Show: The Agency
Title: The American Family: Chapter 24
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
A/N: Late as usual, but I'm sorry for the delay.
X-X-X-X-X
Stiles' Apartment, VirginiaTerri pinched between her brows, feeling a headache threatening to come on; those few hours of rest she'd gotten now seemed to have been in vain. "I'm not hearing this," Terri covered her ears in a move that vaguely reminded Stiles of Alex and leapt off the couch away from him. "It's bad enough that we were even thinking of going through with this but, just when I thought you'd discovered one thread of common sense in that thick skull of yours, you go and completely ruin it by saying something like that. A-a-and just what is that supposed to mean? It better not be what I think it means. Tell me, Stiles. Tell me you mean you're going to tell someone else about this and let justice take its course."
"Damn it, Terri, do you hear yourself? You're talking like a civvie instead of a CIA Agent! There is no such thing as justice! Unless you count a bullet and a gun. You seem prone to point it out to me countless times, so let me return the favour – Archer is a freakin' diplomat! No one credible," he spat, "is going to believe us! Who in their right mind would? Oh, that's right, no one! We don't have the luxury of hoping someone does because we'll be dead if we so much as hesitate to take a piss!" he continued crassly. He was tempted to break something, so he did, hurling his beer bottle at the wall, brown glass and ice cold lager spraying all over the place, splashing on his hardwood floors, the rug and on his clothes and even in Terri's hair.
Terri flinched. It was the tiniest move that had the biggest impact on Stiles. "Jesus, Terri," he said softly, swallowing a lump of emotion the size of a duck egg that suddenly found its way into his throat. "I'm sorry."
Terri took a deep breath, her brown eyes finding his. "No, I'm sorry." She picked her way carefully through the bits of broken glass to stand before him. "You're right. I'm acting like a mother –"
"You are a mother, Terri," Stiles pointed out.
"That's not quite what I meant. We can't afford to let our emotions hinder us, Stiles. We can't." In a move that would still shock Stiles in many years to come, Terri stepped closer and wrapped her arms about his waist and hugged him to her. He released a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding and his fingers got their wish and tangled in her wavy chestnut hair.
They stayed that way for a few precious seconds before Terri stepped back. "I trust you, Stiles," she said softly. "Tell me your plan."
Stiles grimaced and stepped away. "I haven't actually worked out the details yet –"
Terri resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "So basically, you don't have a plan," she deduced.
"Yet," Stiles replied.
Terri wiped the fatigue from her face and sighed. "Is there any way of confirming what John-boy told you about Martin Archer?"
Stiles turned to her, curiosity mirrored in his blue eyes. "What good would that do?"
"I dunno," Terri replied, shaking her head. "Maybe I'm hoping we could leak the Intel…." After a pregnant pause, she met Stiles' eyes and said what was truly on her mind. "I'm trying to placate my conscience, Stiles, because if we don't come up with a plan fast, his assassination is the only option we've got if we want to keep our son alive."
X-X-X-X-X
Bangor, IrelandFor a long while, the only sound in the small kitchen was of their breathing. John-boy set his bottle on the counter and stared at the mother of his children.
"It's already started, hasn't it?" Kit asked knowingly.
Yes, John-boy nodded.
"Talk t'me, please," she pleaded.
"Okay," he finally whispered in concession.
Kit held her hand out for him and he took it and allowed her to lead him back into the living room. They sat together and John-boy did not let go of her hand as he started at the beginning and told her everything of his mission since he'd been ordered to America to seek out a way to destroy Martin Archer.
At the end of his story even Kit's understanding was tried. "What ye did was wrong."
Surprised blue eyes met hers, but Kit did not allow him to pull away when he tried. "No, John, it was."
"I though ye weren't gonna judge, Kit."
"I'm not, John. I would never do that. But tha' does no' mean tha' I don't think what ye did was wrong. Because it was."
John-boy looked away and Kit knew she'd only verbally confirmed what he believed in his heart.
"It's too late now, Kit. Everythin's in place."
Kit's grip on his hands tightened. "It's never too late, John. Remember? You taught me that."
"I can't change what I've started, Kit!"
"Yes, you can!" Kit's black eyes were blazing. "Ye have t'!"
"I can't!" he whispered fiercely again.
"You can an' you will!" she clasped his hand to her heart. "We'll do it t'gether."
Kit's words instilled such hope in John it blazed incandescently in his eyes. His other hand stroked the curve of her cheek and she leaned into his caress. "How can ye love me, Kit?" he asked her softly.
Kit's eyelashes dipped so they covered her eyes. "I doona know why… I just do." Her lashes lifted again so she met his eyes again.
John-boy's hand shifted from her cheek to the back of her head. Tangling his fingers in her silky black hair, he started to tug her forward, presumably to kiss her. Kit resisted his gentle pull. "Go t' sleep, John."
His hand shifted from her hair, back to her cheek, his thumb gently trailing across the fullness of her lower lip. But he pulled away and allowed her to stand. "I'll see ye in th' morn."
X-X-X-X-X
Stiles' ApartmentShe would do it, he mused.
It was after midnight and the apartment was quiet as a church. Ten minutes ago, Terri had climbed the stairs and went to bed with their son. The sound of her closing the door had all but echoed in the apartment.
Stiles was tired, but too wired to sleep. He went to the kitchen and returned with a Swiffer mop, where he cleaned up the broken sodden mess of the beer bottle on his hardwood floor.
After cleaning up, he was at a loss as to what to do. He didn't even bother with television, although at this time Leno or Letterman was bound to be funny. When a frustrated Terri wandered down the stairs twenty minutes later, she found Stiles doing pushups on his living room floor.
"What on Earth are you doing?" she asked.
"Can't sleep," he said simply, dipping into another pushup.
"Some people use warm milk."
"I won't even justify that with an answer considering that I'm lactose intolerant," Stiles replied, climbing to his feet.
Terri chuckled, a sound that stuttered and died when she realized that he was half-naked. And sweaty… and looking so deliciously yummy that her stomach started doing flip-flops. "You're not lactose intolerant Stiles," she found herself stumbling over the words as her gaze pinpointed on a narrow bead of sweat that slid between his pecs and down the ripped ridge that separated his six-pack. "I've seen you eat ice-cream before," she finished lamely as her eyes flew back up to his face. He said nothing, but Terri could feel the heat spreading across her cheeks.
So many thoughts leaped into his head at that moment. Words that would make that blush deepen sprang to his tongue. He thought of what those words could lead to… and, for that precise reason, the remote possibility of how their night could end, he picked up his shirt and put it back on.
"I'm tired now," he said, mentally kicking himself at his stupidity. "The milk's in the fridge."
The blush did deepen and it was coupled with a small frown that marred the smoothness of her brow when she realized what Stiles had done. "You've really changed," she said, turning to watch him walk back up the stairs.
He paused and looked down at her as she made her way to stand at the foot of the stairs. "I haven't changed that much, Terri. Right now, I want you so bad it hurts… and I'm kicking myself for not leaping at the opportunity to make love to you… but now is not the time or the place," his voice was a silky whisper that shivered down her spine.
For some reason, which escaped her mind at the moment, Terri took the first step, then the next and the next until she was standing right beside him on the step right below the landing, ten feet away from the room where their son was sleeping.
He could have walked away; should have walked away. The gentleman in him screamed at him to run away but he seemed rooted where he stood.
"There is never a right time for the two of us." She was millimeters away from his lips.
"I'm so weak…."
It was the last thing he said before he closed that tiny gap and fused his mouth to hers.
X-X-X-X-X
Bangor, Ireland"What did ye do t'me 'usband?"
"Kathleen?" came the groggy voice on the other line.
"Yes."
"Good Lord, girl, 'tis five o'clock in th' flamin' mornin'. Could ye no' 'ave waited 'til a decent hour, love?"
"I've waited long enough, da, an' doona tell me tha' ye were no' expectin' this call the momen' I foun' out he was back in Irelan'."
Back in Belfast, Gavin Thompson sat upright in bed and looked at his bed partner. Maureen, his wife and Kit's long-suffering stepmother, still slept on.
"Well?" came his daughter's impatient voice.
"What did 'e tell ye?" he asked, heaving a sigh.
"Everythin'… an' whose bright idea was it in th' firs' place, eh, da?" she hissed in question.
"Ye don' even have t'ask in order t'know the answer t' that question, love. I tell him what needs t'be done, not how it needs t'be done."
Kit had dragged the extension with her in the bathroom and she sat arguing with her father on the toilet. "'e's a blinkin' shadow o' himself, da. 'e thinks he's a monster. He's contrite for fuck's sake, da!"
"Watch yer mouth, Kathleen," came her father's stern admonishment.
"Doona tell me t' watch me flamin' mouth, da. Ye've got a lotta bloody explainin' t'do an' then, ye're gonna tell me 'usband t'forget about 'is gran' plan an' fin' another way t' get rid of Archer!"
Without waiting for his reply, she slammed the receiver down and chucked the phone off her lap just as the knock sounded on the door.
Back in bed in Belfast, Gavin set his receiver on the hook more gently than his daughter had and sighed. "God cursed me th' day he gave me a flamin' gypsy for a daughter."
"What?" Kit yelled, as the knocks got louder.
"Open th' door, Kit."
"Shove off, John, I'm on th' blinkin' toilet!" she turned the residuals of her anger on her husband.
"Lass, yer caterwaulin' is what woke me. Ye always yell and talk t' yerself while in th' loo?" he asked jokingly.
Kit's eyes narrowed and she yanked the bathroom door open. "I'm not in th' mood f' jokin', Jonathan O'Brien," she all but hissed.
John-boy's breath left his body in a startled whoosh as she shoved the telephone into his stomach and breezed past him. "Good morrow t' you, too, lass," he wheezed in greeting.
"I'm sorry I woke ye. I had t'give someone a piece of my mind," she said from the kitchen, as she set the kettle on the stove.
"Would that 'someone' happen t'be the leader of this fine land?" he asked knowingly, following her.
Kit cut her eyes at him, but said nothing.
John-boy looked at his wife intently. "I don't want you interferin', Kit. This is dangerous business."
Kit took a deep breath and turned to him. "No, John, what's 'dangerous' is you allowin' yer emotions t'cloud yer judgment, t'make decisions for you. For you t'even think about dragging Michael into this whole mess, that's dangerous."
"I'm tired of explainin', Kit-"
"That's because ye've be'n doin' such a piss poor job of it!" she interrupted. "Ye think ye're a monster, now? Ye'll be the flamin' Anti-Christ if you go through with this plan!"
He said nothing, simply turned his back and started to walk away. "Don't you walk away from me!" Kit ordered, reaching out for his arm and wrenching him around to face her. "I doona understand ye! Ye ask fer my opinion an' ignore it when I give t'ye! If ye didn't want t'hear what I had t'say, then ye shouldn't 'ave asked, ye should've stayed the bloody hell away! It would 'ave be'n easier than 'avin' t'deal wi' this shadow of an honourable man that ye've become!"
"Ye're right." He wrenched his arm from hers. "I'll be out o' yer hair as soon as th' kids wake up."
"Ye're a coward!" she shouted at his back as he let himself out of the cottage. "That's what ye are!"
X-X-X-X-X
Stiles' Apartment, VirginiaHer back hit his crisp sheets, her head gently cushioned by the plushness of his pillow as she breathed in the heady aroma of his scent, as his tongue in her mouth demonstrated in a leisurely pantomime what he wished to do elsewhere.
Stiles broke the kiss, lifting his head and peering down at Terri, his eyes two pinpoints of blue fire in the dark.
It was all going a lot slower than expected; it unnerved her a bit. She'd only seen this side of Stiles once before, on the night that they had conceived their son. Now as then, she reveled in it. She lifted her head and bestowed a kiss that was not in the least gentle, nipping and sucking his bottom lip, gripping the biceps poised on either side of her head.
Stiles could feel his discipline slipping, the control he'd exuded in trying to make this experience between them something that they'd never experienced before. Terri's hands slipped under his T-shirt, slid over his sweat-slicked back, her nails tracing each vertebrae of his spine. He moaned softly and she could feel the muscles bunching under her hands with each passage of her nails. "Terri…" he whispered huskily.
Terri smiled inwardly, knowing too that his control was slipping, wanting it to slip, wanting it to be in shambles by the wayside. She gripped the hem of his shirt. "Off," she commanded, pulling it up.
Stiles broke the contact of the line of their bodies and came up onto his knees, pulling his shirt over his head. Terri reached over and snapped on his bedside lamp. Stiles' body was bathed in the golden lamplight, turning his skin to honey. "You're beautiful," she breathed, reaching out to touch him.
"No, you are," he reverently traced the curve of her cheek as he looked down on her.
Terri mirrored his actions, coming up to her knees to face him. Keeping her eyes trained on his, she lifted his Marines T-shirt over her head and tossed it onto the floor next to the bed.
He swallowed the lump in his throat as he gazed at her. Her wavy chestnut hair tumbled in a heavy mass around her shoulders, spilling onto her chest, hiding her breasts straining against the lacy cups of her brassiere. He reached out and slipped her hair behind her shoulders so that nothing blocked his view. She reached behind her for the clasp, and he licked his lips in anticipation as she bared herself to his eyes.
"God, Terri," he practically croaked.
The sensual red-blooded woman inside rejoiced. Terri slipped from the bed as Stiles lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, his feet flat on the floor. Coming to stand between his knees, she took his hands in hers and molded them over her breasts, her head falling back as he squeezed the aching mounds gently. Her head dipped to kiss him hungrily as his hands slipped downward, over the slight swell of her stomach, the womanly flare of her hips to the waistband of her boxers. He slipped them off, taking her underwear with him until she was nude before him.
"Promise me something, Terri," he was whispering urgently against her chest, pressing kisses to her dewy skin, his spiky hair a delightful scratch to an itch as her hands nimbly unzipped his jeans.
"Yes, Stiles."
He stilled her hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. His heart was in his eyes, his emotions blatantly evident. "Promise that you won't regret this in the morning."
"I promise…."
TBC…
A/N: I'm not sure how close I treading to the line between PG-13 and R, so I decided to play it safe. Drop me a line to let me know what you thought.
