A/N: It was never my intention to let this go unfinished for as long as I did but it's been a crazy two years with a couple of job changes and everything that happened last year. This is the final chapter and as I've said before I do intend on writing a sequel for Her Defenses. I've been working out how to start it and how it'll align with second movie and beyond.

Chapter 8

I've never really been one who likes good-byes so I guess, for now, this will be a see you later. It's been nearly 2 years since either of us have sent you a letter and I know that after Connor's last one he said he wasn't going to write you anymore. He knows I'm sending this but doesn't think it's a good idea. He thinks that we were just toys that you strung around until shit went sideways and ended the way it did.

I think he's just full of shit and pissed off that you won't write us back. You know though, I've been thinking a lot over the years (dangerous, right?) that maybe you have been trying to write back but for some reason we haven't been able to get your letters. You know that Smecker was killed in the line of duty a few years back and he was supposed to be the one doing the back and forth to try and keep us in touch with you but I don't know. Maybe I'm just rambling, trying to find an excuse.

Connor told you about that dream he's been having off and on the last few years, hasn't he? The one where we're all sitting in the bar with Da and Rocco and it ends with you getting a bullet to the head? Truth be told, I've been having nightmares of mine the last few years as well. It's different than the one Connor's had but it still ends with you getting killed. Da and Rocco weren't in it and we weren't in a bar either; we were back in Boston in our flat on the 5th floor, you moved in with us so it was all three of us living together in the same space. We were older, like we are now (you should see our hair and beards, we look like Jesus Christ!) and had given up the whole vigilante thing, really trying to settle down, ya know?

Anyway, in my dream we kept hearing a voice calling us back to what we used to do then some asshole breaks down our door. For me and Connor it's déjà vu all over again. I don't remember if I ever told you this but we had the misfortune of pissing off some Russians on St. Patty's Day one night and the next morning they came and took me out back in the alley and tried to put a bullet in my head. I'm rambling again, sorry. Some asshole breaks down our door, grabs me, and puts me on my knees. He was saying something about how you were going to leave with him or he was going to leave with your head and no witnesses.

You flat out refused saying that you were never going to go back and before you could say another word he fires one round off, point blank into your head with me and Connor watching then he points the gun at Connor and makes me watch him kill my brother. He jams the gun to the side of my head and just as the round goes off, that's when I wake up.

I'm sorry I don't have the right words to create the kind of drama that Connor does in his letters but I'm sure you can imagine that I'm just as scared as he is to lose you completely. I know that in my last letter I said that we had buried everything in the barn but last night I dug it all up again. I sat on the cold, hard dirt for hours with my rosary going through every prayer that I could remember, I took out one of our guns and held it for nearly as long wondering if the guys we killed did anything to help the people in Boston.

There's been a lot going on in the last two years though. Our cousin Saoirse, her little girl just turned two and now she's pregnant with twins. Ma told her not to name them after us if they're boys, says we were nothing but trouble and even more difficult when it came to potty training. She said we'd get it everywhere but the bowl and would get mad at us when we'd get it on the floor and she stepped in it. Ma said that we'd laugh our asses off at her when she'd start swearing up a storm but I think she was just frustrated that Da wasn't there to help.

Speaking of Da, he had us go to town a few days to sell some of the sheep and he told us we could stay the weekend if wanted. Da's got us working day and night with chores around the farm so we took him up on his offer; got us a room Friday night after we were done working and made ourselves at home in the bar most all weekend. Ya know, it was kind of nice though not having to go home straight away; it was nice just being able to relax with a pint for a change. Only thing that would've made it better would be having you, Doc, and Rocco with us but we both know that'll never happen.

What I found to be strange when we were in town was the fact that everyone left us alone. Back in Boston, when we'd go to Doc's, we always thought of ourselves as kinda the life of the party. We always had people around us, always had fun, most of the time had these girls hitting on us and trying to get us to go home with them. We would oblige them a good part of the time or we'd take them home with us but this weekend was just different all the way around. Maybe it was because of how we looked but none of that happened this time. Connor thinks it was because we're being haunted by our past and everyone in the bar that weekend could just sense that something wasn't right with us.

Honestly, other than working we haven't really done anything interesting or anything that's really worth writing about so I'm not really sure why I'm even doing this. Even with Smecker dead, this is probably just some last ditch effort to reach out one last time. I miss hearing your terrible singing, I miss the back rubs after a double at the plant, I miss our talks on the roof just before sunrise. Hell, I just fucking miss you! I know Connor does too even though he won't say it out loud.

I know this'll be the last letter I'm ever sending but maybe, just maybe, I'll get to see you one last time. I know in the beginning of this I said that I didn't like good-byes and that I wanted this to be more of a see you later but if I'm being honest with myself this will have to be good-bye. With Smecker dead, I have no idea how this would ever get to you. Our uncle will probably burn any trace of it when I hand it over to him.

So until the day comes that our paths may one day cross again, this is good-bye.

Murphy