100 Words: BDS (2/2)
Title: One Hundred Words: Boondock Saints
Author: somehowunbroken
Pairing: gen, het, slash, it's all in there.
Word Count: 10,202
Rating: R/violence and language
Disclaimer: Not mine. I play with them and put them back when I'm done. Mostly.
Summary: One hundred 100word drabbles, all related to Boondock Saints. Written before the second movie was even a pipe dream. All of the words were supplied by my beta; all mistakes are mine, don't blame her.
Part One
51. Rhythm
Greenly loves to go to the club after a long day at the station, and he’s pretty slick on the dance floor. The ladies love it.
Dolly goes with him occasionally, but he always sits in the corner with the drinks and rolls his eyes, secretly jealous that Greenly’s got moves.
Duffy is a different story. Duffy loves going, as well, but they don’t invite him anymore, and it’s not because of the ties. Duffy has so much rhythm that the ladies flock to him instead of Greenly.
Greenly hates it, hates Duffy’s rhythm, so he just asks Dolly now.
52. Burn
Neither Connor nor Murphy can stand the smell of burning.
It doesn’t really matter what is burning - fire, toast, coffee that’s been in the pot too long - because the distinct odor of anything burning reminds them of the distinct odor of burning flesh.
And Rocco.
They try not to burn things or to be around things that burn, other than their precious cigarettes, because they think of Rocco when they smell burning, and they try not to think of Rocco if they can help it.
Burning smells of failure, of failure to protect and defend, and of sadness and loss.
53. Sport
Sometimes they treated their so-called twin stunts as a sport for their own amusement.
Using the twin thing to impress a woman was worth differing amounts, based on the woman in question. Confusing people with their apparent mental telepathy was ten points each time, more if it was someone they continued to fool. Languages were fifteen each, aiding the other while barely knowing what was going on was thirty.
The Chekov mess was worth over two hundred points when all was said and done.
At the time, they had no idea that their lives would soon be overflowing with points.
54. Hide
“It’s my turn to hide,” Murphy says matter-of-factly, and he runs away before Connor can argue. Connor sighs theatrically to their empty room and sits on the bed to count loudly.
“I’m coming!” he yells ten seconds later, and though he looks and looks, Murphy is nowhere.
Connor hears a scream and a splash and runs to the creek, game forgotten. Murphy is flailing wildly in the deep part of the water, and Connor charges in to grab at his brother and pull him to dry land.
When they had caught their breath, Connor turned to his brother.
“Found you.”
55. Laugh
Murphy’s laugh is infectious, and even though he doesn’t know why he’s laughing or what’s funny, Connor is laughing, too.
It starts out low, a rippling sound in his chest, and it bubbles up out of him. The sound grows and booms and stretches to fill whatever space they’re in, and it seems like it couldn’t possibly be coming from Murphy. He’s small and the sound is so big, so boisterous, that it seems to be too big to come from him.
It takes the shadows out of his face for a moment, so it doesn’t matter why he laughs.
56. Emotion
Smecker can’t conjure up any emotion at all, none, nothing, when he walks into an old warehouse and sees the McManus twins sprawled, lifeless, on the concrete floor.
It’s just that he’s had this dream so many times before. Now that it’s real, now that Greenly and Dolly and Duffy are here seeing it with him and Greenly’s crying a little and Dolly is pale and Duffy is getting sick, Smecker can’t come up with anything. He’s tapped, empty, spent. Done.
Smecker thinks back to a conversation he had with Connor once, a lifetime ago.
They’ve finally found their peace.
57. Enough
When will it be enough? Doc wonders as he pours another beer for another faceless customer. Since Rocco died and the twins had left, his bar had become a nothing, no regulars left, just a hole in the wall where almost nobody came and certainly nobody frequented.
Doc worries for their safety, for their sanity, for their freedom. They are far from bulletproof, and they’re certainly not cop-proof. He doesn’t know how to get in touch with their Ma if something happens to them. Mostly, though, he just misses them.
When will it be enough for them to come home?
58. Illusion
They knew that it couldn’t really be magic. Only babies believed in magic, and they were eight now, hardly babies.
But they could not figure out how Uncle Sibeal was making the card float.
“It must be real magic,” Murphy said simply after puzzling over the matter,
“It’s not magic,” Connor replied. “It’s an illusion.”
“Yeah?” countered Murphy. “Can you do it?” He poked Connor in the arm. “Can you make things just fly through the air?”
Connor grinned. “Aye.”
Murphy looked confused until he felt himself lifted off his feet, propelled backwards onto his bed by his laughing twin.
59. Soul
“Do you ever think about the words?”
Murphy’s question startles Connor. He looks up from where he’s cleaning his gun.
“The prayer.”
“Oh,” Connor replies. “Not really. Not anymore.”
“Do you think we really send the soul of everyone we kill to Him?”
Connor put the gun down and looked, really looked, at his brother. “I think we do,” he replied after a moment. “If they have souls, evil scumbags, I think they’re sent for judgment.”
Murphy looked unconvinced. “What if we’re wrong?”
Connor picked the gun up again. “Then our souls will be called on it when we die.”
60. Weary
“I’m too old for this,” the Chief sighed as he settled his weary bones into a chair.
Much had changed lately. They’d brought in that FBI guy, Smecker, and look where it had gotten them - three of his detectives were now neck-deep in whatever the hell was going on with those Saints. The Chief agreed - the guys were killing the scum of the earth, so why not let them do it for a while? - but now, his detectives were involved, and the only way to let them do it was to pretend he didn’t know.
“Too old,” he muttered again.
61. Angel
They know of angels.
There is the Angel of Grace, messenger of forgiveness and love from Him. The Angel of Mercy, with wings large enough to enfold and forgive. The Angel of Protection, of Love, of Forgiveness.
There are other angels, too. The Angel of Destruction, who brings the fall. The Angel of Judgment, of Justice. The Angel of Death.
In their line of work, they have seen all. They have taken the role of each. Their prayer is fervent: when this is all over, may the Angel sent to take them be one of the former, not the latter.
62. Tradition
Connor is snoring on the couch when Murphy walks in. Strains of music are coming from the television, and Murphy snorts as he realizes that Connor fell asleep watching The Sound of Music.
“Hell of a tradition,” he said under his breath, turning off the television. “Falling asleep to old movies with irritating soundtracks.”
Connor stirred and Murphy stopped talking, pulling a blanket over his brother’s still form.
--
The next morning, Connor wakes whistling a peppy song. He’s not sure what it is or where he heard it, but it’s stuck in his head for hours.
Murphy just smiles.
63. Stick
They’ve been at McGinty’s for only an hour when they decide it’s time to go.
“Don’t g-g-g-go yet, boys,” Doc says, almost begging. “Have another. On the h-h-house.”
Murphy shakes his head. “Can’t stick around this time, Doc. We shouldn’t’ve even come, but we wanted to let you know we were fine.”
“Alive,” Connor amended with a lopsided grin.
“Anyway, we have to get back out of Boston,” Murphy said. “It was good to see you, Doc.”
“You too,” Doc said helplessly, sadly, as they walked from the bar.
He didn’t think he’d ever see Connor and Murphy McManus again.
64. Fight
They fight constantly after leaving Boston. With each other. With Da. With themselves.
Is this the right thing? Will we be forgiven? Should Da be here at his age? How can we let Ma know we’re okay? How long will Smecker help us?
Da has all the answers. Yes, yes, yes, we can’t, forever. If God wills it.
They can’t fight with that, with what God wills.
Murphy wonders if this is God’s will or Da’s, but when he speculates aloud to Connor while Da is out, Connor scowls and they fight again, so Murphy keeps his thoughts to himself.
65. Miniature
“I didn’t want you to get a huge fucken tub of ice cream,” Connor began, “but this is not enough. It’s tiny. It’s a miniature ice cream.”
“Go to the store yourself next time,” Murphy shot back. “Get your own fucken ice cream.”
“But you were already going,” Connor almost whined. Murphy just stared at him.
“Fine,” Connor grumbled, getting to his feet and chucking the tiny ice cream at Murphy. “But I’m not getting you those minty things you love.”
Murphy waved a small green paper package in Connor’s direction. “Don’t care,” he said, and opened his own treat.
66. Plenty
There are reasons that they do this, and there are reasons that they think they should stop doing this. There are plenty of reasons for both sides.
On the one hand they have God’s orders, which weigh heavily. On the other, they lost Da a few years ago. They are doing what they feel is right, but Smecker can no longer help them. They are cleansing the world of its darkest denizens, but they miss Ireland and Ma and being out in public without worrying for cover.
They no know other work.
In the end, this is the deciding factor.
67. Break
Connor felt his forearm break against the brick wall behind him. He hissed in pain, but gave no other outward sign.
He saw Murphy, silently making his way down the alley, and saw his attacker’s face turning towards his brother.
Connor spat in the man’s face. “That all you’ve got, aye?”
The man gave an angry yell and drew back to punch Connor’s injured forearm. This time Connor let out a gasp. The man grinned sadistically.
“I’ve got more,” he taunted.
“You’ll never get to share it. Shame,” Murphy said from behind the man, and shot him in the head.
68. Shoulder
Connor’s shoulder drove into Murphy’s stomach, and all of Murphy’s breath rushed out as he flew backwards.
“Stay down,” Connor hissed, freezing on top of his twin. Murphy could hear the footsteps, slow and deliberate, searching the warehouse thoroughly.
He shoved Connor off of him and drew his gun. He peered through the slats in front of him, aiming.
Murphy heard the click and pop behind him and spun to see Connor fall, lifeless. He aimed his gun at their assailant and pulled the trigger, but the other man was faster, and Murphy felt searing pain.
Then he felt nothing.
69. Never
Murphy’s not sure what to do, not used to being in a situation where he has to make this kind of choice.
“Go,” Connor wheezes, and Murphy is torn. Leave? Can he do it?
“Go,” Connor says again, more urgent this time, and Murphy makes the hard decision. He grabs Connor, hoists him up. It feels eerily familiar, and flashes of flying toilets flicker through his memory. He pulls Connor up and over his shoulder and walks away as quickly as possible.
“Go without me,” Connor tries to tell him, and Murphy shakes his head.
“Never without you,” Murphy says.
70. Professional
They’re very professional about their job. They have to be, or they’ll go insane thinking about what they do.
They have marks, not victims, though those they kill have victims and are proud of it. They have tools, not guns, because every profession has its own tools.
They have casualties, and they have no nice word for that. Rocco was first, then Da, then Smecker. Greenly wouldn’t talk to them, now, and Dolly had retired last year, and Duffy has disappeared. He is feared dead too. They blamed themselves for that, too.
They remain professional so they can go on.
71. Test
They stare at Duffy, and he can feel a bead of sweat trickle down his back. They can’t see it, but Duffy gets the feeling that they know.
It’s some sort of test, he thinks. There was a leak and their names were released and now every police officer on the Eastern seaboard has their names, their pictures, their life stories. Their passports are flagged. They’re stuck, and they want to know who it was.
Duffy would be terrified if the leak had been him. But it’s not, so he looks them both straight in the eyes.
“It wasn’t me.”
72. Fashion
They’re as undercover as they can be, which is ironic, because they’re sitting in lawn chairs on a beach. Their mark is stretched out on a towel with his girl-of-the-month, ten yards away. She’s flipping through a fashion magazine. He is sleeping.
They decide that she knows nothing, is innocent. He will be the only mark this time. No need to kill her.
When they pick the lock on the door later that night, they’re very surprised that it’s her leveling a gun at them. He is behind her, holding another gun, almost lazily.
Two marks, then. They kill both.
73. Power
The lights flickered once, twice, then died.
“Power went out,” Connor groaned, throwing the remote control at the television. “Bulletproof Monk was on and the power went out.”
“Connor,” Murphy asked slowly. “How many times have you seen that movie?”
“What, like you haven’t seen your favorite movie a bunch of times?”
“How many times?” Murphy repeated. “This month?”
Connor refused to meet his eyes. “A couple.”
“Just quote it to yourself,” Murphy said. “I know you can.”
“Why would you think I’d be able to do that?”
Murphy looked at him and smirked. “I’ve heard you do it before.”
74. Complete
This was a total disaster.
From start to finish, the planning had been meticulous. Everything was laid out perfectly; nothing was left un-thought.
But now, now, Connor was laying on the floor and he wasn’t moving, and Murphy was having trouble getting to him, and everything hurt so much and Connor wasn’t breathing, wasn’t making his heart beat. Murphy wanted to help, but he was tired, so tired, so maybe he could just rest for a minute and then remind Connor to live again.
Murphy slumped over his brother’s body and closed his eyes.
The Saints’ mission was finally complete.
75. Club
Their guns had been taken when they were captured, and they were tied up on opposite sides of the basement. Murphy was trying violently to free himself; Connor was trying too, but more methodically.
“I am going to club these men to death with my shoe,” growled Murphy as he finally freed a hand. He then made quick work of the other hand and turned to Connor, who had just freed himself from his own bonds.
True to his word, when the men returned to the basement shortly thereafter, Murphy ran at them, howling, holding a boot in each hand.
76. Pay
Rocco had always been their friend. From the moment they moved into their shabby flat in South Boston, Rocco had always been there, and he’d been friendly, open, showing them around their new neighborhood. Taking them to McGinty’s. Passing along that they needed help at the meat packing plant. Had always just been a good guy.
And now he was dead.
Yakavetta had just walked in and shot him, without even seeming to realize what he was doing. It was simple to him, but he had taken their friend.
Yakavetta would pay. Eye for an eye, life for a life.
77. Ghost
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Dolly said, and Duffy jumped. It was late, they were tired, and he just wanted to go home.
“No, it’s just-”
“Wondering if we did the right thing.”
Duffy blinked. Dolly, being perceptive? This was… new. Unsettling.
“Yes,” he said cautiously, really looking at the other man. Seeing, for the first time, the shadows he hadn’t expected, the weight on Dolly, too. It was taking a toll on all of them, even Greenly.
“We did,” Dolly said simply, and walked away. Duffy wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly felt a little bit better.
78. Rings
“But why would you do that to a perfectly good onion?” Rocco looked horrified.
Murphy continued to crunch down on his onion rings. “They’re delicious, Roc. Try them.”
Rocco shook his head vehemently. “I like ‘em raw, man, on a burger. Those are dead. Dead onions.”
“Delicious dead onions,” Connor countered, reaching over the table to grab one from the basket. He dipped it in ranch dressing and bit into it.
“Sacrilege,” Rocco muttered, dipping his cheese fries in ketchup. “Poor onions. That’s just disgusting.”
“You should talk,” Murphy retorted.
The three looked at each other and burst out laughing.
79. Piano
Connor had always loved playing the piano.
He first played when he was seven; they had visited one of Ma’s friends, and she’d had a beat-up piano in the kitchen. Connor had sat down and plunked out the melody to Parting Glass. He’d visited Mrs. Connelly often, doing odd jobs around her house for the chance to play the piano for a little while. Somewhere along the line, he’d gotten good at it.
Now he plays to remember green fields and being young and laughter and lilting voices. He plays to forget where he is and what he has become.
80. French
French fries spilled over the table as Connor reached to smack Murphy’s head. He frowned at the smaller man. “Insult and injury,” he moaned. “You’re rude to me, then you make me spill my dinner.”
“The dinner thing was not my fault, you clumsy oaf,” Murphy responded, making no effort to deny the first claim.
“Oh, aye, I wanted to spill French fries everywhere. It must be my fault!”
Murphy rolled his eyes. “They’re not everywhere,” he pointed out. He reached to grab a fry off the table, swirled it in ketchup, and took a bite. “They’re still tasty, too.”
81. Staff
There was a staff party at the plant. Connor wanted to go; Murphy did not.
“Go without me,” he said, sitting defiantly on the couch, knowing that Connor wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Come on, Murph, just for a little bit,” Connor pleaded.
“No,” Murphy said stubbornly, resisting the urge to cross his arms.
“An hour,” Connor bargained. “Then we’ll go to McGinty’s.”
The lure of beer proved a strong temptation. “An hour, no more, then McGinty’s,” Murphy confirmed.
Connor smiled. “It could be fun, y’know,” he said. “You might love it.”
“Or not,” Murphy muttered, but he got his coat.
82. Rust
Blood tastes like rust and it hurts and what the fuck were the thoughts in Connor’s head when he awoke (came to?) in his own bed with Ma standing over him. Her worried look was replaced by an angry scowl as his eyes opened.
“Thought ye’d never wake up, for a bit,” she huffed, then bustled across the room to Murphy’s still form.
“What…”
“Ye beat the shite out of Aidan Colebar, that’s what,” ma replied, frustration barely masking pride.
“Had it coming,” Murphy said drowsily. Connor was relieved to hear his voice.
Ma snickered now. “Aidan looks much worse.”
83. Glow
The city seemed to glow at night.
Connor stared out the window, wishing that they could go out, could grab a pint at a bar, maybe talk to someone other than each other. Those days are behind them; they are wanted, now, on the run, never to return to a normal life. They have only each other for company, for fighting, for bandaging, for protecting, for protection.
The city pulsed with life, but they could never again partake of it. Connor sighed. He missed their old life more than Murphy seemed to, more than he’d ever admit. He missed everything.
84. Apple
The scent of fruit was overpowering.
“What the fuck?” Connor muttered as he walked into the flat. Murphy was just coming out of the bathroom, hair dripping wet.
“Why does it smell like-” Connor stopped and sniffed cautiously in Murphy’s direction. “Why do you smell like an apple?”
Murphy stopped walking and held his hand to his face and inhaled. “I do not.”
“You smell like a woman,” Connor advised, then walked past him into the bathroom. He returned a moment later holding a bottle of green gel.
“Last time I’m sending you out for shampoo,” Connor said, laughing.
85. Gummy bears
It’s a rare day in the McManus household.
Ma has taken them out of school and packed them into their neighbor’s car, and they are downtown, at the theater. They are going to see a film, a real film, in a theater, and they are each allowed to get a snack.
Connor peruses his selections, looking for the perfect treat, but Murphy knows exactly what he’s spending his quarter on.
“Gummy bears, please,” he says to the woman behind the candy stand. She smiles down at his gap-toothed grin and hands him a package.
Murphy’s smile could light the theater.
86. Tomato
All Connor wants when he’s sick is tomato soup. It reminds him of home of being a child, of Ma and Ireland.
Murphy’s the same; he wants nothing more than apple juice. A cool cup of apple juice could make him perk up like no medicine had ever been able to do.
When they both caught the flu, Doc went to the flat with a bag from the grocer. He warmed the soup on the stove and chilled the juice in the refrigerator.
The smiles he received in return were worth much more than the four dollars’ worth of food.
87. Snap
“I can’t do it,” Murphy whined. “I tried, Ma, I can’t do it and Connor can!”
“That’s ‘cause I’m better than you, Murph,” Connor replied smartly.
Annabelle swatted at Connor before turning to Murphy. “Can’t do what, now?”
“Can’t do this.” Connor leaned over gleefully and - right in front of Murphy’s face - snapped his fingers. Murphy darted his head forward, trying to bite the wriggling fingers.
Annabelle smiled, then leaned over to whisper something into Murphy’s ear. He began to giggle as she spoke, then laughed aloud as he turned to his brother.
“I can’t snap, but you can’t whistle!”
88. Flashlight
They brought the flashlight with them. Just in case. They weren’t scared, but… a flashlight seemed like a good thing to bring to a haunted house.
Connor and Murphy snuck in through the back window. They knew that the ghost lived upstairs, in the north bedroom, and they carefully made their way up the stairs and down the hallway.
“That’s the room,” Murphy whispered, nudging Connor. Connor nodded and they walked forward.
The door creaked open without them even touching it and, wide-eyed, they peered inside.
They left the flashlight on the floor as they ran, terrified, from the house.
89. Bustle
Connor slips, unnoticed, through the crowd. It’s a busy day, after all, and one lone man in average clothing is invisible in the hustle and bustle of a Saturday at the grocer’s.
He wanders up and down the aisles, trying to be inconspicuous as he followed his mark. The woman was doing her shopping with sticky fingers, but that wasn’t her worst offense. She ran a ring of drug smuggling and prostitution.
She walked out of the store, to her car, loaded the trunk with her purchases. She got in her car and drove off. She didn’t make it home.
90. Aluminum
Sometimes they have ridiculous arguments just to pass the time.
Aluminum or aluminium? Murphy prefers the first, because it’s more to-the-point, but Connor likes the extra syllable. It’s the same with herb: to pronounce the ‘h’ or not?
Sometimes they have serious arguments just to pass the time.
Could we have saved Rocco? They usually end up agreeing on this. No. But we could’ve tried harder. Could we have saved Da? They also agree here. No. By the end, Da didn’t even want to be saved.
Sometimes, they pass the time silently. It’s easier not to think of some things.
91. Shroud
It’s just a shell, really, and they know that Da isn’t in there. It’s still hard to leave him behind.
They give him the pennies, they pray their hardest for his soul. They pull the clean white sheet over him - the best shroud they could find given the circumstances.
“How long?” Murphy asks Connor quietly. Depth of faith rings through Connor’s head, but he bites his lip to keep it from spilling out.
They pour the gasoline and burn the body in the abandoned office building, the entire place quickly going up in flames.
Just another casualty in the war.
92. Shrug
Doc is polishing glasses behind the bar when they walk in.
“B-b-b-boys!” Doc exclaims. The twins grin at him.
“I know it’s after closing, Doc, but…” A smile on Connor’s lips, a shrug on his shoulders. “Can we get one?”
Doc pulls two beers and sets them in front of the men. He grabs a bottled water for himself.
“Listen, Doc…” Murphy pauses and a look slides between them. He reaches into his coat and pulls out an envelope, sealed and addressed and stamped. “If you ever hear of anything happening to us, can you put this in the post?”
93. Blanket
The blanket is already old when the twins get it at the age of three days.
It was made for their mother by her mother, and Annabelle knows that she will have no daughter is her life, with Padraig gone and these two born boys. It’s red and orange and purple, quilted, warm and lovely though it’s worn through in places.
She pulls it from its spot in the top of the hall closet and tucks it around her two baby boys.
Years later, when Connor loves orange and Murphy is partial to red, Annabelle smiles and nobody knows why.
94. Cavern
The cavern is small and damp and the perfect place for them to make their fortress.
The two small boys bring scraps of colored cloth, old tires, bits of wood, anything they can salvage to the cavern, and before long they consider it a castle.
“This is the best place in the world,” Murphy exclaims happily as they hang coloring book pages on the wall. Murphy’s red drawing of Uncle Sibeal’s store is near his spot.
“The best,” Connor agrees, his favorite drawing - an orange bird eating an orange - over his sitting space.
“Our castle is complete,” Murphy pronounces gleefully.
95. Core
It shook Annabelle McManus to the core when she got the letter.
I’m sorry to tell you this. Your sons and husband were killed last Friday morning. No matter what you hear, they were good men and died fighting the good fight.
No signature. No explanation. Padraig was out of jail? She hadn’t known that.
And now the news came, the other news, that they were terrorists. Killing people.
She got their bodies back, though. She held her own service; nobody would associate with her now.
Pennies in the eyes. A prayer for each. Annabelle knew exactly what to do.
96. Seaweed
“What are you eating?”
Dolly was aghast as he looked at Smecker’s dinner. Three little sushi rolls sat on the plate; the fourth was raised halfway to his mouth by a pair of chopsticks.
“It’s sushi, Dolly,” Smecker said, raising one eyebrow. “What does it look like?”
“You eat that stuff?” Dolly looked sickened.
“Well, you don’t play football with it.” Smecker looked amused. He raised the chopsticks.
Dolly was now edging away from the door to Smecker’s office. “Isn’t it, like, seaweed and raw fish?”
Smecker thought for a moment. “And rice,” he finally agreed. “Don’t forget the rice.”
97. Jam
Murphy licks the jam from his fingers, totally satisfied. Connor looks at him, disgusted.
“What are ye, four?” he mutters. Murphy just glares.
The sandwich is of epic proportions: four slice of bread, layered with peanut butter and strawberry jam and cream cheese and grape jam and he’s pretty sure he remembers putting something else is there, but he’s not sure what. Bananas?
Murphy picks up his sandwich, compresses all of the layers, and bites. A blissful smile crosses his face. Definitely bananas.
Connor shudders. Who could eat that shite? he wonders as he bites into his own pickle-and-cheese sandwich.
98. Blast
Murphy’s dreams are of Ireland. He recalls running through their small house, having a blast as Ma screamed out the back door for them to get yer asses back here and just being a child. He wakes rested in the morning.
Connor dreams about murder, about blackness, about blood and war and God and prayers that are prayed over people they know, over himself and his brother and friends. He relives Rocco’s death, every injury they’ve ever had, everything that could ever go wrong in the future. He wakes haunted.
Padraig doesn’t dream anymore. He wakes and sleeps the same.
99. Carbon
Annabelle and Padraig had expected them to be carbon copies of each other. No, though; Murphy was smaller, had darker features. He took after Paddy. Connor had fairer coloring, was slightly larger, and had more of Annabelle in him.
They were easy to tell apart, at least, Annabelle thought as she stared at her sleeping infants in their tiny crib.
Padraig came in, coat on, bag at his side. “You know what to tell them.”
She didn’t look at him. “Yes.”
He paused as he reached the door. “This was never a choice, Annabelle.”
Annabelle didn’t turn as he left.
100. Centric
In the end, everything comes full circle.
Father and sons stand in a circle, each pointing a gun at the others, unsure of who they can believe. One of them is the betrayer, two the betrayed; they all act surprised. It no longer matters which one it was. The trust that they had shared was destroyed.
It’s centric, pulling everything to a close. It seems a fitting end, really, when six triggers are pulled almost simultaneously and three men drop, lifeless, to the ground. Years of their work have made all three nearly perfect shots.
It is finally, finally over.
Please comment at will - the good, the bad, and the ugly. Which did you like the most/least?
Author: somehowunbroken
Pairing: gen, het, slash, it's all in there.
Word Count: 10,202
Rating: R/violence and language
Disclaimer: Not mine. I play with them and put them back when I'm done. Mostly.
Summary: One hundred 100word drabbles, all related to Boondock Saints. Written before the second movie was even a pipe dream. All of the words were supplied by my beta; all mistakes are mine, don't blame her.
Part One
51. Rhythm
Greenly loves to go to the club after a long day at the station, and he’s pretty slick on the dance floor. The ladies love it.
Dolly goes with him occasionally, but he always sits in the corner with the drinks and rolls his eyes, secretly jealous that Greenly’s got moves.
Duffy is a different story. Duffy loves going, as well, but they don’t invite him anymore, and it’s not because of the ties. Duffy has so much rhythm that the ladies flock to him instead of Greenly.
Greenly hates it, hates Duffy’s rhythm, so he just asks Dolly now.
52. Burn
Neither Connor nor Murphy can stand the smell of burning.
It doesn’t really matter what is burning - fire, toast, coffee that’s been in the pot too long - because the distinct odor of anything burning reminds them of the distinct odor of burning flesh.
And Rocco.
They try not to burn things or to be around things that burn, other than their precious cigarettes, because they think of Rocco when they smell burning, and they try not to think of Rocco if they can help it.
Burning smells of failure, of failure to protect and defend, and of sadness and loss.
53. Sport
Sometimes they treated their so-called twin stunts as a sport for their own amusement.
Using the twin thing to impress a woman was worth differing amounts, based on the woman in question. Confusing people with their apparent mental telepathy was ten points each time, more if it was someone they continued to fool. Languages were fifteen each, aiding the other while barely knowing what was going on was thirty.
The Chekov mess was worth over two hundred points when all was said and done.
At the time, they had no idea that their lives would soon be overflowing with points.
54. Hide
“It’s my turn to hide,” Murphy says matter-of-factly, and he runs away before Connor can argue. Connor sighs theatrically to their empty room and sits on the bed to count loudly.
“I’m coming!” he yells ten seconds later, and though he looks and looks, Murphy is nowhere.
Connor hears a scream and a splash and runs to the creek, game forgotten. Murphy is flailing wildly in the deep part of the water, and Connor charges in to grab at his brother and pull him to dry land.
When they had caught their breath, Connor turned to his brother.
“Found you.”
55. Laugh
Murphy’s laugh is infectious, and even though he doesn’t know why he’s laughing or what’s funny, Connor is laughing, too.
It starts out low, a rippling sound in his chest, and it bubbles up out of him. The sound grows and booms and stretches to fill whatever space they’re in, and it seems like it couldn’t possibly be coming from Murphy. He’s small and the sound is so big, so boisterous, that it seems to be too big to come from him.
It takes the shadows out of his face for a moment, so it doesn’t matter why he laughs.
56. Emotion
Smecker can’t conjure up any emotion at all, none, nothing, when he walks into an old warehouse and sees the McManus twins sprawled, lifeless, on the concrete floor.
It’s just that he’s had this dream so many times before. Now that it’s real, now that Greenly and Dolly and Duffy are here seeing it with him and Greenly’s crying a little and Dolly is pale and Duffy is getting sick, Smecker can’t come up with anything. He’s tapped, empty, spent. Done.
Smecker thinks back to a conversation he had with Connor once, a lifetime ago.
They’ve finally found their peace.
57. Enough
When will it be enough? Doc wonders as he pours another beer for another faceless customer. Since Rocco died and the twins had left, his bar had become a nothing, no regulars left, just a hole in the wall where almost nobody came and certainly nobody frequented.
Doc worries for their safety, for their sanity, for their freedom. They are far from bulletproof, and they’re certainly not cop-proof. He doesn’t know how to get in touch with their Ma if something happens to them. Mostly, though, he just misses them.
When will it be enough for them to come home?
58. Illusion
They knew that it couldn’t really be magic. Only babies believed in magic, and they were eight now, hardly babies.
But they could not figure out how Uncle Sibeal was making the card float.
“It must be real magic,” Murphy said simply after puzzling over the matter,
“It’s not magic,” Connor replied. “It’s an illusion.”
“Yeah?” countered Murphy. “Can you do it?” He poked Connor in the arm. “Can you make things just fly through the air?”
Connor grinned. “Aye.”
Murphy looked confused until he felt himself lifted off his feet, propelled backwards onto his bed by his laughing twin.
59. Soul
“Do you ever think about the words?”
Murphy’s question startles Connor. He looks up from where he’s cleaning his gun.
“The prayer.”
“Oh,” Connor replies. “Not really. Not anymore.”
“Do you think we really send the soul of everyone we kill to Him?”
Connor put the gun down and looked, really looked, at his brother. “I think we do,” he replied after a moment. “If they have souls, evil scumbags, I think they’re sent for judgment.”
Murphy looked unconvinced. “What if we’re wrong?”
Connor picked the gun up again. “Then our souls will be called on it when we die.”
60. Weary
“I’m too old for this,” the Chief sighed as he settled his weary bones into a chair.
Much had changed lately. They’d brought in that FBI guy, Smecker, and look where it had gotten them - three of his detectives were now neck-deep in whatever the hell was going on with those Saints. The Chief agreed - the guys were killing the scum of the earth, so why not let them do it for a while? - but now, his detectives were involved, and the only way to let them do it was to pretend he didn’t know.
“Too old,” he muttered again.
61. Angel
They know of angels.
There is the Angel of Grace, messenger of forgiveness and love from Him. The Angel of Mercy, with wings large enough to enfold and forgive. The Angel of Protection, of Love, of Forgiveness.
There are other angels, too. The Angel of Destruction, who brings the fall. The Angel of Judgment, of Justice. The Angel of Death.
In their line of work, they have seen all. They have taken the role of each. Their prayer is fervent: when this is all over, may the Angel sent to take them be one of the former, not the latter.
62. Tradition
Connor is snoring on the couch when Murphy walks in. Strains of music are coming from the television, and Murphy snorts as he realizes that Connor fell asleep watching The Sound of Music.
“Hell of a tradition,” he said under his breath, turning off the television. “Falling asleep to old movies with irritating soundtracks.”
Connor stirred and Murphy stopped talking, pulling a blanket over his brother’s still form.
--
The next morning, Connor wakes whistling a peppy song. He’s not sure what it is or where he heard it, but it’s stuck in his head for hours.
Murphy just smiles.
63. Stick
They’ve been at McGinty’s for only an hour when they decide it’s time to go.
“Don’t g-g-g-go yet, boys,” Doc says, almost begging. “Have another. On the h-h-house.”
Murphy shakes his head. “Can’t stick around this time, Doc. We shouldn’t’ve even come, but we wanted to let you know we were fine.”
“Alive,” Connor amended with a lopsided grin.
“Anyway, we have to get back out of Boston,” Murphy said. “It was good to see you, Doc.”
“You too,” Doc said helplessly, sadly, as they walked from the bar.
He didn’t think he’d ever see Connor and Murphy McManus again.
64. Fight
They fight constantly after leaving Boston. With each other. With Da. With themselves.
Is this the right thing? Will we be forgiven? Should Da be here at his age? How can we let Ma know we’re okay? How long will Smecker help us?
Da has all the answers. Yes, yes, yes, we can’t, forever. If God wills it.
They can’t fight with that, with what God wills.
Murphy wonders if this is God’s will or Da’s, but when he speculates aloud to Connor while Da is out, Connor scowls and they fight again, so Murphy keeps his thoughts to himself.
65. Miniature
“I didn’t want you to get a huge fucken tub of ice cream,” Connor began, “but this is not enough. It’s tiny. It’s a miniature ice cream.”
“Go to the store yourself next time,” Murphy shot back. “Get your own fucken ice cream.”
“But you were already going,” Connor almost whined. Murphy just stared at him.
“Fine,” Connor grumbled, getting to his feet and chucking the tiny ice cream at Murphy. “But I’m not getting you those minty things you love.”
Murphy waved a small green paper package in Connor’s direction. “Don’t care,” he said, and opened his own treat.
66. Plenty
There are reasons that they do this, and there are reasons that they think they should stop doing this. There are plenty of reasons for both sides.
On the one hand they have God’s orders, which weigh heavily. On the other, they lost Da a few years ago. They are doing what they feel is right, but Smecker can no longer help them. They are cleansing the world of its darkest denizens, but they miss Ireland and Ma and being out in public without worrying for cover.
They no know other work.
In the end, this is the deciding factor.
67. Break
Connor felt his forearm break against the brick wall behind him. He hissed in pain, but gave no other outward sign.
He saw Murphy, silently making his way down the alley, and saw his attacker’s face turning towards his brother.
Connor spat in the man’s face. “That all you’ve got, aye?”
The man gave an angry yell and drew back to punch Connor’s injured forearm. This time Connor let out a gasp. The man grinned sadistically.
“I’ve got more,” he taunted.
“You’ll never get to share it. Shame,” Murphy said from behind the man, and shot him in the head.
68. Shoulder
Connor’s shoulder drove into Murphy’s stomach, and all of Murphy’s breath rushed out as he flew backwards.
“Stay down,” Connor hissed, freezing on top of his twin. Murphy could hear the footsteps, slow and deliberate, searching the warehouse thoroughly.
He shoved Connor off of him and drew his gun. He peered through the slats in front of him, aiming.
Murphy heard the click and pop behind him and spun to see Connor fall, lifeless. He aimed his gun at their assailant and pulled the trigger, but the other man was faster, and Murphy felt searing pain.
Then he felt nothing.
69. Never
Murphy’s not sure what to do, not used to being in a situation where he has to make this kind of choice.
“Go,” Connor wheezes, and Murphy is torn. Leave? Can he do it?
“Go,” Connor says again, more urgent this time, and Murphy makes the hard decision. He grabs Connor, hoists him up. It feels eerily familiar, and flashes of flying toilets flicker through his memory. He pulls Connor up and over his shoulder and walks away as quickly as possible.
“Go without me,” Connor tries to tell him, and Murphy shakes his head.
“Never without you,” Murphy says.
70. Professional
They’re very professional about their job. They have to be, or they’ll go insane thinking about what they do.
They have marks, not victims, though those they kill have victims and are proud of it. They have tools, not guns, because every profession has its own tools.
They have casualties, and they have no nice word for that. Rocco was first, then Da, then Smecker. Greenly wouldn’t talk to them, now, and Dolly had retired last year, and Duffy has disappeared. He is feared dead too. They blamed themselves for that, too.
They remain professional so they can go on.
71. Test
They stare at Duffy, and he can feel a bead of sweat trickle down his back. They can’t see it, but Duffy gets the feeling that they know.
It’s some sort of test, he thinks. There was a leak and their names were released and now every police officer on the Eastern seaboard has their names, their pictures, their life stories. Their passports are flagged. They’re stuck, and they want to know who it was.
Duffy would be terrified if the leak had been him. But it’s not, so he looks them both straight in the eyes.
“It wasn’t me.”
72. Fashion
They’re as undercover as they can be, which is ironic, because they’re sitting in lawn chairs on a beach. Their mark is stretched out on a towel with his girl-of-the-month, ten yards away. She’s flipping through a fashion magazine. He is sleeping.
They decide that she knows nothing, is innocent. He will be the only mark this time. No need to kill her.
When they pick the lock on the door later that night, they’re very surprised that it’s her leveling a gun at them. He is behind her, holding another gun, almost lazily.
Two marks, then. They kill both.
73. Power
The lights flickered once, twice, then died.
“Power went out,” Connor groaned, throwing the remote control at the television. “Bulletproof Monk was on and the power went out.”
“Connor,” Murphy asked slowly. “How many times have you seen that movie?”
“What, like you haven’t seen your favorite movie a bunch of times?”
“How many times?” Murphy repeated. “This month?”
Connor refused to meet his eyes. “A couple.”
“Just quote it to yourself,” Murphy said. “I know you can.”
“Why would you think I’d be able to do that?”
Murphy looked at him and smirked. “I’ve heard you do it before.”
74. Complete
This was a total disaster.
From start to finish, the planning had been meticulous. Everything was laid out perfectly; nothing was left un-thought.
But now, now, Connor was laying on the floor and he wasn’t moving, and Murphy was having trouble getting to him, and everything hurt so much and Connor wasn’t breathing, wasn’t making his heart beat. Murphy wanted to help, but he was tired, so tired, so maybe he could just rest for a minute and then remind Connor to live again.
Murphy slumped over his brother’s body and closed his eyes.
The Saints’ mission was finally complete.
75. Club
Their guns had been taken when they were captured, and they were tied up on opposite sides of the basement. Murphy was trying violently to free himself; Connor was trying too, but more methodically.
“I am going to club these men to death with my shoe,” growled Murphy as he finally freed a hand. He then made quick work of the other hand and turned to Connor, who had just freed himself from his own bonds.
True to his word, when the men returned to the basement shortly thereafter, Murphy ran at them, howling, holding a boot in each hand.
76. Pay
Rocco had always been their friend. From the moment they moved into their shabby flat in South Boston, Rocco had always been there, and he’d been friendly, open, showing them around their new neighborhood. Taking them to McGinty’s. Passing along that they needed help at the meat packing plant. Had always just been a good guy.
And now he was dead.
Yakavetta had just walked in and shot him, without even seeming to realize what he was doing. It was simple to him, but he had taken their friend.
Yakavetta would pay. Eye for an eye, life for a life.
77. Ghost
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Dolly said, and Duffy jumped. It was late, they were tired, and he just wanted to go home.
“No, it’s just-”
“Wondering if we did the right thing.”
Duffy blinked. Dolly, being perceptive? This was… new. Unsettling.
“Yes,” he said cautiously, really looking at the other man. Seeing, for the first time, the shadows he hadn’t expected, the weight on Dolly, too. It was taking a toll on all of them, even Greenly.
“We did,” Dolly said simply, and walked away. Duffy wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly felt a little bit better.
78. Rings
“But why would you do that to a perfectly good onion?” Rocco looked horrified.
Murphy continued to crunch down on his onion rings. “They’re delicious, Roc. Try them.”
Rocco shook his head vehemently. “I like ‘em raw, man, on a burger. Those are dead. Dead onions.”
“Delicious dead onions,” Connor countered, reaching over the table to grab one from the basket. He dipped it in ranch dressing and bit into it.
“Sacrilege,” Rocco muttered, dipping his cheese fries in ketchup. “Poor onions. That’s just disgusting.”
“You should talk,” Murphy retorted.
The three looked at each other and burst out laughing.
79. Piano
Connor had always loved playing the piano.
He first played when he was seven; they had visited one of Ma’s friends, and she’d had a beat-up piano in the kitchen. Connor had sat down and plunked out the melody to Parting Glass. He’d visited Mrs. Connelly often, doing odd jobs around her house for the chance to play the piano for a little while. Somewhere along the line, he’d gotten good at it.
Now he plays to remember green fields and being young and laughter and lilting voices. He plays to forget where he is and what he has become.
80. French
French fries spilled over the table as Connor reached to smack Murphy’s head. He frowned at the smaller man. “Insult and injury,” he moaned. “You’re rude to me, then you make me spill my dinner.”
“The dinner thing was not my fault, you clumsy oaf,” Murphy responded, making no effort to deny the first claim.
“Oh, aye, I wanted to spill French fries everywhere. It must be my fault!”
Murphy rolled his eyes. “They’re not everywhere,” he pointed out. He reached to grab a fry off the table, swirled it in ketchup, and took a bite. “They’re still tasty, too.”
81. Staff
There was a staff party at the plant. Connor wanted to go; Murphy did not.
“Go without me,” he said, sitting defiantly on the couch, knowing that Connor wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Come on, Murph, just for a little bit,” Connor pleaded.
“No,” Murphy said stubbornly, resisting the urge to cross his arms.
“An hour,” Connor bargained. “Then we’ll go to McGinty’s.”
The lure of beer proved a strong temptation. “An hour, no more, then McGinty’s,” Murphy confirmed.
Connor smiled. “It could be fun, y’know,” he said. “You might love it.”
“Or not,” Murphy muttered, but he got his coat.
82. Rust
Blood tastes like rust and it hurts and what the fuck were the thoughts in Connor’s head when he awoke (came to?) in his own bed with Ma standing over him. Her worried look was replaced by an angry scowl as his eyes opened.
“Thought ye’d never wake up, for a bit,” she huffed, then bustled across the room to Murphy’s still form.
“What…”
“Ye beat the shite out of Aidan Colebar, that’s what,” ma replied, frustration barely masking pride.
“Had it coming,” Murphy said drowsily. Connor was relieved to hear his voice.
Ma snickered now. “Aidan looks much worse.”
83. Glow
The city seemed to glow at night.
Connor stared out the window, wishing that they could go out, could grab a pint at a bar, maybe talk to someone other than each other. Those days are behind them; they are wanted, now, on the run, never to return to a normal life. They have only each other for company, for fighting, for bandaging, for protecting, for protection.
The city pulsed with life, but they could never again partake of it. Connor sighed. He missed their old life more than Murphy seemed to, more than he’d ever admit. He missed everything.
84. Apple
The scent of fruit was overpowering.
“What the fuck?” Connor muttered as he walked into the flat. Murphy was just coming out of the bathroom, hair dripping wet.
“Why does it smell like-” Connor stopped and sniffed cautiously in Murphy’s direction. “Why do you smell like an apple?”
Murphy stopped walking and held his hand to his face and inhaled. “I do not.”
“You smell like a woman,” Connor advised, then walked past him into the bathroom. He returned a moment later holding a bottle of green gel.
“Last time I’m sending you out for shampoo,” Connor said, laughing.
85. Gummy bears
It’s a rare day in the McManus household.
Ma has taken them out of school and packed them into their neighbor’s car, and they are downtown, at the theater. They are going to see a film, a real film, in a theater, and they are each allowed to get a snack.
Connor peruses his selections, looking for the perfect treat, but Murphy knows exactly what he’s spending his quarter on.
“Gummy bears, please,” he says to the woman behind the candy stand. She smiles down at his gap-toothed grin and hands him a package.
Murphy’s smile could light the theater.
86. Tomato
All Connor wants when he’s sick is tomato soup. It reminds him of home of being a child, of Ma and Ireland.
Murphy’s the same; he wants nothing more than apple juice. A cool cup of apple juice could make him perk up like no medicine had ever been able to do.
When they both caught the flu, Doc went to the flat with a bag from the grocer. He warmed the soup on the stove and chilled the juice in the refrigerator.
The smiles he received in return were worth much more than the four dollars’ worth of food.
87. Snap
“I can’t do it,” Murphy whined. “I tried, Ma, I can’t do it and Connor can!”
“That’s ‘cause I’m better than you, Murph,” Connor replied smartly.
Annabelle swatted at Connor before turning to Murphy. “Can’t do what, now?”
“Can’t do this.” Connor leaned over gleefully and - right in front of Murphy’s face - snapped his fingers. Murphy darted his head forward, trying to bite the wriggling fingers.
Annabelle smiled, then leaned over to whisper something into Murphy’s ear. He began to giggle as she spoke, then laughed aloud as he turned to his brother.
“I can’t snap, but you can’t whistle!”
88. Flashlight
They brought the flashlight with them. Just in case. They weren’t scared, but… a flashlight seemed like a good thing to bring to a haunted house.
Connor and Murphy snuck in through the back window. They knew that the ghost lived upstairs, in the north bedroom, and they carefully made their way up the stairs and down the hallway.
“That’s the room,” Murphy whispered, nudging Connor. Connor nodded and they walked forward.
The door creaked open without them even touching it and, wide-eyed, they peered inside.
They left the flashlight on the floor as they ran, terrified, from the house.
89. Bustle
Connor slips, unnoticed, through the crowd. It’s a busy day, after all, and one lone man in average clothing is invisible in the hustle and bustle of a Saturday at the grocer’s.
He wanders up and down the aisles, trying to be inconspicuous as he followed his mark. The woman was doing her shopping with sticky fingers, but that wasn’t her worst offense. She ran a ring of drug smuggling and prostitution.
She walked out of the store, to her car, loaded the trunk with her purchases. She got in her car and drove off. She didn’t make it home.
90. Aluminum
Sometimes they have ridiculous arguments just to pass the time.
Aluminum or aluminium? Murphy prefers the first, because it’s more to-the-point, but Connor likes the extra syllable. It’s the same with herb: to pronounce the ‘h’ or not?
Sometimes they have serious arguments just to pass the time.
Could we have saved Rocco? They usually end up agreeing on this. No. But we could’ve tried harder. Could we have saved Da? They also agree here. No. By the end, Da didn’t even want to be saved.
Sometimes, they pass the time silently. It’s easier not to think of some things.
91. Shroud
It’s just a shell, really, and they know that Da isn’t in there. It’s still hard to leave him behind.
They give him the pennies, they pray their hardest for his soul. They pull the clean white sheet over him - the best shroud they could find given the circumstances.
“How long?” Murphy asks Connor quietly. Depth of faith rings through Connor’s head, but he bites his lip to keep it from spilling out.
They pour the gasoline and burn the body in the abandoned office building, the entire place quickly going up in flames.
Just another casualty in the war.
92. Shrug
Doc is polishing glasses behind the bar when they walk in.
“B-b-b-boys!” Doc exclaims. The twins grin at him.
“I know it’s after closing, Doc, but…” A smile on Connor’s lips, a shrug on his shoulders. “Can we get one?”
Doc pulls two beers and sets them in front of the men. He grabs a bottled water for himself.
“Listen, Doc…” Murphy pauses and a look slides between them. He reaches into his coat and pulls out an envelope, sealed and addressed and stamped. “If you ever hear of anything happening to us, can you put this in the post?”
93. Blanket
The blanket is already old when the twins get it at the age of three days.
It was made for their mother by her mother, and Annabelle knows that she will have no daughter is her life, with Padraig gone and these two born boys. It’s red and orange and purple, quilted, warm and lovely though it’s worn through in places.
She pulls it from its spot in the top of the hall closet and tucks it around her two baby boys.
Years later, when Connor loves orange and Murphy is partial to red, Annabelle smiles and nobody knows why.
94. Cavern
The cavern is small and damp and the perfect place for them to make their fortress.
The two small boys bring scraps of colored cloth, old tires, bits of wood, anything they can salvage to the cavern, and before long they consider it a castle.
“This is the best place in the world,” Murphy exclaims happily as they hang coloring book pages on the wall. Murphy’s red drawing of Uncle Sibeal’s store is near his spot.
“The best,” Connor agrees, his favorite drawing - an orange bird eating an orange - over his sitting space.
“Our castle is complete,” Murphy pronounces gleefully.
95. Core
It shook Annabelle McManus to the core when she got the letter.
I’m sorry to tell you this. Your sons and husband were killed last Friday morning. No matter what you hear, they were good men and died fighting the good fight.
No signature. No explanation. Padraig was out of jail? She hadn’t known that.
And now the news came, the other news, that they were terrorists. Killing people.
She got their bodies back, though. She held her own service; nobody would associate with her now.
Pennies in the eyes. A prayer for each. Annabelle knew exactly what to do.
96. Seaweed
“What are you eating?”
Dolly was aghast as he looked at Smecker’s dinner. Three little sushi rolls sat on the plate; the fourth was raised halfway to his mouth by a pair of chopsticks.
“It’s sushi, Dolly,” Smecker said, raising one eyebrow. “What does it look like?”
“You eat that stuff?” Dolly looked sickened.
“Well, you don’t play football with it.” Smecker looked amused. He raised the chopsticks.
Dolly was now edging away from the door to Smecker’s office. “Isn’t it, like, seaweed and raw fish?”
Smecker thought for a moment. “And rice,” he finally agreed. “Don’t forget the rice.”
97. Jam
Murphy licks the jam from his fingers, totally satisfied. Connor looks at him, disgusted.
“What are ye, four?” he mutters. Murphy just glares.
The sandwich is of epic proportions: four slice of bread, layered with peanut butter and strawberry jam and cream cheese and grape jam and he’s pretty sure he remembers putting something else is there, but he’s not sure what. Bananas?
Murphy picks up his sandwich, compresses all of the layers, and bites. A blissful smile crosses his face. Definitely bananas.
Connor shudders. Who could eat that shite? he wonders as he bites into his own pickle-and-cheese sandwich.
98. Blast
Murphy’s dreams are of Ireland. He recalls running through their small house, having a blast as Ma screamed out the back door for them to get yer asses back here and just being a child. He wakes rested in the morning.
Connor dreams about murder, about blackness, about blood and war and God and prayers that are prayed over people they know, over himself and his brother and friends. He relives Rocco’s death, every injury they’ve ever had, everything that could ever go wrong in the future. He wakes haunted.
Padraig doesn’t dream anymore. He wakes and sleeps the same.
99. Carbon
Annabelle and Padraig had expected them to be carbon copies of each other. No, though; Murphy was smaller, had darker features. He took after Paddy. Connor had fairer coloring, was slightly larger, and had more of Annabelle in him.
They were easy to tell apart, at least, Annabelle thought as she stared at her sleeping infants in their tiny crib.
Padraig came in, coat on, bag at his side. “You know what to tell them.”
She didn’t look at him. “Yes.”
He paused as he reached the door. “This was never a choice, Annabelle.”
Annabelle didn’t turn as he left.
100. Centric
In the end, everything comes full circle.
Father and sons stand in a circle, each pointing a gun at the others, unsure of who they can believe. One of them is the betrayer, two the betrayed; they all act surprised. It no longer matters which one it was. The trust that they had shared was destroyed.
It’s centric, pulling everything to a close. It seems a fitting end, really, when six triggers are pulled almost simultaneously and three men drop, lifeless, to the ground. Years of their work have made all three nearly perfect shots.
It is finally, finally over.
Please comment at will - the good, the bad, and the ugly. Which did you like the most/least?