A/N: So, you may have noticed that my posts are taking a bit longer than usual - that's because of my little guy, Archer. He's the boss of me for right now so Murphy has had to take a back seat. Anyway, here's the fourth in the Murphy / Wren arc. Again, it can be read as a standalone, but it picks up where Idir Aisling leaves off. Thanks to my loyal few who read and review. Oh, and there is a Connor / Pam series in the making!

I own nothing save for Wren and Pam and anything else that Troy Duffy didn't create. I'll keep writing and posting my 'M' rated stuff until admin sees fit to wipe me from existence. But I won't give up easily!

"Connor, ye cheeky fuck, I know yer awake," Murphy growled as soon as Wren closed the door behind her.

The lighter haired twin cringed at his brother's tone and effected a slow waking. "Hmm?" he mumbled, turning slightly from facing the wall.

With a growl, Murphy leaned down and clipped Connor across the back of his head with an open palm. "Ye fuckin' perv. Ye were awake the whole time, weren't ya?"

There was a hint of mirth in Murphy's voice and Connor dared to peek over his shoulder, trying his very best to look sheepish. "I didn't…she just…" Connor sighed and rolled to his back. "Hail Mary, full of grace," he muttered. A second later he propped himself up on his elbows and stared Murphy straight in the eye. "Yer tellin' me that if Pam and ye were in the same position that ye wouldn't do anythin'?"

The darker twin managed a sneer for a few seconds before his grin split through. "Still doesn't change the fact that yer a fuckin' perv, Conn." He smacked Connor upside the head again, this time for good measure, laughing as his brother protested loudly.

"I take it you two made up, then?" Connor said a moment later, after fishing his cigarettes from his discarded jeans and lighting one. He threw the pack to Murphy, who settled on the edge of his own mattress and lit up as well.

"Aye," Murphy practically sighed. "An' if that's the way we make up after every fight, I'm thinkin' I'll piss her off more often."

Connor scowled, exhaling smoke. "Lucky fuckin' bastard. I piss Pam off and she withholds sex for weeks at a time. You piss Wren off and she screws you six ways from Sunday."

The twins smiled at each other and smoked in silence for a spell. "I wasn't thinkin' of her, if that's what yer worried about," Connor said a little while later.

"Really?" Murphy raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his brother's choice of conversation. "An' who was it that you were thinkin' 'bout, Conn?"

Connor's cheekbones darkened and he avoided Murphy's steady blue gaze as he backpedalled. "Well, I did – but not just about her!"

Murphy's body coiled, preparing to pounce. "Ye better start talkin' quick, Conn," he growled lowly.

"I was thinkin' 'bout her…an' Pam."

Murphy sputtered, choking on smoke, and coughed for a spell before fixing watering eyes on Connor. "Her an' Pam?" he repeated, incredulously.

Connor scowled. "As if you've never thought about it," he defended.

"I don't think so," Murphy insisted, lighting another cigarette with the glowing butt of the previous one. He paused a moment and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.

Connor knew his brother well enough to know when the gears were turning. And if his twin was anything like himself, Connor knew all too well the types of images currently flitting through Murphy's head. "Yer thinkin' it now," Connor pointed out with a smug grin.

"Aye," Murphy shrugged, standing from his mattress.

"And?" Connor prompted, wanting to know how his brother perceived it.

Murphy shrugged again. "I'm strangely comfortable wit' it."

The twins stopped outside of Galway Grocery, finishing the last of their cigarettes. Connor peered at the sign and then afforded Murphy a glance before he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. "What are we doin' here?"

Murphy gestured to the sign. "Grocery shoppin'," he answered.

Connor rolled his eyes and fought the urge to pop his brother upside the head. "I can see that, ye fuckin' twerp. I mean, what are we doin' grocery shoppin'?" He fixed Murphy with a curious gaze. "Yer not…gonna cook fer her, are ye?" He didn't wait for Murphy's answer, the blush was enough. "Jesus Christ, Murph, ye cook fer her once, she's gonna expect it all the bloody time! She should be the one cookin' fer you…" he trailed off, his blue eyes widening. "Christ, you're in a feckin' relationship, Murph. Like, a commitment." He groaned for added effect.

Murphy popped Connor in the shoulder twice with a fist. "Lord's feckin' name," he grumbled. "An' it's not like that. She lets me spend the night in an amazing feckin' loft, sleep in her bed on her soft sheets, shower with her hot water, drink her whiskey…it's the least I can do."

"What's the least you can do?" Connor asked.

Murphy popped him in the shoulder again. "Pay the fuck attention, Conn. She lets me stay over, I cook her breakfast." He took a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and unfolded it, reading the words scribbled there.

"What's this?" Connor snatched the paper away and held it to read. "Buttermilk, flour, sour cream, potatoes…this is Ma's recipe for boxty!" Connor crowed triumphantly as he looked at Murphy. "How did that song go again? 'Boxty on the griddle, boxty in the pan, if ye can't make boxty, ye'll never get a man!'" Connor dissolved into a fit of laughter as he tossed the shopping list back at his brother.

Murphy snatched it and snarled at Connor. "All right, feck off wit' ye. Ye want to know why Pam shuts ye down we ye two fight?" He didn't wait for Connor's response. "It's because yer obviously not meeting all her needs, Conn." He shoved the list back in his pocket and pushed the door to the grocer open, leaving Connor to gape at his back.

"Oi!" Connor called as he dashed to keep up. "What the feck is that suppos'ta mean, Murph? She wants breakfast, she should ask!"

Murphy rolled his eyes at his brother – it was times like these that Murphy was convinced he was the older of the two. "She shouldn't have to ask, Conn. How long have ye been datin' her for?"

Connor grumbled something that sounded like 'four months', but it could have been 'seems like for months'. Either way, Murphy shook his head at his hapless brother and fished out his list once more. "Surprise her," he urged.

Connor stared at the list in Murphy's hand for a moment before he snatched it back. "Shut the feck up," he growled. "And grab a fecking hand cart. Looks like we're making mashed potatoes tonight."