I wrote this one in 1998, I think. It's the only present day (at the time) fic I've ever writen. First and last... who knows? But I never finished it and I don't remember where I was going with it. All I know is that I wrote in waaaaay too much slang. It sounds stupid!
"Get out! Get out of my house!" Maeve screamed.
She was answered with the butt of a gun knocking her down, "Shut up or I'll put so many holes in you, you'll look like your mother."
Her mother, a popular, high ranking Sinn Fein official had been gunned down on her way to work over two years ago, orphaning Maeve and her brother. She wasn't going to take anymore crap from these Brits. None of their raids, their 'peace' walls, their marches, their patrols.
"Arrggh!" she cried out attacking the man. She threw herself on top of him, bringing him to the ground and knocking the gun out of his hand, punching him, she successfully dislocated his jaw. The other men came to see what the commotion was to find Maeve pointing the gun at the fallen man, "I said get out of my house!" Her intentions were clear; if they didn't get out of her house, she'd kill their team member. The remaining two men exchanged glances and opened fire upon Maeve, apparently not caring if the man was killed.
"Shite!" Maeve cursed, running from her house into an alley dodging plastic bullets. She hid behind some trash cans watching the men give up searching for her. They turned back to the house to finish and cover up their work. Maeve peeked out from her hiding spot to watch her house being consumed by flames.
Dermott's not going to like this she thought.
"Great!" Dermott sarcastically exclaimed looking at the pile of rubble which was once their home. Maeve knew this infuriated him to no end and interrupting his important meeting earlier with this news didn't help. She felt guilty adding to his stress. She could have easily discarded those few British soldiers but she underestimated their inhuman ways. They would have given up one of their highest soldiers just to find a clue as to where Dermott was.
Daft she corrected herself. I was being stupid! Should I have expected more? They are Brits after all!
"Ruined!" Dermott's voice brought her back to the current situation as he plucked through the ashes. He pulled out a melted blob of plastic, which was once a gun. "All of them, RUINED!" He hurled it into a pile of other similar looking black blobs.
"We can use the back ups at UCL," Maeve suggested. Urgent Contact Location was their emergency center out in the middle of the country if anything was to go wrong. This diffidently qualified as a crisis. "At least 'til we get AK's smuggled in from Florida," she added.
"Aye," Dermott agreed, "but contact all units. It's postponed until later notice."
"Do you think we've been breached?" she asked.
"It's quite possible." He allowed.
"One of our own?"
"Most likely."
"They don't know?" A man hidden in the shadows of the room asked.
"Not a clue," the other man with silky brown hair and crystal blue eyes answered.
"Good. Lay low until it settles down," the thick British accented voice replied.
"Are you alright?" Dermott asked, for the first time noticing she was favouring one leg over the other.
"Aye. It's just a scratch," she shrugged off his concern.
"Lemme see that," he said, his older brotherly instincts kicking in. He lifted the flap of her ripped jeans to reveal a nasty laceration.
A bullet had grazed her, ripping her pants and skin. This had not been the first time she was hit with a bullet and she'd been shot at countless times. Living in downtown Belfast was not easy. It had been less confusing once—Brits fighting Irish, Unionist vs. Nationalist, Protestant against Catholic—now it was one angry, bitter group fighting another, fighting another, fighting another.
"I'm fine!" Maeve complained over his protectiveness.
"This will need stitches." Dermott ignored her stubbornness and examined the blood-leaking wound that stained her jeans red. This didn't make him the least bit queasy. He'd seen numerous wounds in his life. He's seen mangled bodies in gutters, he's seen bombs blow people into the sky like fireworks, he's seen beatings, interrogations, and shootings. He's tried to protect Maeve from such grotesque sights but both of them now accepted them as common occurrences to come across.
"What do you propose, Dermott, huh? We waltz into Queen's hospital so we can get arrested?" She was frustrated that nothing could go right in her life.
"Nae Maeve. I have a friend we can see," he replied nonchalantly walking to his car.
