and by morning we'll be free

"Wait!" Elena stops the boys as they ascend the steps of the church. "I have something for you." She carefully pulls their rosaries from under her shirt and lifts them over her head. Connor's mouth is agape as he wonders why he didn't notice that before. And then the thought of his rosary touching her skin sends another strange rush into his veins. "Because I promised I'd keep them safe," she smiles.

Connor and Murphy smile wide as they hang the rosaries around their necks, feeling complete.

Inside, it's like any other Catholic church, with large stained glass windows that will sparkle with color once the sun comes up and long wooden pews with red padded kneelers. They walk down the aisle, thinking about the last time they did so with Da and Romeo just before they took down the Old Man once and for all. That last time they prayed at the altar before their world ended right before their eyes.

No wonder they needed therapy.

Connor and Murphy stop at the altar, looking up at the large wooden crucifix that reminds them of their old parish. They kneel at Christ's feet, bow their heads, and each whisper their prayers. Connor lifts his head first, staring at the massive holy sculpture with tears threatening to fall down his face. There had been moments in prison that he wasn't sure if they'd ever make it out. There were also moments when he wasn't sure if they should get out. But now that they're out, and his brother is next to him like it's always been, and he feels that depth of faith that Da had talked about, Connor knows deep in his heart that this is where they are meant to be. And no matter what, they're not alone.

Murphy crosses himself and clears his throat, forcing Connor to break out of his trance. They stand and turn to find Elena sitting in a pew, head bowed and whispering something herself. She looks up and moves to rejoin the brothers. "Let's show you around, yeah? There are some friendly faces you'll want to see, I'm sure."

She leads them to the basement, where Duffy and Dolly quickly greet them. The detectives hug Connor and Murphy hard, grinning and genuinely happy to see the Irish twins. The only one missing, of course, is Greenly, and Connor has to laugh at the memory of Greenly's idiotic and vulgar mouth.

Dolly gushes with his hands on his hips, "God, it's great to see you two!"

"Hope you guys are ready for work," Duffy adds, pulling out his trusty notebook.

"Fuck yeah, we are!" Murphy quips as he slaps Dolly's shoulder playfully.

"Alright, well first, we'll fill you in on how things will work," Duffy assures. "This church is where we'll establish the base unless things get too hot, then we'll relocate accordingly. We have several Catholic churches that have agreed to serve as safe houses, as well as some motels and a few residences where the owners are…devout followers if you will."

Connor and Murphy look at each other, impressed. "This is wild, right?" Murphy asks his brother.

Connor nods, realizing he never imagined it would be like this. It used to be just him and Murph, winging it and miraculously pulling it off. "Aye. How the hell did we get here?"

Dolly raises a finger with a smirk growing on his face. "Um, didn't Jensen give you a ride?" Connor shoves Dolly with a laugh, telling him to shut his mouth.

Dolly smiles wide and crosses his arms. "Actually, on that note, transportation. We'll rotate you between several cars…you know, to stay incognito." The drawl he puts on the last word causes the twins to giggle.

Murphy, smiling, hides his face on Connor's shoulder. "This fucking guy."

"Your first car is nothing too flashy. Black Ford to start." He hands Connor the car key, adding that they will switch the plates after each job.

Dolly and Duffy lead the boys over to the 'armory' set in the back of the basement and, naturally, are greeted by their Irish Gun Dealer, Patrick. It's like Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory all over again, with sleek black firearms lining the walls, stacks of various ammo boxes covering one table, and what they deemed the á la carte table that held whatever else they might need.

Connor looks over his shoulder and sees Elena leaning against the open doorway, her arms folded and her lips politely curled upward. Murphy suddenly shoves a large coil of black rope into Connor's chest. "Yer stupid fucking rope," his brother says with a genuinely happy smile.

Laughing, Connor looks back at Elena as if searching for her approval. Her smile grows and reaches her eyes, but then she winces slightly and rubs at her left hand. He sets the rope into the black duffel bag on the table in the middle of the room and walks back to Elena. "Let me see," he gently requests.

She shakes her head and keeps her voice calm. "It's fine. I'll take care of it later." But as Connor takes her hand, he sees blood has soaked through the bandage.

"Ye need stitches." He doesn't need to lift the gauze to know that. He and Murphy have dealt with plenty of deep cuts and gashes over the years, usually from bar fights or whatever scrappin' the two would do.

Elena laughs lightly. "What, you're going to tell me you can do that for me?"

Connor looks at her, still holding her hand, smiling. "Aye."

Her cheeks blush, and Connor knows his charm has worked yet again. "Oh," she says as her body visibly tenses up.

"Patrick?" Connor calls out before he turns around. When the young man acknowledges, Connor moves to approach him. "Ye have a first aid kit or something?"

Patrick nods under his wool driving cap, "For sure." He hands Connor a red plastic box with a single white medical cross marked on the lid.

"Thanks. I need to patch up Elena's hand here."

Murphy packs some ammo boxes into his duffel before curiosity coaxes him to Connor and Elena. "Oh, that nasty cut from the mirror?" he confirms as he stretches his neck over Connor's right shoulder, eyeing the lass's hand. "Yeah, ye definitely need stitches."

Elena looks back at Connor, her eyebrow arching inquisitively. He shrugs shyly. "Ma had enough of the mounting doctor visits, so she insisted we learn how to suture a wound properly."

"Aye. Our cousin was an Army medic and taught us. Lucky for ye, Connor is pretty slick with a needle and thread." Murphy sounds so proud of his brother and pulls his sleeve up to show off a scar on his forearm that barely misses the large Celtic cross tattoo. "Look. Ye can't even see the suture marks, can ye?" He punctuates the sentence with a loud pat on Connor's back, the sound vibrating through bone and muscle and echoing into the air.

As much as he appreciates Murphy's brotherly doting, Connor keeps his focus on Elena.

They move to the bathroom down the hall, leaving the door halfway open purely out of indifference. Connor plugs the sink and pours an iodine rinse into the basin, instructing Elena to soak her hand for a few minutes. Silence falls comfortably between them as Connor preps the suture kit, spreading the supplies out on a paper towel on the counter next to the sink.

"It's really not that bad," Elena tries to reason as she lifts her hand out of the sink while Connor unplugs the drain. They watch the iodine mixed with her blood disappear, leaving a red-orange stain on the white porcelain.

Connor scrubs a handful of soap between his hands under hot running water. As the steam rises around his wrists, he notices the faded handcuff scars become an angry shade of pink from the heat. "I'd rather not chance it."

After wiping her hand with a gauze pad, he motions for her to sit on the toilet. He kneels in front of her and warns her it will hurt. "I'm tough," she says so matter-of-factly with a cocky smirk crawling up her cheeks.

Connor smiles and carefully sticks the needle into her skin, instantly apologizing as she flinches. He slowly sews her palm, closing the ugly gash that had marred her soft skin.

"You think it messed up my life-line there?" Elena jokes, yet her voice is still supple.

The question almost takes Connor aback, though. Is this a sign, a warning? If she sticks around, will something terrible happen to her? Like Rocco…Greenly…Romeo…and Da…

He swallows hard, unable to keep the sincere answer from breathing out. "I hope not."

"Connor…"

He stares at her hand, not wanting to look into her eyes. But she repeats his name, almost like a whisper, and he brings his gaze to meet hers.

Her green eyes soften as she tells him, "It's going to be okay."