Summary: An investigative journalist starts to come and talk with the brothers while they are in Hoag. But what does she really want from them that she keeps coming back? Plagued with her own troubled past she finds herself dragged farther into their world than she had ever imagined, putting her in danger herself.
Rated M: Language, violence, eventual sexual situations hopefully.
Disclaimer: I do not own Murphy, Connor ect but I do own my OC's Abigail and Eddy.
Flame Warning: Don't bother flaming. I will delete you.
As always please read and review! I live for reviews!
Abigail Ashton sat on the small sofa in the wardens waiting room at Hoag as she looked over the files that the detective Duffy had given her. Writing an article on the Saints had been her editors idea and who better to pull information out of two Irish males that had been in prison for the past year than the pretty little investigative journalist that had gotten in with everyone from mobsters to congressmen.
She had been doing research on the boys for months before actually talking to them. The anniversary of their imprisonment was coming up and she knew there would have to be an article about it. She wanted it and had made sure she had it before other reporters, concerned with closer deadlines, had even thought about it.
She glanced down at her bag where she had hidden two things that a deep source had entrusted her with. Two things that she was sure would get her a little farther with the Irishmen than her cute looks or her innocent way of talking to people would.
She licked her full pink lips as she looked at the picture of the McManus brothers, Murphy and Connor. She had, of course, followed their career. She'd been finishing college at the time, working in the basement of the newspapers dreaming of the day that she got to be part of something that big…to write about two people that big. Everyone in Boston had followed them, but few had been about to touch their cloths or talk to the detective's that had chased them.
Abigail rubbed her head as she looked at the blacked out lines of the copies of the police reports. There was something more going on here. She could feel it when she talked to the two detectives. The way they kept glancing at each other when they answered any questions or the way that they hide their mouths in their beers when she took them out for an informal drink.
Opening the last file she looked at pictures of Detective David Greenly. She tilted her head to the side and took in his pale face as he lay on the metal slab in the coroner's office. She ran her hands over the now dead man's face. "What did you and your friends know?" She asked the picture quietly.
She always preferred to gather information before trying to yank it out of people. People we far more tight lipped than tax files, police reports, bank statements or credit card receipts. Then she had moved on to the actual articles of evidence.
She had to admit that her editor was well connected. He had gotten to police chief and the federal distract attorney to let her see them. The boys club worked in her favor for once that way. She'd fingered through the cloths that they were captured it, smelling blood, gun powder residue and residual scent that could only be described and male on the worn black turtlenecks. She could pick out which brother had worn which by now through she didn't know which brother was which…yet.
Both smelled like smoke and both had the residual smell of gun powder. One held the smell of old spice body bar that made her laugh to herself and one smelled like vanilla and cinnamon. The second was the one she liked the best.
Sighing, she leaned back into the sofa, shutting the file as the warden came in. He was a bulky man with a bald head and hard eyes. He was far more intimidating than the warden that she was used to at the state mental institution that she frequented. "Miss Ashton." He greeted her.
Abigail stood up and straightened her skirt as she reached out to shake his hand firmly. "Yes. Are they ready?"
"Yes Ma'am." The warden said, opening the door for them. "It's all been arranged like you asked. No camera's on. One guard at the door." They walked down the block as whistles could be heard from the men in the cells. The warden slammed his baton on the bars, glancing at her. "Sorry about them. You're probably the most attractive woman they've seen in a long time." He glanced at her.
Abigail shrugged her tiny shoulders. "It's not my first time in a prison warden." She told him truthfully. Reaching into her pea coats pocket she pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes and handed one to one of the inmates with a little smile. The warden looked at her closely. "I'll want to talk to him later." She told him as if it explained her actions.
He grunted and opened the door to the visiting room. "I'm going to say again what I said on the phone Miss Ashton. These men are dangerous and they don't like reporters."
Abigail looked at the two men chained to the two chairs both by the ankles and the wrists. They looked up at her, one with piercing blue eyes and one with chocolate brown ones. She wasn't easily thrown off balance but if she could be it would probably be by these two. "Thank you warden." She said calmly.
The McManus brothers looked up at the young woman closely. She was pretty, young with a soft face. She had long hair with natural waves moving through it with a deep espresso shade of brown. Her eyes were so dark blue that they almost looked black. She was tinier than either of the brothers remembered women being but still strikingly attractive.
"Certainly doesn't look like the other vultures that have come." Murphy muttered in Gaelic to his brother. Connor grunted his agreement as the warden shut the door and left them with the single guard.
She came over to the other side of the steel table and took her jacket off, hanging it over the back of the chair. She looked at the shinny silver that encircled their limbs before looking back at the guard. "Please unchain them." She told the guard, noticing that his finger was already off the trigger.
"Miss Ashton I don't think-"
"Their wrists at least." She said before he could continue.
The guard gave a little sigh and nodded, coming over and unlocking the chains on their wrists. Connor and Murphy really weren't all that violent to people who didn't deserve it and they were known not to hurt women and children. Murphy looked up at her as his were undone, rubbing them slowly. "Don't you have a tape recorder or something?" He asked her.
Abigail gave him a little smile. "You guys smoke right?" She asked, ignoring the question. "I mean your cloths smelled of a 3 pack a day habit." She handed them each a smoke with an easy smile as they looked at each other and shrugged, attentively taking them from her slender fingers. Taking out a lighter she leaning forward to light each as she watched them.
Connor and Murphy both leaned back as they inhaled. "We don't talk to reporters." Connor told her with a small smile. "Though we do appreciate the smoke."
Abigail leaned back with a smile of her own. "I'm not recording am I?" She asked them innocently. Murphy snorted a little laugh and tapped the ash off of his smoke. "Look, I just want to talk. I'm…call it intrigued. Everything that you say will be off record." She watched the two pairs of intense eyes on her. "I'm just interested. I've read; I've researched. I know dates and times and victims. I just want to understand why."
Both of the brothers starred at her for a moment before turning to each other.
"None of them have ever asked to understand why before." Connor muttered to his brother in Gaelic again.
"No they all just want a story." Murphy said back in the same language, tapping his fingers on the table.
Abby looked down, assuming that they were saying no. It was a long shot but there was so much that she didn't understand that she at least had to try. She didn't get into journalism just to write. She did it to get at the truth. There was no point in just telling the where and when of events…she always wanted to know why. That was the important part. Sadly it was also the long part…though for her part she didn't mind the wait if there was a good story behind it.
"Either way I brought something for you." She said, drawing both of their attention as she reached into the bag. "A little bird told me that you might want these." She held out the rosary's to them on the tips of her fingers.
Both of their lips parted. "How did you get these?" Murphy asked.
Abigail gave a shrug and a secretive smile. "Like I said… 'a little bird.'"
Connor reached out for his quickly and greedily. Murphy was slower, his blue eyes darting to the collar of her white button down shirt where he could see a little pearl cross hanging. He didn't know if it was because they hadn't seen a woman in over a year or because she was just so pretty, but even her fingers felt warm and soft. She pulled her hand away after a moment and let the beads slip onto his.
"What should we call you lass?" Connor asked as his brother leaned back and lifted the smoke to be held in between his thin lips as he slipped the rosary around his neck.
"Abigail." She told him with a little smile.
"Abby." Murphy told her. "We're gunna call you Abby the Angel for bringing these back to us."
She laughed and both boys chuckled, the guard behind them all relaxing. "So where are you from Abby the Angel?" Connor asked her. "Besides heaven."
His brother rolled his eyes.
"New York originally but I got to Boston as fast as I could." She told them trying to hold back a laugh at the flirtatious attitude that Connor took even as he was shackled to the floor. "It's the hockey. I couldn't stay away from the hockey. Where were you guys born?"
Abigail left the prison in a good mood, one better than she had thought she would be in. The boys had spent a good hour regaling her with stories of growing up in Ireland: Pretty farm girls, drunken bar fights and family outings. She'd laughed and shared a few of her own when they asked. They were very tit for tat guys. They told her a story and they wanted one back. Once she got them talking though they seemed to not be able to stop telling her funny stories and making fun of each other.
Nothing relevant to their news worthy activities had come up and she hadn't asked. This was about getting to know the men, not the deeds. She had to build trust before they would give that to her and she was all too willing to wait and visit again the next week. These two men were far too interesting for a 700 word article. She could have written that without talking to them and she would do it like she hadn't, just throwing in a few words about their roguish appearance in their state mandated attire and their charm.
She arranged to come back to talk to them more next week…maybe even bring them some non prison food. She had a pretty good idea of where to get it from too. Smiling to herself at her own luck she opened the now almost empty pack of smokes, happy that there was at least one left to relieve the stress that those two pairs of eyes had caused. She smiled and shook her head to herself. This was going to be the story of her life.
"What do you think?" Murphy asked as he lit the smoke that he had shoved behind his ear from Abby the Angel's pack.
Connor shrugged. "Something to do." He muttered rubbing his head. "Seems like a nice girl."
"Real pretty." Murphy put in, leaning back on his cot.
Connor laughed at him. "That's just 'cause you haven't been with a woman in over a year and a half Murph. It isn't like she's going to come in here for a conjical." He chuckled at his own joke.
"Not saying that asshole." Murphy retorted. "Just saying that it'd be nice to have something pretty to look at instead of your fuck ugly face all the time!"
Connor slapped him on the back of the head. "Give it another year and you'll think this face is pretty enough!" He teased before sitting down opposite his brother on the other prison cot. "Don't get your hopes up brother. We don't even know if she'll really come back."
"She better." Murphy said, exhaling a large cloud of smoke. "And she better bring better cigarettes next time." Connor gave a huge grin at the prospect.
"I'm telling you Eddy!" Abigail said as she sat on top of her editor's desk in his office. "I just can't do it. You know I won't break that trust!"
"I can't believe you said it was off the record!" The middle aged Eddy said, rubbing his prematurely grey hair. Working in the news industry did that to you: too much stress, too much coffee, too many ex wives and too many deadlines.
"It wouldn't matter anyway." Abigail's huge blue eyes followed him around the room. "I could write the article with just the interviews from the detectives and the other people that were around. Here." She handed him a jump drive. "It's already done."
Eddy sighed. Abigail was only 28 years old but she was already one of his favorites. She had started working at the paper right after college and in her first 4 months of the lowest job in the paper industry (Writing obituaries) she had managed to uncover a grave robbing scandal at one of the biggest mortuaries in Boston. She was quick, smart, and punctual and most importantly, never missed a dead line.
"I'm telling you Eddy. There's more than one fluffy recap article in here." Abigail insisted passionately. "These guys… They are amazing."
"Yeah," Eddy grumbled. "That's why there are going to be rallies for the 'Free the Saints' movement on the anniversary of their imprisonment next week. Hence why this better be fucking Shakespeare Abby!" He held up the jump drive like it was the Holy Grail. He knew it was going to be amazing. Everything that she wrote was riveting. He didn't even have to say it.
Abigail pushed herself off the desk as he sat back in his chair and leaned on it with both of her hands wrist deep in stakes of paper. "Forget the fucking article Ed!" She told him with force. "These boys aren't a stupid article; they're a book…maybe even a series!"
Eddy slumped his shoulders as he looked at her, rocking his chair back and forth with his heels in the ground to make sure he didn't spin too far. "And you think that you can get into their heads?"
"They already call me 'Abby the Angel'." Abigail bit her lip in excitement. "Just imagine it Ed. They were my age. Can you picture me snapping with no previous training and just taking out every bad guy in a ten mile radius on a whim?"
Eddy narrowed his eyes at her. "Do I really have to answer that? Because I have to tell you Abigail, there are times that I wonder…" He smiled as she rolled her eyes. "Okay sweetheart. What are you asking me for here?"
"None of your other reporters from any of our staff or our sister staffs talk to them. Let me have exclusive excess. I'll do all of the articles on them and everything else. The warden might even let me take a camera in if you let him win at golf." Eddy laughed. He knew that if the warden didn't she'd just find a way to sneak it in anyway. "I don't get their recounts of just the vigilantly action. I get everything. I get their first time holding a gun, what their 'Ma's' name is. I get their crossing to America, where they were for eight fucking years. I get their first crush and their first kiss. Their life fucking story." She banged the heel of her hand on the desk in excitement.
Eddy starred at her with wide brown eyes, his crow's feet stretching with both of their combined intensity. "Holy shit. You're going to write a book aren't you?"
"I'm going to redefine 'Pulitzer'." Abigail said slowly, emphasizing each word as she leaned in. "And you, my beloved mentor, and this paper are going to be responsible for it."
Eddy smirked at her lightly. "I want more than just a footnote kid."
"You can have the dedication and the prologue." Abigail told him with a smile.
Eddy couldn't help but grin. The thought was more than appealing. He would be responsible for the greatest untold story of their era. She had already gotten further than any other reporter that had gone in. "You still do the other stories I need you too."
"I will expose any cheating city council man you want and go undercover to see if lunch ladies are spitting in our children's food." She fell to her knees on the ground, holding her hands braced up on the desk in a prayer motion. "Just give me Murphy and Connor McManus."