Author's Notation: Hi. Um, I'm kind of new here. Uh, this is just the first part of a longer story, and I kind of wanted to know what people think. Please let me know.

Disclaimer: I wish I'd written the script for the Boondock Saints. Other than that, the new characters are mine and the really sad dialogue is mine as well.

A New Kind of Saint

Chapter One: The Next Morning

"Murph, a word?"

Murphy McManus glanced up from his rugged leather boots. His twin brother, Connor, was standing in the doorway to their shared bedroom, rubbing a hand in his hair absent-mindedly. Murphy exhaled a cloud of smoke that momentarily covered the cross on his right arm as it wafted slowly towards his brother.

"Stop fecking with it, Con," he said, getting to his feet as he searched for his shirt. Connor glared lightly at his brother. "You cut it too short, Murph. I look like I'm going to join the fecking army," he said, scrubbing at his spiking hair in an attempt to make it grow faster.

"Not in this century," Murphy said, flicking his cigarette out the window into the dark early morning Boston air and grabbing a tee shirt. "What was it you were wanting, by the way?" he asked, pulling the shirt over his head. Connor stood straighter, recalling his purpose.

"You're not going to believe this, Murph."

Murphy looked up. "Well, what is it?"

"Come and see for yourself."

Agent Paul Smecker was humiliated.

He eyed the shoulder holster housing his Browning 9mm, hanging innocently enough off the back of his chair. He was overcome with an almost feverish desire to rush over, place the gun in his mouth, and pull the-

"Smecker?"

Smecker shook his head lightly, eyeing the gun warily and stood. "Yes?"

Instead of answering, the door to his luxurious apartment swung open. He knew who it was before they entered; he'd given the Saints the only other key to his apartment, considering his somewhat non-involved love-life and their constant state of danger and occasional need for a hideout.

Connor entered first, bounding like a puppy and bearing that god-awful grin, followed closely by Murphy, whose countenance was a bit less enthused and more confused as he closed the door behind him.

"Connor, Murphy," Paul acknowledged, stumbling a bit as he bowed his head in greeting. Connor snickered. "Still shlossed, are we?" he asked, waving a hand in front of Smecker's face and watching him go cross-eyed as he tried to focus on it. "Explains so much," Connor said conspiratorially to his brother, who still looked lost. "No, not really, it doesn't, Murph. What the fuck are we doing here at…" he glanced at his watch. "…nearly six in the fecking morning?!?"

Connor turned to Smecker, who'd collapsed on his chair yet again. "Shall you tell 'im, or should I?" he asked. Smecker's only response was to bury his face in his hands, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'can't believe I'm supposed to be a fucking FBI agent…'.

Connor smirked. "Our Paul went on a bit of a date last night, didn't you, Paul?"

Smecker groaned, partially under the influence of the Mai Tais from that night, and partially under the weight of his own shame.

Connor continued, seeing Murphy unamused and still curious. "Seems Paul's…date…was more interested in us than him," he said, grinning cheekily. Smecker was beginning to have other thoughts involving his gun…and Connor.

"Connor, just shut up and show him, and then get the hell out of my apartment," Smecker growled, slumping lower into his seat. Connor rocked back on his heels, hands shoved deep inside his black coat. "Well, shall we?" he asked his brother. Murphy shrugged. "Why not?"

Connor led his brother past the semi-conscious form of Smecker and back into his bedroom. He paused at the door as a loud thump followed by a muffled "shit!" resounded from within. He grasped the handle carefully and pulled. It was dark inside. The lights had been on when Connor had left to get Murphy.

Hand going inside his coat, Connor turned his head slightly to Murphy. "Something's not-", but that was as far as he got, because at that moment he was tackled to the ground by a dark figure.

Murphy, showing an unusual show of sensibility, felt the wall beside him and flicked on the lights. The sight which met him confused him for about twenty seconds before he let out an amused chuckle.