A/N: Thanks to all of you who are reading and thanks especially to Sithy and Betty for reviewing and cheering me on. Big hugs to you all, Bel. Oh, by the way, more red blood cells in this one--but by accident.

"Maybe we should take a day off and see what they do durin' tha day." Connor said, as they walked to church before work. The air was crisp but it still stank. Murph never thought cigarettes would smell better than the air itself.

"And ya think we won't stick out like fuckin' sore thumbs there durin tha day?" he answered grimly, having thought of that idea himself a few weeks before. "Ye've got ta be patient, Connor."

"I just want that fucker dead." His brother said, as they walked up the steps of the church.

Since they had begun working in the plant, Murph had often wondered how some of the people in their unit held down a job. The bastards were blundering idiots, constantly dropping things, bumping into things and each other and working with extremely sharp blades. The day the accident occurred, he was not surprised. He was merely surprised something like this had not happened sooner. However, once he saw the severity of the injury across the room and the looks of horror on all the faces surrounding him and the inertia that had overtaken the group, he knew he had to act.

That stupid bastard Walt had cut his thigh, Murph presumed with the wall mounted table saw for carcass cutting. How the fucker had managed it, he had not seen but what he did see was the inordinate amount of blood and knew immediately that the femoral artery had been severed.

Someone was screaming for an ambulance but there was not enough time.

"Connor, get tha bleach. And—" he looked around for anything that could clip off the artery, anything. "Whoever's got a bottle of drink in their pocket, bring it out. Has anybody got any dental floss?"

They looked like fucking sheep, except for Connor who brought over a tub of bleach. Murph was cutting away Walt's trousers above the knee.

"I've got to tie off tha femoral artery, Conn. Or else he's gonna bleed out. We've got ta have something clean. Christ, go trip the breaker and rip out some of tha wires. Get me a fucking bottle of whiskey right now. I know you bastards have 'em. I need a clean coat. Now, somebody. Move."

Shannon handed him a clean lab coat. He tied it as tightly as he could above the cut. And someone finally produced a pint bottle of vodka.

"Shannon, can ye hold his head? Conn, hurry. He's bleedin' out here."

Connor ran back with the wires. Murphy removed his gloves and told Connor to douse the wires and his hands with the vodka, then light them.

"Yer hands?"

"Trust me."

"I'm not lightin' yer hands on fire, Murph."

"The fuck yer not. Do it. Then hold him down because he's going to kick and flail like a mother fucker."

Connor sparked the lighter and Murph smacked out the flames instantly before they burned. Then he went to work digging through the severed tissue. Fucking wire to tie off an artery. Walt might not ever recover use of his leg because no one had dental floss or because there was no tubing around. Where the fuck was the ambulance? Why the fuck was this place so fucking filthy? Good Christ, electrical wire to tie off the femoral artery. Who knew what blood was human and what was bovine on this godforsaken floor? What part of hell had they landed in?

"We've got ta bleach everything around him, while we wait for tha ambulance." Murph hollered harshly at the others standing around. "Get me more clean jackets and we'll use them ta clean the area."

The tie-off was holding. Walt would have been dead by the time the ambulance arrived had he not done something, of that Murph was certain. But wire? Wire for fuck's sake.

"Holy shit, who found did this tie-off?" asked one of the paramedics. "Looks like a vascular surgeon did it."

"Make sure they know that he was in a dirty place, eh?" Murph said calmly. "He's lost a lot of blood."

"Did you see that tie-off?" Murph heard the guy ask the other EMT as Walt was wheeled away, now unconscious. He would probably be okay, if the leg didn't get septic from Noland's infectious wonderland.

The plant gave them the rest of the afternoon off. Murphy looked at Connor and saw that Connor wanted to head to Jamaica Plain. He could also see that his brother had not found the stillness he had asked him to seek.

"We go to church this afternoon, Connor. Church."

Shannon slipped into the pew next to them and bowed her head. Murphy was sorry that she had been party to the nightmarish events at the plant earlier in the day and was also sorry that he had walked away without saying anything to her. He had just wanted to get out of there, so people would stop asking him questions about how he had known what to do about Walt's leg. Ya know, ya learn things here and there.

He left Connor and Shannon inside and went to sit on the church playground swing set, which he and Connor had repaired early on in their days in Southie. Shannon soon joined him. He looked up and gave her a nod.

"Hey, Murphy, you know, back there, no one asked you if you were okay. So are you, okay, I mean, after that?" she asked quietly.

"Just fine, but thanks fer askin. How 'bout ye?"

"I was pretty scared." She said. "I thought he was going to die."

Murphy frowned, looking in her eyes, and slung an arm over her shoulder. "Sorry ya had ta see it. And sorry ya had ta help. But ya did a fine job, Shannon. Ye were very brave."

"Will he be okay?" she asked, and he felt her snuggle in closer to him.

"I hope so. It was a fierce cut. But I bet tha doctors'll fix him up." He said as cheerfully as he could, pulling a cigarette from his pocket.

"May I have one?"

"Ye don't smoke, Shannon."

"You do."

"Well, don't go tryin' ta be like me." He said, lighting his cigarette and looking her squarely in the eye.

"Okay."

"Shannon asked me fer a cigarette while ya were still inside tha church." Murph told Connor, as they walked away from her apartment.

"Yer startin' ta sound more like a mother hen every day, Murph." Connor chuckled, lighting a cigarette for himself.

"Oh, shut it, will ya."

"Well, did ya give her one?"

"Hell no."

"Good man."

"Do ya think we'll get him tonight?"

"Fuck if I know."

It was actually a few nights later. Andre Alarcon decided to take his girlfriend and his child to see a movie. The twins had no idea where the big black BMW was going when the couple got in and began driving. Connor pointed out what Murph had already noticed: no car seat for the toddler.

While Murph would have preferred to have seen Armageddon or Saving Private Ryan and felt like an idiot for requesting tickets for him and Connor to A Bug's Life, he figured this was better viewing material for the child. They sat two rows back from Andre Alarcon and his family in the movie, which actually was humorous had they been in any mood to laugh. They were too intent on the figure that sat within ten feet of them.

And in the middle of the movie, Andre Alarcon got up and entered to the bathroom.

The brothers followed him into the serendipitously empty bathroom, where he stood at the urinal. They moved casually. Murphy pulled the syringe from his pocket. Connor snatched his arms behind his back with ease, as Murphy plunged the dilaudid into his exterior jugular vein in his neck. Andre Alarcon slumped quickly to the floor.

"Do ya know why we're here, Andre Alarcon?" Connor said, a lethal calmness in his voice, to the man staring up at them from the floor.

"Whaddyu shoodinme?" he slurred.

"You have a tattoo, Andre, with his wife's name on it." Murphy said. "And what I shot in ya is a lethal dose of a narcotic that will send ya ta yer death much more gently than ya sent my sister ta hers."

"My liddlegirl's inthere. Don't hurt her."

"Don't ya worry about that, ya piece of shite. We don't prey upon tha innocent. I recommend ya take yer last few moments ta make yer peace with whatever god yer kind prays ta. Ye'll be answering t'im soon." Murph told him, pulling another syringe full of sodium thiopental.

"I donwannadie"

"Neither did my wife or baby, ya bastard. Rot in hell." Connor growled, depressing the plunger of the syringe, once Murph had it inserted in the jugular.

They pushed Andre Alarcon's dying form into a stall and left the bathroom. They returned to the movie and actually enjoyed the remainder of it. Fatigue began to set in but they visited the church before returning home that night.

"They're gone." Connor said in the darkness before they slept.

"Yes. Think of them no more, brother."

"There are more that will do tha same ta others."

"Yes. 'Tis not our business, Connor. 'Tis God's."

"He was scared fer his child."

"He forgot that everyone is someone's child. Ye taught me that. Now sleep, Connor."