+ PATH TO SAINTHOOD +
Written by: Lourdes, a.k.a. I Fancy Hugh Dancy
Rating: T – MA for violence, language and adult situations.
Summary: An agent from Ireland is sent to Boston to investigate an international crime. Though the more she digs, the deeper her involvement becomes. As danger looms ahead, will the Saints be there to help her? Or are they the enemies she was to be rid of in the first place. Post Movie.
Disclaimer: This story is pure fanfiction. People, places and names have been altered to fit into the plot. I do not own the Saints or any of the recognizable characters from the film. I own Lourdes and various other stock characters that appear later on in the story.
Author's Note: Hey everyone! This is my first Boondock Saints fic. I've been a big fan of the movie for ages and have always planned to write a fic, but only now have I found the time to do so! I'll try to update it as much as possible. Enjoy!
I would love to hear from anyone and everyone. Any comments, questions, corrections, constructive criticism, suggestions and encouragement are welcome and appreciated!
Chapter 1: New Blood
"Gentlemen, thank you so much for joining me at such short notice." The door of the room was quietly closed as the surrounding blinds were shut. "Please be seated."
The voice that greeted the six federal agents as they all filed into the rectangular meeting room was stern, yet gentle. Wooden chair legs scraped onto the white, tiled floor as they each took a respective seat, curiosity, and even tension, evident on their countenances. The owner of the voice stood at the head of the oblong oak table, hands held firmly behind her back, quietly observing each of them. She tugged at the black suit that she was wearing, which managed to conceal her form yet hug her curves at the same time, then re-adjusted the tight ponytail that held her long, black hair firmly in place. Her expression was inscrutable, though her face remained gentle as she began a slow pace towards the centre of the table.
"Before I begin, I shall introduce myself." Briefly pausing, she took another cursory glance around the room, making sure to have made eye contact with each of the federal agents before her. "My name is Lourdes Villamor, Special Agent in the An Garda Síochána, or, Ireland's National Police Service. I have been sent here to your city of Boston from Dublin to investigate an international crime that I am sure you have all been notified about." With a series of murmurs and concurring nods from her audience, Lourdes continued, "It has been over a month since the hit on supposed IRA members here in Boston. That case has not even made considerable headway, and now, rumours are already spreading of another attack. So far, there is no evidence of this, and it is only high speculation, but we at An Garda Síochána have nonetheless decided to take the necessary precautions against this threat."
As she finished her sentence, a firm hand abruptly shot in the air, immediately gaining her attention. An agent with wavy, dirty-blond hair and of about forty years of age stared her straight in the eye, gaze firm. "Agent Paul Smecker." With squinted eyes and a tilt of the head, he continued, "Agent Villamor, I would like to be the first to bid you welcome to Boston. Though, I'm curious. What do you propose these 'necessary precautions' will be?"
"Agent Smecker, my team and I will work together, side by side, with the FBI in order to trace any of these perpetrators and any one else linked with this attack. Our business here in Boston is to apprehend these killers and bring justice to the families that have been affected. As an international crime against the IRA, to many, an organized mob, it is our duty to investigate any leads regarding mob killings…"
At this statement, Paul Smecker tensed. Keeping a calm exterior, he cleared his throat as he interrupted, "I beg your pardon, Agent Villamor, but we have to respect our jurisdictions. If the An Garda Síochána desires to send agents all the way across the Atlantic to work on this case, then they will have to go by our protocols, our…"
"Do not misunderstand me, gentlemen." Lourdes breathed out a sharp sigh, taking a seat. She was prepared for this type of reaction, knowing that the 'territorial boundaries' regarding the Federal Bureau of Investigation in the United States was of much importance. "As I have stated, we will work together. My own jurisdiction only allows me to work on this case, which is international, so there is no need to worry. No territorial lines will be crossed. We're not here to handle any of your 'local business'."
Smecker's moment of reflection was interrupted by a round of chuckles that sounded in the room. Receiving accepting glances from his fellow agents, he finally gave a slow nod of approval. It was impossible for him to refuse, not if there were no grounds for it. She was going only going by the book, and he could see that. Finally, with a shake of his head and a smirk appearing on his face, he remarked, "I think it's going to work."
"This isn't going to work."
With a slammed door on his face, Murphy MacManus was left out in the cold.
"Fine!" he screamed through chattering teeth as strong gusts of snow and wind battered on his coatless back. Having nothing else to resort to, he gave the green door that stared at him a hard kick, proclaiming, "That's the last time I'm gonna see ye! Yer fuckin' loss, Stacie, not mine!"
Wiping his nose with the back of his hand and giving a last defiant look at the closed green door in front of him, he turned on his heel and took his leave from the flat. Heading purposely for the outdoor stairs, he continuously mumbled random curses to himself, so angered at the thought of being dumped that steam was almost visible from his ears. Rubbing his arms in a futile attempt to remain warm, he took hold of the stair railing, stomping as he descended.
Well, fuck me, another relationship down the drain, the MacMannus brother said to himself. He couldn't help it now, could he? Being secretive about his 'job' was the only way he could protect the women he was seeing. How would they react if he said, "Hey babe, I'm a Saint of South Boston. I kill evil men." Obviously he would be a fucked up lunatic in their eyes. Though most of the time, his mysterious disappearances, especially at night, would be misconstrued as romantic trysts. That, of course, had never been the case.
Stopping abruptly - which almost caused him to roll down the icy steps – he marched his way back up the stairs and made his way towards the green door. Letting out a breath, he banged as hard as he could, ignoring the biting cold on his hands. "Hey! Stacie!" he yelled, stopping his incessant noise for a mere moment in order to listen for any sign of his now ex-girlfriend. "It's fuckin' freezin' out here! At least give me back by shit!"
Murphy stared expectantly at the door for a few seconds, trying to mentally fight off the cold. When he heard not a sound, he finally let out a sharp sigh, and then turned on his heel once more. After a few moments, when he heard the sound of the door creak open, he turned eagerly, hope evident on his face. Instead of seeing Stacie, all he saw and felt was his black coat dangling over his face. Not long after, he felt the bulk of his backpack hit him square in the stomach. Doubling over slightly, the last sound he heard was the door slamming once more and the lock clicking shut.
"I need a fuckin' drink."
"Need another drink?"
"Sure, Doc." Sitting at the bar, Connor MacManus gave the bar owner a friendly nod and a smirk, pushing his empty pint glass to the side. "Another Guinness will do it."
As Doc McGuinty happily fetched another pint for one of his best customers, Connor took a cursory glance around the small pub. It didn't surprise him the least bit that it was this busy on a Friday night with the regular clientele. Though what did make him wonder was why his brother was nowhere to be found. Even if he was busy with something – or someone – he could always be found at McGuinty's on a Friday night, downing pints, sharing laughs.
As if on cue, the pub door chimed open. Nobody seemed to pay attention to the incoming customer, but Connor perked up, half-expecting it to be Murphy. Much to his disappointment, it wasn't. Though, much to his interest, it was someone that he had never seen at the pub before.
And even more to his interest, it was a woman.
He observed her innocently as she shrugged off her black trench coat, her eyes flickering throughout the bar as if in search for something. Connor tilted his head in question at this, but said nothing as he continued to watch her. Just as the pint of Guinness was placed in front of him, he met eyes with the woman's. To his surprise – and amusement – her gaze did not flinch at all, nor did she quickly look away. He decided to test her, keeping his blue eyes locked to her brown ones. Her gaze still did not falter.
It was only after a few moments did Connor willingly take his eyes away from hers, twisting his head over to gain Doc's attention. He motioned his head towards the woman's direction. "Hey Doc, ever seen her before?"
With a squint and an adjustment of his glasses, Doc replied with a shake of his head, "I've n-n-ever seen her here b-before…fuck! Ass!" He shook his head once more for a moment and continued, "Wonder w-what she's doin' out 'ere by her lonesome."
Just as Doc finished his sentence, the woman took the empty seat at the bar. In between her and Connor was a half-sleeping man, dozing off for a few moments then momentarily waking up. Connor's curiosity got the best of him, and given the noise within the pub, he had to strain in order to hear the conversation between Doc and the woman:
"What'll it b-be, lass?"
"Pint of Guinness, please and thank you."
A few moments after Doc poured the drink, he queried with squinted eyes, "Is that a hint of an Irish accent I hear?"
Seemingly amused at this, the woman gave him a small smile. "I studied in Ireland for many years. I guess I picked up a little bit of an accent."
"Ah." Doc smiled in return, wagging a finger at her. "And o-ob-obviously yer not Irish."
"No, Filipino by descent." She gave him another smile, saying sincerely, "I just love Ireland. That's why I chose to spend so many years there."
"Can't blame ye." Doc let out a chuckle. "But what b-brings you all the way 'ere to Boston, then?"
Her smile suddenly disappeared as she replied tersely, "Business."
Doc smiled and nodded at her respectfully before approaching another customer. Connor continued to surreptitiously watch the woman from the corner of his eye, his instincts immediately telling him that there was something peculiar about her. At the moment, he couldn't pinpoint as to what it was exactly, so he decided to let it go.
As Connor finished the last of his pint, his attention was drawn towards the woman once more. Nobody seemed to really pay mind to what was going on, but Connor could clearly see that the large bulk of a man that was obviously invading the woman's personal space was unwelcome. Connor knew that if he came to her aid, he would surely start another bar fight – which, for the most part, he had already done so numerous times and had caused quite a lot of damage to the pub. Though, if he sat there and did nothing, the woman could possibly get hurt – this, in the end, would probably just start another bar fight anyway. With a shrug of his shoulders, he chose the former decision and stood from his stool. Though, he didn't get far.
With lightning agility, the woman snatched the man's groping hand and twisted it with so much force that he bellowed in pain. It still didn't cause as much noise in comparison to the racket within the pub, but it was surely audible to Connor and a few men around them. He then vaguely heard her say the icy words, 'Don't fucking touch me' before letting the man go. Rather than continuing to assault the woman, the brute reclaimed his sore arm and disappeared into the crowd. Probably thinking it was best to end her visit to McGuinty's, the woman slapped a bill on the bar, stood, placed on her coat, and proceeded to zigzag her way towards the exit.
Doc blinked a few times before turning towards Connor. "I think s-she's full blown Irish, even though she doesn't lookit."
Connor raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. "D'ya reckon?"
"Aye." Doc gave a nod of certainty.
"I reckon yer right," Connor gave him an amused smile. "She's too feisty not to be!"
A/N: So, what did you guys think of it so far? There is so much more to tell in this story, trust me! After we get through the introductions and setting the plot, it will get better, I promise! But I want to know your thoughts, comments, suggestions, ideas and criticisms! Thank you! xx