staring down the sun

[34] time tells us what we're left with

She rubs her fingers over the inside of her right forearm, touching the sparrow tattoo that had healed unusually fast. A little bird. Elena had gone from a CIA agent to a rogue spy to a Saint, despite all of her hesitance to admit it.

Now, she's simply Elena.

It took a long time for her to stop bouncing between anger and grief. It took a long time for her to accept that Connor and Murphy were gone. Whether they were dead or had simply run away, didn't really matter...as long as they were free, as long as they were together. That was all she could hope for in the end.

But that moment still haunted her, that moment she watched helplessly and wordlessly as Connor and Murphy jumped off the roof and into the dark water below. Actually, it took a long time for her to say anything after that moment. The feds had taken Elena in for questioning, but she was still in a state of shock so her answers were mostly one-word sentences mixed with bouts of silence. As she slowly came out of her fog, she couldn't help but smile at the realization she was inadvertently acting like the MacManus brothers when she first met them all those months ago. Strangely, she accepted the notion that she would go to jail after everything. Because she was alone. Again.

"You're free to go."

Elena blinked hard, sure that she had misheard the FBI agent who sat across from her. "What?"

"You're free to go, Elena."

"H-how? After everything—"

"Your country thanks you," he said with a soft smile. "And the agency accepts your resignation, so to speak, with all documentation regarding your history as such to be destroyed."

A single chuckle huffed from her mouth. "So they're covering up the cover. Makes sense."

"It's just how the United States government works. You know that." Agent Douglas closed the file folder and clasped his hands together. "And you understand you cannot disclose any of this with friends and family or otherwise?"

Easy. Because she was alone.

She was, and then she wasn't when she thought of the others. But just as she was about to open her mouth, Douglas held his hand up as his lips curled up again. "We let everyone else in your group go. No charges, no..." His face fell a bit as he sighed. "No bad blood, for lack of a better term."

Her shoulders dropped with relief. And then her face flushed with the question she was too terrified to even think.

"Elena...there's a chance we may not find them," Douglas said in a low tone.

"What if you do? What will happen to them if—"

"Elena," the agent paused, his mouth pressed together sympathetically as he shook his head. "I'm sorry."

What little hope she had left faded into a memory. And she was free to go.

Bloom had found her at the airport after she'd gone through security. She handed Elena a small bubble mailer, sealed with her name in Smecker's handwriting on the front in black marker. "One last order from motherfucking Smecker: Do not open that until you get to Ireland," Bloom instructed. When Elena looked at her curiously, the Southern belle shook her head with a smile. "Just promise me, okay?"

Elena nodded, and then laughed as Bloom hugged her. "You take care of yourself, yeah?"

Bloom squeezes Elena a little more. "You too, darlin'. And if you're ever in Costa Rica..."

"Of course."

The women let go of each other, and Bloom grinned, fighting back tears as she rubbed Elena's shoulder. Her southern accent was thick as she attempted that one Irish word the boys had taught her. "Sláinte, Jensen."