Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Boondock Saints, nor its sequel. I wouldn't mind owning the MacManus brothers though.

A/N: I apologize at just how late this is, but lately, I haven't felt the desire to work diligently on this project any longer; in fact, this could possibly be the last chapter for a long while (well, longer than it's already been since I last posted). I must say, though, that once I found the time to sit down and the inspiration I needed to work on this, I really enjoyed this year. The idea for this partly came from a fic I skimmed over here a while back that involved the twins learning different languages as children, but it mostly came from something my maternal grandfather told me many years ago, and that is the one thing no one can take from your is your education. I worked with that thought, added a bit of my own touches, and I ended up with this!

By the way, I realized that my year titles were off (because Birth is when they're born, so wouldn't Year the Second actually be Year the Third, because that would be the third year they'd been alive? I think this is right.).

StarKatt427

When they are eight, neither boy can understand why, exactly, their mother puts such stock in their education and the learning of different languages. They are Irish, and growing up as such, they have been raised to speak both English and Gaelic, though they are not quite so skilled in the latter as the former. They've never even left their hometown, let alone the country, their whole world consisting or verdant fields and cobalt skies, and in their young minds, it is impossible to imagine crossing a border, a continent, and entire ocean. But Ma is insistent, and resistance is futile, and they try not to grumble too loudly when she returns their complaints with a slap to the head or presses their noses firmly into the books they study.

They are in the kitchen one afternoon following the completion of their schoolwork, just as they are four days every week, the twins sitting in mismatched chairs around a dilapidated linoleum table, while their mother, preparing to start dinner, glances at them from time to time to make sure neither is slacking off from his studies. Murphy copies a line of text into a notebook, the one with the red cover Ma wrote Spanish across, while Connor absently flips through his own language book with disinterest, though he puts on a good show of pretending to be diligently at work.

Finally, though, he shuts the thick volume between both hands, letting it fall atop the table and glaring at the title. "Why do we need to know Spanish?"

"Repeat," their mother says without looking up from counting out ingredients.

Connor sighs dramatically but does as she says. "¿Por qué necesitamos saber español?"

"Because ye need to be learned in other cultures. Ye both'll do better in life if yer multilingual."

Nine months ago, neither quite knew what, exactly, multilingual meant, and though they still have some difficulty pronouncing the term correctly, they understand its meaning. What they cannot understand is why Ma figures it's so important; she only speaks two languages after all, they once cheekily pointed out, but all that earned them was a none-too-gentle smack across the back of their hands and an order of "Watch yer attitudes, brats."

Connor juts out his chin mulishly and looks at his own handwritten notes, the letters round and a little crooked with lack of skill, letters sometimes extending beneath the blue lines when they are not supposed to. "We ain't in Spain, or Mexico. So what's the point?"

It is natural: where one twin goes, the other will directly follow, and as is the usual case, Murphy heads in the same direction as Connor, grabbing hold of his line of thought; he chews at his pencil's eraser, a habit Ma absolutely detests, and says, "I ain't never seen a Spanish Irish before. Ye think we got any?"

"Nah, but if there were, they'd sound kinda funny, don't cha think?" Connor asks his brother with a grin, to which Murphy scrunches his nose at the thought, head bobbing enthusiastically. "But it ain't just Spanish," the blonde haired boy continues. "We gotta learn French and Italian too, even though we're not going to those countries anytime soon."

Ma, taking this all in good stride for a change, simply shrugs. "Ye never know."

"I know I don't need it," Murphy mumbles, having gotten fired up along with his brother.

Annabelle gives him a very pointed look, spoon raised threateningly. "Repeat. In French."

With a scowl, Murphy complies after a moment's thought, still not entirely used to switching language on command. "Je sais que je n'en ai besoin."

"Something ain't right. Ye leave out a word?" Despite the fact that she speaks neither Spanish, French, nor Italian, their mother has a small grasp of the languages, she's quick to remind them, and can almost always point out their mistakes.

Befuddled, Murphy muses over his sentence, brows pulled tight, before his grins brightly. "Je sais que je n'en ai pas besoin."

"Good." She nods, smiles indulgently, an act that generally puffs up the twins' chest and makes them work even harder; Murphy's smile sweetens a bit, but Connor, who refuses to give in this time, sits with his arms crossed tightly and leans back in his seat. He shoots Murphy an annoyed frown, and his brother, as if remembering he was supposed to be adamantly against Ma in this battle and supplying his brother with backup, gives him a shrug that Connor thinks is not as apologetic as it should be.

Their mother twists a dial, the gas stove coming to life and a small flame irrupting beneath one burner as she sets a pot of water over it. "Ye can complain about it all ye want, but ye both know ye like learning. If ye didn't, ye wouldn't get so damn excited when ye do good."

Although he would like to, Connor can't deny that; he likes praise, he likes getting things right, and he has not forgotten the feeling that shot through him the first time he spoke a long sentence to his mother at random in French, the surprise that filled her eyes followed by a gentle smile that he does not see so often anymore but loves very much.

When neither boy says anything, Annabelle turns to face them, her curling hair tied back beneath a bandana, little wisps falling against her forehead, and traces of flour still touching her wrists and arms. She walks to the table, pulls out the chair between them, elbow to the tabletop. "Listen te me, both of ye, and remember this. There are only two things in this world no one can ever take away from ye: yer faith and a good education." She taps the cover of Connor's Spanish book. "This here is knowledge, and many children don't get to receive it. There are a lot of kids who'll never even see a book in their life."

Connor can almost feel Murphy's eyes widen at this; his twin is a book fiend, devouring whatever he can get his hands on, so the idea must be near blasphemous. It is hard to believe, because books are so common, are so easily accessible for Connor, but the somber tone in which their mother uses leaves no room for disbelief—her words are the truth.

She looks from one boy to the other, though her gaze lingers on her eldest. "Ye should be proud ye have this opportunity. People can take away yer books, yer belongings, yer home even, but they can't take what ye believe in and what ye know. Ye understand me?"

Connor looks at Murphy, meeting identical blue eyes, and though there is a question in them, the same one he imagines is reflected in his own, they do not ask, instead looking back to their mother and nodding.

It won't be until many years later that they realize just how these significant words, spoken in a ratty kitchen in the prime of their childhood, have influenced them.

Annabelle knots a hand gently in each's hair, then returns to the stove, and Connor watches her a moment, the familiar movements and gestures, before he reopens his book, flipping to the page he was previously so doggedly ignoring, and sitting up straighter. "Try it a little longer," their mother says casually over her shoulder, "and if ye decide ye truly hate it, I won't force ye to continue."

Murphy narrows his eyes at her back. "Ye're lying, ain't ye?"

Annabelle just grins. "Get back te work."