Boondock Saints 1. Prologue

**Ain't No Rest for the Wicked  
Prologue**

* * *

Agent Eunice Bloom was restless. It had been six months since she had taken refuge in Dalmatia, Croatia at the monastery of St. Assisi and in that time nothing has happened. There has been no planning to free the saints, Agent Smecker hasn't even mentioned it since the day she went into witness protection.

She was worried about the boys. They didn't belong in Hoag. And yet every time she brought her concerns to Smecker his asinine response was always, "A little birdy told me that the boys are doing just fine."

It was starting to frustrate her greatly.

Eunice rubbed at her temples feeling headache coming on. Headaches had become more and more frequent since she started working in the Organized Crime Division and she quickly popped back two aspirin as her eyes scanned the screen of her laptop reading through the _Boston Globe_. It was all the same garbage that it had always been, a mugging here then a murder there. The crime rates in Boston haven't diminished, but it was worse knowing that the two people that could've helped were locked behind bars with the rest of Boston's filthiest scum.

A loud screech of a wooden chair brought her back to the present as Smecker had seated himself across the table from her. '_Speak of the devil.'_

"Here," he said sliding an envelope across the table.

"What's this?"

"A present –_just open it._"

She did as instructed ripping the seam of the envelope with a manicured nail. Inside were two tickets to a showing of Macbeth with the _Madison Hall Theater_ and two airline tickets to Chicago. Eunice stared at Smecker waiting for an explanation.

"I can see the little cogs in your head turning," he smirked, but seeing Eunice's still perplexed expression he sighed and let the tiny smile drop off his face. "Honestly Eunice, you're a smart girl figure it out." He chided.

Eunice glanced back down at the envelope in her hands. "I get that this has something to do with the boy's… I just don't understand wh –why Chicago? And what does Macbeth have anything to do with it?"

Smecker sat back in his chair rubbing his thumb over the stubble on his chin. "Neither you nor I can get close to the boys. We need someone who can," he explained, "I had someone in mind for this job, but she's been particularly hard to pin down."

"She?" Eunice asked.

"Yes, she had been flying under the radar for several years now."

"–and now you've found her?" She said as the pieces started falling into place. Smecker nodded. "Then who is she?"

…

Georgie Vaughn wasn't a well-known actress. In truth she had a very spotty employment history and an even spottier fan base. Her acting abilities were subpar, even awful at times, and as was the case she only performed with small theater companies as an understudy. If the company was unfortunate enough to have someone call in sick Georgie would step in, though Eunice quickly realized that maybe it would have been better if the show didn't go on.

For the past forty-five minutes Eunice was forced to endure what may have possibly been the worse production of _Shakespeare's Macbeth_ ever made. She watched as the actress stumbled over her lines; completely forgetting some and mixing up others. Yet despite how terrible it was she found that trying to tear her eyes away for a moment was damn near impossible.

Smecker had purchased seats near the back of the theater, though they could've moved to the front and no one would have minded. The majority of the audience had left the theater within the first fifteen minutes and not that many people showed up to begin with. Now there were only five people in the audience.

Three of which were paying absolutely no attention to forced acting in front of them. The young couple a few aisles over were lip locked and minutes away from a full blown make out if the sounds they were making were anything to go by. The other man that sat about five rows in the very front of the stage, an older gentleman with stalk white hair and wire rimmed glasses that reminded Eunice a lot of Doc, was more interested in watching the inside of his eyelids.

Georgie's shrill voice pulled Eunice back to the present as she launched into a monologue. "Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts! Unsex me here," she gave a little thrust of her hips, "and fill me from the crown to the toe top-full of direst cruelty! Stop up the access and passage to remorse –That no…" There was a pause as Lady Macbeth looked off toward the curtain.

Eunice could hear a distinct whisper of one of the stagehands, _"That no compunctious visitings of nature shake my fell purpose."_

"That no compunctious visitings of nature shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between the effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, and take my milk for gall…"

That was it she couldn't take this anymore. "Smecker," she whispered leaning towards the other ex-agent, "this is the worst actress I've ever seen. You can't be seriously considering this?"

Smecker, having not taken his eyes off the stage since Georgie Vaughn had appeared, finally turned to the woman at his side. "Georgie Vaughn is the worst actress I've ever seen," he agreed.

"Then why are you smiling?" She asked.

"–Because I'm not watching Ms. Vaughn; I'm watching Lacey Fields." He rubbed his thumb over his chin before he continued, "And she is the best actress you'll ever see."

Eunice stared back at the woman on stage, shaking her head. She was seriously considering if Smecker had finally lost his mind. "I don't see it," she said.

…

Lacey exited the theater wrapping her coat tightly around her waist. A small smile graced her features as excited shivers traveled up her spine. It was a good feeling; something that happened after she had put on a good show. _"A __**great **__show,"_ she corrected. Tonight may have possibly been one of her best performances she reasoned; however the director didn't agree. It didn't matter to her though that she had just been fired from yet another theater company. It was just another checked box in a long list of making sure she was pulling off her alias correctly.

It may not have been the ideal cover story, but pretending to be an actress that couldn't act was allowing her to stay under the radar of both government and private agencies.

She ran her fingers through her long blonde curls throwing them over her shoulder. Coffee sounded really good right now. It had been a particularly draining day for her; made worse when she wasn't able to steal away from the theater long enough to pick up her afternoon caffeine. But all thoughts of coffee quickly left her mind as a familiar voice floated to her ears.

"I thought you were great."

Her head whipped around coming face to face with Agent Smecker. There was a brief pause in which she quickly regained her composure. "My only fan," she remarked with a smile.

…  
_Paris, France 1997_

"Freeze!" Smecker yelled as he rounded the corner of the room.

The young woman in the middle of peeling back a painting from the large wooden frame quickly grabbed for the revolver sitting on the fireplace mantel whipping around with her finger on the trigger. Her eyes widen in alarm as she stared down the barrel of Smecker's own standard issued pistol. She only hesitated for millisecond before her finger pressed down the trigger with a deafening crack as the bullet left the revolver.

Smecker grunted as his shoulder was hit with the force of the impact, ripping through the flesh and imbedding itself in his shoulder. His finger squeezed the trigger of the pistol a second later and another crack filled the room as that bullet grazed the woman's corresponding shoulder as she had whipped back around towards the painting.

She gasped looking over her shoulder, clutching at the wounded appendage. "You bloody wanker."

…

"I'm a citizen now –Honest," she told him.

"I'm not."

Her eyes flicked past him to Eunice wrapped in a fancy pea coat and Louboutin pumps. A flicker of understand flashed across her face followed closely by disbelieve as she stared back at Smecker. "You're playing my side?"

She laughed shaking her head. "I always knew you had it in you."

"As much as I'd hate to interrupt," Eunice called out, "it's a bit chilly out here and we should probably not be discussing this in a dark alley."

"Lacey, this is Special Agent Eunice Bloom," Smecker said stepping aside, "Eunice, meet Lacey Fields." Both women scan over each other quickly each evaluating the other's worth.

"Nice shoes." Lacey smiled extending her hand toward the other agent. After a quick handshake, she glanced between the both of them. "Welp, I was about to go get some coffee. You two can join if you'd like; maybe tell me why you're here because as hell isn't for the play."

Eunice scoffed, "That's for damn sure."

"It's an acquired taste," she agreed. She looked between the two agents again. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way." He said.

Lacey lead the two agents to a small coffee shop within a block from the theater. After ordering their drinks they all slid into a booth near the back. Lacey was the first to break the silence.

"So why are you here?" She asked.

Eunice sat down her mug dabbing gently at her mouth with a napkin. "We want to offer you a job."

Lacey's interest was quipped. "What kind of job?"

"You've heard of the MacManus brothers."

"Of course, everyone in my line of work has heard of the Saints. What about them?"

Smecker chimed in, "They were arrested six months ago and sent to Hoag. We're working on getting them out."

"I heard about the petition to get them released on parole, but there's no way that'll go through. Not with the death count the both of them had stacked up." she replied, "Besides, the courts in Boston are as corrupt as they come. No judge is going to release those two."

"That's why we're not going through the courts." he said, "That's why we're here."

Realization began to dawn on her as she finally understood why she was sitting across from two former FBI agents with one off them being believed to be dead. It made her want to laugh. Never in a million years would she have pictured Paul Smecker on the wrong side of the law. Their relationship was rocky at best and over the years being at odds with each other made her question his integrity. After all, this could be a trap; but a big part of her didn't believe that.

He was serious.

"I don't work with murders, Smecker."

"I'm not asking you too," he said, "It's a trial period. Six months, six figures –after that it's your choice. You can stay or you can go."

She mauled it over, trying to picture every angle. This wasn't her typical job, but it wasn't every day that an opportunity like this was dropped in her lap. "Let's say I take the job," she began, "I'm going to need everything you have on the prison; blueprints, guard rosters, security measures –_everything_. "

"Done."

"And access to the MacManus brothers, more than what is usually allow in a supermax prison, and their files… basically any information you have on the both of them," she continued, "I'm assuming you have an informant within the prison."

"Yes, Anderson."

"_Really?_" Lacey asked, surprised. "Wow, I'm not going to ask about that right now, but I'm impressed. I would also recommend a hacker; that is if you don't already have one. There's only so much I could do."

Eunice looked up from the small notepad in which she was taking notes. "Do you have anyone in mind?"

Lacey thought about that for a moment. The obvious choice was Nolan Greene; however last she heard he had been arrested and sent to a minimum sentence at a medium security prison in California. It was probably for the best. She didn't remember him being the trustworthy type… too greedy. "I was thinking Simmons."

"Elle Simmons?"

"She has anonymity, no real charges against her," she explained, "still relatively unknown. She's careful and most importantly you can trust her not to stab you in the back. It's the type of person you want for this job."

"Does this mean you're taking the job?"

Lacey's mouth quirked up in a smile. "I was always going to take the job. It's not every day that you and I are on the same side."

* * *

**Author's Note:  
**So this is my first attempt at Boondock Saints. I've been reading a ton of those fanfics recently, but I haven't really found many that I like and this idea just popped into my head. I'm not exactly sure where it will go, but I'm going see what happens. Constructive criticism is encouraged. This story will probably be rated M for language and violence in later chapters because it is the BDS fandom, but I will keep it T for the most part.


	2. Quid Pro Quo

**Ain't No Rest for the Wicked  
Chapter One  
****_"Quid Pro Quo"_**

* * *

"MacManus, you have a visitor."

Connor lifted his head up peering over the pages of the worn mystery novel he had resting on his stomach. The guard on the other side of the cell bars was holding a pair of handcuffs and shifting his feet impatiently. "On your feet MacManus," he said when the prisoner still hadn't moved from his bed, "Let's go!"

"Alrigh', don't shite in yer shoes," Connor replied as he crossed the small single cell toward the bars. He waited for the guard to cuff him through the bars before he could be allowed into the corridor. In the last nine months there had only been a handful of visitors that requested to see either him or his brother, most being reporters, but on the rare occasion Doc or Uncle Sibeal would drop by. But the conversations always took place behind bulletproof glass with both parties having to talk through a phone receiver.

He had memorized the fifteen minute walk from his cell to the visitor room and it didn't take him long to realize that he wasn't being lead along the usual route. "Where are yeh takin' me?" He asked.

The guard gave a noncommittal grunt, but otherwise ignored his question. Connor took that as his cue to shut up, but remained on alert. It's not like he suspected that anything was going to happen, nevertheless it was prison. He had learned through experience that it was when your defenses were down was when shit usually happened.

He was taken to a private visitor's room, reserved only for lawyers and their defendants, and seated in a metal chair next to his brother. The two men shared a questioning glance as the other guard, Stewart, waved off Connor's escort. "I got it from here, Roberts."

Roberts grumbled in discontent shooting a suspicious glare toward the MacManus brothers before exiting out the door which he came in.

"Ch'ery fella ain't he?" Murphy commented.

"Aye, a right fuckin' ray of sunshine," Connor agreed.

"Wouldn't take it personally," Officer Stewart said turning his attention back to the two prisoners, "He's like that with everyone." In the time that they had been in Hoag, Stewart had become somewhat of a friend to the brothers. A rookie, he was one of the guards in the prison who didn't look at them as mass murders and would often be the first to help them if they found themselves in trouble.

"Any idea wha' dis is 'bout?" Conner asked.

Stewart shook his head. "Sorry fellas your guess it as good as mine."

The door opened then, and whatever questions the two had died as they caught the familiar voice of the Warden. "–I'm going to repeat what I said on the phone Ms. Sheppard. These men are dangerous and they don't like reporters," he said as he stepped into the room followed closely by a young woman. The brothers watched her curiously as she took in the room her eyes drifting along the walls, floor, and ceiling, pausing on the security camera and the guard stationed underneath it before she even spared them a glance.

"Thank you, Warden, I'll take it from here," she replied turning her attention back to the portly man.

"Yes. Well, I'll let you get to it then." He said as he left the room pausing briefly to acknowledge Stewart.

She crossed the space between them sat herself on the metal chair opposite them. She turned her head toward Stewart, whose finger was already off the trigger, "Please unchain them."

Stewart shot an uncertain glance at the prisoners. "Ma'am I don't think -"

"Who are they gonna kill?" She asked, "It's not like I'm some drug dealer or pimp; just a lowly reporter with some questions, hardly their M.O." Seeing that the guard was still hesitant, she sighed; "Their wrists at least."

Stewart sighed as well casting a glance at the security camera, the little red light unblinking, then nodded; coming over and unlocking the chains on their wrists. Neither of the men was known to be violent to people who didn't deserve it and as the woman pointed out she wasn't a target. The Murphy rubbed his wrist as the handcuffs were undone. "Don't ya have a tape recorder or somethin'?" He asked.

The woman gave them a little smile digging through her purse. "Or something. You two smoke right?" She asked pulling out a pack of cigs, "I mean your clothes smelled of a three pack a day habit." She held out the pack to them with an easy smile, they both looked at each other then shrugged, each sliding out one tentatively from the box. She leaned forward to light each one paying close attention to the tattoos on their fingers.

Connor and Murphy both leaned back as they inhaled. "We don' talk te reporters," Connor started regarding her with a small smile.

"–Though we do appreciate the smoke." Murphy added, finishing his brother's sentence.

The woman leaned back in her own chair; her face the picture of innocence. "I'm not recording am I?" Connor snorted a laugh and tapped the ash off his smoke. "Look, I just want to talk. Call it a morbid curiosity; everything will be off the record I assure you." She seemed unfazed by the two pairs of piercing blue eyes studying her every move. "I'm just intrigued. I've done all the research. I know the dates, times, and victims; but I don't understand why."

They both stared at her a moment before turning to each other.

_"Aon cheann acu iarr riamh cén fáth cheana."_ Connor muttered to his brother.

_"Níl siad go léir ag iarraidh ach scéal."_ Murphy agreed, inhaling the smoke between his fingers. *

Connor turned his attention back to the reporter. She was pretty, young with an oval face and pointed chin. She had shoulder length blonde hair with natural waves and tints copper moving through it. Her eyes at first glance appeared to be a pale green boarding on grey, but upon closer inspection he realized that they were in fact two separate colors with a ring of expresso brown around the pupils; and the two dimples in her cheeks jumped out at him every time she smiled. "What's yer name, lass?"

"Meredith. Oh, but before I forget I have something that belongs to the two of you." She said reaching back into her purse and pulling out two strings of rosary beads. "A little birdy told me you two would be wanting these back." She held out the rosaries to them.

The boys' jaws dropped slightly. "How did yeh get these?" Murphy wondered reaching out for his quickly. Connor was a bit slower, taking notice of the skin that was peeking out of her sleeve showing off the patch of ink imbedded on her left wrist. It looked to be a bird of some kind though half of it was covered by her sleeve so he couldn't be sure.

"A girl's got her ways," Meredith shrugged in answer to Murphy's question. He studied the carved wooden beads before slipping them over his head.

"Well, yer an angel for gettin' these back te us," he said flirtatiously, giving her a cheeky grin.

This caused Meredith to chuckle under breath. The woman tried to ignore the warmth that she felt spreading to her face. "I wouldn't call myself that," she muttered sheepishly, "I'm not nearly honest enough for that."

There was a brief pause as those words passed over their heads not catching the true meaning of her words. Neither of the brothers noticed how her eyes shifted away from them shooting a minute glance toward Stewart out of the corner of her eye. "Yeh t'ink of yerself more like a sparrow," Connor chimed in gesturing toward her tattoo.

She looked surprised at that comment before taking on a more thoughtful expression. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Fits bedd'er don' et?" He added to Murphy who hummed in agreement.

"So where are ya from Meredith?" Murphy asked.

"I moved around a lot as a kid, but I guess New York is the place I'd consider home."

"Wha' brough' yeh here?" He wondered.

"Work. I was offered a job I couldn't pass up, but I'm more curious about you two. I have so many questions; like where'd you two grow up? What's your mother's name? What was your first job? Why did you decide to come to Boston? Are you cat or dog people?"

Connor chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Wha' would yeh like te know?"

…

Being a judicial assistant was tiring work. Among the duties of a normal secretary you were also expected to organize committee functions, conduct legal research, proof the judge's orders and opinions, make travel arrangements, all while maintaining the files and answering phones. Needless to say, Elle Simmons had been working her fingers to the bone since she took the job four months ago.

The young woman sat at her desk by the door to the judge's chambers. Her long black hair was pulled up into a simple ponytail and the modest black framed glasses she wore reflected the fluorescent lights in a way that was starting to give her a headache. She had her heels kicked off under the desk as she typed. They were making her feet go numb from the pain of having to wear them. She hated it, everything about the job, the shoes, the hair, the clothes –everything. If this was her real life Simmons was sure that she would've blown her brains out by now.

But as luck would have it, this arrangement was only temporary. She wouldn't have to withstand it for much longer. It brought a smile to her face thinking about getting back into her comfy jeans and comic book tee-shirts. When she would no longer have to wear her hair in a tight ponytail and could drink _Orange Fanta_ she would have a strong talk with Smecker and refuse to ever go through something like this again.

…

_Huston, Texas 4 months ago_

Smecker looked around the quaint dinner taking note of its occupants. There was a bustle of movement as waiters and waitressed carried food to tables and busy boys carted off empty plates. The cooks could be heard chatting loudly to each other, the conversation only being broken by the ding of a bell and a holler of "Order up!" The murmured conversations at each table blended into an incomprehensible buzz of noise as he scanned the tables looking for a specific person.

"Are you sure this is the place?" The man asked turning to his companion, a young woman dressed comfortably in a snug pair of jeans and maroon sweater that hung loosely on her slender frame.

Lacey shrugged brushing a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear. "It is. I told her to be here at 8:30, but knowing her she's always late to everything so she shouldn't be here till 9:00 at the earliest," she explained already sliding into a booth were they would have some privacy. She picked a menu looking it over. "I wonder what would be good here," she muttered to herself, "Maybe the grits… I've never had grits before or I can order an omelet. There's one with jalapenos and bacon in it."

"We're not here to eat," he reminded her.

She shot him a questioning glance over the menu, "We might as well. I mean we're here and I'm hungry." Lacey snatched another menu from behind the napkin holder and slid it towards him. "Go ahead pick something out," she said, "I'll buy."

Smecker sighed to himself. After all these years she still hadn't changed much. Lacey was still the same wisecrack she had always been. In all the years he known her she had yet to take anything seriously. He almost wished Eunice was there to act as a barrier between him and the irritating thief that he had been saddled with. Watching quietly as she chatted happily with the waitress, he gave the menu as fleeting glance before ordering a cup of coffee.

By the time Simmons had arrived at the dinner Lacey was digging into a large stack of pancakes while Smecker was pouring himself a second cup of coffee. Lacey made room for the new arrival sliding toward the wall and pushing an omelet toward her. "You're late," she remarked after swallowing a large gulp of coffee.

The smaller woman unwrapped a scarf from around her head, and shooting a weary glance at the man seated across from her. "Be glad I'm here at all," she snipped to the blonde, "You know how I feel about suits." Lacey brushed off the comment with a wave of her hand taking another sip of coffee.

"I didn't force you to come."

"That's true, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit curious." She turned her dark gaze to the thin man dressed in a clean pressed suit that was watching her speculating. "You're Agent Paul Smecker?" she asked.

Smecker nodded minutely, "I was."

"He's not a fed anymore," Lacey mumbled causing Simmons' face to scrunch up in confusion.

"She's right," he agreed, "I haven't been with bureau for a little over five years now. After I faked my death in 2002 I've gone by the name William Dafoe." Lacey gave an unladylike snort at the name. He gave her a glare, "Don't."

She looked at him innocently, "I'm not saying anything, _Billy."_

The man sighed again to himself turning his attention back to the Korean woman watching the exchange with interest. She appeared as if she was deeply pondering something as she chewed a bite of her omelet. "You two are friends," she observed.

Both of them stared at her in alarm before a hardened resolved fell over them. "We're not," they said simultaneously causing Simmons to bite back a smile.

"Well it's no matter," the woman said changing the subject, "I don't see any benefit in working with two former FBI agents, one of which didn't even bother to show up today, and break out two convicted murders who have made it their personal mission to wipe every criminal off the face of the earth. It would be detrimental to me. So what do I get if I help you?"

"Besides a lot of money?" Lacey started as Smecker set down his coffee giving her the most serious stare.

"–a lot of fame," he finished.

…

The brisk January air blew through the prison yard causing the MacManus brothers to burry further into their coats. They both stood stationary by the tall chain link fence watching the other prisoners who were huddled together in groups trying not to freeze their asses off. As the both of them were placed in solitary, either for their safety or the safety of the other prisoners, they were separated from each other leaving yard the only place where the brothers could talk. Currently the two men were puffing on the two cigarettes from the pack that their little sparrow, as they had taken to calling Meredith after she left, had gifted them.

"So what do ya t'ink?" Murphy asked. They were currently discussing the benefits of sitting through interviews with the reporter.

Connor shrugged exhaling a stream of smoke from his lips. "Gives us somethin' te do," he said shifting his feet and leaning back against the fence, "She seems like a nice gurl."

Murphy nodded in agreement, "Real pretty too."

His brother chuckled, "Yer only sayin' that 'cause ya haven't seen a woman in over a year and a half; et's not like she'd be comin' in here for a conjugal."

"F'ck yeh, arsehole," he said giving Connor a shove, "I didn' mean et like that. Just t'ink et be nice te have somethin' te look at beside yer ugly mug all the time."

Connor laughed again slapping his brother on the back. "Give et a year and ya goin' te t'ink dis mug is prutty enough," he teased before become slightly somber, "Besides we don' even know if she's comin' back so et be best not te get yer hopes up."

Just then one of the guards approached the fence. "MacManus!" Stewart called out as the two twisted around to see him, "You got yourselves a visitor." They both shot each other a meaningful look having a feeling that they knew exactly who had shown up.

"But et's almost meal time," Connor grumbled as they were cuffed.

Stewart waved off the comment with a laugh. "I wouldn't worry about it. Judging from the smell of that room both of you bastards are going to be eating better than I am tonight." He sighed wistfully, "I just hope that one day I'll get a 'sparrow' or whatever the hell you guys called that girl last week."

"I hope she had the sense te bring bedd'er cigs dis time," Murphy muttered to Connor as they were both shuffled out of the cold and back into the warmth of the prison corridors.

The small interview room did smell heavenly as they entered. Meredith was sorting through two large paper bags removing take out boxes and examining the contents. Her black jacket was hanging on the back of one of the metal chairs leaving a pale green tee-shirt visible that clashed with her black pencil skirt that hugged her hips in a way that made it difficult for the three men to look away, especially when she leaned over the table to reach for a tall cup of coffee. The woman took a sip humming appreciatively before turn around to face them with a smile.

"Stewart, do you think we could get their anklets off today?" she piped cheerfully.

The guard huffed exasperated. "Miss Sheppard, I shouldn't even be taking the wrists off," he told her pushing the brothers down into their chairs.

"Easy there," she scolded, "but really what are they going to do? Pelt me with black pudding? So calm down and eat a potato."

They chuckled at that comment. "Maybe next time, Lass," Connor winked. She gave him a small smile handing them some plastic silverware and napkins.

"I'll do my best," she said handing them both tall cups that radiated heat. "It's a bit nippy outside. I figured you'd guys like something warm to drink, but I didn't know how you took your coffee so I picked up two hot chocolates instead."

"That's perfectly fine, luv," Murphy assured her while Connor nodded in thanks and took a sip. He regarded her curiously taking in the thin tee-shirt and the faded band logo. "Yer not really dressed for the weather," he observed, "Aren't ya cold?"

She shrugged. "A bit, but the coffee helps."

"Yeh a big B's 52 gurl?" Connor questioned also wondering why she was wearing that shirt in the middle of winter.

Meredith laughed sheepishly a warm rosy color tinting her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold. "Nah, I'm a klutz girl who shouldn't drive with coffee in her hand," she admitted, "I found this in the back seat of my car." They both laughed at that, but she didn't seem to mind all that much giving them a small smile and taking another sip of her coffee pulling out the metal chair.

Murphy opened the container in front of him a very surprised to see a large portion of boxty, which just so happened to be one of his favorite foods. At that point in time he would have been happy to get taco let alone something like that. "By the way Doc sends his regards," she added as she sat down nursing her coffee.

"Yeh went and saw Doc?" he looked up surprised.

Then Connor piped up "Aye, how's the old man doin'?"

"He's good, probably better than good. I think he may have killed one of my kidneys yesterday with that Jameson," she let out a tired sigh rubbing her temples, "I swear I haven't been this hungover since Munich, fucking _Mardi Gras_." A small smile pulled at her mouth when a snicker passed their lips.

"Welp, that'd be Doc for yeh," Murphy laughed before taking a rather large bite of his food. This action enticed a moan of ecstasy telling her that he was enjoying the food more than any God fearing man should.

"When I told him I was bringing you both food; he insisted on sending the whole kitchen. He wasn't sure what you two would want and so he sent a little of everything. His cooks weren't very happy with him, but he made sure that neither of you received any of their wrath."

"I'm not too worried 'bout et. Not with the shite we eat every day," Murphy mumbled around a mouthful of food.

Connor's hand shot out and whacked him upside the head. "Heathen," he reproached, "What would Ma say if she saw yeh talkin' te with yer mouthful? She'd box yer ears."

Murphy gave his brother a glare causing Meredith to let out another laugh. It seemed to her that she couldn't go five minutes without laughing when in their presence. "You guy are hilarious," she sighed once her giggles had subsided, "I honestly didn't think I'd end up liking you both this much." The revelation surprised her more than the confession shocked them.

When she first took the job she thought that they would be, without a better way of putting it, utter lunatics. After all who could blame her? Two men with no history of violence just snap at the age of twenty-seven and go on a murder spree killing over fifty high and low profile scumbags. If that didn't sound crazy, then odds were that there was something wrong with you. What was even crazier was that those two men were slowly proving her previous notions wrong.

It frustrated her immensely that she couldn't figure them out.

Connor and Murphy watched curiously as the woman turned introspective. Neither of them knew what she was mauling over, though whatever it was caused her eyebrows to furrow and press her lips in a firm line. She looked at them again her eyes flashing with annoyance. Then as quickly as the look came it was gone leaving the bubbly journalist in its wake.

"I've traveled a lot in my life, but I've never been to Ireland. What's it like?"

"What do yeh want te know?" Connor inquired.

Meredith thought about it for a moment. "Tell me about where you two grew up, the weather, where you liked to go as kids," she said.

The men shared a glance, something that Meredith had started to notice happened often. Then Murphy leaned over and murmured quietly to Connor, "_Strane domande." ***_

Connor hummed in concurrence, _"Da una strana ragazza." _

The woman ignored the desire to roll her eyes as they switched to another language believing that she couldn't understand what they were saying. _"Andiamo ora,"_ she chided, _"Smettere di voi due stallo." _

The brothers jumped startled hearing the woman speak Italian. Up to this point they had fallen into several languages when addressing each other, using Italian several times, but she had never given them any indication that she understood what they were saying. That was until now. _"Parli italiano?"_ Murphy asked.

They were starting to think it was a fluke occurrence before she nodded. _"Sì, tra le altre cose."_ She replied offhandedly as it wasn't a big deal. The two shared another glance regarding her as if she was some strange creature.

_"Français?" _Connor speculated.

She gave him an apathetic stare. _"Arrêtez d'essayer de changer de sujet."_

_"Wir sind nicht, aber jetzt können Sie uns neugierig gemacht." _Murphy explained, "Just how many languages do yeh speak?"

Meredith sighed. "Uh-uh," the other one admonished, "_Quid Pro Quo._ You answer our questions and we'll answer yours."

_"Soll ich zuerst gehen?"_ She asked. They both nodded in affirmation. "Fluently, it's about ten," she told them. **

That piece of information impressed them greatly. Knowing how long it took them to learn the eight languages that they spoke and taking into account that Meredith was younger than they were they were not only impressed, but also amazed. "We grew up in Wicklow County in a little village bordering on the Wicklow Mountains," Connor divulged. "What languages do ya speak?"

"Well there's English, obviously, and then French, Italian, German, Latin, Spanish, Japanese, Mandarin, Arabic, and Hebrew." She listed them off with a shrug.

Now it was Murphy's turn to answer a question since Connor had already answered one. So he described to her the pond that they liked to go swimming at as boys. He told her how when the days got hot and muggy they would immediately talk off on their bikes after school and stripping down to their underwear where one of them would always ended up pushing the other in first and then jumping in after him. Connor chimed in with how Murphy had fallen from the rope swing that he had strung up one summer and ended up breaking his arm the first time he tried to use it. In response he told her the story of how Connor freaked out when a fish had swum to close to his leg causing him to squeal like a girl.

"Why do yeh speak so many?" Murphy wondered after they had finished recounting several summers at the pond.

"My father insisted." She explained, "He always said that a mind left idle for too long would become decrepit. It didn't matter to him what it was as long as it could be useful. He told me that filling my head with useless knowledge was worse than knowing nothing."

"Yer Dad sounds like a smart man," Connor remarked thoughtfully.

Her mouth twitched up into a smile. "Yeah, he was." She agreed.

After that the conversation flowed easily. The three of them talked for about an hour while the brothers ate until they could eat no more. Then Meredith removed another pack of cigarettes passing it over to the brothers and lighting each one up for them. It was during this time that the conversation had moved away from their early years and into their adolescent years.

"I bet you two were even afraid to kiss a girl. Your Ma would have knocked you senseless for even looking at a '_Lass'_ the wrong way." Meredith jested.

"Shut yer mouth, gurlie!" Connor scoffed blowing out a puff of smoke, "I'll have yeh know that I was a very handsome, charmin' lad –unlike dis poor f'ck here." He patted his bother on the arm, "First kiss was when I was no more than twelve years ol' at the county fair with a shy little blonde. All the boys in our year wanted te kiss 'er–"

"–Yer a right fuckin' liar!" Murphy cut in slugging Connor in the arm, "'twas me who gave Cindy O'Brien 'er first kiss."

"Like hell yeh did, _Little Brother."_ He retorted, "I won 'er a stuffed panda in one of those carnival games. The one where have te throw the balls and knock down all the bot'les. She was so happy that she let me give 'er her first kiss right then and there!"

"Bull shite! I took 'er up te the Ferris wheel te watch the fireworks and kissed 'er there all romantic like in one of yer fuckin' movies," Murphy swore fervently.

Meredith couldn't take it anymore. She burst out into hysterical laughter clutching her side, "Oh Jesus. I-I can't believe this! Y-yo-you both –oh! I can't breathe – you both kissed the same girl on the same night! And neither of you knew it until now!" Even Stewart found it funny as he tried and failed to bite back a chuckle that erupted from his throat. Both of the men stopped glaring at each other and turned their attention on the other two occupants in the room.

Stewart was trying to disguise his laughter as a coughing fit, while Meredith had given up any hope of containing it. Their gaze softened as they watched her face buried in her arms on the table, appearing almost as if she was sobbing if not for the happy laughter that shook her shoulders. It only continued for a moment before they both seemed to gather themselves. "I still say yer a fuckin' liar," Murphy said slugging his brother in the arm causing Connor to retaliate giving him a shove almost toppling his chair over. "Ya son of a–"

"Chill out you two!" The guard ordered stopping an impending scuffle between the brothers. Stewart shook his head and gave Meredith a wink from under his visor that she returned with a beaming smile.

"Little Cindy O'Brien wasn't as shy as you thought she was," she teased, "I guess this goes to show that you can't always trust a pretty face."

"Yer turn, Sparrow." Murphy said after sending one more glare at his twin, "Who was the lucky bastard?"

A small laugh escaped her lips as she was reminded of the childish memory. "Neil Kelly," she told them simply.

"Oh no, luv." Connor protested, "Ya got te give us more than that. Yeh just found out 'bout Murph here kissing my gurl –Ouch!" He rubbed his arm giving his brother a cross look. If he kept insisting on beating up on him then he was sure to have a pretty bad bruise tomorrow. "Yeh got to give us more than that," he told her.

There was a beat of silence as she thought it over trying to remember the details of her very first relationship. It was such a long time ago that things had become somewhat hazy. "I was fourteen and he was seventeen," she started playing with one of the napkins folding and unfolding it, "We dated for about month. He was very charming, but –umm – then he got me arrested for stealing a car." The brothers listened intently waiting for her to continue. "I went to Juvie for three months and I never saw him again after that," she confessed.

"Ugh," Murphy groaned retrieving another cigarette from behind his ear, "that's just not righ'."

"Aye," Connor agreed, "'twas a real dick move."

"I thought the same thing."

…

Try as she might Meredith couldn't wipe the goofy looking grin off her face as she drove home. The MacManus brothers were really something else. She wasn't quite sure what to make of either of them.

To be honest she didn't look forward to meeting them. She wasn't one those girls who thought just because they were physically attractive and was technically only killing men who were criminals meant that they got a free pass. She wasn't against their cause, per say, however she also wasn't on their side. In her opinion things like justice and revenge were best left to God.

Even though she didn't consider herself religious, she knew from experience that when you stood that close to line between right and wrong it was only a slip and a fall before you find yourself doing something you'd never think yourself capable of. They may not have crossed the line yet, but she knew that sooner or later it would happen. After all it was only when you hit rock bottom that you wake up and decide to change.

She thought back to her confession earlier that day. It was only two interviews in and already her resolve toward them was weakening. "What am I going to do?" she wondered aloud tightening her grip on the steering wheel. She was getting too attached…

…  
_Boston, MA 4 months ago_

Life at the Boston Globe was fast paced, operating similar to that of an experienced pit crew. The staff was a blur of organized chaos as they prepared for their upcoming deadline; sparing not a second more than necessary on a task or conversation before they were off again. It was a familiar sight to the young woman as she walked through the lobby up to the receptionist's desk.

The receptionist, a mild-aged woman dressed in a slim dress and a white blazer, paused in her work putting the current caller on hold and smiling at the newcomer. "Caramel macchiato," the other woman said passing her one of the styrofoam to-go cups. The blonde gave the woman a smile as she took a long sip humming in appreciation.

"Now that's good coffee," she breathed.

"Thanks I learned from the best," Meredith laughed picking up her own coffee and drinking from it. "Is he in today?"

The other woman turned her head away from the curious eyes nervously. "I'm supposed to tell you that Marcus went on an impromptu vacation," she confessed.

"So he is here?" Meredith concluded resting her arm on the high desk ledge. "It's alright Judith," she soothed, "I know your only doing your job."

Judith shot her a curious look. "How long are you going to hang out here?" She wondered.

"Until he hires me."

The receptionist scoffed taking another sip of her macchiato, "Then you going to be waiting awhile."

"I'm not too worried about it." She said with a shrug, "I don't think it will be that much longer. I can be very persuasive."

…

Connor laid back down on his cot look up toward the ceiling of his cell. The solitude used to make him anxious without the constant presence of Murphy by his side. For the first couple of weeks out of the medical ward he tossed and turned unable to drift off because of the lack of a second person's steady breaths. He was forced to lay awake at night worrying about his twin as did Murphy who later confessed that he wasn't sleeping well those first couple of weeks either. It was only after about four months into their stay that he finally learned to live with the silence and even began to enjoy it a little. It had given him time to reflect that he otherwise wouldn't have had.

He thought about a lot of things as he sat in his cell. Often times he passed the time reading books that he acquired from the very limited library. Other times his thought were occupied with impossible schemes of escape that even he knew would be stupid to even attempt. Still most of his free time was spent with a wandering mind wishing he wasn't locked up. In retrospect there were probably better ways to have taken care of the Roman then how they did it. They should've waited a few weeks, hell even a few days, for Eunice to work out her suspension and coming up with a more thought out plan. If they had done that maybe then Dad and Romeo wouldn't have...

He immediately stopped that train of thought. There was no sense dwelling on the past and things you couldn't change. Dad and Romeo were gone. Instead he turned his thoughts to before all of this started, back when he and Murphy weren't the Saints of South Boston and just Connor and Murphy MacManus. The reporter's questions brought up memories that he would have otherwise forgotten –one in particular that he hadn't thought about in years.

…

_Boston, MA 1995_

Having lived in Boston for about 5 years the twins had gotten used to riding the subway in and out of Southie. They became increasingly familiar with the stops and the schedules and learned very quickly that you see the strangest things when using public transportation. From drag queens to drunk Santas they had basically seen it all. So Connor made a habit of watching the more interesting occupants often pointing something out to Murphy if he thought it would interest him, which it usually did. There was one though that he was paying close attention to over the past three weeks.

It wasn't that the young woman was physically out of place. In fact she appeared to be just another person, a bit prettier than most, but overall just a very quiet girl. When he first noticed her she was sandwiched in between an arguing couple. It was their loud voices that drew his attention toward the back of the subway car where she stood holding on to one of the handrails overhead reading what appeared to be a very thick paperback. The couple that was drawing everyone's attention was standing not even six inches away as they were basically yelling in her ears. Despite this she didn't once turn her eyes from the page or impolitely tell them to shut up. She just kept reading until the train slowed down to a stop and skillfully maneuvered through the crowd and exited onto the platform all the while not taking a single glance at her surroundings.

Connor thought it was strange how someone could be so absorbed in what they were reading that they didn't even notice when someone was yelling over their shoulder. He wondered what she could be reading that had captivated her so completely. After that he saw her a few more times each time with her nose buried deep in a book and each time she was smack in the middle of some confrontation. The last time he noticed her two drunk guys had gotten into a scuffle about something or other, but before anyone could intervene one of them had punched the other square in the face.

He thought for sure that the big burly man was going to crash into her and knock her to the ground, but at the last possible second she had shifted out of the way as he came crashing down to the floor with a loud thud. To her credit she did spare the heap on the floor a glance as she stepped over him to get to the door when the train made the next stop before turning her attention back to the book in her hands. It was after that, he decided that the next time he saw her he had to at least talk to her once and ask her what she was reading.

When he boarded the train car that day he was surprised to see her sitting by herself towards the back. He was even more surprised to see her sleeping even though it looked as if she fell asleep reading another large book still clasped loosely in her hand. It was between rush hours so it wasn't difficult for him to seat himself across from her. Murphy hadn't boarded the train with him this time which he was glad of at the time.

She slept soundly. Sitting so close to her he was able to study her more closely. She looked young maybe twenty at most with dark brown hair and pale skin that looked as if she hadn't been out in the sun at all that summer. She wore a simple white tee-shirt and blue jeans. He caught a bit of ink on her wrist just above her left hand that was holding the book; however how she sat he couldn't see what it was.

The train lurched then as it pulled away from the platform and jostled the book from her loosened fingers. It fell to the floor with a thud and she bolted up at the noise. The sudden movement caused her to bashed her elbow back into the hard plastic seat. "Ow. Fuck!"

"Ya alrigh' there, lass?" He asked watching her massage her bruised appendage.

Her eyes snapped up to his having just realized he was sitting there. "Yeah, I'm fine." She said bending her arm with a wince.

Connor picked up the book that had fallen on the floor taking note of the title _'Les Miserables_' before handing it back to her. "I didn't want to wake yeh, see, ya looked so peaceful," he told her.

"Thank you," she said tucking the book back into her bag, "It's fine. I just wasn't expecting you to be there. I didn't mean to fall asleep, not the smartest move, too much freaky shit happens on the subway and you... I was startled, so I panicked and... ow fucking seats."

He watched amused as her sleep encumbered brain struggled to come to grips with what just happened. "Well, if it's yer naptime, I won't object if ya decide to rest yer eyes for a bit. I'll be happy to keep an eye on yeh while yer out just in case any wierdos come by."

She regarded him a moment as a slow blush started to creep to the surface. "No, it's fine you don't have to do that."

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout there, lass? Yeh seem te be turning a bit red," he observed, "'m not bother'in ya too much, am I?"

"I -uh- no, I'm fine...I mean you're fine –stay there."

He chuckled at her rather flustered response. "So, yeh think 'm fine?" He teased.

She bit back a laugh as she looked at him rather seriously. "You're easy on the eyes," she concluded. "Actually, I've been wondering something since I noticed you last week," she told him.

"And what migh' that be? 'm a bit surprised ye notice anythin' what with yer nose buried those books. In the three weeks we've been riding dis train; I've yet te see ya without one." He replied.

She smiled shaking her head. "I like to read," she said with a shrug, "but I was wondering if you'd help me with something?"

"Anythin' yeh like, lass, 'm here te help."

Her eyes shifted back down to her lap as she seemed to gather her wits. "I wanted to...if you... could you stand up for a moment, please?"

"Yeh mind tellin' me why?"

"Just an experiment," she assured him standing up as well and moving toward him so that she was standing within arm's reach. "You did say _'anythin' yeh like'_... so stand up and help already," she said doing a fair impression of his accent.

Not sure where this is going, but still thoroughly amused he stood up and griped the bar overhead to steady himself as the train jostled. The girl who wasn't quite so prepared for the sudden jerk stumbled into him. He caught her on impulse steading her feet. He looked down at her a cheeky retort on his tongue that never made it out of his mouth as whatever he was about to say was forgotten by sudden sensation of her lips on his.

It only took him a split second to react; his hand slipping down to small of her back and pulling her closer. She parted her mouth letting him slip his tongue past her lips and along the backs of her teeth. He was vaguely aware of her hands moving down his back and then squeezing his ass. A low growl escaped his throat as his own hands moved toward her hips brushing the smooth skin of her stomach.

It was then that the train slowed to a stop and the loud speaker came on. He reluctantly pulled away as he realized this was her stop. "Was that the experiment, lass?" He asked slightly out of breath.

The girl stepped back putting her hands behind her back smiling up at him. "Yep. You did very well," she told him.

He mumbled, "Thanks though 'm not sure what ya hoped te accomplish."

The girl just smiled wider as she gathered her bag and leaned up planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. "You'll figure it out," she said giving him no time to respond before she was off the train and the doors already closing behind her.

...

It wasn't until he was halfway back to the loft that he realized he no longer had his wallet. Murphy of course got a big kick out of it. He didn't let him hear the end of it for about a month. As for the girl he never saw her on the train again after that day, even after his wallet miraculous turned up at McGrity's the following week. What he did remember was that nothing had been removed, instead there was a little folded note was hidden back behind his driver's license. Inside were written the following words:

_"Can't always trust a pretty face." _

He found it funny that Meredith had said the exact same thing.

…

The warm stream of water doused Murphy's head as he scrubbed away at the grime on his skin. He always thought showers to be cathartic when he had too much on his mind. The pass couple of months Murphy was left to wonder what could've been had him and Connor not been caught and thrown into Hoag.

Maybe it would've worked out.

Before their incarceration, Murphy had been seeing someone back in Ireland. They had been dating for the two years, but when they unexpectedly came back to the States there hadn't been enough time to tell her where they were going, let alone say goodbye. As far as she knew he had just vanished into thin air, never to be seen again. It was times when the mundanity of prison life left him with too much time to think that his thoughts would travel back to Ireland and back to her.

It was a fruitless endeavor that much he knew. Odds were that the girl had already moved on. He hoped that to be the case. He didn't want her winding up like his mother did pining after a guy who disappeared, never moving on, never moving forward; just drowning her loneliness in a bottle of Jameson. The thought of that happening churned his stomach. That was the last thing he wanted for her.

Of course what he really wanted was something that could never be. Especially not now considering who and where he was. No girl should have to wait 25 plus years.

He grabbed the knob shutting off the water. Walking out of the shower area, he wrapped a towel around his hips ignoring the looks from the other prisoners. The showers and the yard was the only place they were in direct contact with one another. Guards were stationed throughout the room to make sure that none prisoners decided to start anything. Generally speaking Murphy and Connor were able to keep to themselves because of it.

He walked behind the lockers where he kept his clothes; slipping them on with ease. It was always best not to hang out too long. He had learned that during his first week out of the infirmary when one of the other prisoners had gotten into it with another causing a small riot to breakout in the bathroom. The guards on duty swiftly put an end to any civil unrest, but not before one the men ended up dead.

Hearing another seat of footsteps, Murphy whirled around eyeing the other inmate with distrust. The Italian ran his fingers through his hair regarding the Irishman with a sneer.

"Did yeh want somethin'?" He asked meeting his stare evenly.

It all happened so quickly. One second he was facing the other inmate and the next Murphy felt two sets of arms grab him from behind retraining him as he thrashed about trying to get free. "Fuckin' let me go!" he yelled managing to elbow one of his assailants in the stomach. There was a soft grunt before a meaty fist whacked him in the jaw and grabbed the back of his neck.

The first inmate took a step forward staring him dead in the eye. "You and your bother think that just because you kill people like us that it somehow makes you justified. Bullshit!" He spat pulling a crudely carved shiv out of his pocket, "You're no better than we are. You're a killer and I'll be damned if I let you walk out of here in one piece."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Okay so this took a lot longer than I expected it would. Lucky for you guys this chapter is also a lot longer than I typically write them being a little over 8,000 words. That's four times longer than the prologue! I'm not quite sure how it got that long, it was suppose to be longer; however I actually cut a lot of dialogue that I had thought of and even omitted a couple scenes.

I'm kind of unsure what to write for the next chapter though. I have a little bit of it mapped out, but the whole plot of this story is still very much in development. I have to figure out how to break the boys out of prison which I don't have the slightest clue how to go about it or make it believable. And I have to convince three very selfish characters to do something selfless and help the brother's with their mission. Don't ask me how I'm gonna do that. I've been watching a lot of Prison Break and Breakout Kings in preparation though.

Also I'd like to apologize in advance to anyone who is fluent in languages. I myself am not fluent, so I apologize if google translator royally botched my attempt to make the dialogue sound authentic. I'll include the original English script so you can know what I was at least trying to say.  
...

* Connor: "None of them have ever asked why before."  
Murphy: "No, they all just want a story."

** Murphy: "Strange questions."  
Connor: "From a strange girl."  
Meredith: "Come on now. Stop stalling you two."  
Murphy: "You speak Italian?"  
Meredith: "Yes, among other things."  
Connor: "French?"  
Meredith: "Stop trying to change the subject."  
Murphy: "We're not, but now you've made us curious."  
Connor: "Something for something."  
Meredith: "Do you want me to go first?"


End file.

Boondock Saints, Crime, Humor