A/N:  When I started this story, I said that it was post-Phase One and pre-A Dark Turn, and it would be AU after that.  Well . . . I changed my mind.  Basically, certain events in ADT will be incorporated in this, starting with this chapter.  This story is not going to have lots of details of the later episodes of Season 2, but I will warn you now that the infamous last two minutes will be referenced in future chapters.  So, if you somehow don't know what I'm talking about and are spoiler free, consider yourself warned.

Nine—Street Corner

Madison blearily hit the snooze button Monday morning.  "Shut up," she moaned.  She burrowed back under the covers and drifted back to sleep.

Nine minutes later the alarm clock blared again.  Her right arm flailed as it tried to connect with the snooze button.  Instead the clock fell off the night table and into the trash can.

"You evil thing," she muttered as she reluctantly sat up and retrieved the clock.  She glared at the time.  "Why on earth did I set this so early?" she asked herself as she stumbled into the bathroom.  She winced as she turned the light on and snatched a purple post-it note that was stuck to the mirror.  Breakfast with Burke, 7 a.m.  "Oh yeah," she remembered aloud and ripped the post-it into shreds.

She splashed cold water on her face, trying to wake up.  "You are meeting with Burke because you need to plant bugs.  You are meeting with Burke, who has been seen with terrorists, because it will help you and your job.  You are meeting with Mr. Terrorist because your country needs the intel," she muttered to herself.  She ran her toothbrush under the water and grabbed the toothpaste.  "You are not meeting with Mr. Terrorist because you want to see him before he leaves for five days on his trip.  You are meeting with Mr. Terrorist to help you in your search for biological weapons.  This is not a social visit.  It's not.  Not really."  She began brushing her teeth in earnest, still talking through the foam.  "You do not like Burke.  Burke is a bad man.  A bad, bad man."

She spit the toothpaste out and pulled out her makeup bag.  "Burke is the enemy.  He is an enemy of the United States of America."  She opened her foundation.  "Burke is using his scientific background to harm people."  She dotted her face with the makeup and began smoothing it into her pale skin.  "The fact that he has dark hair and blue eyes, which you love, is totally irrelevant.  He is a bad, bad man," she repeated as she began applying powder and blush.

She sighed and grew quiet as she finished putting on her makeup.  When she was done, she picked up a handheld mirror and stared at the reflection.  If she looked—really, truly stared—she could still see hints of Grace.  Her flashing blue eyes were the same.  Her nose was still crooked from the time she broke it in high school.  Her face was still heart-shaped.

But more and more she was seeing Madison, not Grace.  The straight, dark, short hair.  The pierced ears.  The makeup that she now wore.  Even her walk and the way she spoke was slightly different.  And all of this was only after four months.  What would she be like in six months, a year?  She had the sneaking suspicion that this op was not going to be as short-term as she had hoped.  Maybe that was something she could ask Irina . . .

Sighing, she walked back into the bedroom and opened the closet door.  This was another part of the job she hated—actually having to contemplate what to wear.  Having to dress up all the time, all in the name of impressing a guy, was such a waste of time, in her opinion.

With any luck, the bugs would be a success.  They, coupled with her photos from the previous week, would give them enough intel to raid the lab immediately.  Then she could leave Los Angeles and get back to her own life.

She had the sinking suspicion though that that was not going to happen anytime soon.

*****

"She just quit."  Christopher looked at her skeptically.

Madison swallowed her bite of pancakes.  "I know.  I got in yesterday morning, and she had left her letter of resignation on the boss's desk.  There was a card in my desk drawer where I keep my pens and stuff saying that she had this great opportunity somewhere else and that she would call me in a few weeks."  She took a sip of her orange juice.  "I don't get it.  I mean, I know Fiona's flighty, but . . ."

"It's still not like her," he finished.

"Yeah."  She glanced at her watch.  "We need to get going."

He cursed under his breath.  "Yeah, we do."  He pulled his wallet out of his pocket.  "Don't even try to argue with me," he warned.

She grinned.  "After making me get up so early, believe me.  This one is all you."

Christopher chuckled and stood up.

"Here, I can hang onto that for you," she said, grabbing his briefcase for him.

He raised an eyebrow.  "Are you sure?"

"Not a problem.  You go pay, and I'll finish these last few bites."  She waved him away.

"Okay," he agreed and walked to the cash register.

That was almost too easy.  She stuffed a forkful of pancakes in her mouth, then immediately reached inside her purse.  She quickly placed two bugs on his briefcase and stood to join him.

Moments later he turned to face her.  "Ready?"

Madison nodded and handed him the briefcase, then walked out of the restaurant.  He removed his hand from the small of her back as she leaned against his car in the parking lot.  "What?" he asked, noticing the look on her face.

She moved closer to him.  "Your tie is crooked," she said as she reached up to adjust it.  "Not quite . . . just about . . . there," she murmured with satisfaction.  She looked up into his eyes.  "Now you're ready for your meeting."

Christopher leaned down and kissed her.  "Thanks, sweetie."  She smiled up at him in return.  "I'll call you tonight, okay?"

"Okay.  Good luck with your presentation.  Let me know how it goes."

"Will do."  He unlocked his door and placed the briefcase inside.  "I'll see you Friday night."  He climbed into the car and closed the door behind him.

"'Bye," she waved as he pulled out of the parking lot.  She waited until he had disappeared from sight before getting into her own car.  After putting the key in the ignition, she pulled a paper bag out of her glove compartment and began to write.

Burke has three bugs on his person and two on his briefcase.  Will update status of mission later today.  Have photos and any analysis already completed ready for review.

—Bookworm

Madison crumpled the bag into a wad and tossed it into a nearby trash can as she pulled out of the parking lot.  Then she dialed a familiar number on her cell phone and punched in the specific code.

She smiled.  The information would be in Devlin's hands in less than an hour.

*****

Four hours later Madison shut down her computer and picked up her purse.  "I'm going now," she called out to anyone who was listening.  "Wish me luck at my checkup!"

She noticed a few of her colleagues nodding and half-listening to her as she walked through the reception area and out the door.  She shrugged into her coat as she walked to the parking garage, deep in thought.  She certainly didn't expect to become lifelong friends with her colleagues, but most of the time she could barely get a greeting out of them.  Well, except for Fiona, she corrected herself.  But she's gone now.

She maneuvered through the busy streets and grabbed lunch from the nearest drive through.  As she waited in line, she dialed a familiar number and waited.  "Hi, I was calling to see if you had a horror novel in stock . . . yes, twenty minutes would be fine.  Thank you!"  She clicked the "off" button and resumed her journey, finally stopping in the parking lot of a medical facility.  She laughed and shook her head.  A mystery novel will get me pulled from the mall, and a horror novel gets me out of a medical center.  Go figure.

She waited until a mother with an infant had strapped her child into a car seat and pulled away before getting out of the car and approaching a dark sedan that was nearby.  She recognized the driver from an earlier meeting and quickly climbed into the back seat, crouching down in the floor board.

"Thanks for picking me up," she called out as the car sped down the freeway.

"Not a problem, Agent Thompson," the driver replied.  "Let's just hope that you can get more accomplished today than the others assigned to this case."

Madison sighed.  "Let me guess—nothing so far?"

"Not a thing.  The film's been developed—you got some good shots.  But they haven't been able to determine anything."

The two remained silent for several minutes as they entered the underground parking garage.  Madison gratefully sat up and stretched, then exited the car.

"Oh, there is one more thing," the driver remembered as she waved her badge to the security guards and opened the door.  "Mr. Devlin is here this afternoon and wishes to see you."

"Great," Madison mumbled to herself as she stepped inside.  "Guess I'll talk to him first then.  Thanks for the ride."

The agent nodded and quickly disappeared in the crowd of agents swarming the building.

Madison quickly walked through the maze of desks to a long hallway at the opposite end.  "Agent Thompson!"

She spun around to see Devlin approaching her.  "Mr. Devlin.  I was just looking for you," she told him.

"Good.  Let's talk in here," he gestured to an empty office.  She followed him into the room and sat down in a vacant chair as he closed the door behind him.

"I've been going over your progress," he began.  "It appears that the op is going extremely well.  The brush pass on Saturday reinforced that."

"Thank you," Madison said, trying not to blush.

"I don't want to take up too much of your time today.  I know that you have lots of photographs and other intel to sort through while you're here.  Oh, and we're picking up audio from the bugs you planted this morning."  He nodded approvingly.  "Agent Bentley was right about you.  He said you would be perfect for the job."

"Really," she said conversationally, wracking her brain.  I'm not even sure who Agent Bentley is.

"That he did.  So, let's take care of two more things very quickly, and then you're on your own."  She nodded and waited for him to continue.  "First of all, I thought you might want a look at this file."  He passed her the indicated folder.

"He's still the same?" she asked as she paged through the documents.

"The nurses say he often calls them Grace," Devlin told her quietly.  "He doesn't really remember who you are though.  And there have been no slip-ups about your job.  Still, it's best to keep him in CIA facilities."

Madison nodded, fighting back tears as she looked at the recent photographs.  "He doesn't even look like Daddy," she murmured to herself, allowing a finger to trace the outline of his face.

Devlin reached over and squeezed her arm.  "My mother-in-law had Alzheimer's," he said sympathetically, "so I do understand what you're going through."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.  "Thank you for the update on his condition," she said formally.  "I know it's not something you have to do, and I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," he nodded.  "Now, item number two."  He looked at her and smiled.  "You told your colleagues at the record label you had to have a checkup, right?"

"Right."

"Well, one of the doctors here thought that a checkup sounded like a great idea, and so—"

"You have got to be kidding me," she interrupted.  "I'm as healthy as a horse!  My last checkup—which was four months ago, I might add—clearly showed that."

He rolled his eyes at her.  "As I was saying, Grace.  The Agency's gynecologist will see you in," he looked at his watch, "twenty minutes."  He stood and opened the door for her.

"The—you mean I have to—oh, this is so not fair," she fumed as she walked to the door.

"Fair or not, the appointment—which you managed to avoid four months ago—is in eighteen minutes.  Then you're free to evaluate intel."

Madison reluctantly walked down the hallway.  "I bet this stupid idea was Agent Bentley's too," she grumbled to herself.  "Because only a man would think that going to a gynecologist would be a productive way to spend an afternoon."

*****

The doctor studied the chart as Madison swung her bare legs from the examining table.  "What method of birth control have you been using?" he queried.

"Abstinence," she shot back as she crossed her arms in front of her.  She hoped that she didn't tear the paper gown.

"But you're on a—"

"A swallow mission, yeah, yeah, I know," Madison interrupted.  "But there's no need for birth control."

The nurse, who had quietly observed the conversation so far, stared at her.  "Are you delusional?  You've got to use something—unless you'd rather wind up pregnant," she pointed out.

"You know she's right, Agent Thompson."  He quickly scribbled something on the chart.  "Let's start you on a low-dosage birth control pill.  If you have any problems with the medication, let us know immediately."

Madison rolled her eyes and continued to inwardly grumble as she got dressed again in the empty room.  A few minutes later the nurse returned with the contraceptives.  As she reached to grab the packet from her hand, Madison noticed the bright labeling and snickered.

"Is something wrong?" the nurse asked.

"No, everything's fine," she said calmly as she placed them in her purse and quickly escaped the medical wing.

Only the CIA would prescribe a birth control manufactured by Pyper-Ferguson.

*****

The guard's ears perked up as he heard a set of footsteps approaching him.  "That's what, the third or fourth visitor she's had today?" he said to himself.  "Weird."  Moments later he realized who was approaching for this visit with Derevko.  "It's about time I saw her again.  She's a lot easier on the eyes than that Bristow guy who keeps showing up."  He stood at attention as the dark-haired woman approached him.

"I'm here to see the prisoner," she said confidently.

He smirked at her.  Not only was she gorgeous, but she wasn't a part of the CIA's most dysfunctional family.  If only she wasn't on that op of hers . . .

"Well?"

He grinned and punched in the familiar code.

"Thanks," she called out as she began the walk to the CIA's most popular cell.

Irina's eyes opened as Madison appeared in front of her.  "Grace," she said.  "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you, too," she echoed faintly.  Would this woman ever stop surprising her?

"How is your op going?" Irina asked curiously.  She rose from the floor and walked towards her.

"Devlin thinks it's going well," she answered.  She leaned her shoulder against the glass.

"And you?"  She gave Madison a pointed look.

Madison flushed under her direct gaze.  "It's . . . well, it's . . . different," she finally said.  "It's unlike any other mission I've ever been a part of."

"That's the way swallow missions are.  And each one is unique."

Madison shuddered.  "I hate that term," she confessed.  "Swallow mission.  It's so—"

"Degrading?" Irina supplied.  She nodded.  "I felt the same way."

"And now?"

"Now?  I despise both the terminology and the op itself.  But then, we've had that conversation already."

Madison nodded.  "You said each op is unique," she began.  "What was yours like?  I mean, we've talked so much about mine and setting mine up that even after all this time, I don't know much about your marriage to Agent Bristow."

Irina blinked.  "Jack was right.  You are smart."

"Thanks, I guess."  She looked at her, puzzled.

"Jack was certain you knew I was sent here to steal secrets from him."  Irina shook her head ruefully.  "It appears he was correct."

"So, you and Agent Bristow . . . how did you two meet?" she asked hesitantly.

"I picked him up on a street corner," Irina replied.

Madison gaped.  "You what???"

Irina shook her head.  "Not like that," she replied, although a painful look fleetingly crossed her features at the implication.  "I had been trying for a week to arrange a meeting.  I had followed him around, hoping to bump into him.  I had befriended Emily, hoping she would offer to set me up on a date with her new husband's best friend.  Neither had happened.

"So one morning I followed him in my car.  When he went inside a store for a few minutes, I opened the valve on one of his tires.  It went completely flat about thirty minutes later, which is when I 'just happened' to drive by and offer my assistance."  She laughed—an outright laugh—and Madison blinked in surprise.  "Of course, being the gentleman he was, he wouldn't let me do anything but drive him to the nearest pay phone to call for a tow truck."

"Why didn't he just put on the spare?" Madison interrupted.

Irina looked at her.  "Do you think I was foolish enough to leave the spare in the car?"  She shook her head.  "After he called for the tow truck, we went inside a diner across the street and he bought me a cup of coffee."  She smiled at the memory.  "Our second date was the next night."

"You picked him up on a street corner," Madison repeated.

"You act as if it is absurd," Irina scolded.

"Well . . ." she trailed off, her eyebrows raised.

"No matter."  Irina paused.  "It was always an amusing story to tell at parties," she finally admitted.

Madison opened her mouth to ask another question when she heard the gates clanging once more.  "Someone else is coming," she said unnecessarily.

"Jack," Irina said.  "The plane must be ready."

"Plane?" Madison echoed.

"Part of my agreement with the CIA is that I provide intelligence and assistance when the Agency deems it necessary.  Jack is escorting me to Bangkok, where one of my sources lives."

"You and Jack are flying to Bangkok," she repeated slowly.  Thirty years ago they worked on opposite sides, and now they're working together.  I wonder if thirty years from now Burke and I . . . nah.  He'll probably be locked up in some prison somewhere.  Too bad.  I bet he'd make a good partner.

Of course, Irina's locked up in a prison right now too, and . . . stop thinking that way, Madison.  Grace.

Shaking her head, Madison watched as Jack walked through the open gates.  "I guess I'll be going then," she murmured.  "I have lots of intel to look through anyway."

"I'll be back in a few days.  We can talk then if you wish," Irina offered.

She nodded in agreement.  "Good luck in Bangkok, I guess."  She passed Jack and slowly walked through the Joint Task Center.  Irina and Jack.  On a mission.  To Bangkok, of all places.  She mentally calculated.  A flight to Bangkok is . . . eighteen, nineteen hours.  And they're going to be on a plane, probably just the two of them . . .

Madison suddenly felt compelled to pray for Jack.  And Irina.

And most important of all, their poor pilot.

tbc