Show: The Agency

Title: The American Family

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: I found it a little difficult to write this chapter, for fear that my muse had deserted me, but I

decided not to wait and just dive in and see what happens. Thank you for last chapter's

comments; I really appreciated them. One correction: John-boy and Stiles met twenty-four years

ago, not fourteen. On with the chapter… enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*~*

Stiles sat back and absorbed everything his former friend had just told him.

He was a man caught between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, if he didn't do as John-boy

had 'asked', Terri and Alex would wind up dead. On the other hand, if he did do as John-boy had

asked, he would be committing the assassination of a diplomat – punishable by death under any

circumstances.

John-boy watched the warring emotions flit past Stiles' face. Never before had he seen him so

vulnerable. For a moment, he felt a flitter of emotion for the friendship they had lost, but Stiles

was a mean to an end – if he didn't do as he asked, PM Thompson would be dead in less than a

fortnight and Republic of Northern Ireland would fall. He steeled himself and kept his mind on the

matter at hand.

"I can't do this…."

John-boy's blue eyes narrowed. "Don't look t'me fer sympathy, A.B." he hissed. "I have *no* more

where you are concerned. God knows you should've been *dead* seven years ago! How d'ye

think ye escaped Ireland without a bullet in yer head, huh? You *owe* me for yer life! It's time for

that debt t'be paid, or yer son an' that woman will never see the light o' day again."

"How do I know that once I do what you ask, you won't kill them anyway? How do I even know

that what you've told me of Archer is true? How the hell can you do this to me and expect me to

believe you?" Stiles was practically hysterical. He was like a wounded animal. He felt caged and

wanted to lash out at John-boy, to rip him limb from limb. But that would accomplish nothing.

Besides, John-boy most likely was not alone. He would probably get his ass kicked before he

could pull back his fist to hit him again.

"My word is my bond, A.B." His cold blue eyes met Stiles. "I swear on my mother's grave tha' no

harm will be done t' them if ye do as I say. But, so help me God, if you don't… t' hell with

friendship." He paused and stood up, towering over Stiles.

Stiles was defeated. He knew there was nothing he could do if he wanted to keep his family alive.

The slump in his proud shoulders was all the answer Jonathan needed.

"Yer instructions will be delivered t'ye in seven days. When ye 'ave received them, you will

execute them accordingly. I expect Martin Archer t'be dead before 'e sets foot on that plane t'

Ireland."

Stiles watched Jonathan's broad back heading away from him before the thought finally occurred

to him. "How did you even get to them?" he called, hoping he heard over the din in the bar.

John-boy paused and turned to his friend. "Why don't you ask them that when you get home?"

He was gone before Stiles could even surge to his feet.

*~*~*~*~*~*

When Terri next woke up, she could feel a comfortable weight fused to her side. It took her a few

seconds to gather her wits and open her eyes. Her heart leapt with joy the moment she saw a

mop of dark curls and baby-soft skin. The relief was so great that tears leapt to her eyes and she

clasped him closer, miraculously not smothering him in her bosom.

The rustling sheets caught his attention and jerked Stiles awake from his makeshift bed in the

chair near the foot of his bed. He looked up to see Terri clasping their still prone son in her arms

and he felt a surge of inexplicable emotion.

When he'd arrived home an hour after John-boy left him at McGinty's, he had stormed through

the house looking for them, trying to keep his hysterics to a minimum and finally found them, both

unconscious in the middle of his bed. They'd both looked so beautiful lying there, safe and alive

and Stiles found tears rolling down his face. He hadn't wanted to think of what could've possibly

happened to them or what would happen if he didn't do as John-boy had ordered. He'd lost all

strength in his legs and had sunk to a chair just in time and waited for them to wake up.

"Terri?" he called.

Terri's head snapped up in wonder and her eyes jerked towards the sound. Only then did she

realize she wasn't back in that cold dank room in Michael's cabin. She was in an unrecognizable

bedroom and *Stiles* was there. How he'd found them, she didn't know nor did she even care.

"Stiles?" she sobbed.

Of their own volition, his legs pushed him to his feet and he sank to his knees at the foot of the

bed and before he could say or do anything else, Terri surged into his arms.

*~*~*~*~*~*

One hour later, 2:00 a.m.

At the creak on the bottom step, Stiles turned away to see Terri coming towards him. She was

clad in an oversized grey US Marines T-shirt and a pair of his sweatpants that she had rolled the

waistband three times in order for them to fit right. Her hair was damp and curling about her face

and her eyes were huge and doe-like. She looked exhausted, will violet smudges under her eyes

and her face was drawn and pale, but he'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

She stopped about two feet from him and stared at him. He lifted a leaden hand and stroked the

soft plane of her cheek in wonder. Terri's bottom lips trembled and she turned her cheek into his

caress.

"Did they hurt you?" he asked huskily.

Reflexively, Terri's hand lifted to the back of her head and stroked the spot where Michael had hit

her with the butt of his gun. "Not really."

"Alex?" he asked.

Fresh tears brimmed. "I don't know…."

Stiles' hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck and he pulled her into his arms. As she

rested her head on his shoulders, he reflected that he didn't think he'd actually ever seen Terri

cry. Not even after she'd been rescued from North Korea. The sight broke his heart. He never

wanted to see her cry like this again.

"How did this happen?" he grated.

Terri lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him.

Stiles wasn't prepared for the shame he saw in the chocolate pools.

"*He* did it," was her only answer.

"Who?"

"Michael O'Leary."

Stiles' eyes widened in surprise and his breath left him. O'Leary worked for the Government! Just

how tangled would this web become?

"He used me, Stiles." She grit her teeth and moved away from him, turning her back to him. "How

could I have been so stupid, so gullible to fall for his lies?" One part of her knew why – she'd been

looking for something that she hadn't gotten in long time from any man, least of all Stiles.

Affection. And Michael had given her that and plenty more. She felt like such a fool. "He could

have hurt Alex, Stiles." Worst of all she was a bad mother.

The moment she said those words, he knew what she was thinking. "He took advantage of you,

Terri. Don't blame yourself."

"I'm a CIA Agent for crying out loud, Stiles! I defended him to you, Stiles and he worked me like a

slab of clay on a potter's wheel. He molded me and got exactly what he wanted."

Stiles blanched at the thought that crossed his mind. He didn't want to think about what that

meant, but the second Terri buried her face in her hands, he knew. She had slept with him.

If he ever saw the bastard, he would kill him!

"He's in cahoots with Jonathan O'Brien."

"How do you know that?" he asked softly.

"The moment he set eyes on me, I knew."

Stiles set his jaw. "Did he touch you?"

Terri's eyes questioned him as she turned to him. "No. They didn't want anything from me,

Stiles…" she trailed off pointedly.

Stiles turned away from her. "No, they don't," he replied cryptically.

Terri gripped his arm and whirled him around. "Don't talk in riddles, Stiles. They wanted *you*,

didn't they? What did you do? What do they want from you? Why am I *here* now and not in

some cockroach infested cabin in the woods?" she practically screamed.

Stiles yanked his arm away. "I made a pact with the devil himself, Terri. I sold my life for my

family!"

TBC…

A/N: Decided to end it there. I'll try especially hard to get next chapter out sooner. As an aside:

Did anyone remember chapter eight when Stiles and Terri argued over Michael in the conference

room and Terri defended Michael by saying it wasn't like he was some madcap terrorist with evil

designs…. Isn't that ironic considering that's exactly what he turned out to be? Wonder if anyone

picked up on that. Well, R&R, you know I love those things.

Cara