Saint Grace

Chapter One - Uisce Beatha

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. The story I tell about Connor & Murphy MacManus is my own invention, and it is not purported, or believed, to be part of the Boondock Saints story canon. It is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.  

A/N: This is a Boondock Saints AU, Murphy/OC romance fan-fiction. A word of caution: At some point during the progression of this story there will be explicit smut, so if that kind of thing bothers you, Saint Grace may not be for you.  

.... 

May the road rise up to meet you. 

May the wind always be at your back. 

May the sun shine warm upon your face, 

and rains fall soft upon your fields. 

And until we meet again, 

May God hold you in the palm of His hand. 

- An old Irish Blessing.  

....

Chapter One 

She was only ten years old when they came and forced her into her own Da's casket, burying her alive. It was a reminder to the O'Shea family never to cross the Ivanov family again. Poor Da' had refused to sell his pub to the Ivanov's, and the Russians had killed him for it.  

Grace knew she would have suffered the same fate, if Murphy & Connor MacManus hadn't heard about what the Ivanov's had done to her. They came to Mount Hope Cemetery, and dug her out, barely alive. Connor carried her in his arms all the way to the Irish health clinic. They left her in the care of the nurses, and when they returned, hours later, they were covered in blood, and both wounded.  

Grace still had nightmares, almost every night, about waking up smashed between the cold, stinking corpse of her Da, and the lid of his casket, buried six feet under the ground. Grace had tried, unsuccessfully, to claw herself out of the wooden box. 

"When they heal, we'll take you somewhere, have them painted pink." Connor had promised her, as the doctor had bandaged her torn, bloody fingertips.  

The twins inquired at the apartment building Grace was living in when her father died. They learned that Grace's Ma' died when Grace was three. With her Da' gone, the only blood relative Grace had left was an aunt with too many mouths to feed already. The twins couldn't bring themselves to leave Grace at a Boston orphanage, so they spirited her away with them, to a little white cottage, and a sheep farm, in Ireland. And to the sweet old man with the beard who smelled like wood smoke, and made beautiful furniture, and told her Irish bed-time stories by candlelight on stormy nights.  

It was Noah who eventually got Grace talking again, and though she still didn't have much to say after two years of silence, she could speak when she wanted to.  

The four broken people became a family, and as Grace grew the twins, and their da, imparted their knowledge and abilities to her. She was proficient in five languages; Gaelic, Russian, Spanish, French, German, and Italian. She could disassemble and reassemble a Beretta quicker than Connor, she could defend herself in a proper fight, and she was raised catholic.  

During their first seven years in Ireland, the twin's were at peace living a simple life, but as the eighth year went by they started showing signs of restless, and for reasons Grace didn't understand, the peaceful life they'd had for so many years, didn't seem as permanent anymore.  

Then came the day Father O'Carrigan came to tell them about the murder of a priest in Boston. Grace had excused herself after supper - she had a hard time being around people other than the twins and Noah - preferring machines to human beings. She was in the barn adding the newest part they'd received to the Uisce Beatha still they were building. Uisce Beatha was the Gaelic term for whiskey, and meant "water of life." It was mostly Grace's project. She was more mechanically inclined than the others - due to all the mechanics books she read constantly - and she always liked having a project to tinker with. It kept her mind off of her recent feelings for one of the twins - feelings she didn't understand.