It'd been a year. One whole solid fucking year since Rocco died.

Since the Yakavetta trial, there had been no more bloodshed. No more violence. Our weapons were buried under three feet of dirt in our father's barn. And now we walked around as the good catholic boys were should have been, as if we had never touched a gun in our lives. As if none of it ever happened.

It didn't feel right.

I sat on the docks overlooking the pier. We- meaning Connor, Ericka, and myself- were living in a little port town outside of Dublin. Big enough to where we could blend in, and small enough to where crime wasn't a huge issue. Because ignoring the fact that evil is out there will make it go away. I scowled at myself. What was I complaining about? No more looking over our shoulders, no more hiding from the cops and stalking bad guys. A normal state of existence- normal jobs, routines that we had settled into. Connor had his white picket fence life now. And I could tell by way he walked around- light bouncy steps, head held high, face alight- that he wouldn't have it any other way.

I, on the other hand, wasn't so content, and I knew it was showing the longer we stayed here. It gnawed at me. Sure, we were murderers, killing bad guys in cold blood. But at least then I had a sense of some fucking purpose. Now, not so much. I woke up, went to school (somehow, Ericka convinced me to enroll at a small school in Dublin), went to work, came home, drank a little, slept….repeat process. That was it. And it was driving me fucking insane.

It was a cold night. Then again, every night is a cold night in Ireland. My breath came out in little puffs of steam; I wanted a smoke, but that required me removing my hands from the warmth of my pockets. Too fucking cold for that. I stared out at the black inky water of the pier, wondering just how cold it was. I hoped I'd never find out.

I heard the shuffling of feet somewhere behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, tense and nervous; I felt my hand reach for a gun that wasn't there.

On the dock kitty corner to the one I was sitting one was a man and a female. At first glance, it looked as if they were going for a midnight walk on the pier. Then it became clear that something wasn't right. The female was walking slow and awkwardly, the man holding her around the waist. Slowly, I got up and walked quietly towards where they were. I hid behind a stack of crates that were sitting idly on the docks, straining to hear the conversation and vaguely wondering how they hadn't spotted me. I couldn't make out much of what was being said, but apparently there wasn't much need for talk.

"…please don't." I heard a soft female voice crack with desperation.

"Get on your knees, Jaime." The guy's voice gave me the creeps. Chills ran down my spine.

There was the sound of a belt buckle being unfastened and of a zipper being undone. I didn't like where this was going. Not at all. Without much of a plan in mind I stepped out from behind the crates, willing my eyes to block out the scene in front of me. The guy had his back to me. I heard the girl- Jaime, as he called her- crying quietly. My stomach rolled violently, blood racing to my head.

The fucker was going to die.

I sprinted towards them, shouting curses in a random language. Probably German. I don't know why, but German was always the language I gravitated towards when I was pissed. The guy looked up and turned towards me, knife in one hand, the other hand wound in Jaime's hair. "The fuck?" He looked more inconvenienced then anything, like he wasn't fazed one bit by the fact he had his extra appendage hanging out in the breeze.

"Get away from her," I said evenly, stopping short once I saw the glint of metal in his hand.

"Oh, so you know this whore?" he glanced down at her, looking bored by the proceedings. "She yours?'

Since reasoning was obviously not going to work with this guy, I threw all rational thought out the window and lunged at him. The guy abruptly turned and kicked the girl square in the chest; she tumbled into the cold water with a small cry. I stopped as I saw her go over. The guy ran past me, bumping shoulders. I resisted the urge to ran after him and beat him to a bloody pulp, because the girl hadn't resurfaced yet. I waited for her to come back up for air; the man had a good head start, but I was sure I could catch him. I just needed to see the girl to show. A good minute passed of looking between the water and the man's retreating back before I realized I had no choice but to go in after her.

Pins and needles. A million pins and needles just tore into me as I pulled off my coat and dove in headfirst into the pier, the cold stealing my breath away. I fought to the surface for air and looked around for air bubbles or ripples in the water- anything to tell me where the girl was. I saw movement under the water, a few feet from me. I took a breath and swam over, feeling around. My fingertips brushed a feathery feeling substance; I grabbed a hold of it and yanked up upwards. A blonde head popped above the surface- the girl, Jaime, was pale and her lips a dark blue, completely passed out. Frantically I grabbed her and pulled her towards me, trying to figure out how to get her out of the freezing sea.

The only option was to throw her onto the dock; my stiff arms had a difficult time raising her up high enough. I clambered from the water onto the wooden planks, not allowing myself to think about how cold I actually was or how hard it was to move around. I crawled on my hands and knees to her limp form and put an ear close to her face; she wasn't breathing.

Fuck. Fuck! How does CPR go again? I felt myself panicking, heart racing somewhere in my throat. Eventually, I went with Connor's time tested method of solving things- taking ideas from movies and using them in real life. I placed my hands over Jaime's heart and pumped a few times, then, gingerly, tilted her head back and blew a breath of air into her mouth. I repeated it over and over again, hoping- almost praying- for some movement from the girl.

The girl finally coughed and spit up seawater, rolling onto her side as she spluttered and gasped for air. I awkwardly patted her back as she coughed, relieved that she wasn't dead, but not entirely sure what to do. She rolled back onto her back and stared up at the sky, looking straight past me. Her lips were still blue; she shook as she laid there. A voice in my head- one that sounded frighteningly like Ericka's- yelled at me. Jackass! Ever hear of hypothermia?

"Jaime, hey, listen to me. I'm going to take you to my house, my brother's fiancé is a nurse, she can help you. Okay? Stay with me, I'm not going to hurt you." She didn't respond to me. I picked her up and carried her to the car as fast as I could- though I was pretty sure a zombie could move faster than me at that point. I got in the car and cranked up the heater, going back for my coat and throwing it on the girl.

I talked to her as I drove towards the house, desperate to get her help. God forbid I was the reason she died. I could not- would not- have another innocent life taken over something so stupid. "Talk to me, Jaime. Where are ya from, Jaime?" I heard somewhere that saying a person's name over and over would jog a person's brain- make them more responsive. Maybe it worked, because I finally got a reaction out of her.

"New York." She said softly, voice scratchy, eyes closed.

"No, no! None of that shit. Keep your eyes open, stay awake." My voice was a lot harsher than what I meant for it to be, but it was better to keep up the act- it wouldn't much help matters for her to know I was truly freaked out. I took a deep breath as she opened her eyes, looking through the windshield as we drove. "Uh," I searched around for something to ask her, to keep her awake."What's your favorite color, Jaime?"

"Blue." Her voice was weak and squeaky, probably the cold.

"Favorite book?"

She coughed and looked at me, glassy eyed. "Who are you?" she asked sluggishly, ignoring the question I had asked her. She stared at me, squinting, like she was trying to place my face. I cleared my throat, mouth suddenly dry.

"Murphy." I said carefully. "My name is Murphy."

She closed her eyes again, looking almost…relieved. I thought I saw the ghost of a smile on her face. "Murphy." She breathed. "You're a saint…." Her voice trailed off and she was asleep again, leaving me alone to face the quiet of the car and the continual tidal wave of panic washing over me.