Author's note: This is it, guys. The plan in action. Ocean's Eleven it's not, but whatcha gonna do? Also, I did enjoy writing the little church flashback. I like writing Brendan/Cheryl scenes. And I like to picture Teen!Brendan in a suit. :) Thanks for all of the lovely comments, you guys! It really means a lot to me that you all enjoy the story so much. Cheers! -Lyssie xx

"Brendan, run!"

I feel the sting of pavement against my palms as I hit the ground. I look up for a moment, but I don't see Pete. Maybe he already made it to the end of the alley. Either way, I am alone. With a briefcase full of stolen cocaine and the approaching footsteps of one angry gangster.

I scramble to my feet, grab the case, and run as fast as I can. Over the sound of my own heart beating in my ears, my own breath, I can hear him gaining on me. I know I'm not going to make it to the end of the alley in time.

Earlier today. I promised Cheryl I'd take her to church, so I'm sitting in the pew next to her, pulling at my tie and trying not to get noticed by anyone. It's difficult to avoid notice when you're a gangly eighteen year-old with a handlebar mustache.

Cheryl can tell I'm nervous and she takes my hand in hers. "I'm really glad you took me to church, Bren." She smiles up at me. She's wearing her nicest pink dress and the most ridiculous hat I've ever seen on a child.

"Couldn't you go wit yer ma?" I know it doesn't sound very nice, but I'm still confused as to why she's brought me here.

"I wanted to go with you, Bren." She looks uncomfortable. "I don't like sayin' this, but – I don't like our minister very much." She taps her feet together nervously. "I've heard things about 'im. Not very nice things."

I scratch the back of my head. This suit really is stifling in this heat. "Well, you can't believe everything you hear, sis."

We sit in silence for a moment. I try not to look around too much, in case anyone notices me.

"Brendan, do you ever think God is testing you?" Cheryl's mindlessly thumbing through the hymnal. It's an odd thing, I think, to do something so childish and innocent while asking such a serious question.

"What'd ye mean?"

She looks at me. "Y'know – like he's makin' ye want to do things that you know ye shouldn't do."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. My mind instantly flashes to images of Alan, pinning me against the wall. Pete's eyes looking at me in the dark. Telling me he'll always be there for me.

Father MacDermott. And the not very nice things he's been doin'.

I try to smile at her, but I'm pretty sure it just comes out as a grimace. I can't think of anything to say, so I just spew the first boring cliché I can think of.

"Well…I guess God works in mysterious ways, Chez."

Alan and I are standing in an alley across the street from the designated pick-up point. Pete and Tommy are somewhere nearby. It's nearly 2 o'clock in the morning. We wait for the taxi.

Alan leans against the wall of the alley, crossing his arms, his eyes on the building across the street. He breaks eye contact to look at my shoe, which I'm subconsciously tapping on the pavement.

"Brendan, would you cut that out?"

I stop, angry that I let him see how nervous I am. I cross my arms and focus my attention across the street. Any minute a taxi will pull up in front of that building. A taxi that, unless we can pull this off, will be carrying a case full of cocaine off to an undisclosed location, never to be seen again. Unless we can pull this off.

I feel lightheaded. My heart is pounding so loud I can barely hear myself think. Suddenly, I feel Alan's hand on my forearm. "Brendan," I feel a warm sensation in my chest when he says my name, "Everything's going to be fine. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for." I take a deep breath and feel my heartbeat slowing down. I know he can't promise me that. I know he can't promise me I'll be okay. But, for some reason, just hearing him say it makes me relax.

I swallow the nervous lump in my throat as I hear a car approaching. Anxiously, I step closer to Alan, to get a better view of the car. It's the taxi. Our moment has arrived.

Alan turns to me, an excited and nervous glint in his eye. "Okay, Brady. Let's do this."

Alan and I approach the taxi. I look to the door and see a large silhouette in the glass. No. This is not supposed to happen. We were supposed to have more time.

Alan and I reach the taxi as the door opens. A large man steps out carrying a briefcase. Scratch that – a VERY large man steps out carrying a briefcase. Full of cocaine.

I hear quick footsteps approaching and turn to see Tommy and Pete running at the man from the alleyways on either side of the building. They've got baseball bats. The man immediately swings the briefcase at Tommy, knocking him flat on his back. He pulls out a gun and I freeze. He's pulled a gun.

Next to me I hear a loud thump and I turn to see that Alan has punched the taxi-driver in the face. The squeal of tires echoes down the street as the taxi pulls away, leaving Alan holding his bloody fist. There's a gunshot.

A gunshot.

"Brendan, I need to talk to you."

Alan grabs me by the arm and pulls me into the bathroom. It's four o'clock.

"You've barely said anything to me since – I just want to know if you're okay."

The Hamill's cramped bathroom, with its smell of potpourri and the tiny window with the gingham curtain, isn't really the best setting for this conversation.

"Why are ye doin' this to me?" Alan's leaning against the counter, the mirror at his back. I try to move so I don't have to look at myself. "You don't even know me."

Alan crosses his arms. His expression, at first soft, quickly becomes slightly irritated. "That's what ye keep sayin'. Look, I don't know why, but…" He lets out an exasperated sigh. "I just wanna help ye."

"Ye call this helpin'?" I try to keep my voice down, but I'm finding it hard. "You're ruinin' my life! I was fine before you came along." It's a lie. And Alan calls me out on it.

"Fine wit yer ma beatin' the shit outta ya? Fine with lying to yourself about who you are?" Alan tries to hold put a hand on my arm, but I push him away.

"I'm not - " I pause to calm myself, lowering my voice. I look him in the eyes. "I'm not gay."

He holds my gaze for a moment.

I start for the door, I've had enough of this, but Alan blocks my way. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry." He pauses and looks at me. "Why are you so twisted up about this?"

He fixes me with those eyes. Those big brown eyes. I reach under my collar, pulling out the ring I keep on a chain around my neck. For nearly three weeks I've wondered what it is about Alan. Why I can't stay away. Now I know. It's Declan. It's Declan all grown up. Alive. The way he was meant to be. Shorter than me, thin, but muscular. Short brown hair and those big, brown eyes. Looking at Alan now I can feel Declan's breath on my face. I can smell the cologne he used to steal from his dad.

"Brendan, you can be happy."

He looks so earnest. He looks so fucking earnest. And that's it. I can't take it anymore.

"Happy? Are you serious? What about this would make my life any better? My ma still beats me. My dad's still gone. We still don't have any money." I take a breath. "You're wrong. This is wrong. It can't make you happy. All it does is ruin you."

Alan looks devastated, but he finally allows me to push past him. We're going to do this. Tonight, we're going to steal Danny Houston's cocaine. But when this is all over… I don't want to see him. Ever again.

My stomach drops as I feel Danny Houston's man grab the back of my shirt. As my body starts to jerk back, I hear a shot ring out, echoing through the alley. The hand lets go and I twist my body, hitting the wall. Danny's goon is lying on the ground, grabbing his shoulder and moaning in pain.

Pete is standing behind a dumpster, a shocked expression on his face. Holding the gun.

"Peter…"

I look down at the man again. Shot in the shoulder. He'll live. And he'll tell the others about us. Pete could shoot him now. End it right here. But would he? I look up at him and he stares back, his eyes wide as saucers. Frozen in place.

I slowly walk over to where he's standing and take the gun from his trembling hands. He turns to look at me. "Brendan…"

"Peter, let's just get the fuck out of here."