A/N: Thanks to Pitbullsrok for pointing out my heinous crime of mistranslated Latin… but it all seems to work itself out here…

So here's Wren, and here's Pam, and the two Irish boys I don't own. I'm not making money on this. Just rabid fans!

"What the feck are we doin' here, Conn?" Murphy MacManus sighed at his twin as he craned his head back to look up at the building they'd stopped walking at.

"Meetin' Pam. Havin' a few beers," Connor MacManus shrugged.

Murphy scowled at the sign over the door. "Grayson's? What's wrong with McGinty's, eh?" he whined, fishing his cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one.

"Nothin's wrong with it, Murph," Connor laughed. "But change is good, aye? B'sides, meetin' new people isn't all that bad."

Murphy fixed his brother with a glare. "If you feckin' fixed m'up with one o'Pam's coworkers, you're going to be very sorry, Conn." He exhaled a plume of smoke.

Connor laughed but shook his head, clapping his brother on the back good naturedly. "I promise ye, Murph, ye got nothin' ta worry 'bout." He lit his own cigarette and glanced up the street, searching for Pam.

The brothers were silent for a few moments, save for the inhale and exhale of smoke, and finally Connor stood a little straighter and waved at the leggy brunette coming up the street. "There she is," he smiled warmly. "Poor Murph was gettin' worried, lass," Conn explained as Pam came to a standstill before the twins. "He thinks ye have some evil plan for t'night," he mock whispered.

Pam smiled and shook her head, trying to suppress her laugh. Trust Murphy MacManus to know when something was up. He was right to follow his instinct, and she hoped that Connor hadn't given anything away. When Pam had discovered this bar a few weeks ago, she had also discovered Murphy's little bird, Wren Abernathy, whom he hadn't seen since St. Stephen's Day. Over and over Pam had told Conn that the darker twin was missing the girl, but Conn was never one to be in tune with that sort of thing. So Pam had done a little digging that first night at Grayson's, chatting casually to Wren and finding out if it might be all right if she brought the brothers by some time. Wren had tried not to look excited as she shrugged, non-committal, but Pam knew better. She'd called the bar yesterday afternoon, spoke with Wren, and made reservations.

"Murphy, don't you trust me?" Pam pouted, trying to sound hurt. Still, her green eyes gleamed with mischief.

Murphy shrugged, but he smiled easily enough. "If ye have set me up with some homely co-worker of yours, I'll just take it out on Conn."

Conn flipped his brother off and crushed his cigarette beneath his boot. "C'mon. I need a pint."

"Guinness. Three pints," Tara breathed as she set her tray on the bar. "Are there anymore menus back there?"

Wren looked up from pouring a pitcher of Bud and nodded. "Yep. Just a second. Guinness, you say?" She casually scanned the bar, looking for a familiar dark head of hair. It was just after eight, the same time Pam had made reservations for. Wren couldn't help but be a little be…excited? Nervous? Giddy? She shuddered at the thought and looked back to Tara, who was talking again.

"Oh yeah," she sighed. "Some brunette and two ridiculously hot, Irish guys in the corner by the pool table," she explained, ticking her head back in their direction. "They even have accents. Lucky girl."

Wren's guts wobbled just a bit as she wiped her hands on the bar towel. She knew what it meant to be that 'lucky girl'. She'd seen it first hand for two glorious days and nights at the end of December. They'd parted on good terms, shrugging at any attempt to further the relationship. They'd see where it went, they agreed. Wren had found a new job and she had pegged Murphy as the type of guy who wouldn't just show up at her apartment unannounced.

Wren didn't say anything, merely poured perfect pints, and set them on the bar for Tara along with a menu. She wasn't sure how she was going to work this. She just didn't want to walk up to the table like she and Murphy hadn't had the most incredible sex for two days and then never talked again. And she didn't want to seem like she was avoiding him, either. Another order slid across the bar, grabbing Wren's attention, and she slipped back into work mode, talking with the patrons lining the bar and keeping up with her orders.

Connor craned his head back to the bar – again – and Pamela elbowed him before shooting him a quick glare. He returned to his pint – the second for the evening – and wondered silently if Wren was ever going to make an appearance. His blue eyes flicked to his brother.

Murphy was watching Connor like a hawk as he sipped his beer – his third. Conn had been strangely interested in what was happening over at the bar and Murphy wondered if there was perhaps an unsavoury character seated there…or someone cuter than Pam. The latter would be difficult; not too many women compared to Pamela Leary, save for… Murphy grimaced at his train of thought. He tried not to think about Wren, but inevitably he did so, at least once a day.

"What's so interesting over there, then, hmm?" Murphy asked, sliding to the edge of his seat. He stood and gathered his beer and his pack of cigarettes from the table.

"Wher'ya off to?" Conn asked, trying to act innocent.

"T'the bar. See who's here," Murphy shrugged. It shouldn't be that big of a surprise – Murphy always liked to see who was around. He was the observer, content to sit back and watch Connor mix and mingle. Not that Murphy was anti-social; he just enjoyed people watching. "I'll be back in a bit. Give ye some alone time with Pam, aye?" He winked at his brother's girlfriend and headed to the bar, completely missing the amused glance Pam shot Connor.

He took a seat near the middle, looking up at the three big screen televisions showing hockey, hockey, and hockey. Of course there was a Bruins' game on, against the Flames, and he settled in, pulling out a cigarette. He patted down his jeans for his lighter, his eyes still fixed on the game, and cursed when he came up empty handed. Just as he looked down again, a flame licked to life, bursting from a small, bronze cased Zippo.

"Ah, thanks, girl," he grinned, focusing on the flame and not on the face that stood before him. He knew she had blonde hair past her shoulders. And that she was small, probably wearing three inch heels.

"Out of all the gin joints in all the world, you ended up in mine."

Murphy paused and looked past the flame, straight into Wren Abernathy's dark blue gaze.

"Holy fuck," he murmured around the cigarette in his mouth.

"Back at ya, Murph," she grinned, closing the lighter with a snap and setting it on the bar. She smiled at his obvious surprise and made a note to thank Pam for setting this up. He seemed rather pleased at the prospect to be seated at her bar, because the shock wore off and his smile formed, making Wren's heart beat just a little bit faster. He looked good – the same, really, but guys don't change that much in just a couple of months. But he was still good to look at, with dark hair sweeping across his forehead, a bit of beard on his chin, and wonderful almond-shaped blue eyes. And his shoulders were just as broad as she remembered them, and they filled out his black t-shirt quite nicely.

"I can't believe it," he laughed softly. He quickly glanced back in the direction of the booth where he left Connor and Pam. "Did Conn have anything to do with this?"

Wren shrugged. "Maybe." She opened her mouth to continue when her attention was flagged by a waitress. "Be right back," she said with another smile.

She was gone, giving Murphy a moment to gather his thoughts and redirect the blood from his groin back to his head. Then Wren turned around at the other end of the bar and walked back, and he got a good look at her – and boyo, did she look good. Had it only been two months? What had he been thinking, not keeping track of her? She wore a tight, short, black skirt, and her legs were bare. On her feet, little black boots with a heel. The purple silk top she wore showed off her shoulders and her back – she wasn't wearing a bra, he was certain. He shifted in his seat, a little fizzle of pleasure singing his nerves as he realized her lack of a bra, and watched as she worked. The silver bracelets on her wrists jangled sweetly as she poured drink orders. She laughed with the waitress and another patron, and Murphy took note of the way the blond man at the other end of the bar was looking at her. He didn't like it. The thought made him strangely warm.

"I'm off at eleven," Wren announced as she made her way back to Murphy. "You sticking around or will I have to wait another two months to see you?"

Murphy blew out a stream of smoke and chuckled. "I hope not," he answered cryptically. "Come for a drink at my place?" In his mind, she was already stripped bare, pressed up against the wall of the shower…no, no…bent over the kitchen table…or maybe on Conn's bed…

"Sure," Wren shrugged, trying to sound as casually aloof as possible. In her mind, he was already pounding into her on every, and against every, available surface she could imagine. Her boss's Camaro in the parking lot…the brick alleyway at Henderson and First, the one where the full moon hit… maybe a kitchen table of sorts… She turned to the back shelf and pulled a bottle down and presented it to Murphy. "Should I bring the Bushmill's?"

Murphy considered it, their last hours flashing back through his mind and making him shift on his stool again. He still had a quarter cube of Kilkenny's Cream in the fridge. He shook his head. "Got something better in mind," he winked.

"Well, I hope ye plan on sharin', me brother," Connor announced as he appeared at Murphy's side.

Murphy groaned at his twin's horrendous timing, but smirked at Wren anyway as she smiled at the pair of them.

"Why, Murph! Look it' here, a little Wren…caught up in the furze. How are ye, lass; good ta see ya again."

"And you, Connor," Wren smiled with a small blush. She couldn't help it – he was good to look at, and had a more flirtatious nature than his darker half. She watched as Connor swung an arm around Murphy's shoulders and noted a tattoo running the length of his left forefinger, as well as part of a Celtic cross on his left forearm. The word Veritas stared back at her and she looked back to Murphy's right hand. Aequitas. Then she mentally smacked herself – had she really mistranslated the Latin the first time around? Some Roman History major she was. Why hadn't Murphy corrected her that night? She swung her gaze back to Murphy to find him watching her intently.

"So, how 'bout it?" Murphy asked softly, ignoring Connor's presence. "Later?" He had a feeling he might have some explaining to do – she looked like she'd realized her mistake about his tattoo and really, he hadn't had the heart to correct her that night. Her words had stuck with him and had given him more than enough reason to have her once more that night, and then twice the next morning.

"It's goin' to haf to be later, Murph. Doc needs us to go down to the pub – something about Italian fuck-asses." Conn smirked, but looked somewhat remorseful – he didn't like the fact he was cutting Murphy's reunion short.

"Eh?" Murphy finally glanced at his brother. "The feck ye talkin' 'bout?"

Connor tilted his head to one side as if to say, 'Do I have to spell it out?'

"Ah," Murphy sighed.

"Rocco," Connor and Murphy said in unison. There was a good chance that Rocco was drunk and causing a bit of a ruckus.

"M'sorry, girl," Murphy said as he put out his cigarette. "I've got te go an' take care o'this. Can I come back when yer done? Make sure ye get home safe?"

Wren blushed at his choice of words and the soft, suggestive tone in which he said them in. She heard her name being called and glanced over her shoulder to see her co-worker, Sam, panicking as the bar orders piled up. "Shit," she muttered. "I gotta go, too…" her teeth worried her bottom lip as Murphy's blue gaze caught hers. "I wouldn't mind if you came back," she admitted softly. "So, I guess I'll see you later?"

Murphy was already standing and taking the jacket that Connor held out to him. He had a fresh cigarette in his mouth. "Aye. You will."

"Well, I'm staying. I'll keep her company," Pam announced as she took over Murphy's stool and arranged her jacket and purse. "You boys go. Take care of Rocco."

"Mmm, and I can come back, too?" Connor murmured, burying his face in the back of Pam's neck and doing something to make her squeal.

"Get going," Pam said as she blushed crimson and smacked Connor's shoulder. She rolled her eyes at Wren and then watched as the MacManus brothers left. Then, turning back to Wren, Pam asked, "So who's the blond dude at the end of the bar checking you out?"

"D'ya think he'll stay put?" Murphy asked as Connor shut the door to Rocco's apartment behind them. They'd managed to bring Rocco's high spirits to a dull roar, indulged in a few more pints and some shots, and then got him home in one piece.

Connor laughed and tucked Murphy under his arm, steering him back down the stairs. "I have no worries. He's out like a fuckin' light. Stupid prick. Tryin' to out-drink a MacManus?"

Murphy laughed with his brother and the two of them landed in the street, turning up Belmont Avenue and heading back towards Grayson's. Connor lit them each a smoke and handed one to Murphy.

"Thanks," the darker twin nodded, "and fer tonight, too."

"What are ye talkin' about?" Connor asked, feigning innocence.

Murphy puffed away on his cigarette for a moment and fixed Connor with a narrowed gaze. "Oh, c'mon, I know ye planned it. Or had some part in it." The smile on Connor's face when he'd approached Wren and Murphy at the bar earlier had been enough evidence that Murphy had been set up, no matter how benign.

"I swear," Connor said solemnly, "that it wasn't me."

"Oh, aye, I believe you," Murphy growled, not even convinced.

"Murph, I'm yer own brother. Yer twin," Connor emphasised, trying not to laugh. "D'ya really think I'd pull a fast one over on ye?"

Murphy continued walking, stuffing his hands in his pocket and smirking around his cigarette. "I'd be worried if ya didn't, Conn."

Connor paused for a moment and then jogged to catch up to Murphy's gait. "All right. Maybe I had a wee bit in it. But it was worth it, aye? She's cute, Murph. An' for some strange reason, she likes you better than me."

Murphy smiled broadly and wrapped his arm around Connor's shoulders. "That's because, little brother, I've the bigger cock." He laughed hysterically at Connor's indignant face and took off running.

"Feck you," Connor muttered before taking off after his brother.

Grayson's had quieted down some, being past midnight, but as the twins entered, Murphy could hear Wren's laughter followed by several other voices joining in. He elbowed Connor in the ribs and then took off, wandering back towards the pool tables, where the commotion was coming from. The smile that had been plastered on his face when he walked in faded quickly when he spotted Wren perched on the knee of the blond guy from the end of the bar.

Then one that had been looking her up and down like she was a side of 28-day aged beef.

The one that was currently smoothing his hand up her back and brushing her hair over one shoulder, laughing with her and those that surrounded her. It didn't seem like Wren was encouraging it, but she wasn't exactly discouraging it, either. Connor pushed past him as Pam noticed them, and went to go stand with her.

For a moment, Murphy was unsure of what to do. Wren caught sight of Connor as he joined Pam and she quickly looked back over her shoulder to see Murphy. She smiled, and slid neatly from the blond's knee to reach for her beer. At the same time, the blond reached for her, curling a hand about her hip and holding her steady.

That's when Murphy moved. "Eh," he called, stepping towards Wren and the asshole grabbing her. "Git yer 'ands off 'er."

Wren opened her mouth to tell Murphy to relax – that Mark was an old friend from college – but Mark was already standing and posturing. "Who the fuck are you?"

The question stumped Murphy because really, who was he to Wren? But his mouth was already moving. "Who the feck are you?" he shot back, looking up into the blond's face. Yes, this guy was a good four inches taller, but that never made Murphy think twice during a confrontation. His hand shot out and wrapped around Wren's wrist, pulling her closer to him as he continued to stare up at the blond.

"Hey – Murph, fucking watch it," Wren snapped, frowning as her beer spilled and splashed to the floor. She looked up at him and grew silent at the icy gaze he threw her way.

"Who the feck is this guy to 'ave 'is 'ands all over ye?" he asked quietly, searching her face for some sort of reassurance.

She pulled her wrist free and glared at him. "A friend from college."

"Ye let all yer school mates grope ye in public?"

"Hey, Wren, who's the fucking Mick?" Mark interrupted, drawing Wren's attention from Murphy to him.

"Oh, aye, an' yer just so superior, Mr. Anglo Saxon fuck-wit," Murphy growled.

"Mark, it's okay, I've got this," Wren started. And she did – she just needed to let Murphy know where he stood…as soon as she figured it out for herself.

"No, this guy's a prick," Mark continued, eyeballing Murphy. "Walking in here, acting like he owns you, like you're the last bottle of Guinness or something." He took a hold of Wren's hand and pulled her away from Murphy.

Murphy's hand landed on Mark's wrist. "Let her go," he growled softly.

Mark narrowed his gaze at Murphy. "Or what?"

Murphy glanced from Wren and back to Mark, one eyebrow raising dangerously.

She'd never seen him in an altercation before, but she was a bartender and she knew all too well the signs of two males getting ready to beat the hell out of each other. "Take it outside," she hissed, glancing around the bar and the crowd that was slowly forming. When Murphy didn't move, Wren looked to Connor in a silent plea for help.

"No problem," Mark announced, looking back to his group of friends. "You guys wanna see how fast an Irishman falls?"

Murphy lunged then but Connor was already standing, grabbing the back of his brother's coat. "Outside," Connor muttered. "Take it outside and ye can kick his arse from here to Waltham."

"You're next," Mark announced, eyeing Connor.

Connor sneered, but ushered Murphy out of the bar, Pam and Wren following close behind.