Anti-Disclaimer: Ha! You have no idea how great this feels after a year on ! These characters and storylines are mine. Any similarities you may see are completely coincidental, lol.

Note: Please be gentle; this is my first original piece. Reviews and criticism would be greatly appreciated.

Slainte! Chapter 1

"So, boys," said Matt Callaghan, digging his already numb hands deeper into his pockets against the biting February winds, "Are we going to find a place to stay before my ears snap off, or what?"

The group of friends had set out from Evan Crocker's apartment more than an hour before in search of a good time on the cold Saturday night, but that search had proven fruitless thus far. From the heart of Boston, they now found themselves Downtown, pissed off, and cold as hell.

Peter Carricko, the youngest of the three, peered longingly through the thin veil of fog, which had started to creep up from the harbor, desperately looking for something, anything, that would get him off the damn street. He looked down at the light-weight jean jacket that was failing miserably at keeping him warm, and wrapped his arms about his midsection in an attempt to still his quaking insides. Muttering angrily under his breath, Pete shook his head and cursed Evan for not warning him about winters in Boston. The idiot must have been on something when he'd shrugged and said, "It's not that bad"...

Suddenly, in the midst of his mumbling, his eyes fell upon something of interest and he stopped dead. Squinting through the misty haze, Pete made certain that the venue had potential before hollering to the other two men, who had continued to trudge along without him. "Guys," he called, "Look."

Matt and Evan turned around almost immediately at the very real prospect of finally defrosting somewhere and hurried back to where their friend stood, silent on the dimly lit street. "What is it, Pete?"

The young man didn't even respond, but, instead, pointed wordlessly across the alley. The elder two eyed one another curiously as they watched a severely inebriated thirty-something year old spring forth from a building and hobble away, singing off pitch and at the top of his lungs as he went. Lifting an eyebrow, Evan began slowly, his eyes never leaving the boisterous man who was weaving his way home. "Uh, buddy? You must be more than a little frozen if you are pointing out drunks now."

"You're a real ass, you know that?" the frustrated twenty-two year old said with a sigh, sending an icy glare over his shoulder. Continuing, he spoke carefully and as clearly as was humanly possible so they could comprehend. "People go to bars to get wasted. That gentleman is most definitely shit-faced. Therefore, that building over there is, most likely, a bar. It's simple logic," Pete replied, quite matter-of-factly.

A slow smile spread across Matt's face as he playfully ruffled Pete's disheveled head of hair. "Brilliant, my man! Simply brilliant! And I thought you failed math," he chuckled.

Pete grinned as they crossed the deserted street. "I did."

* * * *

"Shawn, will you give me a hand, please?" Michele Miselli said with a smile, calling to the twenty-three year old from across the throng of people lining the bar. Her new hand blushed furiously as he made his apologies to the crowd of women, who had come to welcome him on his first night at Mavourneen's, and wound his way back behind the antique counter.

Shaking her head, she tossed a customer a quick farewell grin and a thank you before glancing back over to the young co-ed who was now trying to make sense of the orders being shouted at him in rapid fire. "Ah, don't worry. The ladies will still be there when you get back," she offered, sliding a pint glass under the Budweiser tap in front of her.

"Actually, I was feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of the attention," he said, as dramatically as he could, "Thanks for getting me out of the line of fire. The red head over there was practically on top of me." With a friendly grin, he filled a mug with O'Doul's and slid it across the oak bar to the next waiting patron in exchange for a handful of crumpled dollar bills.

Michele couldn't help smiling at his answer. "That would be Patty Shae. Every other week she breaks up with her boyfriend, Jim Connelly, and this week must be one of them. She loves him to bits though; she's just trying to make Jim good and jealous before she goes back to him."

Pausing for a moment while building a Guinness, she brought her eyes over to Shawn and added in earnest, "Just don't get yourself caught between Patty and his fist. We're gonna need you around here and you're no use if your eyes are swelled shut."

Shawn laughed and shot her a quick smile, before replying, "Well, Meems, I'll take your word for it. You must be my guardian angel!"

"Now you say that," Michele called, cheerfully, "By the time this night is through you'll be calling me your worst nightmare!"

* * * *

Matt pushed open the heavy, wooden door and the three men stepped into the dimly lit, oak-paneled hall that was Mavourneen's Ale House, and were almost immediately met by the thick, raucous, pungent atmosphere of the crowded pub. The noise level was unbelievable as people hollered across the cozy quarters to friends and strangers alike, shouted orders to the bar, and sang along to the lively Irish bar tunes that were drifting through the speakers. There was a stage on the far end of the room, but it was vacant, at present, and, what he assumed was the bar sat to the left of the main entrance, but it was so mobbed with people that there was no telling for sure. It was loud and quite possibly a fire hazard, considering the number of people held within its burgeoning walls, but it was warm which, in turn, made it good enough for Matt.

"Let's get some drinks," hollered Evan, over the noise to his friends, "That'll warm me up, for sure." Considering the fact he was only twenty-six, Evan had already developed quite an affinity for all things liquor, one that bordered on a serious condition at times. Sure, Matt, like any decent Irishman, enjoyed his pint of beer as much as the next person, but since they were kids it seemed as though his friend's favorite past time was getting smashed. Apparently, not much had changed in those ten years.

Nodding, Matt followed the other two men to the now thinning, but still rather deep, crowd at the bar, taking in his surroundings as he waited for his turn. His lips twitched upward into a small smile as his eyes passed over the vast collection of Irish memorabilia which lined the walls and shelves and included framed immigration papers, old maps of the Emerald Isle, and even some posters of Irish bands old and new, including the Dropkick Murphys, a personal favorite of his. Examining the sign closer, he could make out a bit of black scribble towards the bottom, and another...

"Hey, buddy! You're up!" shouted someone from the massive throng, shoving him towards the huge wooden counter that had suddenly come into view. It looked as though Evan wasn't the only man anxious for his liquor tonight...

"What'll it be, my friend?" called the barmaid, whose eyes were trained intently on the tap she was fiddling with. In fact, all he could see was the top of her auburn, curl covered head, but from what he had seen, it was a lovely scalp indeed.

Finally remembering that her question required an answer and that a burly drunk was rapidly losing his patience behind him, Matt finally responded. "Oh, I'll have a pint of Guinness. Please."

Her head shot up and a warm, easy smile crossed her face, although he couldn't read the brief flash of shock that leapt into her eyes at first. "Ah, a man after my own heart," she said with a smile, grabbing a mug before carefully starting to pour, "And so polite, too. What a find?" Grinning she laid the last layer of dark ale into the glass and sent it across the bar to him, refusing his money. "That 'please' got it for you on the house. Enjoy it!"

Before he could coax his suddenly immobile jaw into responding, he was pushed aside by Mr. Impatient and she had already begun to fill his order. He reached for the glass and as he did so she sent him another one of her mega-watt grins his way and called, "I'll see you around, Mick." And with that, she swept along to the opposite end of the bar, leaving him in a complete daze. A perfect stranger had just rattled off a nickname that he hadn't heard since high school...he most definitely needed that drink now.

Not knowing what else to do, he shook his head, grabbed his beer, and pushed his way through the crowds to the table which Evan and Pete must have commandeered after getting their drinks, seeing as all of the other tables were otherwise occupied.

Pulling out a chair, he plopped down in it, immediately rattling off the story of what had just transpired at the bar at warp speed. He could barely understand his own words, so he somehow doubted that his friends would either...

But that's what pals were apparently for, because only immediately after he'd stopped babbling, they were both coming up with possible explanations to ease his troubled mind. "Maybe she's an ex-girlfriend?" Pete offered, "If that's the case, then there shouldn't be much of a problem in figuring out who she is because I can probably count all of your past relationships on one hand." In response to the frigid look Matt sent his way, the young man remarked, "Come on, man, you know it's true."

"Well, maybe she's family?" Evan suggested, trying to get a gander at the girl in question. "You haven't seen them for years now. Maybe she remembered you? I mean, she works in a pub, for Pete's sake, she's got to be Irish! And you, my friend, are excruciatingly Irish, so it all makes sense."

Matt rubbed his right temple, trying to relieve the stress that this whole night had put there, took a hefty swig of the mug's contents, and nodded. "Maybe you're right. Whatever, we went out into this horrific weather to have a good time, so let's just drop it."

"Here, here!" said Pete with a smile, raising his bottle of Bud to toast.

"Wait! Maybe she's..." shouted Evan, hurriedly jumping to his feet.

Lowering the mug he had just begun to lift, Matt swore under his breath and muttered, "This is shaping up to be one hell of a night."

* * * *

Michele whistled merrily as she lovingly wiped down the bar with a damp rag. For almost an hour, Shawn and she had filled the orders of close to a hundred customers, half of whom were already goners, and now the place was looking like a war zone, but she wasn't at all upset about the arduous task of cleaning up for the oncoming Midnight Rush.

All she could think about was the dumbfounded expression that had taken up residence on Matt Callaghan's face when she had casually bandied about his old call sign. Smiling to herself, she tossed the old rag to the side, just in time to see the young man in question start his descent. Taking a page from experience, she busied herself behind the bar and ignored his gaze.

Causally sliding onto the stool directly in front of her at the now vacant bar, Matt leaned his elbows on the counter and raised his eyes to her. "So, Miss, would you mind telling me how you knew my name? Was it just a lucky guess, or are you yet another victory of my horrible memory?" he asked.

Resting her forearms on the decorative molding that rimmed the antique sideboard, her eyes met his with a small smile. "You really don't remember me, huh?"

"And, as I suspected you would be one of the latter," Matt responded, almost cringing at how callous he felt, "I'd really like to know who you are...Tell me? Please?"

"There you go again with the 'please'...You'll be wondering why you wasted your manners on me when I tell you," she replied with a sad smile. "Well, it doesn't matter anymore, I guess. Do you remember your high school Chemistry class? You were a junior, right?" When he nodded eagerly, she continued on. "I was a sophomore, we were lab partners, and I sat behind you. I'm Michele Miselli. Remember?"