Heart Broken Open
Michael jogged slowly up the long metal staircase to the loft. He turned the key in the lock and pushed open the heavy steel door. He expected to find the living space nearly vacant but as he surveyed the room, he noticed an empty bottle of wine and glasses on the kitchen counter. His eyes moved next to the rumpled linens on the bed indicating that it had been slept in recently. Michael scanned the room for the nearest stash where he had a hidden weapon. He looked up quickly towards the clanking noise above his head.
"Is that you muffin?" Sam called down from the office.
"No, it's me." Michael called back.
Sam, clad in a t-shirt and boxer shorts replied, "I didn't expect to see you here this morning. Elsa and I stayed over. Hope you don't mind." He pulled on his jeans before descending the steps to the main floor of the loft.
"No problem, just ah, change the sheets would you." Michael winced as he glanced at the bed. He was glad that Fiona was not here to see that someone else had slept in their bed, regardless of the fact that it was on their old set of linens.
"Sure thing," Sam peered inside the ancient refrigerator. "Elsa went to get us some breakfast. There's no food here anymore." He shot an irritated at Michael as he closed the door.
"We moved out two months ago. What did you expect? There's another case of water in the back if you need more." Mike removed two bottles from the frig and tossed one to his best friend.
"So how is Fi? Is she still busy with the new house?" Sam took a long swig of water.
"She's good," Michael nodded. "I had no idea how much hassle this move would be. We still haven't finished unpacking."
Sam grinned. "Don't look at me. I live in a hotel. Elsa's got her staff for all that business."
Michael laughed and took a sip of water. "So about that client you asked me to meet, I have to pass on that." He paused to gauge Sam's reaction to his statement.
"They're sending you back into the field?" Sam questioned.
"I fly up to DC on Monday morning to meet with Pearce and Raines."
"Congratulations. That's great news." Sam smiled and clapped his friend on the back. "How's Fi with the idea of you getting assignments again? It's been what, about four months since we finished up that Anson business?"
"Yeah, I couldn't imagine leaving her for a minute when she first got back." Michael walked towards the balcony and pushed open the doors. "We had a lot we needed to work through for a while," as he stared out at the river, lost in thought.
"It seems like things are solid now between you two. Right?"
He turned slowly back to Sam and a faint smile pulled at his lips. "Yeah, we are. She wants me to get back out there and finish mending fences with Raines. This was the first mission he requested my help on specifically."
"How's Pearce? Does she still want to kick your ass?" Sam joked.
"I take that one day by day." Michael drained the last of the water from the clear bottle.
"Bringing down Anson sure helped the CIA with their mess."
"Pearce and I, we have our own issues to resolve." Michael tossed the empty water bottle into the bin under the sink.
Sam laughed, "I don't envy you for a minute on that one.
Michael's face grew serious again. "Sam, I need to ask you to keep an eye on things while I'm gone. Fi wouldn't want you checking up on her but…"
Sam smiled and said, "You can count on it Brother."
Michael continued his run down the canal. After a few miles, he cut through a residential neighborhood and wove a path through a series of side streets until he arrived at his mother's house. He stopped out in front to stretch out a cramp in his leg. The sun had just broken over the horizon and he noted her car in the driveway. He glanced at his watch. It was half past six in the morning. All signs indicated that his mother was home but would likely still be asleep. He was about to return to his run when he noticed a tall clump off weeds snaking out of a crack in the sidewalk that led to the house. He walked over and pulled out the offending plant.
As he stood up, he heard his mom call through the window. "Michael, what are you doing here?"
"I was just out for a run," he shouted back.
"Come in and have some coffee. I just made a pot." She waved and then disappeared from the window.
"No thanks Ma, I should be getting back." He tossed the clump of weeds into a nearby trash bin and turned to find his bathrobe clad mother standing in the doorway.
"Just come in for a few minutes. Your fiancée won't mind," she teased. Madeline smiled as she held the door open and waited patiently for her son to comply.
"No, she won't," he replied in deference as he walked up the steps. He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek as he passed through the threshold and took a seat at the dining room table. Michael knew his mom was elated that he and Fiona were finally engaged. Over the last three months, she took every opportunity she could to tell him so.
"You know you should have the lawn guy come back and give those hedges a trim." Michael pointed towards the windows that overlooked the front yard.
"Are you kidding? Those guys charged me fifty bucks a week to cut the grass all summer. They woke me at sun up with that damn mower every Tuesday morning. I told them only to come once a month now." She handed him a steaming mug of coffee and sat down to join him at the table.
Surprised and slightly irritated by her reaction, he replied, "Mom, you really don't have to worry so much about money anymore."
"You know, I still don't understand something. All those years you lived in the loft and you never had much money. Then, out of the blue, you buy a house with cash and tell me you're actually very wealthy. I don't get it."
"Mom, I had plans to buy that house for six months. When it came on the market I bought it," he said in a matter-of-fact tone as he added a drop of milk into the strong black coffee.
"That's fine, but the money didn't come out of thin air." Maddie eyed her son cautiously. She was not sure if she really wanted to know the answer to her question. Over the years she had learned that some of Michael secrets were better left undisturbed. But she also trusted her son's integrity and that he would tell her as much as he could about his work arrangement with the CIA.
"It's like I told you before. All those years I was ….away, I earned money. I made a steady salary and I had my investments managed. I had a fairly significant portfolio. There was more than enough for me to live comfortably when I retired."
"So where did it go all those years?"
"When I got burned, everything was frozen. I didn't have access to it because they took it from me." Michael looked down and ran his hands through his hair. After all these years, it still made him angry when he recalled the early days of his exile from the CIA. He remembered the frustration of being left out in the cold by the organization he served for so many years. When he looked up at his Mom sitting across the table, he was reminded of the life that was restored to him in the intervening years.
"For a long time I didn't care very much about the money," he continued. "All that mattered was finding the people who burned me and clearing my name." A faint smile appeared on his face. "But now …it's not just for me. A part of the purpose for my reinstatement was to have those funds restored."
"So when you got back in they returned it, just like that?" Madeline remained unconvinced by his story. Over the course of her life she had learned that nothing ever came easily. She had seen in recent years that the old adage held true for her son and his friends. She feared that somehow this good fortune would come back to haunt the couple just as they found some tranquility in their lives.
"It took some negotiation but, yes, they did. There is an irony to it though. I got burned in '07 before the crash on Wall Street. If the CIA had not pulled the money out of market when they did the portfolio would have lost more than half its value."
"So getting burned actually helped you." Madeline looked at her son in astonishment.
"Yes, according to my accountant and a few other people I've met recently," he nodded.
"After everything you kids have been through, I'm glad you have some peace of mind." She reached across the table and patted Michael softly on the hand.
He returned his Mom's smile but then his expression grew serious as he thought of his upcoming assignment. There was no point putting off the inevitable. "Mom, there is one more thing. I'm going back to work with the CIA. I have an assignment and I will leave for DC in a few days."
"Michael, so soon?" Maddie's face could not hide her disappointment.
"Fi and I have discussed it. She's on board with the idea."
"Do you think she's ready for you to leave again?" she questioned.
"Mom, she has been home for four months. We've had a lot of time to work on … our issues. And to be honest, I think she's tired of having me under her feet all the time." He laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Maddie's voice cracked as she spoke. "Well, if that's what you two have decided, I'll support you." The sadness in her eyes did not match her supportive words. She stood up quickly and reached for her pack of cigarettes on the nearby counter. She glanced at Michael, anticipating an impending scolding for smoking in his presence. Yet, he remained quiet. He was keenly aware that the announcement of his impending departure had deeply affected his mom.
"I'll call the lawn guy and have him come by in the afternoon. OK?" he offered as a conciliatory gesture.
She smiled and said, "Thanks. Now why don't you finish up your run and head home to Fi?"
Michael walked to the kitchen and dumped the nearly full cup coffee down the sink. He quickly rinsed the mug and placed it in the dishwasher. When he turned back to face the dining room, he could feel his mother's eyes on him. He took a few hesitant steps towards Maddie and pulled her in for a protective hug. "It's going be fine Mom," he whispered.
She brushed backed a tear and sniffled, "I know, I know. It's just been so nice having you home. That's all."
He gave his mother a reassuring smile and said, "I promise I'll swing by before I leave. OK?"
She nodded and gave him an appreciative smile as he turned to slip out kitchen door.
Michael ran for several more miles, weaving his way through a development of large houses that surrounded a golf course. He dodged oncoming traffic along a busy road until the ocean came into view off in the distance. He turned down a side street and continued a few more blocks until he stopped at small Craftsman-style bungalow.
He bent at the waist to stretch out his tight muscles as he scanned the scene in front him. The house had a small front porch and a well landscaped front yard. It was set back from the road and was nestled on both sides by clusters of trees. It was located on the perimeter of a small cult-de-sac of four similarly modest sized homes. There was no motion from any of the other residences in the neighborhood. The sun crested the tops of the trees that shaded the houses from the intense heat already bearing down from overhead. Michael used the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe away the sweat that stung his eyes. He was glad to make it home before the sun got too strong.
He walked up the driveway to the back door and punched in a key code. He waited for a click before turning the door knob. "Fi," he called out as he stepped into the mudroom and kicked off his running shoes. When he did not hear a response, he remembered the early hour. His fiancée would, very reasonably, still be asleep on a Saturday morning. Even though he had extended the invitation many times, Fiona did not care to join him on his early morning runs. Since they moved into their new home two months ago Michael and Fi had established a post-Saturday morning run tradition. The anticipation of it motivated Michael through the grueling last few miles.
He stepped into the sunny kitchen, pulled off his sweat soaked t-shirt and lobbed it into a basket in the nearby laundry room. He opened the door of the massive stainless steel refrigerator and reached behind a wide assortment of yogurt containers for a carton of orange juice. He took swig straight from the container as he strolled into the open dining and living room to survey the improvements Fiona had made to their home to the last few days. Her snow globes were proudly displayed on the shelf he had built for her a few years ago. The fireplace mantle was covered with framed photos of their friends and family.
He noted the addition of a delicate silver frame that held a picture of him and Fiona during their early days in Ireland. As he gazed at the photo, he was drawn back into the memory of the day it was taken. They were blissfully unaware of the camera when Fiona's sister-in-law, Katie, had snapped the photograph as the couple stood on the front steps of their flat in Belfast. She gazed lovingly into his eyes and then kissed him as he held her in an embrace. A few weeks later, Fiona's brother Collin, gave him a copy of the picture. "Look who our darling Fiona has got wrapped around her little finger. Good luck to you, McBride. Lord knows you'll need it," the older brother teased as he patted Michael on the back.
All evidence of the depth of feeling for each other was captured a simple photo. It held a special meaning to Michael for years to come. After he left Ireland and for sometime later, he had kept it safely tucked away among his most private possessions. During their recent separation, he kept the picture close at hand clinging to the happiness of the memory for comfort. Now, it served as a reminder that he had almost lost her twice and he would never let it happen again. He thought he would ask Fi to move it somewhere more private, perhaps on his nightstand in their bedroom. As he set it carefully back on the mantel, he took another gulp from the carton when he felt a pair of warm arms glide around his waist.
"We have a perfectly good set of glassware for that you know," she whispered with a raspy breath into his ear.
A shot of heat raced down his spine as he coughed on a mouthful of juice. No one but Fiona could sneak up on him like that. He wiped the orange dribble from his chin with the back of his hand. "Sorry Fi," he mumbled with embarrassment. Michael's domestication, along with unpacking their house, was a slow work in progress. He turned to face her and placed a soft kiss on her lips.
She leaned in for more. "You taste good."
"Fi, I just got back from my run. I'm all sweaty. I really need a shower."
"Mmm," she cooed, "it turns out we also have a nice roomy one in our new bathroom." She grinned mischievously and kissed him again.
"Is that so..," as he pulled her into him. He was reminded why their master bath was his favorite room in the new house and Saturday morning was the best part of his week. "Shall we?" he kissed her neck and walked them slowly into the bedroom.
"I'd love to," and she closed the door behind them.
#####
Later that same quiet Saturday morning, Michael and Fiona were in a waterfront shopping district browsing at Fiona's favorite fine linen store. She poured over a selection of sumptuously thick bath towels. As her hand ran along the display, she came across a tiny cushioned hanger that held delicately embroidered Christening dress made from Irish linen. The gown was bright white with a billowing skirt and pleats across the front. Created to be worn by a newborn, the narrow bodice looked like it would more likely fit a toy doll than a child. Fiona let escape a barely audible gasp that only Michael, who stood close by, might have heard. She fingered the impossibly intricate stitching and whispered to herself something he could not quite decipher. There was a hint of a smile on her face as if she was reliving a happy moment from her past. But the expression was quickly replaced with a wince of pain as she dropped her hand to her side. In a flash, her attention returned to the towels in front of her. She suggested to Michael that they purchase a set for their master bath.
"Sure, whatever you want." He softly kissed her temple and returned his focus to a flier for a charter fishing boat that he had picked up in the previous store. He glanced up at the dress again and looked over at Fiona who seemed engrossed in a shelf bursting with soft cream and pastel colored pillows. Michael had told her long ago that he was incapable of reading her mind but after years of living and working together, he had developed a knack for reading her face. Annoyance, hesitation, exasperation, and bliss just to name a few, Michael had learned to notice the signs like the winds of an upcoming storm. Sadness. He had seen it many times before. He knew that over the course of the years he had been the reason for much of it. Unsure of the source at the moment, he watched her closely as she glanced again at the dress and then met his gaze.
"My eldest brother's two sons were christened in a gown like that." She looked at the dress one more time with a faint smile and turned back the display of towels.
For the next few minutes, Michael watched silently as Fiona cheerfully conversed with the saleswoman. He was quite skilled at intuiting his enemy's emotions and motivation but Fiona could still be enigmatic. It was rare that she ever spoke of her family. After their encounter with O'Neal made it impossible for her to return to Ireland, she had limited contact with her parents or any of her brothers. Her grief over the loss of her sister Claire was still a raw nerve to be avoided at all costs. He questioned if perhaps their recent engagement had made her homesick for her family. He wondered if they would give their blessing to her union with Michael McBride, the American spy. Sadly, there was little he could do to change matters so he chose to keep his thoughts to himself.
When Fiona finished the transaction, Michael took the shopping bags from her and they walked in silence onto the busy street. They strolled for a few blocks and stopped at a juice bar for a blueberry smoothie. As Michael handed the cashier a twenty dollar bill, he was struck by a revelation that shook him to his very core. What if it she is NOT homesick? His mind flashed back to the tiny dress in the store and the look of pain on her face. He handed Fiona the plastic cup and pushed a straw into the lid. Did he dare ask the next question that swirled in his mind?
"Why don't we sit for a while?" as she relaxed into a nearby bench.
Michael stood next to her as he instinctively surveyed the crowd of beach clad tourists and locals going about their business. Suddenly, he felt something brush against his right leg. When he glanced down to push it away he was surprised to see a tiny set of arms wrapped around his tan trousers.
A toddler boy with a head of floppy, curly brown hair looked up at him and said, "Da Da."
Michael stepped back, unsure from where the child had appeared. "Hey there, where'd you come from?" He turned to scan the crowd for an anxious parent.
Fiona, who had witnessed the exchange, laughed at Michael's startled reaction. "Relax Michael; his mother is right over there." She pointed to a bathing suit clad woman about half a block away who carried an assortment of bags, towels and beach toys.
"Ethan, Ethan! Come back here! You need to stay with Mommy!" shouted the panicked woman.
Fi waved to the worried mother as she took the child's hand and said, "Let's go find your mom."
She led the little boy down the sidewalk several paces.
As they approached, relief washed over the face of the young mother. "He just slipped away from me for a minute. It's terrifying in these crowds."
"I can imagine. Here, let me help you with some of your things." Fiona reached for a bag.
The mother dropped her belongings onto the sidewalk and lifted her young son into a tight hug. "You need to stick close, OK? It's not safe without Mommy in a big crowd. I don't want to lose you." She looked him in the eye. "Do you understand me?"
The boy kissed her and chirped "OK Mama." He wriggled out of his mother arms and his miniature-sized sandals landed on the sidewalk with a soft tap-tap sound.
Fi watched the brief exchange between the parent and child. "Michael, come give us a hand here," she called over her shoulder.
"Is everything OK?"
"She has a lot to carry," Fi replied without looking at him. She passed the canvas tote bag overflowing with beach towels to a bewildered Michael. He nodded a greeting as he picked up the bags and chairs from the sidewalk. He too had watched the brief interactions from a distance and observed the flash of sadness on Fiona's expression.
The woman apologized. "We always meet my husband by this bench. He went to get the car at the lot. It's about ten blocks away."
Fiona picked up a beach chair. "It's really no problem at all. We were just taking a break."
With that, a blue mid-size SUV pulled up and a man in a floral shirt jumped out. "Quick, Manda. I'm double parked," he shouted. He picked up the little boy and said, "Hey Bud, ready to go," as he carried his son over to the car. The child tugged the blue baseball cap off his father's head and let out a giggle. "Hey give that back!" the man feigned surprise as the little hands replaced the hat onto his own head. He quickly strapped the young boy into his car seat and ran back to the front of the truck.
Michael adjusted the rim of his own dark blue baseball hat and glanced back to Fiona who chatted with the woman as they loaded the chairs and bags into the back of the SUV. He picked up the last tote bag that sat lonely on the sidewalk and handed it to Fiona who placed in the truck.
Fi smiled at young woman and said, "You have a beautiful son."
The young woman thanked them for their kindness and waved goodbye as she climbed into the passenger seat. The blue SUV pulled quickly into traffic and disappeared down the road.
Fi returned to the bench and her melted blueberry smoothie. She glanced over at Michael who settled in next to her and let out a sigh of relief. She studied his expression for a minute and then commented, "They made quite a team."
Michael took a sip from his drink. "Yeah, it works well for them." He glanced sideways at Fi.
"That little boy was really cute. He liked you." She sucked on the straw awaiting his response.
"Well, not usually, like I've always said about kids, they're just not my thing."
"No, that's what you said about relationships. And look where that got you." She smiled at her fiancé and took another sip from her smoothie.
"He thought I was his dad because of my baseball hat." He turned to her with an annoyed look on his face.
"Don't act so terrified Michael. All I am saying is sometimes," she reached gently for his hand, "there are things that we never expect to change and then they do." She laced her fingers though his and they both looked down at the two carat diamond engagement ring that adorned her delicate finger.
"Yes, that's true," he said softly as he kissed her hand. He thought of the changes to their relationship over the last six years. There were so many things that her love had added to his life and that she had sacrificed in order to be with him. Then his stomach tightened as he remembered the look on her face in the linen store and again during their encounter with the young family. He was unsure where she was headed with the conversation so he chose his words carefully. "But Fi, I've always said that I never saw myself as the picket fence type."
"Yes, you have." She stared straight ahead without looking at Michael.
Michael hesitated. He was not sure to if he should ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue. "Are you saying that you regret that you never had a …"
"Just stop it. Don't put words in my mouth," she replied angrily.
"So you don't regret that you never…"
"I am not sure what you expect me to say. It's not that simple. There is plenty that has happened in my life that I didn't want or plan. But I can't look back. After everything we have been through in the last two years or more." Her voice was filled with emotion. "I am grateful that we finally have some peace in our lives, Michael. I am happy with what I have with you." She stood up and collected the bags from the side of the bench. "Besides, even if I was with a different man it still would be impossible." She walked down the sidewalk and left Michael in a stunned silence. After a few paces, she called back over her shoulder. "I think I've had enough shopping for today." She kept ahead of Michael for several blocks and did not say a word to him until they reached her car. He expected to get an earful but instead she gave him a cool smile and said, "So where are you taking me to lunch?"
Michael opened the car door and flashed a Cheshire cat grin. "Anywhere you like."
######
The next morning, Michael was at his mom's house to fix her kitchen sink. As he stared at the pipe over his head, he tried to muster the courage to ask Madeline the question that he, for fear of the repercussions, did not want to ask Fiona directly. What exactly did she mean impossible?
He wished he could take back his questions about her possible regrets the instant the words escaped his mouth. Michael knew the inherent danger of bringing up a line of questioning that could very quickly slip out of his control. He had made it clear from the start of their relationship that he never saw himself as father material. There was little about their lifestyle that lent itself to child rearing. What had he expected her to say? Perhaps, he simply wanted reassurance that he was not withholding something important from her. But what if she had said yes, she wanted a baby, their baby, could he tell her no after everything they had been through?
The vague remark she made before she walking off to the car was most troubling to Michael. If having a child had never been possible for her, why was that the case? How long had she known and why was she unwilling to share it with him until now? What was most unsettling to him was that before yesterday it had never occurred to him to ask.
Madeline could only see her son's legs sticking out from under the counter. She stood close by, smoking a cigarette, ready to assist in the repair.
He yelled out to her, "Okay! Try the cold. Just a quarter turn. Are you getting anything?"
"No, not yet!" She turned the handle several rotations until the water streamed from the facet at full blast.
Michael howled, "Ah! No, that' too fast! Turn it off, dammit!" He climbed out from under the sink with his shirt drenched. "Ma, I said a quarter turn." He grabbed a dish towel from the stove and mopped his soaking wet hair.
"Take a break Michael, I made you a sandwich." She carried the plates into the dining room and said, "Go put that on the clothes line. I don't want you dripping all over my new tablecloth."
He tossed the shirt on the wire that ran the length of the tiny backyard and headed to his old bedroom to retrieve a fresh one from his dresser. As he opened the drawer, he smiled to himself when he saw one of Fiona's petite cotton tops. His mind returned to a recent visit when they had spent the night and he peeled the delicate garment off Fiona as they got ready for bed. They made love on the small twin bed that had been in his room his entire childhood. He recalled her muffled moans of pleasure as drove her to the point of ecstasy. The shirt must have dropped under the bed or become tangled in the bedding. "Fi," he whispered as he lifted it to his face and inhaled her light fragrance. He carefully replaced it in the drawer, pulled his own t-shirt and walked out to join his mother in the dining room.
"Thanks for making lunch, Ma." Michael rarely enjoyed his mothers cooking, but in this case it was really difficult to mess up deli meats. Some of the few memories of satisfying meals from his childhood were a ham and cheese sandwich with chips and a deli pickle on the side. Maddie poured them each a glass of iced tea and sat across from her son at the table.
"So how's my girl doing?" she asked with a grin.
Michael flashed his mother a knowing smile and said, "She's doing great."
He was pleased that his fiancée and his mother got along so well. Yet, he also lived in fear that the two most important women in his life had a secret alliance against him. That had been clear from the day Fi arrived in Miami, and the intervening years had only served to solidify their relationship. Michael knew well, that if his mom ever had to choose between him and Fi, there was no contest as to who would win her favor. Yet, while he was sometimes the odd man out in the triad, he took comfort in the fact that the women he loved so deeply looked out for each other in his absence. Especially, since he would be leaving to return to work for the CIA tomorrow. He had lingering concerns to resolve before he left. Michael cleared his throat, unsure if he wanted to share the intimate questions that had preoccupied his thoughts all morning. But he was confident that if there was anything to know, Madeline was the best source for the information. "Mom, I need to ask you something, it kind of a sensitive subject so we need to keep the conversation private, is that OK?"
Madeline's pleased expression shifted to worry. "Honey, is everything alright?"
Michael looked down at his sandwich on his plate. "Yes, everything is fine. I think… It's just, Fi… She said something yesterday. I didn't understand what she meant at the time but I didn't want to ask her anymore about it. I think it would have upset her."
"Michael did you two have a fight?"
Michael stabbed at his sandwich with the pickle spear. This was harder to talk about than he expected. "I asked her if she ever regretted not having a baby. And she told me that it doesn't matter because it would be impossible."
Maddie's face softened. "Oh, I see. You want to know if it's because she is with you or something else is going on?"
"Yeah," he said in an uncharacteristically hesitant voice. He finally looked up at his mother. He was grateful she was going to go easy on him about this."I guess that's it. Did she ever say anything to you?"
Maddie pushed her sandwich aside and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She lit one and pulled a long puff. Michael normally would have objected but in this matter he needed his mother's help. He kept quiet and waited for her to speak.
"This is a conversation that you should have with your fiancée, you know that."
Michael nodded, accepting the light admonishment. "Ma, please."
"I love you two very much so I will tell you what I know. A few years ago, just before Charlie was born, we put on a baby shower for Ruth. While we were getting ready Fi and I had, you know…a girl talk. I wouldn't normally nose around with a bunch of personal question but babies are what you talk about at these things."
"What did she say?"
"I asked her if you two ever discussed' 'the maybe someday' scenario. She just smiled and tried to laugh it off. After a few minutes, she grew really quiet so I asked her if my question had upset her. She said 'No, but even if Michael ever came around, it really would be impossible,' and then tried to change the subject."
"That's what she said to me yesterday."
"So I asked her, 'Is my son really that much of a jackass that you wouldn't want to have his child?'
"Ma! Really!"
"She insisted that wasn't the problem at all but it was something that happened a long time ago and didn't like to talk about it."
Michael rested his chin in his hand with worry written all over his face. "What happened to her Mom?"
"It was a medical condition. She developed it in her early twenties. She had an abnormal growth on her uterus. The mass weakened the organ and the doctors told her it would be difficult for her conceive and any pregnancy could be dangerous to her health." Madeline flicked her cigarette at the ash tray and took another puff. "She had to have surgery. You've never noticed the scar on her belly?" she asked in disbelief.
Annoyed, he shouted back, "Well, yeah, but she said it was a from a knife fight."
"And you believed her!"
"Ma, this is Fiona we're talking about here. I have scars from Fi!"
"Well anyway," she returned to her story. "It was clearly difficult for her to discuss. But, she was adamant that she had made peace with the matter years ago and her lifestyle did not lend itself to a traditional family. She insisted that it was only since her reunion with you that she had given it a second thought." The older woman raised her eyebrows at Michael accusingly and took another puff of her cigarette. "She said that she has accepted that her life was not meant to include a child and was grateful for everything she had with you. And then … she made me promise that I never speak of it to you."
Michael rubbed his forehead anxiously. He had no idea on what to say, either to his mom at that moment or to Fiona at home tonight. This subject was too wrought with relationship landmines not to proceed with the utmost caution. If he said anything to her before he left on his first assignment back with the CIA it would disrupt the equilibrium they had finally found in their lives. He could not open up the emotional equivalent of Pandora Box and then just walk away. It would be too cruel. His flight to DC left at 5:45 tomorrow morning and he had no idea what his next mission would entail or the length of time he would be away. Even if he did not have to leave, he had not had time to resolve his own thoughts on the matter. Michael sighed in exasperation. "Ma, what do I say to her? How do I fix this?"
Maddie pulled one last drag from her cigarette and shook her head at her son in disappointment. "With everything that you two have been through together, I am astounded that you two haven't resolved this years ago." Then, she reached across the table with a sympathetic smile and squeezed her son's hand. "This is a loss for Fiona. When she really doesn't get to make a choice in the matter; there are feelings of grief for any woman. Talk to her, she needs you for this too."
#######
Michael felt Pearce eye him suspiciously as he walked into her D.C. office. It had been four months since they completed the mission to eliminate Anson Fullerton and he had not seen or spoken to her since. Michael's unrelenting determination to destroy the man who had caused six years of chaos in his life resulted in the reestablishment of his credibility within the CIA. But Pearce, however, had made it clear at the end of the mission that her trust in him would not be restored so easily. Not after he had withheld so much from her and placed incriminating files on her laptop while under orders from Fullerton. Luckily, Jesse had intervened in time to prevent a crisis but the damage to her trust in him was already done. Her last words to him before he left echoed in his mind. "Go home Michael. Take care of Fiona. Come back in a few months when your head is back in the game."
Thankfully, he had done just that and was happier for it. His life with Fi was filled with more joy than he ever had hoped to find. Yet, he was resolved to fully restore his reputation and return to work for the CIA and the nation that he had dedicated his career to serve. He nodded to Dani and took a small step backwards towards the door when he saw she was still on the phone.
"Have a seat Westen," she said as she covered the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand.
Michael sat down in a nearby armchair and scanned her desktop for clues about the upcoming assignment. He noticed several satellite photos of a military encampment surrounded by thick jungle and steep mountain terrain. "Better find my hiking boots," as he shifted in his seat and tried to mask his growing impatience with his supervisor.
Pearce ended the call as she said, "Understood, I'll send him over as soon as I get him up to speed."
Michael stood up and offered Pearce a cordial handshake. "It's nice to see you again."
He watched her eyes carefully for the flash of anger that was so apparent the last time they spoke. He was surprised as she looked up from the file in front of her and gave him what could only be recognized as a genuine smile.
"Nice to have you back Westen. How's Fiona?" she said cheerfully.
He could not prevent a grin from slipping onto his face at the mention his fiancée. "She is doing very well thanks," he said politely.
"Anything going on that you wanted to tell me before coming back to work?" she inquired.
"Not really. There isn't any secret blackmail or conspiracy to report if that's what you mean," he said with a bite of sarcasm.
"Good to know," she laughed. "I heard through the grapevine that you and Fi were getting married. I wanted to congratulate you."
"Yeah, we got engaged about three months ago."
"I wish you all the best." Pearce smiled again with warmth that he had only seen a few times before in the many months they had worked together.
"Thanks Dani," he nodded and glanced back down at the desk.Perhaps he might be closer than he'd assumed to regaining her trust.
"So you ready to get back in the game?"
"Yes," he said confidently.
"Good," as she handed him a thick blue folder, "because I really need you on this one, Michael."
Dani walked around to the front of her desk and leaned back as she crossed her arms in front of her. Michael pulled a photo of young blonde woman walking across a city street on the arm of a dark haired man. He looked up quickly; ready to listen to the details of the new mission.
Pearce began, "An English journalist has been kidnapped by the militia of the General Guierro, a disgraced military commander who was removed from his post by the current President of Panama. Her name is Elizabeth Albright and she works for BBC World out of Panama City. Five days ago, she went to meet a source at a compound eighty miles outside of the city and never came back. She was reported missing by her fiancée who happens to be with the CIA. He told the Agency that she had recently uncovered information about a coup to overthrow the Panamanian President by General Guierro. The kidnappers have threatened to kill Albright if information about their plan is released to the government or the press. They don't want to negotiate ransom or prisoner exchange. They claim she will only be released as a gesture of good will by General Guierro once he is in power."
"That will never happen. If she has seen anything, she'll end up dead either way."
"We know," Pearce replied somberly.
"What do you need me to do?"
"We have reason to believe that Guierro has an alliance with the La Vega cartel, one of the top two cocaine producers in Panama. They have been funding his secret army and providing weapons. The partnership will place La Vega at a strategic advantage in the cocaine trade if the coup is successful. "
"So what's the angle on this? Do we have anyone already on the ground?"
"The CIA has a contact within the organization of a rival cartel in Panama, headed by Javier Alvarez. We picked up several members of his gang in Miami for immigration violations. Our alliance is shaky but there is an agreement to return his men in exchange for information on the whereabouts of Albright. But right now, we don't even know for sure if she is still being held by Guierro's militia or members of La Vega's gang."
"How much have you told their government? Does the Panamanian President even know?"
"We have tried to keep this as quiet as possible. If word gets back to Gueirro, Albright is as good as dead. If we can find her before the coup attempt, maybe she can give us more details and we can head it off at the pass."
"So where do I start?"
"We arranged a meeting with one of Alvarez's lieutenants at a remote location outside of Panama City. In exchange for intel on the kidnapping his men get a one-way ticket out of Miami."
"How do we know we're not walking into a trap?"
"We don't. The source is still an unknown commodity. But we do know for certain that Alvarez would want nothing more that to watch Gueirro and La Vega go down in flames. If they do, he comes out on top. Raines has requested that you go with him to the meet. There will be a small team assigned to back you up."
Michael closed the folder and rose to offer Pearce a handshake when she dismissed him from the meeting. He was surprised when she continued her story.
"Ah, there is one more thing Michael. I know the fiancé… Albright's fiancée. His name is Pasqual Camacho. He was one of the top new recruits in his training group at the Farm when I was there as an instructor a few years back. He's a good agent and a friend. He blames himself for Elizabeth's kidnapping. He let her go to the meeting alone and without adequate protection."
She paused and looked at Michael who nodded back at her. They silently acknowledged that he understood exactly the situation she described.
"They are both so young, only a couple years out of grad school. They are just getting started in their careers and still optimistic about making a difference in the world." Pearce shook her head in sadness. "I don't want this kid to go through what I did, losing Jay. I promised him that we would find her. Michael, I gave him my word. "
Michael felt his chest tighten. He recognized all too well the way the young agent felt. He knew the overwhelming fear of never again holding the woman he loved and the unrelenting guilt that his actions somehow put her in harm's way. Michael blew out a long breath. "Understood, would you send me the coordinates of the meeting site?"
"It's already done. Raines is waiting for you in his office to go over the op. You fly to Panama City tonight. Michael, it's good to have you back."
Michael shook Pearce hand and said, "Thank you. It's good to be back." He walked out the door and closed it slowly behind him.
####
Michael walked cautiously down the steep mountainside trail listening for movement in the tropical forest nearby. He had not seen any signs of guerilla fighters since they took fire from a squad crammed into two jeeps while on the approach to the village just forty minutes earlier. When they arrived at the small town, the state of the half a dozen corpses strewn along the side of the road indicated that the initial raid had take place about twenty-four hours before. The last of the death squad, who had likely been lying in wait, shot at the CIA team as they entered the town square. The enemy was eliminated with a well placed bullet to the fuel tank of one of their trucks as it fled the scene. The smell of death hung heavy in the air as the CIA team inspected the few dozen houses of the farming community. Raines ordered the four members of the security team to inspect the nearby villa and compound that overlooked the surrounding mountains. They reported back that the site had been heavily fortified but appeared to be deserted. No casualties or dead were found.
Michael felt a wave of nausea wash over him as the images of the dead flashed through his mind. He had no idea who had brought such terror to this isolated hamlet but he had no doubt there was a direct connection to the meeting with the CIA and the warring drug gangs. He felt a sour taste rise up the back of his throat as he pictured his own house in ruins like the burned out shacks in the tiny hamlet. He ran to the tree line and emptied the contents of his stomach on the surrounding greenery. "You're getting soft Westen." He could hear the admonishment he would receive from Raines if the senior officer had been present to witness his brief moment of weakness. Michael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tried to focus on the landscape in front of him.
In the distance, he heard a sound of an animal, perhaps the bleating of a sheep or a goat. The noise came from the direction of a small shed a short distance down the hill. While it was likely that the commotion was simply a few livestock left abandoned by their herder, Michael decided to investigate further. He let gravity do the work as he sprinted down the rocky trail towards the outbuilding. The noise grew louder as he approached until he recognized that it was not the call of an animal but was instead the cry of a person.
He drew his weapon as he crept to the shack and slowly pushed open the wooden door. As light illuminated the dark corners of the space, the first thing Michael noticed was a blue towel on the floor. He stepped farther in and he drew his flash light. As he swept the room, the light connected with something that caused him to step back. It was a tiny set of the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen. He knelt down and was astounded to see a small boy, about two years old, standing in a wooden fruit crate. He stared up at Michael with sheer terror in his eyes.
"Holy Shit! Raines! Get down here! Michael yelled into his radio."We have a survivor. Repeat. We have a survivor. We need an evac now,"
Raines replied. "What the hell are you whining about Westen?"
Michael infuriated, screamed into his radio. "I'm not fucking around Raines. I found A CHILD. I'm at the base of the trail about half a mile down the hill. There is no one else around here. It looks like he was hidden or has been abandoned. God knows how long he was here alone. I'm bringing him up."
Michael reached into the box to pick up the child and saw an empty baby bottle nearby. On the filthy floor next to the crate was a soft blue blanket. It was edged with smooth satin and embroidered on the thick fabric in delicate script was the name Gabriel. As the child cried, Michael leaned into the little boy and whispered, "Hi Gabriel. My name is Michael and I am here to help you." He lifted the little boy into his arms and wrapped him in the blanket. He pulled out his radio and called to Raines. "I've got him. We're on our way."