Disclaimer: We are just borrowing these wonderful characters for a while, no copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: This is a prequel to our Puppies, Kittens & Gun Totin' Babies series, in which we hope to answer the question: What would have happened if Michael had refused to follow orders and abandon his beloved asset? This story will update weekly on Mondays at 6:00 PM EDT.
The next chapter of Life with Larry will be posted Thursday at 10:00 PM after #BurnerClub. This week's story tells the tale of Michael's first mission with his new partner, Larry Sizemore.
As always, much love and appreciation to all the Burner Girls out there who read, review, favorite and fellow our joint and individual efforts to keep Burn Notice alive on the pages of fan fiction.
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BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL
Chapter One
Clooney's was a small bar in the East Wall district of Dublin. Close to the ports, it was used almost exclusively by the local dock workers. On the odd occasion that a stranger wandered inside, they would be served with a pleasant smile and then outrageously over-charged for their drinks with the hope that they would move on to find a more reasonably priced establishment in which to spend their cash. However, if they didn't take the hint, Mr. Clooney would reach for his phone and shortly afterwards two or more of the hard men of Dublin would make an appearance and help the strangers on their way. For the small room on the upper floor of Clooney's bar was the unofficial headquarters of one of Dublin's premier criminal gangs.
"Yer gettin' inside through tha building next door. Tis a restaurant, so it'll be shut up by eleven and thar's nobody livin' in tha flat above it. So ya won't be disturbed."
Ryan O'Keefe was explaining his daring plan to break into and rob the Bank of Ireland on University Street, Belfast, Northern Ireland in the dead of night to his gang of thieves.
"I'll be monitoring tha police an' security forces radios... Declan, lad, I want ya up on tha roof. Ya'll be able ta keep watch up thar fer anythin' I miss..."
The man in question indicated his assent to his assignment.
"Fiona, darlin', d'ya have all ya need? We cannae be having half o' Belfast waking up when ya blow tha safe... Fi? …Fiona!" The small Irishman slammed the flat of his hand down on the table top, which was covered by diagrams and maps. "Fiona, whot tha hell, girl? Getcha head outta tha clouds an' in ta tha game, will ya?"
The petite redhead startled and nodded guiltily. "Am ready, Ryan, don' ya be worrying about me."
"Good girl. So, ya have whot ya need ta muffle tha blast?"
In truth, she had given the coming bank robbery very little thought. The young Irishwoman had other far more pressing things on her mind. Her lover, the man she truly believed was her soul-mate, would be leaving her soon. He thought she didn't know. But she was convinced that now, with the threat of the Real IRA destroying the chance for peace having been neutralized, Michael McBride would quietly disappear and Michael Westen would follow the orders of his British masters, pack his bags and be on his way to some other war zone in another part of the world.
"I know how ta blow a safe outta a wall. Are ya questioning me skills, cousin?" she snapped back at the man who, though only little taller and just a few years older than herself, was a rapidly rising star amongst the criminal elite on both sides of the Irish border.
"I wouldnae dare, darlin' girl... But ya feck up cuz yer ta busy day dreaming and thar'll be merry hell ta pay.. Ya get me, Fiona?"
Blue-green eyes flashed in anger, but her wrath was aimed inwards. She was letting her emotions get the better of her and that would not do. If word got back to any of her brothers that she -
"When have I ever let ya down, Ryan?... Now if ya don't have anythin' more ta say, Am gonna get goin'…" She turned away, making for the door which would lead her to the stairs and down into the bar below.
"Fine, but be ready wit' yar little box o' tricks on Thursday night; thot vault will be full ta burstin' wit' all tha government pay due ta go out on Friday."
"I'll be ready. Ya make sure we donnae have any more surprises, like thot army patrol waitin' fer us when we stepped outta tha Lisburn bank. If Michael had nae turned up -"
She still woke up in cold sweats about how close she had come to spending a good many years locked up in a Northern Irish gaol for armed robbery. Pinned down by a patrol of soldiers who had heard the blast from her C-4 blowing a hole in the safe, she had called Sean, who she knew was in Belfast on his own business, and then McBride, who she had thought was still in Dublin. But it had been her lover who had arrived first, setting off bombs across the other side of the square opposite the bank, distracting the troops just long enough for her to slip away.
"I swear, thar'll be no patrols in tha area an' as long as ya remember ta cover tha blast, we'll be free an' clear and filthy rich."
"Such a beautiful sentiment, Ryan," she called over her shoulder. "Me and me bag o' tricks will meet ya under tha flyover Thursday at eight." With that, she ran lightly down the old wooden staircase, which creaked on every step she took, and out into the dark rain soaked night.
Taking her woolen hat from the pocket of her coat, she pulled it down low over her ears and forehead, wrapping her scarf about her neck. But even though the weather was bad enough to have the other pedestrians on the street walking swiftly to their destinations, Ms. Glenanne dawdled on her walk home, her mind still reeling from the news she had got earlier that morning.
She had woken up late, which she had been doing a lot lately, to find a message written on a scrap of paper waiting for her on the small dining table in the living room.
"Had to go out. See you later."
It wasn't much, no indication of affection or where he had gone. But she had grown used to his ways. The note itself was a big improvement from when they had first begun to live together.
With nothing else to do until her meeting in the afternoon, she had eaten a bowl of cereal swimming in milk and sugar before taking a long leisurely soak in the bath. It was only when she went to get dressed that she discovered her jeans, which she had last worn only a week ago, would no longer do up.
Staring down at her favorite skinny jeans with the brass button straining to hold the waistband closed and her normally flat stomach bulging through the open zipper, she had begun to put all the little clues together. This wasn't the first time in recent weeks she had found items of clothing uncomfortably snug and her breasts had been feeling tender and were overflowing her bras. But until that moment, she had been fooling herself into thinking it was just because she'd developed a sudden craving for sugary treats – the realization had had her running back into the bathroom to throw up into the toilet bowl.
Before she was prepared, she was climbing the stairs which led up to her third floor flat. How could she tell him? She sniffed. How could she tell her mammy, or her brothers? They'd want… no, they would demand a marriage... Another horrifying thought hit her right then as her hand reached into her coat pocket for her door key. In all honesty, she barely knew Michael Westen. Oh, she knew his cover identity very well. But how much did she really know of the American spy he was in reality?
Would he be angry her, think she was trying to trap him? Would this bit of news end their relationship on the spot and leave her alone to face the wrath of her family and raise their child on her own? She bit her lip and cursed herself as weak when she noticed the hand that held the key was trembling. She was a Glenanne, dammit!
As soon as she had digested the reality of her situation, she'd hurriedly found an outfit that at least stayed closed and had left the flat in a rush to travel north out of Dublin to the town of Drogheda. Confident that nobody who knew her or her family lived in the market town, she had visited the shopping center and, after purchasing a couple of pregnancy tests, had disappeared into the nearby toilets.
It had to have been the longest three minutes of her life and, when the little plus sign which signified positive had slowly appeared, it had felt like the bottom had dropped out of her world. Doing it a second time, clinging to the hope that it was all a terrible mistake, had gone even worse when the result was positive again!
She had then spent hours walking along the path beside the River Boyne, staring at the slow moving water, trying to come to terms with her new status as an unwed mother until she had no choice but to return to Dublin to make her meeting with her cousin and her other partners in crime. Until she decided what she was going to do about the bombshell which had just landed on her head, her life would have to continue as normal.
She turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door and immediately was hit by a welcoming wall of heat coming from the three bar electric fire. Walking inside, she closed the door and when she turned back, the love of her life was before her, pulling her rain soaked hat from her head and undoing the buttons of her coat.
"Dinner will be ready in an hour," he whispered softly in her ear, before kissing her cheek. "Ya need ta get warm, luv, yer freezin'." His lips touched the tip of her nose, kissing away a raindrop and then moved to her lips. "I'll run a bath fer ya..." He winked. "We have plenty o' time."
It was then she noticed the small square table which normally sat flush against the wall was now in the center of the room, covered with their one and only table cloth and laid out with a small vase of flowers and cutlery for two.
"Wha's all this fer?" Her heart leapt as, for one brief second, she wondered if he had somehow already guessed her news. But one look into his deep blue orbs told her he knew nothing of the startling discovery she had made.
"Nuttin', nuttin at all…" He smiled back at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way she always found adorable.
"Michael…" She had to tell him, let him know the truth. "We need -"
He cut her off with another kiss, this one leaving her in no doubt about where his mind was going, as his arms enveloped her in a tight embrace.
Oh, she could lose herself forever in this man's embrace. She felt her body responding to him, her hands reaching up to comb through his hair, to draw him closer still. Why spoil this moment? There was every possibility he would be leaving her soon anyway. Why ruin what they had by speeding up the inevitable? But suddenly, her conscience got the better of her. She couldn't keep this from him!
"Michael!" Placing the flat of her hands against his chest, she pushed him away.
She had to tell him, the knowledge of the life growing inside of her was too big a secret to remain silent over. She shook off the near overwhelming desire to possess her lover one more time before everything changed between them.
"Michael, I – we…"
But when she stared up at him, into his intense blue eyes, the words refused to come out.
"Fi, we can talk later, I promise." He looked at her longingly, his fingertips ghosting over her cheek and onto her throat. "I've missed ya today an' thar's always plenty o' time fer conversation."
His fingers were now trailing up and down the front of her jumper and her heart skipped a beat as he closed the distance between them. "I've cooked sommit special. I bought all tha ingredients fresh fram tha little grocers round tha corner an' put it all together meself... an' I know yer gonna be busy o'er tha next coupla days." His hand was now resting over her heart and she was no longer resisting his advances. "We have an hour... An hour ta have a bit o' fun."
Fun would be nice and an hour wasn't that long… Her resolved weaken as his lips brushed against hers, his tongue running enticingly along her gums while his fingers were edging under the hem of her top to reach the skin underneath.
"Fun is it yer after? Well, I'm all fer a bit of fun." She grinned up at him, her fingers slipping between the buttons of his plaid shirt. An hour not thinking about the changes taking place in her body and what she was going to do about it felt really good after a day filled with anxiety.
She would tell him after the meal. Yes, after the meal...
The tiny plastic buttons which had held his shirt closed scattered about the room as, in one swift move, she ripped her lover's shirt open and jerked it half way down his arms before shoving him backwards against the bedroom door.
Throwing herself against his broad chest, she kissed him as if this was going to be their very last time together. Her hands roamed over his bare chest, following the contours of his muscles and onto the thin leather belt of his jeans. She loved this man, every inch of him... mind, body and soul.
Seconds later, they crashed into the bedroom, staggering and half falling on their way across the room, her own turbulent desires being sent into overdrive as her dark haired leannán seemed intent on ravishing every inch of her body.
Clothing was torn away and tossed aside. The old bed frame creaked and groaned from the force with which he threw her down onto the mattress before descending upon her as if he too knew how important this moment was to her. They couldn't get close enough to one another, come together fast enough to satisfy their burning desire for each other and she wanted this moment to never end.
Afterwards, lying in her lover's embrace, with her head resting upon Michael's chest, his arms wrapped about her waist and one hand resting flat over her abdomen, Fiona fought to hold the growing dread at bay.
Yer being a fool if ya think yar family will allow a marriage. They'll string ham up if it ever came out who he is, an' ya know damn well it will in tha end. He cannae stay, an' if ya leave, if ya follow ham, if he'll let ya follow ham, ya will never be able to come back home, ever.
"You okay?" His hand left her stomach and pushed back her hair from her face.
"Am fine, Michael..." She hid her splintering heart behind a bright smile. "But I think we should both get cleaned up before we eat... You go first." She all but pushed him out of the bed. I'll tell ham, I will... But just nae yet… Closing her eyes to conceal the building moisture of unshed tears, she failed to see the look of guilt in deep blue orbs of the man she loved.
Letting her head fall back against the pillow where only moments earlier Michael's head had lain, Fiona stared up at the off white of the ceiling and the cheap light shade above her head. She had been meaning to replace that monstrosity ever since they had moved in, but had kept putting it off as the excitement of working with the American spy had taken over her life.
Hearing the sound of the toilet flushing and then the whoosh of bath taps being turn on to full, Fiona sighed and rolled onto her side.
"Fi, dinner's gonna be another twenty minutes. I've gotta bath running fer ya." His voice came through the thin interior wall as if he was still in the room.
"Th- thanks," she called back as she reluctantly left their bed. "D'ya care to join me?" she added.
"Er – I – I gotta see about the sauce and put the vegetables on, so – er...thanks, but you go ahead relax and just enjoy your bath."
Hearing the hesitation in his tone, the cracks in her heart grew a little wider. He was hiding something from her. She half smiled. Well, that made them even then. Reaching the tall wooden wardrobe, she threw open the door and frowned at the row of clothes hanging inside. She needed something that she could still get into.
()()()()()
While Fiona eased herself down into the hot bath scented with her favorite bath salts, Michael was busy keeping watch on the various vegetables simmering on the hotplates while adding milk and butter to the potatoes he was preparing to mash.
He had done it again. He had answered her in his own voice rather than that of McBride. This was not good. The mission wasn't over until he received his travel papers and stepped onto the plane, which would carry him out of Ireland and onto wherever they decided he was needed next. He hoped they would make it somewhere faraway and filled with plenty of intrigue to take his mind off what he had been forced to leave behind.
"I shouldn't have to tell you this, but as you're not thinking straight, let me remind you. Tonight, once the little lady is in dreamland, you pack up all your stuff, I mean every… single… thing… that could be traced to Michael McBride, and then you wait for my call. When you get it, you'll have half an hour to get to Dublin Airport. I'll be waiting for you there with all your travel documents. They'll be holding the flight for us. So, as soon as we take our seats, we'll be taking off."
He filtered out the voice in his head and went back to trying to come up with some way of avoiding the fait accompli he'd been handed by the intelligence agencies of both the US and UK.
If he refused to follow any more orders and leave Ireland as requested, MI-6 had made it clear they would inform the Taoiseach of Ireland that an American CIA agent was working without sanction within their borders. He would be outted and, not long after, the hell that he had been promised would rain down upon him and anybody associated with him.
"Trust me. Being burned would be the least of your problems, Michael. Just think about the shit storm you'd be unleashing on everyone around you."
Rumors were already circulating in Belfast that a secret agent had infiltrated the ranks of the Provisional IRA. How long would the PIRA let him live once somebody got hold of the name and a photograph of the disgraced spy hiding in their community?
But just because he had agreed to go didn't mean he had to like it or wasn't looking for some way out of his predicament – There had to be some way he could stay. He'd thought about approaching her brothers. Sean the hot head would probably kill him before he could explain, but Liam... Liam might listen to what he had to say.
The oldest brother and current head of the Glenanne clan was also the PIRA's most feared interrogator and enforcer. He undoubtedly had the connections to get him a "do not touch" order if the IRA executive council gave out such things, if he could be convinced to aid them.
However, the more Michael thought about it, the more he realized that the unpleasant truth was Liam would not risk his family's safety and standing by helping the enemy. If he was lucky, Fiona's oldest sibling would simply have Sean shoot him, but more than likely he would end his days on a butcher's hook begging for a bullet.
Letting out a long sigh, the troubled spy turned the heat to the lowest setting on the stove and reached over to the cabinet which stored the plates. He could hear the sounds of bath water emptying down the plughole, so knew he didn't have much longer to do what he had promised to.
Standing stiffly with his eyes closed, he dug into his jeans pocket and slowly brought out the small bottle he had been handed before leaving the Belfast safe house. He just needed more time; there had to be a way. Maybe later, he could contact her, ask her to join him in some foreign country. He opened his eyes and stared at brown-colored glass dropper bottle. If he did what he was ordered to, the chances were if she ever saw him again, it would be to put a bullet in his head.
The bathroom door opened and he turned in time to see the auburn haired hell raiser who meant so much to him pass into the bedroom. "Donnae start wit' out me... I just need ta find some clothes."
"Take yar time." He gulped and swallowed down his sadness. There was no more time.
Using a tea towel, he pulled the meat from the oven and added the sauce before placing a serving on each plate. Adding mangetout and mushrooms along with mashed potato, he bit down on his bottom lip and reluctantly untwisted the top off the bottle, squirting four drops of the clear liquid into the sauce covering his girlfriend's meal.
"See? I told ya I'd be quick."
He hadn't expected her to be that fast. With a jolt, he realized what he'd just done and what it meant for their relationship. It felt like his heart was shattering in his chest and all he wanted to do was rush forward and drag her back into the bedroom. How could he possibly get through a meal talking about things that didn't matter any more?
The smile came easily to his lips as his years of training took over. "Thot ya did, luv. Take a seat an' I'll bring it o'er." As for the rest of his feelings, he shoved them into a little box, sealed the lid and pushed them into the deepest part of his sub-conscious.
His name was Michael Westen and he was a spy... The carefree Irishman with a shady past was dead. He had died the second that the first drop of sedative had fallen onto his beloved's plate.
()()()()()
Sitting at the table, with a plateful of food giving off an enticing aroma, facing the man she was convinced was going to be her one great love, Fiona's fragile resolve began to slip away. Why tell him now? Why ruin a good meal? The knot growing in her stomach could be nerves or it could be that she hadn't eaten since breakfast. But either way, wouldn't be better to tell him on a full stomach?
"It looks delicious." She smiled at her lover and scooped up a forkful of mash, dripping with the thick sauce. "Tell me why I donnae let ya do tha cooking more often?"
"If I cooked all tha meals, this one wouldnae be special." He cut a piece of the beef and raised it to his lips. "Ya gonna eat up? I dinnae make dessert, but I got us a Banoffee pie fram thot fancy bakers ya like on Grafton street."
"Mmmm." The redhead's eyes widened at the thought of the sweet, sugary treat.
Lifting the fork to her lips, her hand began to tremble. Why did he have to be so nice, tonight of all nights...? She couldn't do it. She carefully placed the fork back on the plate, the mash untouched.
How could she sit and make small talk with the man she had, on more than one occasion, trusted with her life and not tell him he was going to be a father? When she shoved the plate away from her and looked him in the eye, all her carefully thought out words dried up in her throat.
"Am pregnant!" Ms. Glenanne blurted out the news and then watched as all the color drained from her lover's already pale complexion. "I dunno how far along… but I – but I – I couldnae get inta me jeans this morning and – and have been- I'm sorry, Michael."
"Are you sure?" he demanded in a flat icy tone.
"I took tha test twice this morning, as soon as I realized the possibility."
"No chance of a false positive, I suppose?" His hands were curling into fists as he sought to keep control.
At her mute nod, he slammed his fists down onto the table so hard the plates jumped before flinging his chair back in his effort to get to his feet. A string of harsh American invectives poured from his lips. It was only Michael Westen who was pacing in front of her now. Her Irish lover was gone.
"Fiona, what the hell... what the hell are we going to do now?"
It was as she'd feared. The dark haired man before her was angry, blaming her for their predicament.
"I dinnae get this way on me own, ya know!" she shot back hotly.
The spy ran his hands through his hair and tried to pull himself together. Then Fiona saw something in his eyes she'd never seen before: raw, naked fear. Suddenly her own fear and fury crashed together. She hadn't wanted to cry; she had no idea where the tears came from. But it was as if talking about what had happened opened a floodgate and overwhelmed her. She couldn't stop it.
Apparently, Michael was as stunned as she was by the sudden waterfall cascading down her face. He captured her wrist, pulled her on to her feet and into his arms. Holding her trembling form against his chest, he rained kisses down on the top of her head while the petite woman tried to contain the gulping sobs in his shirt.
"It'll be alright, I'll make it right. We have time." He held her tightly as if to stop her running away, while rocking gently side to side. "We -we... I just have to think of a way."
After what felt like an age, Fiona slowly drew away from his arms and sunk back down on to her chair. "I'm sorry, I dinnae... I can manage on me own if ya cannae -"
He dropped down on to his knees before her, clasping her hands in his and stared up into her tear filled eyes. "We'll work this out... Are you are absolutely sure that you're -?" the covert operative couldn't bring himself to say the word. "I thought you were – you know, you told me you had that taken care of. What happened—?"
Pulling a hand free, she wiped it over her eyes and sniffed. "I've been thinkin' o' nuttin else since I found out. It must've happened when we got back fram Amsterdam. I had thot cold I couldnae throw off. I took antibiotics..."
She had accompanied him on an assignment to find out who was smuggling blood diamonds from the city and selling them to American diplomats, who should have known better. The job had been a success, but not until after they had both taken a dip in the Prinsengracht canal and spent a night hiding out in a mattress manufacturers' warehouse on a very cold February in Amsterdam.
She watched the way he pursed his lips and dropped his eyes to stare at the floor as he did the math. "You could be as much as—" His voice trailed off into silence.
"Whot d'ya want ta do?" Fiona had to ask even though she was dreading the answer. "If ya have ta go, I'll understand." The Irishwoman wasn't going to beg him to stay; she had already made a big enough fool of herself bursting into tears like a scared teenager.
"No!" He suddenly looked back up. "We'll find a way to make it work."
"Ya keep sayin' thot, Michael, but I tol' ya, I've been thinkin' o' nuttin' else all day and I cannae find a way." With a sigh, she reached for her plate, maneuvering it back in front of her, the delicious fragrance coming from the spices mixed into the red wine sauce reminding her she had barely eaten a thing all day. "Look, let's finish eating. Mabbe things will be clearer on a full stomach."
"Fi, don't!" She had the fork of mash half way to her lips when he snatched the utensil out of her hand and then grabbed her plate, carrying the lot into the kitchen.
"Michael?" She gave chase and could only watch as he scraped the food into the trash and then tossed the plate into the sink. "Michael, whot's got inta ya?"
"I -" he stammered, unsure what to say. She had caught him flat footed with news of his impending fatherhood and, in his present state, he was unable to come up with a suitable lie.
"Whot's this then?" And that was when she reached to pick up the brown glass dropper bottle that he'd only had time to drop into the trash, failing to hide it adequately when he'd served the meal.
"Don't!" the spy croaked. "Don't touch that!"
Seizing her wrist too tightly before she could grasp the vessel in the garbage bin that contained his detestable secret, which had been only partially covered by the meal he had disposed of a few seconds earlier, Mr. Westen pulled her out of the kitchen area.
"It's—it could- I'm sorry, Fiona…"
She glared in stunned silence as he released her, turning away from her. His hands raked over his face and then were tearing through his long black hair as he stalked about the small flat.
In the end, unable to take any more, she caught up to him and swung him round to face her.
"Michael, yer scaring me. Whot's goin' on! Whar did thot bottle come fram? Whot wa' in it?"
The spy drew in a ragged breath and let it out in a long shuddering sigh.
"It's a long story…"
"Well, ya keep tellin' me we have time, so let's hear this tall tale."
It was the same thing the PIRA operative had said to him the night she'd discovered who he really was. The dark haired spy flopped down onto the couch before the fire and pulled Fiona down next to him. Turning to face her, he did his best to ignore the look of betrayal in her eyes.
"I gotta call late last night. It was a contact, a man I've used in the past... I'd used him to get closer to Sean when I first came to Ireland. He'd helped to sell my cover. I owed him, so I had to go."
Even after so long, he could see she still held on to a tiny bit of the anger she had felt over his initial treachery. "He called me, begging me for my help. He said he was being threatened... But when I got to the spot where I'd agreed to meet him... My MI-6 handler was there with a team." He remembered the scene vividly. "I thought they were going to throw me on a plane there and then."
By the time he had realized he'd been targeted for a hostile extraction, it had been too late to back out and run. Surrounded by the MI6 version of a tactical team, he'd accepted the inevitable and surrendered without a fight.
"But, it was worse than that..." He tentatively reached out to stroke a hand over her cheek, hoping and praying she could see the sincerity in his eyes. "I've known for a while that we were running out of time, so I've been trying to talk to my CIA contacts, my old handler, my former boss, anybody who would listen. I've been trying to get permission to bring you out with me."
"Ya wa' tryin' ta take me out with ya?" she gasped and took hold of his hand. The redhead knew her lover had been talking to his bosses, arranging for them to continue working together, but not this. "An' when wa' ya planning on tellin' me?
"Please, Fi, just listen," he pleaded. "You need to hear this... When I got to the safe house, they had brought in this guy I knew from Langley, a real heavy hitter. I tried to explain the situation to him. But he wouldn't listen to me."
Striding back and forth in what was MI-6s version of a dungeon, he had been on tenterhooks waiting to find out exactly how bad things had gotten. If Chambers had washed his hands of him, that had to mean the matter had been kicked higher up the food chain.
He had no idea exactly who he had expected to storm into the room, but his old training officer from Langley hadn't even made it on to list. Surprised or not, he had held his ground in the face of his former mentor's wrath as the older man had forced him to see the truth of his position.
"He told me what I wanted was impossible, that I had lost my mind and threatened to have me kicked out of the CIA if I continued to disobey orders."
"You shoulda told him to do it." She tried to smile, but the effort was too much. "It woulda solved at least one problem."
"Don't be like that." He reached for her other hand, knowing that he hadn't come to the worst part of his confession. "I tried to tell him about us, about how well we worked together, how much help you'd been to the mission. I had been hoping if he was here, I could convince him to help us. But I know now the decision had already made and he was just there to make sure I did as I was told."
He gulped and swallowed down the memory of how Tom Card had torn down every one of his carefully crafted reasons as to why Fiona Glenanne was too valuable to be left behind to face being blackmailed into becoming an asset of MI6 at a later date or death at the hands of her countrymen.
His former mentor had pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. "Look, I get it, I do, really. She's a nice looking girl. Passionate and – not what you're used to. But, away from here, it would never work. She would have to leave everything behind and never come back. Her family would disown her and it would all be for you. Are you ready for that level of commitment?"
Looking into the tear-filled eyes of his lover, he found it hard to believe how easily he had caved in to the senior officer's wishes. He angrily swiped at his eyes with the back of one hand. How could he have been such a bastard to even think of sleeping with and then drugging the woman he loved? But somehow Card had convinced him that doing exactly that was only way to save her life.
"So whot war ya told ta do, Michael?" Fiona asked flatly when he failed to continue with his tale.
"What can I do?"
"Leave. You can save your career and her life by leaving without a word. This is what you're going to do. Here… you cook her a nice meal and give her this." He'd accepted the bottle of sedative without uttering a word. "Then you clean out that hovel you're living in. I'm going to arrange transport outta this hole for us both as soon as possible. This is the only way this works, Michael, and you both keep breathing. You're doin' the right thing…for both of you... I'm proud of you, son."
"I was going to do the right thing," he admitted softly, his eyes straying guiltily to the bin where the sedative was slowly dripping out onto the yogurt cups and used teabags. "I was trying to save you."
"Save me? You wa' gonna dose me an' run off like a coward!" The Irish fury spat at him, snatching her hand away. "Ya' coulda killed our babby, d'ya know thot, ya bastid?" She lashed out, slapping him as hard as she could, leaving an imprint of her hand on his cheek, and leapt to her feet.
"I- didn't know. I'm sorry, Fi. How could I have known? Fiona, I'm sorry!" He chased after her before she could cross the room. "Look, we can't go to my people, not now. They'd think I was- it doesn't matter what they think." They wouldn't believe him until it was too late and maybe not then. "What about your family? What about Liam? If we explained everything to your brother, maybe he'd listen? We were working together, carrying out the Executive Council's orders. We got the-"
"We whot, got the job done? Is thot whot ya think they'll say happened here?" She laughed out loud until she began to choke. "I helped a SPY, Michael! Not even a Glenanne would forgive me for working with an American spy. I've betrayed me family." The hysterical laughter turned to sobbing. "We go ta Liam an' tell ham everythin' and he'll kill tha pair o' us." She fell against the table top.
Michael was at her side in an instant, easing her down onto the couch, cradling her slender, shaking body against his, whispering words of comfort and pressing tiny kisses into her damp hair, until the woman he loved began to calm down. Cupping her cheeks, he thumbed away a few stray tears and leaned in so they were nose to nose. "I'm not leaving ya, whot ever happens. W're in this together."
She nodded and caressed his cheek, smiling softly. "Ya mean it? No more talk o' tha CIA, or spying? Can ya truly let thot go, let it be just ya an' me together?" She took one of his hands and held it over where their baby lay. "An' this one when he or she comes along? Tell me now, Michael."
Swallowing down his own fear at what they were about to do, his mind dragged up a memory of a story she had told him.
"I will find us somewhere safe. I will do whatever I have to, whatever that may be, to protect you both. Trust me." He stared into her eyes, giving her a glimpse of the side of himself he normally kept hidden away, the unstoppable sonuvabitch who had cut a bloody swath through Russia and the Eastern Bloc countries. The man he had been before being sent on a deep cover mission to Ireland.
"Ya, just have ta be brave little angel," The words softened his expression for only a moment before steely eyed determination returned to his expression. "While I do what I was trained to do."
