Show: The Agency

Title: The American Family: Chapter 18

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks a bunch for last chapter's reviews. To Kusuma – please don't ever
stop reviewing the way you do, the same for Dawn; you two are such an
inspiration to me, so keep doing what you do. The same goes for everyone who
has stayed with the story the entire way such as.

*~*~*~*~*~*

(continues directly after the end of last chapter.)

Terri shrank away as though she had been slapped. "Stiles…" she whispered in
confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Stiles turned away from her and buried his face in his hands. He could feel the
tears pricking at the back of his eyes. If he didn't get a grip right now, he would
fall apart.

Terri took a shuddering breath and crossed over to him and laid a trembling hand
on his shoulder.

Stiles' head snapped up and he grit his teeth trying to swallow the huge lump of
pain and guilt lodged in his throat.

"Stiles?" she whispered again, stepping so close behind him he could feel the
heat radiating from her body. Her hand slid down the soft cotton of his sweater
and she took his large hand in hers. It swallowed hers and enveloped her grip in
warmth, though that's the last either of them truthfully felt. "Talk to me," she
implored.

Stiles' fingers reflexively tightened around hers before he let her hand go and
stepped away.

Terri turned around, but once again he had his back to her so she couldn't see
his face. "What did you do?" she asked yet again.

For the first time since his outburst, Stiles turned around and met her eyes.

What she saw there shocked her: pain… anger… guilt.

"I first met Jonathan O'Brien twenty-four years ago," he began shakily.

Terri blanched, unsure if what she was hearing could possibly be true. "What?"
she whispered incredulously.

Stiles held up a hand. "Please Terri, let me finish."

She nodded reluctantly and he ambled on with his story. "I was fifteen and my
father had shipped me off to Ireland to live with my Grandfather and Danny right
before the new school year. John-boy lived just down the street with his family –
his brother Niall used to tend for my grandfather and John-boy always used to be
at the pub. He was the first friend I made in Ireland. We understood each other,"
he admitted, his voice cracking. "He didn't see me as this messed up American
kid with a huge chip on his shoulder and I didn't see him as some gangly Irish
boy doomed to spend the rest of his days in a coal mine or tending a bar."

Stiles grit his teeth and struggled for control. Terri sank to the cushions of his
couch, still processing all that he'd told her.

"For three years, we were inseparable. We had no secrets from one other, did
everything together – he was the brother I never had, and I was the brother he
wished Niall would be. When I turned eighteen, everything changed. After I did
my A-levels my father decided it was time for me to return to the States and
enrolled me at WestPoint. He just showed up one day after not even sending a
frickin' post card in two years and turned my life upside down. I didn't even get to
say goodbye. When I got to America, I used to call my Grandfather every chance
I got – I would *always* ask after John-boy and if he was there at the pub, we'd
talk as long as my dollar would last. Finally, the conversations stopped. My
grandfather told me Niall went to Belfast after a friend – he never came back.
Somebody had slit his throat. John-boy disappeared the next day…."

Stiles was finding it increasingly difficult to continue but he drew a deep breath
and plunged on. "After that, I buried myself in my studies. I started to move up in
the ranks – my life was my work. One morning, about four years later, I was in
the mess hall and I was watching CNN coverage about the bomb that went off at
St. Mark's Cathedral. I remember having this sick sense of déjà vu and it only got
worse as weeks went by and more and more attacks on Protestants kept
happening until one day, my CO tells me to report to the conference room and I
find myself sitting across a table from Robert Quinn," he continued with a dark
emotionless chuckle.

Terri's mouth practically fell open at that revelation and, if the situation hadn't
been so serious, it would have been funny.

"I think that was the worst day of my life," he admitted softly, standing by the
window and looking out at his quiet urban neighbourhood. "There are no ways to
describe the feeling you get when you're told that someone you trusted,
someone you *loved* was capable of doing something like those things.

"But, somehow, I knew Quinn wasn't lying. Even when we were kids, I don't think
I'd ever seen John-boy in an unguarded moment – there was always a dark side
to him, from the other friends he kept at school, to the colours he wore to the
things he said. But one thing was certain – he hated Protestants, and had
absolutely no qualms in letting anyone know."

Terri drew her knees up to her chest and kept her gaze riveted to his back. "What
did Quinn want from you?"

Stiles turned away from the window and smirked ruefully. "What do you think,
Terri? To spy."

"On John-boy?"

He nodded. "Of course, he didn't make it seem so simple. He made it known that
it was a 'matter of national security'," he clarified with more than just a hint of
sarcasm. "The CIA thought that the Sumac Cell was in partnership with the IRA
on a weapons deal big enough to scare the government into preemptive action. It
was my job to infiltrate the Cell using my influence as John-boy's friend and find
out if the intelligence was correct and if it was, sabotage it." Stiles scoffed in
frustration. "How the hell they learned Jonathan was behind it or found out that I
was even his friend is beyond me… all I know is that I had to betray the only
person who understood me unconditionally for my country!"

Terri resisted the sudden urge to reach out for Stiles and try to comfort him
somehow, and she remained rooted where she sat. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?" he asked, looking slightly bewildered.

"Show up after four years and get him to trust you…."

Stiles shrugged. "I'm not even sure. He just did. And I played him like a fiddle. Or
maybe I was the one who got played. I learnt so much about them, about a whole
other side of John-boy that I didn't know. I think I started to believe so much in
what John-boy claimed he was fighting for that I was losing sight of what I was
there to do in the first place."

Terri wasn't quite sure to take that statement, but she held her tongue.

"When Quinn realized what was happening, he ordered me to get out fast. After
confirming that Sumac Cell wasn't involved in any weapons deal with the IRA, I
was extracted."

Somehow, Stiles had made his way back to the window. Perhaps he didn't want
Terri to see his face for the next part of the story. "My extraction wasn't pretty…."
Terri held her breath.

Stiles watched her reaction through her reflection in the mirror. "Four people
died… including John-boy's little sister, Fiona. She was a great kid…" Stiles
mused. "I don't know why she was mixed up in it all, but grief makes a person do
stupid things…."

Terri wasn't sure Stiles realized his voice had cracked at that last admission; that
his voice was steadily growing weaker and more emotional.

"The night of the extraction, there was supposed to be a big gathering. Quinn
never told me exactly when they would be pulling me out, so it surprised the crap
out of me when they stormed the building. People just started shooting…. God,
Terri, I could practically see the blood spurting in the air. Somebody shot me in
the arm and I dropped my gun. Before I could even get my bearings, they shot
my in the thigh and grabbed me by the back of my collar and started dragging me
away."

Stiles sobbed openly and Terri could feel her own tears streaming down her face
as she watched this man, who was the strongest she knew, start to fall apart at
the seams.

"Then I heard the screams… and I swore time stood still. As clearly as if it'd
happened yesterday, I remember John-boy turning his head to see what had
happened and Fiona was just standing there… her mouth was slack and she
looked stunned. She fell to her knees and there was blood streaming from her
mouth… she was dead before her body even hit the ground. He turned to me…
and looking back at it now, I think he *knew* what was truly going on… there was
this look… I thought it was anger… but it was *betrayal*. He lifted his gun… I
thought he was gonna shoot who ever was holding me, but he was aiming at
*me*. Before I could even move to struggle, John-boy was down too and
whoever was left standing from the Cell just started shooting again, falling back
to protect the bodies… then everything went black after that.

Stiles realized he was crying by now, but there was nothing he could do as he
continued to purge his soul.

"You don't have to go on," started Terri, practically begging him to stop.

"No… I have to for you to understand."

Terri nodded and watching her reflection, he continued. "When I woke up, I was
in a holding cell and Quinn was just standing there. He didn't have to say
anything…. Although I'd completed my mission, I could see the disappointment in
his eyes. He knew that if I hadn't been extracted when I was, there would have
been no turning back for me…. I didn't see him again after that. Some other
spook debriefed me. I asked what had happened after I blacked out and he said
they retreated. I asked if Jonathan O'Brien was dead… he didn't answer. I was
simply instructed to keep my mouth shut and return to duty.

"It took a while… I couldn't sleep without hearing the screams, without seeing
that *look* on his face. I knew I was lucky to be alive and over time, I started to
forget…."

"Until that photo…."

Stiles nodded. His tears had stopped and he furiously scrubbed at his face
before he turned back to Terri. "It finally makes sense. Quinn and I had always
wondered why, after all those years of laying low and making us believe he was
dead or had disappeared, he would do something so stupid like allowing himself
to be captured on camera. But I think he wanted us to know that he was alive…."

"Why all the subterfuge, Stiles?" Terri finally asked the question that had been
nagging at the back of her brain. "Why pretend not to know Jonathan O'Brien?"

"No one was supposed to know about the US focus on the IRA. That's the
diplomatic responsibility of the UK. We didn't want to spark any diplomatic
warfare with our greatest ally."

"So you just kept your mouth shut during all those killings…?"

"There was nothing we could do, Terri!" Stiles was suddenly on the defensive
and presented his back to her once more. "There was nothing we could do," he
whispered again.

An uncomfortable silence descended. Terri absorbed all that Stiles had told her.
She could see him watching her reflection in the mirror – perched on the couch,
her knees drawn to her chest, her damp hair a curtain about her face. She lifted
her head and her eyes met his, giving him silent permission to continue.

But he didn't… he couldn't.

Terri took the initiative, goading him again into telling her what had happened.
"He took me and our son, Stiles… why?" her tone was mild but they could both
hear the underlying tension in it.

Stiles heaved a sigh. "You were a means to an end, Terri." He checked his jaw.
"He used you as a pawn to get to me…."

"And you 'sold' your soul?" Terri asked softly.

Stiles nodded slowly, unable to meet her eyes even in the window's reflection.
"How?" Terri wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she *needed* to.

"In exchange for your life and Alex's," he whispered so softly, if she couldn't see
his lips moving in his reflection she would've sworn he hadn't spoken at all, "I
have to kill Martin Archer before he leaves for Ireland in a fortnight."

*~*~*~*~*~*

John-boy watched the blonde-haired man slumped in his chair at the breakfast
bar in the huge kitchen of the apartment. Even from his position by the threshold
of the room, he could smell the stench of alcohol. Sure enough, as he made his
way over to the table, he spied a bottle of Jack Daniel's with the dregs barely
visible. He sat down opposite the man and sighed. He understood the man's
need to drown his grief and anger in alcohol. He was a good actor, but privately
he knew that even after all this time, he didn't quite have the stomach for it all.

Michael O'Leary struggled to lift his head. Between his ears felt like it was stuffed
with cotton wool – cotton wool that weighed a ton. He opened his bloodshot eyes
and stared at the man sitting across from him. "I miss her," he whispered
heartbrokenly and tears started to roll down his cheeks.

"I know. You didn't do it," John-boy said softly.

Michael sniffled and struggled to wipe his tears away. "You know I wouldn't have
been able to…." He'd been part of the crowd at McGinty's. He'd seen Stiles
sitting there with Jonathan. His gun had been an sure weight in his pocket and he
was perfectly in line to let a bullet fly into the back in his skull. But he couldn't.

John-boy shrugged his shoulders. It wasn't his place to judge or make the man
feel worse than he already did. "You deserve to be angry… we all do. He
betrayed us…." He reluctantly met his friend's eyes. "But he loved Fiona too…."

Michael sobbed. "And she loved him, too." Maybe that was what he deserved to
be most angry about – the fact that Fiona had had nothing but fond memories of
the man who was destined to get her killed, whilst he had been in ignorant
marital bliss four thousand miles away.

John-boy reached across the table and laid a heavy hand against brother-in-
law's shoulder. "It'll all be over soon, Mikey. I promise."

TBC…

A/N: I'm not sure you'll appreciate it much, but I'm taking a more sympathetic air
towards those two. I know there's no justification for what they've done in the
past and what they plan to do in the future – war is pointless and murder is well,
wrong. But at the same time, I'm trying to take a more objective outlook. You'll
see what I mean in the future. Please R&R, tell me what you think.