Saint Grace

Absolution

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 chapter was inspired by the song Sing for Absolution by Muse. "Sing for absolution. I will be singing, and falling from your grace." 

.... 

These things, I warmly wish for you- 

Someone to love, some work to do, 

A bit of o' sun, a bit o' cheer. 

And a guardian angel always near. 

.... 

Chapter 3 

The motion of the boat was soothing to Grace as she lay on the small cot in the stuffy little boat cabin. She kept hearing yells, and laughter coming from somewhere on deck.  

She tossed and turned for another five minutes before throwing her blanket off and climbing out of bed still fully clothed. She pulled the metal string hanging down from the ceiling and the light blinked on revealing the interior of the small storage room she was given - by a crew member Noah knew - to sleep in. Grace retrieved her hoodie and slid it on, putting the hood up, ensuring in the small grubby mirror, that her red curls were adequately tucked away under its edges.  

She snuck quietly through the door of her cabin, and turned left, climbing a flight of stairs to the upper deck, following the lights and sounds of men carrying on.  

Grace came upon a ring of shouting, cheering men surrounded by canary yellow farm equipment, giant looming tractors and dump trucks. She wedged her way between the men until she had a decent view of the activities going on inside the ring.  

A young, muscular, tan looking fellow with his shirt off, and covered in tattoos, sporting a mullet of sorts, was bouncing around the center of the ring of spectators, his hands were cuffed and a much larger, more formidable appearing guy was throwing wild punches trying to hit the smaller man.  

Grace searched the crowd until her eyes came to rest on the twins, wearing grubby white tank-tops, smiling and laughing at the spectacle in front of them. She tucked herself across the way from them, in between two large blokes, so that she had a good view.  

Grace felt the testosterone heighten when the hand-cuffed fighter got the larger man on the ground and, using what looked like a wrestling move of some sort, pinned the guy's arm above his head. The big guy passed out, and a roar went up from the crowd.  

She weaved through the crowd, following the brother's, when the fights were over. They were holing up in a private area of the deck. There were plenty of places for Grace to hide. She slipped in while they were drinking, and got behind a large shipping crate, where she would have a good view of them. 

The twins rarely drank at home. She knew they drank when they were out checking on the sheep, or at the local pubs, and she'd always wished that one day they might take her with them, but they never had. They only drank at home with her, in the privacy of the barn, and then they would never let her have more than one or two drinks.  

They were joking with each other about something. Murphy said something about coloring his hair. Connor made a joke, and Murphy stabbed him in the shoulder with the tattoo pen he was using to touch up his brother's back.  

Then there was another commotion, and Grace sat rigid when she saw the fighter from earlier - the one with the spiky mullet, approach the wrestling twins with a bottle of something. They proceeded to trick the poor bastard into believing they were going to kill him. She rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to fall asleep. She hadn't slept in over twenty four hours. Neither had the twins, but they didn't seem bothered by it like she was.