Many hours had passed when Murphy came to, and like a rebooting hard drive, each of his senses gradually came to life one after another while he recharged. What he heard on all sides of him was the rocking of light waves, the creaking of wood, the call of seagulls, and the low groan of what he thought was Connor's voice. What he smelled was brine, an aroma of the sea, fresh salt touching his nostrils. What he felt was silken braids wrapped around his wrists, which tightened as he pulled against it, a low breeze upon his face, and the warmth of familiar skin touching his own—Connor's fingers, which were twitching against his knuckles. At this point, he had pieced the puzzle together before opening his eyes. He and Connor were pressed back to back, sitting upright, and they were tied to each other in the very literal sense.

Smacking his lips as he grimaced at the taste of copper, he pulled his eyes open at last, and saw that he was sitting on the bow of the Damocles, Eric's yacht, but Eric was nowhere to be found. He wriggled his numb wrists to get the feeling back in them, his skin brushing against Connor's, which roused him.

"Connor," he uttered through a raspy throat. "Connor, are you okay?" Connor mumbled out an incoherent response. "Connor, come on, talk to meh."

"Mrmph…" he groaned, starting to gain consciousness. "M… urph?"

"Aye. It's meh. Wake up."

Connor tried to lift his head, but it must have weight a hundred pounds. The world was spinning too fast for him to open his eyes, but when he became aware of his surroundings, he too wiggled his hands, feeling Murphy's fingers against them. "What…" he began. "De fuck… where… where are we?"

"We're on Malone's boat."

Malone, clicked Connor's mind, and the memory of being whacked across the head with a bottle replayed itself, as did the throb across his forehead. "Murph… oh God. I'm so sorry." He felt Murphy's fingers snake between his own and clench down for comfort and security. He squeezed his hands back.

"What happened?"

"You were right. He… he lied to us. I'm sorry I didn't believe ya."

There was no reason for Connor to apologize. Murphy had already forgiven him. "It doesn't matter now."

They must have been miles from the dock. The only light was a faint one from a lighthouse off in the distant west, and it was so small and dim compared to the reflection of moon on the water's surface. "Yes it does. If I had listened to ya… we wouldn't be here now." He hissed at a pulsing pain in his eyebrow, reminding him of the switchblade that crossed it.

"I'm just glad yer okay," admitted Murphy, who seemed sincere.

"Aye… I'm glad you are, too." Their fingers tightened around each other's. "Though I don't know for how long."

Right on cue, Eric Malone opened the doors to the cabin and emerged, greeting them with a cocked smirk and broken wave. "Gentlemen," he said to them, and they each turned their heads. "Connor. How's your eye?" Though it must have hurt like hell, Connor scowled at him. "Don't be like that. I really wanted to know. I hated that I had to do that to you. I imagine it hurt me as much as it did you." He took a few steps closer, and Connor attempted to scoot both him and Murphy away, but there was hardly any room to do so, and there was nowhere to retreat.

"I'm sorry, but I had to bring your brother along," he continued. "If you disappeared, I'd be at the top of his hit list. Murphy… you sly fellow." Hunching over them, he tapped Murphy on the cheek, and he backed away. "I should have learned from day one that your persistence knows no bounds. Connor told me, and I didn't listen." In the spaces of his monologue, he sipped from a glass of wine. "I'm sure you're both wondering why I didn't kill you. I thought about it. In the end, I couldn't bear to. We haven't had a lengthy relationship, but you've both grown on me, like I had adopted you. Not many things are capable of breaking my heart, but…" He didn't finish that thought, only drank from his glass.

"What now?" Connor interrogated. "What're we doin' out here if yer not killin' us?"

Eric's head drooped. "I'm going to have to use a different approach."

"Meanin'…"

"I don't want to spray your brains everywhere, Connor. I don't even want to stab you. I don't want to put you through any more pain, and I don't have the stomach to clean up the mess."

A knot formed in Murphy's stomach when all of the clues added up. "Ya can't. Ya can't fuckin' leave us out here. Fuckin' poison us or some'tin'!"

"I'm afraid I don't have access to any poison, Murphy. Most of my killing was with more primitive weaponry. Besides… it's a beautiful night. I think it'd be a peaceful way to go. If I were to choose a way to go, it would be this: miles away from civilization, the tranquil sea on all sides, surrounded by the sounds of the ocean. Unlike all of my targets that mean nothing to me, I wanted a nonviolent, serene end for the two of you. You'll have lots of quality time with each other to say your farewells, and you'll be together when it's over."

Murphy began to hyperventilate. "Please. Oh please, fuckin' God."

"Don't be afraid. Connor will be there to keep you company."

"We have a friend! He'll know we're gone! He'll come lookin'!"

"He'll look in the middle of the ocean? I don't think so." Eric reached for the rope between them that held them together, hauling them to their feet, which they stumbled onto.

"Connor," Murphy pleaded, desperate for any kind of plan. That was what Connor was good at: coming up with plans. When he got his tongue stuck to a frozen pole when they were seven, Connor had a plan to dump warm water on it. When he climbed a tree he was too afraid to descend at age ten, Connor had a plan to climb up and help him down. When they wanted to break into the construction site at age twelve, Connor had a plan to get in without being seen. Now, however, Connor seemed drained of ideas, and Murphy felt ultimately helpless. "Connor," he repeated, this time in defeat. Connor could only hang his head, and didn't have any words of comfort for him. This was one situation they wouldn't be able to just swing out of. Eric had the upper hand.

"I'm sorry things turned out this way," mourned Eric, genuine sadness layering his every word as he pushed them toward the gunwale, Murphy fighting against him the entire time, a panic attack filling him from the bottom up. Just the sight of the oily, black water had him wheezing. "I'm sure I don't have many years left in me. It won't be too long before I see you both again."

Eric removed the switchblade from his pocket once again, sticking it between them to cut the rope off. The moment their wrists were free, Eric didn't allow them to regain an advantage. He first shoved Murphy over the edge, knowing Connor would not stay behind, and would go in after him. Murphy splashed about on the surface, choking and spitting, and Connor gave their parting companion one final look of regret. Eric reflected it for a few moments before withdrawing his gun from his holster and nodding toward the water.

The gun wasn't required. Connor jumped in regardless, wanting to join Murphy, even if it was in death. While using the lights from the yacht to see, Murphy swam to Connor and clung to him like a life raft as Eric boarded the pilot house and turned the yacht around. As if it had never been there, it disappeared into the horizon, through the thicket of blackness, and it was no more. Connor and Murphy were now alone.

Connor tried to think of something to say to his shaking, fretting brother, whose teeth were chattering in spite of the warmth of the water. All he could think to do was embrace and clench him tight against his chest, doing all he could to stop his frightened tears from falling. Of course, he was also terrified, but he didn't want his final moments to be shrouded in such misery.

"We're gonna die, aren't we?" wept Murphy, his arms snug around his twin's neck.

Yes, thought Connor, but he didn't want Murphy to break down any further. "We'll be okay," he whispered. Though the waters were calm that night, Murphy still found it difficult to hear him over the sound of rushing and rippling. It was too dark for them to see each other, even by the light of the moon, but as long as Connor could feel him, he wouldn't release him.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"It's okay. Don't t'ink about it."

"Mm… M'sorry… m'sorry I punched you in de shoulder… when ya played dat joke on meh."

Connor sighed, lamenting. "It's okay, Murph. I asked fer it."

"M'sorry I went back to dat house. If I hadn't…"

"Murph… look at meh." Murphy did, or at least attempted to. Connor could feel him move, and connected their foreheads, regardless of being unable to see him. "It doesn't matter now, all 'ight? I don't blame you fer a t'ing. Not a fuckin' t'ing, ya hear meh?" Murphy nodded, the skin of his face brushing against Connor's. "M'sorry, too. I've… I've hurt ya a lot."

"It's okay. I hurt ya back."

Connor chuckled, and Murphy joined him, though it was forced through a torrent of tears. "Aye. Got meh good sometimes." When Murphy's arms tightened around him, he too squeezed him. They spent a few minutes that way, hanging onto each other for dear life while the ocean roared around them. Connor had always heard of "life flashing before your eyes" from films, and he always wondered if it was true. Now, he knew what people were talking about. His life did indeed course before him, like a shoddy home movie, replaying recent events, events in years past, events from childhood. He couldn't remember a time when Murphy wasn't there with him. And now he would be beside him in death. In retrospect, he supposed it made sense for them to be together when it happened.

Murphy's thoughts were just the same. It wasn't long ago he hoped they would die together one day. He didn't think that day would be so soon. No one ever did. As they floated upon the level of the water's surface, he wondered how different his life would be if he had been born alone. His tongue might still be stuck to that frozen pole, that's for sure.

"Do ya remember when…" Connor started, initially doing so to grieve, but now to reminisce. "When I teased ya fer likin' sheep?"

His twin couldn't see it, but he smiled. "Aye. Ya had every right to. I was such a little—"

"Ya weren't. I was an asshole to ya, fer a lot o't'ings. I t'ought one day we'd go back home. To Ireland, I mean. Have a sheep farm. Some'tin' like dat."

Hearing Connor say such a thing destroyed what was left of Murphy's strength, tearing his heart asunder. "When de hell were ya t'inkin' o'dat?" he whispered to him.

"Only a couple weeks ago, I t'ink. It sounded nice…"

"Dunno. Sheep smell pretty bad." After a moment's pause, they burst out laughing, though it was wrought with depression. "I dunno if I'd make it a day wit'out givin' up on it."

"I'd help ya. W-woulda… helped ya."

"I wish ya had told meh sooner, Connor. I would've taken ya up on it."

"Aye…" moaned Connor as he once again clung to him. "I wish I had, too."

A whimper creaked Murphy's throat, and Connor stroked his neck to ease him. "I love you."

"Why ya sayin' it like it's goodbye, eh?"

"Because it is."

No. He wouldn't go down without a fight. How could he even consider simply floating and dying there? That wasn't how they went about things. Already, a plan stirred in his now active mind. "Listen… it's not goodbye just yet. We're gonna be okay."

Murphy adored Connor's enthusiasm on every other occasion, but now it seemed so naïve and out of place. "Connor… ya know it ain't true."

"We will. I promise, Murph. I'll get us home." He had to wonder now what he meant by "home". It could have meant many things at this point. "Dere's a lighthouse, out to de west. Do ya see it?" He took Murphy's chin in his hand and turned it toward the direction of the light in the far distance. "We just have to make it to dat lighthouse."

"What are ya, insane?" Murphy scoffed, shaking his head. "We'd never fuckin' make dat."

"It's only gotta be about sixteen or seventeen miles away. If we keep goin' and never give up… we could do it."

"It'd take us a whole day to reach it."

"Well we'd better get started, den."

"Connor… I… I dunno if I can."

Connor placed both hands on his face. "Ya gotta have a little faith, bro'ter. Trust meh." He smacked a powerful kiss onto his lips, and though Murphy's lips were weak and trembling, he returned gesture. "We'll make it. Come Hell or…" He cocked a smirk and breathed out a partial laugh. "We'll make it. I'll be beside ya every stroke o'de way." Murphy's random sounds of uncertainty stopped when Connor tapped his cheek. "We're MacManuses, baby! We can do any'tin'!"

Murphy grinned at that, and he had to admit that his encouragement excited him. "All 'ight. All 'ight! Let's fuckin' DO IT!"

"Yeh! Yeh! Dat's de fuckin's spirit, my bro'ter!" Connor stripped his shirt and jeans off, feeding them to the ocean, and told Murphy to do the same, and that the clothes would slow them down. Murphy then peeled his own clothes off, which was a challenge while soaking wet and floating in one place.

They began their journey toward the flickering light, keeping hope alive and their hearts beating. To make sure they didn't separate, they spoke to each other, even if it was meaningless conversation. On their second mile, sleepiness overcame Connor, but he forced his eyes open, and was guided by Murphy's calls to catch up with him.

"Ya gotta keep meh awake, Murph," Connor warned through heavy breaths. "Tell me some'tin' dat would keep me from goin' to sleep."

"Um…" Murphy slowed his pace so that Connor could reach him again, lifting him out of the water as he started to sink. "I told Roc about us."

Connor shook his head, spraying water back and forth. "Ya what?!"

"He knows."

"De fuck?! Now he's gonna act all weird around us!"

Murphy chuckled as Connor gained on him, knowing he was about to tear his head off. "Ay, I only told 'im 'cause I had to!" He swam faster as Connor increased his speed.

"Had to my pale ass! Ya tryin' to alienate our only friend?"

"Would ya relax?! He seemed cool wit' it! Well… seemed disturbed… den he seemed cool wit' it. Don't worry. I t'ink he's happy just fergettin' all about it."

By now Connor had rejoined him at his side, continuing on their way. "Fer yer fuckin' sake, ya'd better hope so." In the beams of the moon, Murphy could see his wide, playful smile.

"Why? What would ya do to meh?"

"Oh… after we get outta dis situation? I'll have a whole list of t'ings I wanna do to ya." They shared an entertained laugh.

Another couple of miles, and they could feel it taking its toll on their arms, waists, and legs. Acknowledging that it was getting tougher, they stopped for a short break every now and then, giving each other the same pep talks, gearing up for another lengthy paddle. "Only about twelve or t'irteen miles to go," Connor reminded Murphy, who nodded to him. "We're doin' good. Doin' real good. Keep at it."

As they left miles behind them, so too did they leave hours of time. When dawn broke, they had hardly realized it. Exhaustion was the heaviest concern on their minds when they reached the halfway point—or, at least it was until their stomachs growled and their mouths ran dry. Their pace had slowed significantly since the night prior, but Connor kept their thoughts positive.

"I-I t'ink we're…" He stopped and took a few breaths, as did Murphy. "W-we're about halfway." He spit stray saltwater from his mouth. "If we just keep headin' dis way… we'll make it by dinnertime."

"Please," whined Murphy. "Don't mention food. I'm fuckin' starvin'."

"Good," sighed Connor. "Dat'll motivate ya to get dere faster. Let's move, come on." Murphy swam alongside him, pushing on as hard as they could, despite feeling worse for wear. Halfway through the next mile, Connor felt the overwhelming drowsiness kick in, and for the first time since starting their expedition, he was too weak to continue. "Murph…" he choked, and Murphy halted, turning toward him. Seeing him starting to sink, he splashed toward him, scooping him up.

"Connor, come on!" he demanded, smacking at his face. "I'm not fuckin' leavin' ya here! Ya gotta stay wit' meh!"

He tried, with all of his might, but couldn't keep his eyes open. "M'so tired…"

"I know. Meh too. But we're stickin' toge'ter on dis."

"I can't… can't…"

Now hopeless that his enthusiastic brother was giving up, Murphy didn't know what to do. "Connor, ya told meh we could do dis, and I believe ya. We're so fuckin' close! Ya can't give up now!" When Connor passed out on him, he knew he was alone, and it was up to him to get them home. He'd have to carry Connor there, and he'd go much slower and lose energy quicker, but he refused to abandon him. He draped his brother over his shoulders, then carried on, chanting to himself that he would get them there or die trying.

Four miles, four hours. Murphy's arms and legs could hardly move anymore, but he pushed them, though the sparked with pain, and didn't quit. Connor hadn't yet woken, but he kept on breathing, and it motivated Murphy to make it to their destination. He dreamt of land, dreamt of their friend, dreamt of Irish whiskey, even dreamt of that shitty apartment building. Those rickety beds were a welcome gift compared to this.

"We're almost dere…" he repeated several times over. "Just a little more…" He spat water and choked on the awful taste of brine. "Hang in dere, Connor… I'll get us dere…"

When The Graves came into view, Murphy was too weak to let out a cheer of victory. The sun had already set, and the moon smiled down upon them as it did through their first night, and now it guided Murphy on his way toward the lighthouse. The stones and boulders along the side of the island presented themselves to Murphy like a glorious shrine, and the ocean's current carried him and the unconscious Connor towards the shore. Panting, wheezing, aching, throbbing, and bobbing like a lure on the end of a fishing line, Murphy, at long last, had reached the lighthouse.

The first thing he did was grab any part of land he could reach and grip it as tight as he could while hauling his brother up to safety. He had never been faced with a bigger challenge in all of his life, but when he did it, he finally knew they would be okay. Now that Connor was rested on the rocks, he climbed upon them and collapsed beside him, resting his arms, heaving and gasping.

"Connor…" he croaked. "We made it… we… we made it…"

"Oh my god," gasped an unfamiliar female voice. Murphy tried to hold his eyes open, but it was as difficult as swimming all that way without resting. He heard the sound of footsteps rushing toward them, and all he could think of was shelter, and he prayed that their visitor would lead them there.

"My god," the woman repeated. "Are you all right?!" Murphy tried to speak, but his dry, cracked lips only moved to the vague motions of what he thought were words. "Frank! FRANK! Get over here!" More footsteps. If Murphy needed to defend his and his brother's life, he didn't have the energy in him to do so, so he hoped whoever these people were meant well.

"Jesus Christ," gasped an older man's voice, which sounded closer. He was kneeling near them and looking them over from what Murphy could sense. "Get the boat ready. These two need a hospital."

Television? Was that the sound of television?

Connor's eyes fluttered open, his vision blurred, but came more into focus each passing second. Mixed with the echo of sitcom audience laughter were the sound of Murphy's enchanted, whimsical giggles. Such a sound would normally amuse him, even enamor him, but for a moment, he thought they were dead.

Is this what Heaven's like? he wondered, feeling around on the surface of a soft, delicate mattress which was the perfect remedy for his aching back. He could make out the shape of a black box on the wall playing one of his favorite shows. Murphy was there, laughing, enjoying himself… now, if only he had a beer, it'd be perfect. Maybe God didn't allow beer in Heaven.

"Ay," gasped a stunned Murphy, and Connor turned his fuzzy eyes toward the sound of his voice. "Connor? You awake?"

"Where…" He paused, now feeling too afraid to ask that question, thinking he might be dreaming and he'd find himself back on Eric's boat.

"We're in de hospital. How ya feelin'?"

"H… ospital?" Wasn't he just in the water a moment ago?

Murphy threw the blanket off of himself and climbed out of the bed, pulling his IV stand along with him as he walked up to Connor's bed. He sat down in one of the cushioned chairs, smiling with relief as he placed a hand on top of his twin's. "I was so fuckin' scared ya wouldn't… well dat ya'd never wake up."

His dried lips split as they spread into the largest grin he had ever fashioned and pulled his brother into a tight squeeze. "Oh, fuck," he sighed. "We're fuckin' alive!"

Murphy held him back, though the tubes and wires got in the way. "Aye. We're okay."

"But I… I don't remember how we got here."

"Ya passed out on de way to de lighthouse. I carried ya de rest of de way."

"Carried meh," Connor repeated, aghast. Murphy's head waved in a proud, dutiful nod. "Ya carried meh all dat way?" He nodded again. Connor yanked him close, pressing his head against his chest.

"I wasn't gonna leave ya," Murphy explained, clenching him back. "I'd ra'ter die den go on wit'out ya."

"Ya fuckin' saved our lives," cried Connor, trying to keep himself composed, but it was all too much for him to bear. "I fuckin' love ya. I fuckin' love ya so fuckin' much."

"I love you, too," he declared.

Connor finally released him, giving him room to breathe, then wiped his eyes dry. "Oh, good God, man. How'd ya fuckin' do it?!"

"Almost couldn't. If I had been alone… I would've given up." He clapped his hand into Connor's, feeling a tight grasp afterward. "Look." Murphy showed Connor the patch job done on his arm. "Doesn't look so bad anymore, does it?" Connor shook his head, still smiling. "Dey gave ya stitches, too. On yer eyebrow." He brushed his forefinger along his brow line, feeling the knots tied there.

Connor's stomach growled and he slapped a hand over it to shut it up. Murphy raised his finger, indicating to give him a moment. "Check dis out," he chuckled. He pressed a button on a keypad on the side of Connor's bed. Within a few minutes a nurse in scrubs appeared in the door, and she sighed before putting her hands on her hips.

"Yes, Mister MacManus?" she said, as though it had been the millionth time that day.

"My bro'ter's awake, and he's hungry. Could ya get 'im some'tin'?"

"Are you sure you don't want the TV turned up?"

"Nah, I got de hang of usin' de remote."

She shook her head, then rolled her eyes. "I'll be back in a minute."

The moment she was gone, they both laughed. "What de hell have ya been doin' while I was out? Ya torturin' dese poor people?"

Murphy snorted. "I've never been served like dis before. Give meh a break."

After getting cleared for release, Connor and Murphy called Rocco and told him to pick up some clothes for them, and while waiting, discussed the next course of action, sitting on Connor's bed together, side by side.

"I dunno what ya wanna do, Connor," Murphy addressed once they were alone in the room. "But I'm not gonna be able to live de rest of my life unless dat mo'terfucker is dead."

Connor had to admit that the thought of killing Eric after all he had put them through was a satisfying one, but he also thought that revenge was petty, and they weren't that evil. "Maybe it'd be better if we went on pretendin' he never existed. He t'inks we died out dere in dat ocean."

Murphy slapped him on the back. "Exactly! We have de advantage."

"It's not like us, Murph."

"What isn't? We were so ready to kill bad guys before! Why is dis any different?" When Connor didn't answer, he sighed. In truth, he already knew the answer. "Because he was yer friend… right?" Connor didn't intend to nod, but he did regardless. "He wasn't much of a friend if he dumped us off as shark food."

"I know. I don't consider 'im a friend any longer. I hate 'im now, to be honest. De problem is dat revenge is… it's…"

Murphy huffed, "Revenge? Dis is more den revenge, Connor. Dis is justice. If we don't fuckin' kill 'im, how many more innocent lives is he goin' to take?"

"Well, we could tell de police—"

"Ya serious?! He's a detective! What makes ya t'ink he's not protected, eh?! And he could pull us down wit' 'im if we talked. Besides, de law ain't gonna do shit, and ya know it. He's eliminated all de evidence."

No matter how he tried to reject the idea, Murphy made far better points to him. It was hard to accept, but it was how things had to be. Eric Malone needed to die, one way or the other. Who would be the one to pull the trigger in the end? In some ways, he felt like he was the one responsible for what happened, and that therefore, he should be the one to end Eric's life, but he worried that in the grand scheme of things, he'd never be able to carry it out.

"Fuck," he groaned, running a hand over his hair, which had gotten longer in the months he hadn't visited a barber. "Yer right. How de fuck are we gonna go about it? We can't just walk in de front door."

"How about de back door?" It was only a half-joke.

"He's got cameras everywhere, remember?" Murphy turned a shade of pink at the recollection. "Guess we could cut de power. Yeh. Cut de power and break in t'rough a window."

Murphy didn't get the chance to protest to that idea before Rocco strolled into the room carrying a brown paper bag. As though he hadn't seen him in years (and it certainly felt like it after that swim), Murphy cheered at his entrance and jumped to his feet to give him a thick hug. Rocco, who didn't seem as repulsed by his friendly affection as Murphy assumed he'd be, hugged him back.

Passing the bag over to Murphy, who dug through it and removed their clothes, Rocco asked, "So. Should I assume you guys aren't going to tell me about this either?"

"We just decided we wanted to go fer a long swim," Connor explicated. "Turned out to be longer den we could handle."

Rocco tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. "Right. Do swims usually give you eyebrow scars?"

"Dere were a lot of rocks… on dis particular… journey."

"Aye," agreed Murphy, who passed Connor his set of clean clothes. "Lots o'dem."

"And you guys just… decided to swim across the ocean, huh?"

"Aye," they said in unison.

Giving up, Rocco threw his palms up and looked to the ceiling. "Course. Course you did. Why would I assume otherwise? How stupid of me. You guys do that sort of thing all the time!"

While pulling a clean shirt on over his head, Connor said, "We do all sorts o't'ings we don't tell ya about, Roc. Kinda figured ya didn't wanna hear about dem."

Rocco grimaced, curled his nose, then swayed his head. ""Appreciate the courtesy."

"Aye," moaned Murphy, leaning back on the bed with a lurid smirk, altering his tone to seductive while prying his knees open an inch. "We should tell ya about de time Connor went down on meh—"

"I'll see you guys in the fucking waiting room!" He vacated the area before any other details could sneak their way into his ears.

Connor squinted at his twin, who couldn't help but laugh. Connor, beside himself, also cracked up while slapping Murphy on the chest.

Now fully clothed, they headed out, rejoining Rocco in the waiting room. On their way to the elevators, Connor asked, "Would ya mind givin' us a ride somewhere, Roc? Possibly tomorrow night?"

"Somewhere?" he reiterated with a worn-out sigh.

"It's not a long trip."

"That's not what concerns me. You guys have been…" They boarded the elevator, riding it to the garage level. "Acting weird… and that's not including the whole…" He waved his palms up and down in an awkward, jagged motion. "You know. You've been keeping shit from me, telling me lies and shit. I don't know why I put up with you!"

Connor rested his palm on his friend's shoulder. "Look, Roc, I know we've been a little elusive lately. It won't be like dat anymore. We just have a couple more things to do, and den it's all over."

"Aye," Murphy chimed in. "And when we're done, we can hang out again."

"What makes you micks think I want to hang out with you anymore?"

"Because we're beautiful," joked Murphy, batting his eyelashes.

"And we're gonna make it up to ya, man," interjected Connor.

Somehow or other, Connor could always persuade him, no matter how upset he was with him. "You promise?"

"Absolutely." He reached out for his hand, and Rocco slapped his into it.

"Fine. But no more favors after this, and don't keep me in the dark, all right? I'll accept that you don't want to tell me anything right now. But if something else happens, you're telling me everything. Got it?"

"Sounds like a fair deal to meh."

Rocco dropped them off at their apartment, where they spent the rest of the evening discussing what they'd do to Eric. Connor made it clear that they were to put him down, not torture him, and he wanted to do it in a tasteful way. Murphy agreed with him on that note, though he did want to make Malone suffer after what he did to Connor.

When the night closed, Murphy clung to Connor so tight that it reached a ridiculous point, but Connor didn't mind it. He was just as thrilled to still be alive, that Murphy was still alive, that they still had a chance to make things right.

And they would make it right. In the end, Connor knew now what Eric meant when he said he felt they were destined to meet. Fate did not align the three them for companionship as Connor originally surmised. It had brought them together for one reason, and one only.

For them to murder him.