this body holding me

Exhaustion. Pure exhaustion. Her entire body aches, her arms are sore from being tied behind her for so long, and her eyes are puffy from the cruel cycle of fighting back tears. Elena knows the bruises are already morphing into a kaleidoscope of colors over her skin, and the more she resists Obsidian's interrogations, the more frequent the hits come across her body.

It's been a few days since her last confession. And now seems like a good time to confess her sins…all of them. She closes her eyes with a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she silently apologizes to God. I lost sight of the greater good, she admits in her mind. I killed people. I lied. I failed to protect Connor and Murphy. I failed You.

Suddenly, the door opens, forcing Elena's eyes to widen. Two men enter, one dressed in black tactical gear who remains by the door with his arms crossed, while the other, clad in a dark grey suit, approaches her. He pulls the other chair over, setting it directly in front of her as he places his briefcase on the concrete floor by his feet. With a narrowed gaze, he smooths his navy blue tie as he sits down.

His tone is neither aggressive nor condescending…yet. "You know who I am, right?" Elena nods, and Darren Hawkins grins. "Good. Because I know who you are, too." His smile is evil, just like Nikolai's. "You're the 'therapist.'" he clarifies with finger quotes.

Elena holds her tongue, knowing she has to be the spy she used to be to try and still protect the boys.

Hawkins leans forward casually, clasping his hands together. "It's just that…I need to talk to someone." He rubs his jaw, a feigned sense of sincerity coating his tongue as he speaks. "With the election coming up, I'm worried that I'm not doing enough. Like, everyone expects me to clean up this mess that these fucking Irish vigilantes made. It's a lot, you know?"

Lips sealed, Elena feels her blood boil. And Hawkins can sense it, but she can't help the emotional response her tired body shows. The politician smirks. "Of course, you know. Because you helped them." He leans back calmly. "I have to admit, you're a feisty one, aren't you? Killing my men when all they wanted to do was talk after you pissed off Agent Walsh."

She should have known. She should have trusted that gut feeling she and Smecker had that night she brought the boys to the church. Her throat is dry as she pushes the question out. "Walsh works for you?"

"Initially, no. He was so hellbent on bringing the Saints back to prison, thought it'd bring him that promotion he'd been wanting. But you really pissed him off, and that was his first mistake: letting you go. So I paid him off, told him not to pursue you and the MacManus brothers in order to…let things play out."

She should have known.

Hawkins shakes his head, still smug as a motherfucker. "You and your sweet, killer leprechauns helped me clean house. Fuck, I gotta thank you! Eliminating Lombardo and his operation has allowed me to work the mafia in our favor. I mean, it's not like you all didn't already have blood on your hands."

Elena narrows her eyes. "Is that all you wanted? For the Saints to do your dirty work?" The politician smiles, and the silent rage builds in her chest again. "But those girls…Saint Agnes…"

"They were a message…to you, to your boys, to the world. The Saints are not here to save the day."

Elena tries to shift, pulling her wrists against the rope wrapped tightly around them, searching for a way to break free as she glares at Hawkins. "What do you want?"

His sadistic smile grows. "I wanted everything you know," he says, tapping Elena's forehead with his index finger. "All along, you were the one who would lure the Saints into doing what we want. Play to their religious calling, convince them they're destroying all that which is evil so that which is good shall flourish." He pauses momentarily, almost solemn, until that evil smile cracks across his face. "That's how it goes, right? Pretty sure that's what you wrote down." She holds her breath as she watches Hawkins reach into his briefcase, pulling out her black hardbound notebook. "This is what I wanted, Elena: your intimate knowledge of the MacManus brothers."

Elena feels her veins tighten with adrenaline as Hawkins stands up, flipping through the pages. The realization that she's responsible for all of this sits at the back of her throat, threatening to spill out of her.

"Didn't realize you'd have feelings for them, though," Hawkins adds, an insidious smile curling up his face. "Especially this one…Connor, is it?" He holds the notebook open to a sketch of only Connor. The scribbled lines somehow still captured the intensity of his stare, how he'd hold Elena's gaze without saying a word.

Hawkins slams the notebook shut right in front of Elena's face, causing her to flinch as a tear silently falls down her cheek. "God, this is going to be so much fun! You've gotten him to fall in love with you, so now he has to come save you!"

"If you want them to do your dirty work, why frame them for murder?" Elena asks, her voice ragged and dry.

"'Them?' Don't you mean, 'us?' I thought you were a part of this, sweetheart." He waits for her reaction but can't help breaking into a laugh. "Doesn't matter. I had to get your attention somehow. I can make that story go away, make it so the MacManus brothers are actually heroes in the end as long as they play nice, but if they decide to piss me off, well…" Hawkins narrows his evil eyes toward her. "Well, let's just say being suspects for killing one of New York's finest will be the least of their worries."

The web that Hawkins and his Obsidian agents are tangling makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and her blood boils. Either Connor and Murphy are being manipulated into doing all of Obsidian's dirty work, or they're being led into a trap that will get them killed.

Hawkins pulls his chair closer to her and sits with his legs spread wide, pushing his crotch to almost touching her knees. She squirms as she feels his body heat up with a sickening arousal, but he slams his legs together, holding the lower half of her body tight as he leans in.

"You know, Nikolai Petrov was a very good friend of mine," he starts with a low, threatening tone, and every fiber in Elena's body pulses with fear. "He told me about you, the American fooling everyone into believing she was Russian. Figured you'd be a good fuck…" He touches Elena's cheek as he looms over her, sliding his fingers down to her neck and caressing behind her ear, brushing over the gold sparrow earring. She can't help the tears pooling in her eyes, as this man might actually…and there's nothing she can do about it.

He grins and pats her cheek, snarling, "But you're not worth the fight."

Elena exhales quickly as Hawkins stands up, pulling the chair away from her and turning his attention to the agent by the door. "Speaking of, where the fuck is Natasha?"

The name instantly makes Elena's eyes somehow widen and narrow simultaneously. It has to be another fucked up coincidence.

She darts her eyes back up to look at Hawkins, watching him adjust his tie and jacket before he snaps, breaking the silence that lasted longer than he liked. "Are you fucking deaf?" he yells at the agent, who jumps and quickly walks over, looking like a deer caught in headlights. "Well? Where is she?"

"About that, sir," the man hesitates, nervously looking back at the door before turning to the angry politician. "She, uh…we haven't seen her since the rally."

A sarcastic smile curls across Hawkins' lips. "You're kidding me." Without warning, Hawkins grabs the man and knees him hard in the ribs, throwing him to the floor. "You fucking lost her?" Hawkins yells as the man groans in pain on his side. "And you're telling me now?"

"A lot of people got separated, sir," the agent pleads, struggling to sit up. "We were waiting to see if she'd make it back—"

"No, you fucked up!" Hawkins yells, hands on his hips as he glares at the man still on the floor. "Get up," he orders. But when the man struggles to stand, Hawkins kicks the young man. "Get the fuck up!"

The agent finally stands, wincing in pain but trying to hide it all the same. Hawkins lowers his voice to a menacing level and holds his hand out to the agent. "Give me your gun." Elena watches the agent's face fall as he reaches at his hip holster, hesitating again. "Give me your God damn gun," Hawkins orders again, raising his voice more. The agent hands his gun to Hawkins and within a second, BANG!

Elena jumps against her restraints, and her ears ring as she watches Hawkins hand the gun off to another agent. Two more men come in and take the body away while Hawkins pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping his hands before turning back to his hostage.

"I'll take care of you later, sweetheart," he growls, placing his hand on her neck and caressing it like before. A chill runs under Elena's skin, and she writhes at his touch, his voice whispering, "…after I take care of your boys."

The adrenaline builds momentum in her veins, fueled by a dangerous mix of fear, anger, and virtue. But the edges around her begin to blur, and her head suddenly feels heavy to hold up. "You look tired," Hawkins derides. He leans in, holding up a tranq dart with a cunning smile. "Figured you could use some rest."

Sure enough, everything fades to black.

. . .

"Oh, Elena, my dear. Quite a mess ye've gotten tangled in, yeah?"

Elena slowly opens her eyes as she recognizes that thick Irish accent. She pushes herself up, rubbing her face as everything fades into focus. "I know, I know. 'Be careful what ye ask for…'" She lets out a long breath, swallowing the embarrassment she feels flushing her face. "I know, Ma."

Her mother joins her on the floor, sitting with her legs criss-crossed and her hands folded in her lap. "Ye think that's what I'm on about here? To say I told ye so?"

She can't help feeling like a little girl again. Despite growing up so close to her mother and being able to tell her everything, Elena is still so God damn afraid of disappointing her.

"Ye have to know I'm proud of ye, Elena." Her mother says, her eyes twinkling. "It's true."

Veritas.

Elena huffs out a laugh that immediately morphs into crying, tears streaming down her face from the vast spectrum of emotions that flood her soul.

"I could always count on ye to do the right thing, especially when it's not the easiest thing to do."

Ma reaches over to wipe her tears, and Elena frowns, ashamed because it sure as hell doesn't feel like she's been doing the right thing. And no matter how much she wants to admit that out loud, she can only mutter something she's held inside for far too long. "I don't want to be alone anymore."

"Then keep fighting," her mother states bluntly. "Don't ye dare give up. As long as ye keep yer faith, ye'll never be alone. I'll always be with ye." She holds Elena's face, moving her thumb slowly across her skin. "And God knows that boy will always have yer heart."

Blushing, Elena hangs her head and laughs again. So everyone knows even though Connor and Elena could never actually say the words. Figures. But it brings relief, washing over her as she relaxes her shoulders.

And then Ma says what she would always say whenever Elena needed to hear it the most. "Muinín dom." Trust me.

Sunlight breaks in, casting a golden glow across the room. Elena lifts her eyes, following the light over her mother's shoulder to the doorway. Her breath hitches when she sees the man standing there, his eyes locked on her. Connor…

Her mother smiles knowingly, still rubbing her daughter's cheek. "Coinníonn sé d'anam," she assures gently. He holds your soul.