Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The story I tell about Connor & Murphy MacManus is my own invention, and it is not purported, or believed, to be part of the Boondock Saints story canon. It is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.

A/N: This is a Boondock Saints AU, Murphy/OC romance fan-fiction. A word of caution: At some point during the progression of this story there will be explicit smut, so if that kind of thing bothers you, Saint Grace may not be for you.

Major appreciation to kelseyBl for beta reading chapter two for me!

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"May you have the hindsight to know where you've been, the foresight to know where you are going, and the insight to know when you have gone too far."

~ Irish Blessing

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Chapter 2

It wasn't anything new for the girl to see them with their shirts off. How else would she have tattooed them?

They'd discovered when she was little that she had a flare for the artistic. One day Murphy brought home a tattoo gun he'd won in a bet, and gave it to Grace, telling her she better learn to use it because he had plans for her artistic hands. Christ's chest on the cross on Connor's back, and Christ's feet on the cross on Murphy's back.

"Give me that," she said, taking the knife out of Connor's hand and forcing him to sit down. She climbed up behind him and went to work on his hair, trying to remember what the boys looked like with short hair and without their beards.

Cutting Connor's hair felt like a sisterly thing to do, and when she was done she slapped him on the shoulder and gestured for Murphy to take his place. As soon as those broad bare shoulders were between her spread thighs, the heat of his skin making full contact with the bare skin on her inner thigh, Grace realized cutting Murphy's hair did not feel sisterly at all. She nicked him more than once out of pure nervousness, but he didn't seem to notice.

She tinkered with the still while they rinsed the loose hair off. They expected her not to peek as they stripped, but Grace was as curious as a cat. She glanced occasionally over, catching bits and pieces of their bodies, all hard muscles and tattoos. She had to look away when she caught a glimpse of Murphy's ass, and those sexy, perfect buns. When she wasn't sneaking peeks at Murphy, her eyes kept cutting over to the big wooden crate they'd pulled out of the ground behind the farm.

Grace sensed that this wasn't simply them going off on another sheep run. This was a departure of a whole different sort, and a ball of anxiety settled in her belly.

She felt Murphy's eyes on her as he stepped out of the water, wrapping a towel around his waist. She knew that look – especially now that the shroud of facial hair was gone. Murphy was thinking hard on something, and whatever it was – for some odd reason she felt confident it involved her.

"Connor, what's in the crate?" Grace finally asked, her eyes still locked on Murphy – feeling a blush creep up her cheeks under the scrutiny of his silent gaze.

Connor looked up from the hair he was sweeping up. "Got a job, Gracey."

"A job?" She frowned, finally breaking eye contact with Murphy to turn and look at his twin. "What kind of job?"

"Didn't ya ever wonder what happened that day we took you ta tha' hospital in Boston, Gracey?"

Grace's frown deepened. She had wondered for a long time why the brother's had returned later that night covered in blood, Murphy with a four inch laceration on his right arm – she glanced up at him again and saw the scar from that night – and Connor with a bullet lodged in his calf. But she'd stopped caring long ago – when the peaceful rhythm of their lives in Ireland cast a blessed fogginess over the past. "Not really." She answered, "Why?"

Conner looked at his brother over her shoulder. He nodded once and stalked over to the crate. "Once upon a time, two brothers were Called by God to deliver evil men ta their maker to be judged an' condemned for their sins." Connor said.

"Evil men like the ones that killed your da, and buried a little girl alive in fuckin' casket, just to send a fuckin' message," Murphy said, "I know ya remember that, Grace."

She watched them closely. They looked ten years younger without the hair and beard, and she found herself fascinated by the transformation.

She couldn't deny what Murphy was saying even if she wanted to. Of course she remembered. Both brothers, and Noah, had heard her thrashing, moaning, and sometimes screaming in her sleep. At first it was a nightly routine. The cabin was small, and one of them would wake up, hear her and come to comfort her. Lately, it had been only Connor and Noah to wake her from the dreams and stay with her until she fell back asleep. Murphy hadn't woken her from a nightmare in months. He must have been sleeping heavy lately.

"Go on," she told Connor.

He nodded. "So the two brothers' became shepherds and dealt out swift deaths to at least thirty evil men – including the ones that killed your da and tried to kill you."

"You…you murdered people?"

"Only bad people, and never women or children. Only those who failed to live by a certain code of principles." Connor stated, pulling a key out of his jeans pocket and bending to unlock the padlock on the crate.

"What principles?" Grace asked, her heart racing. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Do not kill, do not rape, do not steal. Principles which every man of every faith can embrace." Murphy said and she jumped, surprised he was standing so close to her.

At that the crate gave a lurch as Connor opened it. Grace's eyes fell on the box's contents; guns, knives, jewelry, clothing and stacks of American money. "What in God's name," she breathed, taking a few steps forward and peering at the contents. Then it clicked. Father O'Carrigan's news about the dead priest, the stacks of newspapers she'd found when she was snooping in Connor's closet once about a pair of vigilante killers called "The Saints" taking out a bunch of mafia in Boston, the condition they were in the night they returned to the hospital to collect her so many years ago.

It clicked, and Grace knew they were leaving her. Not for a short camping trip, but for a much longer time, and they were going much further away. They were going back to Boston – back to Babylon – and they might not come back. "I'm coming with you." Grace said, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at the both of them.

"Out of the fuckin' question." Murphy said, "Not this time."

"Don't you tell me 'no' Murphy MacManus, you aint my da." She glared at him. She didn't care if the twins were killers – she loved them unconditionally – and she would not be left behind while they went so far away.

Murphy looked down at the ground and shook his head. Connor sighed, "Come on Murph, help me get this stuff on the table. Inventory time."

Grace helped them take apart, clean, and reassemble the guns. This action was nothing new for the boys, but the weapons were new. Usually they were cleaning hunting guns, rifles, and occasionally Noah's old gun collections but never guns like these – with silencers. Grace knew the gun's were meant to serve one sole purpose - killing people.

"You yerself said she was old enough to know," Connor said, breaking the silence that had set in around them as they meticulously cleaned their weapons.

"What's yer point?" Murphy asked, setting a stack of clips on the table.

Grace looked up from the silencer she was cleaning.

When Connor replied to his twin his voice held a mocking tone. "'Grace's family, she's fuckin' one of us, Connor. She has the prayers.'" He pointed to his head "Remember sayin' that yerself not more'n an hour ago?"

"Ahh, fuck you," Murphy said, "You know what I fuckin' meant. She should know about us, about what she could be one day, not fuckin' come along ta Boston– she's not even fuckin' trained."

"Neither was Rocco."

Murph dropped a gun on the table. "And where the fuck is Rocco now? God bless his fuckin' soul."

Rocco? Grace has never heard the name before. It certainly wasn't an Irish name. Who were they talking about? She sat back on the stool and watched them intently. Occasionally Murphy would glance her way, biting his bottom lip, his jaw clenching in his cheek. "Ya got a point there, dear brother," Connor admitted, "Could use the back-up though, and this time should be quick an' clean, in an' out."

"Aye, because it's always that fuckin' easy, isn't it?" Murphy spit out.

"Why're you bein' such a fuckin' pansy about this?" Connor argued, "You were the one that was all 'she can shoot, she's fast as fuckin' lightnin'…..she's ready, and we're not the young lads we used to be. It's fuckin' now or never.' What happened to all that?"

Murphy leaned over the table. "I was talkin' about startin' to fuckin' train her you dipshit."

"Exactly. What better chance ta train her, Murph, then takin' her to Boston with us?"

Murphy shook his head. He dug in his jeans pockets and pulled out a bent up rolled cigarette. Using his gold zippo, he lit it, and inhaled deeply blowing smoke out through his nose. He put both palms on the table – the corded muscles in his forearms rippling – and leaned in close whispering something to Conner that Grace couldn't hear. She sat forward, straining to listen.

Connor nodded, and the twins fell silent. Grace caught Murphy's pool water blue eyes. He shook his head and looked away. She could tell he was livid, but she thought maybe they were going to let her go. "So?" She said, tapping her nails on the table. "Can I go?"

They both looked up at her at the same time. Lightning cracked making it look like daytime outside for a fraction of a second. Thunder rolled, vibrating the ground around them. "Not until ye've been called." Connor answered, slamming a clip into his gun. "Sorry, young one, maybe next time."

She narrowed her eyes and a wave of fury washed over her. She stood, rigid, and marched out of the barn, hearing their silence behind her.

….

Grace fell on her bed and sobbed into the pillow. After a few minutes there was a light knock at the door. She knew, without looking, that it was Noah. The twin's didn't knock. "Come in," she said, sitting up and wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

The grey haired old man opened her door and leaned in the doorway. "Heard ya crying, love, want ta talk about it?"

She sniffled, and swallowed hard. "They're leaving."

"I know."

"Why? Why do they have to go do this?"

Noah came to her, and wrapped his arms around her, his wool sweater scratching her face. "Peace, they say, is the enemy of memory. So it had been for my boys. For some time now, their past had felt like a dream. Then, suddenly, it was back. You've seen them. In your heart of hearts, you know what they are, and why they have to leave, lass."

"But I want them to take me with them." She felt deep down that if she let them go, she'd never see either of them again. A panic welled up inside her.

She felt Noah nod in understanding. He released her from his comforting embrace and sat on the bed in front of her. "Does God ever speak ta ya, Gracey?"

She bit her lip. "No," she said, frowning and pulling her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

"And he won't." Noah said, softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement as she her head shot up to look at him. "Not like he does to them."

"Why?"

"Because you are not a MacManus, love."

"But you gave me the prayers, Noah…I…I thought…"

"The boys don't even understand it, Gracey. Having the prayers won't make you like us, love, because you don't share our blood."

"It's in the blood?" She asked, knowing they were talking about the Calling. "But you aren't a killer Noah."

He gave her a mysterious smile, "There you are wrong, little dove. With these hands," he looked down at this palms, "I have killed evil men in the name of God and vengeance, just as my father before him, and his before that."

Her eyes widened, and then she realized what he was saying. "So…so…I'll never get to go with them. I'll never be Called. And they don't know that?"

Noah shook his head. "No child. But the Lord does have a purpose for you."

"He does?"

Noah nodded. He patted her hand. "He sent us an angel named Grace, so that she might shield the shepherds while they perform their holy task."

"Shield them?"

"I have something for you. Come here." Noah led her from the candlelit room. She saw the barn lights were still on, meaning the twins hadn't departed yet. Surely they wouldn't leave without saying goodbye, even if they knew she was furious with them.

Noah took her to his work-shed at the back of the cottage. Using a key he had tied on a leather string around his neck, he opened a drawer that she thought was permanently locked. He pulled out the drawer. There was a leather vest customized with six holsters. Noah removed the vest from the drawer with care, and handed it to her. "And these" he said, opening the glass display case where he kept his guns. "Ya can trade these for what ya need."

She shook her head, running her hand over the smooth leather of the vest. She was twitching to try it on. "They said I can't go."

Noah smiled at her. "My boys have the best intentions. You though, Grace, you possess certain gifts my boys do not."

She frowned, "I do?"

"Yes. See Connor and Murphy live by a strict code set forth by a power greater than you could ever imagine. The same rules that restrict them have no effect on you. You aren't bound by their code."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you can keep them safe, no matter what the cost."

"You mean…like… killing someone innocent if it would save their lives."

"P'raps, p'raps not. But you would do whatever it took to save them, wouldn't you?"

She nodded slowly up and down. Maybe it wasn't right, maybe it made her evil, but she would do just about anything to keep her guardian angels out of danger, even if it meant becoming the very thing they were put on the planet to destroy. A warm feeling of calm settled in on her when she realized Noah was right. "Absolutely." She said, without giving it a second thought.

"And therein lays your gift, sweet child, the gift given to you – by God – to protect his agents as they do his work."

"So I'm going?" A jolt of excitement went through her.

He nodded. "I'll get you get passage on the ship. You'll speak ta no one. Wear a hood, ta disguise your gender, and all that red hair. Your advantage is that the boys are largely unobservant when their drinkin' – and I assure you they will be tonight – but you must not let them see you until you reach American soil. I'll give you an address for an underground arms dealer you will go to see when you get ta Boston, and then you'll go to find the twins who will be laying low at a certain pub I know about. I'll give you that address as well."

Her heart was pumping in her chest. "I don't like deceiving them, Noah, even if it's for their own good."

"They want ta protect you, little lass, it's only natural."

"But I'm stronger than they think I am." She took Noah's hand, "Why are you doing this for me?"

His eyes twinkled as he pushed a hair out of her face with his free hand, "I'm doing it for my boys as well, lass, don't mistake tha' part of my motivation. And because it is not your destiny to spend all your days with a lonely old man, making furniture and tinkering with machines. You have a calling, dear, just not the same as ours, yours is more subtle. The Lord works in mysterious ways, Grace. Now go, get your bags packed, ship leaves at midnight."

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