It's St. Patrick's Day, and I consider calling Connor and Murphy since I probably won't get to talk to them tonight, as they'll be out far later than I'll be awake. I know they go to mass early on days like this, so I glance at the clock, stifling a yawn as I slide into an opaque pair of tights.

I didn't used to wear any kind of leg covering when I wore skirts into the office, but I'm self-conscious about the bright pink scar that runs along my right calf, a leftover from my altercation in December that reminds me how stupid it is to run into a fight without back-up. No one seems to notice it much but me, and nobody has made any disparaging remarks about it, but I usually only let it show when I'm alone with Rocco and the twins. It's easier to cover it up than to answer the occasional questions of how I got it.

I suppose I could just truthfully say doing something stupid, but sometimes the words just stick in my throat.

It's after seven-thirty, so the boys have most likely already left for church. I slide my gray pencil skirt over my hips, zipping it up as a grin spreads across my face. I can picture the two of them this morning, bleary-eyed and so not awake, Connor grumbling at Murphy to get a move-on, and Murphy sullenly ignoring everything out of his brother's mouth. I'm usually in between their levels of awake in the morning, ready to get going but sure as hell not ready to talk to anyone.

I give myself a pep-talk as I finish dressing; I can make it through today. I'll be fine because I know I can talk to them tomorrow. They told me they took the day off as a precaution, although I highly suspect their boss Jim simply took them off the schedule since he knows from previous years that they'll be absolutely useless for the better part of the day. I can totally until tomorrow to talk to them.

I mean, I get to see them on Saturday when I go home. I can be strong. I can make it through the next three days.

I can.

We've been spending the last few days of my training going through the computer programs I'll be using to track training records of individuals within the company, and today my supervisor is showing me how to link those records to workers' personnel files so it can be accessed by any director at any of our branches.

"This will be the program you use the most," Steve reminds me as I click through the different fields to make sure I know what information each one needs. "I'm glad you're picking it up so fast. It usually takes people weeks to get this down."

"As much as I'm enjoying working with you, I'd like to not have to call you every five minutes for the next six months," I murmur as I scroll through another drop-down menu. "I'm as surprised as you are. I don't have a lot of experience with computers. They only installed them office-wide about three years ago at my branch, and I've caught on pretty well to what we use there. I mean, my high school didn't even get a computer lab until two years after I graduated. I learned how to type on an actual electric typewriter."

Steve grins, then leans down to point out another detail, and our conversation turns back to the technical aspects of the program.

The day passes surprisingly quickly, and before I know it, we're done. Steve and some of the other trainees invite me out for a St. Patty's Day drink with them, and since I know the guys are already out, I accept their offer to tag along. I genuinely like the people I've training with, and I'm starting to get really excited about the travel aspects of my new job. I'll get to visit facilities around the country and even a few in other countries for a couple of months spread out over the year, working with them on their techniques and bringing the information back to apply at my own branch.

Plus, I've managed to survive nearly two months without Connor and Murphy physically with me, so I'm starting to think I can really do this.

I get back to my hotel room around eleven and am strangely comforted by the site of the ridiculously outdated, floral wallpaper and overly squashy arm chair. I'm pretty tired, so even the slick bedspread beckons me.

I see the message light blinking on my phone, and feel a tiny thrill of pleasure. Shucking my heels and moaning in ecstasy as my aching arches sink into the heavenly plush of the carpet, I pad barefoot over to the bed and press the button for speaker phone before playing the message.

"Lass, we love ye an' wish ye were here!" Connor's drunken voice slurs out loudly across my room. There's shouting and laughter in the background, and I wonder how the boys managed to talk Doc into letting them call long distance from the bar.

Murphy chimes in, just as drunkenly, "Ye can't possibly be havin' half t'fun ye'd be havin' wit' us, even if ye do go out! Th'lads miss ye at McGinty's, an' we're savin' a shot for ye soon's ye get back! We're gonna get ye plastered dis weekend!"

I hear a muffled sound, then Rocco says, "These jackasses are three sheets to the wind, and they grabbed the phone before Doc knew what they were doin'. We miss ya, hun, and I need ya to get back as soon as you can. They're drivin' me bathshit. Have a good night." I smile as I press the replay button. I'll listen to it just one more time before I go to bed.

Okay, maybe twice.

Author's Note: I know this one's short, so don't throw things. I've got the next one almost ready; this was just a logical break in the flow of story, so you get a short one right away and a longer one in a bit. For future clarification (because sometimes I confuse even myself), here are some story tidbits to keep in mind:

1. When I refer to Duffy at McGinty's, I'm referring to one of the brothers from Served Cold who came over for Christmas dinner. I based Duffy the Elder and Duffy the Younger (T-Duff, as he called himself) on Troy Duffy from the first movie, so when you picture T-Duff, picture the master himself. I made them brothers because Troy Duffy talks about how his brother helped with some of the script and ideas; thus they were both added into the story.

2. I have kept as closely as possible to the story line of the actual movie except where the official movie storyline contradicts itself. Ex: Rocco says Vincenzo goes to the Sin Bin on Wednesday nights, but if you follow the story, they do the hit on the Sin Bin the same day Rocco shoots up the diner/deli/coffee shop (depending on which movie character is talking about the hit), which took place the day after the cat is shot, which took place the same day as the Copley Plaza, which took place the day after Connor and Murphy got jumped by the Russians, which took place the day after St. Patty's Day. Hence, the Sin Bin actually happens on a Saturday, not a Wednesday. I know, I know. Obsessive much.

3. Any newspaper or television report quotes are as close to authentic and accurate as I can get. Like, paused the movie and copied down the damn newspaper, had the subtitles on so I could get the quotes down correctly, I have no other life outside of this, work, and my baby kind of obsessive. I know, trust me, I know. 4. Thank my wonderful husband for a lot of the best ideas for the last several stories, as he patiently listens to me natter on and debates with me for literally hours on end about the best way the stories should go and whether characters would actually do the things I have them doing. He saved Served Cold, and he sure as hell saved this story. He even named it. Thanks so much for reading, and please let me know if you'd like me to continue.