"Hey Stripes, come have a beer!"

One of Doc's only two barmaids raised her head and smiled at Murphy but just silently shook her head. She continued carrying the three mugs per hand as she waltzed through the crowd, fighting to get to the back booth. Doc smiled from where he stood in front of the boys behind the bar. "When you g-g-g-g-g-gonna stop flirtin' with her, M-M-M-Murph? Fuck! Ass!"

The young man laughed with exasperation, "When she fuckin' speaks! I can't think of any other fuckin' way to get her to talk except either flatter her or piss her off."

Connor nodded beside him, "Aye. That's because your brain's fuckin' tiny."

"Better than something else being fuckin' tiny," Murphy retorted, smirking into his Guinness.

Doc just shook his head. His new barkeeper was a mystery that his patrons—especially the McManuses—were determined to unravel. She'd shown up about a month previously. She came over to South Boston from the university, looking for somebody to teach her Gaelic. Since there wasn't much in the south side but bars and row houses, she'd started at the bars. She was such a shy thing; he still wondered how she'd done it. McGinty's had been her tenth stop and she was about ready to give up when Doc had nodded to her question: "Please, dear Christ above please, tell me you know someone who can teach me Gaelic!"

It had been such an odd exclamation in the naturally quiet voice she had. She had a shy person's voice: soft, higher, and slightly hoarse from little use.

Despite his Tourette's, Doc was fluent in Gaelic, having lived on the Emerald Isle for the first forty years of his life. She'd practically dropped to her knees and begged him to teach her. She was a history major working into the first year of her master's degree, with a specialty in the British Isles, namely Ireland. Her final paper of the semester was about some medieval text some monk had written. She had to date it or decide its purpose, something of that sort. Her problem was it was completely in Gaelic instead of the traditional Latin. She didn't know noun from verb or dieresis from accent mark when it came to the language. She was desperate for someone to teach her.

Doc had agreed; he didn't know why. Even after his warning about his speech problem, she'd still said yes. "It's no problem to me. I'll just ignore every fuck and ass, no big deal." As it happened, he'd just lost a bartender and she'd found herself unemployed. So, she came in the next afternoon as soon as her classes were done. He gave her Gaelic lessons until five and then she worked until midnight, occasionally later. She didn't know a Guinness from a Hennessey but she was sweet, a hard worker, and intriguing without realizing it.

And not once had he heard her utter a word to anybody during open hours. She gave out her heartwarming smiles easily enough by that time, but no one but him knew as much as her name. He wasn't sure why. She was a shy thing maybe that was why.

He remembered wondering her first night if she'd be able to hack it. She had gingerly shaken his other barmaid's hand, saying in that quiet voice that it was nice to meet her. However, from that moment on everything had gone downhill for her. As soon as the groups of men began wandering in, she began getting progressively paler and infinitely more skittish. Her lack of alcoholic knowledge didn't help her flustered movements. She went from booth to booth, unable to speak, having to trust the patrons to automatically give their orders. A good many of the guys had laughed at Doc's new mouse of a barmaid; others had thought her silence all out rude. An Irishwoman was never that quiet; she let you know exactly what she felt and wasn't shy about it at all. This girl was definitely going through culture shock and they weren't sure they liked it.

Connor and Murphy had been the first and only to get a smile out of her that night when both had come behind the bar and demonstrated how to make the most-ordered beverages, bickering with each other the entire time.

Things had gotten much better for her as the nights wore on. Doc still noticed her pale a bit as she had to venture out into the masses of the floor or when confronted with half a dozen drunk Irishmen screaming for drinks and almost leaping over the bar. Nevertheless, she always seemed to enjoy herself.

So, February flew into March and St. Patty's Day was upon them. In the spirit of the season, she had donned a black and green striped scarf. Connor had immediately dubbed her Stripes the last time she wore it and the name stuck after that night. She quickly began to answer to the nickname.

As Doc went off to a corner to talk to some patron he knew but hadn't seen in forever, Stripes took his place at the bar. Before they had a chance to open their mouths, she had two Guinnesses each in front of the McManuses. She giggled at Murphy's awestruck expression. Just because she didn't talk didn't mean she didn't notice things.

An hour or so later, their friend Rocco burst into the bar to loud cheers. She groaned inwardly. He was funny, sure, but he annoyed her to no end. Murphy flirted with her and Connor teased, but it was all in good fun. She figured they wanted to trick her into talking by provoking her enough and just went about it different ways. Rocco genuinely flirted despite apparently having a girlfriend of some sort. She'd caught him staring at everything south of her face an unpleasant amount. It didn't make her feel comfortable in the slightest.

There was something about Irishmen that made a girl not scared to be around them, no matter their blood-alcohol level. Whether it was something ingrained in them or in her, she wasn't sure but she knew that even three sheets to the wind not one of those Irish men would touch her if she made a fuss about it. Apparently Italians were different…

He came in with arms wide open, "Hey Fuck Ass, get me a beer!" He paused as he sat down and noticed that she was at the bar. "Oh, my bad. Hot Ass, get me a beer!"

Her expression grew cold when she slammed his Sam Adams down in front of him, sloshing it into his lap. "Hey!" She gave him an icy smirk before filling up a mug for someone else with a genuine smile. Despite her shyness, her prolonged annoyance of him and exposure to Irishmen was making it easier for her to express that dislike. Connor chuckled from beside Rocco, "I don't think she appreciates yer name for her, Roc. Try Stripes."

"Hey Stripes, pretty please get me a beer!" This time she complied.

"So, Conn, how're your balls doing?" Murphy asked with a grin.

Roars of laughter filled the room as every worker at their packing plant heard. Stripes laughed at Conn's expression but looked confused until Murphy began gesturing with his mug to her, "It was the funniest fuckin' thing ever, Stripes. I'm telling ya." She refilled his mug and leaned against the counter with interest and a smile as he continued, "Ya see there was this new chick at the plant."

Connor snorted and Murphy corrected himself, "All right, I'm not so sure she was fuckin' female either. One of those scary lesbian ones that you ain't sure about. But Conn here, me dear, sweet twin Conn, had to train her. He said somethin' wrong and she fuckin' nails him right in the balls!"

"I was fuckin' civil, too!" Connor shouted, smiling despite himself at Murphy's laughter. "It fuckin' hurt. I don't know if they'll ever be the fuckin' same. Then our evil fuckin' Ma!"

Murphy collapsed into hysterics next to him. Connor shook his head and explained to Stripes, "See, she pulls a prank on us every St. Patty's Day, never fails. Today, just as I'd sat down to ice me nuts, she calls us up sounding drunker than any Irishwoman has a right to be before five o'clock at night yammerin' on about us bringing her misery, and her having nothin' to fuckin' live for. Then she says 'oh, I've got yer Da's revolver and I'm gonna kill meself'! So like any natural son would I start yelling for her to think clear and make some fuckin' sense. The next thing I hear, she's shooting herself. I throw the phone on the floor it's so fuckin' loud and then dive after it. Then she starts cacklin' and bein' all proud of herself. Then, when we attempt to fuckin' get a straight answer out of her about which is the older twin, she gives us the bullshit answer of the one with the bigger cock! Just as I got fuckin' done icing me nuts!"

The crowd laughed but Stripes froze where she was for a second. Then suddenly a smile spread across her face at Connor. She knew what might cheer him and his nuts up a bit. She held up a finger and then took the few steps over to Doc, threw an arm around his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. He glanced back at the McManuses and suddenly smiled, "Sure, s-s-s-s-s-s-s-sweetheart. Be my g-g-g-g-g-g-g-guest. Fuck! Ass!"

She hurried into the back room and in what they could hear, the brothers made out what sounded like a good bit of rummaging. She was looking for a bottle of Jamaican rum she'd bought for Doc a week earlier for his birthday. It'd cost her a fortune but the old man said it was one of his favorites. They heard a scream and then a large thump that worried them. Looking more than slightly tussled, she emerged seconds later carrying a bottle. She dug around under the bar for a moment before pulling up a tumbler. She poured some of the mystery alcohol into the glass and slid it to him, slapping Murphy's hand when he reached for it too. "This might perk them up to their natural size. Happy St. Patty's, Connor."

"Thanks, Stripes," he smiled back.

Before he could even take a drink or realize that she had just spoken, Murphy, Rocco, their boss, and a regular named Jackson all spit their beer out in her direction. She screamed and only just got her eyes closed against the spray. Silence fell over the bar as she took some deep breaths and slowly opened her eyes. Murphy immediately shot up, wiping the beer off her face with his sleeve. "Stripes, I'm so sorry!" He continued on, babbling apologies that ran together until she couldn't understand a word.

She took a step back, as if to collect herself. Before they could react though, she had grabbed a bucket of ice and flung the contents at them, laughing hysterically.

An ice fight ensued that only ended because Doc cut in. He stuttered with laughter this time, "A-a-a-a-all right, now!"

Stripes washed the beer off the best she could before returning to the floor, letting go of her talking but not her smile.

Hours later, when all patrons were gone but a group of maybe six at the bar, Stripes had a broom in hand and was attempting to clean up the disaster area the bar had become. She'd washed all the beer out of her scarf and long black hair, so she felt much better.

"Hey, Stripes, when do I get a happy St. Patty's wish?" Murphy smiled at her and was answered with a poke in the back with the broom handle. He'd been pushing her all night to talk again but she wasn't having it. She grinned mysteriously and continued sweeping. Murph shook his head, "It's not fair, Conn. I'm the one putting the most fuckin' work into making her talk and it's you she talks to."

"That's cuz you're fuckin' annoyin', Murph."

They all laughed and Doc saw Stripes' warm smile, but he sighed. "L-l-l-l-listen, boys. I'm gonna have to close down the b-b-b-b-bar. The Russians are buying up buildings all over town, includin' this one. They're not letting me renew my lease. Fuck! Ass!"

Rocco cut in, "Hey, maybe I can talk to my boss." There was a disbelieving uproar. Nobody believed Rocco's boss could do anything. He sure hadn't done anything for Rocco.

"But-but listen fellas! I don't want anybody to know about this. So you keep your traps shut. Well-well, you know what they say. People in glass houses sink ships."

The guys all laughed and Stripes had to, too. She loved Doc but proverbs and keeping them straight were not his forte.

Rocco snorted, "Doc, I-I gotta buy you a proverb book or something. This mix and match shit's gotta go." Doc looked confused and the others chuckled.

Connor nodded, gesturing with his cigarette, "Yeah, a penny saved is worth two in the bush."

"And don't cross the road if you can't get out of the kitchen," Murphy added to everyone's amusement. Stripes smiled but rolled her eyes before smacking them both across the back of the head.

"Hey!" they protested in unison. She just raised an eyebrow at them as if to say 'you deserved it' before beginning to sweep again.

Suddenly, the door banged open, drawing everyone's attention. Stripes' sweeping slowed and she backed up toward the wall. The look the Russian with the blue coat was giving her made her uncomfortable, especially the way the look went up and down her multiple times. He elbowed the biggest man in the middle and nodded toward her. The big man grinned as he caught sight of her before continuing to the bar. Blue suit man blew a kiss to her before turning to face the bar with his boss. She shrunk back in fear, gripping her broom tighter.

The largest of the three cleared his throat, "I am Ivan Checkov. You will be closing now."

After a tense pause in which all the Irishmen at the bar arose, facing the three Russians, Murphy began with a laugh, "Well, now this here's McCoy. If we find ourselves a Spock we've got an away team."

Everyone but Stripes and the Russians laughed. Ivan in particular looked unhappy, "I am in no mood for discussion. You and you stay!" he shouted, pointing at Doc and Stripes. "The rest of you go now."

After sending a worried glance at Stripes and then an angry one at the Russians, Doc spat out, "You leave the lass the f-f-f-fuck alone. Why don't you make like a tree and get the fuck out of here!"

Everyone groaned as Connor turned, "Calm down, Doc. I'm sure they're reasonable fellows." He and Murphy both grabbed a beer and a shot of whiskey and offered them to the Russians, "Listen, ya know he's got until the end of the week. You don't have to be hard asses, do ya?"

Murphy continued, "Yeah, it's St. Patty's Day. Everybody's Irish tonight. Why don't you pull up a stool and have a drink with us?"

Ivan reached forward and slapped the glasses to the floor, "This is no game! If you do not go, we will make you go."

Connor sighed, "Look, if you're looking for a fight, you can see that you're outnumbered. We're trying ta be civil here so we suggest you take our offer."

"I make the offers here, asshole."

Rocco then staggered forward, making the situation worse, "Hey Boris, what if I told you that your pinko, commie mother sucked so much dick that-" Before he could finish his train of thought, Ivan had punched him in the face, felling the Italian.

Connor turned to the Russian, expression and tone now icy. He said something in what Stripes could only assume was Russian. Murphy followed with just as perfect Russian. She wasn't the only one shocked by the McManus' hidden talent. Ivan was shocked into silence for a moment.

The two brothers looked at each other. With a glance, they came to a silent agreement. Downing the whiskey, they fluidly knelt and punched Ivan in the thighs simultaneously. He was down immediately. The bar broke into chaos with everyone screaming and throwing punches. Murphy took on the Russian in the brown coat. However, before Connor could get to the guy in blue, he'd grabbed Stripes around the neck, using her trembling body as a shield. She didn't know what to do here! The fear in her green eyes froze Connor where he stood.

Murphy soon had the other Russian down with two bottles to either side of his head. That left the rest of the bar tensely quiet. Stripes was sending them looks of terror, silently asking what she should do. Connor stepped warily toward the remaining Russian and Stripes. Her face was beginning to redden with lack of oxygen. The Russian barked and tightened his grip as Connor moved, "I have girl! Back the fuck off!"

"You let her fuckin' go. She's no part of this."

The Russian chuckled, "But she pretty…"

The others watched in horror as his free hand began to slide down her side toward the top of her jeans. Only the brothers saw the fear in Stripes' eyes turn into anger. Before his hand could reach under her shirt, she threw back her head into his nose, effectively breaking it with a sickening crack.

He yelled in pain and pushed her into the cabinet at their side as Connor launched forward, punching him in the face. Stripes connected with the edge and she fell to the ground with a groan as her head throbbed all over.

The next thing she knew, it was quiet once again and both McManuses held out hands to her. She grasped them and found herself painfully upright. She put a hand to her head, feeling the bruise on her eye coming on. They rushed her over to the bar and Doc handed her a bag of ice. She broke away from the hands, holding the bag to her face. She then climbed over the bar and went about pouring herself a drink.

They watched silently as she just grabbed a tumbler and began filling it to the brim with a mixture of every alcohol she could find. To finish it off, she dropped in a wedge of pineapple. She took a gulp followed by a stiff cough and slid slowly to the floor, leaning against the back wall. Murphy was the first to break the silence, "You all right, Stripes?"

She managed a smile and nod, holding up her glass and taking another drink.

He and Connor then turned to the unconscious Ivan. It didn't feel right to just let him leave…

Another hour later, the Russians had been thrown out and everyone but the McManuses had left. They were just pulling their coats on and telling Doc good night when Stripes rose, putting her icepack down. The three Irishmen cringed. The large purple bruise didn't go well with her pale skin, green eyes, long black hair, and shy disposition.

She gave them a smile and began sweeping once more. The twins exchanged a look, again silently answering some question they had. Connor asked, "You sure you're all right, Stripes?"

"Yeah…thanks for asking guys." She knew it was both of them asking, so she might as well thank them together. Suddenly, they stepped forward together, threw arms around her shoulders, squeezed her in a hug, and gave her a kiss on each temple. The display made an incandescent smile spread across her face. She called out as they reached the door, "Hey Murphy…Happy St. Patrick's Day."

They both smiled and Murphy shot both arms in the air, "Aye, I have prevailed!"

Connor laughed, "Now that we know she can talk, we have to figure out her name."

Doc grinned as the door swung closed behind them, "Y-y-y-you just made their night."

She returned his smile for a moment. But then, Stripes sighed and looked up from her broom, "Hey Doc, do you mind if I sleep in one of the booths tonight? I…I don't really want to walk home tonight…"

He nodded, "Sure, l-l-l-l-l-lass. Whatever you need. Do you have class tomorrow?"

She nodded, "Not until two. I'll have time to run home and get cleaned up."

"Okay. F-f-f-f-f-feel free. Just lock up when you leave." Doc gave her a one armed hug and then disappeared up the backstairs that led to his apartment over the bar.