The Good Kind of
Archive: let me know first, yes?
Fandom, Pairing: Boondock Saints, Gen: Doc McGinty
Summary: The first time he'd seen the two of them he'd known, right away, that they were trouble makers.
Disclaimer: not mine, never was mine, never will be mine. all is other peoples.
Word Count: 1,195
THE GOOD KIND OF TROUBLE
Doc had been a bartender for a long time. He had acquired this bar shortly after moving to South Boston, nearly forty years prior. In all the time he'd been a bar tender, it was near impossible for him not to become a good judge of character.
He had to, if only for his own protection. He had to be able to know who was going to cause trouble for him, who was going to cause trouble for the regular boys, and who was just going to cause trouble.
The first time he'd seen the two of them he'd known, right away, that they were trouble makers. He'd seen it in the way they eyed everyone around them, the way they seemed to be standing back to back even though they were side by side, and seen it in the way that they seemed to be guarding each other, making dead sure that no one was going to harm the other.
He nearly turned them away. There was a look about them, as if they were just fixing for a fight, and that wasn't something he was particularly looking for, not today at least. Before he could do anything though, one of the regulars, a good Irish lad by the name of O'Brian, raised a hand in greeting.
The two nodded back, and moved further into the room, though they still seemed cautious, still seemed wary. He wondered what had happened to them, what they were expecting, that made them act like that.
He decided, then and there, that he'd serve them. Even if they didn't look old enough to be away from their Ma's side, he'd serve them, let them know he didn't mean them any harm, see if maybe he and the regulars couldn't make them drop that look of tired wariness, a look that didn't seem like it had left their faces in a long time.
They settled down at the far end of the bar, furthest away from the main entrance, but nearest to the back one, and he wondered if maybe they hadn't sussed the place out before they came in.
The regulars left them alone as they sat at the back of the bar, and they left the regulars alone. The entire night was a bit tense, but they didn't make a move, and just talked to each other in low voices that didn't carry.
They came back a few days later, and pretty soon they'd settled into the place, sitting in the back corner, in what had become their seats. The locals greeted them like they greeted each other, with loud voices and grins, and they greeted them back. They weren't as loud, and their grins didn't reach their eyes, but they made a point not to tense when they got clapped on the back and tip their glasses in toast when the others did.
Every once in a while he'd drift close enough to hear a bit of what they were saying, and every now and then one of them would say something a bit loud at the other. Somehow he wasn't surprised to learn that they weren't speaking in English. He knew enough of Gaelic to know that it wasn't in that, either, though he'd heard them talking to a few of the other lads that hailed from Ireland in it.
Everyone knew they were fresh from Ireland. If their accents weren't enough, or the fact that Gaelic just seemed to roll of their tongue wasn't enough, their speech patterns were. The guys that came around his bar weren't the brightest of the lot, but they were sharp enough.
For the most part, they minded their own business. No one was stupid enough to get themselves involved in a fight with the two of them. It was obvious enough from the way they moved that they could fight, and that they'd be damn good at it.
They were proved right about a month after the boys had started coming around. It was getting on in the night, and he'd been watching people trickle slowly out of the bar, leaving just the regulars and the two boys, when some little drunk fuckers wandered in off the street.
He could tell they were trouble instantly, not just because they were pissed out of their minds, but also because of how they were dressed and how they spoke. He didn't know what they were doing in South Boston, but they didn't live there, not with the expensive clothing and haughty upper class accents, and the way that they seemed to be looking down their noses at the entire bar.
They immediately started shooting their mouths off, pissing off the regulars. He could see the two boys at the end of the bar tensing, and didn't even blink as one of them nudged the other, who nodded.
The fight was nearly over before it began. One of the drunks had said something about his speech impediment and before he could say a word back, the man found himself flat on his back, staring up into the flashing blue eyes of the darker haired boy.
One of the drunk's friends went to take a swing at the boy, and found himself on the floor next to his friend, the other boy standing over them. The regulars had turned around and were grinning at each other now, nudging each other and nodding towards them, telling each other I told you so and Knew it from the start! in low voices.
The rest of the drunks were eyeing the two boys and then, with just a glance at each other, the two moved forward.
They fought in unison with each other, in a way he couldn't remember seeing since he'd still been living in Dublin. He'd known a few boys back then, who knew each other inside and out, who'd grown up together and worked together for near their entire life, and could fight together like demons.
These two, however, were even better. They didn't need to see each other two know what the other was doing and they didn't need verbal confirmation that the other was okay. They just knew.
The drunks were down and out before it was over, and then the regulars were right there, helping the two to drag the drunks out of the bar.
When they'd all settled back down on their stools, the two boys were next to the regulars, no longer back in their corner, and were talking softly to the others.
He smiled, and offered them a drink on the house. They accepted, of course, and as he was setting the drinks down, one of the regulars introduced himself.
The boy who'd hit first shook his hand. " 'm Murphy McManus, and that git there's m'twin, Connor."
From that second on they were part of the bar, and the place just didn't seem right with out them. He'd know they'd be trouble, from the second he laid eyes on them, but it was the good kind of trouble, the kind took care of itself, and everything they took a shine to, in the end.