The first time Murphy MacManus saw her she was sitting in the ER of St. Francis nursing a split lip and a wrist wrapped in a lumpy kitchen towel. Judging by the irregular shapes straining against the checked cloth he would have guessed she had a bag of frozen peas hidden within the folds of the tattered fabric. She sat alone in the green waiting room, shoulders hunched over and a sorrowful expression on her face. It became obvious as he watched that she was trying to remain invisible to the other souls waiting for a doctor to tend their aliments.

He noticed her though. He couldn't help but notice her.

She was battered and bruised, appearing through the parting crowd of sick and injured like a wounded vision sent from above. Murphy watched, completely transfixed with the woman sitting across the room from him and he had no idea why she had caught his attention. He knew his thoughts should be with his brother and the injury Connor had sustained during their last job earlier that morning but that was the last thing on his mind right now.

Murphy had never seen a creature more lovely in his life before than the one sitting on the other side of the bustling room. He saw past the blood on her hands and the pain in her eyes. There was something about her that he couldn't put his finger on but he felt drawn to her. And now that his gaze had found her he couldn't look away. Her presence enticed him like no other woman's had before.

A little wisp of a thing, she had a halo of short silver hair encircling her head. She was demurely dressed and even though she sat a distance away from him Murphy could make out the golden glitter of a simple crucifix hanging around her graceful neck. As soon as he saw that necklace he knew she was a God-fearing woman. So little people had faith anymore, the fact that she clearly did only made her more interesting to him. She looked like a broken angel, cast down from Heaven to suffer amongst the huddled masses of mere mortals living in South Boston. But angels didn't usually end up in the ER broken and bloody like the vision sitting across the room from him.

A big brute of a man stomped past her and she shrunk back against the wall, acting either on reflex or instinct. Her face contorted to an expression of fear that was almost inhuman. He had heard of angels shedding tears before but the look on the woman's face was not a prelude to weeping. That one reaction told Murphy everything he needed to know about how she had landed up in the ER today. It didn't matter that the guy responsible for startling her was clearly a stranger. The man limbed past the angel without sparing her a single glance as he made his way to the nurse at the front desk.

It was then that Murphy understood the angel across from him had not been cast down from heaven. Murphy knew with absolute clarity it wasn't only God the broken woman feared.

Her current predicament was not the result of some fender bender or household accident. She hadn't gotten into a fight with a friend and she hadn't been a victim of her own clumsiness.

She was sitting in that ER because a man had put her there.

Whether it had been at the hands of her husband or lover or a mugger, a man had done this to her. There was no doubt in Murphy's mind about that. A man had put the fear of God into this tiny woman sitting across from him.

Murphy could not abide a man laying his hands on a woman for sport. Not to say he was innocent of hitting a woman. That bitch who had kicked Connor in the balls on St. Patty's Day long ago received a well-earned punch from the younger McManus twin. But that woman had started it. There was no way in hell Murphy was going to stand by and let her kick the shit out of his brother. Wouldn't of mattered if she'd been a man, the punch had been deserved regardless of gender. A fighter equally matched with another fighter.

But the woman sitting across the room from him hadn't been pitted against an equal opponent; Murphy knew that much for sure. The more he studied her, the more clues he found alluding to the fact a man had intentionally caused her pain.

She wore long sleeves despite it being unseasonably warm. Someone usually dressed like that when they were trying to hide scars or bruises. A mugging was usually a one-time thing. It didn't require the continual need to cover oneself from prying eyes. But if a man was beating his wife regularly, her wardrobe would primarily be demure clothing that would hide the evidence of his actions. Then there was also her demeanour. She was scared and ready to flee at a moment's notice.

What Murphy wouldn't give for the chance to put a bullet into the bastard responsible for doing this to her.

A voice called across the noisy room and the angel stood in response, following a scrub-clad nurse into an examination room and away from his scrutinizing gaze. Murphy felt the loss of her presence instantly. It was as if her leaving had sucked the very light from the room itself.

He hadn't even learnt the angel's name. The hubbub echoing across the room had masked it from his ears when the nurse called for her.

The rest of the day Murphy McManus was left wondering what this angel on Earth could have possibly done to deserve the punishment bestowed upon her. She was so frail…so innocent. She was the type of person he and Connor had vowed to protect. She was one of the good that was meant to flourish. What breed of evil had dared strike her down?

Two weeks later Murphy saw her again. She appeared as a vision across a smoky room; a light cutting through the Saturday night dim of McGinty's. He and Connor sat together at the bar, their drinks in hand when the front door opened to reveal the silhouette of his angel standing poised at the threshold. The lights from the street threw her figure into sharp relief and bathed her in an ethereal glow. The hand which had been wrapped in a kitchen cloth when he'd first seen her was instead now encased in plaster. The split to her lip had healed and her heavenly face was flawless. Much like his first experience in the ER, Murphy's eyes were instantly drawn to her. But she obviously did not feel the same pull towards him that he did her. Her gaze moved about the room, searching for something or someone. When her eyes landed on Murphy she paused, her entire body slightly swaying from her vantage point. Her plastered hand flew to her chest as she stood staring at him, her mouth hanging slightly open in an expression of shock.

An involuntary shudder went down his spine and Murphy knew in that moment that the angel felt that same sensation he did. She had just taken longer to discover it was all. For them both to be drawn together by the same magnetic pull must be due to some sort of divine intervention.

Murphy knew he was staring but he didn't care who saw. He couldn't look away from her eyes. The woman in the doorway had the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen. They reminded him of an inviting lake on a hot summer's day. At that very moment, Murphy McManus wanted to jump into that lake head-first regardless of the consequences.

She was the first to break the spell between them, severing their connection when her gaze dropped demurely to the boards beneath her feet. She stayed like that for a moment, frozen in time as the rest of the bar continued to ignore the apparition standing in their presence. Murphy didn't want to breathe for fear the act might scare the angel away. He released a shaky breath when she finally raised her head but refused to meet his eyes, instead resuming her search of the bar patrons. Her cheeks were tinged with a faint blush and she was struggling to hide a shy smile.

Murphy watched as she scanned the bar in search of someone that wasn't him. He felt the weight of disappointment pressing down on his chest with the realization the angel hadn't been drawn to the bar that night in search of him; she'd been called here for someone else.

Finally her search stopped when her sights landed on a big guy sitting alone at one of the tables in back. He was new to McGinty's and hadn't bothered talking to the other patrons. Every night for the last week he had come religiously to the establishment and kept to himself, occupying the same table as he worked his way systematically through beer after beer. He was only heard from when his glass ran dry. He hadn't struck either McManus brother as someone to be concerned with.

Now that Murphy was looking at him, he realized the lone man at the back table resembled the big guy at the hospital the angel had shied away from in fear. The younger McManus had a sneaking suspicion who the new man at McGinty's might actually be.

The angel stepped through the doorway and entered the smoky room. Never before had the pub been graced with such beautiful patronage. In truth, the bar wasn't the most appropriate place for a lady and the woman who had just walked in was most definitely a lady. She bowed her head and hurried towards the table containing the podgy man. A good woman such as her had no business being out in this neighbourhood of a Friday night unescorted. Murphy would have never let a woman to roam the streets of Boston alone. There were far too many bad people out there in the world and unfortunately he and Connor couldn't stop every one of them.

Murphy turned on his stool and watched as the angel approach the man nestled in back, placing a hand on his hunched shoulder when she came to a stop beside his table. She shook him lightly, trying to pry his attention away from the half-drunk pint in his hand. The lout returned the gesture by shrugging her hand off and pushing the angel away with one solid thrust. She stumbled but remained standing, catching herself as if it wasn't the first time having been handled in such a manner. Murphy couldn't help but think her invisible wings must have helped balanced her stance. The woman wrapped her small hand around the man's fatty bicep and tugged again, this time waving her plaster-clad hand in the air. Her fingers wiggled as she spoke, presumably berating the obviously drunk lump of a man before her.

Her reward for this action was another shove- harder this time by the look of it. This time, the angel's invisible wings didn't aid her flight. The woman fell backwards, her hip connecting hard with the corner of a nearby table. Her mouth flew open in a silent declaration of pain as her good hand went straight to her injury.

Out of the corner of his eye Murphy saw his brother turn towards the couple in back. Both McManus brothers watched the exchange with keen eyes. Simultaneously the brothers' rose from their stools, their combined attentions focused on the scene unfolding.

Neither would allow a woman to be treated like that in Doc's bar.

No sooner had the woman collided with the table did the tyrant stand, apparently ready to call it a night now he had asserted his dominance. Judging by the sneer present on his face when he glared at the battered angel he felt no remorse for treating her like that. In fact, it looked like the asshole revelled in her agony.

The heartless bastard proceeded to grab her by the arm and lead her back thought the maze of tables and out the exit. Murphy watched their quick passage through narrowed eyes and an idea began to form. He would find out who that lump of a man was and he and Connor would deal with the situation as they did best. The asshole responsible for putting the angel in the ER two weeks ago was clearly not a good man. He had a wife that cared for him and stood by him, and still he treated her like garbage. Murphy hadn't been searching for someone to bestow justice on that evening, but as always divine intervention had other ideas and delivered another scumbag right into their laps.

Murphy McManus was going to make it his mission to find out everything he could about the angel and the tyrant. A man like that did not deserve an angel to care for him.

The following Sunday morning found Murphy standing alone outside St. Marks while Connor took confession inside. The younger twin leant against one of the stone columns framing the entryway, watching the activity on the street below while he savoured a cigarette. Movement on the street drew his attention from the rolled paper poised between his fingers and his eyes fell upon a family of three making their way towards the church. Even before his eyes confirmed her identity he knew it to be the angel from the ER. The magnetic pull he felt tugging at his chest was all the evidence he needed she was close by.

She was with the drunkard from the bar last night; her husband Murphy assumed from the matching wedding bands they were wearing. The pudgy man was dragging the woman along like she was an unco-operative dog he was taking for a walk. His thick, sausage-like fingers curled cruelly around her much smaller arm, threatening to snap the appendage if enough pressure was applied. She would surely be wearing another bruise from the grip he had on her there. A blonde girl no more than twelve clung to the woman's unbroken hand on her other side. Their faces were so similar, there was no doubt that the child was the offspring of the angel.

Watching the trio Murphy realized the woman had intentionally placed herself between the man and his daughter. What kind of monster must this man be if his own wife needed to act as a buffer between man and child?

Murphy couldn't hear what was being said, but he could decipher enough from the body language of the group to know an argument was taking place. But calling it an argument implied all parties were voicing complaints. The angel and child stayed silent, both shying away as the brute chastised them for what Murphy could only imagine were trumped up charges. The angel seemed to receiving the bulk of the bastard's attention though. With each snarling remark that spewed forth from the angry man's mouth the hand keeping hold of his wife's arm got tighter and tighter until his lumpy fingers were almost white from the pressure he applied.

The child released a scared sounding whimper and the fury the man had been directing primarily at his wife turned instead to his daughter. His intense gaze moved to his child and his ranting started anew. The daughter had tears in her eyes and shook her head venomously, denying whatever false charges were being laid against her. The tyrant raised his free hand to strike the child, but the angel interceded, twisting her body to block her husband's attack and catching his fist mid-air before he could strike.

It was at that moment Murphy knew he had been remiss in thinking she was an angel sent by God. She wasn't an angel sent from above. The virtuous woman standing at the foot of the stairs was a saint sent to save her daughter. She did what he and Connor did, but instead of ridding the world of evil her mission was more focused. She aided her daughter by absorbing the abuse of the man in their lives.

The look of surprise that crossed the tyrant's face was priceless. Murphy couldn't supress a chuckle from escaping his lips when he saw that reaction. Luckily, the family was still poised at the foot of the stairs and hadn't heard the amused sound he made. The expression of surprise the bastard wore was soon replaced with seething fury though. He yanked the woman closer, whispering something in her ear that caused her angelic features to morph into a mask of pure fear.

It occurred to Murphy that the angel probably always took the brunt of the punishment served up by the tyrant she was married to. This saint would do whatever was necessary to save her daughter. The younger McManus respected the sheer strength of the woman.

The party began to slowly climb the stairs leading to the church. Each step brought the angel closer and closer to Murphy as if she was floating towards him by God's will alone. That magnetic pull he felt each time he saw her was increasing in its insistency with every step she took. Before he knew what he was doing Murphy had pushed away from the column he was leaning against and he'd thrown his cigarette to the ground. He wasn't going to stand there and let that motherfucker treat the angel and child like that. It had nothing to do with the McManus brothers' mission to free the world of evil. He wanted his pound of flesh from the fat bastard who made himself feel more like a man by pushing others down.

Watching the party make their way up the steps to attend mass Murphy could finally hear what the bastard was muttering. The man was berating the angel for numerous offences that Murphy couldn't imagine to be true. The charges laid against her ranged from intentionally burning his breakfast to lusting after other men. The entire time she received her chastisement the woman kept silent, her head bowed as she climbed the stairs.

Without ever having spoken to her Murphy knew she was innocent of these crimes. She was a good woman charged with enduring a bastard of a husband. The only crime she was guilty of was marrying the wrong man.

Before the family reached the top of the stairs the angel's head shot up and caught Murphy's eye. A look of recognition flashed over her face and the pained expression transformed to one of elation. All too quickly she ducked her head, but not before Murphy caught sight of the fresh shiner she was sporting. The blood in his veins started to boil when he caught sight of the bruise still forming around her eye.

Her face had been flawless when he'd see her not twelve hours ago.

The hackles on his neck went up and Murphy angled his body forward, placing himself directly in the family's path. The hand hanging at his side curled into a tight fist. That fat bastard was going to pay for hurting her.

The saint raised her head as the group approached and shook her halo of silver hair almost imperceptibly, thwarting Murphy's unspoken offer of assistance. It seemed that aside from saint and angel, the woman was determined to add psychic to her resume. He nodded minutely in understanding, stepping to the side and out of the family's way. Murphy's eyes dropped, focusing instead on the paving beneath his boots. He needed to help the woman, but he would not go against her wishes. Not when they were standing in the doorway to God's house. The church was a place of sanctuary, not violence. Murphy respected that. He watched the group make their way through the heavy wooden doors and disappear into the dark depths beyond.

The motherfucker responsible for the woman's injuries wouldn't always be so lucky though. Murphy knew he needed to find out everything he could about the saint and her family. He had to be quick about it too; the big bastard looked like he might cross the line from spousal abuser into murderer any day now.

The brothers didn't have a system for deciding who was next to receive their particular brand of justice, but Murphy was certain without a doubt that he had just stumbled upon the next recipient of their attention.

He'd have a word with Connor when he was done with confession. It didn't matter that the tyrant wasn't a drug dealer or a Mafioso, Murphy knew the asshole inside the church now was not a decent man. And judging by the terrified expressions on both mother and daughter's faces, the tyrant did not respect or deserve the family he had been blessed with.

Sometimes the Lord worked in mysterious ways. Other times, like today, he was clear as a fucking bell.

The job hadn't taken nearly as long as he'd thought it would. It had been so simple, going off clean and without a single hitch. The ease in which they took care of the motherfucker who beat his wife was nothing short of astounding. Someone definitely wanted that bastard wiped from the face of the planet.

The brothers had waited for the angel and her family to leave the church. They followed the group to a rundown house surrounded by a ramshackle garden. It was obvious they'd only just moved in by the mountain of flattened packing boxes in the garage. The tyrant stormed into the house and threw himself down on a couch all the while barking orders at the woman. Ordering her to start cooking and rattling off the menu he wanted for lunch. It could not have been timed any better. The fat bastard then demanded the angel go to the corner store and pick him up a six-pack. Murphy couldn't help but smile as fate dropped all the pieces perfectly in place. The daughter left with her mother shortly after, wrapped safely in the woman's protective embrace.

The brothers waited until the angel and offspring had left the house before they attacked, slipping silently in through the side door and surprising the guy before he could get up from the sofa. Luckily the brothers McManus travelled with all the tools they needed to get the job done. The bastard had pleaded with them not to hurt him. He had begged for mercy. But when he offered them his wife and daughter in exchange for his own life Murphy had seen red. He had launched himself at the motherfucker, delivering blow after crushing blow before Connor had pulled him away from the bloody remains. The last punch he'd delivered had broken the guy's nose and ripped open the tyrant's lip. Murphy's boot came down hard on the bastard's right wrist rewarding him with a sharp snap as the bone shattered.

Let the fat bastard feel a fraction of the pain he had been responsible for over the course of his life.

Once the job was done the McManus brothers' left the house as quietly as they had entered. No witnesses ever came forward to the execution.

Murphy had taken to walking past her house every few nights just to make sure she was ok. The angel didn't need any further protection though. She did indeed flourish once the husband was taken out of the equation. Every time he caught a glimpse of her thorough the curtains both her and her daughter were smiling. He had even watched them dancing around their living room one night before he quickly walked away from the happy scene. It was good to know the angel was finally free of her Earthly oppressor.

Roughly a month had passed and Murphy was still keeping tabs on the angel. The younger brother had stood on the street, working his way through a pack of smokes as he kept vigil over the house once again. He knew the husband to be dead but he still felt drawn to the woman. He still wanted to protect her despite the job being finished.

"I know you're there," her voice cut through the night, startling Murphy from his hiding place. He thought he'd been more discreet lurking behind the large tree but apparently not. "I know who you are…what you did for us. Please come out," the voice beaconed him like a siren's call and he felt his feet move forward of their own volition.

Murphy stepped out from behind the tree he'd been using as cover to come face to face with the angel from the ER. She looked radiant in the moonlight, her arms crossed lightly across her chest as she stood before him. She wore a tank top that displayed her distinct lack of bruises. Visible proof she was free of the bastard who had tortured her.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he apologised, dropping his gaze sheepishly to the ground.

"You didn't," the angel said, her voice warm and sincere.

His head shot up at her words. She wasn't scared? The woman had been terrified of the man who beat her senseless, yet the man who was responsible for killing her husband didn't faze her? Murphy took a tentative step towards her, feeling that familiar pull drawing him back in. "So you know what happened…what we did?"

She nodded, taking her own step forward. "I do."

"And you know who we are…who I am?" Murphy was almost afraid to hear her answer.

"Yes," she answered without hesitation.

"It doesn't bother you?" he asked with surprise.

She shrugged her shoulders. "You two only hurt men who deserve it. Ed…he deserved it." Her gaze travelled past Murphy into the night, as if the mention of her dead husband's name alone brought her pain. Her eyes came back to rest on Murphy's face. "Thank you for what you did. I didn't have the strength to do it myself."

In all honestly, it had been the easiest job the brothers had even pulled. It was like the planets aligned and fate stepped in to make sure everything went according to plan. There were no fuck-ups like falling though a ceiling or getting tangled in a stupid fucking rope. Murphy couldn't help but wonder if this path he and Connor were set on had all started just to lead him to this point of protecting the angel from the wrath of a hateful man.

The angel before him took another step forward, closing the gap between them.

"I'm Carol," she introduced herself with a smile, holding her left hand out. The right was still plastered.

He nodded his head and wrapped his hand around hers. A shot of electricity ran up his arm at the contact. "Murphy," he replied, letting his hand linger against hers longer than he knew he should. But now that he was close to her, touching her, he didn't want to let go. The forces drawing them together had worked too hard and too long for this union to occur. His thumb caressed her palm and Murphy knew he didn't want to let go of her again.

Carol returned the gesture, her fingers feather-light against his skin. "Do you want to get a coffee sometime?" she asked, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

Murphy couldn't believe his ears. The angel had asked him out on a date. He stepped closer to Carol and tightened his grip on the hand still in his. "Aye," he nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "Aye, I would."

A/N: Thank you for giving this little story a chance. I've written it in response to the latest fanfiction challenge from the USS Caryl. The requirements were a minimum word length of 100 (no problems there) and it followed the prompt 'AU Caryl with any of the different characters Norm had played over the years.' Murphy was an obvious choice for me considering the McManus brothers' need to stamp out the evil men of the world. Ed Peletier was most definitely one of those evil men the Saints would have come across.

I wanted to try something a little different with this piece. I wanted the only dialogue to happen between Carol and Murphy right at the end, hence no-one actively speaks until the last section. I hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading.