janet was always one for melodrama, she was. Blasted woman. God rest 'er." He picked up the glass and downed the contents. Connor had told him earlier about her death a few months before, and had gotten only a curt nod in return, leaving him more confused and uncertain.
"Well, then, what do ye know, so I know where to begin?"
The twins looked at each other and smiled a bit. "What little we know, we learned from Old Mrs. Brody."
Da snorted. "I remember her. Queen of the Gossips, that one. What'd she tell ya then?"
"That you and Ma met at university in Dublin, got married, and when ye went away to Belfast to fight the English she followed. Two years later ye both come back with us. And then ye left for good."
"Aye. Well at least she didn't make up lies." He puffed on his cigar and looked up at the ceiling, silent for long moments, plainly remembering.
Neither Connor nor Murphy dared breath, lest they break the spell. They could smell it in the air; they knew well the beginnings of a tale.
~~~
Patrick Macmanus had never seen a lovelier girl. Not that she was extraordinarily pretty in the face, nor had a siren's body, but she shone with a blazing light. Her eyes glinted like blue diamonds and her smile was deadly. She wasn't exceedingly tall, but she was stately, well turned-out but not prissy, well educated and intelligent, but not a scholarly snob.
Patrick's favorite pastime was watching Janet Marie Cowan destroy some cretinous bloke's self-esteem with a few well-chosen words, or in several different languages. All his mates were terrified of her, calling her Amazon Woman, and avoided her like the plague, which was, most likely, her intention. In actuality, Janet Marie Cowan was not above hanging about with her pals getting pissed at the local pub, nor leaving them to go home with whomever she found worthy of her attentions that night. It was, after all, 1969, and the height of the Free Love Era.
Patrick himself was neither tall nor short, not terribly good-looking, but certainly not ugly. He was charming and funny, and had many friends. He was blessed with a sharp intelligence coupled with a street urchin's common sense. He tended to wear his hair long and shaggy, with a matching beard, earning him the nickname of Ché Guevara, whom he admired. His own studies in Economics and Political Science drew him toward public service and his youth and idealism gave him confidence in his ability to change things. What he needed was a strong woman in partnership with him to help him further his ambitions.
After spending an entire semester watching Janet Marie Cowan, Patrick finally made his proposal. It earned him a powerful slap across the face, right in front of the steps to the Humanities College. He was undeterred in his pursuit, and was content to soon see a spark of respect in her eyes.
Coffees turned into dinners, which turned into hours long conversations in her flat, fueled by alcohol and cigarettes, which turned into his moving in, and all that came with it. It was a perfect meeting of minds and flesh and Patrick knew he had chosen well.
She had only two requirements, and they were not up for discussion: she would finish school, get her MA in Languages and European Studies, and they would go back to her hometown to get married. Patrick agreed; he would have moved heaven and earth to get her whatever she required.
That June of 1970, she wore the pearl earrings and wedding band he'd bought her, proudly and with grace. Filled with excitement over plans for the future, they spent hours talking, drinking, and making love in their new home. He began eyeing the local council; she was hired on to teach languages at the local secondary school that fall.
Neither one could have dreamed how watching a seemingly innocuous news program would change both their lives forever.
~~~
"It was the Provos, aye?" Murphy asked. "You went to join them."
"Aye. Janet and I were watching the telly and there was news of the riots over the curfews and the lockdown of the city. The Provos started bombin' the soldiers and the Ulstermen started bombin' the Catholics. I knew I had to be there."
There was silence once more. But this time, neither twin interrupted.
"So I went," Da blurted suddenly.
Murphy made as if to speak, and Connor put his hand on his forearm to stop him.
"Stubborn woman that your Ma was, she followed. Told me it was for my own good. That she'd keep me outta trouble. Christ, I shoulda chained her to the bed. Things would surely have been different if she'd stayed home safe with her sisters." Da sighed and motioned Murphy to pour him another shot of whisky.
"We stayed up in Derry in the flat of a friend I'd known at university. That's where we met William."
If Connor hadn't known what to look for, he would have missed it: A tiny flicker of Da's eyes in his direction.
"Who's that, then?" Murphy asked. Connor tensed and held his breath, his mind whirling.
Da chuckled mirthlessly. "A madman and a rake. A self-proclaimed Bohemian with no morals whatsoever, who wrote terrible poetry and painted worse pictures. Yer Ma loved him."
Murphy looked at Connor wide-eyed, and Connor knew what he was thinking. Ma loved such a character? Are we talking about the same woman?
Da caught the look and chuckled this time with real humor. "Oh, aye, I suspect she changed quite a bit since then."
"So this William character…?" Murphy prodded.
But Da was not one to be rushed in the telling of a tale. He found his cigar had gone out, so he re-lighted it with a match, disdaining the lighter, puffing slowly. Connor was frozen with suspense, but not as he would have been as a child, listening to one of his Auntie's ghost stories. There were revelations to be made.
"William." Da puffed some more. "William had the charm of the Devil himself."
Murphy snorted with laughter. "That's what Ma always said about Connor!"
"Did she now?" Da asked, and looked at Connor curiously, and Connor felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "Well, William could charm the birds out of the trees to give themselves over to hungry cats, to be sure. Tall and blond, beautiful he was, with a wicked smile. I'd thought I'd seen much in life, but I'd never met a man like him. The women all fancied themselves in love with him. Even the men followed him around like love-sick cows... The Provos thought of him as God's gift since there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for them."
~~~
Patrick and William tended to end up arguing long into the night about the pros and cons of violent retribution and peaceful demonstrations, almost coming to blows several times, but Janet would stop it in time. If telling them to shut the fuck up she was trying to sleep didn't work, she'd lure them both into bed with her.
Patrick would wake from those particular nights guilt-ridden and vaguely disgusted with himself. He had never been someone with strict, old-fashioned sexual mores, but sharing his bed, and his wife with another man, and finding his pleasure in watching… how did William convince him to do it? Was it that Janet wanted it just as much and it was she he was giving in to? What was it that kept him from saying "NO"? Was he that weak?
Soon enough, he was given plenty of time to think about it. In August of 1971, the IRA started bombing everyone, and in retaliation, the Prime Minister declared Internment, giving the government powers to detain suspected IRA members indefinitely without trial. Patrick was one of the 342 men arrested and held without cause. The beatings and psychological torture he received were almost beyond him. Luckily, or unluckily, depending on one's point of view, Patrick knew very little about the comings and goings of the IRA. He was released with no explanation and taken back to the flat by Janet, who sobbed over him as she cared for his wounds.
William came to visit him the next day. He sat in a chair by the bed in a white-hot rage and asked him about his ordeal, looked at his cuts and welts and bruises, then laid a hand on his forehead, probably the only part that didn't hurt too badly.
"Patrick, my love. We know ye didn't talk. Ye shall be avenged," William told him quietly.
It was much later that he found out William had staged some of the bloodier violence that spread through the city. It pained Patrick deeply that many had lost their lives because William was angry at what had been done to him.
But for a short time, Patrick was content. While William was off blowing up tanks and Ulstermen, he was alone with his wife who had discovered she was carrying a child.
"I promise ya, my Janet, our child will be safe from all this," he whispered to her, a gentle hand on her swelling belly.
Soon enough, a few people from the Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association turned up at their flat, wanting him to be part of a civil rights demonstration they were planning in January of the next year. It was a peaceful demonstration and they asked Patrick to tell his comrades in the IRA and Provos to stay away. They didn't want any trouble.
The country was being torn apart by random violence while no one was taking aim at the people who issued the orders. He was sickened by the needlessness of his comrades' actions. Patrick agreed to talk to the Provos, and convince William that this violence had to stop. In fact, he would have William join him in the civil rights march. That would show him the power of peaceful assembly.
~~~