Title: Whisky Advice
Author: Mickey Stone
Fandom: Boondock Saints
Pairing/character: Connor/Murphy
Rating: FRT
Prompt: 3. The High Priestess :For verve challenge on LJ:
Table: Tarot - Major Arcana Tarot plus a trio
Word Count: 924
Notes/Warnings: Incest (but only touched upon). Spoilers for key events in the movie. This was written and spell checked in gmail (not g-doc) so mistakes that have been missed are mine.

The High Priestess: Intuition, wisdom and secret knowledge, the feminine side of the male personality. Something remains yet to be revealed, but patience must be observed. Duality and mystery. Hidden influences affect both home and work and intuitive insight suggests new solutions. The influence of women.

It wasn't McGinty's. If he squinted, he could just imagine he was back at the backstreet pub; Doc behind the bar, Rocco blind drunk and singing some song horribly out of tune. Connor sighed softly and swirled the whisky around in the glass. He missed them. He missed the friends and the fights and the laughs; the getting rat-arsed of a Friday night and drinking all the way through to Monday morning, then going to work with the worst hangover ever and fighting off sickness while packing the meat. But Doc wasn't behind the bar, and Rocco was dead. His family of friends were gone; Murphy was the only one left.

Murphy. His brother, his twin. The only person in the world he'd trust with his life and the reason why he was sat at the bar, drowning himself in the bottom of the glass. Connor was confused. Murphy was his brother, he'd grown up with him, known him all his life and never felt anything other than brotherly love towards him. So...why did he find himself looking at him? Staring at him, following the line of his neck and the curve of his tattoos. Feeling his insides tighten when he caught a glimpse of him in the shower while he was taking a piss. It wasn't right. It wasn't right at all.

"Don't think you're gonna find the answers in there, sweetheart."

Connor looked up at the barmaid and gave her a small smile. She was holding a black try to her hip, a couple of empty glasses balanced perfectly on the surface.

"No, probably not."

She smiled, "I know that look," she said, shifting her weight to the other leg, "Seen it too many times to count."

"Yeah?" Conor chuckled, "Wha' would tha' be?"

"A troubled heart," she answered. Connor couldn't really say much to that, since he was too surprised at her intuitiveness. She snorted and shook a stray strand of brown hair back over her shoulder. "Told you I knew that look."

She turned then and walked away, only to turn the corner and slip behind the bar with the tray and unload the empty glasses. Connor downed the last mouthful and pushed his glass across the bar to her. She smiled and took it, swapping it for a new one and pouring him a double.

"On the house," she said, "Maybe you'll find what you need to tell her."

Connor laughed quietly, tipping his head in thanks as he said, "Maybe you should tell me instead, seein' as you seem ta know wha' I'm lookin' for."

It was her turn to laugh, "I'm just a barmaid, sir, nothing more."

"Aye, but you're clever, I'll give ya tha',"

She gave a little smile and shook her head, moving down the bar to take someone else's order. Connor sipped on his Whisky and watched her. She was younger than him, by a good few years, but she spoke like she had years of experience. Long brown hair fell poker-straight down her back, the simple black t-shirt and pants combo fitting the curves of her body well. She was beautiful and Connor would have been on her in an instant if it wasn't for the fact that he couldn't stop thinking of Murphy.

He dropped his eyes to his drink and shook his head to himself. This was ridiculous. He shivered, trying to ignore all the teaching and preachings of days gone by. It was a sin against God.

"Lemme guess," She was back again, leaning on the bar by her elbows in front of him. "You're confused about something, not sure whether it's right or wrong."

Connor sighed, "Tha's about it, yeah." She nodded, "I dunno, I just...can't. It's against everythin' I've been taught, ya know?"

She nodded and stood, moving behind to grab a bottle of bear and opening it under the bar, "Can I ask you something?"

Connor shrugged, "Aye."

"Do you love him?"

"Aye," he answered automatically, blinking and suddenly realising what she'd asked. She smiled gently, and that's when Connor noticed. She was a good few years younger than him, but her eyes...her eyes were impossibly old. He stared, mouth opening and working soundlessly.

"Then love him. Religion be damned." She continued, leaning closer and dropping her voice. "Be happy while you can, Connor McManus."

Blue eyes widened and the barmaid smirked. She tipped him a wink and moved off to serve the guy down the other end of the bar. Connor stared at her; shouldn't she be calling the cops? Be screaming blue murder that one of The Saints was in her bar?

"Thought I'd find ya here."

Connor turned to see Murphy planting himself on the stool beside him. His twin cocked an eyebrow at his expression.

"Wha's up with you? Look like ya ain't seen me before."

He hadn't, not like this. The silence stretched on between them as they stared at each other, words in English and Gaelic passing silently between them. The confused look dropped from Murphy's face and he nodded to a question that Connor didn't ask. He understood. He knew.

As one they stood and walked out of the pub. She watched them from behind the bar, eyes smiling at their retreating backs. Tonight was for them and she hoped that they both found the answers they were looking for.

Tomorrow morning she would find an envelope full of cash notes stuffed under the door, the note attached baring just two words and two initials.

Thank you. C & M