A/N: For what its worth, and not that I'm expecting it to garner me any mercy, this is my first dabble in Boondock Saints. Obviously, Connor and Murphy MacManus, Il Duce, Agent Smecker, Detectives Dolly, Duffy, and Greenly, and Father Macklepenny do not belong to me, but are the wonderful creations of Troy Duffy. (If Connor were mine I'd be greedy and wouldn't share him with anyone. lol) However, Aislinn O'Keefe, her relations, and assorted others DO belong to me, and I tend to be rather protective of them. No copyright infringement is intended, just a little tale for entertainment.

…and all the sinners saints…

Chapter One

Throughout history, it has been the inaction of those who could have acted; the indifference of those who should have known better; the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most; that has made it possible for evil to triumph.
-Haile Selassie

We must use time wisely and forever realize that the time is always ripe to do right.
-Nelson Mandela

'Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee…' a chorus of young voices rose in the warm summer air, dancing on the breezes with the butterflies that flitted through the garden. They were seated in the shade of a great oak, circled about the feet of a young woman who sat on a folding chair. She smiled as she recited the prayer with the children, rubbing the rosary bead they were on between her fingers.

'And blessed art thou, amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thou womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.'

'Amen.' A distinctly male voice ended the prayer, bringing all gazes up at him. His back to the sun, his features obscured in the shadow, but his identity was easily told. He hunkered down as the children turned to face him, earnest faces upturned.

'Good morning, Father Macklepenny.' They chorused and he smiled at them, then looked up to their shepherd for the day. She smiled back at him as she tucked her crystal rosary away in a little velveteen pouch. He noted that the children all held plastic beaded rosaries in their hands.

'Are you all listening to your lessons today?'

'Yes.' Came the resounding chorus. They were all between five and seven years of age, the youngest group of children for the all day bible camp the church was offering this summer. A few of them looked away from the young priest to the young woman who was rising from her folding chair, one hand resting lightly on the back. Dappled sunlight shone on copper hair, and her time in the sun was evidenced by a prominent scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. A classic Irish beauty, Father Macklepenny noted, as she smiled at him once more. Had he not heard God's calling he was sure she would be precisely the woman he would have fallen for, him and a hundred other Boston Irishmen.

The children rose as Father Macklepenny rose from his haunches, brushing his trouser legs as he did so. She was such a quiet and private woman, and seemed to give herself to the church. There was nary a day when he did not see her seated in the far back pews of the early morning mass, lips silently mouthing words as the rosary beads slipped through her fingers. It struck him then that he had never seen her without her rosary, either. Such a pious woman, she would have been well suited to the sisterhood, had she chosen that path. He found himself wondering why she hadn't, and as he did so briefly met her eyes. Turbulent pools of blue grey, almost he color of a stormy sea. Something deeper in those eyes, spoke of pain, something… horrible.

'Father, are you all right?' she had blinked, one hand coming out to touch his shoulder, concern replacing anything else he had seen in her eyes. The children were standing silent at their feet, a few shuffling impatiently in the grass, scuffing their shoes.

He collected himself, drawing a deep breath and smiling awkwardly. 'Fine, thank you, Miss O'Keefe.'

She folded her chair and picked it up, waving her free hand at the children, ushering them along as she stepped out of the shade. In the warm sunlight her pale skin was even more pronounced, as was the fire in her hair. Macklepenny may have been a priest, but he wasn't dead. Her silhouette was wonderful and he let his gaze stray along her curves for a long moment. Something no more than an odd feeling made him look up as they and the children crossed the wide green lawn surrounding the church. His eyes drifted over the roofs of the assembled cars of mothers in the parking lot waiting to pick up their children to the wide imposing doors of the church. Miss O'Keefe and her flock didn't seem to notice his agitation as they continued onward, some of the children waving and beginning to run across the grassy expanse. There were two young men standing outside the church doors, both dressed in blue jeans and black pea coats. One of the men wore a pair of dark shades and casually turned to look in Macklepenny's direction. Memories that had been locked away for five years tunneled to the surface in the Father's brain as he stared almost gape-mouthed at the pair.

Miss O'Keefe had guided the last of her children to the waiting mothers in the parking lot, exchanging brief greeting with most of the women, many who were her own age. She opened her mouth to say something to Father Macklepenny, turning and looking over her shoulder, unaware that she had lost him some steps back. She blinked as she saw him rooted in the grass, as still as the oak they had been sitting under. She excused herself from the mothers and children around her and went to the priest.

'Father Macklepenny?' She questioned, coming nearer. He looked at her and for a moment he didn't seem to recognize her. He blinked and looked back up to the church doors. The men were no longer there. Almost panicking he scanned the area for them and spotted them walking down the far side of the parking lot, skirting the gathered horde of women and children. O'Keefe shaded her eyes against the sun and looked where he looked, watching the men. Something in the back of her mind told her that she should be afraid of two men dressed in black, especially around such an innocent crowd. However, something stronger and indefinable told her that these men would never harm such a gathering, but would rather much protect it. Sheepdogs watching intently over the flock, ready to drive away the wolf, and if need be, to kill it. Even at this distance, she felt her gaze lock with one of the men, and she noted the slight misstep in his stride as he caught the contact. He held her gaze for a second longer then donned a pair of dark shades, such as those his companion wore. They cast one more glance about the arrayed people and turned out of the parking lot and walked off down the street. Aislinn O'Keefe felt a curious chill run through her, not at all unpleasant, but almost… nice.

'Who are they, Father?' she found herself asking before she could think about the question. From the troubled look on Macklepenny's face it was not the right question to ask.

'Troublesome men,' he drew a deep breath and looked as if he were mentally crossing himself. His eyes steeled as he spoke again. 'Sinners.'

He nodded curtly at Miss O'Keefe and walked off towards the church. She watched him and wondered what the men had done to cause such a reaction in this normally gentle and compassionate man.

.-.-.-.