staring down the sun

[31] maybe that's when you will know

He sees her standing on that hill in Ireland, the sun shining behind her. "Connor..." he hears her voice softly call out, and she turns back toward the church in the distance.

Connor opens his eyes to the rain falling against his face. The church in front of him is familiar and foreign all at once. It's been almost a decade since he and his brother have been back here.

His throat tightens as he remembers that day he overheard Smecker confessing that he wanted to help the "two Irish guys" in their vigilante calling. And Rocco, being Rocco, crossed a line that angered Connor to his very core. Not only had the boys agreed that the FBI agent was a good man and not to be touched, but Rocco recklessly threatened a priest in the process. And Connor would've killed Rocco right then and there if he had to. Until Smecker's voice filtered through the confessional booth, and Connor's anger dissipated enough to let go of the idiot Italian. He stormed out of the booth, not even paying attention as Murphy approached and whatever Rocco said about "the Lord works in mysterious ways."

As soon as he stepped outside, Connor took a deep long breath. He needed time to think. Hell, he couldn't stop thinking. Rocco clearly wasn't, and Murphy was stuck somewhere between the two. Connor knew they had to be smart about their next move, which meant calling the most intelligent guy they knew, who had just pledged his loyalty to the Saints.

Connor inhales slowly, remembering that he doesn't have to be the one who thinks through everything now. As his brother says his name, a small, subdued smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he follows Murphy and their detective allies into the old church.

"I'm so sorry, boys," Father Sheehan says softly, approaching them at the bottom of the pulpit. "I tried to stop her, but she disappeared into an alley before I could catch up to her." The old priest rubs at his forehead, his rosary still draped around his hand as a solemn frown draws down his aging face. "As I rounded the corner, someone had taken her."

"Why didn't ye call the police?" Murphy asks.

Father Sheehan's frown lifts into a kind, omniscient smile. "A little bird told me to call you boys, that this woman is someone special to you."

Connor's entire being drops deep into his gut, his very soul bottoming out as he pictures Elena sitting in that confessional booth, heartbroken because of him. No more hiding, he reminds himself. "Aye, that she is, Father."

The priest nods, a soft glint in his eyes. "I wish I had more information for you, son."

Connor shakes his head, trying to shake the urge to cry. He has to be his old self, who he used to be before he fucked everything up. If he has any chance of saving Elena, he has to hide his feelings one last time.

But Murphy's hand resting on his shoulder suddenly breaks him. A tear escapes down Connor's face as Murphy acknowledges the priest on his behalf. "Ye've helped plenty, Father. And we appreciate ye telling us." He guides Connor off to the side, just the two of them, as he drops his tone. "What do ye think?"

As far as is needed. Da's voice echoes in Connor's head, and he can see it reverberate within Murphy. He wipes a hand over his face. "I think Obsidian took her."

Murphy hesitates, arching an eyebrow. "Could be a trap..."

"Aye," Connor exhales, feeling his confidence seep back into his veins. "Which is why we stick to the plan, yeah?"

. . .

The plan poses a considerable risk, placing the boys in the middle of a political rally in daylight, with hundreds of people around. But, even as Smecker tried to give them a chance to call it off, Connor smiled and felt that long-lost sense of faith lights up in his eyes. He patted Smecker's shoulder as the former detective exhaled slowly, "It's just..." Smecker paused, pressed his lips together, and admitted with sympathetic eyes, "I know she's worth it."