A/N: So this chapter could be a little confusing. If it's odd it's probably in the author's note at the end. I put asterisks by the two colloquialisms so you can pick them out. I won't delay you any more. Enjoy.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Four hours later all three of the companions were chuck full of beers and singing up a storm along with the rest of the bar… and badly.

"If anyone can aid me, it's my brother in the army,
If I but knew 'is station in Cork or in Killarney,
And if he'd come and join me, we'd go rovin' in Kilkenny,
He'd treat me a damn sight better than my darlin' sportin' Jenny.

"Musha-re-ta-ta-do-ta-ta-da,
Whack for my Daddio,
Whack for my Daddio,
There's whiskey i' th' jar!"

The song ended, and the entire bar fell down to their chairs in a drunken stupor and started laughing their guts out.

Conner took a minute to catch his breath, before climbing up onto the bar and announcing, "Here's to a long life an' a merry one." A cheer rose from his audience. "A quick death an' an easy one," he continued to the response of another cheer. "A pretty girl an' an honest one." Again a cheer. The Irishmen knew where he was going with this. "A cold beer—an' another one!" The greatest cheer yet. Connor jumped down, chugged what remained of his Guinness and plopped himself down on his stool again.

Taken in the spirit, another speech was soon made, this one by Shane Berry. "An Irishman is never drunk as long as 'e can 'old onto one blade o' grass and not fall off th' face o' th' earth." Cheers again and more drinking.

Gary Byrne was up for the challenge, as well, it seemed, as he jumped up on a chair. "Some Guinness was spilt on the barroom floor when the pub was shut for the night. When out of 'is hole crept a wee brown mouse and stood in the pale moonligh'. He lapped up the frothy foam from the floor then back on his haunches 'e sat. And all night long, you could hear the mouse roar, 'Bring on the goddamn cat!'" Roars of laughter filled the pub and yet more drinks were served.

"Alright now, listen 'ere," Murphy called and the crowd quieted. "A man walks int' a bar--" But the crowd was already booing in protest. "--Now jus', jus' wait now," Murphy assured them. "A man walks int' a bar an' hears piana music. He looks at the piana an' can't see anyone sittin' there, so he walks over and discovers a foot-tall man standin' on de piana bench playin' the tune o' Danny Boy. The man thinks this is strange so 'e goes over ta the bartender and asks where the man came from. 'Here,' says the bartender, an' he hands the man a genie lamp, 'rub this.' So the man rubs the lamp and out comes this genie. 'What d'yeh wish fer?' asks the genie. 'A million bucks,' he says. 'Granted.' An' the genie claps his hands… an' poof! He's back i' th' lamp. The man looks around, checks his pockets but can' find a million bucks anywhere. Jus' at that moment, a million ducks fly through the bar. An' the man says: 'Hey! I didn' ask fer a million ducks!' And the bartender, he says, 'D'yeh think I asked for a 12 inch pianist?'" The crowd had given in -- anything anyone said in their inebriated state would be funny -- and laugher filled the room once again.

"Alright! Alright!" Patrick called from the middle of the room, but the laughter and raucous only continued. So he mounted a table and tried again. "Alright, now there lads! Alright! Come up fer air!" And finally the lot turned to look at him. "I'm goin' ta have ta be closin' up now." A wealth of negative comments rose from the crowd. "I know. I know, lads. But yeh can drink again tomorrow night, an' if I don't kick yeh out o' here soon, all yer wives'll have my arse!"

So the crowd filed one by one out the door in their drunken stupor, a song rising amongst them along the way.

"Oh all the money e'er I had

I spent it in good company.

And all the harm I e'er have done,

Alas, it was to none but me."

"Sláinte" Patrick farewelled the three, patting Connor on the shoulder as he passed by.

"Croi follain agus gob fliuch," Connor responded laughingly, and they exited the bar.

"So fill me to the Parting Glass;

Good night and joy be with you all.

"Oh, all the comrades e'er I've had…" The song drifted about in the night air.

Trista less walked out of McGinty's, more fell out of it. Connor caught her by the arm and pulled her upwards. "Whoa, there. Y'all right?"

Trista nodded, but then shook her head, seeming to change her mind. "I 'ave screwed up, Connor. I have screwed up big time."

"Oiy, Christ, not this again!" Murphy called behind them.

"I have!" Trista demanded. "As sure as yeh've got a hole in yer fuckin' arse, I have! I have fucked everytin' up, fucked it all to goddamn fuckin' hell… Fuck it!" Connor broke out in a cackle and ended up bent over in the street, clutching at the stitch in his side. "What de fuck's so funny?!" Trista yelled at him, nearly falling over without his grip on her arm.

"I'm sorry. I'm fuckin' sorry, Trista, but, Jesus Christ, what the fuck did yeh do that was so fuckin' bad it's got yeh talkin' as bad as Murph and me all'va sudden? Ya fuckin' kill a bastard?!" And he grabbed her arm again, only half to support her and half to pull himself up from his fit of hilarity.

"Yeh have no fuckin' idea. It was fuckin' brutal! It was like trowin' goddamn apples inta a fuckin' orchard, it was!"

"Ya didn' kill a bastard, did ye?" Connor asked, sobering up, with Murphy close behind him for the answer.

"No, I didn' fuckin' kill anyone, but dat doesn't mean it wasn't bad as fuck," Trista claimed once again.

"Well if yer not goin' ta tell us what ya did then I'm afraid it doesn't matter how fuckin' bad it was, wer not interested. Now come on. I'll walk yeh home."

"I don' need you ta walk me 'ome. I'm perfec'ly safe in dis… here. De Saints take care of it… me… everybody."

Murphy and Connor shared a look. "Aye, that they do, but yer in no shape ta get home by yerself, now. Ya can' even stand up straight. Let 'im walk yeh home," Murphy told her. And without another word she assented and they were off, she and Connor staggering toward her apartment, Murphy splitting off the other way and jogging to meet up with his friends.

Ten minutes later, Trista and Connor were stumbling up the stairs to Trista's flat, singing Garryowen at the top of their lungs and ignoring the obscene protests of the neighbors. "From Garryowen in glory," the song ended and the two stood in front of Trista's door, pausing, for a moment, to catch their breath. Connor stood hunched over, hands on knees, laughing to himself. Trista pushed herself up off the wall she'd fallen into and dropped her hands onto her hips. They were quiet for a moment as Connor rose.

Trista was piss drunk and this she knew, but not a-one other coherent thought passed through her head at that moment as she fell forward onto Connor, this time on purpose. Their lips touched and she smelled the heavy scent of the alcohol on his breath for the first time that night. Then Connor's hands were in her hair and on her cheeks and neck, and then he was pulling her to him, his arms wrapped about her waist. The kiss deepened and, with her abdomen pressed tight against his, Trista felt that familiar pang of desire deep within her. Any other night she would've resisted it, any other night, but not tonight. Tonight, she needed to not be alone. It was why she'd gone down to the pub in the first place. Tonight, she needed someone; she needed Connor.

Connor breathed in deeply as Trista's tongue entered his mouth, and she tightened her grip around him. Suddenly, she jumped up and wrapped her legs about his hips. Connor staggered a bit in his drunken state to keep his balance, but once he found it again he move forward toward the door of Trista's apartment and pushed it aside, quickly finding the bed and laying his charge down on it.

A jumble of hands and arms and legs followed then as clothes were thrown to the floor and modesties abandoned, and moments later Connor was atop of her, and Trista had not a care in the world but the feel of him inside her.

………………………………...

Just five hours later, the sun shone brightly through the east window, stirring Connor from his death-like sleep. He rolled over in the bed… and promptly fell off, groaning as his already pounding head hit the floor along with the rest of his body. He'd forgotten about last night, forgotten about where he was. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself up from the ground and regretfully opened his eyes to the sun.

But what his eyes met wasn't the sun.

There, standing in front of him was a wall covered entirely in red string.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

A/N: "Come up for air" means listen up. "Throwing apples into an orchard" means doing something stupid. "Sláinte" means basically "cheers", but is used here as a farewell. "Croi follain agus gob fliuch" means "A healthy heart and a wet mouth", which is also a toast but I'm using it as a farewell. Like one last toast before they go, wishing each other well. The songs used in this chapter are traditional Irish ones in the public domain. No worries. And there are traditional Irish toasts and sayings as well. Hope you liked it and it wasn't too confusing. Review please!