Hidden Talent

"Wha' tha fuck is this?" Connor waved the stack of slightly-wrinkled papers in his hand, an empty pillowcase held at his side.

It was laundry day at the MacMannus apartment, but this wasn't a usual washing and drying of clothes; today they had to wash their bedsheets and pillow cases, and all of the other things that weren't put into the usual rotation of shirts and jeans. However, this only took place once every three months or so, because the brothers happened to be quite lazy when it came to household chores.

"The fuck is what?" Murphy turned to face Connor, a ball of towels and bathrobes in his hands.

"These." Connor walked the few steps over to his twin, thrusting the papers in Murphy's hands.

Murphy's eyes went wide, his face growing pale. Connor had found his stash.

Murphy looked from the papers to his brother's face, then back again, trying to think of something suitable to say.

"Tell me the truth, Murph." Connor gave Murphy an understanding look, his eyes full of gentle sympathy. He flipped through the crumpled papers, taking in every detail on them.

"Just drawin's, Con." Murphy set his armful down on his bed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he tried to take the pictures from Connor.

"Drawin's of me's what they are." Connor held the sketches away from his brother, continuing to rifle through the stack. "Where'd ya even get these?"

Murphy cleared his throat, shifting his eyes down to the floor, before he answered, "I drew 'em."

Connor looked almost confused as he stared at the drawings in his hands. They were so intricately detailed. In the pictures, Connor was either sitting up or laying down. In some of them his robe was on, in others he had on a shirt, and in a few he was bare-chested; in those his muscles had been drawn in perfect detail, and he almost thought that the sketches looked better than he did in reality. Most of them featured Connor with a calm expression, his face free of wrinkles, his eyes closed in peaceful slumber. In two or three he had his eyes open, and different expressions on his face, though he knew he'd never before posed for his brother, or anyone else for that matter.

"Ya drew these, Murph? Didn't know ya even had any drawin' talent." Connor smirked at his twin, trying to show Murphy that he wasn't angry with him.

"Didn't know I had any either. One night I couldn't sleep so I just picked up some paper and a pencil we had lyin' around and took to sketchin' ya. Kinda rolled from there." Murphy smiled shyly, finally managing to take his sketches back from his brother.

"Do I really look like tha' to ya?" Connor raised an eyebrow, making Murphy blush slightly.

"Aye. Do you… like them?"

"Aye. They're good, Murph. You don't hafta hide 'em from me no more. How 'bout I pose for ya while our shit's dryin'?"

Murphy's blue eyes met his twin's with surprise, but then he nodded, a bright smile lighting his face.

From that day on, whenever the brothers had a little bit of spare time that wasn't dedicated to drinking or killing bad guys, Connor would strike a pose, and Murphy would draw him. Sometimes it took a while for Murphy to get it just perfect, but Connor praised every sketch his twin had made of him.

Connor never did tell Murphy that he kept a few of those drawings in his own pillowcase, either.