A/N: Murph's mouth is going to get us up to a higher rating. But his crime is in self defense!

"Mama, I just don't think we can get away. I've got a huge pop gen exam the Tuesday after. And Murph is swamped. We could send your darling baby boy though." Leah told her mother, sticking her tongue out at Connor, who grinned. She knew he loved being the adored son-in-law who could do no wrong.

Then her mother made a suggestion that seemed wonderful. She and her father would just come to Boston. After all, her mother told her, she did miss her boys. She was certain Murphy needed to be taken to lunch.

"Mama, you could hurt my feelings."

However, two weeks before Thanksgiving, news that was not entirely unexpected arrived. Aunt Sue and Uncle Russ were coming too. And that was fantastic. But they were bringing Christine.

"Oh, Mama, no. Christine? You've got to be joking."

"Baby, she has really changed. She's living at home now."

"Oh, did they finally throw her out of the trailer park?"

"Leah, shame on you!" her mother tried to chastise, but she heard her mother's hand go over the receiver and she knew her mother was laughing.

"I know you're laughing, Mama."

She heard her mother clear her throat.

"Now, honey, don't overreact when I tell you this."

"Is she bringing a hooligan?"

She heard her mother sigh. "No. Sue—well—Sue wants—"

"This must be really bad."

"Well, Sue wants Christine to meet Murphy. She thinks Murph would be a lovely husband for Christine."

Murph and Connor were both listening to Leah talk to her mother with amusement. Apparently, someone named Christine who must be really hideous was coming up with the family for Thanksgiving. This Christine person must have been kept hidden from them the way they had kept their creepy cousin Liam away from Leah when she had visited them. Then Leah's eyes settled on him, wide and mortified.

"Oh, Mama, no. That will not do. Tell Aunt Sue he's got a girlfriend. Better yet tell her he's gay."

He eyed Leah suspiciously, as she began to pace around the living room.

"Well, he's gay when it comes to Christine! No, no, she's not coming here. She's nasty, Mother. She's not sitting on our sofas! I spent hours recovering them!"

What was this gay business and why was she staring at him? And you knew Leah was fired up when she called Clarissa "Mother" instead of the usual honey-coated "Mama" for their daily conversations.

"Mother, no. No, this won't do at all—Mother, she had sex with that tattooed monster in our room at Hilton Head and I woke up in the middle of the night and had to see it—no, I will not stop. I was ten. Ten years old! I think she got crabs from that one or maybe that was a case of the Clap. I can't remember. You can ask Daddy but I bet he can't remember because he has written so many scripts of antibiotics for her. She is not coming here. And she is not getting anywhere near him. I bet she has herpes and she is not sitting on my furniture, and that's final!"

By this time, Connor was howling with laughter. But he was staying quiet. He had a feeling that he was the "him" being discussed.

"You don't have to tell Aunt Sue a thing. I'll call her myself! But that nasty, dirty cretin is not coming in my house."

Connor was clutching his sides and tears were coming out of his eyes as he tried to tell her not to talk to her mother that way. Murph remained silent and contemplated leaving the room. Then suddenly Leah sat back down on the sofa, her face paled and she became silent.

"Alright—yes, Mama--alright, Mama. I love you too. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

She hung up the phone and he watched her take a deep breath.

"Guys, life has handed us some serious lemons." She said seriously. "My cousin Christine, who has been MIA in various trailer parks in the southern United States for the past ten years--you know that I try not to be judgmental of others—you buggers, you're supposed to be supportive of me and agree here. Fine. Well, Christine is six years older than I am, and Aunt Sue and Uncle Russ gave her every opportunity in the world. Private school, trips all over the world when she was young, everything she ever wanted. If she wanted it, it was hers. But she was always out of control, always getting into trouble. Her boyfriends always looked like they belonged in jail. They always had tattoos. There was this one that had them up and down his arms and he wore one of those undershirts you always associate with some middle-aged man with a big beer belly, eating greasy hot dogs—"

"A wifebeater?" Connor chuckled.

"Absolutely. He looked exactly like someone who would beat their wife."

"That's what they call the shirt, Leah."

"Yes, that creep was wearing a wifebeater and he just looked dirty with all those tattoos--like he would have body odor."

"So ya think people who have tattoos look like they'd have b.o., eh?" Connor was laughing at his wife. "I always wanted a tattoo."

"You watch yourself, Connor MacManus. Anyway, the problem is they're bringing her for Thanksgiving and Aunt Sue wants her to meet you, Murph. She's been treated for venereal diseases more times than I can count. So to take countermeasures, clearly, we're going to have to find a sex shop. I'm going to get the phonebook right now."

He looked at Connor, who returned the same puzzled look. Sex shop? What the fuck?

"Darlin', we don't quite follow your logic." Connor said, chuckling.

"Well, where else would we get a chastity belt? I guess we could make one. But we need one that locks—with titanium locks."

"Do ya really think I'm gonna like her, Leah? You've painted such an attractive picture, ya know." Murph said, smiling. "I think I can say no, contrary ta what ya think of me."

"It's not that, Murph. I'm afraid she will try to rape you. And I bet you anything she has herpes. And she didn't get it from a Jacuzzi, let me tell you. And at least the last time I saw her, she was—" Leah began with a dramatic pause. "A smoker."

"I don't think I'll be in any danger." He laughed. "Besides, taking a dump or a leak in a chastity belt would be a bitch."

"We could always cut appropriate holes." Connor snickered.

"Murph, need your help with something." Connor said, running into the study the following weekend, where he was reading. Leah was out working in the garden. He had heard the lawnmower start a few minutes ago.

"What?"

"Wanna play a joke on Leah?"

"Always."

On his lunch hour the day before, Connor said he had bought a wifebeater and gone into an art supply and after asking a clerk, found the best markers to produce the most realistic fake tattoos and transfer paper.

"Oh, she is gonna kill ya, brother."

While taking calls for the rest of the afternoon, Connor said he had penciled all sorts of designs until he decided on a big heart with her name in it to go on his bicep.

As Murph colored the giant heart, they listened intently for the lawnmower to turn off, knowing their time was limited and they would get busted.

"Ya know, I always did want a tattoo." Connor said.

"I think this is as close as you better get, Conn." He laughed. "Take a look."

"Looks real. The lady at the shop was right. Ha! Okay, time ta go get the hotdogs and park me ass on the sofa."

Murph told him to rub a little chili and mustard on the shirt. Then he went back to the study to read while Connor waited for Leah to come in from mowing the yard.

Connor appeared at the study door a few minutes later, frowning.

"She just headed to the shower, commenting that something in the house was 'stinky'."

"She'll be back out in a minute. Go turn on a football game really loud. That'll get her attention. Ya know how she likes to lie in the bed and read after showering when she mows. Make her come out ta bitch at ya."

About five minutes passed and Connor was back. "She just hollered from the bedroom door."

"Go offer her a weiner." Murph smirked, then grimaced. "Ya do stink, Connor. That chili reeks. What the fuck?"

Oh god, the pouty Connor face. No doubt he was expecting a big hoopla and a fantastic roll in the sack afterward. Murph had learned their routine. And when the hell had he become an enabler for his brother to get so well laid?

"Okay, go get on the sofa. I'll go ask for help on some biochem. And one day, you will return the favor."

Connor looked like a happy puppy when he leapt onto the sofa and turned on a random American football game. Murph tapped on the bedroom door.

"Yes?"

Shite, she sounded snarky.

"Hey, Leah, ya decent?" he asked softly through the door.

"Oh, Murph, yes."

Now she sounded less snarky.

He walked in where she was piled up in their bed under the fluffy white down comforter and propped up on pillows reading a novel. This was her Saturday afternoon treat for mowing, she had told them.

"Good grief, why does he have that TV so loud? I know he's trying to get me to go out there but I'm not doing it. If he wants something, he can come in here. Why does he torture me?"

"He's a retard. I don't want ta interrupt yer 'Leah Time', but would ya mind looking at some biochem with me—just when ya get a chance though? There's a concept question that I don't want the prof ta call me out in class on Monday."

"No problem." She said, getting out of the bed in her favorite polar fleece pajama pants, one of Connor's old t-shirts and thick wool socks. "Is the TV bugging you too?"

"It's seriously fuckin' loud."

"Connor, are your ears going?" she snapped, as she padded into the study. Murph, who was walking behind her, just shrugged at his brother, who forlornly turned down the volume on the television.

"I think you'll be fine if you get a question on it." Leah told him and walked out of the study.

A moment later he heard her scream and he ran out of the study to watch what transpired.

"I knew I smelled something foul. Now I know what it is." She said, one eyebrow cocked and walked straight to the bedroom and shut the door.

The twins laughed for a few moments, then he said, "Go do your penance while I just study, damn ya."

Connor finally emerged around dinnertime, looking like a well stroked cat, the fake tattoo long since showered away.

"Looks like you did a good penance." Murph commented, peering into the refrigerator.

Connor shoved him out of the way. "I'll cook, ya tosser."

"Still hates tattoos?"

"Oh yeah."

The closer to the ETA of the Christine Creature, the more curious he and Connor became about the girl and the more they tormented Leah, whom they had never seen in such a snarky state. Apparently, Christine's idea of babysitting Leah as a child had been to duct tape her to a chair and threaten her with scary monsters in the closet if she told her parents that she had been basically bound and gagged, Leah told them angrily. And the bitch went through my Halloween candy and took whatever she wanted. And she ripped the head off my Han Solo action figure.

Murph had been ready to say he and Connor regularly fought over Halloween candy and tried to tie each other to the bed while they were sleeping when they were kids, but he understood her wrath over Han Solo.

Definite sea hag, Murph thought, when Christine entered with her parents and the Winslows. She wasn't that old, but as they say: it's not the time, it's the mileage. Blond hair with a crispy texture that Leah said came from years of peroxide usage. Features weren't so bad. Bright blue eyes. Contacts, Leah told the twins. Curves in the right places, he commented loudly enough to Connor so that Leah would hear him. Implants, dipshit. Why do you think they're sitting right under her collarbone, you moron? He and Connor snickered, enjoying Leah's unusual behavior. Nice tan, Murph could not believe Connor had actually had the audacity to say. Well, yes, he could, as much as time as Leah spent telling Connor to put on sunscreen, he could totally believe it. Fake bake, you jackass, she said, not even looking up from a cookbook. Bet she'd show you her fake baked fake boobs, you idiots, if you asked. Now are you fucksticks going to help cook or not?

You knew Leah was tense if she said "The Big F" as she called it. Did she just call them "fucksticks"? Wonder where she got that one.

Christine wanted to go to a real Irish pub.

Somehow Leah, Connor and Murphy were forced into this chore, leaving the parents to chat around the living room, where Connor and Murphy had built a nice cozy fire. Leah wanted to sit in front of it and hold George. Connor wanted to sit in front of it and hold Leah, while she held George. Murphy was considering going down to volunteer at a local soup kitchen and wanted to do anything other than go anywhere with Christine, who he had decided after thirty-six hours of observation and limited interaction was a younger American version of their Ma—albeit with a belly button ring that had a stone in it that she changed out to match every outfit and a tattoo on her lower back.

Perhaps this was the source of Leah's hatred of tattoos. Now, Christine did not have body odor but she did wear a perfume that Murph found more repugnant than he likely would have found a laundry basket of jock straps belonging to any NFL team following the Super Bowl (or as Leah called it, the Super Bowel).

Christine did not have a proper coat for the weather, which set a bad tone for the evening, because Leah was guilted into loaning her one by a simple raised brow from Clarissa. And naturally, the first thing that Christine did when they walked out of the house to leave was light a cigarette, causing Leah to mumble about her cashmere coat. Murph thought the smoke smelled better than that fucking perfume, whispered that to Leah, who chuckled, and reminded her to just get really drunk and the idea of Christine might perhaps become funny.

There was a pub near school that actually had some good brews from the UK on tap and was a place he went occasionally with a few people he had met in his class. The pub owner, a Dubliner himself, liked the idea that there was a real Irishman at Harvard, the students of which were the majority of his customers. Murph had tried to teach his friends and other patrons as much proper pub behavior as possible but time was limited with schoolwork.

Christine, as suspected, was a "lite" beer drinker, so they started her off with a pint of Bass. She looked hilariously out of place in her light blue velour get-up, which hugged her ass and showed off the pierced navel. Naturally, the stone was light blue tonight. The outfit also showed off three terms Murph found particularly amusing. First, the outfit revealed the whale tail, which would be the top of her thong underwear. Leah called thong underwear dental floss for your crack or an Insta-Wedgie or a wedgie you were stupid enough to buy. Secondly, the outfit showcased Christine's muffin top, which was the section of her torso that spilled over the hip hugging pants. Leah's synonym for a muffin top was a Dunlop, as in when your gut dun' lopped over your belt. Thirdly, the outfit gave a full view of the tramp stamp, which Murph had learned was a lower back tattoo. Murph loved learning new American colloquialisms.

Yes, yes, drink up. No, Sean doesn't serve margaritas. Here's a Belhaven for ya. It's part of yer heritage. Make yer Da proud. Murph said he really didn't want to play pool. Leah giggled into his ear that he'd be able to get a better look at her "balloon boobs" if he agreed to a game. Okay, he would agree to a game of darts. Careful of her boobs, Connor snickered, catching him by the sleeve, before Christine pulled him away to the back of the bar.

"So my parents really like you." Christine told him, when he returned with the box of darts.

"That's quite nice of them. They're lovely people." He said, focusing on opening the dart box. "I assume ya know how ta play then?"

"I think you might have a wild side." Christine said, drawing up very close to him. All he could smell was that horrible perfume and cigarettes. If she would just down the Belhaven, she would smell a thousand times better but it still wouldn't be enough.

"Of course, I do." He said, tired of her coming on to him. All the brushes of his thigh at the bar, all the licking of her lips, all the intentional leaning over to expose the fake tits. It was all pretty ridiculous. He was willing to play darts but he was not willing for her to roll up on him.

"What do you like?" she breathed into his ear, putting her hand on his chest.

"Best?"

"Mmm-hmm." Her hand had begun to migrate lower.

He remembered an article in some insert in the campus newspaper when he was a freshman at Duke. It was an article designed to encourage safe sexual practices but had certainly made him and Connor look at public toilets in a totally different way. Murph thought of the night when the three of them were studying for finals in the stacks of the West Campus Library since their normal places were taken. Connor excused himself to the bathroom and came running back excitedly, exclaiming, "I found one! I found one! I found a real one!" Leah wanted to see it too, so Connor stood guard, while she and Murph went in and inspected the hitherto considered mythical object.

"There's nothin' like seein' a huge cock shoved through a glory hole and not knowin' whose it is, but knowin' it's there for ye to have yer way with."

He had known that article would come in handy one day. Christine decided she didn't want to play darts after all.

Touch my dick and duct tape Leah to a chair? Oh no, you will pay.

"Come to an Irish pub and not taste of the Guinness? Are ya mad, woman?" he snorted. "Sean, give tha lady here a pint. Aye, Christine, it won't make ya fat like yer crappy American beer. Guinness will make ya take a big, black crap in tha morning."
Connor and Leah were laughing. He had a tale to tell them back at the house. Christine had returned back to the bar in a bit of a huff after the glory hole comment, just as he had planned.

"Drink up, young lady. Ya wanted ta go ta an Irish pub now."

Christine sipped at the Guinness with a scowl on her face, as the three of them shared a look between them. Murphy grinned at Connor. Connor grinned back. Leah shook her head at them. They nodded vehemently. Leah put her hand over her eyes and just chuckled.

"Alright, who's ready for some Nobgoblin?" Murphy roared, and the other patrons stared at him blankly as expected. "Four pints of Hobgoblin, please, Sean."

Sean laughed, "God, I miss the UK sometimes."

At the pubs at home, people would shout "I want Nobgoblin". Nobgoblin was the unofficial name for Hobgoblin, a rather tasty British ale, which Murphy would never admit he preferred to Guinness. You could, however, get away with drinking Hobgoblin amidst other Irish for the comedic value of shouting that you wanted "nobgoblin," which was also slang for fellatio.

"Why does he keep shouting about wanting nobgoblin?" Murph heard Christine ask Leah and Connor.

"Because he's a retard." His brother said, laughing as Murph pounded the bar shouting about nobgoblin over and over much to Sean's amusement.

"I want nobgoblin too!" Leah yelled, positioning herself under Murph's arm.

"Ye don't have a nob, ya wee idiot!" he laughed. "Havin' fun now?"

"Actually, yes."