A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, favorites and alerts for this story; we appreciate each one. The chase is well and truly on now, as Michael and Fiona leave far Dublin behind them, along with several very angry Irishmen. While Tom Card is bound for England, he is not yet out of the pursuit, as he receives some possibly very damaging intel which could tear our favorite couple apart.
BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL
Chapter Four
Pacing impatiently at the side of the road, Liam Glenanne tried to control his growing fury at his youngest sibling's flagrant insubordination while he waited for his henchman to finish the job of setting the bullet riddled car on fire.
The Mercedes Benz S-class had cost him a small fortune less than a year ago. However, its destruction didn't matter, not when his only remaining sister had not only turned her back on the family, but had done so to be with a man working for the enemy, a piece of shit American who had been spying on them all ever since his arrival in Dublin. His mind reeled as his thoughts turned to what she had risked for the love of a man who was in all likelihood just using her to gain access to PIRA secrets.
He knew better than most what fate awaited his baby sister if her crime became public knowledge and he knew with every fiber of his being he would not allow it to happen. There would be people lining up for a chance to pull her to pieces for her traitorous act.
Closing his eyes, the head of the clan fought to maintain control of his temper. It was going to be bad enough breaking the news to his mother that her one remaining daughter had been knowingly sleeping with a spy, without the thought of what could still happen if he didn't squash the growing rumors about McBride as quickly as possible.
"Ar' ya nae done yet?" Mr. Glenanne snarled at his bodyguard and trusted friend. "Jesus feckin' Christ, Davy, yer burnin' out a car nae startin' a bloody barbecue! Get yar finger out, man!"
"Ya want it done right, don'cha?" Davy Doyle replied matter of factly. He had been part of Liam's inner circle since his friend had taken over as head of his family and knew the anger that the other man was projecting wasn't aimed at him but rather at the whole situation.
"I want ya ta do whot I pay ya fer... Have ya got me another car yet?"
"War picking it up down by tha underpass." Doyle threw his lighter onto the whiskey-soaked back seat of the once-upon-a-time luxury saloon car.
Liam nodded and turned away from the vehicle as the flames began to lick through the interior and black smoke billowed out the open doors.
"Come on then. We need ta get a move on befer tha Gardai show thar faces. We've still work ta do and not much time ta get it done."
The two men walked away quickly without looking back, even when the flames reached the petrol tank and exploded in a shower of ash and twisted metal. Glancing at his wristwatch, the PIRA's most feared interrogator knew he didn't have long to bring an end to the search for the informer in the Provo's ranks.
It had been six months earlier that he had been approached by the second in command to the IRA Executive Council and ordered to look into the rumors that were circulating about an informer hiding amongst the PIRA supporters. The council had already drawn up a list of those they suspected and wanted brought in for questioning and, at the time, he hadn't been surprised when he had seen Michael McBride's name amongst all the others. His sister's boyfriend was after all a newcomer to the area and an unknown.
Liam shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets to stop himself from punching the nearest wall and clenched his jaw tightly as he thought of how he had stood in front of one of the highest ranking officers in the PIRA and told the man he had personally checked out every detail of Michael McBride's life and found nothing suspicious.
It had been a few months later that he had learned the truth. A bartender at the Wishing Well, whose family had taken more than a few hits from loyalist paramilitary groups, had been the tenth name on the councils list and, after Sean had reported one of his unit had seen Mr. O'Dowd walk into a suspected MI6 safe house, the decision had been made to bring the man in for a conversation.
When he had first heard the words from the man's torn and bloody lips, he hadn't believed what he was hearing. Michael McBride was in reality Michael Westen, an American spy on loan from the CIA to the British. He had killed O'Dowd there and then, ending the man's suffering, but more importantly making sure nobody else got to hear his confession.
Once he had a name, it was easy for Colin, the family computer genius, to confirm everything the bartender had said. He had found the traitor; however, to reveal him would have put Fiona in danger and he couldn't have that. So, while he had tried to come up with a plan which would keep his sister safe from retaliation, Mr. Glenanne had continued to bring in those whose names were on the councils list while he desperately tried to work out what to do.
He'd hoped his sister would grow bored of her boyfriend. Unfortunately, each time he saw her, it seemed she had fallen even deeper in love with spy hiding in their midst. This had then led to him thinking that maybe there was a chance to turn McBride. After all, the man had in truth done nothing to interfere with PIRA activities and had in fact been instrumental in further the councils agenda of seeing the REAL IRA dismantled.
If he did truly return Fiona's love, then just maybe he could convince the American to change sides. But that thought had only lasted as long as it took for him to realize that it was impossible. Accepting Westen into their family would put everybody at risk. They would never be able to truly trust the spy and if their secret was discovered...
"What are ya thinkin', Liam?" Davy asked as they neared the underpass.
"Wa're goin' back ta talk wit' Mulholland. Am gonna get thot little bastard ta make a full confession an' then am gonna hand ham o'er as tha rat, him an' tha corpse o' thot scum O'Dowd... It should be enough ta stop tha gossip an' give us a breathing space ta find Fiona an' make har see sense."
"And McBride?"
"Oh, he's a dead man, Davy. Thot Yank prick jus' don' know it yet."
()()()()()
Unwilling to risk going with their original plan of leaving a false trail through Dublin now that the Glenannes had joined in the chase, the fugitive couple continue to flee westward out of Dublin and towards the faraway Atlantic Coast, Michael wringing every inch of speed out of the stolen Toyota that he could.
Staying on the back roads where there was less chance of accidentally running into law enforcement and no chance of being captured on a traffic cameras or CCTV, they were making good time. That is until the flash of a light on the console in front of the steering wheel warned the former spy that the Corolla was nearly out of fuel.
"Fi, we're gonna have to change vehicles, this one's done."
The sleepy redhead sat up straighter in her seat and took a moment to get her bearings. Staring out of the wind shield at the small bit of road being lit up by the vehicle's headlights, she asked hopefully, "Have we left tham behind? Whar are we?"
"Five miles outside Portlaoise... I was hoping we'd make it to Limerick in a straight run, but that's not gonna to happen."
"I think we can risk filling this thing up." Fiona yawned. "Yar fergettin' war in tha countryside. Any CCTV footage will be saved ta tape if tha cameras ar' workin' in tha first place an' any alerts sent out won't be looked at 'til tha mornin' staff come in."
It had been Michael's decision to make the journey to Limerick, hoping that they could convince the multitude of intelligence agencies and paramilitaries chasing them to focus their search around Shannon Airport, with its many international flights, and the docks in Limerick, with its multitude of ships and small boats.
"It's too risky." The dark haired man shook his head. "We'll -"
"Ta risky? Ya worry taa much, Michael Westen... I'll get us a second car an' we'll drive both ta tha airport. Think about it, it makes sense. When they find this un, they'll be searchin' fer another vehicle stolen fram nearby. They won' take any notice o' a car stolen fram so far away. It could be enough ta convince 'em all we've got outta tha country."
He thought about it. The plan had merits; however, it would mean they would have to split up and he needed her to be at his side. "It'll be safer if we're together."
"Safer yar say?... Would ya be talkin' about risk an' how safe it wa' if I wa' nae pregnant?" she challenged him.
"But you are pregnant, an -" He stopped talking as a hard fist struck his bicep.
"And I'm still tha same person I wa' yesterday, tha same woman ya threw down on our bed an' -"
"Okay, okay I get it." He flushed as his mind flashed back to their last time together, until a sharp stab of guilt reminded him that he had made love to her believing that in a few hours he would be leaving her behind forever. "We'll do it your way."
Sitting in the Toyota, Michael kept watch as the petite Irishwoman ran swiftly across the car park attached to Portlaoise Heritage Hotel, a magnificent stone fronted building set amongst trees and upon a wide lawn. Chewing on his bottom lip, with his handgun resting on his lap, all he could do was stare after her as Fiona disappeared in between the rows of neatly parked vehicles.
He had told her to take whatever she fancied from the hotel parking lot. Tom Card would have had him concentrate on the theft of small, unexceptional vehicles which would attract little attention. His former training officer was just arrogant enough to believe his star pupil would stick to his training protocols, forgetting that his student had spent the last eight years learning a few tricks of his own. Michael smiled wolfishly at the thought of pitting his skills against those of his first mentor in the art of trade craft.
In less than five minutes, the former terrorist came into sight behind the wheel of a dark-colored Series 5 BMW, the V8 engine purring as the red headed thief drove past with a broad grin lighting up her features. Following behind the high performance, high priced vehicle the spy kept a wary eye on the petrol gauge, which had gone from showing one flashing bar on the display to none.
The first service station they came to was in darkness and the doors securely locked shut to the shop and the control panels for the fuel pumps. But there was no lock that Michael Westen couldn't pick and, in this case, no antiquated alarm system he couldn't disarm.
Once inside, he went in search of the switch which would turn on the single pump on the small forecourt. Before leaving, he snatched up a couple of plastic bags and started to throw in as much food as he could from the sparsely stocked shelves. A loaf of bread, butter, cheese, ham and soups soon filled one bag and then another was loaded with a variety of fruits and salad. Running out to the Corolla, he placed the bags on the back seat and then went back for more. Finding what he really needed, a cooler chest and a couple of bags of ice to keep things cold, he went back for more.
Bottles of water and milk went into a third bag, along with paper plates, plastic cutlery, toilet rolls, and packets of batteries filling a fourth. Just as he was about to leave, he came to a stop and went back to the magazine rack and snatched up several volumes. Pulling out a roll of notes, he left fifty punts on the counter top. Closing the door to the shop, he then placed these bags next to the others.
Glancing over to where Fiona was glaring at him for taking so long, he waved to his lover before beginning the task of filling up the empty petrol tank on the Toyota. They now had two fuelled up vehicles, plenty of supplies and a plan which just might work. When they left the small town of Portlaoise, Michael was beginning to feel a small glimmer of hope.
()()()()()
Sean Glenanne had been in the middle of dishing out a little bit of PIRA justice on a major drug smuggler who had been responsible for a vast amount of the cocaine for sale on the streets of Belfast when he had received a phone call from his older brother. Leaving his unit to finish the job of making sure the man would never return to Northern Ireland to ply his trade, the youngest Glenanne male had jumped into his car and driven as fast as he could back across the border to his home in Dublin.
"I need ya ta drop whotever it is yer up ta an' get o'er ta our Mam's fer breakfast." Liam had spoke as soon as he'd answered the call.
"Am workin', Liam, yer gonna have ta -"
"Whot is it wit' tha lotta ya, I swear - Jus' do as yar feckin' told. Fiona has run off wit' McBride."
"Jesus, Liam... Will ya leave 'em alone? McBride t'ain't as bad as ya make ham out ta be. Can we nae let har be happy?" He was just thinking that he liked and trusted his little sister's latest boyfriend when Liam added.
"Ya know whot Am workin' on, whot I've been doin' these las' few months? Am tellin' ya, McBride is tha man I've been lookin' fer... D'ya get me now, brudder? Now get yar arse back home an' tha next one o' ya ta tell me whot a nice feller thot bastid is, I'll swing fer ya."
Making it back to his own home in Dublin in record time, Sean let himself in through the front door, switched off the house alarm and then ran upstairs. Flinging open his bedroom door, he came to an abrupt stop when he saw his wife sitting up in bed pointing her .22 semi-automatic hand gun at him.
"Ya said ya wouldnae be home tonight." Rosanna Glenanne made the gun safe and placed it back in the drawer next to her side of the bed.
"Have yar heard fram Fi?" the sandy haired Irishman snapped at his young wife.
"No, not fer -" Her words were cut off as her husband of three years crossed the room and grabbed hold of her arm, shaking her roughly.
"Are ya sure, Rosie? This is important... When d'ya las' talk ta har? Whot did she say ta ya?"
"Let go o' me!" The young blond knocked her husband's hand away and then used two hands to push him back so she could get out of the bed. "Whot's got inta, Sean? Yer gonna wake tha babbies wit' ya shoutin'." She slipped her dressing gown over her nightie and grabbed hold of her husband's arm. "We're goin' downstairs an' then ya can explain why yer assaulting yar wife."
She gave him no choice if he wanted to continue questioning her but to follow her out of the bedroom and back downstairs and into the the kitchen. Switching on the light, Rosanna turned to face the man who had never raised a hand to her before tonight and then gasped as soon as she saw his expression.
"Whot's happened?" She was instantly in front of him, one soft hand cupping his bristle-covered cheek.
Wrapping his arms around his wife's slender waist, the older man dropped his head down to bury his face in Rosie's wavy blonde hair. For a moment, he couldn't speak. Anger was now mixing with sadness and a growing fear at what his sister's actions was going to bring down on them all.
"Sean, Sean baby..." Rosanna gently teased her husband's head off her shoulder and held his face between her palms. "Whot's happened? Yer scaring me ta death... Whot's happened ta Fiona?"
Letting out a long shuddering sigh, Sean straightened up and pulled himself together. Taking hold of his spouse's fingers he looked deeply into her eyes. "Yer ta pack bags fer you an' tha kiddies. War ta be at me Mum's place fer breakfast."
He watched as Rosanna's complexion paled, her eyes filling with unshed tears.
"Tis bad?" Her voice quivered.
"Aye, am not sure how bad. But Liam wants us at our Mammy's. We'll find out more then... Donnae be scared, sweetheart. It'll work out, Fi's not hurt, but -" He shook his sandy head and, instead of telling his wife the worst of it, he kissed her. "We'll know more once we see Liam."
This was the first time that he'd had to remind himself that Rosie hadn't been brought up in this life.
Born and raised in East London, her father a staunch supporter of the Cause, he had met her when he was still recovering from the death of his youngest sister and she was not quite seventeen and in awe of the IRA man staying in her parent's spare room.
He had asked her father for permission to marry his daughter on the night of her seventeenth birthday and then six months later he had taken his pregnant bride back home to Ireland. She hadn't even handled a gun until Seamus had given her the .22 she now kept in the bedroom as a eighteenth birthday present and even then she hadn't learnt to fire it until after the birth of their daughter a month later. Her childhood hadn't been filled with armed assailants kicking down the front door.
"Am sorry I scared ya, darlin'. But I need ya ta get ready ta go while I see ta some business... Ya okay now, Rosie?"
"Sure..." She tried to sound brave. "Ya want me ta pack fer ya ta?" Her strange mix of accents spoke volumes about how totally not okay she really was.
"Aye, now get away wit ya an' let me get on wit' me work."
As soon as his wife was on her way upstairs, Sean went into the cupboard under the stairs and right at the back he pulled up the floor boards, accessing the hiding place of a long hard case. Pulling the item out, he fixed the boards back in place and then carried the case into the kitchen. On the counter top, he unclipped the locks and opened the lid, revealing an American made SR-25 sniper rifle.
Fiona might boast of her skills at long distant killing; however, he was just as good as his little sister and, if he got the opportunity, he was going to show her exactly how good he was with a bullet through the back of her lover's head.
()()()()()
As soon as the lights of Shannon Airport came into sight, Fiona pulled off the road and waited until Michael drew up behind her. Tight lipped, the couple quickly transferred the bags of supplies into the the back of the BMW.
"Come back ta me..." The Irishwoman requested, wrapping her arms about the waist of her dark haired lover and burrowing her head against his chest.
"I'm just going to leave the Toyota where it's going to be easily found and then make sure I get my face seen on one of the cameras near the airport. I'm not going inside. Believe me, I'm more worried about you waiting out here in the open." Michael placed a kiss on the top of her head and then stepped out of her arms. "You give me twenty minutes and if I'm not back, you leave here, you go home and tell your family – tell your family I tricked you."
Her hand shot out, her fingers bunching up on the front of his jacket to pull him close again, her blue-green orbs blazing fiercely. "Am givin' yar ten minutes, an' if I donnae see ya comin' back ta me, Am gonna come get ya."
She watched the rise and fall of his Adam's apple as he gulped. "Dinnae test me, Michael Westen," the flame haired ex-guerilla ordered. "Now go befer I change me mind an' decide this job is ta risky fer ya," she smirked.
"Glad to know you'll miss me." He drew her into his arms so swiftly it made her gasp and that made it easier for him to deepen the kiss that he pressed onto her lips.
When the father of her child slipped away to leave their former piece of transport where it would be easily found, Ms. Glenanne turned back to their new vehicle and the supplies now sitting on the back seat along with their bag of weapons and money.
Searching through one bag, she came up with a juicy red apple, which she bit into as she spotted the magazines. Curious as to what her lover had chosen as reading material, she pulled out the glossy journals and spread them out on the hood of the Beemer.
Practical Parenting, Mother and Baby, Pregnancy and Birth...At that moment, the petite redhead couldn't help the smile of wonder or the warm glow of love which filled her. Picking up one of the magazines, she sat down in the car and opened the cover of the first publication.
Michael was back at her side in just over fifteen minutes. She had spotted him a few minutes earlier, just another shadow moving swiftly amongst the dense decorative foliage which marked the boundary to the airfield.
Dropping the magazines onto the back seat, she started up the engine as he reached the driver's door. "Move over, and I'll drive," he offered, his hand already pulling on the latch.
"I'll drive, Mc- Michael Westen... Ya need ta rest."
"I'm fine, Fi."
"So am I, so get in tha other side or I'll leave ya behind."
To make her point, she revved the engine and slipped the clutch to let the powerful car jump forward. Smiling broadly, she watched him run around and slip into the passenger seat.
"An' now ya can have a bite ta eat... I've already helped me self ta an apple an' a banana."
As she set off in the general direction of Tipperary on the next leg of their flight eastward, she glanced out of the corner of her eye as Michael twisted around and reached into the back, smiling softly when she saw his hand hesitate over the magazines.
"Ya surprised me, Michael. I thought Guns & Ammo or Soldier o' Fortune wa' more yar thing."
"I- er -" He gulped and flushed red. "I thought we should at least begin to learn about what we're getting ourselves into.
"Aye, tis a good thought. D'ya think tham magazines have any advice fer spies runnin' off wit' thar pregnant assets whilst har family's chasing tham down?" Her tone was playful and he smiled back.
"Well, it certainly never came up during any of my training courses at the Farm," he added and then had just a momentary flash of what would have happened if it had, which made him smile wider.
()()()()()
As soon as Tom Card stepped off the plane and into the airport terminal at Heathrow, he switched his phone on and put a call through to his friend in DC. During his time as a training officer at Langley, Mr. Card had developed a relationship with one of the CIA's top recruiters.
They had been part of the new CIA, the one which had risen from the ashes of the scandals of the mid nineteen seventies and went from being agents in the field to finding the next generation of agents and training them to be top flight operatives, as most of the old guard were quietly and not so quietly, being put out to pasture. The rise of Michael Westen had brought both men kudos from the higher-ups. William Raines had been promoted to Assistant Director of Operations and Tom had been expecting a promotion any day now. But all that was in jeopardy, thanks to their star pupil.
"So what do you have for me, Bill? Have you managed to make the Brits back off and let me do my job?" Ahead of him Card could see two men dressed in suits waiting beside the baggage claim, his sharp eyes picking out the muscular frames disguised by good tailoring.
"Sorry, Tom, I've talked to two guys who owe me favors in the State Department and they both said the same thing. The peace process is too important. You're just going to have to suck it up and play nice with everyone involved."
"That's not what I wanted to hear, Bill." He slowed his steps, not wanting his waiting escort listen in on his conversation.
"Well, how about this? I found out this isn't the first time Westen has gotten himself into woman trouble. I've just had a conversation with Siebels, you remember our boy's handler? And he just told me that according to the woman, Westen is engaged to another one of his asset. This one's in Russia, name's Samantha Keyes. She's a master thief that Michael has been running for a couple of years."
Card contained his anger at his former student's total lack of judgement and self-control over sleeping with his assets because his mind was already working out how he was going to use this latest piece of intel.
"Get her on a flight to the UK. I want to interview the future Mrs. Westen as soon as possible."
Bill Raines' chuckle was crystal clear over the cell phone's earpiece.
"I thought you'd say that. I've already arranged to have her picked up."
()()()()()
After finishing his own meal of a hastily put together ham sandwich and a piece of fruit, Michael took a light catnap as ordered by the redhead behind the wheel of their stolen car.
"I know these roads a lot better than ya, so shut yar eyes an' stop yar complainin'." Knowing that to argue was an exercise in futility, the former spy rested his head back and let his eyes slide shut.
When he next opened them, the sky was just beginning to lighten, meaning dawn was only an hour away at most. "Sorry, I only meant to rest for an hour. What time is it?" He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and tried to concentrate on the road ahead of them.
"War twenty miles fram Waterford... Are ya sure this is a good idea? Won't yar masters have people lookin' fer ya at tha Euro port?"
"Yes, they'll have all the ports covered. But we're not going anywhere; we're just going to lie low and wait them out. Right now they'll be pursuing us with everything at their disposal, but in a couple of weeks, they'll have to start pulling people off the details to deal with other cases and that's when we'll slip by them."
"Thot's all well and good. But I can guarantee ya, me family won't get bored and give up."
"One problem at a time, Fi... Hey, pull over…" He pointed out of the window to where a weathered and faded For Sale sign was sticking out from an overgrown hedge. "Let's take a look."
Climbing out of the car and stretching, the couple scanned the long road and, once satisfied there were no other cars to be seen, they ran across the road.
Behind the high unkempt foliage was a small stone cottage. Part of the roof appeared to have collapsed and the windows were dark with dust and dirt.
"It's gonna be a mess inside," Fiona commented.
"Not all the roof has caved in and here, look at the foliage. Nobody's been out here for months." He carefully pushed his way through into the garden and saw that at the back of the property was a small yard with a couple of ramshackle outbuildings. "We can leave the car back here. It'll be out of sight."
It took them several minutes to make a path which the car could fit through and then even longer to camouflage the route taken so that to anybody passing by, the place looked undisturbed. With the vehicle safely concealed, the couple went to the back door and with the skillful use of a tire iron, Michael broke the rusted lock on the surprisingly substantial oak door.
Once inside, they moved slowly around the ground floor. The kitchen was small with an old enamel sink, a rickerty table and the cabinets were half hanging off the wall. Next door was a cozy living room, still with an old couch before what would have several years ago been an inviting open fire hearth. There was a sense of sadness to the place, what was once a home was now long abandoned.
Standing amongst the dirt and dust with cobwebs trailing across the corners, Fiona let out a soft sigh. "Ya know whot this place reminds me of?"
Michael slipped an arm over her shoulders, drawing her against his side. "That old farmhouse we stayed in on our way to Derry... Your old family home where we..."
The Irishwoman turned to face him, her fingers combing through his tousled hair. "Tha first time we made love," she finished his sentence before standing up on her tiptoes, her whole body pressing up against his just so she could steal kiss. "I think it could be fate."
The petite woman laughed and turned away, heading for the wooden staircase leading to the upper floor.
"Be careful, Fi! That staircase might be rotted." the former spy called out.
"Then tis a good thing Am goin' first since ya weigh a ton, Michael Westen," she declared disappearing into the hallway on the second floor.
"We should get everything inside; it's gonna be light soon."
"Michael, thar's a big double bed up har, and -oh!"
He'd been on his way to the back door when she'd shouted down to him and, at the "oh," he turned and raced up the stairs with his gun drawn.
He almost fell over coming to a stop at the sight of the woman he would die for shaking out a large white sheet. "Tha previous owner musta died or gone inta a home or somethin' cuz I think this place wa' just locked up. I jus' found a drawer full o' sheets an' blankets."
Taking a moment to let his heart rate slow down, he looked around the room, noting the bed appeared to be in decent shape and cleaner than he expected. The happily smiling Irishwoman who was gazing back at him raised her eyebrows at his slightly panicked expression.
"When you shouted like that, I thought -"
"Thought whot? Thot an SAS team had just parachuted in through tha window? Come on, I'll show ya what I've found. Along wit' tha bed and sheets, thar is a hole in that bathroom ceiling which we could use as an emergency exit." She led him through into the adjoining room. "We can stay up har all day an' be safe. Whot d'ya think?"
Michael ran an eye over the small upstairs space and nodded his ascent. This could work. Once they had their supplies with them on the upper floor, they could rig a couple of tripwires to warn them of any unwelcome guests. They would need to check the plumbing and make sure it was still working.
"I think you're right."
When daylight came, the small abandoned cottage looked to any passers-by the same as it had this time last year. However, inside the former spy and the ex-guerrilla had turned it into their little haven from the stress and the dangers of the outside world. It had taken a bit of trade craft, cleaning and cleverness to arrange things such that they were as comfortable and as safe as they could be.
Lying on an old mattress which was not dissimilar to the one they'd left behind in Dublin, covered by a sheet and several blankets, the young couple lie spooned up against one another, fully clothed and wrapped in each other's arms after having washed up as best they could.
"Well, we'll have to try for a bath at the next place," he remarked and pressed little kisses onto the top of her head. "At least the sheets are clean and we're safe."
"Aye," she agreed, stifling a yawn. "But Am still holdin' out fer me five star Paris hotel room."
"We'll get there, Fi, I promise."
"I know we will, Michael, cuz Am gonna kick yar arse if we donnae," the redhead declared sleepily.
"If ya go ta sleep, me luv, ya can kick me arse all tha way across tha Channel in yar dreams, darlin'."
Instead of complaining about the re-emergence of Irish lover's persona, Fiona sighed, closed her eyes and let sleep take her. She dreamed that the little cottage was once again in good repair and that she and Michael were sitting cozy on the couch downstairs before a roaring fire, safe and warm from the snow outside, cuddled up together while a dark haired little boy slept on his father's lap.
And then they kissed.