A/N: For those unfamiliar with Irish history and politics, the R.I.R.A are a guerrilla style militia group in Southern Ireland who seek to unite Ireland under one banner. They began in the late 1800's as the Irish Republican Army and after the initial disbandment, became the Real Irish Republican Army. They are a lethal group, using terribly volatile forms of protest - bombs, guns, raids etc. I do not own them, nor do I know anyone in the R.I.R.A, any information about them in this story was garnered using the internet. I apologize in advance for any misconceptions. Hope you all enjoy my first BDS fic! R&R plsthx :)

Chapter 2: Boston

Sunlight invaded her rather uncomfortable sleep. Branna breathed in deeply. She didn't want to have to open her eyes. If she opened her eyes, it was all real. She hoped that last night had been a really bad dream. Maybe she'd just dreamed Murphy MacManus had put a gun to her head, that she'd been shot, and that her plans of getting herself settled for once were smashed. Kingsley was dead. That thought was enough for her to open her eyes, and fuck it was all too real.

The light fell down in bars across the wooden floor, seeping through the tall blinds on the only window. She was laying down, her right arm stretched out and attached to the leg of a table instead of the wall like last night. She didn't dare move. The throbbing pain in her shoulder told her that if she tried, she would probably curse the day she was born. She instead turned her head to check out her surroundings.

She was laying on an unmade mattress, to her left was another mattress a few feet away and past that there was an open doorway to what she was assuming was the bathroom. To her right, she saw the table and saw that it was right out of a 1960's action flick. A wide smooth base tapered into a smooth cylinder and back out to the tabletop. She saw what she could only describe as a makeshift countertop, a few chairs, the entry door and few cigarette butts. This was their hideout. Their in-between space. This wasn't a living space, it was a place you holed up to hide from someone, or in her case, hold someone hostage.

Turning her head so she was again looking at the dingy, water stained ceiling, she heard the door open to her left. Keys dropped to the table top. Better to get it over with and get out of here before it got any more complicated.

"I'm awake and ready to be badgered." she called out in exhaustion.

It'd been a while since she'd had a serious injury; she'd forgotten how shitty you felt the next day. All she really wanted to go was go home, fall down into her bed, take a pain pill and sleep for the day.

"Badgered? I don't believe we said anything that involved a badger, did we Murph?" Connor replied from above her.

He stood over her, hands in the pocket of his coat with a smirk on his face.

"Na, I didna recall anythin' of the sort brother." Murphy called jokingly from the right.

She heard his boots crunching the grit on the floor and soon he too was towering over her, hands in pockets.

"Just sit me up and I'll answer any question ye got for me. I just want to get the hell out of here and back to me own bed so I can pretend none of this ever happened."

They both crouched down and lifted her, each one supporting an arm. Suddenly blinding pain flashed through her right side.

"FUCK!" she screamed. "You bleeding idgits didn't even untie me first. Any higher and I'd have a dislocated shoulder to add to my list of injuries." She felt tears pricking her eyes, the pain seared right through her chest and into her right shoulder into her left and it felt like all of a sudden someone had run her through on a spike.

"PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN!" she hollered. The men jumped back, releasing her.

She fell back down to the bed, her right arm throbbed now, wrist to shoulder. Wonderful.

"Sorry lass, I s'pose we forgot that we tied ye up there. Couldn't have ye walkin' without an explanation." Connor tried apologizing.

He pulled a short knife down from the table and sliced through the plastic tethering her to the table. The relief she felt as the tension left her arm made her want to shriek in joy. The throb had dulled to an ache on that side now.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Murphy rolled back on his heels a few feet away. He was dangling a cigarette out of his mouth and watching her. He'd always been able to make her uneasy with the way he looked at her. No, not looking at her, but through her. His gaze always made her want to check to see if she had anything on at all.

Once she'd been freed from the table, she rolled over to her left side and then, with a groan, over on to her front. Once she had one good arm underneath her she was able to push herself up into a kneeling position on the mattress. She pulled herself into a standing position and the Saints stood with her. She did a quick sweep of the place now that she was upright.

Her leather jacket was flung across the back of one of the chairs, her Browning was no where in sight and an open pack of Marlboros sat on the table. Plucking a smoke out of the package, she walked over to the chair with her jacket. Gripping the cigarette with her lips she grabbed the chair, her arm screamed bloody murder, and dragged it over to the table.

"So what are ye doin' in Boston Branna?" Connor asked, all the laughter had gone out of his voice.

He pulled up a chair and held out a lighter. Murphy had taken to leaning against the wall and seemed to be ignoring her. All the better, she didn't know if she could even begin to explain if he started in with the weird staring. She took the lighter from Connor, flipped it open and inhaled sharply. Exhaling a plume of smoke she cleared her throat.

"I live here. Been here fer almost a year now. I had no bloody clue ye two were even on the same fucking continent much less the same fucking city." She ashed her cigarette on the floor.

"Ye live here? No funny business? 'Cause ye know we'll find out." Connor seemed more relaxed now. Good, she needed them to know she wanted nothing to do with their little business. She'd had enough of it.

"No funny business." She confirmed. "I left Spain by boat, didn't even plan on coming to the great ole U.S. of A m'dear. I'd decided to just go wherever the wind took me. I ended up in Long Island, New York and slowly made me way to a more familiar neighbourhood, folks-wise if ye catch me meaning."

They both nodded their agreement. Nobody asked questions in South Boston. It was mostly Irish neighbourhoods. Murphy'd taken a seat away from the table. He'd lit another smoke.

"No longer working for the Real Irish Republican Army are ye? How'd ye finagle that one? I thought ye said once ye were in there was no getting out?" Murphy said, turning his gaze to her. "How can we be sure ye ain't here to cause us problems?"

Branna sighed.

"I ran. That's how I escaped the R.I.R.A. I went looking for him. Colin Fitzpatrick. I heard he took off the island. He left before I could get to him. Ye know that's the truth Murphy. Ye of all people should know that's the truth. But I'm out. I don't do the killing business anymore. All me leads were turning up dead, me informants disappearin'. I'm tired of covering me tracks, I'm tired of hunting people I can't find, I just want peace. I'd found it here, at least until I stumbled upon two very angry men, one of which put the barrel of his Beretta against me skull."

At the name Fitzpatrick she saw the men stiffen. Colin Fitzpatrick had been a good friend of theirs, until they realized he was neck deep in the Republican Army. They knew why she was after him. They knew what had happened to Seamus.

Everyone knew what had happened to her baby brother. Three years before she'd left home, he'd been killed. Killed two feet from his place of work when a badly made nail bomb exploded in Belfast. Branna'd heard the explosion from across town. She'd never forget the feeling of panic when she arrived at Flaherty's Bookstore. Police tape and armed officers were patrolling. She pushed her way past the onlookers and saw what was left of her family. An arm lay close to where she'd been forced to stop because of the tape. Blood showered the street.

When she'd gotten wind that the Army were the makers of the bomb, she vowed she would kill the fucker who planted the device. Seamus hadn't been the only casualty. She had connections in Ulster. She'd known they were already planning what to do to the Army in retaliation. All she'd needed to know what who had set the bomb and she'd make sure the man never again saw the light of day. She had planned to make him pay. When the Ulster Defence Association came up dry, she'd moved to get into the Army. She'd thought if she could get close enough inside, she'd find him. She'd been wrong. The Army had made her a maggot, a runner. Someone to keep their accounts in line and clean up the occasional mess. She'd been their fucking janitor. After the second year of being the R.I.R.A's Cleaner, when she'd gotten wind that it'd been Fitzpatrick, she'd gone after him.

She'd tracked his sorry ass around the island for weeks, she'd finally nailed down exactly where he was making his death machines and was making arrangements to get her revenge when the Army sent one of their men after her. He'd shown up at her home, menaced her into the garage where he put her on her knees and promised her a short execution. That had been the day Murphy had come over. The last day she ever saw him. Until last night that is.

* * * *

"So ye see I have no plans of gettin' in yer way. I don't want any trouble. I was only down at the shipyard to pick up me papers. Someone with as colourful a history as me can't afford to be raising red flags." Branna had finished, butting out her cigarette on the saucer on the table.

"Well yer papers are gone; I searched Kingsley meself before I found ye and Murphy. That might be a bit of trouble to recover, but we'll find 'em for ye Branna. Consider it me word." Connor said.

He seemed totally at ease. Murphy couldn't believe his brother could sit there and act like nothing had happened. After all that the woman had put Murphy through, his brother would sit there and offer to help her. He might as well have asked her to tea. Fuckin' Grand.

Murphy looked at her. She seemed different from when he'd known her. Different from when he'd first met her. The edge was softer. She still had the edge, he'd seen it last night with her handgun in his face, but it seemed less sharp. The glint in her eyes was gone. For some reason the thought of the sparkle in her eye being dimmed made him feel sad, she'd always been a bright girl, someone easy to laugh with. She wasn't laughing anymore, neither was he for that matter.

The first time he'd ever met Branna Ferguson, they'd been in Ireland for almost a year after leaving Boston. He'd been out with Connor riding the sheep to pasture. She'd been walking down the muddy road with a rucksack across her back. When she saw the sheep coming, she'd moved into the ditch to let them pass. Partway across the road the sheep took a break and she'd taken the opportunity to make conversation.

"Good mornin' to ye. Wonderful weather we be havin' no?" she'd joked. She had looked right up at Murphy, her green eyes sparkling with a smile that lit a fire in Murphy's heart. Wonderful weather was a joke. It had been pouring for days. Her dark hair was plastered to her forehead and the mud ran up her legs from her trek.

"As wonderful as it can get in Ireland lass." Connor had said. Murphy couldn't speak. He'd seen beautiful girls before, but there'd been something in her eyes he couldn't get over. Something darker, that his soul could reconcile with.

"Oh I just be goin for a walk. Taking a weekend for meself. The noise of the city can sometimes be a little much. Felt like I needed a bit of peace and quiet."

He was jolted back into the conversation. Tearing his gaze away from her he saw the sheep were starting to move. He pulled his horse forward. He was itching to get away from the girl. He knew just by the look of her that she would be trouble for him. He looked over at Connor, he was making small chat, always the charmer he was.

"I know ye be busy, but would either of ye fellas know where a girl could grab a pint? I be headin' over to the village a few miles back in a few hours. Wouldn't mind warming the bones a bit before I tuck in for the evenin'." She'd asked, adjusting her pack.

"There's a little old place called Ole Boots off of Smith. Run by a good man by the name of John Darcy. Tell him Connor and Murphy sent ye and he'll treat ye well." Connor'd replied with a smile as he moved up beside him.

The sheep had moved into the next field, the way was clear.

"Thanks a lot. Well," she looked over at Murphy, flashing him one of her brilliant smiles.

"Ye lads have a good day. Maybe I'll see ye over the weekend." and then she was gone, trudging through the muck.

He hadn't known then that she'd been the Army's personal custodian. He'd found out that she had connections with some of the more serious gang folk, but by the time he knew, it'd been too late. She'd already had him under her spell. Never in a million years would he have guessed her connection to the Irish Republic. If he'd have known, maybe things would have been different, maybe he wouldn't feel sick staring at her now, remembering everything he'd felt back then.

The sunlight caught the emerald on the ring on her left hand as she propped her arm on the table. He could tell she was toughing out the pain. The less she moved the less pain he saw in her eyes. Watching the light play on the gemstone set on the ring pulled his chest tight. Enough of this. He wasn't going to let the past burrow its way into the present. Not now. He narrowed his eyes and pointed at it.

"Why are ye wearing it." He could barely keep the malice from his voice.

He watched her eyes change from empty and tired to green glass. She pulled her left arm close and with a tug ripped the ring from her hand and threw it on the table.

"Because it was a reminder of the home I could've had, had I had any sense. Ye can have it back, I know now that I'll never have what I went looking for, nor will I have what I wanted most in this world. I gave up hope on that a long while ago." She cursed.

"Thanks, not like it'll get anything at a pawn shop. Wasn't worth anything in the first place." The cocky overtone in his voice rang out across the table.

For the first time since he'd seen her, a look of pure despair passed over her face. It lasted seconds before she replaced it with her war face.

"Fuck you Murphy MacManus." She growled.

Standing she turned to Connor, "Where the fuck is me fucking gun."

Connor nodded in the direction of the door. She turned on her heel and stormed over to the counter, grabbing the gun and its clip. She opened the door and turned back, glaring at Murphy. If looks could kill, he'd have been dead where he sat.

"I'll keep yer fucking secret, but don't ye ever let me catch wind that ye be anywhere near me. If I so much as see yer face, I will kill ye." She turned and closed the door with a slam. They could hear her boots all the way down the stairs to the front door.

* * * *

"What the fuck is yer problem?" Murphy scowled at his brother.

"What the fuck is yer problem?" Connor retorted as he rose to retrieve a beer from the box beside the door.

"Me problem? Me fucking problem? Oh I dunno brother maybe it has a little something to do with the fact that ye just offered to help the woman who fucking broke me fucking heart? That's me fucking problem!" Murphy was shouting now.

"Did ya just fucking forget? Three years man. The last time I see her she's got a knife to me throat, and next thing I know she's gone. Poof. Disappeared. No fucking word for almost ten fucking years, then all of a sudden out of fucking nowhere she shows up, and she's still wearing me bloody ring. She might as well have slapped me in the fucking face. And you! Oh, you and yer fucking need to be fucking polite. She doesn't deserve our fucking help!"

"Oh come on now Murphy! Ye know better than anyone why she left for chrissakes. I know for a fact that ye spent days tracking down all her contacts, trying to find her no? Ye had to know it had something to do with Colin. She never could let it go. She couldn't rest with her fucking brother's murderer on the streets. Fer fucks sake; ye should understand now better than before how she feels. We lost Da! Sorry if I can relate to her little quest a bit more now. Put yerself in her fucking shoes!" Connor shouted back.

Murphy stood up, he kicked the chair he'd been sitting on. It tumbled backwards into the wall. He came face to face with his brother, stared him down.

"Ye just don't fuckin' get it do ye?"

He turned on his heel and strode out of the apartment, slamming the door on his way.