crossoverfic | The Saints of Atlantis 4

Title: The Saints of Atlantis
Fandoms: The Boondock Saints/Stargate Atlantis
Rating: PG15/Teen for violence and swearing
Author: Dragonfan

“IF YOU CAN’T TAKE IT, DON’T DISH IT OUT!” O’Neill paused at the door to the detective’s squad room. Two shorter men were glaring up at a larger one, all three wearing the cheap suits that identified them as detectives. “Get over it. Eunice is a better investigator than you’ll ever be. That’s why she was Smecker’s protégée! You bullied your way into the investigation and took her off of it; the case that her mentor spent the last years of his life trying to solve. Then you called her names. She just dished your insult back at you and then you suspended her! Of course she’s not going to let you tell her she can’t work the case. Then when she figured out where the boys were headed, she went in and got the address. So you took her find and chased her out of the damned country! She’s hiding in a damned nunnery or something because you’re an ass!”

“You sound way too friendly with these killers Detective Duffy,” the taller man snarled.

“Of course I am you idiot! I met them the first time they killed a couple of Russian mobsters. Hell, the entire precinct met them. They’re great guys, just a little psycho on the subject of evil men, which we didn’t talk about! It’s not our fault they never mentioned their dad was a hit man!” Detective Duffy was waving his arms around like the only thing keeping him from taking the other man’s head off was his badge.

“Or that they were thinking about taking up the family business,” the other detective said. “Hell, no one knew who Il Duce was. No one ever succeeded in getting him to talk, not even to tell them his given name, not once in twenty four years. He’s one of the most famous hit men in the history of the East Coast; and yet we’re supposed to magically know that the two guys who killed two mob peons in self defense are his kids?” From the amused looks on the faces of the cops around the room, Duffy and his friend were way ahead on points.

“They’re psychotic killers!”

“Actually, they’re vigilantes,” O’Neill interrupted. “Just because they decided to take the law into their own hands does not mean they have mental problems. It just means they’re pissed off.” He walked over to Duffy. “Detective Duffy, I have a message for you and a Detective Dolly from the McManus brothers. They and their friend Romeo accepted a deal and they are now doing five years community service at a military base. I have an address here where you can send letters or care packages and an email address for them as well.” He handed over the information.

“Hell, we’d better tell Doc,” the other detective said, peering over Duffy’s shoulder. “By the way, I’m Dolly, don’t ask - the rest of these guys can’t pronounce my name.”

“The owner of McGinty’s? That’s my next stop,” O’Neill pulled out another letter.

“We’ll take you down there,” Duffy offered. “Oh, and by the way the boys might not have mentioned it, but Doc’s got touretts. Just ignore the swearing and the shakes, he’s a sweet old man and he can’t help it.”

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It was a week later in the mess hall that Conner and Murphy figured out that they would have work to do while they were on board the Daedalus. “Rome, on the left, second table from the wall, third from the right,” Murphy said quietly.

Romeo went on the alert, his eyes seeking out the man Murphy was pointing out to him, while doing his best to look as though nothing was going on. “Brunet or blond?” Romeo asked quietly.

“Brunet,” came from Conner as he leaned over to get the maple syrup in front of his brother.

“What do we got?”

“Murder, attempted murder, kidnapping, setting illegal explosives and treason,” Murphy answered.

“It sounds like you two are talking about the NID,” Lorne said quietly. “I know you’ve read the reports on them, but how would you know if one of their people was on board?” The three Saints were sitting across the table from him and he had heard every word, although he was experienced enough not to broadcast his unease or his puzzlement.

“Don’t know if he’s NID or not, but that’s what the man’s done,” Conner said.

“They always know what a guy’s done,” Romeo told Lorne. “It’s fucking scary sometimes.”

“It’s the good Lord’s blessing,” Conner said, coming a little too close to the truth for Murphy’s comfort. The small glare he sent his brother was met with an equally apologetic glance. Rocco was the only one outside of their family that the twins had told about their being called by God to destroy evil so good may flourish. Not only was their calling too dear to their faith to be ridiculed, they had no wish to look like crazy men. Even Roc, their best friend before his death at their side, had initially asked if they didn’t think it was a little psycho or weird. “We’ll just keep an eye on him for now.”

“Aye,” Murphy agreed. “Did Colonel Sheppard really turn into a bug?” he asked, changing the subject. Idly he began chewing on his fingernails.

Lorne nodded. “He’s got a real phobia about bugs now. Personally I don’t blame him one bit. Fortunately there aren’t any bugs on Atlantis. We’re too far away from the mainland for any to reach the city.”

“Small favors,” Conner said.

“What I have a hard time believing is the report about when that lady Marine got stuck inside the scientist’s mind,” Romeo said.

Lorne nodded. “I was so glad I didn’t have to hold McKay’s hand through that. The whole thing really freaked me out.”

“How long have you been stationed in the city?” Murphy asked.

“Almost a year now,” Lorne said. “I was transferred to Atlantis after the powers that be decided Colonel Sheppard should keep command.”

Conner shook his head. “I can’t imagine what it was like for them the first year. I’ve read the reports but fuck; space vampires, hurricanes three times as big as anything on Earth, probable starvation, invasion by wanna be Nazis.”

“I want Koyla,” Murphy said. He was fidgeting again, drawing little pictures of evil men and aliens on the table with his butter knife.

“What do you mean?” Lorne asked, confused. Why would anyone actually want that insane zealot?

Conner snatched the butter knife away from his brother. “Quit, we’ve only got two more weeks to go. We’ve got someone to keep an eye on, we’re still working on Rome’s new tats and we haven’t mastered Ancient yet. We’ve got lots to keep busy with. Figure out a way to take our new friend out without compromising anything and without ammo.” He turned to Lorne. “We want to kill him of course. Evil man; dead man.”

“Destroy that which is evil, so that which is good may flourish,” Murphy recited. “The Genii are in trouble. They don’t know it yet, but they are and men like Koyla are the reason they can’t get help. He’s as bad as any of the drug pushers, murderers, and rapists we’ve taken out, more so than most actually. Execution is the only thing that you can do with someone like that.” He turned back to Conner. “Plans are your thing. I just want to put a bullet in the fucker’s brain.”

“We don’t have bullets, and besides you always bitch about my plans, so come up with one of your own!” Conner said, becoming just as frustrated and twitchy as his brother. He was dealing with going cold turkey better than Murphy, but only just. It would be his brother that reminded him he couldn’t smoke, if only because he couldn’t give Murphy a cigarette to help calm him down.

“Hey, chill out guys. The last thing we want is to end up in the brig, right?” Romeo pointed out. Murphy glared and burst up from the table, storming back to their cabin. “He’s gonna go and pray again, ain’t he?”

“You got something against praying Rome?” Conner asked. He was trying to hold on to his temper, but he felt that was out of line.

“Nah, but the two of you pray more than any priest I’ve ever met, especially since we’ve been locked in this tin can for the last week,” Romeo explained. The last thing he wanted was for the brothers to be pissed off at him. There were only so many places to hide on this ship until they calmed down.

Conner relaxed. It was true; they had spent more time praying in the last week than they ever had before. When they’d been locked up in the infirmary they’d been in too much pain to think about much beyond recovering. Now that they were healthy being cooped up in this ship wasn’t easy. “When you’re a McManus there’s two things that you learn to do before you can walk; fight and pray. We can’t fight, not even with each other, so prayers it is.”

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“Mrs. Annabelle McManus?” O’Neill asked, standing at the bar of the pub called The Anvil. The small Irish village was deep in the heart of sheep country, and if half of these people weren’t related to the other half, he’d kiss a snake; or at least their host.

“Which one of my little pissants is dead,” the short, elderly woman behind the bar asked. Her face and figure reflected the image of an Irish grandma, with red hair, blue eyes and being as wide as she was tall. Her language, glass of booze and cigarette were the exact opposite.

O’Neill wasn’t taken in by either stereotype. He could see the apprehension in Annabelle’s eyes and just how tightly she was grasping her drink. “Your husband, ma’am. Your sons are alive.”

“Fucking hell, I told Noah he should have left that asshole to the boys. They can take a few bullet holes and walk away. Bastard probably knew they were coming. Louie always had to be the genius behind the scenes, manipulating everything around him. Son of a bitch threatened our boys to keep my Noah quiet. May the cat eat him and the devil eat the cat.” Murmurs of agreement came from nearly every corner of the bar. She chugged her drink before taking a deep breath. “Ok, what about my boys?”

“They were caught at the scene. They took a deal; five years community service at a military base…”

“Don’t think I’m fucking stupid,” Annabelle interrupted. “My boys aren’t what you’d call military material. What do you want them for?”

“Ma’am, as long as my boss buys it, who cares? This gets them out of the prison and away from the other prisoners who wanted to kill them. The people they’ll be working with are more likely to ask your sons to go hunting slavers with them than to condemn them for taking the law into their own hands.”

Annabelle smirked and turned to a young woman with long black hair sitting at the bar. O’Neill didn’t understand what she said, but he knew the language was Gaelic and the relief on the young lady’s face spoke for itself. Annabelle turned back to O’Neill. “My daughter-in-law,” she said, jerking her head at the girl. “She doesn’t speak English, just German and Gaelic.”

“Then you’ll probably need to read this letter to her,” O’Neill said as he handed over his last letter from the McManus twins.

“Humf, telling me where to write huh? Well, I suppose they’ll want to know they’re gonna be Da’s again.” Annabelle shook her head as she took the letter.