Comparative Honesty
Fandom: Boondock Saints
Author: Unanon
Rating: PG-13 for language
Notes: Agent Smecker hates himself. It isn't difficult to understand why.
~~~~~
"I didn't come here for slalvation," he slurred drunkenly to the priest, but in a way he had. Agent Paul Smecker was a single-minded man, an honest man, but he was torn in every other way that counted.
From an early age he had been keenly aware of right and wrong. This overdeveloped sense of justice led him to the FBI directly after college where he was almost immediately placed within the Organized Crime Task Force. He climbed through the ranks swiftly, despite his comparative oddness and severely lacking social skills. After all, tact wasn't exactly an asset when dealing with criminals.
At first it was everything he had dreamed. He was getting a chance to put the worst kind of crooks behind bars forever. He was making a difference and it felt good. But as the years melted into each other Paul became increasingly disillusioned with his job, with himself. It seemed like every single bust he made went sour.every single scum-sucking asshole he yanked off the street never made it to the slam. They'd saunter out of courtrooms with a bounce in their steps and a hearty 'fuck you' to justice in their grins.
It made Agent Smecker want to puke his guts out; his tact level, if possible, slipped another notch. His disillusionment with the American justice system grew, and his feelings of inadequacy and betrayal were only compounded by his disappointment with himself.
Y'see, Agent Smecker was a flaming fag, and he hated himself for it.
It wasn't as if there weren't other homosexuals in the Bureau. There were.plenty of 'em too, but that made no difference to Smecker. Along with his inimitable sense of justice he'd sucked general intolerance and homophobia down with his mother's milk.
It was a desperate, haunting way to live, but Smecker played the avoidance game so well that it became a habit. He sought out and cast off lovers with fierce aggressiveness, later immersing himself in his work because, at the end of the day, it was the only thing that really mattered.
But with legal loopholes kicking him in the balls at every turn things were starting to get a little pear shaped, to say the least. Around the time Smecker came into contact with the McManus brothers his work was starting to not be enough anymore. He began focusing on his private life or lack thereof, and what he saw just made him head to a bar for a series of drinks.
His life basically sucked huge hairy donkey balls, and he didn't really want to take the steps needed to fix it. So he fell back on his old standby, work, and fuck all if it didn't come through!
The McManus brothers were a godsend. If Smecker actually believed in God he'd have said a dozen rosaries and blown a priest in gratitude, but he consoled himself by doing what came easiest.the only natural gift that he accepted.
He chose to help these crazy fucks in their insane mission, to arrange things so that justice was served, no matter what the cost, no matter if it seemed they were going too far.
At the very least, it was an honest distraction.
~fin~
"I didn't come here for slalvation," he slurred drunkenly to the priest, but in a way he had. Agent Paul Smecker was a single-minded man, an honest man, but he was torn in every other way that counted.
From an early age he had been keenly aware of right and wrong. This overdeveloped sense of justice led him to the FBI directly after college where he was almost immediately placed within the Organized Crime Task Force. He climbed through the ranks swiftly, despite his comparative oddness and severely lacking social skills. After all, tact wasn't exactly an asset when dealing with criminals.
At first it was everything he had dreamed. He was getting a chance to put the worst kind of crooks behind bars forever. He was making a difference and it felt good. But as the years melted into each other Paul became increasingly disillusioned with his job, with himself. It seemed like every single bust he made went sour.every single scum-sucking asshole he yanked off the street never made it to the slam. They'd saunter out of courtrooms with a bounce in their steps and a hearty 'fuck you' to justice in their grins.
It made Agent Smecker want to puke his guts out; his tact level, if possible, slipped another notch. His disillusionment with the American justice system grew, and his feelings of inadequacy and betrayal were only compounded by his disappointment with himself.
Y'see, Agent Smecker was a flaming fag, and he hated himself for it.
It wasn't as if there weren't other homosexuals in the Bureau. There were.plenty of 'em too, but that made no difference to Smecker. Along with his inimitable sense of justice he'd sucked general intolerance and homophobia down with his mother's milk.
It was a desperate, haunting way to live, but Smecker played the avoidance game so well that it became a habit. He sought out and cast off lovers with fierce aggressiveness, later immersing himself in his work because, at the end of the day, it was the only thing that really mattered.
But with legal loopholes kicking him in the balls at every turn things were starting to get a little pear shaped, to say the least. Around the time Smecker came into contact with the McManus brothers his work was starting to not be enough anymore. He began focusing on his private life or lack thereof, and what he saw just made him head to a bar for a series of drinks.
His life basically sucked huge hairy donkey balls, and he didn't really want to take the steps needed to fix it. So he fell back on his old standby, work, and fuck all if it didn't come through!
The McManus brothers were a godsend. If Smecker actually believed in God he'd have said a dozen rosaries and blown a priest in gratitude, but he consoled himself by doing what came easiest.the only natural gift that he accepted.
He chose to help these crazy fucks in their insane mission, to arrange things so that justice was served, no matter what the cost, no matter if it seemed they were going too far.
At the very least, it was an honest distraction.
~fin~
