This chapter could not make up its mind where it wanted to be placed in this fic, I swear to God! First, it liked being the second chapter, like it is now then, it wanted to come later with a few chapters being written before it. Eventually, I made up its mind for it and it ended up being put here. It does contain a lemon so do expect some smexy good times but other than that, I'm . . . content with it. Not my best, not my worst, but still, I'll take it :)

By the way, I'll just place this little tidbit of information here . . . "Mo shíorghrá" (muh HEER-ggrah): meaning "My Eternal Love" is a more modern translation of the the concept of soul mates

Very Happy Guest (Guest): Glad you checked up on my Walking Dead fanfics, how have they been treating you so far? And by the way, I agree with you - love me some Connor ;)

mrsreedus69: Thank you so much for the review! And I don't yet, ya might just have to keep reading ;)

HermioneandMarcus: Thanks hun - always good to hear from ya :)

"And please remember that I never lied

And please remember

How I felt inside now honey

You gotta make it your own way

But you'll be alright now sugar

You'll feel better tomorrow

Come the morning light now baby . . ."

- "Don't Cry" by Guns N' Roses

Favorite Line(s):

"O' course I will. Ya tink I'm gonna give up an excuse ta get ta know ma son?"

Connor watched, wordlessly, as Branna finished tucking her son – their son – he quickly found himself mentally correcting, into bed. He gave the young boy a small smile from his spot leaning against the opened doorway of his room, as Branna bent over him and pressed a loving kiss to his forehead. Sean returned his smile as his mother leaned over further still in order to cut off the lamp sitting on his bedside table. Her eyes crossed briefly with Connor's and their gazes held for a moment as she then got to her feet and made her way over to him. Together, they left Sean's bedroom and Branna quickly but quietly closed the door behind them.

When they were alone in the living room again, was when Connor finally broke the heavy, all-encompassing silence between them. He did so with a voice thick with an emotion that was difficult for Branna to place, and with a hand that gingerly rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke. "How did ya . . . how did ya know -?"

"Tha' he was ya son and not Murph's?" She immediately interrupted him and he nodded with a heavy swallow. Branna heaved a sigh.

"Bri took me ta tha same hospital tha' tha two of ya went to the day after ya killed tha Russians. I told them one of ya was tha possible father and they jus' so happened to have ya blood on file so they could do a paternity test. It came back wit ya as tha father. Tha' and ya were tha last man I slept wit before ya two left, and also . . ." She gave a half laugh then as she gestured back towards the closed door. "Look at tha' light brown hair and those blue eyes! He's ya spittin' fuckin' image, Conn!"

Connor couldn't help but laugh as well as they stood there in the middle of Branna's living room – two people who had once loved the other with a love that was almost the stuff of myths and legends – but now felt like two strangers. "D'ya still 'ave tha tattoo?" He suddenly asked her, and Branna nodded.

"Yah . . . I don' tink I'll ever get rid of it. So when Sean asks me later who Connor and Murphy are, I can say tha' Connor is ya – his da – and tha' Murphy is his uncle, who I also loved back then wit a love tha' most people only dream 'bout." Connor let out a relieved sigh at that and nodded as he also let out a weak laugh.

"Good . . . tha'd be one Hell of a tattoo ta get removed!" He spoke and she laughed as well before they descended into another awkward silence, one that Connor eventually broke again. He couldn't stand the awkward silences that were starting to settle between them – not when they were known for the comfortable silences of their mutual past. "Why did ya never tell me 'bout him, Branna?"

She turned a sharp gaze onto him. "How was I supposed ta? I didn' know where ya were. Hell, not even ya mother knew where ya two were!"

"Does she know 'bout him?" He asked, curiosity evident in his eyes as he gazed at her, and Branna nodded.

"She knows tha' she has a grandson and tha' his name is Sean Connor MacManus. She knows his father is ya and not Murph. She's never met him but she does talk ta him on tha phone whenever she can and she loves him wit a love tha' only a grandmother can possess for her only grandchild. As for Sean . . ." She gave a shrug. "He knows he's full-blooded Irish, even though he doesn' have tha accent. He knows his grandma lives in Ireland and now, he finally knows who his father is," She smiled a tight, cold smile then as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "The father tha' has been gone for tha last eight years of his life . . . his entire life, in fact . . ."

"Not by ma choice, Branna -"

"Ya damn right it was ya choice, Connor!" Branna interrupted him, her tone and expression becoming angry again. "Ya know damn good and well tha' ya had a choice! Ya could 'ave stayed home and raised ya son wit me instead of goin' out and killin' Yakavetta on TV wit ya damn father and Murph!"

"I wouldn' 'ave gone if ya would 'ave told me ya were pregnant!" He practically yelled back at her, his eyes flaring with anger, and after she let out a harsh "Shh!" he substantially lowered his voice but in no way calmed down. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed so they wouldn't disturb Sean, however, the anger was in no way completely dissolved. "I would 'ave stayed wit ya, Bran, if only ya had told me! Ya damn right I would 'ave stayed! Ya tink I would have gone and done tha', if I knew I was goin' ta be forced to leave behind tha woman I loved and ma son?" He shook his head. "No . . . no, I never would 'ave gone wit 'em. I would 'ave stayed wit ya and I would 'ave raised him -!"

"But ya didn', did ya?" She hissed back at him, her eyes filling with tears. "'Cause tha day I found out tha' I was pregnant, was two weeks after ya two left witout a word as ta where ya guys were goin' – before I could tell ya! D'ya know, Connor, how long I stayed in tha' apartment waitin' for ya guys before I finally went ta ma grandfather wit tear-stained cheeks, ya fuckin' baby in ma womb and wit such a broken heart tha' I almost felt like dyin' from it?" She shook her head as she blinked back bitter tears. "Ya two were ma life – I loved ya two like I 'ave never been able to love anyone other than our son and ya guys jus' . . . left me there!" Her teeth gritted as she swallowed a heavy lump that had been steadily growing in her throat the entire time. "For tha love of God, ya left me there, Conn! After ya promised me ya wouldn'!"

Connor shook his head, not knowing what to say and his eyes wide with pleading forgiveness instead of anger. "Mavourneen, please, we . . . we didn' mean to do tha' ta ya!" He told her, his voice weak, and Branna let out a snort of derision as she blinked back her tears.

"Yah, tha's wha ya been sayin' since ya showed up and its startin' ta get old, I 'ave ta admit!" She all but snapped at him before nodding to the door. "But I don' know wha' more ya could possibly want. Ya've seen me – ya've seen ya son. Now, I would appreciate it if ya could jus' leave!"

Those cruel, terse words seemed to do it. Before she could say or do anything, everything seemed to explode around her at once. With a loud smash, the mirror on the wall by the TV was shattered into a million tiny pieces and the shards fell to the maroon-colored carpeted floor in jagged pieces. It was not as deafening as the resounding, sharp crack that split through the still air when Connor's fist made contact with the wall, but it was still pretty deafening, nonetheless.

Neither of them said anything or moved for a long moment as they allowed to sink in what had just happened. Dully, Branna realized that she had a hole in her wall, and when she looked at him from beneath thick black eyelashes, she wasn't sure on whether or not she saw guilt there shining in his world-weary blue eyes for leaving her for eight long years with the son he never knew he had until that moment, or righteousness because he felt no guilt because he believed, with every ounce of his heart, that what him and Murphy and their father had done, was a good and righteous thing.

She felt anger rise up within her but before she could retaliate, Connor grabbed up her hands and then forced her back against the wall he had punched, with a strength that momentarily knocked the wind from her lungs. She had forgotten how strong he was, and Connor's strength certainly surprised her then. Sensing her spiteful insults simmering just below the surface, he crushed his lips to hers in a bruising kiss before seemingly melding their bodies together. They were both futile to the mutual desire raging through them and despite the lingering pain her words had caused, Branna couldn't help but moan wantonly into his mouth as his hands framed her face and his tongue plundered her mouth, their breathing coming out harsh and wanton through their noses.

His lips were slightly chapped and his tongue was hot as he dragged her backwards towards her darkened bedroom. Teeth found her bottom lip and her groan of desire curbed off into a whimper of slight pain when he sunk his teeth into the tender flesh. Despite the ferocity of his kiss, he wrapped his lips around her bottom one before sucking, his tongue swiping over the cut to ease the pain. His hands – which were rough and bruising - clung and slid over every available surface and curve of her body, finding that little about her had changed over the years, including those curves he had loved so much.

Clothes were shed quickly and torn with an abandonment that shocked the both of them. And then, in minutes that practically bordered on seconds, they were on the bed with Connor pounding into her with another reckless abandon. Her legs immediately found themselves being supported on his broad shoulders instead of around his waist – the hollows of her knees finding a strange sort of home on his shoulders. He curled a hand around one of her thighs and the deep angle only seemed to add to the intoxicating headiness of the situation they had suddenly found themselves in together.

There had been no preparation, and Branna grimaced at how long it had been since they had come together that violently – since she had been that violent with any man, for that matter. He gave her but a moment to adjust before his first earth-shattering thrust hit home. And it was then that she realized that there was nothing loving in the way they were coming together at that moment. They were leaving bruises - bloody bites and gouges along the other's skin. Branna moaned out her pleasure and encouragement as he hoisted her legs back a little further and answered her with animalistic-like grunts before his lips and teeth found the delicate skin of her inner thigh – marking her as his and his alone.

Somewhere distantly, Branna found herself wondering if this is what they would have called 'fucking' earlier in their life, when it was just the three of them and their rundown apartment that was still there – still located just a few blocks down the street along with McGinty's. Her thoughts scattered, however, when Connor shifted his weight against her ever-so-slightly. It was a movement that only made her fist her fingers into his hair even more as the nails of her other hand tore into his shoulder – an action that made his let out a hiss of slight pain as his teeth gritted in the same emotion. She arched her back off of the bed and against him, urging him on. By God, she had missed this - this intimacy of having Connor so deeply inside of her, even when their passion was laced with anger, bitterness and abhorrence.

Branna would be the first to admit – she hadn't even tried to a hold a torch for the MacManus brothers. When they left she figured they had left for good, so she might as well move on. She had relationships with her fair share of other men over the years since him and Murphy had been gone, but constantly, she found herself realizing that those said men were nothing like them – Connor especially. There was an intimacy with Connor that she had rarely experienced with anyone else except maybe Murphy and even then, he seemed to slide by with the skin of his teeth. But for the love of God, Connor was the father of her son – he would always have a certain intimacy with her that no other man would ever be able to achieve in their wildest of dreams.

She was now unabashedly moaning as her nails dug even more into the flesh of his shoulders and his back. She begged him and moaned and whimpered and Connor found that he adored every sound he could still get her to make. Very little had changed between them and never before had he been so happy.

"Oh ma God . . . yes, Connor! Fuck me there – right there, macushla – oh God yes; ya feel so good . . .!"

He was right there with her when she finally tumbled over the precipice and the world shattered and careened around her in a colorfully warm arc. They fell together, riding out their joint ecstasy with moans and groans of the other's name. His hips stilled and quaked in-between hers as he released inside of her. And when reality slowly started to piece itself back together, Branna became aware that he had managed to wrap his arms around her in a certain protectiveness that she realized she had long missed. She also realized that he was trembling and Branna didn't need the damp sensation against the nape of her neck to know that he was silently crying, and for once, she let him. The man had been through a lot these past eight years – from losing her because of one stupid decision, to learning that he had a son that he mistakenly and unwittingly left behind . . . this time, she would allow his tears.

Branna lovingly ran her fingers through his short, light brown hair, and eventually, he rolled off her and to her left. "I love ya, mo shíorghrá . . ." He whispered brokenly against her shoulder and she returned the sentiment softly before she reached around to grasp his hand, where she wrapped his arm around her waist. He moved to spoon up against her back and his breathing evening out as he faded away into the deep sleep one only got after a good fuck. His nose moved to bury in her hair and into the back of her neck. She would bet her entire fortune that would be the first deep sleep he would have in eight long years.

As she shifted slowly and gently in order to turn over onto her side to face him, she found her gaze softening slightly as she observed him. He had aged in eight years although he was still undoubtedly her Connor. He was still exceedingly handsome but his former aquiline good looks had faded somewhat in favor of an older, fuller handsomeness. His eyes were still the same deep, sapphire blue and his mouth and the shape of his lips still made her swoon. He was still her Connor . . . just a little bit older and – hopefully – a little bit more mature.

It made her wonder just how much Murphy had aged in eight years, too.

She gently cupped his cheek in her hand, where her thumb ghosted over one of his high, sweeping cheekbones. It was then that she leaned in and ever-so-slightly brushed her lips against his. He shifted slightly closer to her but didn't awake and she smiled to herself, wondering if he was still the cover-hogging, sleeping-like-the-grave Connor she remembered him being.

That morning, everything was silent between them. Connor sat on the edge of the bed and woke himself up as Branna moved around the bedroom, getting herself ready for that morning. She took a quick shower, toweling herself off as Connor sat there and rubbed the sleep from his eyes and tried desperately to make sense of what had occurred between them that previous night – the suddenness of everything. He didn't watch as the towel fell from her body, only to be replaced with a strangely familiar terrycloth robe.

"Ya want some breakfast, Conn?" She quietly asked him when she was done, and it was then that Connor turned his eyes onto her. He saw the robe and smiled a small, weak smile.

"Whose robe is tha'?"

Branna returned his smile. "Who do ya tink?" He continued to smile as he leaned back on his hands on the bed.

"Ya know, I don' ever tink I've met a woman tha' can compare ta ya, Branna - in every aspect." He told her and she returned his smile.

"Ya one of tha biggest sweethearts I've ever known, Conn." She told him before standing there, thinking for a moment. When she was done, she crossed the space between them and framed his face with her hands. She turned his face up to hers and he immediately locked his gaze with hers. "Look, I don' . . . I don' know yet if last night means anyting yet. But I . . . I do love ya, Conn. I've loved ya for these eight long years tha' ya've been gone, but . . . I'm sorry, but I'm 'avin' a bit of trouble reconcilin' tha' everyting we did last night, actually happened!"

"It's alright . . . take all tha' time ya need, mavourneen. And I love ya too. Ya don' ever 'ave ta doubt tha'." He told her and she held his gaze before biting down on her bottom lip.

"Stay with me? Stay with us? At least . . . at least for a little while?" She asked, hesitation echoing in her eyes, and Connor gave her a loving smile as he leaned upwards and pressed his lips to hers in a soft, loving kiss. When they broke apart, he nodded as one of his thumbs swept across one of her high cheekbones.

"O' course I will. Ya tink I'm gonna give up an excuse ta get ta know ma son?" He joked and Branna immediately broke out into a grin as she took up his hand and pulled him to his feet.

"Good to know. Now come on, let me get ya breakfast . . ."