let me be clever
"Did ye learn all those languages in the CIA?" Murphy asks Elena as he passes the whiskey bottle to Connor.
The dimly lit lamps cast enough of a glow around the motel room to soften everyone's edges. And Murphy was right in cracking open the bottle of Jameson he grabbed after they let that Valencia guy go. They had spent the first couple of drinks teasing each other in the various languages they're fluent in, leading Murphy to ask the question.
Elena smiles as Connor hands her the bottle. "Some, not all of them. Most of them are because my mom insisted on it."
The twins share a look, the story sounding all too familiar, until Elena clears her throat. Connor smiles, "Sorry, it's just that our mother was the same way."
"Gotta love the Irish, yeah?" Elena pours whiskey into her glass, a warm smile crawling up to one side as she reads the confused looks on the boys' faces. "My mom was Irish, too. From Galway."
Murphy's whiskey-tinted lips curl up slightly. "So…yer a Galway girl?"
The realization hits Connor…the song Murphy was humming several days ago. The dark-haired twin avoids the song reference out loud, perhaps the best decision he's made all week. Connor subtly widens his eyes toward his brother, silently begging him not to mention the dream of their mother.
Elena holds the glass close to her lips, and her eyes narrow toward the mischievous MacManus brother. "Yeah. And?"
Murphy gives Connor a sly glance but shakes his head as he finally answers, "Nothing, lass."
Connor chuckles softly, studying the golden liquid in his glass. Makes sense now, knowing Elena truly has Irish blood in her. Not just in how natural their Gaeilge flows out of her mouth but also in her occasional speaking cadence.
Murphy pours more whiskey into his glass, handing the bottle to Elena. "Ye miss yer ma, yeah?"
She takes a sip, nodding. "Of course. But even if she was still alive, there's no way I'd be able to see her. Spies don't have families."
The statement weighs heavy on Connor, and he can't comprehend the disappointment it brings. Family is all he's ever known, no matter how fucked up it's been.
"But yer not a spy anymore, lass," Murphy interjects, only slightly slurring his words. "Yer a Saint now."
Elena's cheeks glow a bright red as she laughs. "I don't know about that."
Murphy taps his hand on the table to underscore his point. "Nonsense! Yer one of us now, so yer a Saint. Right, Connor?"
Connor feels his own cheeks flush, conflicted between agreeing with his brother and saying anything to comfort Elena.
Impatient, Murphy turns back to the girl. "I'm telling ye, yer a Saint now. Dolly, Duffy, Bloomy, Smecky, they're all Saints too! And we're a family, yeah?"
The statement makes Connor giggle, and that alone he knows will put Elena's nerves at ease. Her smile relaxes as she laughs, though her face still glows.
"Ye do have a family," Murphy slurs with confidence. "Ye have us."
Connor throws the rest of his whiskey down his throat, taking the bottle from Elena to refill his glass. If he wants any chance at being clever tonight, he will need more Irish courage.
"I've just been so used to being on my own…alone, you know?" Elena admits, rubbing her index finger along the edge of her glass.
Connor swallows hard, his voice low like it's buried in his chest. "Yer not alone anymore, Elena."
Her mouth twitches into a quick smile as she looks at him steadily. Every time her eyes meet his, he realizes the hold she has on him. The question is if she even knows she has that power…
They finally break their gaze as Murphy stands up, stumbling to the bathroom and mumbling something about taking a leak.
Elena turns back to Connor, smiling and still seemingly at ease. "Thank you."
He blushes. "For what?"
She stalls, her stare magnetic as she looks at him. "For being…you."
He leans forward, bringing his left hand up to gently brush her hair out of her face, his fingers grazing across her forehead. For a moment, Connor forgets to breathe as Elena's green eyes hold him, twinkling in the incandescent light.
The bathroom door suddenly opening causes them both to jump, widening the space between them.
"'We were halfway there when the rain came down one day-I-ay-I-ay,'" Murphy sings as he reappears, clumsily stripping his t-shirt over his head. He takes his refilled glass from the table, but not without a playful swat to Connor's shoulder, then plops down on the sofa.
Elena raises her hand, resting her chin in her palm and laughing. "Subtlety isn't his strong suit, is it?"
Connor shakes his head, "Absolutely not."
"I can still hear ye," Murphy quips as he stretches his legs out as much as possible, sinking into the sofa cushions.
Elena pours more whiskey into her glass, leaving enough for Connor to refill his one last time. A little more courage couldn't help, so he dumps the rest of the Jameson into his glass.
Without a thought, he instinctively spins the now empty bottle in his hand before setting it back on the table. He doesn't even realize what he's done until he notices Elena's reaction: her mouth slightly open and her pupils dilated, fixed on his forearm as he reaches for his drink.
She blinks hard, waking herself up from the brief trance, and Connor can't help but grin. "I used to tend bar," he tells her.
The red returns to her cheeks as she stumbles with her words. "Sorry, what's up?"
He smiles as he sips his whiskey. "The bottle spin. I used to work as a bartender once upon a time."
Elena bites her lip, nodding and rolling the glass between her hands. "Murphy, too?"
"No, he waited tables. Oddly enough, the owner said he couldn't trust Murph behind the bar."
"Connor MacManus, the responsible one. Yeah, that makes sense," she teases.
Her laugh really is contagious, he admits. "Is that so hard to believe?"
"He's just mad that he didn't get as much in tips as I did!" Murphy claims boldly, rolling onto his stomach to look at them over the sofa's armrest. "The ladies loved me! All he had was that damn…" he pauses, waving his hand in the air spastically to mimic Connor's one-handed bottle spin. "That God damn bottle shit he does!"
His brother's slurred words make Connor blush and hide his face behind his hand. Elena's laugh grows, pulling another handful of chuckles out of his body. He moves his hand to his cheek, leaning his face into his palm as he smiles at her.
Connor feels the whiskey warm under his skin as a comfortable silence falls between him and Elena. She picks up the empty bottle, carefully studying the green glass and considering its weight in her hand. But as Connor considers offering to teach her how to do his one-handed move, a snore escapes the darker-haired twin.
His eyes are closed without any hint of being awake. His head is precariously propped up on the armrest, a position that will surely leave him sore in the morning. But once Murphy is out, he is out for the count—always the first to fall asleep and usually the last to wake up. Connor never understood how his brother could turn off his brain like that. It never seemed fair that Connor would be the one who stayed awake, thinking about everything and anything.
"I've never been able to fall asleep fast like that," Elena explains softly, almost as if she was in Connor's brain, sharing in the jealousy of his brother. "I can't ever stop thinking."
Connor turns to her, smiling tenderly. "Not much going on in that brain of his even when he's awake."
Elena clasps her hand over her mouth to muffle the giggle trying to escape. "So much for me sleeping on the couch tonight, huh?"
Fuck. Connor hopes to God that she doesn't see the panic suddenly flushing under his skin.
Instead, fatigue noticeably takes over her body, pushing a yawn past her lips as she moves to her duffel bag, reaching for another shirt inside. Connor watches her disappear into the bathroom and quickly turns his eyes back to the bed.
Fuuuuuuuuuuck.
He quietly moves to the sofa, kneeling and gently nudging his sleeping twin. "Murph," he mutters. "Murph, come on. Ye gotta move to the bed, man." Even as a whisper, Connor's voice is higher than usual, begging, pleading to stop what he knows is coming.
Murphy groans, mumbling a "fuck you" in German as he rolls his body, pressing the side of his face against the back cushions.
Defeated and nervous as hell, Connor stands up, combing his hand through his hair as he frantically looks around the motel room. Elena reappears, the hem of her grey t-shirt skimming the top of her black panties. She looks at Connor with an arched eyebrow as she sets her jeans on her duffel bag. "Connor?"
The way she says his name sends a flush over his face. He takes a pillow from the bed, confident that his eyes are wide as he tries to explain. "I'll sleep on the floor. Only seems right to give ye the bed to yerself." He tries to smile his famous charming grin, but his nerves are getting in the way.
Elena shakes her head, taking the pillow from him and placing it back on the bed by the headboard. "No, it's okay. I'm not making you sleep on the floor."
He feels his cheeks light on fire as Elena climbs into the bed, her long, smooth legs sliding under the blanket, her brown hair falling beside her face as she adjusts the pillows. She looks at him with a soft reassurance. "Might as well be comfortable. We could all use a good night's sleep."
His body relaxes, and he's able to smile with content. He looks over at Murphy, who is contorted on the sofa, still in his jeans. "The whiskey will help too, I'm sure," he says as he exhales.
Connor looks back to Elena as she turns on her side and snuggles her head on the pillow. He carefully removes his shirt and jeans, leaving his blue boxers on his hips and the rosary around his neck. Her eyes are already closed as he lays beside her, watching her inhale deeply and releasing the day from her lungs.
Any other day, he'd make a move. Any other woman, he wouldn't hesitate to fuck her. But as he closes his eyes, a strange calm flows through his body, a feeling he's never felt before.