It had been a bloody long flight. Connor hadn't been on a plane since they'd come to Boston ten years ago, and he couldn't remember whether he'd been bored then. Actually, he could remember why he didn't remember that flight. He and Murphy had both been totally wasted.

That hadn't really been an option this time. Their pa was with them, and anyway, they were on the run and needed their wits about them. The fact that they were two famous, internationally sought killers hadn't stopped Murphy from behaving like a bored child, though.

Connor didn't like being cooped up in a metal box for seven hours, but for Murphy it had been torture. Which meant, by extension, that it had been torture for Connor, too. Murphy had fidgeted and fussed so much that Connor had seriously considered, if only for a moment, to thump him on the head and knock him out. Murphy, when he'd picked up on that thought on their peculiar twin-mind connection, had looked at Connor with what could only be described as a pout.

"That ain't a nice thing ter think, Conn."

"Well, stop yer fussin', then. Yer drivin' me up dem walls."

"'m bored."

"No shit. Read sumthing. Or go ter sleep."

"What d'ya suggest, read that piece o'junk in-flight magazine? 'sides, am not tired."

Connor sighed. "Fine. Wha' d'ya wanna do?"

He regretted asking almost instantly. There was a gleam to Murphy's eyes that Connor knew only too well, and he knew it boded ill. He supposed, on balance, that it was one blessing that Murphy actually lowered his voice before he shared his plan with Connor.

"Blow me in de loos."

Connor tried hard not to laugh. That was a losing battle, of course. Murphy had gotten an instant flash of the image that his plan had conjured in Connor's brain: Him, Connor, on his knees, Murphy, braced on the sink, trousers down at his ankles, moaning. Just the thought made Connor hard, and Murphy knew that instantly as well.

The glint in his brother's eyes went from mischievous to fiery in a heartbeat. Connor started to say something but Murphy put his hand over Connor's mouth.

"No use protestin', brother. I saw dat."

He bounded out of his seat, clambered over Connor, grabbed him by the hand and started pulling him up. Connor glanced over at their pa who seemed to be asleep in the window seat. He sighed. It would alleviate the boredom, at least.

-.-

The blowjob in the toilet had been a nice distraction, even though it left Connor with a stiff neck. The rest of the flight had still been boring, but at least coming twice had put Murphy to sleep. He'd curled up in his seat when they came back from the toilets and had rested his head on Connor's chest. Connor had put his arms around his brother and had nuzzled his hair.

They were so used to sleeping intertwined with each other that Connor had only gradually realized that the other passengers, and their pa, had started giving them odd looks. Fuck them, Connor thought. He wasn't going to wake Murphy just because other people were staring. It had been hard enough to get him to stop his incessant moving. Finally Connor had dropped off himself.

Landing in Heathrow had been exciting, mostly because for a moment they thought that immigration had recognized their pa. In the end they all got through passport control without being stopped, but by then Connor's nerves were frazzled.

"Listen 'ere, boys." Pa had pulled them aside once they were in arrivals. "I'm off now ter catch ma flight ta Dublin. Ya know what ter do, and I'll see ya when ya done here. Let me know when ter expect yer."

He had handed Connor a mobile phone. "Me number's in dere, an' so's O'Grady's. He's expectin' yer tonight. Go straight ter him, he'll sort yer out."

He'd hugged them both, and disappeared. Murphy, indulging in his nervous habit of worrying the nail on his left thumb, looked at Connor. "Now wha'?"

Connor picked up his bag which he'd carried on as hand luggage. They had no suitcases to collect, there had been no time to pack, and anyway, they wouldn't need much from their old life once they got to Ireland. But right now, they needed to get to… fuck. Connor frantically searched through his pockets until he found a small piece of paper on which their pa had scribbled a name and address.

"Now we'll go ter," Connor read off the piece of paper, "St Agnes Parish, Cricklewood."

Murphy stopped biting his nail. "How?"

"Cum on, Murph, don't be daft! On de subway, of course."

Murphy looked at him as if he were slow. "Yer mean the Tube, aye?"

Connor gave a huff and started walking, giving Murphy a smack on the back of his head as he went. Sometimes his brother could be a right pain in the ass.

Connor could hear Murphy picking up his own bag and hurrying after him, but he didn't turn round. He was looking for a sign for the Tube.

-.-

Of course it hadn't been nearly as straightforward as getting onto the subway. Shit, tube… Firstly, the sign, when they'd finally spotted it, hadn't said Tube at all. It had said Underground, but Connor had cottoned on quickly. Then there'd been endless minutes in the corridors under the airport, up one escalator, down another.

"Why do they call it Tube, it's loike a feckin intestine down 'ere," he'd grumbled when they'd had to retrace their steps for the third time.

Then it turned out that they couldn't take the Tube all the way, so they got off in the middle of London. After getting lost finding the bus stop, Murphy almost got run over by a black cab.

"You'd tink you'd mind they drive on de other side af de road 'ere. Yer grew up wit' dis, Murph!" Connor couldn't stop himself growling as he picked his brother up from the curb. They finally located the right bus, but then almost got kicked out again because they had no small change and the driver wouldn't accept the £50 note Murphy tried to give him.

Connor was about to get angry and had taken a deep breath to start yelling at the driver when he felt Murphy's feather light touch in his mind.Don't fret, I'll 'andle it.

And he did, in true Murphy fashion. He not only sweet-talked the driver into letting them ride for free but swapped stories about Dublin with the driver throughout the entire journey. It turned out that the guy's gran had lived just up the road from where the twins had grown up. Connor quickly grew bored with the chit chat, but he knew Murphy considered this their payment for the ride. Yep, that was Murphy to a T. A kindness for a kindness.

-.-

And then, finally, Cricklewood. It was getting dark, and Connor was famished. They asked an elderly lady for directions to St Agnes and found the small house behind the church as described by their pa. Connor knocked, and the door opened almost immediately. A grey-haired man stood in the light flooding from the hallway, smiling down on them as they stood on the stoop.

"Father O'Grady? I'm Connor, dis is Murphy. Our pa said you'd be expectin' us."

The man ushered them inside. "T'be sure I'm expectin' yer, lads. Cum on in!" He shook both their hands warmly. "Let me look at yer. Aye, I can see yer pa in yer both!"

Connor cleared his throat. "Yer know why we're 'ere, Father?"

The old man nodded solemnly. "Ah aye, I do. It wus me who contacted yer pa. But before we talk about al' dat, let's 'ave something ter eat. Yer lads hungry?"

Murphy nodded eagerly and Connor said. "Yer bet, Father."

The old man smiled. "Gran'! Martha 'as created quite de feast. An' please, do call me Uncle Diarmaid. We are family, after al'!"