Aint Never Seen Nothing Like A Galway Girl

Summary: Set before the boys' Calling from the Lord. Murphy takes the long way to McGinty's, lost in thought when he runs into a woman with a familiar accent. Murphy/OC. Song!Fic.

Author's Note: I recently rewatched All Saint's Day, and realized I really wanted to get my no-third-instalment-YOU-HAD-ONE-JOB-TROY-DUFFY feels out of my system. It was originally going to be a oneshot, but I decided to expand it. Blame my feels. Rated for regular MacManus language and probable sexy times. Feel free to leave a review, and thanks for reading!


Well I took a stroll on the old long walk,

Of a day ay eh ay eh.

I met a little girl and we stopped to talk,

Of a fine soft day ay eh.

Rain. Always with the rain. In Ireland, in America, it was always fucking raining. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, he supposed. A bit annoying and inconvenient, but not bad. Upon further reflection, Murphy MacManus realized he actually quite liked the rain. It was clean and fresh, and he loved the feel of it running down his face.

Murph mentally sighed as he wandered through small town Boston. It was a Friday evening, and he was headed to McGinty's, where his brother was already waiting for him. The twins had gotten off from work late, leaving Connor in a bit of a rush. He wanted to hurry up, get to McGinty's, and relax with a pint. They stopped briefly in at their grungy studio flat to change shirts and take a quick shot each in anticipation for the drinking they'd be doing later, and Murph had wanted to have a shower. Connor, the impatient fuck, went straight ahead to the pub without him.

Murph shook his head -spraying the water dripping through his darkened hair out and onto his shoulders- with a small smile as he thought of his twin. With a small sniff, he paused on the mostly-empty sidewalk and stared up at the grey November sky, closing his eyes as he felt the misty rain settle on his face. He paused long enough for the mist to corrugate together and slide slowly down his neck, dampening his dark tee-shirt further. With a sigh, Murph mentally shook himself, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and sliding one out of the pack quickly, trying not to get it wet. He returned the pack to his pocket, pulling out his lighter instead, and placing the cigarette between his lips. Cupping his left hand around it and igniting the Zippo with his right, Murph took a deep drag to light the fag. Exhaling the light vapour, Murph began to walk, slower than before, down the familiar route to McGinty's.

He still felt fresh from his shower, and smiled to himself as he walked through the chilly air. He could feel it was going to be a good night. Still smiling to himself, a female voice broke the silence around him.

"Oi, you. Could I nip a fag off ya?" Murph turned, not exactly sure if the question was directed at him. He saw a woman who, for lack of a better term, looked like a drowned cat. Her deep ebony curls fell, sodden, past her shoulders. She had her arms crossed across her chest, and Murph could see her shivering lightly in the nippy air. She wore a pair of worn blue jeans, black combat boots, and a well-fitted sleeveless red shirt beneath a black leather jacket. She stood quite tall, right around his own height. Her bright sapphire eyes stood out starkly against her creamy pale complexion.

Murph paused to take in those lovely eyes, before unfreezing and giving her a grin. "I'm not sure lass. Could ya?"

The woman's eyes widened a fraction as she took in the accent that nearly mirrored her own. She rolled her eyes a moment later. "Of course. Irish and cheeky. Just me luck, innit?" She said with a small smile.

Murph couldn't help but chuckle throatily at that before pulling the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, opening it and holding it out. She pulled one out with a small nod and a soft 'ta.' She began patting her pockets, searching for a lighter, but he beat her to it, pulling out his Zippo and igniting it. She smiled once more, placing the filter between her lips and leaning forward, catching the flame at the tip.

Pocketing his lighter, Murph took another drag from his cigarette. The woman hadn't walked away yet; he took that as an opening for conversation.

"You new 'round here?" He asked, watching her. She shivered delicately, pushing her heavy hair from her face and taking another pull from her cigarette before answering.

"Aye. Just moved here with me sister from Ireland. We don't plan to stay in Boston too long; just stoppin' by fer a few weeks," she replied, shrugging before continuing. "We travel a lot, me sister and I. Never stay in one spot fer too long. Came to Boston, found out this was an Irish neighbourhood, an' thought why not," she finished with a smile.

Murph smiled back at her. "Anythin' that feels close to home," he said, understanding.

"Exactly," she agreed, taking a drag from the cigarette and smiling at him. "What about you?"

"Me brother and I moved here from Ireland a few years ago. Been livin' here ever since," Murph replied, shrugging. "Not that interestin'," he said with a shy smile. He was rewarded with her laughter; it was like music.

"Aye. And where is this brother of yers? Off with a lass of his own, celebratin' a Friday in true Irish style?" She asked, laughing some more.

Murph chuckled, shaking his head. He took one final pull off his cigarette before dropping it onto the concrete and stepping out the butt. "Nah. At our regular pub, waiting for me to show up." Her face fell slightly as she finished off her cigarette. "I suppose tha's my cue to leave ya be, then?" She asked, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets and taking a step back, smiling awkwardly.

Murph reeled back. "No! I mean … No. Ya don't have ta leave if ya don' wan'," he said to her, reaching out his hand, as if to take hold of her wrist. She smiled, shrugging.

"Me sister's off being boring in the hotel we're at. If it's alrigh' with you, I'd love to join ya?" She said, ending the sentence in a question.

Murph smiled, and held his right arm out. "It'd be my pleasure, lass. Me name's Murphy. Murphy MacManus."

She smiled and accepted his offered arm, placing her left hand in the crook of his elbow, her right hand overtop of her left. "I'm Ceilidh McCoy."

Ceilidh and Murph walked, arm and arm, into the fleeting rain.


Author's Note: So … What do you think? Like it? Hate it? Wont ever read this rubbish again? Please let me know what you think in a review; they help me decide if I want to continue with a fic.

Ceilidh is pronounced 'KAY-lee'

Aaaand … That's about it. :')

Reviews are Norman Reedus' sideburns.

Kisses and cumshots,

Melanie