A/N: This has been rolling around in my head for a while, and I'd really like to give it a go. I love Boondock Saints, have for years, and with my recent Norman Reedus kick, this kind of flowed out the past week. No worries, if you're a regular reader of my other projects, I fully intend to continue with them as well. This will hopefully be updated on at least a bi-weekly basis, if not more frequently. I'm in the clutches of a serious Reedus obsession right now, so it's highly likely that I'll be cranking this out at top speed for a while.

I also wanted to note that, not being the biggest fan of the second film, I'll mostly just be borrowing a couple key recognizable elements from it, but otherwise will be ignoring it. This story will be set just before what would have been the start of that film.

Feedback would be greatly appreciated! :)

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. I swear.

Prologue

Boston March 17, 1997

"Fuck me if I haven't been lookin' forward t'this all week." Murphy rubbed his hands together briskly, grinning at his twin standing beside him.

"You and the rest of fuckin' Boston," Connor muttered, tossing up the collar of his worn Navy peacoat before stuffing his hands deep into the pockets.

Steam rolled up in massive wafts from the vents beneath the sidewalk, warm puffs of air that most passersby were grateful for. What meager heat that had lingered before sunset had long since passed, and there was a distinct chill in the air, the last remnants of winter.

Murphy snatched up two packs of cigarettes from the stand they'd stopped at, paying for them and tossing an arm around his brother's hunched shoulders, ignoring the throngs of people on either side of them.

"Where's your Irish spirit, brother? It's St. Paddy's and the whole fuckin' world is in love with us today. Free beer and a pretty girl for each knee!"

Connor snorted, his lips twitching as he dipped his head a bit in a nod.

"Aye." His bright blue eyes slid away from Murphy's, across the street to the slanting apartment building they called home. "Ya think she'll be alright up there by herself? I know she brought a bit of readin', but still-"

Murphy cuffed him on the back of the head, his grin widening.

"Quit yer frettin', woman. The girl promised us she'd be fine, and she's always been as fuckin' good as her word. Now if it were Roc up there…" He trailed off, wriggling his eyebrows and Connor smirked.

"Fair enough." He shrugged his shoulders carelessly, his head tilting as his gaze fell on a petite, long-haired brunette across the street . "Just don' like leavin' her all by her lonesome for us t'get shit-faced, s'all."

He could tell without looking that Murphy had spotted the same girl, his index finger rubbing across his lips as his eyes traced up the curve of long bare legs appreciatively, even if it was more than a little foolish to be wearing that short a skirt in this weather. Her shoulders and upper back were bare in a dark colored halter top that set off the warm tone of her complexion. Bit on the skinny side for his taste, but still, he wasn't complaining, not with the way she was confidently strutting in strappy stilettos like she owned the block.

"Aye," his twin murmured quietly, watching her hips gently sway in that tiny black miniskirt. And he wasn't the only one. Every male in sight had zeroed in on the sweet little thing. "Didn't quite sit right with me, either, but she insisted we have a bit a fun, like we'd planned."

Murphy's smile was wolfish, and Connor almost unconsciously mirrored it, his lips curving of their own volition as they strode up the sidewalk. With a small pang of disappointment, he saw that the girl across from them had met up with a bloke near the corner. His eyebrow shot upwards at how he was openly leering as she stopped to speak with him and nervously licking his lips. Matter of fact, now that they were abreast of them, he could finally see her face. Her features were fine, delicate looking, with cheeks still gently rounded from youth, and a small perky nose. Her lips were pouty and full, the kind that made a man do very foolish things for a kiss, and glossed a candy red. White, even little teeth nibbled on the bottom one as her hands demurely folded behind her back. Didn't suppose he could blame the poor fucker she was talking to for looking like he'd struck the jackpot. With smoky, bedroom eyes of green like that, he-

Wait a bloody fucking minute.

Instinctively, Connor reached out and grabbed his brother's coat sleeve, his heart actually stopping in his chest.

"I know them eyes," he said hoarsely, any potentially lusty thoughts he'd had quenched like he'd jumped into the Charles.

He glanced at Murphy, who looked equally thunderstruck, his jaw slack as recognition flitted across his face.

"What the fuck is she doing dressed like tha'? She's barely seventeen for Christ's sake!" the darker twin breathed out.

"What the fuck is she doing with tha' little prick when she's dressed like tha'?" Connor snarled, jerking Murphy after him as they quickly crossed the street, heedless of the furious honking around them.

Neither of the two young people noticed the approaching Irishmen. The boy was absorbed with the way she was flirtatiously curling her finger around one ink-spun ringlet, her head tilted as she smiled sweetly at him. She was a dynamite mixture of innocent suggestiveness, a naughty fantasy come to life and he'd be damned if he didn't bring her home with him!

At least, that's what he'd been thinking right up until two tall, darkly clothed shadows appeared on either side of her with murder blazing in their identical blue eyes.

The girl's brows furrowed as the nice guy she'd been talking to broke off mid-sentence, bolting in the opposite direction. Frowning, she started to take a step after him, but a pair of hands coming down on her shoulders made her freeze. Her eyes widened in panic and she spun around, her heart in her throat. Shit, this had been a bad idea. Now she was going to get hauled off into some dirty back alley and Roc'd never know what happened to her.

When she saw who it was behind her, she almost wished that scenario had been the case. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach.

Fuck.

She started to say something, but Murphy held up a finger, his jaw clenched tight. "Don't. Don't you say a fuckin' word, Mariana."

Her mouth snapped shut with a click as he reached down and roughly grabbed her elbow. Connor had shed his peacoat and without a word wrapped it around her shoulders before grabbing her other arm. Unceremoniously, she was then hauled back the way she had come, her cheeks burning with humiliation that quickly turned to rage as she struggled to keep up in her precarious high heels.

How dare they drag her down the block like two overbearing ogres! She hadn't done anything wrong! OK, so maybe she'd skirted around the truth a little, got them to leave the apartment so she could go out, but she'd never said that she wasn't going to go out, or that she planned to stay in the whole time. She'd promised to read her book, and she had. Granted, it was only for as long as it took them to leave the apartment. Then she'd tossed off the overcoat she'd kept cinched around her tiny waist, feigning a chill, and dashed to the sink to apply her smuggled makeup. Mama wouldn't miss a couple pieces here and there. She had so much she already used, a tube of lipstick, a compact, and a few other odds and ends weren't a big deal. Not that she'd have noticed even if Mariana had plucked them up right in front of her. She couldn't tear her eyes away from her 'stories' long enough, at least when she was actually home. Usually, it was just Mariana and the house plant. Truth be told, she prefered it that way. Her mother had a tendency to treat her as though she were still a small child.

But in a little over ten minutes, after experimenting with darkening her eyes and brightening her lips, she'd felt like a real woman. Someone that maybe, for once, Connor and Murphy might look at as more than a kid. Her cheeks heated further remembering how proud she'd been of herself. All she'd wanted to do was...well, she wasn't all that sure anymore. Hadn't been entirely sure when she'd been planning it either. But she was just so sick of them, and Roc, acting like she was a child that needed tending to, looking after. She'd thought...she'd thought that maybe if she could just get somebody, anybody to look at her the way Murphy and Connor looked at those gorgeous girls that sat in their laps at McGinty's, then maybe there was a chance they'd see her like that.

Fucking stupid.

"For fuck's sake," she grumbled under her breath, which earned her a quick pop on her bottom, making her jump with a squeak. Her head snapped up to see Connor glaring down at her.

"Mind yer mouth, girl."

She scowled.

Great...still a kid. Can't even swear.

Seething, the teen barely noticed when Connor threw open the side door to their building. Her skirt was riding dangerously high on her hips from how fast they'd pulled her along, but she didn't dare try to tug her arms out of their grasp long enough to smooth it back down. The hem of Connor's coat reached her knees, so maybe that would keep the world from seeing the black lace panties she'd stolen from the top drawer of Mama's dresser. Her cheeks flushing an even darker shade of red from embarrassment, the indignatious fury draining from her body, and she prayed hard that they wouldn't notice.

But of course they did. They never missed anything.

Wordlessly, they let go of her, Connor's hand shifting to her lower back to guide her into the lift as Murphy shrugged out of his peacoat. Neither of them looked at her as he handed it to her, both of them stepping in front of her to keep her hidden from view. Hot tears pricked her eyes as she tied the sleeves of Murphy's coat around her small waist with shaking hands. Then she did the same with her arms, hugging her middle as she bit her bottom lip hard. She wouldn't cry. Dammit, she wouldn't!

Trying to keep her sniffle as quiet as possible, she let out a tight breath through her mouth, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor of the lift. When it jerked to a stop, she lost her balance, letting out another high-pitched squeak as she started to stumble forward. Twin hands immediately shot out and caught her, one pair at her waist while the other wrapped around her arms. They let her go again as soon as she found her feet, and then she was being herded between them as Connor unlocked the door to their apartment. Murphy ushered her in from behind, pointing at the couch.

"Sit," he told her, his voice gruff, and she obeyed, plopping down on the worn cushions, although she managed to muster up a defiant glare as she did. It probably would have been more convincing if her mascara hadn't already started to run.

She watched them both dig a fresh pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of their jean pockets, and instantly the smell of smoke was thickening the air. Mariana felt some of the tension leaving her body at the scent. She breathed it in, a little comforted by it familiar sting in her nose. They might be pissed as all hell, but if they were smoking, then it couldn't be all bad. It was when they didn't light up that she really needed to worry.

With her knees deeply tucked under his coat, Murphy crouched in front of her and pulled up her right leg, nimbly unstrapping the ridiculous shoe from her foot.

The silence was getting to be too much for her, and without thinking about it, she blurted, "Aren't you going to ask me why?"

Murphy's hand stilled for a brief second, his smoke dangling from his lips and his warm hand wrapped around her slender ankle. He exchanged a glance with Connor that made her scowl. She knew they were having a conversation without her, about her, and frankly it was worse than if they were actually talking.

Finally, Connor looked over at her, cradling his cigarette between two fingers as he exhaled a stream of smoke.

"No." He let the pause stretch for a long moment, then asked, "First time ya've pulled this shit?"

The quiet way he spoke, disappointment and something else that she couldn't define lacing his voice, broke her resolve. She hung her head, her fingers starting to twist around themselves as she fidgeted on the sofa.

"Yes..."

Roughly, she swiped a hand across her eyes, watching Murphy toss the pilfered heel over his shoulder carelessly before lifting up her other leg.

"What we don' un'erstan' is why the fuck ya felt the need t'lie t'us about it. Fuck all, Stoirín, yer fuckin' smarter than this!" Murphy growled. Despite the harsh way he spoke to her, his fingers were gentle where they held her foot in place.

But hearing the pet name in the midst of his cursing made her wince, and Murphy almost felt bad for it. Almost. The girl had to get it through her head right fucking now that what she'd done was stupid and dangerous. If they hadn't spotted her when they did…

Jesus fucking Christ, he didn't even want to think about it.

As he finished taking off the other shoe, Connor grabbed a decently clean wash rag from where it hung haphazardly over the shower rod and slipped past his brother to dampen it beneath the icy spray that tended to blast from the kitchenette sink. Leaning back against the counter, he tossed it to the girl on their ratty sofa, two streams of smoke curling from his nostrils. She caught it with both hands, looking between it and him cautiously.

He nodded to her, pinching the butt of his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger and lifting it back to his lips. "Wipe tha' shit off yer face, girl. Ya look like a fuckin' hooker."

Murphy had to grit his teeth and duck his head to keep from reacting to the clear hurt on her features at his brother's words. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Connor look away from her too as she rubbed the cloth over her lips, shifting uncomfortably. It was a lie. She didn't resemble a brasser in the slightest. But she'd absolutely looked too much like a grown woman. Men staring at her like one hadn't been entirely her fault. She might have been made up to draw attention, but she hadn't forced them to turn their heads.

And that right there was the fucking problem. Both of them were guilty as sin, because it was unlikely either of them were going to be able to get the image of her striding up that street out of their heads anytime soon.

Time to put her back in the safe 'kid' box before Rocco killed both of them.

Murphy focused on her ankle, noticing that she'd strapped the shoes on too tight, probably trying to just keep them on her feet. He brushed his thumb over the angry red line and felt his irritation spike. He glanced up to her face, bright blue eyes searching her green ones as she rubbed at each eyelid.

"Were ya tellin' the truth 'bout yer ma kickin' ya out tonight? Needin' a place t'crash?"

Quickly, Mariana nodded. "Yeah. She's got George over. Said I needed to clear out till day after tomorrow."

Murphy glanced at Connor, who was gripping the edge of the counter so tightly that his knuckles were white. Fucking bitch couldn't even give a damned thought to where her daughter was supposed to stay, could she? Or she assumed Roc would be home. Showed how fucking much she knew. But why the fuck should either of them be surprised? Woman couldn't even figure out who her youngest's da was, much less what fucking day it happened to be. Shouldn't expect much more when ya knew that.

Mariana's breathing started to hitch and her bottom lip trembled. Running a hand through his dark hair, Murphy let out a breath.

Christ, he couldn't take it when she did that.

"Aright, don' start with tha', now. No harm done," he soothed her, reaching up to tuck several unruly strands behind her ear, his fingers trailing down to her cheek. "We're not mad at ya, are we, Connor?"

Apparently Connor was just as susceptible, sucking in a breath when her large green eyes turned to him, shining with unshed tears. Angling his hand behind him, he opened the fridge and pulled out three bottles of beer. He closed it with his foot and pushed off from the counter, flicking his cigarette butt into the sink. The lighter-haired twin flopped down on the sofa, throwing one arm up to rest across the back of it. Mariana was over next to him in a flash, leaning her bony shoulder against his chest and taking one of the bottles with a shyly hesitant expression, the damp washcloth folded in her lap.

Girl had them wrapped around her finger, she did.

Fuck, she had everyone at McGinty's believing she was the sweetest child God had ever put on this earth. T'weren't that far from the truth. She was a good kid. Did good in school, kept out of trouble, for the most part. Had nearly gotten Rocco beaten to a pulp a couple of times for hustling pool. Neither he or Connor were about to tell him they were the ones that'd shown his baby sister how to play. It wouldn't matter to him that she'd gotten stubborn when they'd said no and approached a shark that liked to come in every couple of weeks.

Which reminded him.

Murphy straightened up long enough to take the other spare beer, then immediately sat down on the other side of the sofa.

"Yer brother know where yer at?" he asked her as he twisted off the top.

"I called him. I always tell Roc where I am," she answered in a small voice, suddenly very interested in picking at the damp label of her drink with her short, blunt fingernails. "Don't mean he pays attention."

The brothers exchanged another look over her head, then Connor shifted slightly, bumping his shoulder against her cheek so that she would look up at him.

"Tha' what this is about, now? Gettin' a bit of attention from ole Rocco?"

She glanced away from him, unable to keep meeting his eyes without her face flushing again.

No, that wasn't it. Well, not completely it. But she'd catch her own hair on fire before she'd tell them that.

God, she was pathetic. Acting like the stupid, moony teenager she was instead of the more mature responsible young adult she'd been pretending to be. Maybe acknowledging that made her more of the latter than she believed but she was skeptical. They were so much older than her, and so...just...more than anything she'd ever known or seen. With their rakish looks and warm, rough brogues, they could have their choice of women, and usually did. Could she be blamed that she'd fallen for the two of them, hard?

She almost blanched. Her brother would have a damned heart attack if he found out.

"No," she said finally, honestly, but she couldn't bring herself to look at either of them.

Neither of them moved, but she knew they were looking at one another again. They didn't push her for a straight answer, though and for that she was grateful. She thought she'd hit her humiliation limit for one night.

Shuddering at the taste, she took a long pull of her beer. Chuckling, Connor took it from her, ticking his chin towards the little bag she'd brought with her when she'd first shown up and had subsequently dropped near the door.

"Change outta tha' get-up and put on yer pajamas, Stoirín. Then ya can have the rest of it."

Mariana nodded and hopped up from the couch, picking her way over Murphy's outstretched legs, since the prick couldn't be bothered to tuck them in for her to pass. Scooping up the strap of her bag, she trotted over to the shower and swung the curtain closed. As soon as the fabric swished shut around her, the brothers let their heads fall back against the wall simultaneously.

"We'll die of heart attacks before thirty," Connor groused quietly, throwing his arm across his eyes.

"Aye. Girl's gonna be the fuckin' death of us," Murphy muttered.