This is the last chapter.

91. Shroud

It's just a shell, really, and they know that Da isn't in there. It's still hard to leave him behind.

They give him the pennies, they pray their hardest for his soul. They pull the clean white sheet over him – the best shroud they could find given the circumstances.

"How long?" Murphy asks Connor quietly. Depth of faith rings through Connor's head, but he bites his lip to keep it from spilling out.

They pour the gasoline and burn the body in the abandoned office building, the entire place quickly going up in flames.

Just another casualty in the war.

92. Shrug

Doc is polishing glasses behind the bar when they walk in.

"B-b-b-boys!" Doc exclaims. The twins grin at him.

"I know it's after closing, Doc, but…" A smile on Connor's lips, a shrug on his shoulders. "Can we get one?"

Doc pulls two beers and sets them in front of the men. He grabs a bottled water for himself.

"Listen, Doc…" Murphy pauses and a look slides between them. He reaches into his coat and pulls out an envelope, sealed and addressed and stamped. "If you ever hear of anything happening to us, can you put this in the post?"

93. Blanket

The blanket is already old when the twins get it at the age of three days.

It was made for their mother by her mother, and Annabelle knows that she will have no daughter is her life, with Padraig gone and these two born boys. It's red and orange and purple, quilted, warm and lovely though it's worn through in places.

She pulls it from its spot in the top of the hall closet and tucks it around her two baby boys.

Years later, when Connor loves orange and Murphy is partial to red, Annabelle smiles and nobody knows why.

94. Cavern

The cavern is small and damp and the perfect place for them to make their fortress.

The two small boys bring scraps of colored cloth, old tires, bits of wood, anything they can salvage to the cavern, and before long they consider it a castle.

"This is the best place in the world," Murphy exclaims happily as they hang coloring book pages on the wall. Murphy's red drawing of Uncle Sibeal's store is near his spot.

"The best," Connor agrees, his favorite drawing – an orange bird eating an orange – over his sitting space.

"Our castle is complete," Murphy pronounces gleefully.

95. Core

It shook Annabelle McManus to the core when she got the letter.

I'm sorry to tell you this. Your sons and husband were killed last Friday morning. No matter what you hear, they were good men and died fighting the good fight.

No signature. No explanation. Padraig was out of jail? She hadn't known that.

And now the news came, the other news, that they were terrorists. Killing people.

She got their bodies back, though. She held her own service; nobody would associate with her now.

Pennies in the eyes. A prayer for each. Annabelle knew exactly what to do.

96. Seaweed

"What are you eating?"

Dolly was aghast as he looked at Smecker's dinner. Three little sushi rolls sat on the plate; the fourth was raised halfway to his mouth by a pair of chopsticks.

"It's sushi, Dolly," Smecker said, raising one eyebrow. "What does it look like?"

"You eat that stuff?" Dolly looked sickened.

"Well, you don't play football with it." Smecker looked amused. He raised the chopsticks.

Dolly was now edging away from the door to Smecker's office. "Isn't it, like, seaweed and raw fish?"

Smecker thought for a moment. "And rice," he finally agreed. "Don't forget the rice."

97. Jam

Murphy licks the jam from his fingers, totally satisfied. Connor looks at him, disgusted.

"What are ye, four?" he mutters. Murphy just glares.

The sandwich is of epic proportions: four slice of bread, layered with peanut butter and strawberry jam and cream cheese and grape jam and he's pretty sure he remembers putting something else is there, but he's not sure what. Bananas?

Murphy picks up his sandwich, compresses all of the layers, and bites. A blissful smile crosses his face. Definitely bananas.

Connor shudders. Who could eat that shite? he wonders as he bites into his own pickle-and-cheese sandwich.

98. Blast

Murphy's dreams are of Ireland. He recalls running through their small house, having a blast as Ma screamed out the back door for them to get yer asses back here and just being a child. He wakes rested in the morning.

Connor dreams about murder, about blackness, about blood and war and God and prayers that are prayed over people they know, over himself and his brother and friends. He relives Rocco's death, every injury they've ever had, everything that could ever go wrong in the future. He wakes haunted.

Padraig doesn't dream anymore. He wakes and sleeps the same.

99. Carbon

Annabelle and Padraig had expected them to be carbon copies of each other. No, though; Murphy was smaller, had darker features. He took after Paddy. Connor had fairer coloring, was slightly larger, and had more of Annabelle in him.

They were easy to tell apart, at least, Annabelle thought as she stared at her sleeping infants in their tiny crib.

Padraig came in, coat on, bag at his side. "You know what to tell them."

She didn't look at him. "Yes."

He paused as he reached the door. "This was never a choice, Annabelle."

Annabelle didn't turn as he left.

100. Centric

In the end, everything comes full circle.

Father and sons stand in a circle, each pointing a gun at the others, unsure of who they can believe. One of them is the betrayer, two the betrayed; they all act surprised. It no longer matters which one it was. The trust that they had shared was destroyed.

It's centric, pulling everything to a close. It seems a fitting end, really, when six triggers are pulled almost simultaneously and three men drop, lifeless, to the ground. Years of their work have made all three nearly perfect shots.

It is finally, finally over.

It is, indeed, finally over. Thanks to any and everyone who has stuck with this story and its incredibly long hiatus; I sincerely apologise for that. I also thank my reviewers, the few of you that there were :)

I may return to BDSfic at a later date; for now, however, I'm shipping other fandoms (mainly NCIS) and writing exclusively there. Feel free to join me in my delusions in other realms.

A thousand thanks again, and I hope you thoroughly enjoyed the story... well stories!

-Kay