A/N: So, here it is, the continuation of Unlimited Blue. This starts right after that one ends. I'm still not finished playing in this arc yet, or in Murphy and Wren's, so I hope you're all along for the ride! I've always been curious as to why no one has tackled the story of where they got their smashing coats...they are so much a part of their characters and yet we just assume they've always owned them. you didn't think I'd make Pam work at a used clothing store just for the hell of it, did you? Anyway, here you go. Enjoy.

Pam had barely been awake when she had shuffled into the kitchen and found Connor leaning his hip against the counter, a bowl of cereal clutched in one hand as his other hand dug a spoon deep. Behind him, the coffee maker bubbled and hissed appropriately, expelling the aroma of dark roasted beans.

"S'almost ready," he grinned, looking her up and down. "Though from the looks of ya, ye might need to main line it this mornin'."

Pam frowned and looked down at her attire, a pair of underwear and an oversized t-shirt that hung down one shoulder. Then her hands went to her hair which was a wild mess of tawny waves and random tight curls. Finally, she rubbed at her eyes and came back with a smudged mess of what used to be sexy cat eyes.

"Crap," she muttered. She narrowed her gaze at Connor and then flipped him the bird. "We can't all be ready for our cover shoot of Teen Beat at…" she glanced past him to the clock on the stove – "five thirty am."

Connor merely grinned again and set his bowl down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, before gliding into Pam's space and taking her hands in his. "C'mere," he murmured, pulling her closer.

"Ugh, no," Pam fought back, shaking her head. "If I look like this, I can't imagine the dragon breath I must be harbouring. M'not kissing anything until I brush my teeth."

He frowned playfully. "C'mon, I've been eatin' granola all mornin'. I'm sure I've got squirrel breath." He gave her another tug forward, this one a little firmer. "Sides, I don't care. My mouth has been up and down yer sweet hide and to all the cracks and crevices between."

Pam shook her head adamantly. "I'm not ki…"

Connor moved viper fast, striking her mouth with his and cutting off any other words she might try to say. He tasted sweet from the milk and a little bit nutty from the cereal he had been eating, and Pam suddenly decided that she would never buy a different type of granola again. Connor clusters. She giggled into the kiss and Connor smirked against her mouth before soundly smacking her ass with the flat of his palm. She pulled away in time for her lips to be replaced by another spoonful of cereal. Crunching loudly, he winked before tipping the bowl back and slurping down the remaining milk. He barely managed to suppress the belch that followed.

"Oh my god, you are such a boy," she muttered.

"Lord's name," Connor pointed at her with his spoon. The dishes clanged as they landed in the bottom of her sink.

"Aye, well, ye'd best leave now so you can get to church and say about a million Hail Mary's for last night."

"When are ye done work tonight?" He asked, ignoring her dig with a shrug.

"Seven. Well, six, actually. The store closes at six."

"Are ye over at Aces High later?"

Pam shook her head. "No, I'm not there until Thursday morning."

"Can I stop by yer shop tonight then? Grab somethin' t'eat, maybe a beer…"

She narrowed her eyes playfully. "I know what happens when I agree to meals and beers with you, Connor."

"What?" he asked wide-eyed and innocent. "I believe it was you who tied me t'the bed. If anythin', you took advantage of me."

Pam scoffed. "I think not."

Connor was already moving past her to the front door, collecting his boots and shrugging into his sweater.

"Oh, that reminds me," she said, eyeing the worn elbows of his sweater. "When you and Murph were in the store on Saturday, he tried on a really nice coat. I have a pair of them, almost matching – I know how much you love sticking to the twin stereotype of dressing alike." She smirked at Connor's eye roll and continued. "Anyway…those sweaters are only gonna hold up for so long. Winter's almost here and…well, I can wheel and deal a little bit, get you guys a really good price on them."

"Yer sweet, lass," Connor smiled. "But ye don' hafta. We'll make do."

She could hear the hesitation in his voice at the thought of any kind of handout. She dropped the subject for the moment. "Whatever," she shrugged.

He smiled and opened the door. "Thanks. Fer breakfast. An' fer last night." He said the last sentence with pink cheeks and Pam couldn't resist stealing another kiss. "See ye tonight?" he murmured when he pulled his mouth free.

"Sounds like a plan," Pam nodded.

He threw her another grin. "Enjoy the coffee."

She shut the door and shuffled back into the kitchen, pulling out a mug. Lifting the pot from its heater, she poured herself a cup of coffee, and stirred the right amount of honey and cream in. Taking a big gulp, she swished the hot liquid around her mouth before grimacing. Leaning over the sink, she spit the mouthful out and frowned, rubbing her tongue along her teeth, trying to dispel the weak and bitter taste from her mouth. With a frown, she lifted the glass carafe of coffee to the light and noticed its decidedly pale color.

"Fuck," she grimaced again, before dumping the whole batch down the sink.

Connor MacManus made shitty coffee.

There was something strangely comforting about pulling a saw through a rack of ribeye. Connor moved the blade with ease, glancing up at Murphy who was across the floor, laughing at something their co-worker, Lou, had said. Lou picked up two drumsticks from the belt and began waving them around while screaming, causing Murphy's laughter to grow to cackling proportions. Connor shook his head and sighed. His brother really needed to get laid. Maybe Pam knew someone?

The thought of setting Murphy up with anyone made him recoil. The one and only time Murphy had been set up had been in their senior year of high school, and the girl had been the daughter of a friend of their Ma's – if Connor remembered correctly, her name had been Colleen O'Shea – and the evening had turned out horribly. Murphy had been sore that he had to be set up in the first place (although it had been his fault, he was always oblivious to the affections of girls, and he spent more time covering third base than he did getting to third base), and the O'Shea girl had made it clear that she had thought she was being set up with the other MacManus brother. They fought like cat and dog the entire night; Connor knew because he had agreed to double with Maggie O'Brien (whom Colleen acted rudely too, as well). Connor had decided that from then on, Murphy was in charge of his own love life. He wouldn't be responsible for his brother's misery.

As if Murphy knew Connor was thinking about him, the darker twin looked over and nodded, and then pointed to his wrist. Connor looked to the clock. It was a little past eight; they'd been at it for only two hours. Perfect time for a cigarette. Besides, Connor could tell that Murphy was dying to know what had transpired with Pam. He turned the blade off, sent the finished pile of work over for packaging, and crossed the cutting room floor. Joining Murphy at the door, the two of them lapsed easily into Gaelic, and strutted out to the loading docks, discarded their white coats along the way.

Murphy lit two cigarettes and handed on to Connor as they settled on a couple of overturned crates. For a while, they merely smoked, inhaling and then exhaling, a haze of smoke surrounding them.

"So?" Murphy asked, looking at his brother expectantly.

"What?" Connor asked lightly.

"You know what." He flicked his blue eyes up and down Connor's frame, frowning in disappointment.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what yer on about," Connor shrugged. He glanced at Murphy, noting the frustration in his brother's eyes. "What?"

"Ye had te get a tattoo, right? I mean, in order to talk to her – ye had an appointment an' everyting!" Murphy growled. He started to pout.

"Christ, yer a whiner."

"Lord's name," Murphy chimed in.

"Shut the feck up. Aye, I got a tattoo, brudder. But yer showin' yers, first."

Murphy shook his dark head as a grin split his face. "No way. You go first."

Connor sighed at their childish argument. "All right, we both of us show 'em at the same time, aye?" He stood up, flicking his cigarette away.

"Aye," Murphy agreed smugly, copying Connor's move.

They stood toe to toe on the loading dock, eyeing each other up.

"On the count of three then," Connor announced.

"One," Murphy started.

"Two," Connor continued.

"Three!" They both cried out.

There was a flurry of movement as Murphy yanked his t shirt over his head and Connor thumbed the button of his jeans open and let them drop. They looked at one another then, each one perplexed at the lack of the other's clothing. Murphy's eyes narrowed on Connor's hip.

"For fecks sake, Conn, she got ye on yer hip?" He snorted and his shoulders shook with a chuckle.

"That's right, she did," Connor snapped back. He fingered the bandage there, staring at the white gauze square, and then quickly looked to Murphy. "Why? Is that a bad thing?"

Murphy grinned and shook his head. "Oh, no. Just don't let the guys at the piss trough see it, aye? Might think yer gay or sometin'."

"The only reason they'd tink I was gay was from the company I keep," Connor hissed. He nodded at the bandage on Murphy's bicep. "Are ye gonna take that off?"

Murphy nodded at Connor's hip. "What about you?"

"Christ, not this again," Connor growled.

"Lord's n…"

"On three," Connor hissed through clenched teeth.

They counted together this time, and when they made it to 'three', it was drowned out by their sharp squeals as tape stuck to hair and flesh. They each sucked in a breath through their teeth and held it until the sting subsided.

"What the feck is that?" Murphy gasped, bending at the waist and squinting at the green ink. "Feck me," he muttered. Glancing up at Connor he rolled his eyes and then looked at the tattoo once more. "It's a feckin' shamrock."

"Aye, thanks for pointing that out, Sherlock." Connor cuffed his brother on the back of his head.

"Is that the letter 'P'?"

"All right, enough of mine; what did you get?" Shoving Murphy back, Connor gripped his right forearm and twisted it above his head so that he could better see the underside of his brother's bicep. He groaned when he saw the small winged demon. "Oh, aye, cuz yer such a badass." He dropped his brother's arm with a snort.

"Well, this is interesting."

Both brothers turned at the sound of their boss's voice. George Brady stood in the warehouse doorway, taking in Connor's lack of pants and Murphy's bare chest.

"There's a perfectly good explanation fer this, George," Murphy began.

"It's actually a very funny story," Connor interjected.

"Full of love!" Murphy added quickly.

"An' booze!" Connor reminded him.

"An'…tattoos," they both added lamely at the end.

George looked from one brother to the other, and then rolled his eyes heavenward. "You know what? I don't care. I'm sure it's a very riveting tale, but I don't have the patience. And the floor's getting backed up, aye? Just…" he waved at them with a frown. "Finish up whatever it is yer doing and pick up the pace, right?"

"Aye, George," Murphy nodded, bending to retrieve his shirt.

Connor nodded silently and yanked his jeans up, and shot his brother a wild grin.

"So, are ye gonna see her again?" Murphy muttered as they entered the warehouse and shrugged back into their white coats.

"Aye," Connor nodded with a cheeky grin. "I've a follow up appointment this afternoon."