staring down the sun

[26] a long night, open, knowing

She wakes up slowly, her body still wrapped up with Connor's as the glow of sunrise illuminates the room. His heartbeat is steady, relaxed against her palm, and she realizes waking up next to Connor, again, is where she wants to be.

It's both terrifying and soothing all at the same time.

Elena lifts her head, the corners of her lips tugging up as she sees Connor sound asleep, as he should be. She carefully sits up, moving gingerly so as not to disturb him, or inadvertently hurt him. He's breathing deeply and calmly, and Elena trusts he's not anywhere near the realm of having another nightmare. She softly rakes her fingers through his hair, and considers kissing his forehead.

Terrifying. Soothing. All at once.

Connor stirs a bit as she pulls her lips off his skin, but his eyes remain closed, creasing ever so slightly as if he's about to smile. Elena waits momentarily, staring at him and not wanting to leave him. But as he settles deeper into his slumber, she exhales with relief.

She steps lightly into her room, expecting to find Murphy still sleeping in her bed. She figures that his nap morphed into a day's-long deep sleep after everything. But he's absent, leaving a mostly-made bed in his wake. Pulling clean clothes from her bag, she catches a whiff of freshly brewed coffee and figures Murphy is outside for his morning smoke.

The steam of the much-needed shower warms her body as she watches the last remnants of Connor's blood that had dried between her fingers wash off, while her muscles still ache from being so tensed up over the past few days. Sleeping in that chair probably didn't help either, but she couldn't leave Connor or Murphy.

As they sat there, waiting and watching after the doctor had left, Murphy shared some of his favorite Connor stories. He told Elena about the time he got his tonsils taken out and how Connor slept in the hospital room with him to make sure he was okay. And how, since then, even as adults, there was something about being able to hear the other one breathing in the middle of the night that comforted the twins. "I know there will come a time when we won't have that anymore, or rather, we won't need that anymore. But tonight..." Murphy's breath hitched a little, and he allowed a tear to fall down his cheek. "Tonight, I...we need to hear his breathing," he said softly, his eyes glassy yet comforted as he looked at Elena.

Her damp hair falls by her face as she readies a cup of coffee in the kitchen, grateful for the quiet solitude before reality wakes up. Murphy walks in, reeking of cigarettes and holding his own mug. "Morning, lass."

"Hey, Murph. You sleep okay?" she asks as she offers him a refill.

"Aye," he nods and hands her the cup. He rubs the back of his head as he watches her go through the motions. "Thanks for letting me use yer bed, by the way." He sips the fresh coffee with a slight glint in his eyes. "Figured ye two wouldn't mind being alone," he admits with that infamous smirk.

She doesn't want to acknowledge the statement, but she appreciates the sentiment.

Murphy leans his shoulder into the doorframe, his voice low yet so matter-of-fact. "Ye love him, don't ye?"

Elena feels her ears turn red as Murphy holds her gaze with those knowing MacManus-blue eyes. If she says the words aloud, it will suddenly become more real. If she admits how she feels, it will be that much harder to walk away. Because deep down, she knows this won't be forever, this being a Saint.

Real men hide their feelings.

Or you hide your feelings to protect them...to protect yourself.

Murphy looks down, half-laughing. "I get it. Ye can't say it out loud." He lifts his chin and rubs the back of his neck, the slight smile still on his lips as he shakes his head. "He won't say it either. Ever the superstitious one, he is."