NB: Sensitive readers tread lightly.

Story Warnings: Incest, Language, Sensitive Religious Content, MalexMale

Movie Verse: First Movie; Pre Canon - Canon / Canon Deviation

Authors Note: This is my attempt at a Boondock Saints incest story between Conner and Murphy MacManus, I won't say it's realistically portrayed because that depends on the readers views.

Sub note: Conner and Murphy's full names were printed in the newspaper 'Boston Herald', it is visible in the movie during the scene in the police station.

-I did my best to accurately depict Boston directions, however I only have maps to reference, please excuse any discrepancies.

- I have no idea what whiskey tastes like, no offense intended to Canadians.

NB: On AO3 this story is uploaded with additional images

Chapter Five

You could hold the secrets that save
Me from myself...

Everything fell into place almost too perfectly after they'd woken again hours later in the cell that morning, sharing their customary look in which they affirmed that they were on the same page, that they were both sure about what that dream had been about and what they had to do. And right after that the Russian's pager beeped, the one which Murphy had forgotten in his robe pocket when they'd given Doc the green package to hold for them at the hospital, and ten minutes later they had a new purpose, they had a target.

There would be a meeting of mafia, of evil men.

Connor sniffed, he was staring at the plastic table top cover as he stirred sugar into his cup of coffee, sitting across from Murphy in a small coffee shop in South Boston, their empty late breakfast plates were piled atop each other at the open end of the small booth waiting to be collected. They'd been home straight after leaving the police station just to pack up their meager portable belongings. They wouldn't be returning there since they'd almost certainly be targets for the Russian mob after what had happened.

Even without the press writing about the 'Saints' and printing their names in the newspaper, news on the street of exactly where the fat bastard Ivan had been found dead and which pub he'd been to the night before would lead the mafia straight to the twins, and Doc.

"We have te' do et' soon an' proper, Connor…they'll be goin' after Doc." Murphy said quietly and Connor raised his eyes, their minds naturally in sync. Murphy had one hand around the base of his coffee mug, elbows on the table and eyes dead on Connor's own blue as he flicked his thumb down and up over the filter of his half smoked cigarette held in his other hand.

Connor nodded and looked down,

"Aye, I know…" he responded as he slipped a cigarette from Murphy's pack on the table. He didn't have to reach for his lighter because Murphy raised his own and flicked it on, their eyes meeting again and Connor noticed that orange flecks were just slightly visible in Murphy's iris' due to the overcast weather and dimness of the coffee shop.

Connor averted his gaze from his twin's eyes; he had to put his wandering, confusing –and persistent- thoughts and feelings about Murphy aside for the time being.

So he focused his mind,

"I know where te' find them, the Russians." He said quietly after inhaling from the cigarette to get it burning, smoke seeping out of his mouth with every word before he picked his coffee up and sipped from it.

Murphy frowned,

"How?" he asked before smoking as well, eyes darting from Connor to the ashtray between them and then around the shop.

"The pager." Connor said with a 'duh' expression on his face and Murphy took a few seconds to catch up, his eyes narrowed briefly,

"You called the number." He stated and Connor nodded as he exhaled smoke through his nose and the small 'o' shape of his lips. He watched Murphy consider when Connor would have had a chance away from him to make a phone call and then his eyebrow twitched up, "At the station…" he picked his coffee up and finished it off.

"Aye, are yeh' caught up now, Murph?" Connor made an attempt at teasing his sibling.

Murphy just gave him a dead pan look before finishing off his cigarette and Connor didn't speak right away because their young gum chewing waitress came by all smiles and flirting with her eyes in Connor's direction just then,

"Anything else, guys?"

Connor spared her a smile and was going to be nice but Murphy gave her a side long look and answered for him,

"No, thanks." In a flat tone that implied she should move on.

The girl looked a bit annoyed but Connor decided to follow his brother's lead, the vow aside, they had important things to talk about, so he turned his full attention to his twin and the girl didn't have a reason to stand there looking offended without their attention on her, so she walked away.

"Yeh' don't have te' be so rude, Murph." Connor said with a smirk, tapping ash off his smoke into the ashtray while Murphy lit up a new one, his eyes settling sharply on Connor through the coils of rising smoke. Murphy took the cigarette from between his lips to speak as he shrugged,

"If yeh' want te' flirt then do et' in yer' own time, Connor." He said quietly, scratching the side of his neck before rubbing his fingers over his lips and fidgeting with his cigarette,

"Not this shit again Murph, we've been over this." Connor frowned lightly.

"Where are the Russian's gonna be, Connor?" Murphy deflected after a short sigh as he rubbed the heel of his hand into one eye.

Connor clenched his jaw as he rubbed at his left bandaged wrist with the available fingers on his current smoking hand, before he made a fist with his free hand, eyes squinting slightly against his cigarette smoke,

"The Copley Plaza Hotel, Presidential Suite…" he remembered and then he shifted and reached into his coat pocket on the seat beside him to take out the small slip of paper he'd written it on, glancing at it before flicking it at Murphy, "…room 701-…"

"Tonight, nine PM." Murphy finished as he read.

"Aye." Connor said, noticing the light of excitement seeping into Murphy's eyes as he responded,

"So we need te' get our stuff from Doc an' tell him te' close the bar fer' a day or two…"

"….then we'll need te' find a man fer' weapons…" Connor added quietly and Murphy nodded,

"…an' trade him the shit I took off the Russian's fer' whatever we need." He said just as quietly.

Connor thought it over for a few seconds and then raised an eyebrow, pointing the fingers in which he held his cigarette at Murphy,

"There was that guy, remember-…"

"Aye, the one that Riley mentioned." Murphy nodded slowly.

Connor nodded too, his and Murphy's eyes focused on each other as they planned together,

"Et's been a while though."

"Over a year…" Murphy agreed, "…but we should still check et' out."

Connor nodded again, finishing his cigarette,

"But do yeh' think Riley was telling us the truth, Murph?" he questioned.

Murphy bobbed his eyebrows, smirking,
"Of course, he was drunk, Connor, a sober man doesn't talk about the whereabouts an' details of an illegal arms dealer." He tapped his temple lightly, "That's just not smart."

Connor raised an eyebrow and glanced at the cherry of his burning cigarette filter,

"Mind you, haven't seen Riley around in a while, have we?"

They took a moment to contemplate what that could mean for the poor drunken, loose lipped sod they'd only met a few times at McGinty's and then with a brief glance at each other they crossed themselves before mumbling a prayer, identical but unheard, for the possible fate of the man, before they went back to smoking and thinking about the task ahead.

"We need a place te' stay tonight, after..." Murphy said, scratching around the edge of the plaster stuck above his right eye with his thumb nail, before he brought his cigarette down and took two drags to finish it.

"We can stay in a motel fer' tonight, we'll leave our stuff wit' Doc while we're on the job an' fetch it after." Connor decided.

Murphy stared at him for a few seconds before responding by blowing a smoke ring toward Connor's face and the latter couldn't help watching his brother's mouth make that 'O' shape, his head filling with filth that made him reach across the table and smack the side of Murphy's head firmly, making his twin flinch, curse and snicker,

"Would yeh' fuckin' stop, Jesus fuckin' Christ, be serious would yeh'." he said firmly, inwardly freaking out.

"Lord's name, Connor." Murphy mock scolded with a pointed finger and smirk, Connor gave him a 'shut up' expression,

"Fuck off, Murphy." He said with a grimace of disgust at the involuntarily warmth of arousal coursing through his body right then.

He was sure those mental images had pretty much sealed the deal for him to go to hell.

But where the fuck did they even come from? Connor wasn't gay, when he had been fucking, he'd been fucking women. Not that he'd tried anything else in order to say for sure he wasn't queer or inclined both ways, but he hadn't ever considered it or felt like he wanted to.

So how could he even formulate such a dirty image of his –male- twin giving him head and be so turned on by it?

It was so fucking wrong for so many reasons.

But Jesus Christ, it burned a hot line of arousal through him like he'd never known - straight to his cock.

Connor lit up a smoke quickly, Murphy was watching him, and he hoped his twin didn't notice the subtle shake in his hands, or if he did, that he would mistake it for nerves over what they had to do that night, better that.

Connor refocused his thoughts –with some effort- as he smoked, he was confused as all hell about the events unraveling. He knew he wasn't losing his mind about God coming to him in his sleep because it happened to Murphy simultaneously, so either they were both crazy or it was real, or they were both crazy…shit.

But it'd felt real, that presence.

So then, if God wanted Connor as his hand to carry out judgment, to destroy that which is evil, did that mean he didn't think Connor was a filthy heathen for his mental sins against his own blood kin?

How was Connor supposed to interpret it?

He was absently fidgeting, smoking and rubbing his forehead, his bandaged wrists, fiddling with his half empty coffee mug. His mind was racing over whether he should take this duty bestowed upon himself and Murphy as a sign to stay true to God, to just do his will, or additionally, to take it as a sign that God was okay with how he felt about Murphy.

He cursed himself mentally, because that just wasn't sensible.

He knew he was letting what he wanted get in the way of what he knew was right.

Desire was such a powerful thing. He'd never known…

"So what's the plan te' get in?" Murphy broke the silence after lighting yet another cigarette, his easy demeanor was gone and Connor knew he was responsible for the change, since his own mood had shifted drastically.

Connor sighed, pressed his thumbs into his eyes and then sat back to look at Murphy as he ashed his cigarette and prepared to relay the plan he'd thought up just after they'd left the police station,

"I say we go up in the service lift, an' then we stop et' on emergency an' climb up out of the top…" Murphy was glaring at him, "…an' there's sure te' be a ventilation shaft, so we climb in et' above the right floor an'…Murph?" Connor frowned at Murphy who was shaking his head, before said twin grabbed his coat, his bag containing clothes and other meager personals and he stood up and walked away, out of the shop.

Connor shifted to get the money that Murphy had handed over to him earlier out of his back pocket, then he got up, dropped some money on the table for the bill and grabbed his stuff to follow his twin.

Outside, standing on the curb, Murphy was still smoking his cigarette while waiting with an annoyed look on his face and Connor walked right up to him, shouldering his bag and shoving Murphy lightly,

"The fuck is yer' problem, I was talking to yeh'." He said grouchily.

Murphy scoffed smoke into his face,

"You were talking shit, Connor, this is not a fuckin' movie." He shoved Connor back lightly by his shoulder.

Passersby were glancing at them so Connor switched languages,

"Nach bhfuil muinín agat dom, Murphy?"(Don't you trust me, Murphy?) more often than not when they spoke to each other in a different language it was their native tongue, the only time they chose other languages was when they were in Irish company and wanted to talk privately, English also not being an option then.

Murphy looked at him as if he hated that question because it was a tactic to get Murphy to do what Connor wanted,

"Ná tús, Connor, d'fhéadfá a fháil dúinn maraíodh le do chuid smaointe scannán dúr." (Don't start, Connor, you could get us killed with your stupid movie ideas.) Murphy said irritably, shifting his feet and pointing his fingers and cigarette at Connor accusingly.

Connor feigned offense, raising his arms and the cool wind in the streets pressed his shirt to his body as he held them up,

"D'yeh' really believe that?" he said in his best incredulous pitchy tone, "You believe I'd be planning something that would put yeh' at risk? My own brother?" "Don't do that, don't try te' make me feel like an asshole so you can get yer' fuckin way, Connor." Murphy said in a quieter voice, looking more and more annoyed.

Connor found he loved the way Murphy's mouth looked in that scrunched pout, his chin jutting out just a bit and his brow creased lightly and he grinned at his twin to hide a sappy smile, "Well, if yeh've got a better idea, Murph, I'm all ears." He said knowingly. Murphy was all about action, not strategy. Murphy shook his head slowly, eyes narrowing and then he went to say something, paused, smoked, flicked his filter into the street uncaring of any passerby's opinion and finally he pointed into Connor's chest, "There better be a fuckin' ventilation shaft."

Connor just grinned wider at the empty threat and Murphy just scowled before said twin grabbed Connor's shoulder and shoved him, "Let's go." Murphy huffed. And so they went, making their way back to their Irish neighborhood to see Doc about retrieving their stolen goods. And Connor said a personal prayer of thanks to God for his brother's love and trust as he so often did.

The day felt too short, Connor and Murphy had headed back to their neighborhood on foot, so they could save and hand over whatever cash they had left to the arms dealer they'd be going to find later.

They stopped in at Doc's and got an update that the cops hadn't come back to ask any more questions before they retrieved the stolen goods and left their personals with Doc to collect later. They only took a single bag to carry a change of shirts for them, two matching black turtlenecks, and then they headed out on foot again to where they remembered being told they could find a trustworthy Irish arms dealer who lived near the docks.

The walk wasn't too far and the guy, who was ordinary looking, didn't seem surprised to find them on his doorstep saying they'd heard about him through a friend, it was as if taking one look at them had made him invite them in and then down into a dark basement that appeared pretty small…but wasn't.

The twins had left the dealer a little while later feeling excited, locked and loaded, both of their moods had improved. Their brotherly teasing had lightened the atmosphere between them, Murphy for his Rambo knife and Connor for his rope, both of which items were packed in the dealer provided black duffel bags, along with their boxes of bullets, leather gloves, balaclavas, gun holsters and their matching sets of suppressed Beretta 92FS pistols. They hadn't even needed to consider it before they'd apparently grabbed the same guns, only realizing it afterward when they were double checking before leaving the dealer.

Their synchronicity was something Connor relied on and reveled in inwardly and since Murphy had looked discreetly pleased as well, he knew his twin relied on it too. They were two people, two individuals, but connected in spirit and soul when it counted, having a shared mind when it was needed.

After being to the arms dealer and changing their clothes, they were ready, as much as they could be for their first execution slash soul deliverance and it was coming up on seven PM, leaving them little time to make the walk back into Back Bay East to the Copley Plaza.

So they walked briskly, side by side, gaits even, strides steady, no talking, just thinking, or at least Connor was.

They passed by a few churches and Connor didn't feel compelled to see the insides of them. A part of him wanted to pray before the job, pray for Murphy and himself, but somehow God felt closer now, as if this duty, this new way of their lives was between them and Him and visiting a church wouldn't mean as much as standing or kneeling beside Murphy in private to pray.

Thinking that contradicted all his thoughts about not being left alone too long with his brother, and the situation being as confusing as it was left him wondering if God wanted him closer to his brother in faith, while testing his strength against temptation…

…the temptation to kiss and touch Murphy.

But those thoughts had no place in his mind, especially at that time and as soon as they entered the service lift of the Copley Plaza Hotel he set his mind to their task and he and Murphy shared brief silence in the lift, syncing their minds and their breathing before verbally confirming they were both ready, –nervous- but ready.

Ready to be executioners for God.

Rocco showing up at the hotel room after the execution had been an unexpected surprise.

But it'd worked out fine, since they'd incidentally saved Rocco's life, as well as got a lift back to South Boston to pick up their belongings from Doc and were offered to stay with Rocco that night, all in one fell swoop. Plus, the execution had gone –accidentally- perfectly. The rope and the knife had come in handy and the twins had proved to themselves that their years spent growing up with a keen interest in guns had paid off. Also the experience using firearms they'd garnered from friends and relatives growing up in Ireland and in Boston through the years had proved invaluable.

It felt as though they'd ascended in some way, he and Murphy. At least that's how it felt to Connor.

Standing with his brother, saying a family prayer and taking an evil man from the world side by side had not only been thrilling and life changing, but it had been emotional and personal.

Praying for those men, delivering them to God….it had been beautiful.

And Murphy had been beautiful, his eyes had been filled with life and truth and justice and love when they'd looked at one another afterward, for a few seconds, leveling with one another.

Connor didn't think he'd change a thing about their first time delivering souls together.

Even the twisted and at times obscene attraction he'd felt for Murphy during - especially when seeing his twin holding his guns with confident determination - did not take away from the beauty and fulfillment of the experience. And the gorgeous sight of his twin's eyes burning with righteousness and holiness would be forever a memory held fond.

So overall Connor had been in good spirits.

Rocco accidently shooting the cat had been another unexpected surprise, an unpleasant one that left behind a stench and would leave a stain on that wall forever.

Connor was pissed off over it, but for a serious reason, even after Rocco apologized profusely in drunken rushes of words, because the poor cat aside, Murphy had been on that end of the table, just about a foot away from where the gun went off and Connor would have put a bullet straight through Rocco's head if Murphy had been killed by his idiocy.

But he didn't tell Rocco that last bit, he kept that violent vengeful thought to himself and he just shoved Rocco away from him as the man said his useless apologies. Connor tried to calm himself down, he grabbed the bottle of Wiser's whiskey they'd been drinking all night and headed into the lounge, watching absently as Murphy pushed Rocco toward the kitchen, telling him to give them a minute to talk.

When Rocco left the lounge Murphy glanced after him a final quick time before he came over to where Connor stood at the open windows with the thin blinds pulled up. Connor was sitting against the sill, his back to the window, and he held the whiskey bottle so it balanced on his left leg which he was bouncing slightly in agitation, sloshing the liquid inside around.

Murphy stood just in front of him, a cigarette in one hand and with the other he reached out and hit the side of Connor's head lightly,

"Eh, I'm fine, yer' fine, Rocco's fine…" he said with a small lopsided and partially tipsy smile, they'd been drinking since eleven PM and it was about three AM presently, "…the cat though, sa' shame." Murphy said as he placed his slowly burning cigarette between his lips and left it there, rubbing the side of his neck absently.

Connor watched every movement fondly even as he tried to control his anger,

"Aye, we are, but we mightn't have been Murphy, the fuckin' moron coulda'…"

"I know, I know…" Murphy said around the cigarette as he took the bottle of whiskey from Connor's hand and knee and he replaced it with one of his hands, leaning his weight there as he leaned in closer to say quietly, "…he jes' got a bit excited, Conn. He's a bit shaken, maybe he doesn't want te' hear et' but he knows…" Connor stared into Murphy's blue eyes with a lazy, loving gaze as his twin's smirk faded and he removed the cigarette from his lips, exhaling smoke to the side before continuing, "…he knows he would've died tonight, if we hadn't been there…" he trailed off, eyes boring straight into Connor's, serious and honest, "…et' scared him some is all."

Connor blinked as the built up smoke from Murphy's mouth burned his eyes in their close proximity.

Murphy was right about that bit regarding Rocco being shaken, he was obviously on edge, the night had held negative revelations for him in terms of his place in Yakavetta's mafia.

Connor sighed, taking note of his sibling's level of intoxication and he took advantage of it, letting his eyes trail over Murphy's nose and lips and his jaw, down to his neck, visible since they'd changed out of their turtlenecks back into T-shirts,

"Yer' right, Murph, we should tell him te' be careful." He mumbled.

"Aye, we should…tomorrow, he's too drunk now te' remember." Murphy laughed and ash fell from the cigarette onto the floor as he placed it between his lips again.

"Ar'ent yeh' drunk too, Murph?" Connor asked with a smile as he reached up and pinched the cigarette between his fingers, taking it from Murphy's lips.

Murphy watched as Connor put the near finished cigarette between his own lips and for a second, something felt different, weighted. Connor inhaled from it once and long, taking the cigarette down to the filter and then he removed it from his lips and held the smoke in, daring to look right back into Murphy's contemplative but relaxed gaze,

"I'm not drunk, Connor." He said crisply as if to make his point.

Connor panicked for a second, worrying over whether Murphy had noticed his non-too subtle closer than brotherly looks, wondering if he'd been obvious, if they should be positioned so physically close….but Murphy had put them that close, so he forced himself to be casual about it, to play it off as a joke.

After a smoky –slightly choked- exhale,

"Well yeh' should be, et's a night te' celebrate." He managed, glancing back out of the window before he threw the filter out, willing his heart rate to slow down.

Murphy grinned then and wiggled the bottle, sloshing its contents,

"Et's this shitty fuckin' whiskey, I think the Canadian's make et' fer' pussies." He stood up straight suddenly and Connor sensed he was about to invite Rocco back into the lounge with them, so he grabbed Murphy's wrist lightly to stop him, and Murphy looked at him again,

"No wait, Murph, gimme' a second will yeh'." He frowned slightly.

"Are yeh' still mad?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Connor shrugged,

"Side's that, we did some serious shit today, I just need a breather, a moment alone." He said quietly.

Murphy looked at him, then smiled slightly and nodded before he stepped away and pulled a randomly placed wooden chair over and set it in front of Connor's legs before he sat on it, placing the whiskey bottle on the floor and then leaning forward to rest his forearms on either of Connor's knees.

It was bad enough that Connor felt tipsy and touchy, but Murphy seemed to as well, despite claiming to not be drunk.

"That extra prayer yeh' did at the end was a nice touch." Murphy commented, looking up at Connor with a small smile, knowing without needing to be told that Connor wanted to talk about it, think about it, breathe it just a little longer, just until they did another job, if they did another job, "Very dramatic." He added with a smirk.

"Thank yeh', Murph, I thought yeh'd like that old traditional Irish touch." Connor said with a nod and a smirk, and taking his cue from Murphy's grin and close physicality, he placed his hand on the back of Murphy's head, fingers sliding into his cool sweat damp hair, giving in to his need to touch…just a little bit.

"Aye, very Irish, loud and sure." Murphy bowed his head under Connor's hand with a lazy loll as if he were tired, but there was a smile in his words.

Connor swallowed slowly as his hand slid down, Murphy's hair sliding between his fingers until he reached cool slightly clammy skin, the back of his sibling's pale neck.

It wouldn't have been a wrong touch, not if it wasn't for the heat rising in Connor's body as he slid his hand lower, his fingers slipping under Murphy's rosary beads, underneath the neckline of his shirt and over the first few prominent bumps of his spine…

…and he kept sliding until all he could see was his scarred wrist, his hand pressed flush against Murphy's cool skin in the dip between his shoulder blades, fingers shifting lightly, caressing his skin…caressing. Connor closed his eyes and swallowed again, his mouth felt dry as he tried to think of a way to divert the progression of this moment from turning weird, well, weirder,

"I really liked what yeh' said about us being like 7/11, very clever." He managed to say.

"Hmm, I know…" Murphy said sounding sleepy and calm and he didn't seem to mind the contact, "…bet yeh' wish yeh'd thought of et'." He raised his head with a lazy smirk on his face.

Connor's hand was still in his shirt, having shifted slightly to Murphy's shoulder, Connor's palm warming to his skin and Murphy's expression was relaxed as he licked his bottom lip with quick swipes of his tongue before he sniffed and spoke again, "Yeh' got smokes on yeh'?" he asked as his hand moved to pat Connor's jeans pockets.

Connor's heart skipped a beat at the touch, which was as stupid as any illogical and inappropriate reaction he'd been having to Murphy's touches because it was not the first time his twin had attempted to raid his pockets, be it for smokes or gum or cash, Murphy's hands had often found their way into his pockets in haste when Connor didn't do it fast enough.

"I don't have any on me, Murph, I left them on the table…" he said as evenly as he could manage as Murphy's arm rested across his lap for him to pat Connor's other pocket. Murphy stopped patting then and he rubbed the heel of his hand into one eye before he sat back, forcing Connor to remove his hand.

Murphy looked up at him, sitting back in the chair for a moment before he reached down and picked up the whiskey,

"What do we do next?" he asked before taking one and then a second gulp of the alcohol.

Connor sniffed, tapping his boots on Rocco's faded, scuffed carpet,
"I 'spose we'll see…" he rubbed at the side of his neck, disliking the sweat clinging to his skin as he massaged his sore muscles and hoped his body would cool down and his heart rate would ease,

"Yeh' mean like wait…fer' another calling, another sign like the dream an' the pager?" Murphy asked quietly as he scratched his chin with his thumb, licking the inner seam of his lips over a few times and visibly craving a cigarette.

Connor shrugged and pulled his face a bit because he didn't have any idea how they were supposed to identify their targets. They'd told Rocco about what they were doing, about their plans to execute evil men, but hadn't explained why they were doing it in the first place. Rocco seemed to think they could be executing and delivering people every day and while he liked the sound of it, Connor had to figure out a way he and Murphy could find the right marks without risking exposing themselves to the police or their targets.

They had to be as careful as possible.

If Murphy had any ideas he didn't voice them and his facial shrug suggested he wasn't interested in brainstorming right then. Connor gestured for Murphy to hand him the bottle of whiskey and he drank from it, a decent gulp, as Murphy fiddled with his ear and continued to fidget, his leg started to bounce too,

"Fer' Christ's sake, Murph…" Connor took pity on his nicotine addicted sibling, "…Roc, would yeh' bring my smokes in here before Murphy loses his fuckin' mind!" Connor said loudly with a half-smile, grinning when Murphy punched his thigh but then said twin stood up, looking forward to a cigarette.

Their alone time wasn't much but Connor felt better, even with his conflicting feelings for his brother, he was starting to appreciate time alone with Murphy again. So obviously this change they were making to their lives was for the better.

Rocco came in seconds later with a smile, another apology, a packet of crumpled smokes and another bottle of whiskey and all was forgiven…and all of the whiskey was consumed.

When morning came the twins had tried telling Rocco about the probability that the Italian mob had intended for him to die at the Russian mobster meeting the night before. As expected, Rocco didn't take it well and there was some yelling on top of headaches and hangovers before Rocco stormed off.

Connor and Murphy went back to Rocco's apartment and waited there for a few hours, hoping for some word from Rocco that he was okay. Connor had been able to see the concern and stress written all over Murphy's face and he hated it. When Rocco did call he hadn't said anything to appease his twin and Connor tried not to be mad at Rocco's stupidity and how it affected Murphy.

And then Donna showed up with some friend of hers and he and Murphy didn't even have a chance to talk about Rocco's random phone call.

Of course nothing they could have discussed would have made a difference, not when an hour later Rocco burst through the door yelling at them to pack their shit up and informed them that he'd shot some Mafioso in broad fucking day light.

Connor was tempted to punch him in the face for making things recklessly complicated, but he didn't because Murphy's eyes were alight again within seconds of Rocco's entrance and he was encouraging Rocco, calling him a recruit and in the rush to get out of there Connor just went with it.

In the end, sometime later when they were a good distance from the apartment, somehow Rocco had made a good enough argument for Connor to say that honestly, having him supply them with a list of scumbags to execute made sense, a fair amount at least. And of course, Murphy liked the idea because Rocco was in on it now and Connor liked it when Murphy was happy.

But this thing they were doing was something that Connor knew could get very dangerous if they weren't careful and also, it was morally questionable. Because while Rocco was like family, he was not exactly a good guy himself and in some ways, he could have been lumped in with the very men Connor and Murphy were meant to be hunting.

But that was just another thought Connor decided to keep to himself…

…and so Rocco was in.

Damn Murphy and his gorgeous blue eyes that Connor always had trouble saying no to, it really wasn't fair.

...I could love you more than love could
All the way from hell