ANGEL OF THE BRONX
Based on the movie "Boondock Saints"

A.N.: I want to apologize for how confusing this chapter is. I kinda jump ahead and go back in time a bit, but I try to make it clear what I'm doing (like past memories are in italics and such). Anyway, hope you enjoy.


Conner stared darkly at the restraints holding his wrist to the hospital bed. The dark glower quickly moved to the woman casually reading the magazine beside him. The woman appeared not to notice his glare as she turned the page.

"How long till they be letting me go, lass?" he said aloud, trying to get her attention.

"Well, as long as you keep to our deal," she said, "They'll release you in a couple days. And I'll never have to see your face again."

The second time Connor woke up, he felt a good deal calmer. True, the doctors on-call had decided to pump enough medication in him to level a young horse, but on the plus side he felt no pain. The peace found in the black oblivion of dreamless sleep still wrapped tightly around him. So much so, he barely felt connected to his body. He would have been more than happy to just drift off again to the dark oblivion, but something stopped him.

Shaking his head, he blinked a few times, trying to drive off the haze. He knew he was in a hospital bed (a very comfortable hospital bed) but something about it didn't feel right. Trying to sit up, he felt something catch both his wrists and ankles. Looking down, he found all four limbs restrained by soft, brown, leather cuffs. Attempting to pull himself free resulted in only a half-hearted tug that barely rattled the bed's plastic frame. Connor felt overwhelming exhaustion at even that small effort.

Fuck, yer in trouble, he thought to himself, glancing around the dark room, And Murphy's not even here to enjoy it with ye.

The attempt at gallows humor did very little to help. Again, he offered a silent prayer in hope God would spare his brother, and keep him safe. The image of the car's tail-lights played through his mind. Cold rushed through him at the absence of everything familiar hit. Murphy was gone. Da was gone. His gun was gone. He couldn't even rely on the familiar touch of his rosary against his bare chest for comfort.

"Whose there?" he exclaimed suddenly, as the sound of a small sigh reached his ears. Squinting in the darkness, he though he could make out the form of a sitting figure. Again, the person sighed, louder this time. Connor heard the screech of a chair being shoved back and the shuffle of feet.

"Close your eyes," a female voice ordered. Pressure appeared on one side of the bed, as though someone was bracing themselves to lean across the way. Connor had just enough time to close his eyes when the immediate area around him became bathed in light. He could hear the hiss of a sharp intake of breathe next to his ear.

Opening his eyes, he blinked slightly in the new light. As his eyes adjusted, they fell on the young woman reclaiming her seat at the foot of his bed. It was the one from before. The one in a perpetually bad mood. The one from the alley.

For a long moment, the two regarded each other. Anna bit the bottom of her lip, concentrating on what she wanted to say to the man before her. A mix of emotions filled her. Anger for example. Who was this man to think he could be judge, jury, and executioner for someone else? Who was he to decide the fate of another human being, faith and God be damned? And what about Linda? Her friend had been one of his "witnesses" weeks ago. She no longer left her house accept to go to church, fearing any action would bring swift judgement in the form of a hand gun on her. Fear. This man and his associates had killed countless people. Done so without a hint of remorse or care as to who watched. And just a little shame. Anna was ashamed that she was angry at them for not doing their "job". For not being there when she needed them. For not...

"Are we goin' to keep the starin' contest goin' on all night, lass?" Connor broke the silence first.

"That depends," Anna replied coldly, "Are you going to attack me again?"

Connor flinched as the comment brought back the hazy memory of why he had been unconscious. He shook his head, trying to give the young woman a reassuring smile. The frown remained etched in her face.

"No," he said, letting the expression drop.

"Good."

They stared at each other in silence again. Connor shuffled a little, not used to such scrutiny since he'd been a wee lad of ten. He took the time to study the young woman a little closer. On second inspection, she was down-right gorgeous. Slight of build, but not small by any means. Connor was sure that she could stare both him and his brother in the eye without help. No, the original pettiteness he had projected on her came from the willow-like form of her frame. The poor girl looked like she half-starved herself. Thin arms to match long thin legs met along a slim body. Her breasts were relatively small in build, but appeared perfectly firm. Her face was slightly more rounded than the rest of her. Oval cheeks were framed by long, straight black hair. Dark green eyes glared out from long, lovely eyelashes.

"Ye know," Connor said, trying again to break the silence, "A man could take to blushin' beneath the scrutiny o' such a..."

"Cut the crap," Anna pierced through his attempt at conversation directly, "I know who you are."

"Do ye now?" replied Connor, trying to keep the conversation genial, "And who might that be, darlin'? Yer dear brother, perhaps?"

"What did I say about cutting the crap?" Anna shot back, letting her anger get the better of her, "Your lucky I haven't had the cops in here on your sorry ass."

The comment made Connor sober slightly. He had no doubts that many of the men after he and Murphy within the law enforcement community were good men. But they were at best misinformed, at worst bordering corruption. They were a hindrance mostly, and one he didn't need at the moment. He looked at Anna ponderously.

"That does beg the question, love," he replied, "If ye know me, why havn't ye yet?"

The frown on Anna's face deepened. Crossing her arms, she sunk back further in the chair. Glancing left, she looked to see if any of the night watch was paying attention.

"Initially," she said, "You were hurt and I know you guys work in pairs, if not three. So at the time I really didn't need to find a gun in my face, punishing me for being the Saduccee that walked to the other side of the street."

She delivered the last half in sharp, brisk tone that barely concealed her contempt. Connor felt an initial spark of anger at the tone, annoyed that some girl (who didn't know anything) would dare to presume she could judge his and his family's action. But he quelled it, remembering the young woman had saved his life already. Even if she did not see reason, she at least was not an evil soul.

"And after," he replied calmly.

"Well, I can't very well go to the police now, can I?" she responded, "I'd be accomplice of some sort for not turning you in immediately."

Connor frowned at the comment. Perhaps the girl was not as good as he hoped. But he could hardly throw a stone at an act of kindness, no matter how self-serving the reason behind it.

"So what do ye plan ta do then?" he asked. The girl shrugged, as the fight in her eyes diminished slightly.

"Keep up the charade you're my brother," she answered, "And once you get out of here, dump you off at the street corner and pray to whatever god will listen that I never see you again."

"Aye," replied Connor, "Seems fair enough. But how do I know ye won't jus' call the..."

"I won't," Anna cut him off, "You have my word."

"Oh, well that settles it," Connor shot back sarcastically, "The word of a rescuer who hates my guts."

A small smirk crossed Anna's face as she tilted her head and replied, "I'm still your rescuer."


Two Days Later

"Watch where ye put that fuckin' hand!" Connor exclaimed as he felt Jeremy's hand slip down and just barely graze his ass. Jeremy glared at him, annoyed to be cursed at for such a small accident. Yet he wasn't very surprised. This Connor character shared a similar temperament to Anna, emphasis on the temper part.

"Charming," Jeremy said, looking across to Anna on Connor's left. Anna shrugged in response, focusing on baring her half of Connor's weight up the stairs. She had more on her mind to deal with than bickering between Jeremy and her "brother".

Somehow, Connor and her had managed to bully the hospital staff into an early release despite the severity of Connor's wounds. She, of course, wanted it over so she could be rid of the Saint and the emotional roller coaster that came when she looked at him. Guilt for helping him evade justice had joined her other emotions, combated by her stubborn drive to keep her word and guilt over her anger at him. Most of all, she felt that she had been thrown into a helpless situation, with herself hostage to a man who didn't appear to want to keep her a hostage. Connor, of course, just wanted to find his brother. He had managed to get a call out to Agent Smecker during his stay in the hospital. The FBI agent had reassured him there was no identification of Murphy's body in the local morgues. Of course, that meant very little in a city the size of New York, but Connor knew Murphy was alive. He could sense it, feel it in a way beyond words. The way the pair had always done, even as little children.

Unfortunately, the haste in which they had gotten out of the hospital meant only one thing. Connor wasn't strong enough to go more than a couple feet without help and he was in no condition to find his brother. In essence, Anna was forced to remain in the role of "caring sister" a little longer, unable to honestly keep her promise by dumping on the road. Besides that, it would be a little odd for Jeremy's sake if she just abandoned her "brother" on the side of the road.

"Ah, home sweet home," said Connor, as Anna unlocked the door to the two bedroom apartment. Shuffling his way in, still supported by Jeremy, he made a beeline for the couch. It took only a moment for him to get settled comfortably.

"You sure you don't need anything?" said Jeremy, as Anna closed the door to the apartment behind her.

"Yeah," Anna lied casually, "We'll be fine."

Jeremy frowned.

"You're sure?" He said, seeing through Anna in an annoyingly familiar way.

"Yes, Jeremy, We'll be fine."

Jeremy nodded, sighing just a bit. Shaking his head he turned to go, only to stop and turn back to Anna.

"Listen," he said, "If there's..."

"Jeremy, go!" Anna pointed towards the stairwell. When he didn't she added quickly, "I promise, if there's any trouble, we'll call you."

Jeremy's frown deepened, but he nodded submissively. Turning, he walked back to the stairs and paused at the top.

"You know," he said, "I'm already starting to miss the "I" that belongs in that sentence."

Without another word, he walked down the stairs. Anna stayed outside her door until she could no longer see the top of his head. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened her door, entering it with a stranger once again. Connor looked up from his spot on the couch as she entered. Tensing slightly, he waited for her to say something.

"Now what?" he asked, when she didn't.


Pain and darkness. That was what the world had seem to come to for Murphy. It wasn't that he couldn't take a beating, or that the ones these bastards were giving him were the worst he'd ever had, but they didn't in the damn darkness. He couldn't even see where the blows were coming from, or from whom. He judged already that there was only one other person in the room (the punches were to precise and felt to similar for it to be otherwise. Plus there was always only one voice), but the wise-ass kept moving around. Worse, both Murphy's arms and legs were handcuffed tightly to the chair he was in.

He heard the movement of footsteps behind him before a familiar voice spoke, "Adesso giocheremo un gioco divertente."

"Che ciņ č, lei fottendo il bastardo?" Murphy responded, not letting the man break his spirit.

The man laughed. A deep, rich laugh that sent a shiver down Murphy's back.

"Tale fuoco... " the man said and Murphy felt something slide around his neck. It took him a second to realize it was a rosary. It took him another second to realize just what the man planned to do with it.

"Lei sa la maniera migliore per mettere un fuoco fuori, il ragazzo? " the man said tugging slightly on the loose end of the rosary. Murphy bent his head, not replying. He had heard somewhere, that bending your head kept someone from breaking your windpipe.

"Portare via l'aria," The man answered his own question, at the same time, grabbing Murphy's hair and yanking his head back. With a tug, he tightened the necklace around the Saint's neck.

Murphy could feel his lungs burn. Sure, as kids he and Connor had held contest to see how long they could hold their breath, but this was something completely different. He was beginning to feel a small pain break out between his eyes as he began to thrash. Thrashing didn't help much as the man kept a steady hold on Murphy's hair and the chain. It was only just as black dots began to swim in front of Murphy's eyes that the man let go.

Coughing and sputtering, Murphy lost all coherence in Italian as he screamed, "What the fuckin' hell? Who the fuck do...Why in...You fuckin'..."

He stopped only as he heard the man laugh.

"So much like your brother," the man said, in English, making Murphy stop, "He said the exact same things."

"Connor?" this was the first time Murphy heard the man speak about his brother. Any other time he asked the man had just laughed.

"What have ye done to him?"

"Oh," the man said, remaining in English, "The same I'm going to do to you. Brave boy, he was. Till he began begging."

Murphy felt his heart grow cold at the man's statement. No, not Connor. He'd never...

"Ye lying piece of shit!" Murphy exclaimed, "Connor would never beg from the likes o'ye. Never."

"Oh," the man replied gleefully, "But he would. Just before he died, he begged me not to do the same to you."

The cold of his heart shattered it's way into Murphy's soul. He tried to force himself not to believe the man, make himself believe this was all a ploy to get a rise out of him. But he couldn't. Something in the man's words made it sound sincere.

"Ye're lyin'," Murphy said, still trying to convince himself.

"Oh, really."

The lights came on without warning. Murphy let out a small grunt, shutting his sensitive eyes to the brightness. How long had he been in this basement, days...weeks? As his eyes began to adjust, he found himself looking at a man, about his age. His hands were gloved and his hair was nicely slicked back. He was looking at Murphy with malicious intent. In his hands was a familiar looking rosary with a Gaelic cross on the end.

"No."

The word came out in a half-breathe. For the rosary in the man's hand was not Murphy's, but Connor's.


Translations:

"Adesso giocheremo un gioco divertente. "- Now we're going to play a fun game.

Che ciņ č, lei fottendo il bastardo? - What's that, you fucking bastard?

Tale fuoco... - Such fire

Lei sa la maniera migliore per mettere un fuoco fuori, il ragazzo? - Do you know the best way to put a fire out, boy?

Portare via l'aria. - Taking away the air

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