True to his word, Connor wakes me in plenty of time to start prepping food, and I stick to my side of the bargain as best I can (a punch to the sternum is not the same as breaking his neck). On his mother's advice, Connor picked out pretty simple fair for the family style dinner, and I put him to work with my vegetable peeler getting potatoes ready (less chance of him cutting himself again) for boiling and mashing, and I give Murphy the supreme honor of washing and cutting up green beans and carrots for roasting.

I listen to them snark at each other about their (nonexistent) culinary skills in the background while I prep the tiny Cornish game hens we'd decided wouldn't be too much work. They're ready to pop in the oven before I know it, so I set a timer to remind me to turn them in about twenty minutes. After checking the boys' (lack) of progress, I find myself with a little free time before I have to do anything else. Rocco is bringing a cake from the Italian place where we go for dessert, Jen is bringing the bread, Doc is bringing the booze, and I know a couple of the guys from McGinty's that Murphy invited are bring a side dish and a dessert. They claim to be whizzes in the kitchen, so we'll see.

I snag a cookie from the tray Connor arranged while I was asleep, and I have to concede that while he might be hopeless in the kitchen, he can definitely plan a party. I munch contentedly on my snickerdoodle as I plop on the couch, waiting for the timer to go off. Something shines on my finger as I lift the cookie, and I glance at my hand, remembering the ring.

How could I forget?

It twinkles happily, catching both the white lights from the walls and the colored ones from the tree, and I smile to myself. It really is the perfect gift, especially in light of everything that's happened this month. But…

But I can't shake that dream. That's why I wasn't overwhelmed with happiness when they gave it to me and made their promises. That's why I had no huge declaration to give them in return. They promised to stay as long as I want them, but none of us know what's going to happen tomorrow, next week, a month, a year from now. I want to believe this is going to last, and I know they meant every word they said to me, but…

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the gloom. I was the one telling Murphy earlier not to be a Grinch, and here I am brooding over a stupid dream. I glance at my ring again, and on impulse I pull it off and look on the inside of the band. Sure enough, there's a tiny inscription where the bands meet on one side: "For thee."

"Cold feet already, lass?" I look up to see Murphy offering me a mug. "S' hot," he warns, stepping around the end of the couch and over my legs to settle down beside me.

"It's beautiful," I smile, taking a cautious sip of hot chocolate as Murphy slips the ring back on my other hand. "Is there a meaning behind the old fashioned language of the inscription?"

"S'from our family prayer," Murphy replies, still holding my left hand. He tilts it back and forth, watching the ring catch the different lights from around the room. "Our Da was already gone when we were born, an' he sent Ma a letter, saying he didn't know when he'd see us and dat she should say it over us ev'ry night til we was old enough t'recite ourselves. Will tell it to ye in full some night, if ye remind me."

He glances up at me, a small, intimate smile curling his lips. "Ring looks good on ye, love." I can't help but return his smile, and I set the mug carefully on a coaster before turning and tackling Murphy flat on his back on the couch.

"Oy!" Connor gripes from the kitchen, "I ain't in here workin' me fingers t'de bone so's you two can screw around in dere. Get yer arses in here an' gimme hand!"

He's lucky the timer goes off for the chicken not too long after, or I probably would have hurt his feelings by ignoring him.

About ten minutes before the birds are done, people start showing up with various dishes and bottles, and pretty soon the table is definitely earning it's keep under the weight of all the food. Connor and Murphy's boss from the plant brings his wife, Helen, and while they don't bring anything for dinner, they bring a beautiful beef roast as a hostess gift. I'm confused for a moment u til I remember where he works. Two guys who we see at McGinty's fairly frequently, another set of brothers, bring a surprisingly delicious seafood stuffing, as well as a couple of desserts that prove to be utterly hypnotic. Apparently, they weren't falsely bragging about their kitchen skills.

Doc heads straight for me as soon as he sets down his bottles, and he wraps me in a hug that is surprisingly strong, considering how old he is.

"M...missed ye at t-t-t'bar, lass. Ye gotta c-c-c-come back an' keep dese arseholes in line f-fer me. Liable t'set t'place on fire wit'outcha."

Jen brings a variety of rolls from a fantastic bakery down the street, and as I go to help her remove her coat, I find that Rocco has beaten me to it, grinning and blushing like a little kid when Jen smiles and thanks him.

Huh. I know they met when they were both helping me out, but I didn't realize Rocco was that fond of her. Interesting.

There are more people than I think have ever been in my apartment at once, and I know my poor little kitchen table won't be able to hold everyone, but Connor solves the problem by bringing out some folding chairs and having everyone gather around the coffee table in the living room to eat. The kitchen table serves as a buffet, and soon enough, everyone is sitting around talking, eating, and laughing, just like all those holiday movies I grew up watching.

It's a heady experience, one that I thoroughly enjoy although I'm not used to it at all. After dinner, I'm standing off to the side of the Christmas tree, watching everyone chatter and snack on the leftovers when Connor moves to join me.

"Crowd too much for ye, lass? C'n tell everyone t'scram, if y'like."

"I'm fine, Connor," I smile, taking a sip of my eggnog. "Just needed a little breathing room. By the way, I feel like a jerk, but the brothers from McGinty's? I can't remember their names for anything."

"T'first time I met t'bald one dat's far too fond of overalls, swear t'Christ he told me t'call him 'T-Duff.'"

I snort my eggnog and spend a couple of seconds regaining my composure. "The fuck he did!"

Connor laughs and takes my empty cup from me before I do some damage. "On me honor he did, although he likely doesn't remember, as he was t'ree sheets t'da wind. His brother smacked him across dat bald pate o'his an' told me t'call 'em both Duffy."

I never know when Connor is having me on. "Both of them?"

"T'each deir own, I s'pose," he replies, setting my cup down on a side table and gathering me in his arms. His chest immediately warms my back, and I snuggle a little closer. Connor's chin settles on my shoulder, and he places a small kiss on my cheek.

"You put together a wonderful Christmas, Connor. Thank you. For everything."

I watch Murphy laughing with the Duffy brothers as Jen tells some office story that probably involves me embarrassing myself. She's gesturing wildly and giggling, and Rocco is staring at her, blushing and grinning. Doc is asleep in my armchair, passed out under the influence of a lot of seafood stuffing and about a third of one of the bottles of whiskey that he brought. Connor and Murphy's boss and his wife are standing together in the kitchen, talking quietly. As they step back into the living room to join everyone, Connor calls out from behind me.

"Oy, bossman, wait! Look up!"

Jim and Helen both freeze in their tracks, their eyes wide with surprise as they glance up. Helen laughs suddenly as she spots the sprig of yellow-green leaves and white berries. She grabs her husband's shoulders and pulls him down to her for a loud, smacking kiss.

Should've known Connor wouldn't let Christmas go by without mistletoe.

Doc leaves not too long after that, with the Duffy boys volunteering to make sure he gets home okay. Jim and Helen say their goodbyes a little while later, and Jen asks if she can share a cab with them, as they live in the same direction. I hide a smile at Rocco's poorly concealed disappointment that he and Jen never got caught under the mistletoe together.

I manage to get the food put away while I talk the guys into at least gathering the dishes and dumping them in the sink. I can soak them overnight and wash them all tomorrow. Rocco has the genius idea of putting on a Christmas movie, so Murphy makes some popcorn while I change into sweatpants and a t-shirt.

An hour later finds Rocco slumped back in my armchair, his snores rivaling Connor's, who is sprawled over the other end of my couch. I'm half asleep on top of Murphy, straddling his lap with my back firmly against his chest. At some point, I pulled a blanket over the two of us, and I'm pretty sure he's passed out beneath me.

I'm not really watching the movie anymore, having become fascinated with the lines of the Celtic cross tattoo on Murphy's forearm. I hold my left hand up next to his right forearm, my eyes roaming sleepily back and forth from the different knotwork on his arm and my ring. I start to trace the lines of the cross, my fingers weaving back and forth across his skin. I must've partially hypnotized myself because I am thoroughly startled when Murphy turns his arm over to grasp my hand.

"Love th'feel o'yer hands on me. Missed dat more d'n almost anyt'in' else."

I smile in spite of my brief shock. "Didn't mean to wake you. Sorry."

"Never apologize fer touchin' me. Said I'm yers, an' I meant it. Touch s'much as ye want."

I turn his arm back over and place a finger lightly in the center of the cross, tracing outwards from that point, looping around and around as I follow the intricate lines. "When did you get this one? Is there a story behind it like there was with the saints on your necks?"

"Wouldn't call th'saint tattoos a story so much as a lesson in gettin' ink dat was more easily hidden from Ma 'fore we moved outta her house." Murphy shifts underneath me, getting more comfortable before resting his free hand on my ribcage just below my breast. "Not hurtin' ye, am I?"

"Not even a little, and don't change the subject."

"A'right, but it ain't much of a story. Con an' I came over 'bout five or six years ago, jus' after we turned nineteen. Had hitched a ride on a cargo ship comin' across, worked fer our passage. Didn't know anyone when we got here 'cept the sailors we came over wit'. Homesick like hell, but don't ye ever tell me ma I said dat."

I shake my head in agreement, waiting for him to go on as I continue skimming the lines of his cross. His free hand begins to stroke gently over the material of my thin t-shirt, and I sigh contentedly as he continues.

"Wanted t'get somet'in' t'remind us o'home, an'wanted it t'be somet'in' grand, as we didn't have t'worry 'bout Ma gettin' upset. Didn't have a clue where t'go, but if dere's two t'ings sailors are good at knowin' or findin', it's good tattoo places an' good drink. By th'end of our firs' night in t'states, we had dese crosses, our first drink at McGinty's, an' a set up in a free place t'stay."

"You mean the flat where you are now?" I ask, turning slightly to look at him. "You've been there for that long?"

"Aye, what did ye t'ink, we were homeless or somet'in' an' stumbled on it?" He's amused, though, and his words have no sting.

"To be honest, I never thought about it before. I don't know why. What did you guys do for heat in the winter before you started staying here?"

"Blankets, clothes, sharin' a bed if we hafta. Ain't like we didn't come inta t'world sharin' a space anyways."

"Mmmm," I reply absently as his free hand strokes a particularly sensitive spot between my breasts. "Murphy, why did you and Connor come over to the States, anyway?"

"Story fer another time, lass. Here, lemme borra me hand back fer a bit." He gently slides his trapped arm from under mine and slips it under the blanket to join his other hand in its languid explorations that move not so subtly under my t-shirt. When he reaches my breasts, he begins to knead and massage them through my sports bra, the only kind I've been able to wear the last few weeks. I'm glad for it now, as underwire would be quite in the way. I pull the blanket up to my chin, just in case Rocco wakes up suddenly, and I sigh serenely.

God, this man is good with his hands.

"Want to move to the bedroom?" I murmur, resting my head back against his shoulder. I don't really want to move, but I'm not sure I'll be able to stop at just a little petting under the blankets.

"Nah," he mumbles, sliding his fingers around to stroke deliberately across my nipples, making my back arch involuntarily as I barely stifle my cry. "Pretty damn comf'terble here. Y'need to move?"

Need to move? There are a lot of things I need right now in this moment, and moving is not anywhere close to the top of that list. And then I'm hit with the realization of what Murphy is really asking.

"Here? You want to do this right here?" I squeak, torn between how much I've missed Murphy's hands on me and how much I do not want Rocco to wake up to a peep show. "With Rocco right there?" I mean, it's not like we've never had sex on my sofa, but seriously, Rocco is right there.

"Guess y'better not make too much noise so's we don't wake 'im up," Murphy replies softly, his hands gliding downward. I'm momentarily paralyzed with breathless excitement, feeling reckless as Murphy unties the drawstring on the waistband of my sweats. Before I can talk myself out of it, I lift my hips enough for him to remove both my pants and underwear, and I wait a moment as I feel his hands moving between us. Then he's pulling me back down, shifting his hips, and with a firm tug of his hands, he's inside me, and I realize I've forgotten how to breathe.

"Relax, girl, gotta go slow an' careful; can't be all wild'n crazy, wakin' th'sleepin' beauties in here. Lay back against me an' settle yer head on m'shoulder like ye were just now."

Every movement presses Murphy against my insides at such an exotic, alien angle. I'm already having trouble keeping quiet, but I do as he says and lay back against him. True to his word, Murphy's hips press leisurely against the backs of my thighs at a thoroughly unhurried pace as if we have all the time in the world, and I find myself melting into him.

His hands move under the blanket, first guiding one of my hands to the back of his neck ("Love feelin' dat tug when ye get ahold of m'hair," he whispers into my ear), and then guiding my other hand to right above where we're joined ("Surely ye don't expect me t'do all t'work," is his explanation). His own hands slide up under my shirt to push my bra out of his way as he continues his lazy thrusts.

"Murphy?"

His voice is soft, low, and steady, with no hint of the strain I'm working to keep out of mine. "Aye, lass? Somet'in' I c'n do fer ye?"

"I need you to...oh, God...Murphy, I...need you to keep talking to me...I need to...hear your voice."

"Missed ye, girl." His voice is velvet, his breath steamy against my ear. His hips glide a smooth, mind-numbingly easy pace as he continues. "Missed th'feel o'ye pressed hot against me on every cold mornin'. Missed th'taste o'ye being th'last t'ing I knew 'fore I fell asleep."

My fingers slip downwards and circle lazily around my swollen bundle of nerves as I let his words surround me. His tongue darts out, tracing a hot, wet line up the side of my neck before nipping my earlobe sharply. I don't know how, but I just manage to not cry out, and he times his deepest thrust inwards to coincide with his nails dragging lightly just underneath my breasts.

"Circle yer hips fer me, girl, just...aye, jus' like...fuck. Take…take it easy, easy now." He groans faintly against my neck, his fingers clenching tightly against my chest for a moment before relaxing and continuing their exploration.

"Missed hearin' all the ridiculous, gorgeous noises I c'n get ye t'make if I really put me mind to it. Missed yer terrible singin' in yer shower when ye t'ink no one c'n hear ye. Missed th'smell o'yer soap an' t'sight o'ye all stretched out under me an' over me...fuck, girl, yer roastin' me alive here! Missed yer heat clenched all around me as ye come, an' yer freezin' feet wakin' me up. Missed dat look in yer eyes when I've pissed ye off right'n'proper. An' yer laugh...ahhh, fuck, lass, ye gotta slow down fer me a little..."

His thrusts are ragged now, his rhythm slipping as his muscles begin to tense, and his hands drop from my breasts to my hips, holding me securely against him as he grinds upwards. My fingers tighten in the hair at the back of his neck and my back arches, pushing my hips down as hard as I can. I force my other hand to slow down, my fingers to keep time with Murphy's strokes.

"Every day wanted t'come over jus' t'talk t'ye an' listen t'yer gripes about how no one else does deir job right. Wanted see ye, wanted…t'take ye every fuckin' way I could t'ink of. Wanted t'take ye in yer kitchen again, fuck ye against the counter til y'couldn't breathe fer all yer screamin'. Take ye up on that shower offer, be inside ye, fillin, ye while all dat hot water pours over ye, makin' ye as hot an' wet on t'outside as I make ye on th'inside...wanted t'hear ye whimperin', pleadin' so gorgeous like y'do, beggin' me t'go harder, t'feel ye shakin' all around me cock when ye come. Wanted t'make ye come til there wasn't anyt'in' left in ye but me, wanted t'-"

"Oh...oh, God...Murphy, kiss me, I can't-"

His mouth slants over mine just in time to quiet me, and I shake against him, my body pulled taut as a bowstring as I come around him. His breathing comes in short, jagged bursts as he shudders beneath me, one hand holding my hips tight against his as the other cradles my face.

When our tremors have mostly subsided, Murphy nudges me to turn until I'm straddling him the other way around, and he deftly maneuvers us up and to my bedroom, somehow with the blanket still mostly covering us. We make quick work of the rest of our clothes, sliding under my comforter and against each other until I'm on my side, fitted perfectly against his chest, my head resting on his bicep.

The only light in the room leaks in from the bathroom down the hallway, and Murphy's eyes roam restlessly over me in the gloom. The darkness saps the color from his irises, leaving his eyes black pools that I want nothing more than sink into. His fingers stroke tenderly through my hair, tangling in the thickest part at the nape of my neck and stilling there.

I lay my fingertips on the edge of his jaw, curious about the expression on his face.

"What's that look for Murphy? Where are you right now?" I'm whispering, though I hardly know why, and without hesitation, Murphy answers in kind.

"Th'place I missed the most. Wanted ye t'always know...I...I love ye. An' of everythin' I missed 'bout ye, bein' away from ye every night when I knew...I knew y'were havin' nightmares again. T'ing I missed th'most was ye fallin' asleep in me arms, knowin' I had ye safe an' ye'd be dere when I woke up."

I think about that for several minutes, letting his words float around in my head. He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against mine. I can feel the tension slowly leech from his body as we lay together. I'm not even sure he's still awake when I finally tell him, "I'll always be here when you wake up, as long as you don't leave me behind."

Murphy pulls me a little closer, tucking his head on top of mine, and murmurs sleepily, "Wouldn't dream of leavin' ye again, Grace." Then his breathing steadies and his body finally relaxes completely against mine.

But it still takes me a long time to fall asleep.