Once upon a time, there was a handsome, dedicated American spy from a broken family, who'd learned through pain and training that it was best to live without attachments. He filled his heart with the job he loved, instead. His name was Michael Westen.
One day, the spy's work took him to Ireland, where he hoped to make an asset of a beautiful, young woman in the IRA. She had a disdain for government and a passion for danger. Her name was Fiona Glenanne.
The story of how they met varies, as befits a love of legendary proportions. Maybe they first met for a job and he foolishly got too close to her C-4 - the beginning and the end of their story being very nearly one and the same. But the story of which they are most fond is of first meeting in a dark little pub. The confident spy, thinking to charm her, asked for a dance. Not one to be undone by common flirtation, she showed him she was no man's fool by replying with her revolver. McBride, as the spy called himself in Ireland, was undeterred. "I assume that means yes?"
That did it. Fiona was intrigued, in spite of herself, by this man who laughed off danger. So she granted him that dance. And in spite of himself, the spy was equally drawn to this strong and fiery woman. They gazed into each other's eyes. By the end of the night, they had agreed to work together.
They hardly knew what they'd begun.
Fiona was proud of her independence, but she soon found herself trusting this McBride. She quickly perceived that Michael possessed a good heart and more than a streak of nobility. For all his devil-may-care façade, here was someone who cared deeply about doing what he thought was right, no matter what it cost him. Fiona couldn't help it; she gave her heart to Michael. Although she didn't have a choice, she gave it willingly, embracing her feelings with customary passion.
Somewhere along the way, Michael lost his heart to this woman who challenged and excited him. Within her explosive nature, he understood there was a well of many emotions, to which his carefully-controlled nature instinctively responded. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was conflicted. Fiona didn't know she was an asset for an American spy. He knew she would be furious at his betrayal should she ever learn the truth. He wasn't supposed to care about that, wasn't supposed to care about her. He should never have let it get this far….He should break it off… He should tell her who he really was.
When he finally came clean to her, her pained anger inflicted a few new scars. She considered his service to the American CIA to be a huge flaw, and his lies to her an even bigger one. Yet she forgave him and loved him still. This made him happier than he would admit, even to himself.
They continued to work side by side.
They made mayhem, they narrowly escaped death, they fell into bed at the end of the day to wild lovemaking. They clashed, they meshed; they were miserable, they were intoxicated. Their life, their fights, and their love were perilous and thrilling. It was turbulent. And wonderful.
Until the day his cover was blown. That day, Michael stubbornly fought reality. He would defy orders, defy reason, to stay with her. Cast aside the career he loved, not to mention his life.
His trainer turned up. Somewhere in his tirade, Michael heard the harsh warning that by staying, he would imperil Fiona. Reason punctured passion finally; he would go.
A few final hours together. He tried to make them beautiful while maintaining a façade of normalcy. She was touched that he made her dinner. Her unawareness that this was the end made the moments even more bittersweet.
Michael abandoned Fiona while she lay sleeping; without even a note of goodbye. For her own good as much as his.
That night, two hearts were broken.
* * * * * The end of the beginning * * * * *