A/N: Big thanks to Valerie E Mackin, Little Miss Tightly Wound, and Siarh for input and wisdom and general screwing of the pooch. We're almost Dublin bound, thanks for stickin' around.

If there was one thing that Murphy was looking forward to on his birthday, besides the obvious, it was not hearing Connor hurl his guts out after a night of drinking. If plans went as set out, Murphy would be waking up next to Márín. But the morning after the dance, all he could hear was Connor's bellyaching from the bathroom down the hall, and the beginnings of Ma's screeching laughter, obviously taking the piss of her eldest son's misfortune.

"Aye, Connor, get it all up, right? Then we'll sit down ta salt pork an' runny eggs." Ma laughed again as Connor groaned sharply.

Murphy laughed, his own stomach rumbling, but at the offer of Ma's breakfast. He hadn't drank nearly as much as Connor – there hadn't really been time, between the dance and the coat check and Katie spewing in the girls' room. But it wouldn't have mattered if Murphy had drank twice as much as his twin: he just didn't get hangovers. Murphy was merely tired, having dropped Márín off well past mindnight.

He hadn't let her go, not right away. As he had pulled into the drive of Father McMahon's home, the rain had lightened somewhat, and no longer drummed against the roof and the windshield. The only pounding Murphy heard was his heart against his ribs, and he was pretty certain Márín could hear it, too. Still, he'd kissed her goodnight, slowly, and wetly, and with promises in his lips and tongue, his hands smoothing over curves that he longed to see naked, and touch and feel against him. She was just as invested, her fingers combing through his hair and her mouth eagerly tasted his, and his jaw, and finally his ear, nibbling and sucking until he pulled away with a breathless groan.

"If ya don't go now," he managed to choke out as Márín's hand glanced over his thigh and skidded around his cock, "m'not gonna wanna stop."

Her kisses slowed, as did her hands, and she pulled her mouth away. "I don't wanna stop," she replied, her voice thick and warm.

Murphy had swallowed hard at her words, his heart threading quickly as his balls ached. "Márín," he rasped, "I'm gonna 'ave ya. An' tha first time I do, it's gonna be in a bed. Take me time wit' ya."

"Fuck, Murph," she whispered after a moment, pulling back a mere inch and looking up into his eyes. "How d'ya do that?"

"What's that?" he whispered back, touching his forehead against hers as his eyes closed.

"Keep me coming back for more." She trailed off and tilted her lips against his once more, sliding her tongue out to taste the corner of his mouth.

"I should ask ya tha same thing," Murphy huffed gently. His fingers twined with hers as her mouth slowly receded.

She let out a small sigh. "Thank you. For the ride home." She leaned up once more and kissed him softly, and then slipped out of the truck and made her way to the front steps of the little house.

Back in his bed at home, he kept one ear on Connor's retching and let his eyes close to conjur feelings and images from last night. Fuck, she'd tasted sweet, and she'd felt so warm – hot in places, even, and soft. With a growling grunt, Murphy shifted underneath his blanket, widening his thighs and tucking an arm under his head as his back arched in a slow stretch. Hmmm…Márín… his mouth curled into a slow smile as his free hand rubbed his lower belly and deftly fisted his cock. Giving it a squeeze for good measure, his grin increased at the thought of having a little alone time for more than five whole min –

"Murphy MacManus, ya get yer arse outta bed! I'll not be takin' care o'Connor while he's 'eavin' like a wee babby!" Ma pounded once on the door. "Just because yer not going ta church don't mean ya get ta sleep in!"

Murphy's eyes rolled heavenward with exasperation. "Mother a' God," he muttered, feeling his hard on start to fade.

"Lord's fuckin' name," Ma growled, rapping on the door a few more times for good measure. "Up wit ya! An' if tha two o'ya are still here when I get home, there's gonna be a list o'chorse a mile long fer yas."

"All right," Murphy called out sharply. He heard her footsteps fade and he sighed once he deemed it safe. "Fuck." He checked the clock. It was close to nine; he and Connor had promised to be at Father McMahon's by ten, and they still needed to circle back to the school to pick up the car Márín had left there the night before. Sitting up, he swung his legs out of bed and immediatey reached for his rosary. When his fingers came up empty where they scrabbled along the surface of the small table, Murphy frowned and cast a quick glance about the room.

Márín had his rosary. And no sooner had that thought come back to him had another one followed it: Katie had snapped the cord and beads had scattered. His hand flitted to his chest, gently touching the spot where the heavy cross usually brushed, and that was when Connor stumbled back into the room.

"Fuck, whydya hafta go an' do a shtupid ting like volunteer us fer 'ard labour this morning'?" Connor's head lolled back as he sagged against the door frame, his red eyes barely open. He paused his whining and glanced at Murphy closely. "Tha fuck is yer rosary? Thought Márín gave it back t'ya?"

"Katie Hanigan happened," Murphy answered gruffly. "Cord broke, beads were everywhere."

"Ya get em all?"

Murphy shrugged. "Hope so. Gave tha lot ta Márín; she said she can fix it."

Connor nodded. "Aye, better pray she can. Ma finds out that ya broke it or worse an' ye'll be up tha creek." He shuffled his way into the bedroom and began searching for an old pair of jeans and a t shirt. He sniffed the air carefully and rounded a grin on Murph. "She didn't fuckin' cook," Connor snorted. "She's just tryin' ta get me ta hurl more. Christ, she's an evil woman."

"Aye, but she's yer Ma, too, so don't test her."

"You should talk – what tha hell was she goin' on about in here? Ya weren't pullin' it again, were ya, Murph?"

"Oh, like ya don't pull it six times a day at least."

"Ah, fuck off, ya retard."

Murphy shook his head and began dressing as well.

"Ya really like her, don't ya?" Connor asked softly a little while later.

Murphy shrugged and gave a quick nod. "Aye."

"Aye," Connor echoed softly. "Right, well, don't want ta piss her off an' ruin yer chances wit' 'er, aye? Suppose she'll have breakfast on?"

"Dunno. But there'll be lashes o'coffee."

Connor made a face. "No tea?"

"Christ, yer a fuckin' pansy wit' all o'dat tea," Murphy teased, earning a shot to his shoulder from his twin. "Aye, fuck off," he chuckled. "I'm sure she'll make ya some if ya ask."

Connor grinned. "Let's get movin' then, aye? B'fore she makes us clean out tha coops."

I woke to pounding on the kitchen door.

I froze for a moment, wondering who it could be, and then I remembered that I had deemed manual labour a suitable punishment for helping them sneak a drunk girl out of a school dance. The clock said it was barely past nine and I groaned. Shouldn't they be hung over? At least Connor? He'd had a bit to drink, I had been able to tell when he busted into the coat check. I curled up on my side and snuggled back into the blankets.

Almost immediately, the pounding on the door started up again. Right, the door. "All right," I called as I shrugged into an oversized sweatshirt and trudged to the door. I rubbed my eyes and pulled the flimsy curtain back from the window and jumped, letting out a surprised yelp. Jenny stood on the other side, huge smile on her face, and waving a like a loon.

"What tha fuck areya doin' here?" I asked as I swung the door open.

She lifted a bag from O'Hanalan's grocer in one hand and a pack of Guinness in the other. "Knew ya'd be alone out here, so I decided ta surprise ya!" she exclaimed, moving into the kitchen and setting her things down. "C'mon, get tha coffee on, yeah? I want ta hear all about tha dance."

Márín closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting the door swing shut. "Ya sound like me muther after our formal."

Jenny grinned. "Aye, well, let's hope it turned out better, yeah?" She unloaded a few packages wrapped in butcher's paper, and then unloaded a few plastic containers. Moving through Colin's kitchen with ease, she sought out a pair of skillets, and set about making breakfast.

"Jenn, there's enough here ta feed a whole family."

Jenny frowned and then shrugged, and continued measuring out ingredients for boxty. "Aye, but me girl likes her boxty in tha mornin'." She winked and waved at the Guinness on the counter. "Least ya could do is open me beer?"

"It's barely half nine!" I exclaimed.

She shrugged. "It's noon somewhere. C'mon, have some fun. Colin ain't here." She paused at this and then turned wide eyes towards me. "Oh my god, yer not alone, are ya?" Almost vibrating, she dropped her voice to a low hiss and raised a curious eyebrow. "Fuck me, Márín, don't tell me ya've got Murphy holed up in yer bedroom."

"No!" I crowed a little too sharply. I cast my eyes about sheepishly, as if Colin – or even Murphy – would suddenly appear out of nowhere. Sighing, I shook my head again and leaned heavily against the counter. "No," I repeated, a little distant this time. "But by Christ, Jenny, I…" my fingers flexed and I squirmed on my tiptoes. "It's gettin' harder ta say g'night. Ya know?"

Jenny winked. "Aye, I know what that's like. But his birthday – their birthday – is this week. I mean, by Wednesday, you won't have to say g'night, necessarily."

"I know," I nodded, ruffling my bed head. My bottom lip worked its way between my teeth and I cast a pleading look at Jenny. "I just…I mean…"

"Yer havin' second thoughts." Jenny nodded sagely, as if she'd just solved a great mystery.

"What? No," I protested vehemently. "No, I'm not rethinking…at least, not Murphy. But the whole…sex…thing…" I muddled my words together, trying to figure out if there was any really tactful way to say it."

"He's a virgin," Jenny piped up matter-of-factly.

My face heated. "Aye," I nodded. "And I'm not sure…I don't want…" I growled, frustrated. "I'm worried that I might let him down."

Jenny blinked at me, clearly dumbfounded by my confession. "Let me get this straight: he wants you, he's said so." I nodded. She continued. "And you want him." She waited until I nodded once more. "So…you want each other…" she trailed off with a confused frown. "I'm sorry, Márín, but I'm failing ta see the issue here."

I sighed and dropped my forehead to the counter. "Never mind."

"Márín, stop over analyzing the situation!" Jenny laughed. Sidling up next to me, she leaned her forehead down next to mine and pulled back the curtain of my hair so she could see me. "Hey." She winked. "I may have only met him once, but the way he was lookin' at ya in that dress shop, I hardly think anything you're going ta do will let him down." She made a face at me.

I heaved a little laugh and nodded, and stood straight, flinging my hair from my eyes. "When did I turn into this?" I muttered, exasperated. "I never second guessed myself. Never. You know that – remember me in high school?"

Jenny grinned. "How could I forget?" Then she sighed and shook her head. "I don't want ta be tha one ta say it but…"

"I need ta get over Joe?" I readily supplied.

Jenny paused with wide eyes. "Well…yeah," she agreed. She studied me for a moment. "What brought this on?"

I snorted softly at the thought of my half-assed confession the night before to Mike Flanery of all people. "Doesn't matter," I shrugged. "But I think it's time."

"So you'll come to Dublin for their birthday?" Jenny asked, excitement creeping back into her voice.

"Jesus, what are ya doin', plannin' their party?" I laughed. "Aye, I'll be there."

Jenny did a little shimmy right there in the kitchen and then began shaping out boxty cakes, laying them into the skillet one by one. "Good. And I want all the horny details."

I opened my mouth to reply when there was a gentle but precise rap on the kitchen door. Jenny's gaze slipped to the window there, and she grinned broadly. "Looks like I brought enough food, aye?"

"Tha fuck d'ya suppose they're talkin' about over there?" Connor sniffed as he set his paintbrush down and leaned against the shed and lit a cigarette.

Murphy shrugged, his dark head still bent to his task. "Dunno." He paused and glanced up to where Márín and Jenny were lounging on chairs, drinking beer, and chatting. He shot a look at his brother and took up painting the board he was working on. "Maybe Jenny's goin' on about how cute y'are."

Connor snorted and flipped Murphy off, and took another few healthy drags of his cigartette. "Can't blame the woman, can I?" He laughed and clapped Murphy on the shoulder. "Anyway, she's married."

"She's still pretty hot," Murphy pointed out, joining Connor in staring across the yard to the two women.

"Aye," Connor nodded. He passed his cigarette to Murphy. "We decide what we're doin' on Wednesday?"

"I thought tha plan was Dublin?"

Connor shot his brother an exasperated look. "Aye, obviously – but what about her?" He gestured across the yard to where Márín lounged in what Murphy figured was half a t-shirt and tiny shorts.

Murphy squinted and shrugged. "I think she'll be there, yeah."

"What's this 'think' shit? Ya did ask her, didn't ya?"

Murphy frowned and set about hauling another board into place. "Yeah, sure I did."

"Ah, fuck, Murph, she's not Katie Hanigan, aye? Grow some fuckin' balls an' just talk ta her. Ya can damn well get two knuckles deep in her, ya can fuckin' ask her out fer bevvies." Connor looked back from where he'd been sizing up Jenny's little black tank top to look at Murphy.

Murphy's fist, however, was coming straight for Connor's nose. It landed with a hardened thud, not with enough force to break, but enough to send a message. "Ya fuckin' cunt, don't talk about 'er like that," Murphy growled, laying another two punches to Connor, one in the gut and one in the thigh. Connor doubled over and collapsed to the lawn, and immediately, the two were rolling over the dry grass and into the puddles.

"Is that normal?" Jenny asked lightly, tilting her sunglasses down and looking across the yard.

"Hmm?" I looked up from where I'd begun to pull up a small crop of dandelion from the lawn. There, on the other end of the yard, Murphy and Connor were rolling around like – well, like a pair of brothers fighting over something. Only, instead of it being endearing, like maybe it would have been ten years ago, it was very physical – borderline vicious – and I cold hear their outbursts of Gaelic and a few other languages I couldn't place.

I sprung up from the grass, cursing at their antics, and marched towards them, not really knowing what I'd do once I got there – just knowing I couldn't sit by and watch them beat on each other. As I neared, however, their blows lessened, and I could detect a hint of laughter as they continued to pass insults back and forth. By the time I was right on top of them, the fight seemed to have run its very short course, and they both laid back on the damp earth and sucked in gasping breaths as their elbows continued to dig into one another's ribs.

"Christ, you two – what the hell are ya on about?" I stood over the pair, looking from Murphy, to Connor, and then back to Murphy.

"Lord's fuckin' name," they chimed in simultaneously, and my only response was to groan at them both and roll my eyes. That made them erupt into more laughter, and they passed a few more sentences back and forth in one of those secret languages.

Connor was the first to speak. "Ya kinda look like our third grade teacher standin' up there, lass. Hands on yer hips, waitin' ta give us a whuppin'." He grinned broadly and bounced his eyebrows. "Just, take it easy on Murph, aye? He's sensitive." He winked and then howled with pain and laughter as Murphy drove his fist into the meat of Connor's thigh, a right deadner if I ever saw one.

"Fuck, yer some can o'piss, aren't ya, Conn?" Murphy growled, though he couldn't help but grin at the same time. He struggled to his feet and then nudged Connor once more with the toe of his sneaker. "Cheeky fuck," he added before he stepped to me and dusted his hands on his jeans. "Sorry, gir…ah…la…Márín," Murphy grinned. He was dying to use one of his many endearments, but I still hadn't given him the okay. We weren't even official, if that was the right word. I narrowed my eyes at him and swept them from head to toe, assessing any damage.

"Well, ya managed ta steer clear o'tha mud…" I trailed off and glanced to Connor, who was far worse off than his twin. "But you," I said, pointing at the fairer brother, "are a right mess."

"Guess ya better hose me off, then?" Connor smiled broadly and pulled his shirt up and over his head before moving across the yard towards the house.

I looked at Murphy with half a grin. "C'mon. Ya might as well take a break while I take care o'yer brother."

When Murphy was settled in my abandoned chair with a fresh Guinness and a cigarette, I approached Connor, where he was currently lurking around Jenny's chair, twisting his grubby t shirt in his hands and smiling like it was going out of style. I laughed at his attempts to flirt with my best friend and rolled my eyes as Jenny fought to not blush.

"Let's go, Romeo," I sighed, tugging Connor's elbow and moving him to the side of the house. I stood him in a patch of sunlight and turned the water on slow, and dug my thumb into the spout to create a bit of a spray. I aimed it at Connor's chest, and he squealed and danced away as icy cold water blasted him. He adjusted to the temperature quickly enough, and rubbed his hands over golden skin to rid himself of the sticky mud from the church yard.

"What was that about?" I called over the sound of rushing water.

"Eh?" Connor sputtered and rubbed a handful of cold water over his face, shivering violently and letting out another groan. "Ya mean that there? When we was fightin'?"

"Aye," I nodded.

Connor pulled the hose from my hands and stuck the end in his mouth where he proceeded to swish water around before spitting it out and handing the hose back. "Wasn't nothin', aye?" He shrugged and grinned fondly, casting a glance back to Murphy. "He's me brother," Connor added, as if that was explanation enough, and I suppose it was. "Have ta take tha piss when I can, aye? Especially when there's a gir…ah…woman involved." Connor trailed off and the tips of his ears went a little pink.

I shut the water off and wound the hose, and then turned back to see Connor sling his muddy t shirt over the railing of the deck. I saw his rosary swing across his chest and was suddenly spurred into action.

"Oh!"

Connor turned, startled. "What's wrong, lass?"

"Tha rosary. I mean…I have Murphy's…how many beads is it supposed ta have?"

Connor raised an eyebrow. "Aye, he told me Katie got her hands on his." He picked up the cross from where it rested below his solar plexus and stared for a moment, rubbing his thumb along the wood. "Should be fifty nine," he answered, looking back up at me. "Why? How many ya got?"

"Fifty seven," I replied with a sigh. "And I don't see myself goin' back to tha school and crawlin' around tha girl's restroom on me hands an' knees lookin' fer the other two." I sighed and sank onto the back steps, running a hand through my hair.

Connor plopped down next to me, lighting a cigarette and leaning back. He took a few drags before he suddenly shifted forward and pulled his rosary over his neck. "Here," he said, holding it out to me. "Fix his, aye?" Connor's blue eyes met my gaze. "He needs it more than I do."

I stared at Connor longer this time, watching as he flicked his gaze back out to his brother. "You're the oldest, aren't you?" I heard myself ask.

Connor smiled ruefully, and blew out a stream of smoke. "Ah, c'mon, lass. I don't know that any more than you do." As he finished speaking, however, he turned to me and raised one eyebrow. His hand reached down to mine cupping his rosary, and he closed my fingers around the wooden beads, squeezing once. "Think of it as a birthday present ta me, aye?"

I opened my mouth to press him further, but, like every Sunday, the churchbells rung out, and both Connor and I turned to the sound. He pushed up from the stairs and flicked his cigarette aside before wandering back towards Murphy.

"Oi! Ain't enough ya got one beautiful woman?" Connor joked as he neared his brother and Jenny, who seemed to be having a rather in depth conversation. My attention was snagged by the pair as well, and I tucked Connor's rosary into my pocket as I stood from the stairs and made my way across the lawn.

The congregation began to file from the church, a rush of voices, twittering their hellos and well wishing and crowing about the change of weather. Murphy was already standing from my chair, casting a wary glance over his shoulder and then looking to Connor.

"Back ta work, then," Murphy muttered, nodding towards the church. "Looks like Ma is headed this way, aye?"

Sure enough, Annabelle MacManus was making her way across the yard towards us and I suddenly felt very silly, standing there in shorts and a t shirt, handing out manual labor to her twins. I felt vulnerable. I felt childish, even, watching as her hard brown eyes went from her eldest, stripped to the waist, to Jenny, and then to me, and then finally to Murphy. Her eyebrow crept up and her jaw hardened.

"Hiya, Ma," Connor called as he picked up a paintbrush, finding no discomfort in the situation.

Mrs. MacManus merely glanced in Connor's direction and gave a barely audible hmph before turning back to Jenny and myself. "Good afternoon, Ms. Guinness," she greeted formally. Beside me, Murphy stiffened and bristled at his mother's tone, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "I see ya have me boys workin' hard fer ya," she pressed on. The twinge of sarcasm in her voice was borderline scathing and I shifted under her heavy gaze.

Jenny sprung from her chair. "Hallo. Jenny O'Reilly. I'm friends with Márín, from Dublin."

Mrs. MacManus hummed once more, but shook Jenny's offered hand for a moment. When it was over, Jenny paused and glanced at me, and then back to the twins' mother. Clearly, there was a silent stand off going on between me and the older woman, and Jenny shuffled back slightly.

Mrs. MacManus turned back to me. "Guess me boys like doin' things fer ya rather than their own chores at home."

"Ma, you know I'm takin' this on as punishment…" Murphy's protest died off as his mother's eyes scraped over his dishevelled state, half a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of Guinness in the other.

"Aye," Mrs. MacManus bit out. She swung her eyes back to me. "An' perhaps if young Ms. Guinness here came ta church, she'd have a better idea of punishment an' penance."

I don't think I would have been more startled if she had slapped me. She might as well have slapped me; her voice was cold and harsh and she took a few more moments to look between me and Murphy, noticing how Murphy took a defensive stance beside me, slightly poised in front of me as if to shield me from his mother's wrath.

"Don't talk ta her like that, Ma," Murphy suddenly warned and my stomach dropped as Mrs. MacManus's eyes went wide at Murphy's words.

She looked back to me and nodded slowly, as if she suddenly knew everything that had ever transipired between her youngest son and I. I felt my cheeks burn and though I hated myself for it, I averted my eyes and turned to look up at Murphy.

His jaw was tense as he and his mother stared each other down, and I was surprised when Murphy's stubbornness won out and Mrs. MacManus heaved a small sigh. "Right, then," she muttered before turning back to me. "A word wit' ya, girl." She didn't even wait for me to answer, and merely started back across the lawn towards the church.

Murphy finally looked to me and shrugged, unable to provide any guidance for a one-on-one with his mother. I steeled myself as best I could and took off after Annabelle MacManus.

"Mrs. MacManus, I know it looks like…" I trailed off, clearly not knowing how to approach her or the subject of her distress.

"Do ya?" Annabelle cut in, turning on the gravel and staring up at me – yes, up, she was short but fierce – with hardened dark eyes. "Do ya know what it looks like ta me?" She swore softly and threw up a quick prayer before taking a deep breath and fishing a cigarette from her purse. "I love me boys an' don't want ta see either of them get hurt."

My heartbeat slowed down to a crawl as her words sank in.

"But I've a mind ta warn ya as well: a MacManus man will leave ya in tha long run."

Clearly flustered, I scrambled to find an answer. "Mrs. MacManus, I don't…"

"Wasn't born yesterday, lass," she snapped, blowing out a puff of smoke. "An' I know Murphy better than most. He loves deeply, when given tha chance, to tha point of drownin'. But I meant what I said at dinner th'other night: those two will never be apart. Tha love fer a woman will never outweigh tha love b'tween Murphy an' Connor."

I couldn't do anything but stare back at her as her words echoed in my ears. My throat began to ache, began to threaten a torrent of emotion that I wasn't sure I would be able to reel in. Tears pricked my eyes as my jaw tightened.

Annabelle flicked her cigarette aside, and stepped onto the road we had come to. "I'm not tellin' ya this so you'll stay away from him. I'm tellin' ya this so ya won't be surprised when it happens." She turned back and smiled ruefully. In the afternoon sun, her dark eyes sparkled with what appeared to be unshed tears. A trick of the light, perhaps, but suddenly I found myself looking into the face of a young woman with a broken heart. She nodded once. "Mind what I told ya," she warned. "Don't go drownin' with him."

I sent the boys packing shortly after that, with some lame excuse about wanting to have 'girl time' with Jenny, when really, all I wanted to do was crawl under a rock and have a good cry. If it wasn't the forces in the universe keeping us apart, it was Murphy's mother, and though she told me her words were for my behalf, I could't help but feel they were more for her – Noah MacManus had up and left her without a word, and I just knew that she feared her sons would do the same thing. I was the cause of that. It was starting to eat away at me as I pulled the beads of Murphy's rosary out of my purse and set them on the table, and then set Connor's rosary out beside them.

Jenny wandered into the kitchen and sat across from me at the table, her chin in her hands as she watched me stare at the beads. "He really likes ya," she stated softly.

"I know," I answered just as quietly.

Jenny frowned and reached across the table, fumbling with the loose beads from Murphy's rosary. "What are ya doin?"

"Fixin' things tha best I can?" I slumped back into my chair and tilted my head up to the ceiling. Tears were already streaming down my face, the whirlwind of emotions from the morning finally catching up.

Before I knew it, I was sobbing uncontrollably, and Jenny launched from her chair and was around the table in seconds, letting me collapse into her. "Oh, god, Jenny," I whimpered. "Why's it have ta be so fucked up?" I sniffed and rubbed my eyes, but no matter how hard I tried, the tears kept coming, and with it, everything suddenly bubbled over. "He's barely eighteen – how fair is that? Tha universe insists on shittin on me, I swear ta Christ," I growled, sniffing and pressing my face into Jenny's long dark hair. Her arms went around me and mine around her and I ached, painfully, wishing that it was Murphy here with me, wishing that I could just forget about everything that had happened…from the time I married Joe to this, just wipe it all clean.

"It's not shittin'," Jenny soothed. "It's merely testin'. Yer a better woman than me, Márín. If I was you, I don't think I'd have been able to restrain meself as long as ya have." She gave a small chuckle. "Don't know what it is about those two, but it's suffocatin', isn't it? Like yer almost drownin'."

Her words sparked another roundabout of Annabelle MacManus's final phrase to me that afternoon and I shook with renewed sobs. "I can't stay here," I whispered, shaking my head. "Jenny, I can't – I don't want to." I put her at arms' length and looked into her face. "I need ta go back ta Dublin with ya. T'night."

Ma was on edge, that much was clear. When the twins returned home that afternoon, Connor made himself scarce and ducked up the back stairs, leaving Murphy and Ma in the kitchen alone. After Márín and ma had spoken, Márín seemed distant, almost cranky, and she had waved him and Connor off, spouting something about 'girl time'. Murphy knew it was more than that; he knew it had something to do with Ma, and now he watched as the older woman moved about the kitchen, searcing for a bottle of whiskey.

"What did ya say ta her?" No use in beating around the bush.

"Woman ta woman, talk, Murphy, an' that's all."

Murphy snorted at his mother's short reply. "Are ya sure? Didn't think she'd be upset after something so harmless."

The half full bottle of Bushmills that Annabelle had finally located came down hard on the counter with a flat bang and she gripped the edges of the sink. "Leave it be, boy."

Murphy huffed and moved closer, pulling his mother's shoulder so that she would look at him. "Ma, tell me. She's pissed, I know it…"

"Aye, ya know her real fuckin' well, don't ya?" Annabelle sneered and shoved her youngest aside to get a glass.

"It's not like that…"

"Of course it is, Murphy, even if ya haven't acted on it!" She whirled then, bottle in hand, glass forgotten, and she unscrewed the cap and took a lenghtly pull.

Murphy recoiled and gaped at his mother. He was used to her outbursts but now she seemed to be a million miles away. "Tell me what ya said."

After another slug of whiskey, Annabelle sank to the kitchen table. "You boys should come with a warnin'," she growled. "That's all it was. That's all I needed. To know what I was gettin' inta." Her voice grew soft, distant, and she stared at the cracked tabletop.

"Ma," Murphy growled, startling the woman back to where she sat in the kitchen. "What are ya talkin' about? A warnin'? What tha fuck?"

Ma snorted and peered sharply at Murphy. "It's fer her own good, thassall." Only a few pulls into the whiskey and already she was beginning to slur. Murphy wondered if she'd indulged before church, too. He pulled the bottle away and set it to one side.

"I'm not Da," Murphy began, feeling that somehow, his mother's mood and his father's absence were connected.

"Ya are," Ma sighed. "Tha both of ya are, but you, Murphy…yer more like yer da than I care ta acknowledge."

Murphy sighed, exasperated with his mother's cryptic ramblings. "Just tell me what ya said ta her, Ma," he growled.

"You boys will leave all o'this behind," she said in a small voice. Her hands waved about gesturing to the kitchen, but on a bigger scale, the house, the town, and her. "I've seen it. Ya know I have. An' a woman like Márín doesn't deserve ta have her heart broken."

"Christ, Ma," Murphy uttered, sitting back and rubbing his eyes.

"Lord's name," Ma piped up, her hand clipping the back of Murphy's head.

Murphy snarled sharply and shrugged the offending fingers aside, rubbing his dark hair as he eyed his mother once more. "Ya still on about that dream?"

"T'was the Lord's doin', Murphy Michael."

"Hail Mary," Murphy groused, only half convinced. He was certain that it was just as much the whiskey's doing.

Ma swiped the bottle back and drank once more. "Ya boys will leave, an' then what will I be left wit'?"

"Fer fuck's sake, Ma, is this about you or Márín?" Murphy finally roared, pushing back from the table. He stood from his seat and paced the small space. "Swear ta Christ, Ma, if ya went an' fucked it up between me an' her, I'll…"

Ma stood just as furiously, her dark eyes blazing. "You'll what?" she hissed. Her eyes seemed to snap to focus on him.

"I'm outta here," Murphy growled, stalking towards the back steps.

"Aye, that's yer answer fer everything, Noah!" Ma yelled after him.

Murphy froze, mid-step on the stairs, and listened as the whiskey bottle rattled against the table once more. He swore softly at his mother's behavoir. Seconds later, the kitchen door swung shut with a hard crack, and Murphy knew his mother had left, probably on her way to the Anvil. "Aye, we MacManus men are a leavin' lot," he muttered under his breath. A creak on the steps above brought his gaze up from the worn carpet.

Connor stood before him, a grim line where his smile usually sat. He nodded swiftly towards the kitchen. "Ya done?"

Murphy sneered and shoved past Connor with another growl, and stormed to their bedroom.

"Oi, Murph, c'mon, ya know she doesn't mean…" Connor's words faded as his brother turned to stare evenly at him.

"Aye, she does," Murphy nodded. "Every time, doesn't matter 'ow much whiskey she's drank, Conn. She starts this shite every time, an' every time it comes down ta you, an' me, an' tha fact that Da left. M'not Da, Connor," Murphy finished vehemently. "I'd never do something ta hurt her like that."

Connor made a face and nodded, and wandered into the bedroom. Murphy busied himself with pulling a duffle bag from the closet, and he began stuffing it with t shirts and jeans.

Connor watched silently for a spell. "Whaterya doin'?"

"S'it look like I'm doin'?" Murphy muttered as he pushed the sides of the duffel together and pulled the zipper shut. "Look, these last two days of school? A writeoff. I don't need em', an' you don't either. An' m'not stayin' in this house wit' Ma if she insists on insultin' me. I'm goin' in ta Dublin." Murphy paused and looked up at Connor with his last words and stood motionless.

"Aye," Connor muttered after a moment. He nodded once and then pulled his own duffel out, and filled it with the same efficiency as Murphy. He didn't so much want to go to Dublin as he wanted to go to wherever Murphy was going. Connor had decided a long time ago that no matter where his darker half went, he'd follow with no questions asked, and neither of them would ever be alone.