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crossoverfic2005-04-11 10:29 pm
fearless-jones.livejournal.com) wrote in crossoverfic2005-04-11 10:29 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: "Saints of San Francisco" (part 1) Monk x Boondock Saints
Title: Saints of San Francisco (Part 1)
Author: Fearless_Jones
Fandoms: Monk x Boondock Saints
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine. I'm merely borrowing them for fannish purposes and am making NO MONEY off of them.
Summary: Adrian Monk can't help but admire their symmetry.
Notes: While firmly in the grip of prescription drugs, I give you another very OOC, illogical, work-in-progress Unexpected Crossover fic (Recall my House x Invisible Man?) that I'm writing, very slowly, for my own amusement. lol
-----------
He’d first read of their east coast murder spree in his scrupulously folded and re-folded morning newspaper. As he encountered the full-page article, complete with screaming, gory, headlines, he’d nearly dropped the entire section. It took him a while, after reading the words thoroughly, to admit to feeling a guilty surge of exhilaration that left his hands shaking in response to the graphic descriptions of their fearless vigilantism. It was a kind of soul freeing, righteous thrill he hadn’t quite felt since he’d left the San Francisco PD, back when he was as normal as he could possibly get; back when he still had his wife by his side.
In the weeks after that, he thought about them often; The Boondock Saints, as they’d been dubbed. He thought about them probably more than was strictly healthy, even for him. He also took the time to consider, from every angle, what it would mean if they were to contact him, though he chalked that notion up to wishful thinking and a compulsive need to solve a good mystery. And, of course, he worried. He worried a good deal, after all, about a great many things. Why not add a fear of Irish hit men to the list? It would only look appropriate next to ‘fear of lint’ and ‘fear of milk.’
Yet…the more he thought about the pair, the more he couldn’t help wonder what he’d say to them if he had the opportunity. They killed according to strict rules, both of the Church and of their own making and, between the two of them, they were not only twins but equals and brothers in arms. There were no moral gray areas; only the strictest black and white. They fulfilled a need, barbaric though it was, and quite neatly at that.
Adrian Monk, a man obsessed with order, couldn’t help but admire their symmetry.
*************
Murphy MacManus smirked around his lit cigarette. “When do we finally get something done here, huh?” He spoke to his twin loudly, expelling a cloud of wildly wafting smoke.
Connor looked up from where he had thrown down the newspaper in disgust. “When the furor back east dies down, ya idiot. I’ve told ya a thousand times.”
Murphy rose from his bed slowly, purposefully, and stretched like a cat, taking the cigarette out of his mouth with one hand. He approached the chair where his brother was reclining.
“You read the article about the detective whose wife’s murder is still unsolved? Did you read about how he’s right here in this city, busting sleaze bags and all, while living with a cross so heavy that he’s gone practically mad with it? Did ya?”
“I did. There's an update on the front page, ya stupid fuck, right under our own headlines, of course.”
“And?” Murphy asked, his dramatic hand gesture sending ash flying.
“And, what?”
“Don’t ya want to do something about it?”
Connor narrowed his eyes. “You’re too damned soft, Murph.”
“Too soft?” His face turned from pink-tinged to red. “We have a fucking mission, Conn! A great fuckin’ task from God! Or have ya forgotten?”
Connor counted the seconds as his twin fumed above him. He reached out with one hand to take possession of the half-burnt cigarette.
“I haven’t,” he said, looking down at the ink on his hand. “But how are we supposed to take out the scum of the earth if we end up in jail this time, huh? And what do you propose we do? Solve this man’s mystery for him? He’s a fucking genius, Murph. What are the two of us supposed to do?”
Murphy scraped his hands through his hair in frustration.
“Aw, you’re missing my point!”
“Am I?” Connor asked, cocking an eyebrow.
The look shot at him should have seared his flesh. It didn’t, however, and Murphy continued slowly and with purpose.
“We would offer our services to him for after he finds the bastard who killed his wife. In the meantime, we get him to feed us the names of those who have sinned; the names of criminals. It’d be safe. We’d be safe.”
Connor exhaled smoke into dank air and sat up straighter in his chair.
“Let me get this straight: You want to use him because you’re so fucking bored that you want to go out and shed some more blood. Is that about right?”
“Fuck you!” Murphy shouted. “We’d be helping him as much as he’d be helping us! It’s been too long since we carried out God’s plan.”
The expression on Conner’s face was obscured by deep thoughts and thick smoke for a moment as he considered his brother’s plan.
“And what makes ya think he’d even go for this?” Connor asked quietly. “Why wouldn’t he just change his mind and turn us in for the reward?”
Murphy broke out a smile that was as calculated as it was devilishly sweet.
“Whoever did this killed the only thing that mattered to him, Conn; took away what made him sane. They killed his wife…and I know for fucking certain that if I were him, I’d want them to pay with their lives.”
**********
TBC…
Author: Fearless_Jones
Fandoms: Monk x Boondock Saints
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine. I'm merely borrowing them for fannish purposes and am making NO MONEY off of them.
Summary: Adrian Monk can't help but admire their symmetry.
Notes: While firmly in the grip of prescription drugs, I give you another very OOC, illogical, work-in-progress Unexpected Crossover fic (Recall my House x Invisible Man?) that I'm writing, very slowly, for my own amusement. lol
-----------
He’d first read of their east coast murder spree in his scrupulously folded and re-folded morning newspaper. As he encountered the full-page article, complete with screaming, gory, headlines, he’d nearly dropped the entire section. It took him a while, after reading the words thoroughly, to admit to feeling a guilty surge of exhilaration that left his hands shaking in response to the graphic descriptions of their fearless vigilantism. It was a kind of soul freeing, righteous thrill he hadn’t quite felt since he’d left the San Francisco PD, back when he was as normal as he could possibly get; back when he still had his wife by his side.
In the weeks after that, he thought about them often; The Boondock Saints, as they’d been dubbed. He thought about them probably more than was strictly healthy, even for him. He also took the time to consider, from every angle, what it would mean if they were to contact him, though he chalked that notion up to wishful thinking and a compulsive need to solve a good mystery. And, of course, he worried. He worried a good deal, after all, about a great many things. Why not add a fear of Irish hit men to the list? It would only look appropriate next to ‘fear of lint’ and ‘fear of milk.’
Yet…the more he thought about the pair, the more he couldn’t help wonder what he’d say to them if he had the opportunity. They killed according to strict rules, both of the Church and of their own making and, between the two of them, they were not only twins but equals and brothers in arms. There were no moral gray areas; only the strictest black and white. They fulfilled a need, barbaric though it was, and quite neatly at that.
Adrian Monk, a man obsessed with order, couldn’t help but admire their symmetry.
*************
Murphy MacManus smirked around his lit cigarette. “When do we finally get something done here, huh?” He spoke to his twin loudly, expelling a cloud of wildly wafting smoke.
Connor looked up from where he had thrown down the newspaper in disgust. “When the furor back east dies down, ya idiot. I’ve told ya a thousand times.”
Murphy rose from his bed slowly, purposefully, and stretched like a cat, taking the cigarette out of his mouth with one hand. He approached the chair where his brother was reclining.
“You read the article about the detective whose wife’s murder is still unsolved? Did you read about how he’s right here in this city, busting sleaze bags and all, while living with a cross so heavy that he’s gone practically mad with it? Did ya?”
“I did. There's an update on the front page, ya stupid fuck, right under our own headlines, of course.”
“And?” Murphy asked, his dramatic hand gesture sending ash flying.
“And, what?”
“Don’t ya want to do something about it?”
Connor narrowed his eyes. “You’re too damned soft, Murph.”
“Too soft?” His face turned from pink-tinged to red. “We have a fucking mission, Conn! A great fuckin’ task from God! Or have ya forgotten?”
Connor counted the seconds as his twin fumed above him. He reached out with one hand to take possession of the half-burnt cigarette.
“I haven’t,” he said, looking down at the ink on his hand. “But how are we supposed to take out the scum of the earth if we end up in jail this time, huh? And what do you propose we do? Solve this man’s mystery for him? He’s a fucking genius, Murph. What are the two of us supposed to do?”
Murphy scraped his hands through his hair in frustration.
“Aw, you’re missing my point!”
“Am I?” Connor asked, cocking an eyebrow.
The look shot at him should have seared his flesh. It didn’t, however, and Murphy continued slowly and with purpose.
“We would offer our services to him for after he finds the bastard who killed his wife. In the meantime, we get him to feed us the names of those who have sinned; the names of criminals. It’d be safe. We’d be safe.”
Connor exhaled smoke into dank air and sat up straighter in his chair.
“Let me get this straight: You want to use him because you’re so fucking bored that you want to go out and shed some more blood. Is that about right?”
“Fuck you!” Murphy shouted. “We’d be helping him as much as he’d be helping us! It’s been too long since we carried out God’s plan.”
The expression on Conner’s face was obscured by deep thoughts and thick smoke for a moment as he considered his brother’s plan.
“And what makes ya think he’d even go for this?” Connor asked quietly. “Why wouldn’t he just change his mind and turn us in for the reward?”
Murphy broke out a smile that was as calculated as it was devilishly sweet.
“Whoever did this killed the only thing that mattered to him, Conn; took away what made him sane. They killed his wife…and I know for fucking certain that if I were him, I’d want them to pay with their lives.”
**********
TBC…
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