Whisper to a Scream

By: Beccatdemon13

©2010

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone except for Allison Riona MacManus as well as anyone you don't immediately recognize. Please don't sue. You'd only be getting a hell of a lot of textbooks. What? Don't look at me like that College isn't a paying gig you know. But god I wish it was. Beccatdemon13 now will go off to fantasize about the lack of tuition payments that being paid would bring. Oh, right, the story! On we go…

Synopsis: She didn't know which was louder, her pounding heart or the deafening echoes of boots following after her. Allison MacManus wouldn't regret the decisions leading up to this moment, however, because every Saint needs a guardian angel.

Author's Note: This will mostly follow events of the show. As always character concepts are posted on my profile. Some of the chapter titles will be in either Latin or Irish Gaelic. The English translations will be directly under it or beside it if it's in conversation so you don't have to scroll to figure out what every one is saying. I'm coming clean right now by saying the only languages I know fluently are German and English so if I use French, Irish Gaelic, Latin, or Spanish they'll be taken from translation sites. I am also lacking in knowledge about the Roman Catholic Church. If I make any horrendous, errors please tell me. Another thing is that Connor and Murphy are 25 years old. Assume spoilers for both movies as well.

Chapter One: The Saints and the Sinner

It was a good thing my nickname was Trioblóid, trouble; otherwise I would wonder why it always found me no matter where I happened to be. After twenty-five years, you'd think I would be use to things going sideways but I was still surprised every single time it happened.

Though nothing was more surprising then waking up in a hospital bed. I was connected to a half dozen wires and had no idea how I had gotten there. I got up noticing that the area between my legs ached, as did my stomach and my neck. I frowned as I noticed that my arm forearms were wrapped in gauze. I pitched some wires off of me and pulled my IV out. I swung my legs off the bed and stood awkwardly to my feet, teetering for balance for an instant. Once I had regained my balance, I walked to the end of the bed and pulled out the chart.

There were a few reports pinned to the clipboard. Most of them talked about the contusions and lacerations wrapped around my wrists, my side, and the side of my neck. Well, that explained the white bandages that stood out against my already pale skin.

My eyes then roamed the rest of the chart and I found what they had been calling me. Doe, Jane. I snorted at that figurin that I had no other means of identification because my name was Allison MacManus, not Jane Doe.

"What are you doing out of bed?" A nurse gasped.

I turned on my heel with the chart still in my hand, feeling bad for the poor woman who was just trying to make her rounds.

"Sorry fer startlin' ye," I replied. "I wanted ta find out wot was wrong wit' me."

My Irish brogue obviously started the woman who reminded me suddenly of my Ma. I grinned at the woman's confusion as she stared at me. As the nurse continued to look at me, I wondered how long I had been in this hospital. If it had been more than forty-eight hours, Ma was probably going out of her mind with worry. After my brothers had gone to the States nearly ten years ago, she had been keeping close tabs on them and me too. I talked to her every week without fail.

"What's your name?" The nurse asked.

"Oh, I'm Allison MacManus," I answered. "Pleased ta meet ya."

"Honey, you still be in bed," The nurse chided. "Did you take all of this off of you?"

"Guilty," I responded.

I took the older women's advice and sat back on my bed. "Wot happened ta me?"

"You were found beaten in an alley not far from here," The nurse explained.

"Was I raped?" I asked.

"Yes," The nurse whispered placing her hand on mine. "I'm so sorry."

"Why don' I remember anythin'?" I whimpered.

"It might be better if you don't remember," The nurse said. "You were in a right state when you first got here."

"How long 'ave I been 'ere?" I demanded.

"A little over a week," The nurse stated.

"Holy shite," I mumbled. "Am I okay?"

"Well physically you're healed but there can still be psychological ramifications as result of your ordeal," the nurse explained.

"I'll be fine," I disagreed. "I'd like discharge papers and a phone, please."

The nurse frowned at me but said nothing as she walked out of the room to draw up the papers I wanted. I grabbed the phone that was in the room and quickly dialed my childhood home's number. It rang twice before it picked up.

"Ally, is dat ye?" Ma demanded over the line.

"Aye, Ma," I replied.

"Wot tha 'ell's the matta wit' ye?" Ma growled. "Ye're supposed ta be the one dat gives me peace."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I was in the hospital"

"Wot?" Ma snapped. "Wot happened?"

"I don' really remember," I frowned. "I woke up a half hour ago." At Ma's sharp intake of breath, I forged on. "But, I'm alright, Ma. I'm being discharged right now. I just wanted to let ya know wot was goin on."

"Are ye sure ye're alright?" Ma asked.

"Yes, Ma," I said.

"Promise me, Ally," Ma prompted.

"I promise," I said.

"Good, now ye should go get some rest and call me soon," Ma ordered.

"Yes, Ma," I nodded.

The phone line disconnected and I smiled at the phone before I placed it on the cradle. I moved around the room and found the clothes that I had been wearing that day. I quickly changed, signed the papers and left the hospital. I realized that I had been taken to the hospital that was only a few blocks away from my apartment. I slid inside, thankful that I still had my keys and wallet. Although, there was still no ID in sight.

I quickly locked the door behind me before I slid down onto my couch. A few weeks ago, my life had been going exactly how I had planned it but now I wasn't so sure. There was a whole week o my life that I had no memory of and I really didn't like that. I use to think that I would happy being a translator for the British parliament but now I wasn't so sure. Part of me thought that if I had gone with my brother's to the States then none of this would've ever happened. Because for as much trouble as I got into when I was little, they were always there the second things went physical.

As I said previously my name's Allison MacManus and I am technically the youngest child of Annabelle and Noah MacManus. I was a triplet sharing the womb with my brothers Connor and Murphy. It was a fact that my mother never ceased to complain about saying how we three ruined her girlish figure and sucked her dry in one fail swoop. At least that was the only thing my mother ever came clean about.

Growing up we were in a near constant argument of who was older than whom. We would yell at each other until things finally went physical. We had started fighting about it when we were six and it wasn't until Sixth Form where Ma finally said something. I guess we were shouting to much about it because Ma finally shouted from the kitchen, "The one wit' the bigger cock came out ferst! Now shut yer traps."

Connor always seemed to be the oldest because while both he and Murphy had raised hell at nearly every opportunity, he was the first to be serious and give orders. Connor also was more reserved in his emotions, more in control, compared to Murph at least. When I had voiced that statement I was told to mind my own business. I think Connor and Murphy just wanted to argue about who was older, though, it was very clear that I had come out last. It was something that could get very irksome if one o' them were in a particular bossy mood. Although, I handle my own in most circumstances. Just because Conn and Murph were protective didn't mean they couldn't beat the crap out of me. It was only when someone else tried that they flipped out.

The three of us had similar features the most prominent were our sapphire blue eyes. We also had the same square facial structure. Of course, they looked slightly different facial wise just based on gender but our chins were the same. Murphy and I had a silky black mane while Connor had dirty blonde hair. Murphy and Connor were both five foot eleven, while I was five foot four. That was another cause to most of our bickering growing up. Looking back, I was surprised that our mother didn't kill us. Annabelle MacManus was known for many things but being patient wasn't one of them.

For the past seven years, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life and now I just wasn't so sure. Ma had insisted that my brothers and I were cultured, making us learn multiple languages. Those languages were Russian, Italian, Spanish, French, German, and Irish Gaelic. As close as Murphy, Conn, and I were, we hadn't seen one another in two years. They had wanted to go to America, for something new while I wanted to go to University to become a translator. It was a career path that made the most sense since my multilingual background. The fact that we knew so many languages made it very easy to keep things private with one another anywhere without fear of being overheard. Ma had also made the three of us go through sixth forms, which was necessary for university but other than that it was optional.

I graduated from Trinity College in Dublin when I was twenty-three with a Bachelor's and Master's degree in Linguistics. The last time I saw my brothers and nearly the rest of our fairly large family with all our Aunts, Uncles, and cousins was at my college graduation. After graduating with honors, I found a job in Liverpool, England working within the parliamentary system as a translator. Sometimes I had to go to London but my primary job was in Liverpool, which I liked since I was only six hours from home (ferry included).

My brothers and I had always been close and it took a little getting use to. I had been use to having them around no matter where I was or if I were with non-mutual friends. Still, the fact that I hadn't really talked to them since I saw them last hurt more than I wanted to admit. Ma was the one who gave me updates on what they were doing. She had said that she constantly ripped into them, especially on St. Patrick's Day. That was why I loved my Ma, she always managed to prank them and it was hilarious.

Whenever I needed guidance in my life, there was one place that had always helped me. As corny as it sounded whenever I needed help I turned to my church. It helped that my Uncle Sibeal, the only tie to my father that I had since the man had ditched us when the three of us were only babies, was a priest. I think even if Uncle Sibeal wasn't a priest, the family would still be religious as we always were.

It was also a testament to how small my hometown of Monaghan, Ireland was. The houses were spread everywhere, though it was an easy walk to the town center where a few restaurants and a pub or two. My Uncle Sibeal managed to not only be a priest but also be the owner of a pub called, The Anvil.

Sundays and holidays when I was growing up consisted of going to church and then going to The Anvil for brunch. It was one of the few times that the entire family got together. We all went to church and then walked to the Anvil together. There was always a lot of laughing and arguing and drinking.

Though I was six hours away, there was still a church I could go to pray until I felt grounded again. I was glad that whatever happened to me; the person who did it left my rosary in tact. It was brown wooden beads, interspersed with silver accents and a wooden cross. My brothers had identical ones and the three of us wore them whenever we went out. As long as I had my rosary, I still had that connection to my family and it was at that moment when I realized that I needed that connection the most.

Three Months Later

There was just something that made South Boston, Massachusetts feel like home. Maybe it was because South Boston, or Southie, as it was better known to most of its inhabitants was filled with workin class Irish-Americans. Or people straight from Ireland. I had been here for a little over four hours and constantly saw similarities between Southie and home. Although, things seemed to happen much more quickly here then in Ireland's countryside. I liked it, though. It reminded me so much the bustling city life of Liverpool while having the little quirks I had come to associate with home.

After I told Ma that I couldn't be in Liverpool, anymore she had told me to go to the States. She made it sound so simple, telling me that she never really expected Murph, Conn, and I to be separated for as long as we had been. I tried to carry on with my every day routine but I found even when I was at work, I couldn't stop thinking about what happened. I still didn't remember and that was the most frustrating.

I couldn't remember and I still had reminders about that night. The were two deep scars that wrapped around my wrist. The doctor had told me that it was probably as a result of the person tying me up and me fighting. I filed his words away, at time I was just focused on getting out of the hospital. There was also the scar at the base of my neck, red and angry against my pale skin. There was also the one on my side, but that was easily hidden.

The reminders were mocking but the nightmares were worse. I use to have nightmares when I was a kid but these were worse. They left me awake and sobbing for hours, unwilling to try to sleep again. So, I did what I had always done when I couldn't cope with something I ran to Connor and Murphy. Sure, I was twenty-five years old but those instincts were so ingrained. The flight was long and it left me exhausted as I wandered all around Southie looking for my brother's best friend's place.

When Connor and Murphy had come to the States, they had taken their best friend Donovan McCallister with them. Donovan, otherwise known as Van was someone we had grown up with. He had been a damn near constant stable in our house that Ma joked about getting another bed just for him. Van was our age, though he towered over the three of us at six foot three. He had kind brown eyes and messy brown hair.

Unlike my brothers, Van had come to the States knowing what he was going to do. When we were kids one of his Uncles had moved abroad and opened up a pub in the heart of Southie. When his Uncle Declan grew too old, he had let Van take over. That led to the boys having an instant roof over their heads since Declan had owned the entire building, which had a fully furnished apartment above the bar.

I knew my brothers didn't work with Van at the bar but other than that I didn't know what they did. Ma hadn't known either and I knew that bothered her. I had packed up everything I owned that was important into two suitcases and a left Europe and nearly everything I knew behind.

I bit my lip as I wandered around Southie with fairly large suitcases, where the hell was this pub? Just when I was about to give up and call it a day I saw the brightly lit sign of the bar. It was called The Office and it looked like a fairly decent place. Shouldering my backpack further up on my shoulders and griping my suitcase tighter, I walked across the street and into the bar.

I pushed through the door and walked into the open space. Music and alcohol was flowing and people seemed to be having a goo time. I walked closer to where the person behind the counter was standing. She was about my height was blonde hair and hazel eyes.

"How can I help you?" She asked the moment I got closer.

"I'm lookin fer Donovan McCallister?" I explained.

"He's out with friends," She replied somewhat suspiciously. "There something I could help you with?"

"I just need ta see 'im," I sighed. "I can wait."

"We're closing soon," The girl shrugged. "Sorry sweetheart."

"Me and 'im are old friends," I tried again, attempting to sound friendly.

"He should be back soon," The girl said. "My name's Darcy. Anything I can get you?"

"Guinness?" I grinned.

"Here ya go," Darcy exclaimed placing the beer in front of me. "What's your name, new girl?"

"Oh, excuse me," I flushed. "My name's Allison."

"You're the Allison that Van always talking about," Darcy smiled.

"Now dat jus' sounds foreboding," I snickered.

Darcy laughed long and loud at that, shaking her head and smiling at me. I talked to her and took in my surroundings for about another two hours before people began clearing out. I yawned and stretched as I hopped off my stool.

"Need help?" I offered.

"That would be nice," Darcy nodded.

I went off and gathered all the glasses strewn on the other tables and deposited them in the back room. We straightened up the floor and the rest of the bar. When we were nearly done cleaning the door opened again as the three loud voices filled the air. Darcy stopped what she was doing and announced, "You have a visitor, Van,"

"Oh, do I?" Van laughed. "And who pray tell would dat be."

"I think you guys lived in Ireland together," Darcy laughed. "She's got the same accent you do."

"Did ya say 'she'?" Van questioned.

"Aye," I answered for her coming out of the backroom with a dishrag. "Do ya need yer hearin' checked me boy?"

"Ally?" Van gasped. "I can' believe it."

Before I could respond Van had closed the distance between us hugged me close, pulling me off the ground. I squeaked in surprise before laughing loudly. When he placed me back on my feet, he smiled widely.

"Ye're 'ere fer good?" Van questioned.

"Aye," I nodded. "And I need a job."

"I don' know," Van teased. "Dee, ya think ya can take on a new recruit?"

"Of course," Darcy said. "I like her. Are you related to Murphy and Connor?"

"She's their sister," Van answered for me. "Their twin, actually."

"I didn't know they were triplets," Darcy mused.

"Aye, me poor mother, 'aving ta raise we three on 'er own," I laughed. "Where are me bro'ther's anyway? I heard 'em."

"Hang on," Van responded.

He walked back out from where he had came, revealing that there was a stairway in addition to the entrance of the bar. "Murph! Conn! Get down 'ere."

I smiled as I slid back on a stool, accepting another beer. I reached into my pockets grabbing a pack of cigarettes and my lighter. I pulled one out and lit it, taking a drag as I heard the sound of feet on the stairs before the three of them were behind me.

"Wot is it?" Connor asked.

"Who is dat?" Murphy questioned

I glanced at Darcy who was watching the scene with interest as I smiled and raised my eyebrow. Of course, Murph and Conn still managed to question things as a team with that same harmonious thing that they had mastered since we were toddlers. I drank a gulp of beer before spinning on my stool and leaning back against the counter. For the first few for moments, none of us said a word until Murphy grabbed me into a fierce embrace. I hugged him back melting into the hug.

"I've missed ye, Ally," Murphy whispered.

"I've missed ye too, Murph," I replied.

I pulled away only to be pulled into Connor's side. His chin rested on the top of my head as he hugged me tightly.

"I've missed ye, too, Conn," I sighed.

"Me too," Connor replied pulling away only to smack me upside the head causing me to see a flash of light for a second.

"Ow!" I squeaked shoving him backwards as I rubbed the injured spot. "Wot the 'ell is the matta wit ye?"

Connor raised his eyebrow as he grabbed my forearm and jerked me to him. Before I could even retaliate to being manhandled, Connor had raised my arm to both his and Murphy's gaze. When I moved to use my other hand to push him backwards, he grabbed the other arm and saw the same thing on the other wrist.

"Wot the 'ell is dat?" Murphy demanded, taking my arm and moving it closer. "Who did this?"

"I don' know," I confessed, avoiding both his and Connor's gaze. Knowing before I even said it that it wouldn't sit well with them.

"'Ow could ye not know?" Connor growled.

"When ye find out would ya let me know?" I scoffed. "Cause dat's something I've been asking meself for months."

"Months?" Murphy repeated.

"Aye," I nodded.

"Is dat why Ma was in a right state when she called four months ago?" Connor questioned. "Don' ye remember, Murph? Ma said dat she hadn' 'eard from Ally in a week."

Both Connor and Murphy turned to me, obviously looking for an explanation and I nearly smacked myself for not thinking about what their reaction would be to all this. I had come to Boston to escape what happened, which meant the last thing I wanted was to be grilled about something I couldn't even remember. Though they wouldn't leave it alone until I gave them the answers, they sought.

"Wot happened?" Murphy prompted.

"I don' remember," I mumbled. "I woke up in tha hospital."

"Wot did they say happened?" Connor asked.

"Van?" I called ignoring Connor's question and the glare that came from my dismissal.

"Aye?" Van responded turning from his conversation with Darcy.

"Ye got a place fer me ta crash?" I asked. "I'm knackered."

"O' course I do," Van shook his head. "Come on, Draoidín."

"I'm not short," I muttered, smiling as Van grabbed my suitcases for me as I picked up my backpack. He led me out of the bar and up the stairs. He unlocked the front door and led me around showing me the decent kitchen, two bathrooms, a sizable living room and three bedrooms. I smiled at the fact that after all this time Murph and Conn still slept in the same room. Old habits truly did die-hard.

"'Ere ye are, m'dear," Van said leading me into the last bedroom.

"Thank ye," I smiled.

"Hey, yer Ma let me stay in yer house fer nearly eighteen years," Van chided. "It's about time I returned tha favor and houses ye three."

I hugged him tightly smiling as his hands wrapped around my waist. Since I had found them nearly three hours ago, I felt safer than I had in years. Van placed my luggage down on the floor before he said goodnight. I slid my backpack off as I looked around the room. The walls were beige and the floor was wooden. It actually felt a lot like a dorm room, only instead of the puny little twin beds that we were made to sleep in, there was a queen-sized bed already made.

I collapsed boneless down on the mattress, sighing contently. I slid off my jeans before crawling under the covers, falling asleep within seconds.

Van's Point of View

When I was woken up suddenly in the middle of the night I was confused. I glanced over at the clock and groaned. It was only three in the morning. Before I could even think about what had woken me up, I heard Ally screaming. My heart lunged into my throat as I rushed from my bed and into the hallway. I nearly collided with Murphy who was two steps behind Connor. The three of us were staring at each other questioningly, each asking the other if Ally had nightmares like this before. I remember a few times where she had a nightmare and was upset about whatever she dreamed about, but those were nothing like this.

"Nein (No)!" Ally howled. "Helfen Sie mir! (Help me!) No! Oh, god. Please, no, don' do it. Please! Na dean sin! (Don't do that!) Let me go."

For some reason completely unbeknownst to me was that out of all the languages the triplets had learned she leaned towards German and Gaelic more than the other languages, they had been forced to learn

"Ally," Murphy whispered.

Conn and Murph exchanged glances before moving quickly into Ally's room and turning on the light. I walked after them and leaned against the threshold as I watched Murphy and Connor attempted to wake her up and calm her down. She was fighting just as hard as ever, her panicked struggles kicking up a notch when Connor grabbed a hold of her wrists to keep her from hurting herself. When Connor had grabbed her, breathing became more panicked and shallow. If they didn't wake her up soon, she could have an asthma attack.

Murphy moved around the bed, sliding in behind her as he wrapped his arms around her waist, the two of them talking to her in various languages, though it was always the same thing. I wondered if it was Annabelle's intention when she made them learn so many languages that they would use it to calm one another down whenever something happened.

"Shhh," Connor whispered. "Listen ta Connor now. Ye're okay. We're 'ere, Ally. Everythin' is okay."

"Ye're big brothers are 'ere," Murphy soothed, smoothing his hand through her hair. "Tis jus' a dream. No one can hurt ya now."

"And no one ever will," Connor vowed. "Not when we're around."

They continued in that vein until Ally's cries tapered off and her breathing slowed. Just when I thought everything was okay again, her eyes flew open and she began struggling again. The remnants of the nightmare were obviously tainting her perception of reality.

"Allison!" Connor called. "Ye're all right. Everything's okay."

"Connor?" Ally questioned.

Her eyes closed once more before they opened again and looked at both Connor and Murphy. While Murphy, Conn, and Ally had already been reunited, they had quickly begun arguing. But, this wasn't the time for fightin'. Still I was shocked when Ally burst into tears twisting out of Murphy's grip and throwing herself into Connor's chest, sobbing inconsolably. Conn was the first to react, wrapping his arms around Ally's shaking form and holding her close. The three of us shared a look: whatever had happened in England it wasn't good. I tried to remember the last time I saw Ally cry and realized that it had to be when she had a panic or asthma attack. Other than that she normally never cried.

"I'm sorry," Ally whimpered, "so sorry."

"We'll talk about it later," Connor responded. "Ye think ye can get more sleep?"

"Nay," Ally shook her head.

"Jus try to," Murphy cajoled.

"No," Ally pleaded. "I just…I can't."

"It's t'ree in the morning," Connor stated.

"Then I'm a little jetlagged," Ally shrugged. "There is a five hour time difference."

I don't know if she missed the disapproving looks Connor and Murphy threw at her or if she chose to ignore it. Instead, she got up mumbling something about taking a shower. Once the bathroom door closed we al turned to one another and shrugged simultaneously.

Ally's Point of View

After a nice hot shower, I walked back out into the hallway noticing that the boys had fallen asleep. I opened up one of my suitcases sliding into a pair of jeans and a black tank top. I ran a brush through my drying locks as I padded down to where the bar was. I grinned feeling a sense of calm. The bar reminded me so much of the Anvil that I found myself looking for the cot that Uncle Sibeal always kept in the backroom, or the dart board that was so messed up from people using throwing knives more than darts.

I had learned how to throw knifes on that very dartboard. My brothers and uncles insisted on it after they had learned that I'd be going to a city University. As a graduation gift, I got a set of twelve silver knives. After what had happened I had been, carrying at least four of them on my person at all times. I wasn't about to let myself be in that situation again.

I wandered around the bar becoming accustomed to the pub. I saw that Van had a sawn off shotgun on the shelf right in the middle of the bar. There was also another gun under the register. The bar was fully stocked with anything and everything and I found myself grinning again. This was like the McCallister-American version of The Anvil.

"Ye're definitely Irish through and through, lass," Van shook his head. "I don' think I've seen someone smile this much just looking around tha place."

"Feels like tha Anvil," I shrugged. "Like 'ome."

"We all might as well 'ave grown up there," Van smirked. "So, wot do ye say? Wanna be a bar wench, again? Embrace tha American dream?"

"Ye're such a eejiit," I laughed.

"Now is dat anyway ta talk to yer boss?" Van teased. "Fer shame, Ally."

"I fergot 'ow delusional ye are," I responded.

Van didn't say anything else as he walked into the back room and came out with a pot of coffee. He poured us both a cup before setting the pot down. It was about two hours later before Murphy and Connor joined us down stairs.

"I can' believe ye two are fuckin' butchers," I rolled my eyes as Connor poured him and Murphy a cup of coffee as they both lit cigarettes.

"We take wot we can get," Connor responded. "Wot are ye gonna do?"

"Bartend," I smirked.

Connor and Murphy had to go to work soon but the four of us hung out until they had finished their coffee. We caught one another up while we were separated. Although, I left out sizable chunks about what happened. The worst part was, they knew I was leaving things out. Luckily neither Connor nor Murphy nor Van called me on it. I knew I couldn't avoid it forever but I was content with avoiding it now.

One Month Later

Once Van was sure I was in the swing of things, I was able to be left alone in the bar when he went out. Of course, Darcy was normally there and the two of us were becoming fast friends. Van had slipped out two hours ago to meet my brother's for drinks at McGinty's, a bar that Van, Connor, and Murphy frequented, leaving Darcy and I to run things and for the most part things were going as well as they normally did. I served drinks, people got wasted, and I was flirted with. If I flirted back, I normally got a good tip. It was a system that I had been growing increasingly more comfortable with.

"'Ow ya doin', Darce?" I asked as the petite blonde woman as she ran by me to serve a customer.

"Everything's good," Darcy replied coming to stand by me. "How are you so fast with everything here?"

"Once ye work in an Irish pub, ye learn to be quick," I answered. "Lest ya get an angry customer who wants 'is beer now."

"Sounds fun," Darcy laughed.

"Aye," I agreed. "Luckily, whenever I was workin' me cousins and brothers were neva far away durin me shifts. They made sure dat tha lot o' 'em minded their manners."

"Were you the only girl or what?" Darcy pondered.

"Nay," I shook my head. "I had two other female cousins. The rest, unfortunately are guys."

"Your family sounds really big," Darcy mused.

"Ye didn' come from a big family?" I asked.

"Nope, only me and my two brothers and my parents," Darcy sighed. "The rest of my family's on the other side of the country."

"Dat must be difficult fer ye," I mumbled.

Before Darcy could respond the front door was thrown open with an audible crack the music and easy going conversations stopped as all heads swiveled to look at the new person.

Tonight, as it would seem, was just not my night. For the past three weeks the Russian mob had been trying to kick businesses out of locations that they wanted so they could build high rises or whatever they wanted to do. Ivan Checkov was a bear of a man both burly and husky towering and outweighing me with ease. His baldhead glowed like a beacon in the low lighting as he leveled me with a look. Ivan had become a thorn in my side for the past few weeks constantly hassling Van, Darcy or I or any of the other bartenders. Despite the fact that Van had another year on his lease. I didn't like being hassled so frequently and I was quickly reaching my patience level. Religious and raised properly though I might be I still had the MacManus Irish temper and that won out the majority of the time.

"You vill be closing now!" Ivan Checkov barked.

Most customers looked at me waiting for me to nod my head before most skittered out the door leaving only our regular and very loyal customers behind. They all hung back knowing that if I needed them I'd say something. Checkov struck me as the kind of person who was use to people scrambling to obey orders. He was thrown for a loop the first time he encountered Van and I. If I wasn't scared by the MacManus temper, which was plenty terrifying, I wasn't about to be cowed by this man, regardless of how big he was.

"I'm not in the mood for your games," Ivan warned. "You vill shut down your business today."

"Yeh've been comin' 'ere every fuckin' day fer tha past week and I'll tell ye again," I snarled. "Piss off."

"I've been patient with you," Ivan hissed. "But, enough's enough. I will hit you."

I smiled widely at that. If he thought that violence would have me doing what he wanted then he hadn't learned all that much in the past week. My fingers curled around the sawn off shotgun that Van had stashed back here for just these occasions. My smile became mocking as my fingers wrapped easily around the hilt, the tip of my index finger resting on the trigger. Growing up in the countryside it had been common for everyone to know their way around a gun and a knife. Who knew those habits would be coming in handy now?

"Go hifreann leat!" I retorted. To hell with you!

While Ivan had no idea know what I said, he knew by my tone it was far from friendly. Before he could make a grab at me, I raised the shotgun and stuck it in his face, cocking it as I laughed, daring him to make a move. This scene had played out nearly every time he had come to shut us down; Ivan knew that I would pull the trigger. The last time he was here, I had actually shot the gun. I made the shot go into one of the walls but it proved that I wasn't bluffing. With one last malicious look, he stormed away. Even as the door swung shut behind the irate Russian I didn't relax, instead I handed the shotgun to Darcy, who still looked a little shell-shocked as I grabbed one of my knives.

When the door flew open nearly two minutes later, I reacted instantly as Darcy lifted the gun. The knife flipped end over end before it imbedded itself in the threshold of the entrance, where Van was walking through. He stopped staring at the two of us wide-eyed as he turned to look at the knife that was still shaking in the wood.

"Jaysus Christ," Van gaped. "Wot tha 'ell happened?'

"Tha fuckin Russian Mob is beginnin ta fuckin' piss me off," I responded hopping over the bar to rip my knife out of the wood, putting it back where the other three were. "Ivan Checkov came by again."

"Ye're supposed ta call me if dat fat fuck came by again," Van reproached. "Did ye shoot tha wall again?"

"Nay," I replied. "I only did dat one time ta show him dat I wasn' bluffin'."

"Dat was tha only way ye could demonstrate dat ye weren't bluffin'?" Van laughed.

"Ferst thing dat came ta mind," I smirked.

"O'course it was," Van rolled his eyes. "Somehow dat really doesn' surprise me, MacManus."

"Shut it, McCallister," I grinned.

"Yes, ma'am," Van teased. "Why don' you ladies shut it down fer the night? We've had enough action fer one day, don'tcha think?"

"I agree," Darcy nodded.

"Crash here, tonight, Darce," Van ordered "I don' want ya walkin around wit dat fuckin fatass gunning after tha lot o' us."

"Ye think Ivan would hurt 'er?" I questioned.

"Aye," Van stated. "And, don't ferget we're closed tomorrow."

"Ye're closin' the bar fer St. Paddy's day?" I asked. "Why would ye do that?"

"'Cause it's tradition that yer bro'thers and I go to McGinty's to celebrate," Van shrugged. "And Doc gets more business that way."

I smiled at his explanation; Collin 'Doc' McGinty was the owner and namesake of McGinty's pub. The old man was a figure of the neighborhood and always greeted people with a smile. Doc had white hair and blue eyes and had gotten the nickname of Doc from his days as a field medic in the army. Doc also had Tourette's syndrome and tended to mix up proverbs. But, he was one of our little rag tag family so we protected him against anyone who might make fun of him and mean what they say.

"Ye better be up fer Church," I said as I made my way to the stairs with Darcy at my heels.

"Ye MacManus's and Church," Van muttered. "My family ain't as religious as yers. So ye three get up and go, I'll sleep in."

"Lazy arse," I laughed.