****AUTHOR'S NOTE****Ok, my fellow rabid fangirls, here is the next installment of my Twins/OFC saga. You don't really have to read the others to know what's going on here (basically it's my OFC and she's dating Connor and Murphy (the lucky bitch)), but please if you dig this one, feel free to read the others, as well. The other stories, in order are: One Saint or Another, Two Saints are Better than One, Triply Saintly Sated, and Saints of my Heart…Dammit.

This fic is kind of long for the actual movie time period it takes place in (between the afternoon after the boys first run into Il Duce up until the night after Rocco is killed), but I did finally bow to review pressure and hit y'all with a threesome. Good times. Could, maybe, kind of be twincest if you squint your eyes and tilt your head just the right way, but I think it's more like, two guys who are very comfy with each other.

We're coming up on the end of my saga. Not gonna go on beyond the timelines of the movies, but I'm kind of committed to it now, so even if I get no response review-wise, I'll post the last two fics (or possibly last three, I haven't decided yet). Of course that's not to say that you shouldn't review anyway. Please, show the love. Lol!

Anyway, damn this is a really long author's note. I hope you enjoy and if you do, please review! If you don't, meh, well you can bite me really. No gray area coming into all of this, it's smut, if it's not your thing, don't read it. Anyway, take care, have fun, and I'll see y'all next time.


It had been a day or two since Rocco and the boys had last left my apartment, and I was taking advantage of the break by stocking up. Three hungry and often wounded men in my apartment was continually draining all my cabinets (kitchen, liquor, and medicine).

Two nights ago they hit a titty bar and took out Poppa Joe's right hand in a peep show booth along with two other scumfucks who ran the neighborhood. Word was out that Rocco was taking out Yakavetta's people so Rocco's place was no longer safe and the boys place wasn't in the condition it used to be (and let's face it the place wasn't exactly the Ritz before) so they had decided to camp out at my place when they could.

I didn't know where they stayed when they weren't with me. I didn't want to know and they didn't want me to know so it worked out well for everybody. They were sure to call me and let me know they were all right, but otherwise I only saw them when they showed up at my door, hungry and needing rebandaging.

The patching up was no problem but I am, ahem, "culinarily challenged" (I believe is the polite term for "unable to cook a fucking thing") so my fridge, freezer and cabinets became a veritable wonderland of sandwich fixings, frozen pizzas, and junk food. Not to mention a steady stream of takeout burgers, pizza, Chinese food and Thai when I could get the boys to try it. Living alone for as long as I have I know all the best restaurants…anything to keep me from having to cook.

The beer and the cigarettes were really what was killing me.

I smiled and sighed as I stepped off the elevator and headed down the hall to my apartment, looking down at the keys in my hand as I went. It was the only reason I saw the blood trail leading to my front door.

Oh holy Jesus, I thought as my heart dropped and my stomach clenched.

I fumbled my keys and nearly dropped my grocery bags as I practically leaped to the door. My fingers shaking, I had a helluva time trying to get the damn key in the hole and had a sudden surge of sympathy for virgin boys trying to have sex for the first time. Eventually I got the key in, twisted, and pushed into the apartment…and found the boys and Rocco sliding weapons back into pants and bags, sitting at my table smoking and sipping the last of the beer from my fridge.

My internal organs returned to their original non-freaked positions and I pulled my key from the deadbolt as they greeted me.

"Boys," I acknowledged as they got up and made their way towards me. Connor limping noticeably and Murphy slightly drooping one arm. Rocco seemed more or less alright but his hand was pretty heavily bandaged. They each took a grocery bag and hauled them into the kitchen as I put my purse and keys down. Following them back into the cooking nook I caught the distinct smell of blood… and cooked meat?

"Everybody okay?" I asked, pulling supplies out of the bags as I noticed the spots of blood on the floor… and on my table… and on the counter. "More or less?"

"Aye," Connor said his hand ghosting across the small of my back as he returned to his seat.

"More or less," Murphy agreed, depositing his bag on the counter and hugging me. I returned the squeeze and felt him tense as my hand rested on the patch of bandage.

"Sorry," I said, softly as he pulled back.

"It's alright," he said, his lips brushing my temple briefly before he returned to his place at my table, straddling the back of the chair between Rocco and Connor.

I started putting away groceries and noticed the iron sitting on the counter with bloody handprints on the handle. Turning it I found the charred skin and cooked blood still clinging to the smooth metal surface. "Aw, Christ, boys. Are you sure you're all okay?"

"Well, Rocco lost his finger."

I dropped the bag of Doritos I held in my hand. "You what?"

"Oh yeah," he said raising his bandaged left hand and waggled four fingers at me, his bright eyes shining.

"Holy fuck," I exclaimed, crossing to him and cradling his hand in mine. "The whole finger?"

"Well, enough of it," he said, looking down at his hand in mine.

"Doesn't it-? Do you-?" I kept trailing off, I looked to the twins for support but their faces were neutral, obviously absorbed in something else. Looking back at Roc, "Do you need me to look at it?"

"Nah," he said, sipping his beer with his free hand. "We, whatdyacallit, cauterized it and wrapped it pretty good. If it starts to look bad or hurt worse I'll let you know."

"Ok," I agreed reluctantly as I turned my gaze on the twins.

"And you two?"

"All twenty fingers," Murphy replied around his cigarette as he and Connor jazz-handsed at me.

I rolled my eyes and dug into the bag that I knew had my first aid supplies in it and grabbed a bottle of alcohol, poured it over my hands and moved to Murphy's shoulder. I peeled back the bandage as carefully as I could. It looked like the original bullet wound hadn't been life-threatening although I'm sure it had bled like a bitch. It looked like it had been deep enough to stick my finger in it at least up to my first knuckle. "Christ in heaven, Murphy," I sighed, probing lightly with one finger. "Tell me you cleaned this out before you toasted it."

"Aye, girl. We mopped it up beforehand."

"I could have stitched this," I sighed, eyeing the angry red of the burn surrounding the hole.

"This was faster," he said glancing over his shoulder at me. "Besides, I don't like needles."

I arched an eyebrow at him, shifting my eyes to his inked forearms, back and hand. "That's different," he said, turning away. I scratched lightly at the short hairs at the base of this neck and watched the goosebumps come up.

"And you?" I said moving to Connor. "You're gimpy again."

"Clean shot, lass," he said laying open the split leg of his jeans revealing a clean cotton pad secured with several loops of gauze.

The patch covered the bullet hole itself, but the telltale burned triangle with little holes at its edges showed that Connor had gotten the Kenmore treatment, too. I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes. "I need a cigarette," I sighed and three packs were thrust at me. I laughed a little and pulled one from the closest pack which happened to be Connor's and accepted a light from Murphy, before sitting down behind him, putting my arms around his waist and resting my head on his back. I only had three chairs so I usually had to double up, there was no way I was gonna sit on Connor with that hole in his thigh and sitting behind Murph was comfy. Like sitting bitch on a motorcycle… only on a chair.

"He'll be on to us soon," Murphy said his voice soft, reverberating through his chest.

Turning my head I could see Connor just over Murphy's shoulder. He was nodding. "Aye."

"Then we need to do something," Rocco said, as I heard him light up.

Connor looked up from the table and pinned Rocco with a cold blue gaze. "We're not," a pause and a quick glance at me before he continued, "doing what you're suggesting. So unless you have an alternative then shut it."

Rocco fell silent and Murphy's hand dropped to mine and gently massaged my fingers until they loosened around his stomach. I hadn't even really realized that I had tensed until I made a conscious effort to relax and felt my shoulders loosen. I had seen the three of them entrenched in roll-around-on-the-floor, knockdown, dragouts before, but for Connor to be that pissed, the tone of his voice and the lines of his body told that much, and still seated and rational, gave me pause.

Murphy took my hand in his and laid it flat on his chest, the steady thump of his heart against my palm mellowed me even further and I closed my eyes.

They had always been careful enough to leave me a shred of deniability. What they were doing was never discussed. I never asked what had caused the various scrapes and cuts and now bullet holes that I had been asked to patch.

But I wasn't an idiot.

Rocco was missing a finger and my boys both had holes in them. The underlying, barely there scent of blood and gunpowder that had always surrounded my boyfriends had, now almost overpowered their own unique scents. And I missed it.

But it wasn't…bad. Just different.

Kind of like the boys.

Since the night the Russian mobsters were killed at the Copley there had been a shift in my boys. Not guilt or regret or anything quite so maudlin. Just a change. A direction? A sense of purpose. Most times they were still themselves. Crazy ass guys. Laughing and cussing and smoking. Feeling me up when they got a chance, but there was an underlying current of… not quite tension, but drive, maybe. And on occasion, it swam to the surface and their bodies went slightly rigid, their expressions serious.

Like now, for instance.

"Then maybe it's time," Rocco began and I felt Murphy's body tense. "You know," Rocco said.

I looked up and Murphy and Connor both were staring at Rocco like he had just said the Pope was Jewish.

"That wouldn't stop him anyway," Murphy said, putting his hand over my own.

Connor's eyes cut to mine then slid away. "Aye," he agreed with his twin, "but…" he trailed off.

"We'll talk about it," Murphy said, squeezing my fingers, "later."

Well, hell, I thought, that sounded serious. I cleared my throat. "You boys need me to take off for a bit?"

"Nah, lass," Connor said, his hand touching my back and then sliding away.

I met his eyes over Murphy's shoulder and held them. I nodded, then rubbed a hand up and down Murphy's thigh before planting a kiss on his shoulderblade as I stood. "Ok, then," I said returning to my kitchen and continued putting stuff away.