AN: Ah, it's like meeting an old friend for coffee... or a Guinness in this case. Good Lord, this movie has had such a sincere impact on my life in the past 13 years. I had to get back into my fandom. Yes, I have OC characters in this, there is no other way to play it. Romance is unintentional, but you should all know that these things happen so, please keep an open mind, I dunno how long this is going to go for, but I need to get back into this. Thank you to all my loyal fans, I love you all. Troy Duffy is still my hero and I wish I owned this franchise.

Cheers.

-Shazzy. (and for the record, I have been known as "Murphy" to my close friends for 10 years. Go figure.)

Liturgy

"At least it's a roof o'er our heads." Murphy said as the two brothers stared out the barred window of Hoag maximum security prison.

They'd been stuck in their cell for most of the six months they'd been in prison. The warden had decided that they were a danger to the other inmates, even though they'd never made any indication that they were going to continue their holy war from inside their cell. They had, however, been kind enough to keep the MacManus brothers together.

Connor shot his twin a frown as he allowed his blue eyes to wander over the yard below them. "What I wouldn'a gi'e ta go outside right about now."

Murphy sighed and turned his eyes skyward. "Gonna rain like a bastard." He warned.

Connor pushed himself away from the window, running his hands through his dusty brown hair in exasperation. "Murph, I swear t' ya, I'm dying."

Murphy didn't move away from the window. They'd been talking about their imprisonment a lot more recently. And the things leading up to their capture. Never in English, of course, they'd never allow the cops listening to get in on their conversations.

Murphy sniffled, but didn't look at his brother. "Y' ain't dying, Conn." He said with a sigh. "It's cabin fever and nicotine withdrawal."

Connor slumped down on his cot. He rested his head in his hands with a sigh. Murphy was usually the one to get overly worked up, he had a shorter temper than Connor and didn't think things through as thoroughly. And yet Connor was the one about to fly off the handle.

The prison was nice as far as prisons went. The cell was warm enough that it wasn't torturous to be inside. They had a window, that was a bonus. The guards had been kind enough to allow them to keep their rosaries, the brothers weren't on suicide watch. They had a roof over their heads, three meals a day and they were kept well away from the other prisoners. They even got books twice a week, if they so chose.

Connor was going insane.

"Why don't you tell me what's goin' on in yer heid?" Connor asked, not lifting his head as he sat. "You are never this quiet unless you've had too much ta' drink or you've got something on yer mind."

Murphy slowly turned to look at his brother, the shifting of Murphy's body made Connor look up. Connor noticed that Murphy's darker hair was in need of a trim, and that his eyes betrayed the fact that he actually hadn't been sleeping, despite what he said.

"You haven't been dreaming?" Murphy asked slowly, one hand still hanging onto the window sill.

Connor arched an eyebrow. "Not recently..." He ventured. "Y' mean like th' ones..." He pointed upwards. They'd agreed that their prophetic dreams would remain secret. The fact that they claimed to be on a mission from God already had the psychiatrists in a tizzy.

Murph nodded. "But if you ain't havin' 'em, I'm obviously not."

Connor narrowed his eyes and switched to Italian. "What did you dream?"

Murphy shrugged, his darker blue-green eyes narrowing in recollection. He spoke in slow Russian. "Someone is coming for us."

Before Connor could answer, a guard arrived. Both of the men turned to look at the familiar face. The guard was built similarly to the boys, lithe and muscular. He was an Irish cop, and he'd never been anything but civil to the MacManuses.

"What's up, Charlie?" Connor asked brightly, hoping for a cigarette to be offered.

"Ye boys got a visitor." Charlie replied. "Some big wig here to see you."

Connor and Murphy exchanged glances, confused about who would be coming to see them. An absent minded brush of Murphy's hand against his own chest to touch the comforting weight of the rosary there was the only nervous twitch either of the boys displayed. Quietly they moved towards the door of their cell as Charlie opened it for them.

Connor nudged his brother as they were led down the hallway by armed guards. Murphy simply shrugged. They were led into the plain concrete visiting room that was reserved for special occasions. The table had the most inviting display of coffee, cigarettes and, praise the Lord, doughnuts, that the boys had ever seen.

Seated at the table was a woman, dressed in charcoal grey pinstripe slacks and a royal purple blouse. She was sitting with a notebook and a tape recorder on the table in front of her. She was silently nursing a diet Coke as she waited. Her hair was a deep chocolatey brown with evidently unnatural fire-engine red streaks cut into a long layered look. She had wide blue eyes that looked up from her notebook at the boys critically. She wasn't wearing a lot of makeup, a touch of foundation to try to hide the dark circles under her eyes and the scar that ran from the corner of her eye across her cheek, but that was it. Her shoes, the boys noticed, were royal purple high top sneakers, Chuck Taylors to be specific. She seemed almost uncomfortable in the professional outfit she wore.

"You can leave them and shut the door, thank you." The woman said, her Irish accent making her words more harsh than she intended. She offered a smile to Charlie and he nodded in return.

The brothers stared incredulously at the woman at the table. There was something... familiar about her.

She stood then, proving she was shorter than the boys. She smiled brightly and offered her hand. "Connor, Murphy." She said by way of introduction. She'd gotten them right the first try and she hadn't looked at the tattoos as she shook their hands.

"Have a seat." She added brightly, motioning to the chairs.

Slowly, the brothers lowered themselves into the uncomfortable chairs. They exchanged looks of confusion.

The woman stayed across from them and expertly poured them each a cup of coffee. "Help yourselves." She told them, handing the paper cups across the table before she sat back down. "It's all for you boys." She smiled again. "And I assure you there's no strychnine in the tobacco, that would just be... uncivil."

Murphy reached for his coffee first, adding cream and sugar until he was satisfied. He nudged Connor, who followed suit, still eyeing the woman. Murphy took a long sip of the coffee, relishing the fact that it was actually brewed properly. He eyed the carafe wondering how much was left inside and whether this woman had brought it herself.

Connor stared at his drink for a long moment. "Are you a lawyer or somethin'?" He asked finally, cutting through the bullshit.

That smile again, and a trilling laugh that warmed Murphy's dread.

"Good Lord, no." She replied. "I'm a writer."

The boys blinked in surprise.

"Blaise O'Malley." The woman said slowly, as if it was a name that they should be familiar with.

Murphy noted that she pronounced her name with a soft 's', so it was "blayss" instead of "blaze", the way the Saint was usually pronounced. He eyed her over the edge of his coffee cup, still unable to place her.

"What does a writer want with us?" Connor asked, still eyeing the cigarettes. He was shaking from withdrawal and he sorely wanted one, but he had a nagging suspicion that this was a bribe.

Blaise smirked. "You really have no idea who I am?" She asked with a shake of her head. "Fair enough." She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "I'll get right t' the point, boys. I have clout with the Mayor of this fine city and you ougta know tha' you've become quite the celebrities."

Murphy chuckled and nudged his brother. "She probably jus' wants our autographs."

Connor snorted and reached for a cigarette, bribe or not he was dying for a smoke. He handed one to his brother and lit Murphy's first before lighting his own. He took a long drag and stared at the writer. "We can sign yer notebook there, if tha's all y' want, but we ain't singing inta that recorder."

Blaise's face was blank and unreadable. Murphy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Something about her was niggling at the back of his mind. He'd seen her somewhere. He was sure of it.

"Y'know," Blaise began staring Connor dead in the eye. "I can pack all of my things up, the coffee, the cigarettes, the doughnuts, the cigarettes. I can jus' leave ya' boys in 'ere to rot. I'll tell the Mayor tha' you wouldnae cooperate with me and that you don't deserve this chance a second time."

She stared Connor down through the haze of smoke trailing up from his cigarette.

"Or you can keep yer damn mouth shut an' not crack wise for about five minutes so that I can tell ya what exactly is goin' on 'ere." She finished. She hadn't moved from her spot and her mouth was turned up in a smug little grin.

"Maybe we oughta listen to her?" Murphy asked in Italian.

"Or maybe she's just after a confession." Connor shot back, also in Italian.

Blaise rolled her eyes as the boys chatted in their foreign retinue.

"An' what the hell good would that do? Everyone knows it was us." Murphy hissed in French. "Maybe she's got a better offer?"

Connor eyed his brother suspiciously.

"Maybe she's the one I'm waiting for." Murphy said further, sticking with French.

Blaise didn't flinch. It was like she had been expecting this from them. "Your story is being optioned by Hollywood, by publishers who want a biography blah blah blah." She snapped. "I happen to be friends with the Mayor, I got in first." She leaned over to reach for her bag. She produced two copies of the same book and slid them across the table. "This is how I write." She said. "If you like it, I wanna write your story."

Murphy and Connor opened the books in unison. There was a handwritten note on the inside cover.

To the MacManus brothers. I hope you're into ESCAPISM. Love Blaise.

Murphy gave Connor a knowing look. Connor sighed.

"But I didn't dream a damn thing." Connor hissed in Russian as he looked at the book in his hands. He stared at Murphy, who simply stared back. He turned his tired eyes to Blaise and uttered a single word in English. "Fuck."

Blaise grinned. "Is that consent?" She asked cheerily.

Murphy was busily skimming through his book. He noticed a ribbon bookmark built right into the spine. He flipped the pages until he found the passage that was marked off. He read it slowly, unable to believe that this was really happening.

"She's proposing to get us out of here." Murphy whispered in Italian as he handed Connor his book.

He looked at the author seated across from him as he snubbed out his cigarette. He took another drink of his coffee. "You look familiar as hell." He said slowly.

Blaise shrugged. "I used to talk to the auld boys at McGinty's back in th' day. My Da' was a cop."

"In and out like a ghost." Murphy said with a trace of a smile. "Always drinking Guinness, ne'er anything harder." He smirked. "Yer da' was the O'Malley who was killed on duty, yeah?"

"Mobsters." Blaise replied with a shrug.

"Yakavetta?" Connor asked as he joined the conversation fully.

Blaise's blue eyes trailed slowly away from Muprhy to look at the other MacManus. "Doesn't matter anymore." She said with a sigh. She stared at Connor, his face was narrower than his brother's, a little rougher, and he stared at you like he could see right through you if you gave him half a chance.

She cleared her throat. "I showed you mine." She said, spreading her hands on the table. "We got a deal boys?"

Connor and Murphy exchanged glances.

"Yeah, I think we can manage." Connor said with a smirk.

"You'll need t' bring more coffee." Murphy replied.

They talked for hours with Blaise. Mostly bullshit. She was asking questions about their childhood. Vague questions that were easily mislead. It was like she was deliberately trying to avoid asking them truthful questions.

When the coffee and doughnuts were gone, and the boys had smoked half a pack of cigarettes each, Blaise had called it a day. They said their good-byes gratefully as they each pocketed the cigarettes. Blaise insisted that they read the books again and said she'd be back the next day, if it was all right with them.

The MacManus brothers consented.

Once they were safely back in their cell, Connor threw his book across the room.

"Christ, Connor, what the hell?" Murphy asked.

"This is fuckin' insane." Connor replied. "You read tha' book as well as I did. D'you see what she's tryin' ta do?"

Murphy shrugged. "It worked in the book."

"It's fiction ya' dumbass!" Connor all but shouted, slapping Murphy's arm in exasperation.

Murphy fidgeted, not convinced that his brother was right.

"Oh, Murph, don' tell me you're believin' her?" Connor asked when Murphy didn't offer his usual witty retort. He stared at his brother disdainfully. "You think tha' she's the one you were dreamin' about?"

Murphy nodded.

"Fuuuuuuuck." Connor groaned, leaning against the wall.

"If she pulls this off..." Murphy started.

"We get pinched and die." Connor interjected.

"I thought you wanted to go outside?" Murphy asked.

"Fuck off." Connor shot back with a sigh. "Fine. I'll believe you on this one."

Murphy gave his brother a dirty look. "You owe me after th' rope debacle."

Connor flipped his brother off and flopped down on his bed, covering his face with his pillow.

"Yer insane, Murph." Connor mumbled through the fabric and the down.

Murphy sat down quietly on his bed and began reading the book he'd been given. He wanted to make sure that their escape was going to have a happy ending.