A/N: I have NO real excuse for the lateness of this entry other than the fact that my six month old hasn't quite gotten to sleeping past three am…needless to say, I've been exhausted for the last few weeks. This here has been sitting on my hard drive for quite some time, and I just needed to finish it off proper. So, here it is, the answer to Valerie E Mackin's 'Quality Time'.

I haven't abandoned Éan Beag, not to fear. I'm hoping to have it finished by the beginning of January as that was when the whole Wren / Murphy arc started a year ago. By that time I'll have my hands on a new copy of All Saints Day and I'll continue my work on the Pam / Connor centric follow up.

Enjoy. I own nothing save for my nameless OFC. Written in first person POV because I don't do that often enough.

"Well, do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

I shrugged, frowning at the contraption the nurse had wrapped my left hand in – a piece of foam padded aluminum secured with tape – and wiggled my little finger. A white hot blob of pain seared through my hand and a tiny whimper escaped me.

Dr. Gordon frowned. "Try not to move it," he suggested gently.

"Is that the bad news?"

"Well," he sighed, glancing up at the X-Rays on the wall. "It's not broken. But it is fractured in three places which means that you won't be able to move your fingers – or do any type of small, manual movements for at least six weeks."

I snorted and shook my head. "Gee, Doc, what's the good news?" I groused.

"It's your left hand," he smiled. "Now you've got an excuse for your boyfriend to wait on you hand and foot."

Boyfriends, the snarky voice in the back of my mind reminded me. I gave Dr. Gordon a weak smile. "Yay," I cheered listlessly.

Here was the issue: not only would the two Irish bozos who had crash landed in my life take it upon themselves to be at my beck and call, but they wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Connor MacManus, the lighter-haired of the two, would wheedle and harangue if I even tried to tell him that I didn't need any help. I had an inkling that things might even get physical if I put up enough of a fight; I wouldn't put it past Connor to tie me to the couch to be sure that I didn't move.

Not that I'd complain all that much if he did tie me up.

I digress.

Connor's darker half, Murphy, was just as stubborn, but with a silent intensity that showed through his dark blue eyes and the weight of the stare coming through them. More than once I'd stopped in my tracks when attempting to do something that he clearly didn't agree with: whether my skirt was too short or I'd had one too many whiskeys. He wasn't overbearing; he wasn't controlling, but he did keep an eye out for me and I think that was a result of having to keep one eye on Connor for so long. With a fractured hand, all it would take from Murphy would be one well-aimed look and I'd collapse like a card house and let him take care of me.

Again, not really complaining about that either.

But the two of them? Together? I was only one woman, and mortal at that.

My thoughts swarmed as I neared the door to McGinty's and my pace slowed. Shrugging out of my coat and ignoring the bite in the November air, I slung it over the arm of my crippled hand and pushed the door open with my hip. I was immediately bombarded by the smell of warm beer and smoke, and when the door shut behind me, the last rays of the late afternoon sun were snuffed out and dropped into the hazy, mellowed lighting of the bar. When I wasn't greeted by lusty hollers of my name or the scrambling of feet as one brother fought the other to get to me first, I quickly scanned the bar and found that Connor and Murphy were not there – not yet, anyway.

Ah, but Rocco was there. And he was coming straight for me, cigarette clamped between his teeth, one hand swiping his long hair back from his dark eyes while the other clutched a beer that spilled as he moved.

"Hey!" He took a healthy swig of his beer as part of his greeting, and grinned with a face full of beer foam. "You're here early – knock off work or something?"

I smiled tightly. "Yeah," I nodded, not elaborating. Rocco certainly didn't need to know that I'd fractured my hand punching out Jerry in accounting. Guy had a head like a rock, but despite the persistent throbbing in my hand, it still felt really, really great. Jerry had been hitting on me since the summer when he'd been transferred from our Waltham office and while I'd been upfront but congenial with my rebuttals, he just couldn't take the hint.

"Nothing like starting the weekend early, huh? Come on, I'll get ya a beer."

I climbed onto the stool next to Rocco as he called out to Doc and ordered a pint of Harp. I knew that Connor would rib me for the lighter brew, but with two Advil in my belly and not too much food, I was feeling a little queasy and didn't want to throw a Guinness down with it.

We drank in companionable silence for a bout three minutes before the door burst open and Connor and Murphy MacManus waltzed in. Rocco noticed them immediately, a sort of weird sixth sense wired through him whenever Murphy was around, and he teetered on his bar stool as he stood up over the heads of the gathered patrons, and waved his arm like a flailing goose. "Hey! Hey, guys, look who I found!"

I cringed at the announcement, hoping that I'd get at least five more seconds of peace and tranquility before being blasted with questions. I turned from my beer to look at the boys and gave them a weak smile, waving with my right hand. "Hi, boys…"

"Yay!" Murphy crowed, dashing around the other drinkers and sweeping to my right side.

Connor was hot on his heels, crowding my left and ignoring Rocco in the protest. The Italian sputtered, clearly put out, but didn't bother fighting. He knew that when I was in a ten foot vicinity of the MacManus brothers, all bets were off.

"Hiya, lass, didn't expect ya until after six – what's the occasion?" Connor winked, picking up the Guinness that Doc had automatically poured.

Murphy clucked his tongue at his brother's lame question. "Isn't it obvious, Conn?" he grinned, throwing back the shot of whiskey next to his Guinness. "She couldn't wait ta see me."

Connor growled at his darker half. "Yer feckin' delusional, Murph; it's clear dat da lass is here ta se me." He gazed down at me, drawing my attention to him, and I stared up into clear blue eyes and momentarily lost my ability to speak. I merely nodded, to which Connor smiled wider, and looked back up to his brother. "See? Told ya."

"Ah, feck off," Murphy grumbled, reaching behind me and managing to clip Connor's ear with a well-aimed slap.

Connor bristled and shoved his brother back, leaning over me in the process. I wobbled in my seat, rolling my eyes at their juvenile – but no less endearing – antics. I smiled, too, but it faded quickly as Murphy got a hold of Connor's coat, and Connor a hold on Murphy's, and the two started pulling back and forth, a sort of tug-o-war with me caught in the middle.

"Hey – oof," I gasped as Murphy lost his footing and slumped against my shoulder. I'm not tiny at five foot ten, but he probably outweighs me by at least fifty pounds.

"Oi, watch it, jack ass," Connor growled, diving for Murphy again.

"Guys," I growled, leaning back, trying to put space between them and myself.

They ignored me, the shoving turned to punches to the arms and flanks, and when Connor reared up to deliver a blow, his shoulder rocked against my left side and I automatically reached out with my left hand, dislodging my coat. Of course I didn't think; instinct and all that, and I grabbed Connor's sweater with my fingers, tugging.

"FUCK!" I screeched, reeling back and gasping at the blinding pain that shot through my hand.

The twins stopped. In fact, the whole bar stopped, and heads swivelled and eyes fell on me. I looked down at my hand as if completely baffled as to why it hurt so bad, and I could feel the tears beginning to well in my eyes. I blinked, and my vision blurred, and I tasted salt and copper in my mouth.

"Holy shit," Rocco murmured.

"What," Connor breathed carefully.

"Tha fuck," Murphy continued, his voice tight and on edge.

"Did ya break it?" Rocco chimed in with his naturally cheery cadence.

I hiccupped and squeezed my eyes shut against the slowly dissipating pain, and I heard boots scuffling on the floor, and then stools scraping before I was wedged between to warm, solid bodies. My head fell to Murphy's shoulder as Connor gingerly picked up my fractured hand and set it to rest in his lap.

"Hail Mary, what tha Hell happened, girl?" Murphy murmured in my ear.

"I…I fractured it," I mumbled weakly. Looking back, I realize that I was really upset about it – I'd never broken a bone before, not even as a kid. Hell, I'd never even had a cavity. I was perfectly perfect, physically speaking, and now, with a hand fractured in three places, and the circumstances surrounding it, I felt weak, and I knew I was creeping towards becoming hysterical.

Connor grunted from his perch on my left side and I opened my eyes to see him staring down at the brace, a frown firmly wrought on his boyish good looks. "How tha fuck does a software analyst fracture her feckin' hand?" He wondered aloud.

"Aye," Murphy's voice rumbled below my ear, and I felt him shift. He mumbled a soft thank you and then a shot of whiskey appeared in my line of vision. "Here," he urged gently. "I think ya need it."

Pushing away from his shoulder, I took the offered alcohol and threw it back, shuddering at the burn as it went down.

"Maybe she was typing too hard?" Rocco ventured, answering Connor's question of how my injury happened.

"Shut it, Roc," Connor snarked, his eyes still focused on me. He pursed his lips in a hard line. "Ya gonna tell us what happened?"

I shrugged and gave him my bravest smile. "Hey, Roc's right, just really got into typing code today and maybe I don't drink enough milk or something because all of a sudden…fractured hand."

Connor narrowed his eyes, seeing right through my pathetic lie. I knew he would, but I really didn't want to get into the details, especially not here and now.

I sighed. "Can I finish my beer, at least? We'll go to my place after…I need to lie down or something." I blinked slowly. "I think those painkillers are finally going to my head."

Connor set to work in my kitchen, cooking dinner for the three of us, while Murphy pushed me towards my bedroom, suggesting that I get out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable. I cocked a playful eyebrow at him with a grin, and I could see him fighting an internal battle. His blue eyes heated up and he licked his lips before running a hand back through his dark hair.

"Behave, girl," he warned playfully. "M'not gonna go down that road with ya bein' injured."

I pouted. I broke my hand, not my back, and I stuck my tongue out at him in an immature gesture. "Fine," I huffed, turning on my heel and heading for my bedroom. His smooth chuckle followed behind me.

Once in my room, I threw my purse on the bed and stepped out of my heels, groaning as my tired toes gripped the carpet. I immediately went for the buttons of my blouse, the fingers of my left hand curling uselessly and I bit my tongue at another stab of pain. I cursed, and attacked the buttons one handed with the right hand, and failed miserably. Maybe I could get the skirt off and pull the blouse over my head? I reached for the zipper to my skirt and was confronted with the small hook closure at the top.

"Shit," I groused. What had the doctor said? Limited fine motor movement with my fingers? Fuck, he wasn't kidding. But then his other words came to me – something about a boyfriend waiting on me hand and foot. Well, Connor was busy in the kitchen, but what was Murphy up to?

I poked my head out the door. "Hey, Murph?"

He appeared at the other end of the hall a few seconds later, a beer in his hand. "Aye?"

I gave him my best helpless smile. "I think I need some help in here."

"Oh?" He cocked an eyebrow and suddenly looked very interested. Padding down the carpet, I backed into the room as he filled the doorway and fixed me with a questioning look. "What is it?"

I gestured to my buttons. "Apparently, I can't do buttons," I sighed, feigning to be totally put out. I spun and cocked my hip, shooting a Murphy a heated glance form over my shoulder. "And there's a hook at the top of the zipper that's giving me issues. Help a girl out?"

He swallowed thickly, chewing his bottom lip, before nodding and setting his beer down on the dresser just inside the door. He moved behind me and placed on hand on my hip, his fingers stroking over the wool blend of the skirt. He seemed to pause then, as if unsure of where to start. Probably because he was wondering where exactly he'd finish. I smiled to myself and was about to direct him to the zipper, when his other hand slid up my stomach and caught the delicate silk of my blouse. I bit down on a startled gasp. Crushing the steel blue fabric in his fist, he yanked it up and out from under my skirt. I stumbled back with the movement, shoulders butting into his chest, and my ass snuggled into his pelvis. He grunted, and moved his hand under my blouse, resting his warm palm against my stomach as his other hand tightened on my hip. My stomach muscles fluttered with his touch, warm and promising, and a surge of lust washed over me.

"Tease," he growled hotly against my ear, before he expertly flicked open the buttons of my blouse one-handed.

Both of his hands parted the silk and slipped it down my shoulders, and he tossed the garment aside before his fingertips skated down my bare arms and belly once more. They danced on the waistband of my skirt, slipping beneath the fabric, tugging gently, and he worked the hook and eye closure open before splitting the tiny zipper open with a thumb and forefinger. It was slow going, the minute sound incredibly deafening. My breath caught, and his did too, before he shifted back an inch and let the skirt pool at my feet.

Goosebumps rose on my flesh and I shivered at the coolness of the room and the warmth of Murphy's breath on my hypersensitive skin. His finger tips traced the edge of my panties, from the cleft of my ass to where my inner thigh met my hip. Then, he reached and tugged at the straps of my bra, snapping one against my skin with, and moaning soft and low. His lips ghosted across my shoulder as he spoke again. "D'ya always wear such scandalous undertings ta work?"

His voice was thick, a sound I recognized far too eagerly, and my body reacted. My thighs pressed together at the thought of him touching me more; and I glanced down, suddenly remembering getting dressed that morning. I'd picked out the chocolate brown lace and silk with him specifically in mind, and every time I shifted in my chair behind my desk, I thought of him, and all the naughtiness that could ensue once he had me alone and stripped down. Murphy liked to savour the moment and take his time; the balconette bra that barely contained my ample breasts and the boy cut panties were not likely to go unnoticed by him. Now, it almost seemed absurd, but as he moved around me, he deliberately brushed his pelvis against my hip, and I actually purred as the hard length of a rabid erection pressed into me.

He pressed the tip of his forefinger to my chin to raise my head – not much, mind you, as I was barely an inch shorter than him, but the commanding action stirred something in me. He had that look in his eyes again and I was fairly certain that if Murphy ever decided to enter into the priesthood, he would be able to get a confession in less than sixty seconds.

"I wore them for you," I heard myself say, and then I felt my cheeks burn.

He smiled his small, secretive smile, and the tip of his tongue appeared, flickering at the corner of his mouth. "Thank ya," he replied with all sincerity. The finger that held my chin wandered down my throat, my collarbone, and finally slid along the top of my left breast before ghosting over the nipple that stood up beneath the satin. "I mean it," he gushed, looking back up with a grin that would look in place on a ten-year old boy with a fistful of bottle rockets. "Thank ya," he praised once more. His hand turned and he cupped my breast gently, weighing it in his warm palm and groaning low in his chest.

"A-hem," Connor coughed from the doorway.

Murphy and I started, and I peeked at Connor from over Murphy's shoulder. Murphy swivelled his head back and we both looked at Connor with the most innocent expressions we could muster. Connor rolled his eyes and muttered something in Gaelic which I guessed from the tone was a snarky comment directed at Murphy. He then looked back to me. "Ya hungry?"

The thought of food suddenly swept all naughty thoughts from my brain – well, maybe not all of them – and I nodded eagerly at Connor. "Starving," I smiled. "I'll just finish…getting…dressed," I explained lamely, flicking my eyes back to Murphy.

"Aye," Murphy grinned evilly, his hand still on my breast. "Had trouble with buttons and zippers…"

"Great," Connor growled, sensing the non-verbal challenge from his brother. "Let's see how she does getting back in ta clothes.

I didn't actually know I had that much food in the house. Connor had managed a fair casserole with rice, chicken, vegetables, slow cooked in a mushroom sauce that felt amazing on my empty stomach. I was dying for a second helping, but after struggling with my first with my right hand, I gave up, tossing my fork down with a sigh and leaning back in my chair. Connor and Murphy had both watched me struggle, but I had charged on, refusing to let them feed me like a complete invalid. So maybe I ended up with a bit more of my meal on my shirt than normal. As I watched the boys scrape their plates, the ache in my hand returned, and I stood from my chair with a little groan.

"Where are ya goin'?" Murphy asked, moving to stand.

"What d'ya need?" Connor said at the same time, already on his feet.

The two of them glanced at each other, each weighing the other's motives, and Murphy relented, sitting back down with narrowed eyes.

"Advil," I croaked. "My hand is starting to throb again."

Connor clucked his tongue sympathetically and moved to grab the pills and glass of water. Across the table, Murphy patted down his body with a frown and then looked to Connor. "Got a cigarette?"

Connor shook his head. "Fresh out."

"Shit," Murphy uttered. He looked to me. "I'm goin' ta hafta ta go out fer a bit," he informed with another frown.

I had to chuckle at him. "I think I'll survive, Murph," I reassured him.

Connor tapped my right hand and I held it out so he could drop two pills into the palm, and he set a glass of water down before sitting again. "Yeah, Murph," he said with a shit-eating grin. "She'll be fine. She's wit me," he added cheekily.

Murphy huffed and got to his feet. "That suppose to make me feel better?" he grunted. Still, he moved for his jacket and pulled it on. "I'll only be gone fer ten minutes. Fifteen at tha most."

Connor shrugged and waved him off. "Pick up some beer, yeah?" He held up his can of Guinness. "This is tha last one."

Murphy uttered something else in Italian and stomped out of the kitchen, much to Connor's amusement. The door swung open and then rattled shut perhaps a little too heavily. After a few seconds, Connor turned to me with a grin and dug around in his pocket for a moment before producing a fresh pack of Marlboros and a lighter.

"Oh, you sneaky fuck," I grinned.

"Leave off, aye? Do him good ta get out on his own fer a bit."

"You mean, do you some good to get me on my own for a bit," I corrected.

"Potato, po-tah-to," Connor shrugged. "Now, den," he said after he lit a cigarette and sucked on it for a moment. "Yer finished wit' dinner," he began slowly, peering into my eyes. "But if I know me lass, an' I tink I do, ya still want dessert."

His voice was doing that thing where it was playfully innocent and downright salacious at the same time. Did he practice this when I wasn't around? I wiggled in my seat and chewed my bottom lip. "I could handle dessert," I answered honestly. "What did you have in mind?"

"Hold still," Connor uttered as he held out the spoon in front of my face. "Or else yer gonna get dis all over ya."

I shrugged. "You could always lick it off?" I suggested.

He groaned and rolled his eyes, lowering the spoon laden with butterscotch pudding for a moment. "Lass, don't say tings like dat!" he cried. "Not when yer outta commission, as it were." He gestured to where my injured hand rested on a pillow in my lap and then lifted the spoon once more. "Now, be a good girl," he purred, "an' open up fer Connor."

"You are such a perv," I announced, but 'perv' sounded more like 'ferb' as Connor wedged the spoon into my open mouth. I scowled at him but took the mouthful of pudding and sat back, smiling as I rolled the smooth sweetness around in my mouth before swallowing. "Ummm," I murmured contentedly. "I love pudding," I added. "More." I opened my mouth wide for good measure.

Connor snickered and dug another spoonful and hovered it close to my lips before switching directions and shovelling it into his maw.

"Hey!" I cried, thumping him on the shoulder with my right hand. "That's my pudding," I pouted.

"S'good," he mumbled. "An' ya can share, can't ya? Murph an' I do."

I felt myself blush again and I looked down at my lap before glancing back into his eyes from under my lashes. He watched me closely, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Maybe," I sang.

He harrumphed and levelled another spoonful of pudding at me. I leaned forward, holding his gaze as I opened my lips slowly, softly, and closed them gently around the bowl of the spoon. I hummed again, this time low and in my throat, and Connor shifted, his lips parting with a barely audible sigh. Sitting back a fraction, I licked my lips.

Connor swallowed and then cleared his throat lowly. "Ya got a…uh…" he muttered before leaning forward and swiping my bottom lip with his thumb. The movement was a slow, deliberate drag, and when he sat back, he showed me the tiny smear of pudding he'd wiped off of my mouth. Without hesitating, he stuck said thumb in his mouth and sucked, humming as he did so. His blue eyes sparked with mischief. "T'is better when ya share, lass," he said, soft and low.

I was transfixed, watching his lips around that thumb. Where Connor's mouth was concerned, I was always distracted. Eating, smoking, drinking, cursing, smiling, or attached anywhere on my person, Connor's mouth did for me what his brother's eyes did: made me crazy and squirm with unchecked lust. I could only nod at his statement, my eyes still focused solely on his mouth as he spoke.

"Uh huh," I muttered dumbly, watching as he took another bite for himself.

If he was playing up the obvious, I didn't let on, and instead, when he pulled the spoon away, I leaned forward into his space and slid my good hand into the hair on the back of his neck to hold him steady. He didn't move, merely waited as I closed the distance between us so that my lips barely brushed against his. The first pass of my lips he let go without reaction, but as I came back a second time, he met me halfway in a butterscotch melting of mouths and his tongue, lashed with sweetness and smoke, slid against mine briefly before he pulled away and sucked on my bottom lip. My eyes fluttered closed; we both groaned at the kiss and the taste of it, and as we both drew ragged, heated breaths and moved closer to have another go, the door crashed open and we bolted apart like opposing magnets.

"Oi!" Murphy snapped, shrugging out of his coat while eyeing us with interest. "What's happenin'?"

"Lass wanted dessert," Connor explained. "Who was I to deny her?"

Murphy shot his brother a wry smile. "Right." He toed off his boots and crossed the carpet, setting a case of beer down on the table before digging into his jeans pocket and coming up with a pack of Marlboros. "Here," he said, moving to toss them at Connor. That's when he spied the other pack, Connor's pack, on the table. Murphy's blue eyes narrowed as he looked back up at his brother. "You cheeky fuck," he muttered lowly.

"Exactly what I said, Murph," I chimed in.

The dark twin looked at me with levelled amusement. "Stay out o'it," he groused. He looked back to Connor and pointed a finger before spouting off in rapid Gaelic, his lip curling back as he did so.

Connor sat and listened for a moment before his eyebrows shot up and he sprung from the couch, leaning towards Murphy with his own finger extended. He began talking just as fast, and just as heated, as his brother. They circled around the coffee table to the space in front of the television and then began to shove one another, insults in German and Italian peppering their tirades. I watched them, greatly enjoying the show for a bit, but then I grew bored. They were totally ignoring me. They hadn't thrown a look my way for five minutes and I was the one who was injured. Normally, I didn't give a shit if they didn't have anything to say to me, but this was my apartment and my hand that was broken.

I finally interrupted them. Tearing open the case of beer, I stood up, bottle in hand, and ducked between the brothers, a sharp whistle behind my teeth. They both snapped to attention, much like trained mutts, and looked at me with those devastating blue eyes. "Boys," I began gently, glancing from Connor to Murphy, and then back to Connor. "Be a good lad, and get me a glass?" I waved the bottle at Connor and he scoffed, but turned on his heel and started for the kitchen, muttering under his breath. I turned to Murphy. "Can you open this for me?"

He snared the bottle and twisted the top off, handing it back to me after he'd stolen a slug. By then, Connor had returned with my glass and I took it, flopping back down on the couch, right in the middle, and poured my beer. When I set the glass on the table, I motioned to the empty seat on either side of me. "Can you boys be civil for a few hours? There's a movie I want to watch."

I woke up in my bed. It was still dark out and I was sweating. I also had the incredible urge to pee. Picking up my head, I found myself wedged between two warm, wiry bodies – Murphy in front of me, turned into me, my face having been pressed to the underside of his chin, and Connor behind me, his hand gripping my hip firmly as his nose buried into the hair at the nape of my neck. The clock said three seventeen and I groaned, shifting a little. The dire need to pee hadn't been the only thing that had woken me. My hand began to throb as if on cue, and I whimpered again as I tried to wiggle and disentangle myself from the Irish sandwich.

"Y'all right?" Connor muttered behind me, his brogue sluggish and thick with sleep.

"I have to pee," I whined, shifting backwards in an effort to dislodge him.

His hand tightened on me as his hips bucked against me. "Yer makin' it difficult ta let ya go, lass," he murmured. Still, his hand loosened a moment later and he pushed up onto one elbow. Leaning over me, he flicked Murphy's nose, causing the dark twin to growl and swipe at the offending hand. Connor snickered and did it again, and once more, Murphy merely grumbled, but he did pull back and turn over.

"There ya go," Connor said around a yawn.

I managed to sit up and shift to the end of the bed before vaulting gracelessly to the floor. I turned back to the bed and was greeted by snoring. Connor had drifted back to sleep and Murphy hadn't even woken up. Didn't really surprise me; Connor was a bundle of energy at all points of the day while I wouldn't doubt Murphy's ability to sleep through a nuclear holocaust. I hit the bathroom and did my thing. Upon returning to the bedroom, I was confronted with a new arrangement: Connor and Murphy had gravitated towards one another in my absence, and now took up the whole of the bed. Connor was still curled on the side I'd left him on, but Murphy had turned again, and now they were bowed towards one another, foreheads lightly touching, Murphy's hand clutching Connor's wrist while Connor's other hand was tucked into the dark hair at the back of Murphy's head. Their breathing was in sync and the energy in the room was calm and centered on the pair.

I felt like an intruder in my own bedroom. I stayed a moment, watching, wondering if this was how they spent the first weeks of their life and the months after they were born. I knew that they were close, but I had never actually witnessed this. Smiling at the rarity, I stepped back out of my bedroom and moved to the kitchen for Advil. Clutching the bottle in my right hand, I snagged a glass of water and snuggled up on my couch.

"Hey," a voice whispered softly as a gentle hand brushed my hair from my face.

I snorted and woke, blinking up into Murphy's gaze. The sky was just beginning to lighten in the east; dull, gray light filtered in through the sheer curtains on the balcony. I shifted on my seat and sat up. "What time is it?"

Murphy smiled softly. "Just after seven. Conn's gone ta work, aye? D'ya have ta get ready ta go ta tha office?"

I paused and shook my head. "No. No, I don't think they expect me in for a few days."

This made Murphy's smile widen. "Why don't ya come back ta bed?"

"What about you?" I asked, letting Murphy help me to my feet. "Don't you have to work?"

"Day off. Sometimes tha boss is nice an' gives me and Conn different shifts. Makes for quieter days and more production."

I snorted with a nod and let Murphy take my right hand and tug me back towards my bed. I still felt a little gritty after my visit to the hospital and waking up wedged in grilled Irish sandwich, so I pulled him to a halt as we passed the bathroom. "I have a better idea," I announced.

Murphy glanced over his shoulder and looked to the bathroom before raising an eyebrow. "Oh, aye?"

I nodded enthusiastically. "Bath."

He licked his lips in anticipation. "I like where your head's at, girl."

"Ya know," Murphy mumbled from where he knelt next to the tub where I lounged naked, up to my chin in hot, silky water. "When ya said 'shower', I'll admit I had something completely different in mind." He brought the sponge up and over my shoulder, scrubbing as he spoke.

"Mmm," I murmured, not really paying attention. Actually, I wasn't paying any attention to what he was saying. His hands, however, were divine, and I closed my eyes, feeling the heat seep into my bones as Murphy swept the sponge along my back and began to work my second shoulder.

"I mean, I'm all for gettin' clean, but I can do that at home in under two minutes if I hafta." To prove his point, he slide the sponge down my back and buffed my skin quickly but thoroughly, plunging it back into the lavender scented water.

"Where's the fun in that?" I pouted, cracking open my eyes and plucking my coffee mug from the small table next to the tub. "Besides," I continued, holding up my injured hand, "I don't want to get this wet. I have to wear it for another day."

Murphy nodded and rested his elbow on the edge of the tub, propping his chin in his hand as his other hand twirled through the water. "An' then what?"

"Well, the swelling will be less, so they'll put a cast on it," I said after swallowing another mouthful of coffee. "How is it possible for you to make such amazing coffee and Connor is complete crap at it?"

"Precision," Murphy said softly as he sat up again and shifted to his knees once more. "Attention ta details," he purred, leaning close and flicking his blue gaze over my face. "Did ya know," he said, his voice going deep and soft, "that ya have the tiniest flecks of gold in yer eyes?"

I blushed, looking down and away from the intensity of his stare. "Yeah," I breathed. "Most guys don't notice."

"M'not most guys, girl," Murphy reminded me.

"Don't I know it."

"An', did ya know," Murphy continued, moving the sponge through the water, "that yer legs are forty-four inches each side, hip ta toe, each side?" The sponge started at my knee and glided down my shin bone, to my ankle, and he lifted my leg from the water to swipe along the top of my foot and then the arch, making me sigh.

"Did you measure it in my sleep?" I giggled.

Murphy chuckled and shook his head. "Me hand is roughly eight inches from here ta here," he explained, drawing a diagonal line from the tip of his middle finger to the outside edge of his palm. "So I know that I can move me hand almost six times up…" and he trailed off, dropping the sponge and dragging the palm of his hand up from the top of my foot to my hip. "See? Five an' a half, actually." He grinned again.

I narrowed my eyes at him, sitting up in the water and pressing my thighs together against the pressure building between them. "Did you…just measure me like a horse?" I asked.

The dark Irishman smirked, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. "S'pose I did, girl." He glanced to his lap and then back to my face, bobbing his eyebrows. "If it makes ya feel better, ya can do tha same ta me."

Turning to my knees and wary of keeping my injured hand out of the water, I stretched up, very aware of Murphy's eyes tracking the water as it sluiced down over my breasts and belly. Leaning over the edge of the tub, I focused on the fly of his jeans with an inquisitive stare. "I suppose I could," I agreed with his last statement, quirking an eyebrow as his hips twitched under my gaze. Glancing back up, I reached down and traced my thumb over his navel to the button of his jeans and flicked the disk of brass from its confines. "Now, keep in mind this is my right hand," I reminded him. "So I may be a bit off my game." The teeth of his zipper separating was a deafening sound, matched only by Murphy's deepened breathing. His eyes left mine to watch, fascinated, as I worked his jeans open with one hand and then slipped my hand inside of his boxer briefs. There, I encountered a warm, heavy, solid column of velvet and oak, and it only took a few quick, albeit graceless, strokes, to bring him to full attention.

He groaned, arching his hips towards me, and I stole a glance, lustily thrilled at the sight of the smooth, slick head of his cock pushing up past the waist of his boxers. I rubbed my thumb over it in slow, agonizing circles, drawing a strangled whimper from him. My eyes flicked back to his face, so wanton that I had to keep myself from vaulting out of the tub and into his lap. I wasn't one for build up; that was Murphy's game, and I was often quick and demanding like Connor. But tonight, with only my right hand to guide me, I had to take my time. Murphy didn't seem to mind, and he rocked up on his toes as my hand delved under his boxers once more and jerked him a little harder.

"Hail Mary, girl, c'mere," he grunted suddenly, opening his hot blue eyes and reaching for me. Cupping the elbow of my injured hand, he moved my arm so that it crossed my chest and my hand rested on my right shoulder. "Keep it there – don't move it," he murmured. "Best ta keep injuries elevated." His hand then plunged into the water and slid smoothly between my thighs, slick with bath oil and hot water. My legs fell apart on contact; I was tuned to the twins' touch and it didn't take much to make my body obey their every command. "Drives me right feckin' wild when ya do that," he sighed, rocking his hips with every pass of my hand. "Love it when ya touch me." He hissed, and caught my stare with his own as he slid his hand up higher and dragged his fingertips over the outside of my pussy.

Not needing words, he let his fingers do the talking, and he pushed two fingers deeply, swift and sure, and began a slow, agonizing pace. Soon, he added his thumb, swirling counter-clockwise to what I was used to with my own hand. My teeth pulled at my bottom lip; my thighs shook and I threatened to collapse back into the water, but Murphy caught me, slinging an arm around my waist and crushing my wet breasts against the cotton of his T-shirt. My hand was trapped between us, still gripping his cock, and I opened my mouth to protest, but Murphy shook his head, his blue eyes dark and maddening.

"Don't worry 'bout it," he breathed, and his fingers reached a particularly sensitive spot deep inside, making me reply with a gasp. "I've got ya," he nodded, slipping his lips gently over mine for a mere second. The tips of our tongues touched briefly, sending another shock of lust through me, and then his mouth was gone, sucking and biting a path down to my collarbones.

I managed to move enough to sling my injured hand over his shoulder, but I had nothing to hold onto as his fingers plunged in and out, drawing wetness and hot little moans from me. He pressed his thumb harder against my clit, grinding it into my pubic bone, and the moans turned to gasps. I sobbed his name and clung to him as best I could, my mouth finding his shoulder and teeth digging into the pale skin there.

"Let it go, girl," he husked against my ear. "I've got ya," he repeated again. He twisted his fingers again and again and my toes squeaked as they scrambled along the bottom of the tub for purchase.

"Ah – shit, Murph!" I yelped, freezing everything except for my hips, the epicentre of a sudden rush of rolling pleasure that throbbed and bordered on pain.

He grunted soon after and I gasped again, feeling the warm, quick spurts of his come suddenly coating my hand. I'd done nothing more but squeeze in time with his strokes and the thought of making him come from so little only served to make me come again. I felt his shoulders shake, and there was a stinging rasp on my collarbone where his teeth had scraped against me.

For a moment, I only heard our combined, laboured breathing, and the steady plunk-plunk of the tap dripping into the bathwater. Finally, we pulled apart enough to survey each other, eyes bright and lighting over flushed, damp skin. I bit my lip again as I looked down to where my hand still gripped Murphy's half-hard cock, and then I glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Well," I sighed, sinking back to the water, "I guess you need to get cleaned up, too?"

Murphy grinned and peeled his jeans down and off, following quickly with his boxers. "Thought ya'd never ask, girl."

"That feels amazing, Connor," I groaned, stretching back into the couch and closing my eyes.

Connor chuckled and pressed his thumbs up the arch of my left foot, rubbing outwards as he went. I sighed and dug my feet further into his lap. His fingers worked thoroughly, stroking along my arches and insteps, kneading my toes, my heels, and everything in between. His hands were so warm and so strong that every swipe lulled me further and further to sleep.

Suddenly, Connor jammed his thumbs into a particularly sensitive part of my foot, causing me to jolt up and squeal. My feet hammered his thigh as he laughed and tried to tickle me again.

"Stop!" I gasped, twisting my body in a vain attempt to escape.

"Ya keep wigglin' like dat an yer gonna hurt yer hand again," he scolded as his fingers slowed down.

"Then stop tickling me!" I yelped, scooting back from him.

This made him pout and he sank back to the couch with a sigh. He nodded to the small, white pharmaceutical bag on the table, the one that Murphy and I had picked up earlier in the day. Murphy was gone now, having slipped out to meet Rocco when Connor showed up to take over 'watch'.

"Whas that?"

"Painkillers," I sighed with a bit of relief. I glanced at the clock on the wall. "I should actually take one. Hand em' over."

Connor tore open the bag and reached inside. He came up with the aforementioned bottle of Tylenol 3, and a smaller vial of nail polish in a deadly dark blue. He waved the latter at me. "An' this?"

I shrugged, plucking the pills from his hand and fiddling with the damned child-proof cap. "Nail polish. Saw it. Liked the color."

Connor smirked and pulled the pills from me, not wanting to see me struggle. He popped the lid off and shook a pill into my waiting hand and then held out a glass of water to me. "Yer left handed, lass," he pointed out.

"Yeah, so?" I said after I'd swallowed.

He waved in my general direction. "How d'ya suppose yer goin' ta be able ta paint anyting wit' yer right hand? Christ, ya can barely eat." He chuckled in remembrance of dinner last night.

"Lord's name," I sang, scolding him. "And it can wait," I said, frowning slightly. "I suppose."

Connor shook his head and once more scooped my feet into his lap. He inspected my toes for a moment, the nails bare, and then glanced up to me. "D'ya trust me?"

I snorted. "Not really," I giggled.

"C'mon, m'tryin' ta do ya a favour."

I cocked an eyebrow. "And that would be what, exactly?"

"Well," he started, making himself more comfortable on the couch and clicking on the lamp over his shoulder. "Don't say anyting ta Murph, aye? I mean it, little fucker will never let me live it down." He rolled bottle of nail varnish between his palms.

"Say anything about what?" I asked slowly, very much intrigued at being let in on something that Murphy didn't know about.

Connor huffed and uncapped the polish and went to work on my toes with a precision and delicacy that would make Mrs. Trinh down at Pretty Pinkies jealous. "I used ta do this fer me ma," he muttered, already deeply focused on his task.

"What?" I screeched, making him jump.

"Settle down," he scolded. He glanced back up to me before turning back to his work. "Sometimes me ma would get a little buckled, aye? An' on some of dose nights, I'd come home an' find 'er lamentin' over her hands and feet, battered from workin' so hard durin' tha day. Didn't have the money – or the fancy little places ya go to – to get her nails done so…I…uh…" he shrugged and trailed off, and I watched as a blush slowly crept up his neck and into his hairline. "Yeah," he said with finality.

"Oh," was my only reply. I leaned back against the cushions and watched as Connor worked.

His features were drawn in concentration and he worked quickly and neatly, finishing one coat on both feet before setting the bottle aside and blowing a stream of air across the tips of my toes. I giggled at the feeling, and shifted, but his hands closed over my ankles and held me steady.

"Quit movin'," he rasped, glancing up at me, "or all me hard work will be for naught." The tip of his tongue flashed over his top lip and there was mischief in eyes.

My breath caught slightly at the heat in his stare and I merely nodded and watched as his hands moved from my ankles and slid up the insides of my calves, burning along the same path that Murphy's had a mere eight hours before. Connor dislodged my housecoat in the process, and just when his fingers had neared the insides of my thighs and my skin was starting to burn, he slid his hands back down, out to my knees, and my calves, kneading the muscle and skin there as he went. I actually purred at the sensations he was creating.

He turned his body towards mine on the couch, stretching his legs out on either side of mine, and captured my feet in his lap once more. He started a second coat of polish, and the smooth layer of indigo that appeared on my toes reminded me of the way his eyes – and Murphy's eyes – smouldered darkly when heated to simmering passion. I swallowed thickly, shifting gently once more, and my heel brushed against a definite bulge behind Connor's fly.

I looked up, and he did, too, and he smiled once more before capping the bottle. "Now, these are gonna take at least thirty minutes ta dry. So no gettin' up and wanderin' about."

I pouted. "How do you plan to keep me entertained?" I gestured to the TV. "The only thing that's on are reruns of 'Young Indiana Jones'…" I trailed off and nodded to the empty beer bottles on the table. "And we're out of beer."

"Ya underestimatin' me, lass?" Connor queried with a rather nefarious look. "Think I can't entertain ya here? On dis couch?" He smirked and glanced around, fluffing the pillow under his other arm and shoving his shoulders back into the cushion. "I can make dis work just fine," he declared with a smirk.

"Without messing up my fabulous pedicure?" I snickered and glanced at my good hand. "Think I could get a MacMan-icure next?"

Connor scowled playfully. "I'll show ya MacMani-cure," Connor hissed, turning up to his knees.

He caught one ankle and draped it over his shoulder and pushed my other leg to hang on the back of the couch. This time, he tugged the belt of my housecoat open and my back arched as the cold air hit my naked breasts.

"Won't be needin' dese," Connor murmured, snatching my panties from me with one tug. He grinned at my scowl and tossed the scrap of fabric over his shoulder.

I sucked in a breath at the speed his hands moved and my eyes flew to his face. "Conn!" I protested weakly. "Murph's…"

"Gonna be gone fer hours, lass." He winked when he finished my sentence and wedged his palms against the insides of my thighs. "Quit fightin', aye?" He pried my legs open and stared down at me. With a smirk, he glanced back up. "Christ, v'barely touched ya. Yer wet as October."

I felt my cheeks blaze; Connor was always doing that – pointing out the obvious when it came to me being aroused by him. He took great male pride in it, and now was no exception, as he clamped down on one thigh with his left hand and drew the fingers of his right up the centre of me, gliding through hot, silky wetness until he found my clit. The sensation that rippled through me was sharp, startling, and I twisted again, but it was useless.

"Settle down," he murmured. "Come on, lass, let Connor take care o'ya, aye?"

I dared to look at him again and watched, open mouthed with wonder, as he slowly dragged my lower body up his torso until my thighs were propped against his shoulders, my legs dangling useless over his back, and I was balanced on my neck and shoulders. "Jesus, Conn, what are you…" My words died as he licked his lips and cocked an eyebrow at me. In the position I was in, I was fully exposed; he had one arm locked tight around my legs so I couldn't move. His free hand hovered at my pelvis and then with thumb and forefinger he gently parted hot, wet flesh, and let his eyes devour me.

"Oh my god," I groaned, closing my eyes, embarrassed by the lust suddenly raging through me. He pushed the envelope; he always did, and while the result was always satisfying, the way to it always threw me for a loop. I felt his breath against me, warm and panting, and then his tongue sank down, swirling against my clit before delving right against my entrance and pushing inside. I couldn't help it – my body jackknifed, and I ended up pushing my pussy right into his waiting mouth.

He groaned deeply, and my heels drummed against his back as his tongue rolled, slid, and dove into me, over, and over again. Fingertips snared my clit, kneading it roughly as his mouth worked. The broad flat of his tongue tasted every inch of me; the more he worked, the wetter I became, and I blushed as I felt my thighs and the crack of my ass become slick. He hissed, pulling his mouth away, and then slipped his fingers deeper than his tongue had reached. They dragged at me from the inside out, pulling all sorts of needy, wanton sounds from me. Jabbing against that one spot made stars burst behind my eyelids and I gulped a breath as my eyes opened suddenly, only to find Connor staring down at me as his lips wandered over my aching clit.

"Christ, ya taste divine, lass," Connor murmured before opening his mouth against me once more. His fingers stroked and twisted, and the arm that had been clamped around my legs moved, his hand gliding down my flank to cup one breast and toy roughly with the nipple.

This time, I hissed, and jerked again, and my toes curled where they hung past Connor's shoulders. My right hand managed to scramble up his torso and I snared a fistful of his dark blonde hair and held him steady as I pushed my hips higher. "Fuck, Conn," I mewled, bucking against him. "Make me come," I blurted out hotly.

"Aye," he growled back against my thigh.

Connor MacManus was nothing, if not a man of his word.

"Isn't that guy from yer office?" Murphy asked as he leaned back into the booth and sipped his coffee.

It was Monday, late morning, and as both boys had the day off, they felt it necessary to escort me to the hospital and sit on either side of me while I had my hand set and casted. Knocking off of work seemed like a good next move, and we followed it up with a lazy breakfast at Slow Joe's, a dive of a diner that was a few blocks from my office.

As Murphy's words sank in, I slowed down the manic chewing of my French toast (which Connor had painstakingly cut into pieces for me) and set my fork down. Craning my head back to where Murphy was looking, my heart jumped in my throat. Yep. That was Jerry, dressed in his expensive three piece suit and sporting a rather bruised looking jaw. I quickly turned back to my meal and shrugged. "Yep," was my only reply.

Connor turned in his seat beside me to take a look. "Aye, dat's him, Murph."

He grew silent then and I knew, I just knew from the way the air suddenly grew heavy, that Connor's mind was hard at work. "Looks like he went a few rounds wit' a bare knuckler," he mused almost too casually.

"Aye," Murphy agreed with his breezy brogue. "Wonder what happened."

"Aye," Connor replied, and I knew he was looking at me – I could feel his eyes, and Murphy's too, settle on me. "Let's ask him."

"No – Conn!" I gasped, tugging his sleeve with my good hand, but he was already turned and halfway out of the booth.

"Oi! Jerry! That you?"

Murphy slunk out of his seat and joined Connor next to the booth and I stared up at the pair as they glared over the small space between the counter and our table. I scrunched further down into my seat.

"Hey, Conn, it is Jerry!" Murphy exclaimed with a rather twisted sounding glee. "Hiya, Jerry, how are ya? Haven't seen ya since dat night at Belgo – what were we talkin' about?"

Connor smirked and approached where Murphy had managed to corner Jerry against the dessert case. Slinging his arm over his twin, he peered at the blooming bruise of purple and scarlet on Jerry's jaw. "Hail Mary, Jer, dat's a nasty lookin' bloom." He nudged Murphy with his elbow. "Looks like he got punched."

Murphy chuckled and narrowed his eyes, grim line of a grin still plastered on his face. "That it does, Conn." He leaned a little closer to the man in question. "Y'all right, Jer? Someone beatin' on ya fer no reason?"

I watched as Jerry looked about the diner frantically. Finally, his gaze landed on me and I shrugged with half a smile.

"Maybe it's because he doesn't pay attention," Connor snapped, and I cringed at his tone as it hovered on acidic.

"Or maybe it's because he does pay attention, just ta things he shouldn't," Murphy concluded. He turned his head, not like he needed to confirm that Jerry had been looking at me, but the theatrics worked. He turned back to Jerry. "Ya eyeballin' our girl, Jer?"

Jerry gaped at Murphy and sputtered a protest, but Connor stepped forward and put one hand on Murphy's chest and the other on Jerry's. "Let's be civil, boys," Connor muttered darkly. "An' take it outside."

"Ya smoke, Jer?" Murphy asked as he patted down his coat and produced a squished pack of Marlboros. He offered one to Jerry, who took it hesitantly, and watched as Murphy handed one off to Connor and tucked another one into the corner of his own mouth.

I shifted where I stood, eyes darting about rapidly. I had no doubt that no real harm would come to Jerry, but I couldn't help but wonder what kind of treatment he was in for.

"I'm trying to figure out," Connor said, contemplating his cigarette for a moment before clamping it between his teeth, "why you've got a bruise worthy of a bare knuckle boxer an' our girl here," he turned and gestured to me, "has a hand that's fractured in three places."

Jerry sputtered, his eyes wide and pleading with me.

Murphy lightly slapped the uninjured side of Jerry's jaw. "Pay attention, aye? Stop lookin' at 'er. Dat's what got ya inta trouble in tha first place."

"I didn't touch her," Jerry blurted out.

Connor snorted. "That's such a relief, isn't it, Murph?" He sneered and glanced at his twin.

"Oh, aye, I feel so much better," Murphy chided, reaching inside of his coat.

Connor did the same and I sucked in a startled breath as they both drew out massive handguns and brandished them in Jerry's direction.

"Shit!" Jerry yelped, ducking down and covering his head as he cowered against the building.

Murphy scoffed and reached down, dragging Jerry up by the coat collar.

"Connor, what the hell are you doing?" I screeched, glancing from him to Murphy and back to him. "What the fuck are you guys doing with guns?"

Connor clicked his teeth and narrowed his eyes at me, but turned back to Jerry. "Here's the deal, Jer," Connor began in a cool, calculating voice. "Ya don't look at her."

"An' ya certainly don't touch her," Murphy chimed in. He and Connor squared off in front of Jerry, wielding their guns dangerously close to Jerry's face.

"An' if she says she's not interested, then it's tha Lord's truth because our girl here doesn't lie," Connor finished.

The waited a moment as Jerry quaked in his place. My heart pounded in my ears; everything seemed to be going in slow motion. When Jerry didn't say anything, Murphy growled.

"Nothin' ta say now?" He bared his teeth, shaking his head. "Maybe we should give him somethin' ta think about for tha rest of taday," he said to Connor.

"Aye," Connor nodded. "Enjoy that cigarette, Jer. It's gonna be yer last."

"Murphy! Connor!" I cried out sharply, but the click of the hammers on the guns was a thousand times louder and it made me sick to my stomach.

"Say hello ta Our Lord an' Savoir, aye?" Connor asked.

"Don't worry," Murphy interjected. "This will be quick."

And with that they pulled the triggers.

Jerry whimpered pathetically.

I stopped breathing.

Two small flames appeared at the barrel end of each gun and the twins began cackling maniacally as they touched the flame to Jerry's cigarette and then lit their own.

I gasped, sucking on air, and launched myself at Connor first, as he was the closest, and hit him square in the chest with my purse. "You asshole!" I bellowed.

Behind me, Murphy chuckled, and gently held me back. "Lay off, girl, it's all in good fun, aye?" He nudged me in the direction of Jerry. "See? No harm done." Murphy paused and we both looked Jerry up and down. I couldn't help the snicker of laughter that bubbled out at the now obvious dark stain on the front of Jerry's suit pants. "Well…other than a dry cleanin' bill. Oi, Jer, take it down ta Mrs. Wong on 37th, aye? She'll set ya up proper."

Connor howled and slung his arm, still brandishing the lighter-cum-pistol, over my shoulder. "C'mon lass. Me coffee is gettin' cold," he reasoned, moving us to the door. He paused just as he ushered me inside and turned back to Jerry who was still shaking in his puddle of piss. "Oh, and Jer? I'll be sure that our lass here sends ya the hospital bill, too."