staring down the sun

[5] like something's gonna give

"How are you feeling today, Connor?"

He pauses, taking in the warmth of Elena's smile. "Good, actually."

Her smile grows into a genuine grin. "I'm glad. Any specific reason why?"

Connor looks down, noticing the light diffused in the metal surface of the table. "I don't know." He can't tell her it's because he wanted to see her. And he sure as hell can't tell her that he and Murphy are getting closer to breaking out of prison. "Don't think there's anything specific."

She contemplates more, tilting her head sideways slightly. "Maybe the sunshine is helping." The past few days had been pretty grey and rainy, though Connor wasn't bothered by the weather. Felt like home on the sheep farm. Elena raises her eyebrows. "You been outside today, yeah?"

He grins, remembering how warm the light felt against his face that morning. He ended up lying down on a concrete bench to soak up the ultraviolet, ignoring his brother's request to mess with some dude on the other side of the yard. Murphy egged him on, and Connor closed his eyes. "Fuck off," he said plain and simple, and his twin got the hint. As he tuned out the footsteps walking away and the chatter over by the basketball court, Connor opened his eyes, staring at the sun briefly before his body instinctively blinked.

Connor blinks hard and sees Elena studying him. He used to get nervous anytime her green eyes would settle on him, but after the past few weeks, he's finding comfort in that hue. Jade, perhaps—a color that feels like it only belongs on the hills of Ireland.

"It's just that," she interjects, "you look like you got some sun." He feels the heat in his cheeks and forehead, and knows his skin is already tanning. She teases him, exclaiming, "Like a California surfer boy!"

For once, Connor MacManus doesn't have a snarky comeback. Instead, he smiles and soaks up Elena's laughter. He realizes he wants to ask her questions, that he wants to know more about her. Seems only fair.

"Just, please don't bleach your hair blonde," she adds, still smiling. Connor self-consciously runs his hand through his light brown locks, attempting to smooth down an unruly and poorly timed cowlick.

Elena tucks a piece of her own brown hair behind her left ear, revealing a gold earring shaped like a sparrow in flight.

Connor swears his heart stops. A little bird. No way. Elena? Fuck.

She looks at him worriedly, saying his name as if he had cursed out loud. Fuck.

"Connor, what's wrong?" her voice is more urgent. "Tell me."

He is cursing out loud.

"Connor!" He practically jumps out of his chair, like Elena's been shot or something. His heart beats faster, and he sees the horrified look on her face.

He inhales quickly but then attempts to push the air out of his lungs slowly. His vision blurs like he's about to pass out. Why can't he get a fucking hold of himself? He screws his eyes shut, but now he sees blood, like a warning.

The door buzzes behind him and Connor opens his eyes to see a calm, almost stoic Elena silently wave off the guard.

"I'm okay," he pleads, wiping the sweat off his brow. It comes out as one word, though, and he can't twist his voice back to normal. "I'm okay."

Elena remains quiet, her eyes sharp on him as she clearly doesn't buy it.

His heartbeat steadies, and he can finally slow his breathing, each word more articulate on his lips. "I'm okay. Promise."

The worry on Elena's face is still there, almost fearful. "No, you're not, Connor." She crosses her arms on the table, leaning in as far as she can before she'd have to crawl on the damn thing. "What's going on?"

He takes a long, deep breath. "I got to thinking about my Da, that's all." It's not a total lie. But he'd be damned if he admits he panicked at the sight of those earrings...and why. He drops his shoulders. "I'm sorry."

Elena looks at him for a moment, and he feels so small under her gaze. She straightens her back, clasping her hands together. "You don't need to apologize. Ever. It's to be expected. Trauma, grief...resurfaces without warning."

She leans forward again, her green eyes softening. "What do you need?" Connor focuses on his breathing, fighting the adrenaline still rushing through his veins, and Elena lowers her voice a little more. "Maybe I can help."

Connor stares at her, feeling his sunned face shuffle through all the questions he's holding onto. Maybe she is part of their escape...

"I need to get out," he chances saying in Irish.

Her mouth opens, but she doesn't speak. He fucked up.

Frowning, Elena replies. "I'm sorry."

Connor presses his lips together tight, then looks away. He was wrong.

"I wish I could," she whispers.

His eyes fall to his hands in his lap. He rubs his fingers along the large faded Celtic cross covering his left forearm, then down his hand over the word veritas—truth. He brings his eyes to meet Elena's. He can't lie to her. But he doesn't know what to do or say next.

He hesitates. "Do ye think we can end early today?"

She looks deflated, but he can't be sure. "If that's what you want, then yes."

They both stand, and Connor walks to the prisoner's door, beating his palm against the heavy steel three times. The guard steps in, and Connor offers his hands, ready to be cuffed. As the metal rings close around his scarred wrists, he looks back to Elena. Her arms are folded, and she rubs one hand along the opposite arm, almost like she's hugging herself.

Connor opens his mouth, wanting to thank her for putting up with him and his brother, wanting to say goodbye if this is truly the last time he'll ever see her, but his voice stalls out somewhere in his throat. He holds her gaze...maybe he doesn't need to speak a word after all.

The door buzzing shut behind him sends a shiver down Connor's spine. He closes his eyes momentarily as the guard leads him into the corridor that runs back to the cell block. He slowly opens his eyes and feels the guard's hand on his bicep grip a little more. Annoyed, Connor can't help the tone that flows out in his Irish accent. "Ye wanna let up yer grip there, man? I'm not going anywhere." He's only seen this guard a handful of times in the past month, whereas everyone else he knew pretty well. The guard apologizes, loosening his fingers as requested. Connor clears his throat. "What's yer name again?"

"Finch. Danny Finch."

Connor's stomach drops. "Like the bird?"