AN: Because I can. More smut. Boondock Saints. Why not? I blame Shipperwolf, seriously. I'm only using Blaise as Connor's love interest (see: Liturgy) because I am too lazy to create someone new. This theoretically takes place between movies 1 &2 and has nothing to do with Liturgy, aside from the characters being the same. Also, every time I go to write "Muprhy" I almost write "Daryl" instead. That's never a good thing.

Connor and Murphy belong to Troy Duffy and Miramax I guess.

Slainté

-Shazzy

The Long Goodbye

The knock on the door wasn't unexpected. Blaise crossed the living room slowly, engrossed in the book she was reading. She turned the page as she made her way to the door, her bare feet slipped across the hardwood floor as she walked. Finally, she set the book aside on the table that held her mail to open the heavy door to her house.

Leaning against the door frame and smoking, was Connor MacManus. He was dressed in his usual black T shirt, faded, torn jeans and his thick woollen pea coat. His dirty blonde hair stuck up almost straight and his eyes were hidden behind his dark sunglasses. It was a sight she'd seen a hundred times before, but somehow, this time it was different.

They stood there together, quietly as Connor finished his cigarette. She hated it, but never said anything about it. Simple pleasures, really. He never complained when she'd ignore him for hours because of a book, or when she'd stay up for three days because of a caffeine high and a deadline, so it seemed only fair.

She was Irish, a writer and the daughter of a cop who had been killed by mobsters a few years earlier. She'd inherited the family house in Boston, a little pseudo-Victorian thing tucked away from the main drags of the city. She was shorter than Connor, and curvy, but thin enough from running and martial arts. Her Da' had insisted that she learn how to defend herself. Today, she was dressed in a bright blue and pale yellow plaid sundress that accentuated her chest and flared out at the bottom, and her deep chocolate-and-auburn hair was tied back in a messy ponytail.

It was late spring in South Boston. Saint Patrick's Day was a memory now, and the greens on the trees were in full swing. The weather had been remarkably nice, above seasonal and the sunset glowed orange on the horizon. They stared at the beauty of it all, comfortable in their silence.

"Y' comin' inside?" Blaise asked finally, as Connor tossed aside the butt of his smoke and took off his sunglasses.

"Yeah." He replied, looking at her for the first time since she'd opened the door. He looked tired, more tired than usual, and something about him said that there was trouble.

"Where's Murphy?" Blaise asked. It was unusual for Connor to show up on her front step without his brother, even when they were planning to go out on their own.

"Hotel." Connor said slowly as he stepped into the house. He took off his trusty work boots and hung up his coat, revealing the Celtic cross tattoo that Blaise had loved so much. He ran a hand over his mouth and the stubble on his chin as Blaise closed the door behind them. The familiar sound of the lock sliding into place made him feel only slightly better.

"Murph have a girl now?" Blaise asked lightly, slipping past Connor to move nimbly into the kitchen. "Y' wanna drink?"

"Not as such." Connor replied slowly, his brain too preoccupied with other things to be totally involved with the conversation. "And no, thanks."

Blaise closed the refrigerator door and walked up to Connor, who was standing in the middle of the living room. She got right up close, one hand on her hip, narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger.

"Connor MacManus, the day you refuse a drink is the day that my Da' comes back from the grave." She accused. "An' I ain't prepared fer th' comin' zombie apocalypse so you'd better 'splain yerself afore I toss yer sorry arse back out on the street."

Connor smiled his roguish smile and took her hand in his. He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips.

Blaise pouted. "You're not getting out of it tha' easy." She looked him over, frowning. "What...?"

Connor pressed his finger to his own lips. "Can't talk about it." He replied.

"Connor, this isn't a fuckin' Fight Club." Blaise snapped.

"I know." Connor replied, genuinely upset. "Believe me, I know. I just..." He frowned, trying to think of how to explain it without explaining. "Things have gotten... complicated." He said simply. "A lot has happened in the last few days, more than you'd be willin' to put up with, I think."

Blaise folded her arms across her chest. "Connor, I have known you an' yer brother for more than ten years. We used ta' drink together. We played pool an' darts. My father adored you. Swore that he'd look out for you and never let up about it. You held my hand at my Da's funeral and let me cry for a week without judgement. You offered to kill the man responsible for my father's death at least three times and I've turned you and Murphy down all three times. I've fed you, harboured you, hidden you, helped you..." She sighed. "I thought that by now you might trust me enough to tell me whatever it is on your mind."

Connor bit his lower lip, knowing that she wouldn't judge him, knowing that she was on their side and that she wasn't going to be the one to run to the cops tattling on them.

"You've gone and done something rather stupid, haven't ye?" She asked.

"Not as such." Connor replied with a shrug. "Hindsight is twenty-twenty y'know."

A small smile touched her lips. "And Murph is okay?" She asked.

"Nothing that he won't get over." Connor replied.

"It's been six months since the Yakavetta thing and Roc's death, Conn." Blaise said slowly. "You can tell me whatever it is y' boys are plannin'."

Connor pulled her close. "One last job." He said finally.

"Forever last?" Blaise asked, resting her head against his chest. "Or last in the city?"

Connor made a non-committal noise for his answer.

"Who?" Blaise asked finally, her head still resting against his chest.

"Someone very bad." Connor replied, running his fingers through her hair, despite the ponytail.

Annoyed with his touch, Blaise pulled the thin elastic out of her hair, letting her messy, layered locks fall about her face and shoulders. Deftly, she slipped the elastic over her wrist.

Connor smirked and turned her face up to his. "You've got no idea how much I missed you."

Blaise smiled as their lips met. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing him passionately. Playfully, she moved her hand to his belt, hooking her fingers around the worn black leather as she dragged him towards the stairs.

Part of Connor wanted to fight it, after all, there was a perfectly good couch right there in living room, but he decided against it. He followed as she dragged him along, laughing as he tripped on the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, he grabbed her, pulling her close kissing her again. He lifted her easily and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he pressed her against the wall.

She pulled his shirt over his head and hesitated for a moment when she saw the new scars. She was used to seeing injuries on her boys, she'd stitched up her fair share of them, but these were different. One in his shoulder and one on his arm, angry, puckered scars. Bullet wounds that had been cauterized roughly and not stitched. A shadow crossed her face, but she didn't say anything. She leaned forward and pressed her lips gently against the healed wounds before trailing her kisses up against his neck.

Connor ran his hands up her legs, slipping her underwear off and dropping them to the floor. She'd unhooked his belt with the practised ease of someone who'd been naughty in a past life. Blaise slipped her dress over her own head, tossing it to the floor as well.

Connor pressed one hand against the wall as he moved against her. She gasped, arching her back as she felt him inside. He kissed her neck and chest, biting at her collar bone as me moved harder against her. She bucked her hips gently, wrapping her legs tighter around him as he moved.

Knowing the hallway wasn't the ideal place for them to finish, Connor stepped back slightly, untangling himself from the puddle that was his jeans at his ankles.

Blaise's bedroom was at the end of the hallway and, holding her still pressed against him, Connor carried her there. They collapsed diagonally on the queen-sized bed, Connor still on top, to continue their tryst.

Blaise groaned pleasantly beneath her husky laugh and reached up hungrily to kiss his mouth. Connor found his hand tangled in her long hair, the other against her hip as he drove into her.

"Ah... God..." Blaise mumbled, her lips buried against his shoulder. "Conn..."

Connor mumbled something in raspy Russian, earning himself a delighted little trill from Blaise and the comforting pinch of her nails as they bit into his flesh.

She arched her back, writhing beneath him as her breathing grew erratic and heavy. He let fly another string of disjointed Russian, that even to him, sounded wrong with her name thrown in the middle of it. He shivered with pleasure as she moved against him, bringing him to a crashing end.

They lay there, breathing heavily for half a moment. Connor brushed her hair out of her face and leaned forward to kiss her before sitting up. He ran his fingers against the lacy edging of the pale blue bra she was still wearing.

"You left it there." Blaise pointed out with a flushed smirk playing on her lips.

Gently, Connor lifted her and set her properly on the bed, before climbing in next to her and draping the blanket over them both.

"You left cigarettes in the drawer." Blaise offered.

Connor shrugged, not interested. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close and she obliged.

With her head resting against his chest she absently traced her fingers along the perfectly round scars on his wrists. She knew all the stories, and worried about Connor and his brother every time they went out.

"Who is your target this time?" Blaise asked quietly.

"Can we leave it alone?" Connor asked in reply. "I'd rather you remember me like this," he made a vague motion with his hand to indicate the room and his nakedness, "and not like the vigilante angel of death I've become."

Blaise lifted her head. "Are you planning to die?" She asked, narrowing her eyes.

"No." Connor said with a sigh. "But we're planning on running."

Blaise growled and got up, grabbing her dressing gown and storming out of the room.

By the time Connor had followed, picking up his clothing and dressing as he walked down the hall, Blaise was already dressed and sitting on the kitchen counter, drinking a Guinness straight from the bottle.

"Don't be mad, Blaise." Connor said sadly.

"Fuck you." Blaise replied.

"Any time." Connor smirked.

"Where are you going?" Blaise asked, trying not to smile at his stupid joke.

Connor shrugged.

Blaise held up her hand to stop him from answering. "Yeah yeah, I know, you don't wanna tell me. The less I know, the better." She took another sip of her beer. "You know you could hide out here." She offered. "You'd be safe here."

"Can't." Connor replied with a sigh. He leaned against the counter across from her. "Too risky. What if someone recognizes us? What if Duffy or Dolly shows up to check in on you and they know we're here? Or we get pinched walking to the store? No, we need to get out."

Blaise nodded. "I understand." She said with a sigh.

"You're not gonna ask to come with?" Connor asked, surprised that it hadn't been the first question on her lips.

"No." She replied. "I'm too high profile." She shrugged. "Th' only downside to my profession." She stared across the kitchen at him. The little frown that tugged at the corners of his mouth, the scar over his eye, his messy hair. She'd miss it all.

"Do the job." Blaise said after a long moment. "An' don't get killed." She added. "And then, when things settle down a bit, come back to see me."

Connor smiled and crossed the narrow kitchen. He wrapped her in his arms one last time and kissed her.

The courthouse was buzzing with press and police and onlooking civilians. This was the highest profile case they'd tried in months. The Yakavetta trial. The third time he'd been tried, and there was already speculation that he'd get off Scot-free. Again.

They could hear the fire alarm ringing from outside.

It didn't take Blaise long to find the familiar police presence she knew. Greenly, Dolly and Duffy stood well away from the courthouse, whispering quietly to one another.

All three men stopped when they saw her approaching.

"What're you doing here?" Greenly asked first, being rewarded with a shove from Dolly.

Blaise smiled. She was dressed in a black dress, a proper symbol of mourning. Her hair was braided down her back. She looked the three men over, Greenly was tall, lanky and young. Duffy had greying hair, stubble on his chin and honestly reminded her of what Connor would look like in twenty years. Dolly was a little portly, with long hair slicked back. He wore a driving cap today. All three men were in casual clothes, off-duty cops. All three of them looked like they hadn't slept for a week.

"It's a high-profile case." Blaise replied after a long moment. "And I have a vested interest in the outcome." She added with a shrug. "Christ, boys, but you look exhausted."

She held out her arms and was rewarded with a hug, first from Duffy, then Dolly.

"You really shouldn't be here." Dolly told her.

"When have I ever listened?" Blaise drawled. She cast a look around. "The boys inside?" She whispered.

Dolly nodded, almost imperceptibly. "They told you?" He asked, disbelief in his voice.

"No." Blaise replied, the tiniest of smiles touching her lips as she recalled the events of the previous night. "But I'm not as daft as they seem to think. Being told there's a job and the date on the calendar was enough."

Duffy shook his head. "I still don't like it."

"Y' ain't gonna turn 'em in?" Blaise asked.

"Fuck no." Greenly chimed in. "Right?"

Dolly and Duffy chuckled and nodded their agreement.

"Cool." Blaise said. She patted Duffy, who was standing closest to her, on the arm affectionately. "See you boys later." She added, walking slowly away.

The press was in a frenzy by the doors as screaming civilians rushed out of the courthouse.

They'd slipped out the back, through the staff entrance and were rushing as fast as they could away from the courthouse. They planned to get in a car a few blocks away, to avoid suspicion. The cops would be swarming through the building at the moment, hoping to catch these murderers.

Connor's throat was stinging and raw from his yelled speech inside. He said nothing as they ran. Murphy was beside him, chewing his thumb in nervousness every time they had to stop to make sure their escape route was clear.

Connor was lost in his own thoughts, worry and doubt filling his mind.

It wasn't until he heard his brother curse quietly and nudge his arm that he looked up and reality came rushing back.

Blaise was waiting across the street, plain as day. She smiled, despite the tears in her eyes and held up a hand.

Murphy waved his goodbye.

Connor blew her a kiss.