She left the guys there to deal with Rocco's outburst, promising to meet up with the twins the day after the next. By then, Connor announced, he'd have a plan set out and he'd be ready to go over details.

"Where are ya goin'?" Murphy asked as Wren shoved the handful of belongings she had with her – cigarettes, one of Murphy's t-shirts, some bills borrowed from Rocco, and a spare SIG – into a small bag.

"Got a few things to take care of," Wren muttered, pulling her thrift-shop boots on.

Murphy rubbed his mouth and nodded. "Aye. Well…here," he said, holding out a slip of paper. "This is the number to where we're stayin'."

Wren took it, glanced at it, and smiled. "You're really staying with Rocco's mum?"

Murphy shrugged. "She's in Mexico, apparently."

"Right," Wren grinned wider. "Don't get blood on the carpet."

"You sure you won't stay with us?"

Wren shook her head, although Murphy detected a bit of reluctance. "I need to talk to Donahue."

Murphy's jaw tightened at the mention of Donahue's name. "What tha feck for?" he growled.

Wren sighed. "I need to know…to know what he knows. About me." She spread her arms out. "About this. Jesus, Murphy, this goes deep – really deep. And I don't want or need you or Connor involved."

Murphy scoffed. "A little late fer dat. I'm more than involved, Wren," he said firmly. He moved towards her and caught her off guard, cradling her face in his hands. Tilting her head up, he leaned down over her mouth, searching her eyes with his. "I'm invested," he admitted before softly touching her lips with his.

He kissed her again, and then a third time, and her breathing hitched as her hand dropped her bag and clutched his hair and shoulders. Backing her against the door, Murphy leaned into the kiss with his entire being, thrilled when Wren kissed him back with as much fervour.

"I have to go," Wren managed to mutter between their lips. Still, her hands tugged at anything she could reach – his shirt, his jeans, his hair, his hands.

Murphy nodded, breathing heavily through his nose. "Aye. But I don't want ta let ya," he answered, almost shyly. His next kiss was warm and wet, and he heard Wren whimper as his tongue wound slowly with hers. After a few seconds, he pulled away once more. "M'fraid ya won't come back."

She chuckled softly and pressed up on her toes so that their foreheads rested together. Her dark blue eyes found his bright ones and she held his gaze as she spoke. "I told you, Murphy, I'll always come back to you. Always."

"Aye, we'll see her in less than two days, Murph," Connor piped up from where he'd appeared around the corner.

Murphy uttered a curse at his brother's timing and reluctantly took a step back from Wren. "Aye," he nodded. "We'll see ya, then."

Wren picked up her bag and glanced back at the twins one last time before stepping out and closing the door behind her. With a sigh, Murphy collapsed back against the door and fixed Connor with a serious look. "Ya got a hold o'Smecker?"

Connor nodded. "Aye. They know she's comin' ta see Donahue. He's agreed to keep tha room clear for the next twelve hours."

Murphy nodded and ran a hand through his dark hair. "All right. Let's talk ta Roc an' find out more about dis strip joint."

For some reason, Pam wasn't that surprised to see Wren walk through the door of Unltd Blue. The brunette had a feeling she'd see the smaller woman again, and sooner rather than later. Still, Pam was on her guard, and as Wren approached the sales counter, Pam cast a quick eye around, wondering if one, or both, of the MacManus brothers was lurking nearby.

Wren chuckled. "Relax. I'm alone." She gave Pam a pointed look. "For someone who wants nothing to do with a certain Irishman, you seem rather eager to catch a glimpse of him."

Pam bristled and felt her cheeks flush. She looked down at the pile of T shirts she was refolding. "Whatever," she muttered, in a rather unconvincing tone. "Good riddance."

Wren rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I'm not buying that," she murmured smartly. Pam snapped her eyes up and Wren started talking once more. "But I'm not here to talk about that. I need your help."

Pam gave a tight smile. "I'm afraid my first aid kit is at home."

This made Wren laugh, and she shook her head. "No, nothing like that – but I didn't get to tell you how grateful I am that you were there for me…for us. Not too many people would have held it together quite like you did."

Pam paused her folding and shrugged. "I'm good under pressure."

"And you're good at changing your look."

Pam glanced up again and gave Wren a curious grin. "What are you getting at?"

Wren flashed her best smile and leaned over the counter. "I need you to make me look…well, like not me."

"What for?"

Now, Wren shook her head. "Doesn't matter. Don't want you involved like that. But I need your help…something to wear…a change to my hair…think you could hook a girl up?"

Pam pursed her lips and tilted her head. Of course she could help – she had what Tim considered to be her own personal tickle trunk in the back of the store. She nodded slowly. "All right," she agreed. "Follow me."

Pam smiled over Wren's shoulder as they both inspected her reflection in the mirror.

"Not bad," Wren murmured, smoothing her hand over the short, black, pixie-cut wig she now wore.

Pam snorted and turned to put away her makeup kit. "Your own mother wouldn't recognize you," she said triumphantly.

"I don't know about that," Wren answered quietly, still turning her head from side to side to see her reflection from all angles. Her eyes caught Pam's in the mirror once more. "I look just like her."

Pam faltered and looked at her hands, slightly blushing. "Oh." She started busying herself with recapping lipstick and closing eyeshadow cases. "Um…" she shrugged. "I don't…" she trailed off lamely, not knowing what to say.

Wren grinned and turned around to look at Pam. "Thank you." Her voice was soft, almost sad. "I'd forgotten what she looked like."

Pam smiled back. "Guess we'd better hope that Nate isn't hanging around?"

"No reason to be at the hospital," Wren slipped casually, reaching for the long black trenchcoat that Pam had picked out for her. She paused and glanced back to Pam.

Pam had also frozen at Wren's words and stared at her questioningly from over her shoulder. "You're going to see that cop?"

Wren nodded and gathered her borrowed purse before slipping on the small black ballet flats.

Pam blew out a heavy sigh. "Do the boys know?"

The former blonde smiled tightly. "It's getting harder to hide things from them. Yeah, they know. They're not happy about it."

"Can't say I blame them."

Wren looked closely at Pam. "You remember when you came to me about Murphy? Said he was a wreck without me?"

Pam sighed softly and nodded.

Wren nodded too. "Those two are a lot more alike than they seem. Think you'll ever talk to Connor again?"

Now, Pam bristled, and she slammed the lid of her case shut. "I honestly don't know."

And her tone was truthful. Wren understood all too well the reasoning behind Pam's decision. Still, she hadn't seen a couple better suited for each other – even she and Murphy couldn't compare to what Pam and Connor had. Finally, Wren offered half a smile in Pam's direction. "Well, at least you've thought about it." She turned, her purse in hand, and headed for the door that would lead back into the store front and then to the street. "Thank you. For everything, Pam. I don't have friends; I've never believed in them, but for you, I'll make an exception."

Pam chuckled darkly. "Oh, thank you so much," she growled playfully.

Wren halted at the door and then turned back to Pam and closed the distance between them. She hesitated only slightly before hugging her close and firm for a few seconds. "Thank you," she whispered again.

Pam had a feeling that the embrace didn't come naturally to Wren so she merely accepted it. "Any time," she whispered back.

Wren didn't know whether to take Donahue's unguarded hospital room as a good sign or a bad sign. She hovered near the nurses' station on the orthopaedics ward, watching as seniors shuffled back and forth on crutches and wheelchairs. When she'd called that morning for an update on Donahue's status, the nurse had informed her that he'd been checked in on Saturday night with a shattered hip and extensive bleeding. She'd never thought to associate that with the orthopaedics ward or with the fact that it would be overrun by gray-haired elderly folks looking sour in their old age. Hospitals wigged Wren out at the best of times; now, surrounded by the aged, it was just another affirmation of her own mortality.

She shuddered, and then set off down towards Donahue's room. Outside of the door, she hesitated and then, after a deep breath, she stepped inside and gently shut the door. Near the window lay Donahue, hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor that steadily beeped. He looked pale under the dim overhead light, washed out, even, and there were dark circles under his eyes. For a few seconds, she merely stood and studied him, wondering what she was going to say.

"Took you long enough to show up."

Wren's eyes snapped to his face, and though his eyes remained closed, there was a ghost of a smirk on his face.

"Didn't know you were waiting up," Wren gently replied as she neared the bed. "Thought they would have had this place surrounded…given the circumstances." She paused at his bedside and reached a hand out, smoothing it over the short, thick nap of his black hair.

He sighed, pressing his head into her touch, and then reached up and twined his fingers with hers. When he opened his eyes, he faltered, taking in the short dark hair and dramatic makeup. "Wow," he muttered. "You look…" he took a second and traveled over her changed appearance once more. "You look…"

"I look Russian," Wren answered wryly. "Though, I think I kind of like it."

Donahue smirked. "It suits you," he said simply.

"Thanks." Wren gave him a small smile and then looked him over, hospital gown and all. "You look like shit."

Donahue huffed a sigh and shrugged as best he could. "Yeah, that happens when you have a shattered hip. It's a good thing someone called 911 so quickly," he added, giving her a pointed look.

Wren chuckled darkly, pulling her hand free of his. "It was a tough decision."

Her words hung between them for what seemed like eternity. Then, Donahue spoke.

"I never…I didn't think you'd find out this way."

She scoffed. "Really? Were you going to wait until you had me in handcuffs? Or maybe until I was in a holding cell up in Washington?" She began to pace the small space at the foot of his bed. "How exactly did you see this going?"

"I don't know," Donahue muttered. "But you're here now. You took a risk. Why?"

"I need you to tell me just exactly how much about me is on file. I figure after five years, you're bound to know more about me than I do."

Donahue frowned, looking at his hands. "We know everything."

"Like?"

Again, he sighed, and found Wren's gaze with his own. "You don't want me to sit here and tell you what I know and what I don't know. You want to know what kind of a sentence is lined up for you when we finally bring you in. You want to know if you can make a deal."

"Can I?"

Donahue shook his head. "I don't know."

Wren waved her hand around the room, gesturing to his door. "Well, you obviously have some friends in high places. Your door should be crowded by overzealous Boston PD or at least monitored by a couple of Feds fresh out of the academy. So who did you sell out?"

This made Donahue sneer. "Feds don't sell crooks out. Feds get their men."

"I suppose I was just a bonus?"

"You were on my radar for a very long time, Wren," Donahue admitted. "And then you dropped off. Imagine my surprise when, after being transferred to Boston and working the Irish from the inside, that you, of all people, should turn up again."

Wren stopped her pacing and stared out the window, her arms wrapped around her torso. "So…this whole thing…I mean…it was all lies, wasn't it?" She turned and looked at him from over her shoulder.

"The only thing I ever lied to you about was that I was a Fed. And that wasn't even a lie," Donahue argued softly.

"Lies of omission are still lies," Wren pointed out.

"You're just upset that you didn't figure it out. You're observant; I noted that in your file early on."

Wren bristled at the glib tone of voice and her eyes snapped back to the window. She said nothing.

There was another stretch of silence between them, interrupted only by the steady beep of Donahue's heart monitor.

"Has Monaghan been in contact with you?"

Wren shook her head. "No. No, I haven't seen anyone since the fight."

"You were holed up with MacManus, weren't you?"

"What is your beef with him?"

"I don't trust him."

Wren snorted. "That's rich, coming from you."

"Seriously, Wren, there's things going on that I can't talk about. It could mean more trouble for you…"

Wren raised her hand to silence him. "I can handle it."

"Of course you can," Donahue growled. "All right. Monaghan is searching for you, Gareghty wants you dead, and your dear baby brother is on the hunt."

"And you?" Finally, Wren moved from the window and stood at his side once more, looking down into his dark brown eyes. "What do you have in store for me?"

"You know that when this is over you're going down."

"It's gotta be over, first."

"You're not the type to leave unfinished business, Wren. Just what exactly are you planning?"

Wren smiled and shook her head. She had no clue what Connor had stored in his head, but Donahue didn't need to know that. "I'm sure you'll read about it. Sorry you won't be around to watch the fireworks."

"Me, too," Donahue sighed. When Wren moved to leave, he caught her hand and held it close. "You know…if I could get a deal…anything to help you, I would."

Wren nodded. "I know. Thank you, Ryan." She let her hand slip from his and stepped quietly to the door. "I guess I'll be seeing you."

"I hope so," Donahue answered to an empty room.