Author's note: A quick little one-shot. It randomly came to me in the from of Murphy's Pov. Enjoy! Ps, I rarely write in 1st person, so it's probably a bit weird haha. :)

We hadn't seen Ma in a long time, such a long time in fact that I almost tried to talk Connor out of seeing her. But what kind of son would I be, to the woman who "went through hell and high water" to raise me and my brother?

I sucked it up and went.

We must have looked pretty pathetic with our battered knapsacks thrown over our shoulders and our sloppy hair cuts. I had recently chopped all of mine off, and it was a bit crooked. It was fucked up along the side and Connor always made fun because of it. But he was the quietest he'd ever been as we stepped on the front porch and waited. The floorboards creaked under our feet and a cold wind snapped at our clothes. I was suddenly aware of the holes in my jeans. She was going to tell me she hadn't raised a beggar child.

"Do you feel eight-years-old again?" Connor asked me.

I frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He shook his head, looking out across the field. I knew what he meant, at least a little bit. I was half-expecting our bikes to be left out in the grass by the shed, rusty but waiting for us. My hand went to the beads of my rosary and I started fidgeting. Connor blew out a breath and looked at me. I raised my eyebrows.

"You first."

He rapped on the door. Another breeze brought the crisp smell of the changing leaves and I dug my free hand into my jeans pocket. The fields still looked as bright fucking green as they had before we left for Dublin. The door swung open and we both jumped.

Ma knew we were coming. The trouble was, we didn't know if she'd be pissed off at us or not. Her eyes were a lot like Connor's, but without any of the mischief. They were all business. Still, I couldn't help smiling when I saw her.

Connor grinned. "Hi."

"Hello, Ma," I said.

My voiced cracked a bit and I cleared my throat. Fucking cigarettes. She stared at us for a moment and brought us into a hug without a single word. Connor and I had grown like weeds after we hit sixteen, so we were both much taller than her. I looked at him over Ma's head and I knew he was just as relieved as I was.

"Get in the house," she said. "And let me see you two."

I did as I was told, shutting the door behind me. Ma stepped back and looked us up and down, her arms crossed. Her dark red hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail; pieces of her hair fell at her cheeks. We always joked we were lucky to never get her red hair, that we were "blessed" with Uncle Sibeal's. Or our father's, whichever one.

"You look…."

"Awful?" Connor offered. "Dreadful?"

"Fantastic," I countered. "Grown up."

Ma was unfazed by both of us. "Like bums, is more like it. I didn't raise beggars—I raised two respectable young men."

I looked at Connor and saw the smirk tugging at his lips. The classic line had been spoken, just like I thought. But she wasn't finished yet; she snatched our arms up in her hands. I grimaced.

My tattoo wasn't finished healing. In fact, it was still raw in a few places and had stopped bleeding only the day before. I tried not to say every curse bubbling into my mind at the pain. She inspected the marks, a familiar scowl creasing her forehead. My gaze met with my brother's.

Oh, shit.

"So, you've decided to ruin your bodies for good, haven't you? Smoking wasn't enough, was it?"

"You smoke, Ma," Connor said.

I tried to hit him, but it was hard to, seeing as how Ma still held my arm. The fucking smartass was going to get us in trouble, and we'd leave with that hanging over our heads. She managed a chuckle, but we'd long since learned she didn't find anything funny when she did it.

"And what's this?"

She prodded the side of Connor's neck and he winced. The image of the Virgin Mary was tattooed into his neck. I was royally pissed at myself for cutting my hair at that moment.

Because, inevitably, I had the same thing.

The neck tattoos were my idea. Connor liked the symmetry, and I did too. It was hard to explain; we wanted them to be similar but different, like we were. It sounds stupid, but I can never explain it better than that. But of course, I was always trying to save face with Ma.

"It's for protection," I told her, not exactly why I thought that would make sense.

She turned to me. "Is that right, Murph?"

Connor scowled at me. I avoided his gaze. Ma laughed humorlessly again. She still held fast to my arm.

"You really think stabbing yourselves with this worthless ink is going to protect you while you're over there?"

I shrugged only one shoulder. Connor looked just as sheepish. Ma finally let go of my arm and it pulsed where her fingers had been. The red laced through the Celtic cross looked brighter; I was probably bleeding again.

"I don't care if you have St. Christopher tattooed on your arses! Where you're going the only protection you'll have is by God's good grace. And Heaven knows you'll need it!"

She wasn't screaming so I knew we weren't in too much trouble. Sometimes her voice was just loud anyway. She shook her head and went into the kitchen, where I knew she had some kind of food set aside for us.

"For God's sake, boys, you're both smarter than that!"

Connor pursed his lips. I scratched the back of my neck where my long hair should have been. She did have bowls of fruit set out on the table and I grabbed an apple and tossed it in my knapsack. She watched me and must have realized why we came in the first place. Her expression grew serious and she leaned back against the stove.

"I've always been frank with you two. So I'm going to tell you that this idea to go America is more than insane."

I knew that was coming. At least she was nice about it.

"Ma, we've worked it out," Connor said. He sounded frustrated.

"You and your brother just spent some ungodly amount on tattoos—don't even get me started."

"They weren't that much," I said.

She didn't look thrilled with knowing that so I cleared my throat again.

"I can't fucking tell you what to do anymore—you're both twenty-one years old and you won't listen to me anyway." She nodded to our tattooed arms. "But I wish I could."

"Jeezus , Ma! It's not like we'll be kidnapped," Connor told her.

That word didn't sit well with either of us; I wondered why he even said it. I shot him a look and he finally understood. He bit his lip and I knew he regretted what he'd just said. Ma leaned forward.

"You're my only sons! And I'm asking you to be smart about this. The day you have children and they want to leave the house you'll know exactly what the hell I'm talking about!"

I couldn't help smiling. No matter how old we were her lectures sounded the same. Connor laughed. Ma paused in her shouting and for the first time I realized she looked upset. I looked back at my brother and I could see the concern now etched into his face.

"If you decide to stay…just remember where you came from, all right?"

I frowned. "Ma…you're talking crazy. We're not going to forget anything, least of all you."

Connor laughed. "How could we?"

She looked like she wanted to swat him good (and I wouldn't have put it past her), but she smiled. I realized that I was going to see my mother cry and I really didn't want to. She gazed back at us and took my hand in hers and Connor's in the other. For a moment, she looked at the tattoos, sniffing.

"…your father had a damn tattoo as well. I suppose it was only a matter of time…"

She never talked about him, so I was surprised to hear her say anything. Ma shook her head and ran her thumb over the back of my hand.

"Every time I held his hand…" She sighed and squeezed my palm in hers. "I love you both so much. I don't want anything to happen to you—it's romantic to try and fit your whole life in a knapsack and go marchin' on your merry way to "the Land of Opportunity." But you've got to work hard to get to that, do you understand?"

"Aye," I said, and Connor's voice joined mine.

Ma smiled. Her eyes looked strangely bright. She finally let go of our hands and embraced us both once again.

"Behave. There's plenty of Irish in Boston to keep you company but for Christ's sake don't make it obvious."

I grinned. "Of course, Mother. No drinkin'."

"Aye, and no fightin'," Connor added.

She pulled away from us and squeezed our cheeks lovingly, as she used to when we were kids. Connor and I pretended to hate it, screwing up our faces. She laughed a raspy laugh and her smile grew genuine.

"There's my boys."