Deb watched the green country side roll by out the window of the SUV.

"Been a long time since we were here," Mickey drawled from the driver's side. He wore a black t shirt, showing off the rolling script of his tattoos. Some were in Gaelic, some were in Latin. Deb knew they were all prayers and Scripture

"A lifetime ago," Deb agreed softly. He glanced over at her with his too pale eyes. They were like shards of ice, framed with dark lashes.

"Ye alright, Debbie?" his voice was softer. She turned away, averting her gaze to the window.

"I really just want a drink right now, Mick," she admitted. His face remained impassive and he trained his eyes on the road. "I keep seeing their faces… Every time I close my eyes. It's… It's killing me inside, Mickey."

He reached over and his pale hand wrapped around her tan one.

"He gives strength to the weary," Mickey told her. She grimaced deeply.

"God doesn't give a shit about me, Mickey," her voice was sharper than she intended.

"If ye say so, lass," he shrugged. She shot him a venomous look.

"Look, I know you were a priest, and that Catholicism is just ingrained in your skull, but I have never had a reason to believe that there was any higher being looking out for me or anybody else in this place," Deborah said firmly, her accent twisting her words. Mickey gave her a weighted look, but said nothing.

"I won't bring it up again, then, lass," he told her evenly. Deborah deflated.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped," she told him. He flashed her a not so sane grin.

"I know yer lack of booze is makin' ye grouchy, Debbie. Just try ta get your head together. We're going ta need it for this job."

"I miss Drummer," Deb told him as she dropped into the desk chair. The CIA had given them the run of a safehouse about sixty miles outside of Belfast. "This fucking file is barren."

Mickey set a mug of tea down in front of her and leaned over her shoulder to scan the file.

"Lord's Name. Sons of Mary have them?"

"What, ya know 'em?" Deb looked up at him. Mickey grimaced.

"They're a small, elite group. Members of the Church, lot of influence with the Army," Mickey said gravely. Deb's eyes flashed inquisitively at him. He gave her a sheepish look. "I was brought up in their group."

"You being back here going to stir up shit?" Deb asked slowly. She had never asked him about the details of his departure from the IRA.

"This job may put me in bad graces with some of the lads," Mickey admitted.

"I can handle it," Deb told him. He gave her a skeptical look.

"I'm a big lad, Debbie. This is our job, and they took those children from their parents," Mickey said sternly. She gave him a mild smile.

The dew of the grass seeped into her knit jacket and dark wash blue jeans. She was lying on top of a hill, surveying their target as night fell.

"Ok, kids are in the southwest corner," Deb said as she looked at the little cottage through the thermal binoculars.

"How many guards?" Mickey asked from beside her.

"Three. Two are near the kids, one is in the northeast corner, by the front door," Deb said.

"We going in guns blazing?"

Deb put the binoculars away carefully.

"No. Too much risk to the kids. We're going to have to be careful, wait for them to go to bed," Deb said gravely.

The two waited as the fog rolled in and darkness fell like a thick blanket. Mickey dozed, using his jacket for a pillow. Deborah watched the house with her thermal binoculars. The children moved to the second floor of the cottage and laid down. One man stayed on the steps, the other two stayed in the northeast corner.

It was about three in the morning when the figures stopped moving. Deb nudged Mickey in the leg.

"Come on, then, Mick," she said softly, screwing the silencer onto the end of her pistol. "Got one on the stairs, the other two to the left of the door."

Deb kicked the body off the stairs and headed up. The children were all three awake, huddled together on one bed. The eldest, a girl, had braced herself in front of her brothers. Deb swallowed hard as bile rose in the back of her throat.

"Hey, sweetheart, it's ok. I'm not here to hurt any of you. We're gonna take you back to your parents," Deb said gently. The girl's blue eyes flashed and she stuck her jaw out.

"Why can't we stay here?" she had a clear, strong voice. Deb blinked, suddenly struck dumb.

"Uh… Those men, they took you from your parents…" she trailed off. The girl frowned deeply.

"Only to protect us."

Deb swallowed hard, thinking quickly.

"We can't stay here. Do you have any things you need to pack?"

The girl stood.

"Come on," she told her brothers sullenly. Deb smiled thinly before going back downstairs.

"Move the bodies, now," she hissed to Mickey. He looked up at her sharply.

"What's—"

"Do it. We need to get out of here, and you need to call the IRA."

"Why isn't Jamie coming with us?" the youngest, a little boy of about nine, asked from the back seat. He had a head full of honey brown curls and big blue eyes.

"They can't tell us, Aiden. They never can," the girl said grumpily, folding her arms over her chest.

"You're Dorothy, right?" Deb was barely keeping her head on straight. Not right, it's all wrong. What the fuck have we gotten into?

"Dory. Only my mother calls me Dorothy," the girl stated firmly.

"I'm Deb. This is Mickey. We're going to be looking out for you for a while," Deb promised. Because there is no fucking way I'm handing you over to the CIA. Not until I figure out what the fuck is going on.

"Is our dad ok?" the middle child, twelve year old boy with lighter hair than Dory or Aiden, wondered.

"I'm not sure. We haven't been told anything. What's his name? Mickey can probably go and ask."

The girl scoffed.

"You must be new," she said snidely. Deborah just raised a brow.

"That's right, she is," Mickey agreed, "I haven't had the time ta fill her in. Ye want ta help me out?"

"Our father is Andrew Caine," Aiden said innocently. Deborah frowned.

"The gun dealer. Been selling your bosses guns for the last ten years," Dory said curtly. Deb shot a look to Mickey. His pale hands tightened on the steering wheel.

A/N: I'm back, dears! I don't know why I'm doing this with school starting back up, but I'm vaguely masochistic. I PROMISE that I won't wait a year to update again. Thanks for reading!