staring down the sun

[3] you were wrong, you were right

She had set Connor's rosary on the table for when the guards would bring him in for the session. It wasn't easy convincing the warden that the MacManus brothers could be trusted with their rosaries under Elena's supervision. "They would only have them in session if I think it's necessary for their mental well-being." When the warden still wasn't satisfied, she offered to sign some liability statement. Something about being responsible for the prisoners' personal effects, and then something else about the state not being responsible for any injury sustained while including such items during a therapy session.

The door buzzes just before opening, and Connor walks in, handcuffed like usual and with the guard directly behind him. Elena watches his eyes lock on his rosary while the guard removes the handcuffs. Connor sits down, oddly hesitant to reach for the beads in front of him. He softly thanks the guard as the door buzzes again, leaving Connor and Elena alone in the room under video surveillance.

"You really want to break me, don't you?" Connor teases in Spanish as he carefully picks up his rosary.

"I keep my word. Surely you can understand that," Elena replies, the Spanish words rolling off her tongue easily.

She shifts in her chair, straightening her back. "I'd ask you how you're feeling, but real men hide their feelings, so..."

Connor chuckles, smiling as he places the rosary around his neck. "It was something my friend Rocco said once."

She remembered reading about the boys' Italian friend in their file. "Before he died?"

He shakes his head, again seeming to lose himself in a memory. "No...it was after."

"After?"

"Yeah, after." Connor hesitates and strangely lets his guard down a little. "Like in a vision or dream or...something."

Elena sits with his words, repeating them in her head, assuring herself she heard him correctly. "It's perfectly normal to see someone we've lost in a dream. And it can feel so real; you swear it actually happened."

"Aye, it felt so real until we woke up."

She arches an eyebrow. "Wait. We? You and Murphy had the same dream about Rocco?"

Connor folds his arms on the table, his mouth twitching up to one side. "Well...yeah."

Elena writes a few keywords in her notebook. "Have you had the same dreams before?"

"Aye." He looks at her curiously. "That's weird, yeah?"

She shakes her head no as she sets her pen down. "Not necessarily, especially with twins."

"Ye saying ye worked with this sorta thing before?"

Elena smiles. "Sort of. Not professionally, I've had some close friends with twin siblings, and they'd explain it's pretty common for them."

"Well, that explains that."

"Any dreams about Romeo?"

Surprisingly, Connor smiles. "Aye. About a month ago. Fucker was laughing that he made us cry." He looks down. "He was a good guy. Had a lot of heart."

Her next question sits uncomfortably at the back of her throat. "What about your father? You and Murphy have any dreams about him?"

Connor squirms a little and looks away. He sniffs once, clenching his jaw before looking back at Elena. "Aye."

Without a word, Elena pulls out the pack of Camels from her jacket pocket, handing a cigarette to Connor and extending her arm to light it for him. He drags the smoke in and out slower than usual, narrowing his eyes toward Elena with a sly smile. "Ye came prepared today, lass."

Her cheeks flush, and she pulls a cigarette out for herself because fuck it. "Do you and your brother talk about these dreams?"

"A bit."

"What does your father say to you?"

Connor rubs his thumbs on the wooden cross hanging low on his torso, carefully studying the places where the metal ring circles through. "That he's sorry for everything. For not being there for us. For getting us involved in his past."

"Do you forgive him?"

He nods, sucking in a shaky breath before taking a more stable drag off his cigarette.

The day before, Elena had posed the same question to Murphy. His eyes twinkled with love, tears pooling that refused to fall down his face. "Aye. He was there for us in the end." He smiled. "That's all that matters now."

Of the twins, she would've figured Murphy as the brooding, hold-everything-in brother.

Connor wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand, unable to look up at Elena. She can see his mind spiraling, wondering what to do with the pain he holds inside.

She stamps out the cigarette in the ashtray and says his name softly. He finally brings his eyes up to meet hers, and she can see the tears still welling in his eyes. Fuck. I broke him.

"I really miss him," Connor whispers in Irish. He holds his eyes on Elena, searching for hope to hang on to. "Would it be okay if I pray for a bit?"

She nods, swallowing the lump forming in the back of her throat. "Of course. Take your time."

As Connor quietly recites various Catholic prayers of forgiveness, Elena looks back in her notes to avoid looking like she's just sitting there watching him. At one point, though, her eyes drift up to study his hands holding his rosary. Those hands have fired countless bullets, killing dozens of men. Evil men, to be fair, and he killed them. It's not something anyone should take lightly. But she does understand why he did—he and his brother both.

She thinks back to last week and the question still hanging between them: what does Connor want for himself? What could he possibly want that he doesn't share with his brother?

His voice quietly saying, "And shepherds we shall be..." catches Elena's attention. The family prayer. She's heard it before, and it makes sense that Connor would want to recite it now. "...In Nomine Patris, et Fili, Spiritus Sancti."

Connor removes his rosary, sets it on the table, and retrieves his still-lit cigarette from the ashtray. He takes a slow drag, his eyes seemingly at peace. "Thank you, Elena." He doesn't say her name often, nor does Murphy, so hearing it in that thick Irish accent still feels strange. It sounds like her mother, God rest her soul.

"You're welcome, Connor."

After another puff off the cigarette, Connor exhales through his teeth. "Do ye think that's what I want? Peace?"

A chill runs up the back of her neck as she feels like he's been reading her mind this whole time. "For yourself?" She can't help feeling a slight panic that he'll find out her deepest, darkest secrets. That's not how this is supposed to go.

He's quick to explain himself, like he doesn't want her to think he's being selfish. "I mean, I want Murph to have peace too..."

"Yeah, but it's different when you want it for yourself. And I think that's fair." Elena reaches across the table and carefully takes Connor's rosary, feeling the smooth wooden Celtic cross between her fingers. "You deserve peace."

He hesitates before bringing his eyes back to meet hers intently. "Ye think so?"

"Muinín dom." Seems only fitting to respond in Irish.

Trust me.