I do not own Boondock Saints.
The Italian hauled Audrey into the bar by the collar of her shirt. She landed on her face, vaguely aware of other people in the bar. She didn't pay attention to them, though. She simply flipped over so she could see the Italian, because he was the one sent to kill her. She adjusted her glasses.
Her hands clenched tight into fists, her nails cutting into her palms. The pain kept her from panicking, kept her focused. She had lived like a coward; she was not about to die like one. She forced herself to stare right into the man's eyes. It was not encouraging.
"Last chance," he said, in his ridiculous accent, "Tell me what I want to hear."
She never took her eyes off him, but had to swallow several times before she found her voice. "I'll never," she began, swallowing again, knowing this would condemn her to death, "ever, help you. If you didn't already know that, you wouldn't be shoving a gun in my face."
The man shrugged and pulled back on the hammer. He had known that would be her answer. The question had been a simple formality. His finger was on the trigger when suddenly, "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" His accent was Irish.
Her head snapped up and she looked around for the first time. "Irish?" She looked back at the Italian. "You brought me to an Irish pub? Are you an idiot?" Maybe it was different in Boston, but where she came from, there was a huge animosity between the Irish and the Italians. He glared at her, but he seemed worried for the first time. He glanced at the men watching, the ones at the bar, a big mistake. She took full advantage of it.
In one swift motion, she rolled under the reach of his gun, no longer in the line of fire. She reached up, grabbed his arm and flipped him over her, pinning his arm to the ground and stepping on it as hard as she could. She heard bones snap, and the man screamed. She kicked the gun out of his hand. "You'll heal," she spat. Then she looked up, glancing around her, because it occurred to her, belatedly, that that had been too easy.
Two men were also pinning the Italian. She suspected they'd helped her flip him. "I didn't need your help, you know," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. They didn't look up at her, choosing to learn from the Italian's mistake. One of them snorted, though. "Well?" she asked. "What now?"
The two men thought about it. "What do you think?" one of them asked her.
She shrugged, deciding not to think much about what was going on until later. "I'm a lazy girl. It's easiest to let him go."
"If you insist," the other one said, and the both backed off at the same time. The Italian struggled to his feet, cradling his broken arm, glaring at them all. She was going to let him walk away, but the arm was her fault. It looked awful.
She sighed, berating herself even as she said "I'll splint that for you." She pointed to his arm. The Italian gave her a long glare that said both no and I'm going to kill you.
The boys noticed. "Hey," one said, "we could change our minds you know." The Italian got the message and got out fast. The boys didn't follow him. "He'll probably be back," one said, as he closed the door. She chose to ignore that statement.
"I'm Audrey," she said, reaching out to shake their hands. "Audrey Owens." Should I have used my real name? She wondered. She didn't know. She was new to this underground shit. Well, not really, but she was new to being on this side of the underground shit.
"I'm Connor MacManus, this is my brother Murphy," said the taller one. He wasn't that much taller though, and the difference was probably just his hair.
Audrey appraised them both. "Fraternal twins," she said, a statement, not a question. "Interesting."
"What's interesting?" asked Murphy.
She just shook her head. "It's not important." She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do now. Should she just leave? She wasn't exactly sure where she was, and she hadn't said thank you yet.
"Do you want a drink?" Connor offered. She shook her head.
"No, I'm actually waiting for the shock to start. After all, I was nearly killed, and I just broke a man's arm. In two places," she reminded them, holding up two fingers just to emphasize the point. "Both bones, the ulna and the radius. It'll be a nasty fix, requiring at couple pins," she said, busying her mind with the details of the breaks instead of the details of the gun, or what would have happened to her face if it had gone off.
"Sounds like a good time to have a drink to me," Murphy replied, heading toward the bar. "Come on." Connor seemed to take it upon himself to lead her to the barstool. She started to lean on him, but caught herself and pulled away. She had to remember who she was.
"Something warm and non-alcoholic, like coffee," she said as she hauled herself up on the bar stool. The boys sat on either side of her. She lay her head down on the bar, and was immediately pulled back up. "What?"
"Come on," Connor said, smiling, "You can't be out already! You haven't had a drink yet."
She smiled wearily. "I guess I can't hold my liquor." The bartender handed her a drink, with a long stuttering speech she didn't quite catch. It included a lot of shouting fuck ass, but it ended in coffee for her so she didn't mind at all. She sipped it quietly, listening to the talk around her. Some of it was in Irish Gaelic, which Audrey could not make heads nor tails of.
"So what was that about?" Murphy asked her after a while. She was surprised to realize that he'd given her sufficient time to calm down and get adjusted. His timing could not have been more precise.
She raised her eyebrow. "Skillful timing," she remarked, taking another sip of coffee. "Well," she began, but stopped. Keep your fat mouth shut, Audrey, she thought, berating herself. Learn from past mistakes. "That's none of your goddamn business," she said quietly, laying her head back down on the bar. "Pull me up again, and I'll smack you." This time her voice had more volume. She was serious.
"Don't go to sleep on us now, missy," someone said. She suspected Connor but she was getting very tired.
"And why not?"
"You might have a concussion," someone else said, a voice she didn't recognize.
"If you think I have a concussion, why did you offer me a drink?" she asked, but raised her head, nonetheless. "I don't have a concussion. Trust me, I'm a doctor."
"You are?" Murphy asked, one eyebrow raised. His expression was mischievous and cocky, making her feel like a child he was indulging. And worse, he was right.
She sat up and frowned into her mug. "Well, not really, but I'm in med school. That counts."
"Sure it does, lass," said Connor, taking a big swig of his drink.
She scowled at them. "Well I can perform basic first aid in any case. Set broken bones, clean cuts, bullet wounds, infections, whatever doesn't require major surgery..." she trailed off and drank some more coffee. Then she paid for her drink and got up.
"Where are you going?" Connor asked. His tone implied she was being an idiot, and she knew he was right.
"My place," she said, heading toward the door. Oops, she thought, I still haven't thanked them yet.
"Alone?" Murphy asked, looking at her like she was crazy. She knew he was totally right, but what choice did she have? She asked him as much. "You could have someone go with you," he suggested.
"No. Thank you for your help earlier, but…" she trailed off, searching for a polite way to say fuck off. She couldn't find one, so she went with a simple shrug and continued to walk out. She heard footsteps behind her and sighed. So much for being polite.
"At least let us walk you home," Connor said, jogging slightly to catch up to her. It irked her that his strides were significantly longer than hers. She thought the Irish were supposed to be short. He was at least a head taller than her.
"I don't need an escort," she said more forcefully than before.
"Yeah, well we don't want all our hard work to go to waste," Murphy said, coming up on her other side. "We just saved you. It'd be a shame to have to save you again."
She rolled her eyes. "You guys just want a better thank you out of me," she muttered.
Connor's eyes twinkled. "That too."
She stopped walking. "Let me go alone and I promise to bake you a cake. From scratch with frosting and everything." She was good at baking pretty much anything, except bread. She hadn't quite got the feeling for yeast yet.
The two brothers looked at each other. "What kind?" Connor asked.
"I am open to requests. I'm bias against chocolate, so it's probably not fair if I decide on my own," she replied, smiling slightly. Her roommate could not understand anyone's aversion to chocolate, let alone a fellow woman's.
"What do you think, Murph?" Connor asked.
"I'll bet she's an awful cook," Muphy replied. She slapped them both on the shoulder.
"I'm a damn fine baker, I'll have you know!" she said indignantly. "If you don't decide I'll make spice cake with penuche frosting!" Which was her favorite, but almost no one knew what penuche entailed and were slightly afraid of it.
The twins glanced at each other again. "Can you make red velvet?"
She frowned. Red velvet was just chocolate cake with a shitload of red food coloring. "Yes," she nodded. "I'll bring it to McGinty's in," she did some quick calculations, "about six days."
Connor raised an eyebrow. "That's St. Patrick's Day," he said.
"Is it?" she asked. "I had no idea." Liar, liar. "See you then," she said, walking away.
She got to her apartment without incident, but her heart sank when she got there. The door was slightly ajar, something her roommate would never do. It had been forced open. Was someone unpleasant waiting for her on the other side? Why hadn't she let the MacManus boys walk her home?
Oh yeah, pride. Audrey cursed. She supposed there was a reason pride was called a deadly sin. She quickly removed her wallet from her pocket and hid it in her shoe before pushing the door open and entering. For one long moment, nothing happened. Then something small rushed at her along the ground.
She jumped but recovered quickly from the shock to see it was just a dog. Her dog, an Olde English Bulldogge she'd raised from a puppy and named Rochester. "Oh, thank God," she said, dropping to her knees so she could give the brown furball a proper hug. He got slobber all over her, but she didn't mind. "What happened?" she asked him, but Rochester didn't really answer. He just continued to lick her. "Where's Grace?"
She stood, "Come on boy," she said. "Let's see what they did."
The place was a mess, and her mirror was broken, but the picture of her sister still had all the cash hidden in the back. Even her stash of laundry quarters, out in the open, was untouched. "Not good," she said to her dog. The biggest problem with the place was that she could not find her roommate. "Grace?" she called. "Where are you?" Her hands tightened into fists. Where was her friend?
"Audrey?" came a voice that was barely a whisper. "Is that you?"
"Grace!" Audrey yelled, rushing toward the voice to find her friend on the fire escape. "What happened?"
Grace looked up at her with wide eyes. "Are you okay? I was so worried! What happened?" She crawled through the window back into the apartment.
"Nothing," she said. "I'm fine." Instead, she examined her roommate. Grace was a very thin girl, a stick basically, with long blonde hair that curled loosely as it fell. She had large green eyes and a healthy tan. Of the two of them, there was no question that Grace was the pretty one.
But tonight Grace's usually friendly, open face was lined with worry. "You don't look fine," she said. "You're going to have a really fabulous shiner tomorrow."
She sighed. "What happened to you?" she asked.
Grace looked down at the dog between them and explained what happened. "Who were they, Audrey?" she asked when she was finished.
The other girl shrugged. "You expect me to know? I have no idea."
Her friend gave her a withering look. "Who gave you that shiner?" she asked accusingly.
Audrey's shoulders sagged. "Look, I've got to go, I can't stay here," she said, turning to walk out. "Take care of Rochester for me."
"What!" Grace exclaimed. "Oh no," she said, grabbing her friends arm. "There is no way you're just going to walk out of here without a proper explanation!" Using a strength she didn't seem to have, Grace dragged Audrey into the living room and threw her on the couch. "Explain."
Audrey sighed. It was at times like these she remembered Grace had an uncle in the FBI. She spilled the entire story, start to finish. When she was done, Grace had her head in her hands.
"Those boys deserve more than a cake, you know," she said. "What could have happened-"
Audrey crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll spend more effort on the cake than they did helping me. That's fair." Grace gave her a look, but let the matter drop.
"What are we going to do?" she asked.
Audrey considered for a moment. "Well, I can't stay here. I can't risk them finding me again."
"Let's just call-" Grace began.
"Not his jurisdiction," Audrey replied. "Besides, I don't have any names, and I don't want police involvement. Surely you, of all people, can understand that."
Grace nodded. "I don't like it, but I get it. Well, you realize if you want to go into hiding, you're going to have to give up school."
Audrey looked down. "I know."
They sat there for a moment, and then Audrey got up. "Well, I'm packing."
"I'm coming with you," Grace said. Audrey opened her mouth to refuse, but Grace interrupted her. "You think that they won't try to get to you through me? Besides, it's not as much of an uprooting for me as it is for you." Audrey stuck her tongue out at her friend, but knew she was right. She also knew that there was no force on earth that was going to stop Grace from coming.
They packed in silence, left a note for the landlord, and put a leash on Rochester. It wasn't until they stepped outside when they realized they didn't have a clue where they were going.
"Where-" Grace started to ask, but Audrey interrupted her.
"My father has contacts all over the world," she said, staring stonily ahead. "I'm sure he has some in Boston."
Rochester is awesome, by the way. I think he's the best character I've created in a long time.
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