staring down the sun

[29] swallow your pride and drown

"Ye gonna talk to me, or are ye just going to sulk?"

Connor stares at the ground, avoiding his brother's inquiring eyes. Murphy had followed him into the woods anyway, completely ignoring the "fuck off" Connor had yelled. And here they sit, on a rock next to some small stream running through the warm glow of October in Massachusetts.

"And ye won't talk to Elena," Murphy mumbles as he picks leaves off a twig.

Her name causes Connor's jaw to tighten, and he lifts his eyes to follow the trail of water, watching it disappear through the trees.

What do you want, Connor?

He draws in a breath, his eyes still reaching far into the forest as he softly asks, "What do ye want, Murphy?"

"I want ye to tell me what's going on in that head of yers," he asserts.

"No," Connor shakes his head and finally locks his eyes with Murph's. "What do ye want?" he asks firmly in Irish, hoping their Gaelige can help emphasize the deeper question he needs to know.

The brothers stare at each other like they do whenever they're on their wavelength. Murphy's tone drops low as he admits, "I don't know."

Connor looks away, glaring down the stream as if it's taking away everything he thought he knew. He rubs his hands together, sweeping his fingers over the tattoo. Veritas. "I want this all to be over. Because I'm responsible for...for everything."

"Connor, it's not just ye. We're both responsible here. We're in this together, have been from the beginning."

"But I started it. I didn't have to call that number from the Russian's pager." He rubs his palm over his face. "Fucking free will, yeah? God tells us to destroy all that which is evil, and this is where we end up?" He feels the realization drop deep into his gut as he stands up, and the words crawl out of his throat with ease. "Son-of-a-bitch should have taken me when he had the chance."

If only the water was deeper...

"Stop." He hears Murphy plead as he stands up quickly, moving closer to Connor. But Connor cannot focus his eyes on anything. He steps off the rock, his foot sliding a bit as he walks along the bank, following the water toward whatever void it disappears into. Murphy's voice becomes muffled as Connor's skull fills with deafening guilt. "Just fucking stop that shit."

Connor stops, looking around helplessly like he has nowhere to go, nowhere to disappear. He lifts his arms, running both hands over his face and sliding them up into his hair. His lungs feel heavy...maybe he can drown in his own misery.

"It's all my fault."

Murphy grips his shoulders, holding Connor steady to look him square in the eye. "Nothing is yer fault. Ye hear me? Nothing is yer fault, Connor."

They stare into each other, their MacManus-blue eyes reflecting everything they feel, back and forth infinitely if God wills it.

"I can't...I don't think I can do this anymore."

Murphy's lips curl halfway up his face, looking just like their mother. "Nothing has to be decided today." He sounds just like their mother, too, every time she would remind them about the romantic notion of tomorrow.

"But if ye wake up tomorrow morning and tell me ye want to stop...then we'll stop. I promise ye."

. . .

They mirror each other as they light their cigarettes, the smoke swirling from their tattooed fingers as they blink the bar into focus.

Romeo smiles, his brown eyes shining even in the dim light, and he wiggles a bottle of Bushmills in front of them. "So real men hide their feelings, huh?"