"Marie," she explained, softly.

Then, it hit both of the MacManus brothers. Instantaneously, they turned to one another: they both knew. Connor was first to go forward and embrace her, Murphy followed within seconds. Murphy did not hear himself when he started mumbling about her hair. He was caressing it: it still held the same darkness as it ever had. Then,
Marie pulled back, pushing them roughly off of her. They stumbled, with surprise. They should have known - should have.

Marie punched Connor with her left fist, and swiftly added a good hit to Murphy with her right. Both men fell back, sitting stunned - blinking strangely. In all her glory, Marie stood glowering down at them, both hands clenched at her sides. Murphy touched the now tender skin around his left eye, while Connor fingered his right eye.

"That's for never coming back, you twits," she stated calmly, as if saying it was a sunny day outside.

Scoffing, Connor stood up, then helped Murphy off the floor. It seemed that Murphy was still quite in shock, either over seeing Marie, or having Marie hit him. She smirked at the two boys. They had taught her well, maybe a little too well. She flung herself at them, and they thought she was going to pummel then again. She covered them with her short body, with friendly embraces, and docile kisses.

Murphy and Connor sat in separate chairs across a table from one another. Connor held an ice bag over his sore eye. Already was a bruise beginning to form around his right eye, but he was contented none-the-less. Marie was gently hovering over Murphy, much to his brother's dismay, holding a bag of ice over his left eye. Her hand rested on top of his head, idly playing with his ebony hair. Connor shifted his bag of ice, grumbling.

"How come I'm always the one left to hold my own ice?"

Marie left Murphy's side, he took hold of the ice and finished where Marie left off. She came toward Connor, and took his ice away from him. Peering close at his face, he suddenly became uncomfortable. Marie poked at the red circle forming around his eyes. He winced, considerably, and when he opened his eyes, she held out his ice for him.

"Are ye bleeding?"

"Well, no, but . . ."

"Then you're fine," she cut him off, walking back to Murphy.

"He's not bleeding, either," Connor interjected, as Marie held Murphy's ice bag for him once more.

"No, but he's the baby - he needs more attention," stated Marie, apathetically.

"What?" they both asked, confusedly.

Her hand clamped over her mouth as she heard their question. She closed both her eyes, and sighed. Marie could not believe that she had just let that out. Ma would be so mad at her. She could hear Mrs. MacManus' voice now, "You fucking did what? You little sodding bastard!" Marie chuckled audibly, then glanced at both of the brothers.

"Well?" they inquired, anxiously.

"I mean," she looked down at Murphy's face, peering up at her, "Murph, you always act like such a baby."

"Bull . . ." this came from Connor, scoffing loudly.

"Shit," Murphy did the same.

Marie threw her hands up in the air and let out cry of annoyance. She sat in one of the chairs beside Murphy. Attempting to ignore that Murphy, and Connor held a heated gaze on her, she twiddled her thumbs. Marie never was any good at fibbing. Humming "Oh, Danny Boy,"she tried to change the subject.

"So," she drawled, casually, "what 'ave ye been up to the last nine years?"

"No," Connor stated, slamming his hand down on the table.

Murphy merely smirked and lit a cigarette. He gave it to Marie, who gladly excepted it, then he lit one for himself. Connor impatiently lit his own, then began to drum his fingers on the table. Marie nonchalantly smoked her cigarette, staring at Murphy, whose was grinning ear-to-ear. Yes, she surmised, he definitely is the baby.

"Nice place," she tried again, "so moderate, yet cozy."

Connor slowly placed both his arms on the table and glared at Marie. Finally, she was forced to return his blatant stare. She smiled ever so innocently, and he was taken aback. He hated that look. That was how she had gotten away with everything. He recalled that she had played many a joke on both of their parents, and blamed it on them. Somehow, Connor always got the blunt of the lectures, as well as the punishments. He after all, was the one to initiate their stunts. On the contrary, he thought, she's the baby.

"Spill, or we'll tickle," he challenged.

Her face dropped, and she whipped her head around to look at Murphy. He was most certainly not any help. He cracked his knuckles, and awaited his brother's signal. No, she thought, they wouldn't dare. She turned to Connor once more - yes, she knew, they would dare. That was how it always was before. To get her to tell secrets, they would tickle her mercilessly, until she cried and could not breathe.

Marie gulped, a little to loudly for her liking. Maybe they didn't hear that? Studying both of them - yes, they heard it, and it was written all over their features. She laughed, forcefully, and apprehensively ran a finger through her hair. Trying to compose her face, she straightened her posture.

"Boys," she struggled, "I don't think . . . "

She never got to finish, because she made a mad dash for the other side of the room. In mid-sentence, Connor had jumped up to fulfill his promise of torture. They had a beaten down couch, which Marie hastily jumped onto. She stood on one side, the brothers on the other. She shifted her weight from leg to leg, trying to read their bodies. They were practically still, and oh, so menacing looking. Marie shook her head, hopelessly, then ran to the right.

Murphy intercepted her from that way, while Connor opted for the opposite. She turned from Murphy, only to ram into Connor's hard chest. She stumbled into Murphy's arms, and it began. It was a known fact between the three, that she was abnormally ticklish everywhere, even her palms were sensitive. At Murphy merely grabbing her shoulders, she shrieked. Her legs fell out from under her, but thankfully Connor caught her half-way, so she did not fall horribly. He descended on her knees.

"No - no - no - please - Con - don't! Murph - help - no - dying! Stop - please - oh - god - can't - breathe! Fuck - fuck - fuck - ass - fuck - fuck - fucking - shit - damn - damnable - assholes - bastards - sons of bitches - mother fucking, Connor, Murphy - no!"

This continued for many minutes, Connor and Murphy thoroughly enjoying themselves at hearing random obscenities thrown at them. The only other woman they knew who could use the word fuck so many times in one sentence, was their Ma. They grinned, and laughed, which sounded so evil to Marie.

Abruptly - they both ceased succinctly. But, Marie could steal feel the tickling sensation and her laughter was mixed with a bit of squeaking; it subsided, eventually. Slowly, with a ragged breath, and unsteady bearings, she sat up. Connor was on her right, looking very satisfied, whilst Murphy appeared devilishly smug; in short, they were both proud of themselves.

She caught her breath quickly, alternating her glarings between the two. She finally sighed, with a comfortable smile on her countenance. Marie hung her head down - she had been beaten by the best, she conceded.

"Now, about being the baby?" Murphy inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"You know," she looked up, sounding exasperated, "you would think after so many years it wouldn't matter."

"But . . ."

"It does," interjected Connor.

She shook her head, without much force, and threw her hands up in the air. Rolling her eyes at both of them in turn, Marie pulled herself up onto the couch. Murphy and Connor squeezed in terribly close beside her. Instinctively, her head found Connor's shoulder, and she propped her legs up on Murphy. She deeply breathed in the fresh scent of Irish Spring, it comforted her to know that they were once again together.

Murphy and Connor stared at one another. Each of them were somehow drawn to her: it was not her appearance, because they had seen more beautiful women in their days. But, it was the mere fact that the girl could talk - speak about almost anything and everything, her knowledge consisted of many, many various subjects.

And, even though she was six years the younger, it was she who they consulted all those years ago when doing homework. It was her Mother who was so worldly who knew many different languages, and she was the one who taught them all. Of course they found it dreadfully boring and tedious, but they picked up foreign languages easily. But, it was Marie who took it one step forward with learning how to write in all of those languages; they never took the time.

Then again, Murphy found himself always wanting to bury his head in her damnable ruby red hair. Whilst, Connor opted for her shadowed green eyes. So, Murphy allowed himself while she had her eyes so peacefully closed, to softly stroke her unkempt locks.

"Eight and a half minutes," she mumbled, sleepily.

Her breath slowed, and what she was saying did not register in their minds. They were as it always was before - together - a family. Both brothers made themselves comfortable, that is as comfortable as they could with a girl laid atop them. Hearing her breath become shallow, and steady, they knew that slumber was creeping over her, as well as themselves.

So, they warmed one another, with their bodies intensely pressed close to one another. And, they also warmed each other with one another's presence. Nine years was a long time to be away from a dear one. For once since their 'Saintly' work, their minds were quieted.

"Con?" her voice quickly fading into the shadows.

"Hmm?"

"You," she stated, "by eight and a half minutes."

Murphy knew it, he knew all along. He was the one that followed Connor, even blindly sometimes. But, would follow him to the River of Styx blindly, if necessary. That one argument was put to rest, whilst others would probably never be. Connor, grinned voluntarily - he knew it - knew it all along. He was the one who was always protective of Murphy, even to the extent where it would miff his brother. But, they always stayed together, and there was no need for apologies. They simply knew.