Stone of the Heart

The Decision

Michael headed to Fiona's cottage, his jacket pulled tightly around him, the weather turning soft and damp. His mind was in turmoil. They had dealt a significant blow to Hannon's enterprise tonight, a blow that would have repercussions throughout his organisation. But was it enough? He would have preferred the man and his cargo be caught together, leaving no doubt as to his complicity in supplying arms to those desperate militias scattered around the world. Unfortunately, that scenario involved Fiona losing weapons that were not hers to lose and severe consequences would have meted out over their disappearance. As it was now, they had to rely on a disgruntled customer taking action, putting Hannon out of business or in the ground.

Additionally, there was the issue of Marchuk. If Hannon were on the run would the Ukrainian still come to Ireland, would there be enough of the business left to salvage? The spy, with help from his asset, had compromised the arms dealer. He had uncovered information about the IRA, the potential split among its members; it's plans for potential disarmament. His mission was fairly complete. The Michael Westen who arrived in this place eager to leave would get on a plane and put this episode in the rear view, ready to take on the next assignment, the next challenge. But things were no longer so simple. He could not just walk away, not this time.

There was too much unknown at this point, too much risk to Fiona. If he disappeared and Hannon survived, the gunrunner would come after Fiona in full force, possibly in conjunction with Marchuk. She would bare the brunt of his anger. As resourceful as she was, it was hard to believe that she could fend off a concerted attack by such men. He could not let that happen!

Despite his training, his loyalty to country, his 'exit' planned and ready to execute thanks to Card, he could not leave this place without more Intel. He could not leave her to face the aftermath, whatever it was, alone. No victory would be worth the cost.

To stay then meant disobeying a direct order. Something he had done more than once, always with sound reasons behind his decisions. He needed more time to see the fallout from tonight's operation. If the situation became too volatile, if Hannon and Marchuk were in pursuit, he would get them both out of here. The spy had more experience in slipping through international borders and he had assets of the CIA to rely upon. He would stay just a few more days to complete the mission... Just a few more days to keep her safe... Just a few more days.

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Time was running out. Marchuk was spotted in London. He would be in Dublin in forty-eight hours. Card was not sure how long the American spy could avoid a confrontation with Hannon and his new 'partner'. The last communiqué he received from Michael was that there was a plan in motion to take down the gunrunner and wrap up this operation. Then, silence.

Westen had been in the wind a few days but eventually Behan spotted the man, made the report, and awaited instructions from Langley on how to proceed. Westen was alive, unscathed, and appeared to be living with Fiona Glenanne, hunkered down near Blackstone. When Card received the information, he made one more attempt to contact the man. This time the call did not even go through, Michael likely destroyed the mobile, thought the training officer. His boy was cutting ties, not a good sign.

Card had narrowed his options. He could order an extraction team to descend upon Dublin but that had a high quotient of creating an international incident that would benefit no one. A call to MI-5 could be placed but he would spend an endless amount of time explaining why the CIA was sending operatives onto British soil without their knowledge. Hours of meetings, paperwork, and expected favours would follow. Some incriminating evidence could be planted in Westen's Belfast flat, a rumour planted in the PIRA circle, and events would unfold beyond Langley's control. They would lose the agent, but perhaps they had anyway.

There was another option, one Card was loathe to employ but under the circumstances might prove to be the only one to save all their hides. He rummaged through his files until he found the package secreted away. His own "Go Bag", of sorts: false passport and identity papers and cash in several types of currency. He could catch the late afternoon flight, be in Dublin by the morning. A Hail Mary play to prevent catastrophe. Tom Card grabbed the essentials and headed to Dulles hoping he would arrive in time, hoping there was still time from preventing his protégé from throwing away his career and possibly his life.

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After they reclaimed the PIRA armaments, Fiona and Michael lingered in the cottage awaiting news. It was best to avoid the possibility of running into Hannon or his minions. They didn't have too long to wait before Fiona received a call. Profuse apologies and a small overture towards making amends brought a smile to her face.

"Good news?" Michael caught her pleased expression.

Fiona cocked her head as she mulled her response. "That depends, I suppose, on yer point of view. It seems that Hannon fell on a knife while he was meetin' his perspective buyers. Poor man." She made the sign of the cross. "Dead, he is. Such a tragedy."

"Fell on a knife?" Michael's eyes narrowed. He was sure there was much more to the story but Fiona provided very few details.

"He really should have been more careful." She was enjoying thinking about the man's demise fully realising had the situation been reversed he would likely have been raising a glass or two in celebration. "Seems the Libyans cleared out most of what they found. Reparations, of a sort."

Michael had a strained smile. The idea of the Libyans walking away with a cache of weapons didn't exactly please him but that was beyond the parameters of his current assignment.

"So, Hannon's gone. Much of his stock is gone. Not much of a business left." Fiona drew closer.

"That's true. And your point?" Michael grinned as she approached.

Fiona began to unbutton his shirt. "No reason for any Ukrainians to come callin'. Is there?" She slipped her arms around his waist.

The spy was not sure what the result of the gunrunner's death would be. Would Marchuk choose to avoid embroiling himself in the melee or would he be pleased with the opportunity to fill the vacuum? In either case, now was not the time to debate the issue with the Irishwoman. He had more pressing matters to attend to as he reached for her and together they concentrated on the present.

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Tom Card knew the man, or thought he did. He positioned himself in a place he thought where their paths would cross and he would very likely be alone: a long, flat stretch of open space along the sea, a perfect spot for an early morning run. The spy was savvy, not always predictable, but the older man was counting on Michael keeping to this morning ritual.

Dressed for the elements, coffee in hand, he settled himself on a bench and waited. There were others dotted along the pathway, a few older folks like himself resting and taking in the view, a woman walking a pair of small dogs, several joggers. The day had barely broken but people were greeting it in various ways. He shuddered wondering if the weather was this brisk in May what it must be like in the dead of winter. He checked his watch and huddled within his coat.

He spotted the figure in the distance, a familiar stride announcing his identity, closing in by the second. Card would need to get his timing just right if he was to get the man's attention without injuring him in the process.

Michael was in the zone, scanning his surroundings while pushing himself physically. It was an ordinary day: moist, grey, the light diffuse but promising as it brushed the waves. There was a smattering of people along the path at this time of day.

Nothing or no one out of the ordinary until an old man stood up from the bench, lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. Michael halted his progress and knelt down to render assistance. His eyes widened in surprise as he recognised that face instantly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" The spy stared at his mentor, dressed in tweeds and a flat cap.

"Nice to see you, too, Michael." Card slowly rose to his feet feigning the movements of the elderly, leaning on Michael for support. "Haven't done this in years but I was concerned. Concerned enough that I got on a plane, flew halfway around the world and dressed like a character from 'The Quiet Man'." He stopped before adding, "You missed your flight."

Michael played along offering his arm to the 'old man'. "I told your boy the job wasn't finished. Hannon's dead. Apparently, he fell on a knife."

"You?" Card asked.

"Libyans." The young American answered with confidence.

"Libyans?" He chuckled softly. "Sounds like a story there, pal. You can tell it to me on the way home." Card stared hard at the sea. "Marchuk's in London. He'll be in Dublin tomorrow. It's time to come home, Michael."

Michael scowled, his gaze never leaving the horizon. "I can't."

"Can't? Or won't?" The CIA officer shook his head. "Your cover is about to be blown." He turned and faced the younger man. "When Marchuk arrives, finds his partner dead, he's going to come looking for Hannon's underlings and any stock remaining. He's going to come looking for you." Card pressed his pointer finger into Michael's chest. "He's under the assumption that he knows you. Different name. Different place. But what do you think's gonna happen if he finds you and knows he has never set eyes on you in his life, huh?" Michael kept staring straight ahead. "Think he's gonna share a bottle of vodka with you while you both sort out the confusion?"

The spy was not concerned about his own welfare. "If I'm in the wind, there's a good chance he'll go after Fiona."

Card agreed, not allaying the younger man's fears. "Probably."

"Probably?" Michael's jaw hardened as he looked at Card with malice.

"Look, Michael, what do you want me to say." Card lifted up his hands. "I read her file. She can handle herself. She doesn't need you to be her white knight."

"She put herself on the line to take Hannon down. The Agency owes her." They were walking along the path slowly, Michael appearing to be assisting the ailing pensioner. But his voice reflected anger rather than helpfulness.

"Owes her?" Card shook his head. "She's an asset. Remember, you recruited her. She served her purpose. Time for her to go back to being just your run of the mill terrorist, robbing banks, dealing guns, blowing up cars, generally causing mayhem on the streets of Belfast and London. Come on, Michael, what did you expect a plaque and a gold watch for her services."

Michael began to babble. The thoughts that had been swirling in his mind for weeks came tumbling out of his mouth. "She could still be useful to us. You want information about the IRA... Bring her to Langley. It's a win-win, Card. Marchuk can't get to her..."

The training officer stopped him cold. "Not gonna happen. No one is gonna piss off the Brits. Not for this." Card saw his protégé stiffen, looking as if he were prepared to strike the older man. So, Tom went on the attack. "You have not thought this through, Michael. What do you think is gonna happen? She moves to Miami, becomes friends with your mom? Maybe she even joins her little poker group and they share a coupla beers, is that what you're picturing, Michael? One giant circle of family bliss." Card chuckled slightly. "Gimme a break." Both men stopped their forward progress. Their conversation turned heated. "You are still thinking with the wrong body part. She's not the girl next door. She'll be selling guns in Little Havana before long. Then, the FBI and ATF will be building a case against HER. A full on SWAT team and CNN on your mother's lawn?" Card gave him a toothy grin as he predicted a future scenario.

Michael looked away, realising his mentor spoke a truth he was reluctant to hear. He recalled their trip to Germany, how erratic Fiona seemed out of her element. Perhaps, she belonged in Ireland; perhaps he belonged here, as well. "Fine." Card had a momentary sigh of relief believing he had gotten through to the younger man. "But I'm staying, too. Consider this my resignation."

"Resignation? In the middle of an op? Make no mistake, Michael, you do this, the Agency, they'll put a burn notice out on you. You know what that means... You'll have nothing. No cash, no credit, no job history. You'll be stuck here -" Card swept his hands in the air. "Here, in the land of eternal winter. You'll have to rely on the only two people that will still talk to you, your trigger happy girlfriend and your mom." Card looked the spy in the eye. "Is that the life you want, Michael? Cause if it is, just say the word." Michael said nothing as his mentor's words conjured up images that had all the makings of a nightmare.

Card finally had the man's full attention. "You'll be on your own but you'll still have to deal with Marchuk. You're gonna have to answer some very uncomfortable questions and it won't stop with the Ukrainian either." He didn't need to spell it out. Word would get back to the Provos.

Michael had an answer for that problem. "He'll know I'm not who I said I was, not who I am."

"You gonna gamble your life on that? Her life?" Card knew the man was grasping at straws not basing his assumptions on the facts at his disposal, an unusual turn for the accomplished operative. He needed a reality check and Tom did not intend to sugarcoat his words or the situation. "Think any of them are gonna be satisfied without answers? Would you be?" Michael did not respond aloud but both men knew the answer.

"Best case scenario: they put a bullet in your head. More likely, they spend several hours trying to figure out who the hell you are. When they don't get answers, they'll bring in Tinkerbell. See what she knows." Card paused for emphasis. "Then, she'll have a choice, Michael, play along, pretend she's shocked by your deception, in which case, they'll order her to end you... see if she's really as clueless as she claims. If she doesn't comply, well, you know the rest of the story." Card did not need to spell out the fate that awaited collaborators.

Michael remembered Fiona's words about the very topic only weeks ago. He was left with a hopeless decision. Either he could abandon her and hope that very act would keep her alive, or he could stay and trust that he could figure something out. The odds were not in his favour. He searched for a sound plan, for some plausible reason for his presence that didn't brand him a threat to those around him - to her.

"Michael, I understand how complicated this stuff gets. I lived it. Remember? It's hard to know sometimes what's real, but, buddy, I'm telling you, your real life is out there." Card pointed across the sea. He was sympathetic to his friend's plight - to a point. He was also determined to make the man see the reality of the situation. "I know that you're hoping for some happily ever after ending in this twisted fairy tale you have crafted but no one is going to say 'Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo' and fix this disaster, Michael." Card looked his protégé in the eye and played his final hand. "Look, pal, you decide to stay, there's nothing I can do to save you... or her."

An almost imperceptible nod from the young spy accompanied the man's final statement. He would not risk her life. He would have to leave. Card breathed a sigh of relief that he had finally gotten through to the man. "I have agents sweeping your place in Belfast as we speak. Another group will hit the Dublin flat. They can head down here when they're finished."

"No. I'll take care of it." Michael did not want any outsiders invading Fiona's refuge, tainting it with their presence.

Card wiped his hand over his face, his frustration evident. "I thought I was clear. Your cover...

"... Is about to be blown. I get it." Michael's gaze was steely. "Marchuk's arriving tomorrow. That gives me a few hours."

"For the love of God, Michael, buy the girl a gallon of ice cream and say goodbye." Card wanted no last minute sentimentality to effect his decision.

"It's simpler this way. She won't need to be 'incapacitated' as her house is 'sanitised'." Card could see that this was non-negotiable so no attempt to argue the point was made. "I'll meet you at 0500 at the rally point." The exit plan was put in place before the mission began. "And Card, I have one more condition."

"Condition?" Tom's hands went to rest on his hips, somewhat floored that the man was giving him parameters for following his orders. "What, having you both breathing is not a good enough reason for you to leave?" Michael's face remained impassive. "Spit it out then."

Michael outlined his plan while Card paced taking in the spy's demands. "Do we have a deal, Tom?"

The CIA officer once again weighed his options. The man was a valuable tool in their arsenal. He was worth preserving even if he was breaking protocol. Throwing the man a life preserver as he was drowning was not much of a concession. "Deal." Both men knew that if either promise were not honoured, there would be more than hurt feelings at stake. Someone would die.

Michael turned away, resuming his run, pretending as if this was just another normal morning. The moisture that appeared on his face was not from the soft weather, but rather from his bruised heart. He wiped his face and willed his heart to turn to stone once again.

A/N: We all know how this story ends—unless I take some creative license and envision the possibilities if Michael Westen decided to stay. Oh wait—that's been done! Jedi's Pal is currently in the midst of telling that story brilliantly. So, we will leave our star-crossed lovers for a bit to concentrate on happier tales of the season. The next chapter of Stone of the Heart will be posted on January 7. Wishing you joy this holiday season! Happy Christmas and best wishes for a healthy, happy New Year!