My boyfriend and I had headcanon about Connor's, "I've been waiting for this asshole." I know the line is actually explained in a deleted scene, but we just happen to like our version better.

Duffy owns, not me, blah blah.

They hadn't known there were people in the other booths.

Not that it was a problem. They hadn't seen anything, and even if they had, it wasn't a huge deal. There was an opportunity here, however – if there were unsavory characters in those other booths, they could take them out as quick as you like.

Connor looked through the peephole of the booth nearest him, sensing his twin doing the same across the room. What he saw on the other end made every muscle in his body go rigid.

He knew this bastard.

It had been a few years back. Just another routine bar fight; typical Friday night pastime, really. Them and Rocco and some of the other regulars at McGinty's had gotten into a scuffle with a group of bikers. So what if the odds had been something like five to one and each of the bikers had been built like a linebacker? The McGinty's crowd wasn't one to shy away from unfavorable odds – hell, they enjoyed them.

So Connor and Murphy had dived right into the brawl with the others, spurred on by adrenaline and whiskey and Irish blood, and almost immediately lost track of each other in the chaos. That was the one part of bar fights Connor didn't like – he didn't like not knowing exactly where Murphy was. Still, his twin was more than capable of taking care of himself.

Most of the time, anyway.

Things had happened quickly then. Connor had sent his last opponent to the ground and looked wildly around for Murphy. And found him.

It wasn't unusual for either of the brothers to lose the upper hand in a fight, especially when they were fighting seperately, but it was unusual for either of them to lose it to this degree.

Murphy was on the floor, curled in on himself, the biker he'd been fighting towering over him and thrashing him over and over again with a bike chain. He was still managing to get a few blows in whenever the chain was raised, but for the most part he was too busy trying to shield his face from the beating to do much damage.

That was when Connor lost his temper.

The fucker was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn't even know Connor was coming until the taller MacManus brother slammed into him and knocked him into the wall. Connor was only half-aware of what he was doing as he grabbed both sides of the biker's head and bashed it into the wall repeatedly until there was a large crater in the plaster. He drove his knee into the bastard's crotch three or four times before shoving him to the floor and kicking wherever he could. Connor felt a huge swell of satisfaction every time he felt a bone break, and he let out a bark of laughter as his foot connected with the biker's nose with an audible crack. The biker was yelling, calling to his friends for help because this psycho was killing him, but the other thugs kept their distance. Even en masse, they didn't fancy going anywhere near Connor.

He would have flat out killed the fucker right then and there if Rocco and five or six other guys hadn't grabbed him and pulled him away. Connor flailed a little, not happy at being dragged away before he could finish the job, but when he realized he wasn't going to get free he resorted to yelling threats and obscenities in English and Russian and every other language he knew. He watched, furious, as the biker was helped to his feet and half-dragged towards the door.

"Fuckin' let go of me!" Connor shouted. "I'm gonna kill him!"

"Calm the fuck down, man!" Rocco yelled back.

"Fuck off!" Connor struggled to break away, intent on grabbing the bastard before he could get away and bashing his fucking skull in.

They didn't let go of him until the last of the bikers had roared away outside, and even then, it took a few seconds for Connor to settle down. When they were sure he was relatively under control, they finally let him pull away.

Murphy had barely moved. Connor knelt down beside him, the fire gone out of his belly. "Murph?"

"You...asshole," Murphy muttered. "I had everythin' sorted."

Connor had to give a small chuckle. "Sure you did," he said, looking his twin up and down, trying to gauge how bad his injuries were. His back was the worst - it had gotten the bulk of the beating, and blood was soaking through Murphy's shirt. Connor grit his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists a few times before saying, "Well. You look like shit."

"Still better lookin' than you, I reckon." Murphy moved to sit up, but Connor gently placed a hand on his shoulder, stilling him. "I'm not gonna break, Con."

"I know. Just don't want you bleedin' all over the place." Connor glanced up at the others, who were all standing around nursing their own injuries. "Someone wanna call an ambulance or all you are just gonna stand there?"

"I don't need a fuckin' ambulance," Murphy said indignantly.

"Shut it. You could have internal bleedin' or shit like that." Connor was doing his best to keep the genuine worry out of his voice - he didn't need the others thinking he was a pussy.

Murphy, being Murphy and therefore able to essentially read Connor's mind, nodded minutely, sensing his brother was truly upset. "Fine. Suit yourself. You can get that split lip looked at while we're there."

Typical Murph. More concerned with Connor's injuries than his own. It was a trait they shared, Connor admitted to himself. If it got Murphy to accept medical attention, though, Connor didn't mind.

In the end, Murphy was pretty lucky. Most of the damage was confined to his back, and he had several bruised ribs and a fractured wrist, but that was it. Connor exhaled slowly as they left the hospital. He'd never admit it out loud - mostly because Murphy knew anyway - but he'd had a bit of a scare. As he looked over at his brother, who winced every time he took a step and favored his left side more than a little, Connor made a silent vow.

He'd wait. He'd wait, for however long it took, for that bastard to turn up. And when he did - when that sorry fuck dared show his face again - Connor was going to kill him.

"It's like a scumbag yard sale," Connor muttered.

"We should come down here once a week and clean house," Murphy remarked, and Connor couldn't help smirking a little. He began reloading his gun, practically salivating at the thought of finally being able to kill the fucker who'd beaten his brother so savagely.

"Oh, man, you gotta let me do these guys," Rocco was saying. "I'm such a moron, I gotta make up for that tit thing..."

"There's no way," Connor told him darkly. "I've been waitin' for this asshole." For way too long.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Murphy shoot him a questioning glance, but ignored it. He'd explain later. Right now all he could focus on was the memory of the angry red welts crisscrossing Murphy's back.

"Ohh, come on," Rocco practically whined.

Murphy lightly tapped Connor's arm, cutting through the angry monologue in his head, and said softly, "Come on, man, give the guy his shot."

Connor wanted to throw something, mostly because he had trouble denying his brother anything when he used that tone. At least Murphy wasn't using the puppy eyes...

He swallowed a sigh. Murphy had more of a soft spot for Rocco than he did, and it was obvious his twin wanted Connor to give the guy a chance. Only for you, Murph, Connor thought.

Looking Rocco straight in the eye, Connor said, without a trace of his usual humor, "It's the real deal, Roc. Evil man, dead man." As he handed Rocco the gun, he resisted the urge to add, "Don't fuck this up."

In the end, Connor wasn't nearly as satisfied as he would have been if he'd been doing the shooting, but he had to admit, it was still gratifying to see that motherfucker riddled with bullets.