o()o

Author's Note: The scene with Da is dedicated to Just-a-Moment and penscratch, I hope you guys like it!

o(13)o

The office was small but it would serve his purposes well enough.

With a smile, Smecker noted that the boxes containing his files had already arrived and were sitting on the scratched desk in the middle of the room.

That was one thing about Annie, she may be old enough to give dirt a run for its money, but she certainly got the job done.

Snapping open the locks on his briefcase, Smecker withdrew a tattered, well-read file and gave it a brief, almost loving, glance Neatly printed across the top, in Annie's meticulous handwriting, was the title, MacManus, Connor/ Murphy.

He didn't actually need to read the records, by now he had them mostly memorized. Inspecting them was more of a ritual than anything, his own small way of staying connected with the subjects housed within.

A knock at the door drew his attention away from the dossier, "Come in.," he said, closing the file and replacing it safely back in his case.

The door opened and Detective Croghan walked in, holding a cup of coffee. "I'm glad to see you're already getting settled in," he said, giving the office an appraising look.

"Is there something I can help you with, Detective?" Smecker asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

Croghan shook his head, "Actually, I'm here to help you. I've been working the Street Priest project for a couple of months now. The Chief assigned me and Townsend to work under you for the duration of your stay."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, I've arranged for all my reports to be sent over to you by the end of the day."

Smecker sat down behind his desk and gestured for Croghan to have a seat as well. "Why don't you give me the abridged version?" he said, offering his sterling silver cigarette case toward the other man.

Croghan plucked a cigarette from the holder, placing it between his lips

"The wife'd kill me if she knew I was doing this." He said hesitating slightly before bending forward into the flame of Smecker's lighter and taking a deep drag. "I haven't had a cigarette for almost two years now."

Smecker withdrew a cigarette out of the case for himself and shut it with a snap. "That's a long time to go without a smoke."

"The things we do for love," said Croghan with a sigh. "Are you a married man, Agent?"

"No." he couldn't help an ironic smile from escaping, "I'm not."

"Ah, well, stay that way, you'll live longer. Trust me on this; my Marilyn has been trying to kill me with her pot roast for twenty-two years."

Chuckling, Smecker nodded. "I'll remember that." He took drag off of his cigarette, "So, tell me about this case."

"Sacerdotes De la Calle," the detective said wearily, "I've arrested a few peons on some minor charges, but the big dogs are impossible to find. They're like goddamned ghosts."

"How about what happened last month with the drug shipment?" he asked, earning another long-suffering sigh from the other man.

"What a mess that was, let me tell you. There were a dozen of those bastards, all shot to hell, in a warehouse on the south side of town. My theory is that a couple of these guys decided to dip into the shipment, thinking they'd make a little money on the side. Obviously their little scheme didn't go as planned because that place looked like a goddamned war zone."

Croghan paused, taking another puff of his cigarette "But here's the strange thing, CSI said that most of the blood they found matched the dead guys', but a handful of the spots had been doused with ammonia and they couldn't get a sample. What I want to know is how the hell does ammonia turn up in an abandoned warehouse?"

Shrugging, Smecker carefully avoided the detective's gaze, remembering all too well the frustration his first encounter with the Saints' blood had caused.

"It's a mystery to me," he lied.

"That makes two of us. Townsend threw out the idea that maybe one of the other Mafia factions around here decided to take matters into their own hands, eliminate the competition, so to speak. I think it's the only sound theory the bastard has ever had."

Smecker nodded, "It's possible. I'd like to see what you got from that crime scene, if you don't mind."

"No problem," stubbing out his cigarette, Croghan rose to his feet, "I can take you there now."

The evidence room was like every other that he had ever encountered, with shelves upon shelves of indiscriminate objects, all carefully bagged and labeled. The odor of dust and neglect almost was tangible.

Detective Croghan made his way to the back of the room, pulling a battered box from one of the top shelves and offering it to him.

"Here you go; this is everything we gathered from the drug bust."

Smecker took the box and opened it, frowning as he looked inside. "Not much in here, is there?"

"Well, there wasn't much at the scene."

"Where are the pennies?" He realized his mistake a moment too late. Good job, wise guy, he admonished himself, why not just wear a friggin' button announcing that you're working with the Saints?

Detective Croghan frowned at him, "What?"

He recovered himself quickly, shaking his head, "I meant, what sort of drugs did you find?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Croghan shrugged dismissively, "mostly cocaine."

Nodding, Smecker replaced the lid of the box, and handed the dismal array of evidence back to Croghan. While there was nothing in there that would lay the blame on the MacManus brothers, there was nothing that helped him with the Street Priest case, either.

"And where are the drugs now?" he asked.

"They've already of been disposed of, the evidence custodian sent them to the kiln about a week ago."

"I see." Smecker frowned. "That's kind of quick to move drugs through the system isn't it?"

Croghan gave him a sharp look, "Well there was no reason to keep them; all of the dealers were dead at the scene and we can't press charges against a corpse."

"Hey, hey, I'm not trying to step on your toes here Detective," Said Smecker, holding up his hands, surprised at the sudden venom in the detective's voice. "I just want to make sure I have the facts straight."

A vein in Croghan's temple had started to bulge slightly. "How long have you been with the FBI, Agent Smecker?"

"Sixteen years. Why?"

"Because, Sonny," the detective said dangerously, "I've been a cop longer than you've been alive. And you'd better believe me when I tell you that, when I work a case, all the goddamn facts are already straight."

o()o

Connor leaned against the outside of the motel building, and took a meditative drag on his cigarette, thinking about his brother.

It wasn't as though Murphy had never had a girlfriend. Both twins had had more than their fair share of women both back home in Ireland, as well as there in the U.S., but this time seemed different.

Maybe it was because Danae complimented Murphy so well; her matter-of-fact common sense balanced his twin's impulsive nature perfectly. Or maybe it was the idea that she had already risked so much to keep the two of them safe, looking out for complete strangers just because it was 'right'. Maybe it was something else completely, Connor didn't know.

What he did know, was that as much as he wanted his brother to be happy, he was worried about how this new relationship would affect Murphy.

If these Street Priests were as dangerous as Smecker had said, they couldn't afford any distractions. What if Murphy got hurt because he head wasn't in the mission?

Another thought, nagging and almost more disturbing than the first, echoed in Connor's mind. What would happen when this was all finished? Murphy had mentioned quitting a couple of times now, what if this relationship with Danae made him decide to do just that?

What if his brother decided to abandon his calling, and left Connor on his own?

The idea sent a glimmer of alarm through him. Murphy would never do something like that, would he?

Shaken at the notion, Connor flicked away his cigarette, turning to go back inside. He needed guidance, and there was only one person he could think of that would understand what he was going through.

o()o

"Hello?"

"Da, it's Connor."

Connor couldn't help but smile at the coarse voice on the other end of the line. His father's voice was roughened by years of the cigars he favored and his accent was undiminished, still thick and lilting, even after so long away from his homeland.

"Its good ta hear from ye Lad! It's been too long since ye last called."

"Aye, well, things have been a bit . . . hectic . . . as of late."

"What's happened?" Da turned serious and Connor hesitated, wondering just how much to tell the older man.

"Connor Roarke MacManus," There was no ignoring that tone of voice; it was the voice that Connor was certain God bestowed on a person only when they became a parent. "What's happened?"

"We had a job go wrong." He said at last.

"Where's your brother?"

Connor blinked, taken aback at how frightened his normally stoic Da sounded suddenly.

"He's in the shower. We're both fine." He assured the older man quickly. "I got shot and had ta spend a little time in the hospital, but we're out now."

"And you're okay, Lad?"

"Aye, fine. Listen, Da, there's something I want ta ask ye."

"Ask away."

"Were ye doin' this sort of work when ye met Ma?"

There was the briefest of pauses, and Connor could almost feel his father's shock though the phone line. "I was, aye."

"How did ye choose?"

"Lad, leavin' you boys and your mother was the hardest thing I've ever done, and not a day goes by that I don't think o' the three of ye, but I was doin' the right thing, just as ye're doin' the right thing now." Another pause, "Why are ye asking me this?"

"Ye see, there's this girl that Murphy's gettin' attached ta. And I want to be happy for him, I really do, Da, but the more I think about it, the more it seems like it'll just be trouble in the end."

There was a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. "And ye don't want ta be the one left behind."

"Aye." Connor said softly, surprised at how quickly his Da had gotten to the heart of the matter.

"Lad, of all the people in the world, ye have ta trust your brother. Ye have ta have faith that, when the time comes, he'll do the right thing, whatever that may be. And ye have ta remember that when that time does come, ye'll have a choice to make as well."

Remaining silent, Connor wound the phone cord around his fingers, mulling over what his father had said.

Da was right, of course, what affected one would affect them both. If Murphy quit, would Connor abandon his calling as well? More importantly, could he continue his calling without his twin at his side?

"Whatever comes ta pass," Da continued, "remember that Murphy will always be there for ye, even if he leaves his calling, he'll never leave ye. That's what it means ta be brothers."

Connor nodded into the phone, feeling a little better, Saints or not, they would always be brothers, and nothing could change that. "Thanks Da."

"You're welcome. You boys take care of each other now."

"We will."

"And Connor?"

"Aye?"

"Call yer mother sometime soon, she's missing her boys."

Connor smiled, "Yes, Da."

o()o

Liam MacManus hung up the phone, smiling, pleased that his son had called him for advice. For a fleeting moment, he had gotten the chance to be Da again.

Those moments were what kept him going, the fleeting instances where he could leave Il Duce behind and be the man he chose to forsake so long ago.

He had once thought that nothing could have been worse than leaving his beloved wife and infant sons. But when the Lord's work had taken him away from his boys a second time, he knew he'd been wrong.

He missed his sons with the same overpowering force that he felt for their mother. But sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the common good. He consoled himself with the knowledge that they were all only a phone-call away.

And now Murphy was in love. Liam chuckled at the thought. History certainly had a way of repeating itself.

As much as they would like to think otherwise, Connor and Murphy weren't unique. They weren't the first set of twins in the MacManus family, and they weren't the first men to be charged with God's will, intent on protecting the innocent.

No, both of those distinctions belonged to Liam and Sibeal.

Twice as fervent as their younger counterparts, and twice a brutal, Liam and Sibeal MacManus had taken up the Lord's work at the tender age of seventeen. They had forgone their schooling and the normal leisures that came with being young men in favor of the bloody task of weeding out the corrupt from the blameless.

For five years, the MacManus twins wreaked havoc upon the wicked all the way from Dublin to Waterford. They were meticulous and fierce, reveling in their holy mission. With each criminal they delivered to God, they grew more passionate about their calling.

Then everything had changed when Sibeal met Myrna.

The courtship was as whirlwind and chaotic as everything else in Sibeal's life and Liam was certain that he had never seen his brother so happy. Myrna was his perfect match and his twin knew how fortunate he was to have found her.

After time, the jobs became fewer and further in between, and while Sibeal seemed content to stay at home with his wife and soon-to-be child; Liam still felt the pull of the Lord's calling.

He didn't understand how his brother could choose a woman, even one like Myrna, over the calling of God. He felt it tugging at his soul constantly, trying to compel him to resume their work, but for the sake of family, he ignored the feeling.

It became easier to ignore once he met Annabelle. Her fiery temper and unorthodox love of practical jokes had caught his attention almost immediately, and before long, Liam had begun a romance of his own.

Never ceasing to be amazed by his new wife, and later on, the miracle of his twin sons, he had everything a man could want. But there were still times, in the middle of the night, that Liam could feel the Lord whispering to him, telling him that he still had important work to do.

Finally, the pull had become too strong and he had given in, leaving his wife, sons, and beloved brother behind to begin a new life in a strange new place.

It had been twenty-five years since they had seen each other, but Liam and Sibeal were still as close as they had ever been. They still spoke to each other frequently over the telephone and wrote letters back and forth almost every week. It was Sibeal alone that always knew where Liam could be found.

Sibeal had religiously sent his brother photos of Connor and Murphy every month until the boys had turned ten and suddenly realized that they hated having their picture taken. He also sent Liam pictures of Annabelle along with his letters detailing day-to-day life back in Arklow. Many times, it was those pictures, and nothing else, that had kept Liam going, a glimmer of light in his dark prison cell.

In return, Liam had clutched the receiver of the telephone in the prison's exercise yard and listened to Sibeal sob when Myrna had finally lost her battle with cancer and he had listened to his brother rejoice, yelling elatedly into the reciever, when his first grandson was born. Even when in prison, and seperated by thousands of miles, Liam had been there for Sibeal, because that's what it meant to be brothers.

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