21. Marriage

"Have ye ever thought about marriage?"

Connor's eyes opened. His twin lay across the room, but in the semi-darkness, fifteen-year-old Connor could see him quite clearly.

"What're ye on about?"

Murphy shrugged and Connor sensed rather than saw it. "Do ye think you'll ever get married?"

It was Connor's turn to shrug. "To tell ye the truth, Murph, I don't think either of us will marry," he said softly. "I think we're meant for bigger things."

A lifetime later, these words echoing in his ears, Connor closed his eyes and said a prayer before setting out to do God's work.

22. Whipped Cream

"Mmmm," Murphy moaned, licking the whipped cream from his spoon. Connor looked up at his brother, wished that he were surprised, then looked back to his cup of coffee.

The twins were at the diner, treating themselves to some actual food (as opposed to the liquid kind). Murphy had wanted ice cream, but Connor had counted their money carefully and realized that they couldn't get any if they were going to be able to pay their bill and tip the waitress.

So Murphy, being Murphy, had asked for a dish of whipped cream and sprinkles.

"Free dessert," he pronounced joyously.

23. Hanukkah

Connor sat at the bar. Well, "sat" was an overstatement – perhaps "slumped" would be a more appropriate term. His twin was, for once, nowhere to be seen. Connor had been there for two hours. Murphy hadn't been there in two hours. Doc was, not for the first time, stumped by the twins.

"Where's that tw-tw-tw-brother of yours?" he asked Connor.

"He's not coming tonight," Connor slurred. "'e's mad a' me."

"I wo-wo-won't ask, then," Doc said, refilling Connor's glass.

"'m out of cash, Doc," Connor said. Doc shook his head.

"H-h-happy Hanukkah," Doc said. "You look l-like you need it."

24. Love

Connor ducks, avoids the punch meant for his face, throws himself at his assailant. The six-year-old's anger is nearly tangible. The boy he is fighting is two, three times his size, but Connor's anger is making the older boy rethink his decision.

Suddenly a smaller, darker form flies into the fight, and Murphy and Connor are fighting Aidan together, until the older boy cries uncle and staggers off to nurse his wounds.

Murphy turns to Connor. "What did he do?"

Connor glared at Aidan's back. "Said you were a baby," he fumed. "I love you too much to let him."

25. Moon

The moon was bright, and Connor felt cheated, as though he wanted a cloudy night for his errand.

Murphy had wanted to be buried back in Ireland, but it wasn't possible to get his body home, so Connor had returned to South Boston to at least bury him with someone he loved.

Now he stood near the fresh mound of dirt, between Rocco and Doc, hands in the pockets of his pea coat and sunglasses on his face. Connor stared at the headstone, shook his head and turned in the too-bright night, found a shadow to melt into, and left.

26. Finale

This is it, Murphy thinks. This is the end of the show. Our finale.

It's a fitting end for the two of them, going down in a blaze of glory. It had been a regular job, but then the cops had shown up. The ones they have killed around them are properly dispatched, but for them, there will be no coins, no crossed arms. They will pay their own way.

They turn and embrace, then back away from each other roughly. Both men begin the prayer taught to them in infancy.

Two shots ring out.

Two fall to the ground.

27. Dance

Watching them fight is like watching them dance. Each knows the other's moves intimately and anticipates with barely a glance. They twist towards and away from each other, bending and coiling and unwinding and just moving with a grace that's nearly inhuman except, of course, for the bleeding and cursing of a pair of Irish twins.

They don't actually want to hurt each other, at least this time. This is stress relief, rather than something to settle a score. That's why tonight, it's a dance. Tonight, it's a celebration of movement, an unorchestrated ballet – a pair of fighting Irish twins.

28. Prerogative

Connor walked back to his table at the bar, scowling. Murphy saw his brother coming and began to laugh.

"She didn't go for it, did she?" he asked his lighter twin amusedly. "Face it, Conn, you're just not meant to charm the pants off'a the ladies like I am." He shot a devilish smile at two women and smirked triumphantly as they giggled.

"Oh, aye," Connor said sarcastically. "Mr. Suave, that's you, right. Should I go over there and tell them about Mary Connelly? That was suave, wasn't it?"

"Nothing like a woman's prerogative to kill the night," Murphy remarked.

29. Nightmare

He thrashed in his sheets, gasping for breath. Drowning, drowning in an endless sea of blankets and sheets and quilts. Dead at thirteen, he thought. A scream tore its way from his throat get me out get me out God please – and then there was his brother, ripping the sheets from his sweaty body and holding him gently.

"Nightmare?" Murphy whispered gently. Connor nodded into his twin's shoulder.

"I was drowning," he said, voice small. "I fell out of the boat and I couldn't find the surface."

"I'll dive in after you, Conn," Murphy promised. "I'll never let you drown."

30. Ghetto

The ghettos of South Boston are ripe with crime and therefore full of the criminals that have become the prey of the Saints. Connor and Murphy have taken to stalking through the guttered alleyways at night, guns hidden but accessible, floating through the shadows before striking, then melting into the darkness. It's not the life that Ma had wanted for them, not the life she thought they lived, not the life that would lead to grandchildren and them coming home to Ireland.

But it's the life they know, that somehow lets them sleep at night.

They are okay with this.