Author's note: Reid's Girl: Thank you. Keep reading. GoddessLaughs: Thank you very much, I'm glad you like it. I love your story too. Keep writing. Also I am nothing but a humble author who writes for her own enjoyment. However, comments are very much appreciated. End

Chapter V

Several beers and three shots was hardly enough to make her vomit, especially several hours later of indigestion, but Brodie was crouched down, head hanging, throwing up any form of food from the past twenty-four hours. "You a one beer queer, are you?" She looked behind to see Connor standing in the doorway. He moved towards her and pulled her hair back.

"Fuck off," she choked out before her insides came up again.

He rubbed her back, "Let it out, love. Sure make you feel a helluva lot better."

She nodded meekly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Fuck," she spit. "I need to get tennis shoes."

"I'll get you some coffee and aspirin."

"Hell no!" She started to stand. "I'll make the coffee."

As they walked into the kitchen he commented, "You didn't drink that much, I thought."

Brodie poured herself a cup of water, "I don't know. Maybe it's just an upset stomach." She opened up the coffee maker and groaned. "Connor. I bought fucking filters for you to use. No more toilet paper." She turned it over and began to clean out the grinds with her fingers. "You two coming in for dinner?"

He shook his head, "No, love, we got an errand today. But tonight we're taking you to McGinty's."

"McGinty's?"

"Our little bar, since we went to your Mario's and all."

"Fair enough. I'll probably get out around ten or so."

"Which gives us the entire night to booze away."

Murphy stumbled into the kitchen, his hair disheveled and his eyes squinted. "The fuck you two doing up so early?" He looked at Brodie, who was scraping chunks of toilet paper and coffee grinds. "He fucking put toilet paper in the maker again?"

"I work with what I fucking had—"

"I'm making a fresh batch," Brodie interrupted, pulling down the canister of coffee grinds.

"What smells like…sick?"

Brodie threw Connor a hard look. "Probably the plumbing fucked up again." He lit up two cigarettes and handed one to Murphy.

At the end of her shift, she came out seventy-five richer which was decent for an empty Wednesday night. Slipping on Murphy's oversized sweater, she trotted outside. Snowflakes trickled from the sky and a lone lamp post lit up a tall and broad silhouette. Murphy. "I thought you guys had 'errands' to do."

"Always can make time for the newest addition."

"What? No inauguration? I can just go in with a gun? Do I get a necklace too?"

Murphy laughed while digging into his pocket for his Marlboros. "Fuck."

"What?"

"Crushed them fucking again."

"A cigarette is a cigarette. Light me one."

He handed her one with a slightly crooked filter. She inhaled deeply. "I love the snow."

"Aye. Me too." They came around to the apartment.

She rushed inside and emerged about ten minutes later a completely different person. Beneath her usual jeans and old band shirts, was a shapely Bettie Page figure clad in black, sheered-laced dress with turquoise slip underneath. It was sleeveless, showing off the soft curve of her neck to her shoulder, a low neckline that showed of cleavage usually hidden under an Aerosmith or Led Zeppelin logo, and a strip of black satin that wrapped around her waist to accentuate her hour glass figure. Her curls were brushed and she had a hint of mascara and gloss on her rosy lips; she no longer needed concealer for the bruises on her face anymore.

They gaped for moment until Connor blurted, "Christ. Who knew there was woman underneath?"

"Oh, fuck off."

"In all honesty, you clean up well. I didn't even realize you had tits till now. Fucking good size one at—"

"Fuck it. I'm changing."

Murphy caught her elbow and pulled her in close till her lips touch her ear. "You look lovely." His voice returned to normal pitch. "Come on. Let's get to McGinty's. Doc's been wanting to meet you." He winked her. "I'll grab your coat."

"Where's Duke?"

"Out." Connor replied, holding a cigarette in his lips.

"That's all?"

"The fuck he tells us anything."

Murphy slipped her coat up onto her shoulders and grabbed the door for her, "Let's go."

Walking inside, in was sparsely crowded. They walked up to the bar where and old was standing, wiping a mug down with a towel. "Boys! What brings ya t-t-t-to my bar tonight?"

"This is Brodie," Murphy twirled her. "We brought out for a boys night."

"Hardly a b-b-b-b, hardly a man you think? FUCK. ASS." He turned to the side as if he was going to sneeze. "Nice to meet you Miss Brodie. They talked a lot about you. You look b-b-b-beauty, you look lovely, I mean." He sighed, exhausted almost from conversation. "Beers all around?"

"Yes, Doc," Connor leaned over and clasped him on the back. "You read our minds exactly."

She leaned back against the bar and looked around. Off by the juke box was a group of teenagers, in the retro eighties get up, digging in their tore jeans for spare change. The Jackson Five's ABC blared throughout the bar. Brodie lip synched along perfectly and smiled over at Murphy. "Someone dance with me."

"Murphy," Connor drained his beer and gestured for another one. "He took to it when Ma fucking made us take lessons. Trying to refine us at thirteen."

"Too bad, he was a little slut by then," she pushed him playfully.

Murphy grabbed her hand and pulled her to the middle. She looked around, blushing. "No one else is dancing!" She started for the bar but he grabbed her.

"Does that bother you?" He asked, twirling her. "I don't mind the limelight." He dipped her. "Your tits do looking amazing," he snapped her back up and she swatted his arm.

"You're so suave, Mr. MacManus."

"Oh, how I try for the ladies."

"You're not a shitty dancer."

"You wouldn't be either if you would fucking let me lead."

"If I give you that control, I might as well wear pearls when I make you boys dinner."

"Only if its pearls and nothing else."

The song ended and she pulled away, smiling shyly. A slower song came on, a 1940s slow tune. He grabbed her and pulled her back, "This was always my forte." He pulled her in, one hand on the curve of her hip, the other holding her hand. "Relax into me," he whispered, he swayed back and forth, holding her tightly.

There was a tap on his shoulder, one of the retro teens stood there. "I wanna cut in."

"No, fuck off," Brodie growled.

Defeated, he returned to his friends.

"That was nice," he laughed.

"I hate being interrupted."

The song ended as well and Connor came over with two beers. "Come on, let's fucking play billiards."

"I'll fucking beat both your asses."

Murphy released, "You're that fucking good, right?"

"And better."

She wracked them and broke them, sinking two strips in. She cleared the table for all save one, which she missed purposely. Brodie handed the pool stick to Connor. "Your turn."

"She's blowing you, mate. You're done." Someone called over to them.

Connor flipped them off and sunk one solid in. He leaned forward and lined up when Brodie intervened with, "Save that one," and broke his concentration.

"What?" He stood up. "Why?"

"It's the easiest shot." It was teetering on the edge. "Save it."

"No."

She shrugged her shoulder and chugged her beer while Connor made his shot. The cue ball backspin and was pinned by a stripe and the eight ball leaving him without a shot. "Don't say a fucking word."

"But," she sunk her stripe. "I think loser should buy me and Murph beer."

"What if you loose?"

She looked up at him and smiled, "Corner pocket." It rolled in effortlessly.

"Bitch."

"Slut."

"Wench."

"Cunt."

"I still won, either way." She smiled. "Now where's that beer?"