Chapter 21

Inside the clinic Fiona and Michael heard the explosion. Shoving a gun in Michael's hand, Fiona hit the lights, quickly locked the door behind her, and raced to the outside door. Peering out she saw Barnsdale kneeling beside a bloody lump in the grass, more or less near where she'd rigged a claymore the day before.

Sam appeared beside her, groggy but gun in hand. "Well, I guess they found us," he said.

"I'd say that's an accurate assessment," she frowned, as they walked over to where Barnsdale was now standing. "I trust this isn't one of your customers?" Fiona asked.

Barnsdale looked at her, trying to gauge if she were serious or not. "No, I closed the place the day after you got here. The gate at the end of the driveway is up and locked. Nobody has any reason to be coming in here… especially not through my cow pasture."

"Good," she said.

"I'll check the perimeter… make sure nobody else is out there," Sam said. "My guess is this guy's just a scout though, or we'd all be dead by now."

"I'll check the perimeter," Fiona corrected. "You go back with Michael and let him know what's going on. You can barely stand, Sam."

Sam nodded. He knew the drugs were still heavy in his system. This was not the time to make mistakes. If he missed something it could be disastrous. Shakily he turned and shuffled back into the building, leaving Fiona to deal with the current situation. She was more than capable, certainly more so than he was at the moment.

Approaching Michael's door he called out from several feet away, "Mike, its Sam. Comin' in, Buddy." Arriving at the door he found it locked. He called out again.

No answer.

"Okay. Just me. Opening the door," he said again loudly as he tiredly picked the lock. "Don't shoot me, Brother. Just ol' Sammy Boy coming in to check on his buddy." There was still no answer, but he really didn't expect one. The lock clicked and Sam pushed the door slowly open. "Coming in," he said, holding his hands out and to his side.

The room was dark. Coming in from the brightly lit hallway, Sam could see nothing. On the other hand, he was completely silhouetted in the door way, easily seen by anyone within the room.

"Hittin' the lights," Sam said, and slowly reached over and flipped them on.

He was greeted by the sight of a gun pointed directly at him, the face behind it cold, hard, and deadly.

"What happened," Michael asked, still pointing the gun, but now sweeping the area beyond Sam.

"It's clear, Mike," Sam said, his voice tired. "You can put the gun away." Coming in and easing into the chair beside the bed he looked over at Michael and frowned. "Okay, I'm just not gonna ask where the mask is."

Still sweeping the area for potential danger, Michael finally relaxed, un-cocked the gun and flipped the safety back on. "What happened?" he asked again. And then worry washed over his face. "Where's Fi?"

"She's fine. She's checking the perimeter," Sam answered. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Sam," and he paused for breath. "Just tell me what's going on."

Sam looked at him dubiously. "Uh, yeah, fine. Uh huh. Anyway, it looks like one of Larry's guys had a close encounter with one of Fiona's toys," Sam said wearily, rubbing his eyes and leaning his head back. "He's currently spread all over the cow pasture."

"So they've found us."

"Yup," he said, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Sam, you need to sleep."

"Yeah," Sam said. "I'll hang on a little while longer until Fi gets back. Don't want you fillin' anyone full of holes if they come through the door wrong," he grinned and reached for the gun still held in Michael's hand.

Michael handed it over and sunk down into his bed. The few minutes of heightened awareness and tension had sapped his strength. "Thanks, Sam. Sorry …about that." He frowned at his breathlessness, sick of having to make a conscious effort to manage breathing and talking at the same time. Reluctantly he reached over and put the mask back on, noting Sam's unconcealed approval. "Anyway," he said through the mask. "Sorry."

"Hey, no problem, Brother. I'd have done the same thing. In fact I would have been disappointed if you'd let me just waltz in here. You did good."

"It was Fi. She gave me her gun, hit the lights and locked the door."

"She's a keeper, Mikey," Sam grinned.

Michael's heart sank at the words, sadness spreading across his face.

"Oh, don't tell me," Sam groaned. "You two…," and he shook his head.

"She's had enough, Sam," he said. "Of me, this life…" He paused and then sighed. "She's leaving."

"Who's leaving?" Fiona asked, standing in the doorway, sawed off shotgun in hand, ammo belt looped over her shoulder. Her hair was tousled and had bits of vegetation peppered throughout.

She was the most beautiful thing Michael had ever seen. And his heart sank even lower.

"Who's leaving?" Fiona demanded again.

"That would be me," Sam said, climbing out of the chair. "I think I'm going to go take myself a little nappy while you two… do whatever it is you do," and he shuffled tiredly toward the door, passing Fiona on the way. Taking in her accessories he asked in astonishment, "Where'd you get this stuff?" then added, "Never mind. I don't even want to know." He didn't expect or even want an answer. He just wanted to sleep. "Perimeter clear?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "There was just the one. He had a cell phone but there's no reception out here anyway. We have some time."

"Good," he said, handing her back the gun she'd given Michael, and continued to his cot. He knew he should take the time to get a bigger picture, but he trusted Fiona. The exhaustion and the meds were pulling him down. It was lay down or fall down time. He headed for his cot and closed the door behind him, leaving Fiona and Michael to themselves.

"So are you going to answer me?" Fiona asked, walking across the room to Michael.

The beeps from Michael's monitor responded immediately.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Michael," she sighed, and reaching down yanked the plug.

"Thank you," he said, sighing with relief.

"Still waiting, Michael," Fiona said, crossing her arms.

Closing his eyes in defeat, he answered her. "I just…" he hesitated. "I just already know what you're going to say, Fi."

"You know what I'm going to say?" she mocked. "Michael, I don't know what I'm going to say."

He ignored her words, and pushed on while he still had the courage. "You should go," he said softly. "Go before Larry gets here. I understand."

"You understand what?" she asked, and there was anger in her voice now.

She paced as she spoke, her eyes flashing with anger, and Michael took in every movement, every sound, every word from her. He watched her hair sliding off her shoulder, wisps of grass still tangled in it. She had taken off the gun belt and laid down the shotgun. There was a red mark on her shoulder where the heavy belt had dug into her skin and he frowned at the mark, wishing to kiss it away. He could smell her. Her scent was that of gun powder, of outside, of a slight hint of flowers, maybe Jasmine… probably from her shampoo. Her movements were graceful. She could have been a dancer…

"Michael, is this what you want? You want me to leave?"

Her words snapped him back. "No. Fi. I…," and he stopped. "Isn't that what you want?"

"No, Michael. It's not what I want. It has never been what I wanted. What I want, Michael, is you." And she paused and looked at him. "And what do you want, Michael?" she asked, her voice softer. "To catch the people who burned you? To get your old life back? What is it that you want the most?"

"I want you to be happy, Fi…"

"Really, Michael? That's what you want the most? For me to be happy?

"Yes."

"Well you're doing a crappy job of it!" she snapped. "If all you want is for me to be happy, then why won't you give me my happiness?

"You need more than I'm able to give, Fi."

"I only need your love, Michael," she pleaded. "That's all I've ever needed or wanted from you." And then softly, tentatively, "Is it that I'm not good enough?" There, she finally said it. She'd voiced her long held fear. Tears welled in her eyes. "Am I just another asset? A gun running Leprechaun you choose to sleep with on occasion while waiting for someone better?" her voice rose.

"No, Fi, no. It's not like that," he said, pulling the mask away again. "No one could make me happier than you. I just don't think… that's good enough. You deserve more, Fi."

"That's garbage," Fiona shot back.

"You'd be in danger, Fi," Michael continued, his voice soft, sad. "Always in danger. Because of me."

"You know, Michael," Fi sighed. "For a spy, you aren't very bright. In case you haven't noticed, I can take care of myself."

"What kind of a life could I give you? Give our children?"

And the last sentence stopped her in her tracks. "Children?" she asked, shocked, and then smiled broadly. "Michael, you've really thought about this."

"Yeah, Fi. I've thought about this. I've thought about this a lot."

"And?"

"And I wanted to tell you I was done chasing a life that used to be. That what I want… all I want… is standing in front of me."

"Michael…"

"But what I want and what is right are two different things. I can't lose you, Fi. Not like that."

"How dare you!" she growled at him, having to hold back the sudden urge to strike him. "How dare you decide for me what is right. What is best! Michael, I'd rather have two minutes with you than a lifetime without." Then her tone softened and her voice filled with emotion. "Don't you know, Michael? Can't you see? The only way you're going to lose me is if you make me leave. Make me stay, Michael. Tell me you love me and I'll never, ever leave."

He stared at her for a long time, torn between heart and reason. Finally looking in her eyes he spoke. And from his lips he breathed her name, "Fiona" he whispered. "I love you."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," came Barnsdale's loud, gruff voice. "I'm glad you two finally got that straight." The big man had entered the room and they hadn't even noticed. "But we got bigger problems," he continued. "Not the least of which is smeared all over my front lawn!"