31. Surrender

Murphy holds his gun tightly, not quite believing the scene unfolding around him. His eyes dart around wildly, taking stock of the situation. Their marks, dead. Unfortunate witness, dead.

Connor, dead.

His hands shake as he hears voices from outside, telltale sirens nearing his location. Come out with your hands up, the robotic monotone drones. Surrender your weapon and exit the building.

Never give up. Never surrender. The words come back, mocking.

Never give up. Never surrender. Murphy crosses Connor's arms and places pennies in his eyes.

Then he runs screaming out the door, bringing the Saints to their end.

32. Dignity

"Greenly, have you no dignity at all?" Smecker's voice snarled from the doorway. Greenly sighed as the FBI agent walked past his desk.

He had been searching for at least an hour. In the pen cup, in a drawer, rolled under the monitor, on the surrounding desks… but his favorite pen, a red pen with a baseball emblazoned with the Red Sox logo, was missing. Hence Greenly, on his hands and knees, rear end sticking into the air, searching under his desk.

Smecker suddenly reappeared and threw something red on Greenly's desk.

"Get your ass back in your seat, Greenly."

33. Toxic

Murphy slams his way across the kitchen, pours a cup of coffee, sits down. Drinks. Spits the mouthful of coffee back into the up and glars at Connor.

"This shite is toxic!" he glared. "What the fuck is in it, arsenic?"

Connor raised his eyebrows. "It from yesterday or the day before, Murph," h said. "What do ye want from me?"

Murphy frowns into the mug at the sludge that nearly killed him. "I'd like not to be poisoned by my breakfast," he pointed out.

"Make your own coffee then," Connor said as he stood. "Tomorrow. We're late for work."

34. Fool

"Y'look like a damn fool, Connor," Murphy said, trying not to laugh. Too much.

"I like it," Connor replied defensively. "It's warm and it's broken in."

"And it's orange," Murphy continued. "What is with you and orange, anyhow?"

"It's my favorite," huffed Connor indignantly. "And so what if it's orange? It's just a coat!"

"A coat which you will never wear in public, correct?" Murphy drawled, then glared as his brother refused to answer. "Never in public, Connor, right?"

Connor sighed, gave in, nodded. "Never in public."

He waited for Murphy to turn before muttering, "Not while you're around, anyway."

35. Medicine

The faceoff in the medicine aisle in the grocer's is of epic proportions.

One man, tall and blonde, is holding a white-and-red box. The other, dark-haired and slightly shorter, holds a green-and-yellow box.

"That isn't even medicine," snarls the smaller. "We have to get this one." He shakes his choice in the other's face.

"Generic doesn't mean it won't work, Murphy," Connor snaps back, heading for the register. "This one will work fine."

"But why?" Murphy whines, petulant now.

Connor smiles, knowing he's won. "We buy your box, we're down a few pints' worth of cash."

Murphy drops his box.

36. Disaster

This is a disaster.

Dolly knows as soon as he sees the Chief heading towards him. This is it, the end of his career, the end of everything he's worked so hard for. He'll be relieved of duty at best, probably thrown in jail for a while. The Chief must have found out about him helping the Saints, or seen him there at Yakavetta's trial.

"Detective," the Chief says as he slows next to Dolly's desk.

"Sir?" Dolly asks, trying to be casual.

"You do good work," he says, then continues in his stride.

Dolly can actually taste the relief.

37. Torn

Connor has never been more torn in his life.

Murphy will die tonight, without doubt. His wounds are bleeding badly and there is no doctor who would mend them without asking.

Connor's hands press into the wounds anyway, trying to stop or slow the bleeding even as he hears the sirens approach.

"Go," Murhpy gasps, eyes wide open and breath coming in ragged pants. "Go, Connor, ye moron, or I'll haunt your ass in jail. Make you more-" he gasped "-more fucken miserable."

Connor chokes on a laugh, leans to kiss his brother's forehead, and runs.

He never looks back.

38. Bullet

A single bullet changed the course of two men's lives.

After the bullet, they are no longer only working for God, but for Rocco.

Never stop, Rocco's voice haunts them, and though they never talk about it, they both know that they have added until you kill that bastard to the end of his sentence, at least in their heads.

And even after they kill Yakavetta, they don't stop. The bullet had left them with more purpose than they'd stated with. Never stop became their motto, their creed.

If they never stop, maybe they can prevent another Rocco from dying.

39. Listen

"Listen," Smecker snaps, and instantly all are silent, straining to hear what he hears.

A breeze carries faint voices down the alley, and they unconsciously lean forward in synchrony.

"Fuck," growls Smecker. "They're early." His head whips around, and his eyes find everyone in the dark room within mere seconds. "Is everyone in place?" His whisper reaches all corners of the room and nods meet his question.

The voices are closer now, recognizable, louder. Unaware.

"On my count," Smecker breathes.

The doorknob turns.

Smecker counts and the door is open and the men are inside.

"Happy birthday, Connor and Murphy!"

40. Gravity

Connor laughed as he grabbed Murphy's arm. His brother's punch stopped two inches from his face. Murphy scowled.

"How do you always do that?" he asked, still scowling.

"Because you fight sloppy when you're drunk, Murph," Connor said matter-of-factly. "It's not about anger, it's about peace."

"Was Bulletproof Monk on television again?" Murphy asked, citing a favorite comedy of his brother's. "You gonna start telling me that gravity only exists if I want it to?"

Connor looked solemnly at his brother. "It's not about power," he continued to quote. "It's about grace."

Murphy growled and threw himself at Connor again.


So... I'm really sorry. I forgot about this piece. If anyone's still reading it.... thanks, and I'm sorry again!