AN: Hello. So sorry I've been gone so long! School has been brutal this year. I'll be making an effort to post more from here on out. If there's something you want to see, let me know.

Tid-Bit: There's a song called The White Swan made popular by Julie Fowlis and written by Donald McDonald (Yeah, I know, his parents were unoriginal). He fought in WW1 in the Battle of Somme. While there, he wrote his love song to a Maggie MacLeod, telling her of his love and wishing her to find happiness in the event he died. He survived the bloody battle and returned to her, becoming her husband in later years. That song is used in this story. It's on youtube. Give it a listen if you get a chance.

Teaser: "Don't touch me!" Connor snarled at her as he backed away from her trembling, outstretched hand. "And don't yah ever touch him!"

Of Rope And Rambo Knives

Ever

Candra Hastings

Thinking back to the night it happened, it made what Connor had done seem all that much worse.

He sat in his apartment, waiting for Murphy to come back home. He didn't know when that would be or how long it would take his brother to forgive him, but all Connor could do was sit and stew over what he'd done. He wanted to apologies. To say he was sorry for it. But Murphy had left immediately after it had happened and Connor didn't blame him.

They'd fought. It happens. They're brothers. It didn't mean they didn't love each other. It just meant that sometimes, there was friction. And this time, the friction had produced heat.

Da had just gone back to Ireland to make a place for them to stay. Until then, the boys were to lay low in America, staying in ratty hotels and paying with cash to not leave a paper trail.

Connor and Murphy had both been in a darker mood for the past few days. The court room execution had been something their father wanted to do, to prove a point. Though they'd both agreed to it, neither had been comfortable with the... show.

And then when Da had left the boys alone and they had tried to get back in their natural swing of things, they were finding it a bit of a chore to do so. Murphy seemed to be in a constant state of frustration and Connor had no idea what over. He was too busy mulling over his regret of the courtroom fiasco.

So when the twins had drank a little too much and Murphy flew off the handle about Da and about how things had been better before he'd shown up, Connor felt a strong urge to defend his father. Though he may not agree with his methods, Noah MacManus was a good man. One who deserved respect.

He was shocked when he told Murphy this and his twin had snapped back at him, saying that Connor only believed that because Connor had been Da's chosen one. The good twin of the two. The favorite.

And now, the lapdog.

Connor was even more shocked when his hand reached out on it's own accord, forming a fist, striking Murphy in the face and knocking his brother to the ground.

And then when his brother looked up to him from the floor, blood streaming from the corner of his mouth, eyes wide with shock and then narrow with accusation, Connor didn't see his twenty-seven year old brother. He saw his twelve year old twin standing shocked in the kitchen of their tiny home in Ireland. Only it hadn't been Connor who'd... who'd...

I didn't do that. I didn't... didn't hurt Murphy... That was all Connor could think as his brother picked himself off the floor. He offered him a hand up, but Murphy ignored him and batted the arm away. Before either could say a word, Murphy had grabbed his coat and left, slamming the door behind him.

Connor couldn't move. He was frozen in place, unable to move. Unable to chase after his brother. Unable to make things right. All he could do was stand there, frozen in horror as he stared at the hand he so desperately wanted to cut off.

And when he could move, his fist met the wall. His already bruised knuckles split the skin over the bone and bled out onto the dirty floor. Connor didn't care. Not at all. He welcomed the pain. Needed it. He just needed to forget what he'd done.

So he wandered in a daze over to their crappy little refrigerator and pulled out a beer. Then he pulled out the rest of them. He wanted to go to McGinty's and get something stronger than the canned stuff, but he couldn't leave. Not until Murphy came back.

And though Connor was rooted to his chair, waiting for his brother to return, his mind was not. It was far away, in the past years of his and Murphy's childhood, somewhere on his uncle's farm in Ireland...

...Ma couldn't pay the rent again. Though the boys loved their mother and she loved them, she also loved her whiskey. Sometimes, she loved it too much. More than she could afford. So when they couldn't pay the rent to their small two room apartment and they took refuge at the twins' uncle's farm, it was a bit of a stressful time for Annabelle MacManus.

And what was worse, she knew it was her own fault. But the guilt wasn't enough to quell her thirst for good. Just long enough to get her sons back in their apartment for a month or so before the cycle would start again.

It was February. They were twelve. Connor could remember, the image that had been burned into his mind never leaving in any form of detail. He could still feel the chill of the cold winter air seeping through his thin sweater. He could feel the tremors of a shivering Murphy standing next to him. He remembered taking his twin's hand as their mother screamed at them for forgetting to put their dirty clothes in the laundry. Connor could smell the whisky on his mother's breath.

"Which one of you little bastards forgot this time?" she asked, her tone that of a screech.

Bastards. Ma only called them that when she was thinking about Da. Connor's heart pounded. It had been his turn this week and he'd forgotten, going to play with Murphy, Seamus and Tommy instead... He made to step forward to accept the screaming that was sure to ensue. You were never to cross Ma when she was drunk or you'd hear it for hours.

Before he could take that step forward, Murphy had taken it, placing himself in front of Connor. "M'sorry, Ma... I did it," Murphy said, taking his brother's place to suffer the consequences.

Ma didn't yell. For once while she was drunk, she wasn't yelling. Instead, she did something she'd never done before.

The back of her hand collided with the bone of Murphy's cheek.

Murphy had been in fights before. Whether they be play or against bullies at school, Murphy was more than able to take a hit.

But he'd never expected it from his mother.

He stumbled back more from surprise than the blow, which had been unexpectedly powerful, like all her rage and anger had come out in one violent moment on her baby. He would've fallen had Connor not caught him and steadied his brother.

Time had slowed for Connor in that moment. He'd seen Ma's hand fly, he'd seen Murphy recoil from the strike, and he saw his twin falling back. He held him close, laying a protective hand over one of Murphy's that rested over his cheek.

Both brother's held wide eyes on their mother, whose own eyes had cleared, holding sadness and regret, reflecting the emotional pain that was held in Murphy's bright blues.

Her offending hand shook as she reached towards her sons. "M'so sorry..."

Connor reacted, the need to protect his brother stronger than anything else. His other arm wrapped protectively around Murphy. "Don't touch me!" Connor snarled at her as he backed away from her trembling, outstretched hand. "And don't yah ever touch him!"

He pulled Murphy with him as they retreated to their room away from their mother. They could hear her toss the bottle of whisky at the wall as the glass shattered with their mother's anguished cry. It accompanied the sound of the door slamming as Annabell fled the farmhouse.

The only sound Connor heard was that of the little hiccups Murphy made in an attempt to keep his tears in. He took his twin to his own bed and lay him down, never losing contact once with him as he lay beside him. A hand that would bear the word Veritas years from that moment stroked at the red spot on Murphy's face that would be a bruise in the morning. A hand that would be marked Aequitas clutched at Connor's shirt in a desperate need for comfort.

Murphy couldn't hide the tears anymore. They weren't of pain, but of betrayal. And though he'd forgive his mother with time, he only wanted Connor. He needed Connor. His arms wrapped around Connor's neck in a tight embrace as Murphy sobbed into his brother's neck.

Connor stroked his hair, trying to ignore the guilt in his heart... That this would've been him sobbing had Murphy not taken his place. He should be the one suffering... But he pushed that aside as Murphy clung to him needingly. He had to play big-brother now.

He needed to comfort him, to give him something else to think of. So he sang the song they'd learned very young in their native language. Their mother would croon softly to them as babes the sweet notes that would linger in their hearts until the day they died.

"Gur duilich leam mar tha mi, 'S mo chridhe 'n sàs aig bròn, Bhon an uair a dh'fhàg mi, Beanntan àrd a' cheò, Gleanntan a'mhànrain..." Sad I consider my condition, With my heart engaged with sorrow, From the very time that I left, The high bens of the mist, The little glens of dalliance. Connor sang note after note, verse after verse. Though he knew the song was written for a girl by a man who loved her, the song brought them the familiar comfort they both needed.

Connor promised himself that night that he'd never let anyone hurt Murphy because of him again...

...Connor was still seated in his chair. He hadn't moved other than to take a sip of his beer, but after his reflection of his past, he'd set the beer aside, still full. He refused to do that to Murphy. He'd already hit him while sober... He rubbed at his eyes as the clocked ticked on into the night.

Connor's guilt was all he could process. He wanted to go back in time and hit himself instead of his brother. He just needed Murphy to come home and let him say sorry. He needed him... If Murphy left for good, Connor knew he wouldn't be able to take it. He needed his brother too much to lose him over something stupid. So when the door opened and Murphy came home a little after midnight, Connor's head snapped up.

Murphy was quiet, not saying a word as he slid off his coat and tossed it to the corner. He was tired and his face was sore where it was bruising. He just wanted to tell Connor he loved him and that he'd blown off his steam and go to bed. He wasn't expecting strong arms to wrap around his neck and a face to be shoved into his shoulder as his twin sobbed against him.

"M'sorry!" He wailed. His heart was tearing up at the thought of the pain he'd caused Murphy. "M'so sorry, Murphy! Please don't hate me! Don't leave me again! I love you!"

Murphy was startled. Connor was the strong one... He never cried or begged or lost his cool. But now he could feel his twin shaking against him. His arms instinctively wrapped around his brother's back, feeling the tension there seep away with his touch. He stroked his hair as Connor had done for him once.

And after Murphy took a deep breath, he began to sing.