maybe that's when you will know

He sees her standing on that hill in Ireland, the sun shining behind her. "Connor…" he hears her voice softly call out, and she turns back toward the church in the distance.

Connor opens his eyes to the rain falling against his face. The church in front of him is familiar and foreign all at once. It's been almost a decade since he and his brother have been back here.

His throat tightens as he remembers that day he overheard Smecker confessing that he wanted to help the "two Irish guys" in their vigilante calling. And Rocco, being Rocco, crossed a line that angered Connor to his very core. Not only had the boys agreed that the FBI agent was a good man and not to be touched, but Rocco recklessly threatened a priest in the process. And Connor would've killed Rocco right then and there if he had to. Until Smecker's voice filtered through the confessional booth, and Connor's anger dissipated enough to let go of the idiot Italian. He stormed out of the booth, not even paying attention as Murphy approached and whatever Rocco said about "the Lord works in mysterious ways."

As soon as he stepped outside, Connor took a deep long breath. He needed time to think. Hell, he couldn't stop thinking. Rocco clearly wasn't, and Murphy was stuck somewhere between the two. Connor knew they had to be smart about their next move, which meant calling the most intelligent guy they knew, who had just pledged his loyalty to the Saints.

Connor inhales slowly, remembering that he doesn't have to be the one who thinks through everything now. As his brother says his name, a small, subdued smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he follows Murphy and their detective allies into the old church.

"I'm so sorry, boys," Father Sheehan says softly, approaching them at the bottom of the pulpit. "I tried to stop her, but she disappeared into an alley before I could catch up to her." The old priest rubs at his forehead, his rosary still draped around his hand as a solemn frown draws down his aging face. "As I rounded the corner, someone had taken her."

"Why didn't ye call the police?" Murphy asks.

Father Sheehan's frown lifts into a kind, omniscient smile. "A little bird told me to call you boys, that this woman is someone special to you."

Connor's entire being drops deep into his gut, his very soul bottoming out as he pictures Elena sitting in that confessional booth, heartbroken because of him. No more hiding, he reminds himself. "Aye, that she is, Father."

The priest nods, a soft glint in his eyes. "I wish I had more information for you, son."

Connor shakes his head, trying to shake the urge to cry. He has to be his old self, who he used to be before he fucked everything up. If he has any chance of saving Elena, he has to hide his feelings one last time.

But Murphy's hand resting on his shoulder suddenly breaks him. A tear escapes down Connor's face as Murphy acknowledges the priest on his behalf. "Ye've helped plenty, Father. And we appreciate ye telling us." He guides Connor off to the side, just the two of them, as he drops his tone. "What do ye think?"

As far as is needed. Da's voice echoes in Connor's head, and he can see it reverberate within Murphy. He wipes a hand over his face. "I think Obsidian took her."

Murphy hesitates, arching an eyebrow. "Could be a trap…"

"Aye," Connor exhales, feeling his confidence seep back into his veins. "Which is why we stick to the plan, yeah?"

. . .

The plan poses a considerable risk, placing the boys in the middle of a political rally in daylight, with hundreds of people around. But, even as Smecker tried to give them a chance to call it off, Connor smiled and felt that long-lost sense of faith lights up in his eyes. He patted Smecker's shoulder as the former detective exhaled slowly, "It's just…" Smecker paused, pressed his lips together, and admitted with sympathetic eyes, "I know she's worth it."

Connor blushed out of embarrassment and regret. Despite everyone's reassurances, he still couldn't shake feeling responsible for them. And finding Elena was only part of the plan…the rest is for the greater good, one last time.

"It'll be worth it to end this," the Irishman added, unable to bury the touch of dread in his tone.

Smecker slides the van door shut, leaving Dolly and Duffy to split off while the twins carefully approach the park. As they get closer, Connor and Murphy silently walk away from each other, staying within each other's eyeline but maintaining a safe distance that will not draw suspicion.

The rally roar grows, and Connor spots a few handwritten signs in the air that contrast the crisply printed campaign signs. He suppresses the smile that threatens his face when he sees what the signs protest…

LET THE SAINTS BE FREE

GO HOME HAWKINS

BRING THE SAINTS TO WASHINGTON

NO SAINTS = NO JUSTICE

With alert eyes, Connor scans the crowd and the suits standing on the stage. And there's that same arrogant smile he had seen on TV.

"The Saints are not worth your worship!" Hawkins declares into his microphone, his hands firmly grasping the sides of the podium. "The only way to stop this violence is by stopping their growing body count!" A mixture of reactions roars from the crowd, some agreeing with the politician and others booing him. Hawkins' staff on stage with him all clap and nod energetically, except for the young woman standing off to the side.

She shifts her weight, her face cringing slightly as she claps with less vigor than her counterparts. Connor narrows his gaze onto her, studying her and wondering what she knows. The woman flinches again as Hawkins raises his voice more. "Boston deserves better! America deserves better! We can stop crime without the help of these vigilantes! Vote for me, and I will make sure the Saints go back where they belong…behind bars!"

Connor can taste the bile at the back of his throat, knowing that Elena is right…there's no going back to prison; they will be killed. A part of him is strangely okay with that, but not yet. He has work to do. And if he can die doing the right thing, then so be it.

The crowd's mixed reactions increase exponentially as Hawkins raises his arms. "Vote for me, and America will be safe!"

That's when Connor sees the single punch thrown in the middle of the crowd, sparking a riot.

He and his brother have seen it before: in Belfast, when they were visiting family; outside Fenway, when the Yankees creamed the Red Sox; and especially in prison, when a guard overstepped their power with an inmate. All three of those times, the MacManus brothers came out with black eyes, bloody gashes over their knuckles, and a smirk on their lips that read like a fucking badge of honor.

As the chaos grows around him, Connor focuses on the politician and the suits surrounding him. Hawkins proves to be a damn fool as he tries to brush off his security, hellbent on being the single voice heard amongst the madness. But as a handful of protestors make their way to the stage, Hawkins is whisked away while uniformed officers confront the crowd.

Connor spins around, suddenly face-to-face with a young woman in a black suiting dress with a HAWKINS FOR CONGRESS campaign button pinned to her jacket—the same woman standing on stage moments earlier. He quickly grabs her by the arms, holding her tight as he moves them through the crowd. "Don't say a word, don't look at anyone, just keep walking," he orders firmly, tightening his grip on her. "I'll get ye out of here so long as ye agree to help me." He keeps his eyes ahead but sees in his peripheral that the woman nods wordlessly. "Good."

. . .

"This isn't part of the plan," Smecker warns as the boys slide the van door shut behind them.

"We had to improvise," Murphy says, always quick to defend his brother as they handcuff the woman.

Bloom shares the same concerned look as Smecker, and Connor swallows hard. "I'll take care of it," he assures. Somewhat convinced, Bloom shifts the van into gear and drives away from the alley.

Connor turns back to the young woman, and her brown eyes widen once the realization hits her. "Holy shit…you're the Saints."

He holds up his hand, lowering his voice to calm her down. "It's okay, lass. We won't hurt ye. Ye gonna help us, yeah?"

She rubs her face, the metal clinking around her wrists as panic starts to surface. "I'm just an aide! I don't know anything!"

"Connor?" Murphy's voice rises. His eyes narrow, cautious of what the usually smarter MacManus has done by capturing the poor girl.

Pressing his lips together, Connor turns back to their hostage, softening his face as he places his hand on her shoulder. She flinches at his touch, and he sees the fear grow in her eyes. Something about her feels…like he should know her. "What's your name, lass?" he asks gently.

The van rocks as Bloom drives it around a corner while Duffy continues scrolling through the woman's cell phone.

Blinking, the woman bites her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, and Connor smiles modestly. "My name's Connor. And that's my brother, Murphy, though I think ye already figured that out…" The grin, coupled with a small laugh escaping her mouth, gives Connor the tiniest sense of victory. God damn MacManus charm still works.

"Natasha."

That feeling he can't quite put his finger on grows stronger. "Are ye Russian?"

Her face falls back into worry as she stalls on how to answer.

Connor takes a chance on a hunch and asks in Russian, "Did you work at a club in New York about nine years ago?"

"How did you…how did you know that?" She strains her neck to look at Smecker in the front passenger seat. "Oh God, it was you…you're that FBI agent!"

Smecker immediately glares at Connor. "Well, this just keeps getting better and better, boys," he states with that famous sarcastic tone.

Connor removes his stocking hat, realizing that Natasha was part of Elena's undercover operation, bringing another unexpected link. He ruffles his fingers through his hair and looks at her with a kindness she doesn't seem to recognize. "Look, Natasha, we're trying to find our friend..." He swallows hard, placing his hand over his heart. "My friend," he corrects. "Do you know anything about a woman—"

"That CIA girl?" she interrupts, almost eager to help. "I haven't seen her, but I know Obsidian has her—" she stops, afraid she's said too much.

And that's it. That's all the confirmation Connor and the others need to keep going with the rest of the plan. His eyebrows press together as he raises his hand, gesturing reassuringly. "It's okay, lass. What else do you know?"

She bites her lip with remorse. "They said they needed the CIA girl, that she's 'part of the plan.' And I think they're holding her still here in Boston."

"Can you show us?" Murphy inquires.

Natasha nods, "There's this place behind Hawkins' campaign headquarters. But I doubt she's there, otherwise I would've seen her. At least, I hope I would've seen her."

As Connor stares at the young woman who can't be much older than 30, that knowing feeling sinks in his chest once more. He hears Elena's voice in his heart, telling that story again, so with a deep breath, he leans forward. "I know what happened to ye in New York." Natasha narrows her eyes, and Connor lowers his voice more, speaking in Russian, "I know what happened with Nikolai."

The color instantly drains from her face. Her mouth hangs open as she struggles to respond, let alone react. Her eyes fall away from Connor, darting back and forth while he says her name softly with growing concern.

Finally, with a small Russian voice, she confesses, "It's happening with Hawkins, too."