"A person is never happy except at the price of some ignorance." Anatole France

-ooooo-

The Swift, Irish Sea, December 2015, 18:15 Hours

Ironically, it was something that his mother had said about family that struck a chord with him just then. He'd tried often enough to forget the things that she'd said over the years, but unfortunately he couldn't.

Michael was sitting in Club Class, staring into the gathering darkness outside the large picture windows that lined either side of the upper deck of the last passenger ferry leaving Holyhead bound for Dublin for the day. All it had taken was the flash of faux passports and some cash to put them on the reserve deck of the Swift, ensconced amongst a sea of thickly padded bright red leather lounge chairs, all arranged in sets around various brown round tables and scattered at semi-regular intervals throughout the space.

Seventeen years earlier, he'd taken a very different boat ride from England back across the wind tossed water to Ireland with her. He recalled that his only love had said something as they'd departed the docks in Dublin very similar to what his mother had said the very last time he'd ever seen her before she'd gone into witness protection with his brother's family. But then again, he remembered everything.

Everything he saw, everything he heard, everything he read, everything he had ever touched or smelled.

Everything he ever felt.

Two features dominated the upper deck. One was the waist-height railing, brightly constructed of brass and white metal which separated the passengers from the large opening onto the lower deck, and showcased the grand staircase. The other was the long chrome and brown Formica refreshment bar that encompassed the entire back wall of the enormous room, except for the two seating spaces on either side of the rear exits.

His long-time partner had just vanished through one of those exits on his way to get some "fresh air." He smiled slightly at how Mr. Axe had looked longingly toward the glistening chrome tap at the refreshment bar with the pretty blonde behind it, The spy was sure that flirting with the barmaid was of equal importance with actually obtaining any beverage she'd dispense. He leaned back in his seat on the right-hand side of the stern, back to the wall as always.

Michael shook his head slowly at that thought, briefly running through all the times he'd found himself with his back to the wall figuratively as well as literally. He could argue with himself for hours on end if he let it go on over just how much complicity he'd had in backing himself into those corners with his choices. Because when it came to recalling the past, he had no choice.

He had near perfect recall.

If it passed by him in some fashion or another, he remembered. It had been both a blessing and a curse in his lifetime. It had made forgetting the misery of his home life nearly impossible, but it had made school easy, too easy, and he'd parlayed his boredom into mischief, which had been painful until he got savvy enough not to get caught.

It had made being a solider both easy and difficult, which is why he'd become a spy.

It had made him an exceptional spy.

It had made him an exceptionally haunted human being.

And these days when the memories came, often the music was there as well.

She was curled up on her side, a deeply satisfied ghost of a smile on her face even in sleep, her hand reaching for the empty but still warm spot he'd just vacated. Part of him dreaded her waking up; as he knew his courage would fail him if she did, but part of him longed for it for the same reason.~ "Shadows fill an empty heart as love is fading,"~

The man's music also haunted him. It had for years, ever since he'd found the CD in that Miami hotel room after he'd been burned. He couldn't understand how someone he'd never met could see into his soul. He couldn't fathom how another person on the face of the earth knew him so well, outside of Sam and the one other, of course-

She was so beautiful it hurt, especially with her lingering warmth and her sweet scent still clinging to him, particularly now that he would only have the memory of her to sustain him while he was gone. He'd tried to leave her once before albeit for a very short time. This would be a much longer, more bitter separation because it was to protect her that he was being forced to go. ~ "From all the things that we are, but are not saying."~

So many things had gone unsaid; so many years had gone by. As that omnipresent dream of being with his wild Irish rose again was about to become a reality, he was less sure of himself. Did he have a right to come into her life again? He'd seen the Intel, he'd seen the fragments of photos and had studied them for hours on that drive from Key West. When he'd pieced together what she'd had to do to survive, that knowledge had momentarily overcome him.

He used to love the darkness and the beauty of the night sky, but now the stars were accusing him as he slipped out of the apartment block into the bitter winter night away from his only love. ~"Can we see beyond the stars and make it to the dawn?"~

That particular reminiscence had already hit him again a couple of days ago as he'd exited the warm confines of the Learjet85 and strode into the chilly English evening. He'd pretended that it was the cold that had stolen his breath away. He'd known he probably hadn't fooled Sam, but it didn't matter. There'd be no words said about it. They had stepped in tandem into the gathering fog, their woolen caps pulled down and the hoods of their jackets up, and then slipped into the subway entrance near Terminal Four.

The pair had descended into the immaculate tunnels of the underground, blending into the crush of humanity that was all trying to be somewhere else. Their thick coats had been lined inside with cash and identification papers, their clothes with weapons that wouldn't upset the local constabulary or set off any metal detectors and the small backpacks under their coats full of the same and more. Two day saver tickets later, they had been on their way out of London with none the wiser and evidently no one in tow.

The station had been fairly clean and brightly lit, despite the fact that the narrow rectangular metal bins had begun to overflow with rubbish now that the evening rush hour was getting into full swing. There had been so much to pay attention to- all the movement and the sounds of the surrounding people echoing throughout the space encased in gleaming white tile with blue border accents curving towards the rounded ceiling, and the rush of the trains vibrating the concrete floor under their feet- so many things to watch for that he'd been able to stop remembering other things for a time. In the midst of the chaos, it had been almost peaceful.

It had been a testament to the barely suppressed tension that had rolled off his body in waves that there had been actually some space, miniscule though it was, between himself and Sam and the other commuters, and there had been no knowing hands reaching in their direction in search of ill-gotten bounty.

They had taken the Piccadilly line from Heathrow and then boarded another train on the metropolitan line which would take them to the end of line; passing through station after station through King's Cross and beyond, with masses of people coming and going, but all implicitly understanding that the two quiet men in the back were not to be trifled with; no one wanted to even recall that they'd been there at all.

Exiting the Harrow and Weldstone Station, they had come once again into the cold night air and had pulled their hoods up for warmth instead of subterfuge. He had chosen Harrow for two reasons. For one, it was not quite the end of the line. With everyone else having to exit at Watford, it would have been harder to distinguish who was following and who was just being forced off. The other reason was he knew the area well. He'd been here before, a lifetime ago with-

Sam's stomach had rumbled low in protest before Michael could get too deep into his reverie.

With a knowing grin, the spy had nodded toward The Bridge ahead of them. It was a fifteen minute walk to the Hindes Hotel and the Tesco nearby that held everything he'd known his partner would be looking for once they were settled. It had also ensured that if they still had a tail, whoever was following would have had to reveal themselves or risk losing their quarry. But it had been a particularly windy and therefore frigid night and the sounds of wellies and other boots crunching through the snow were few and far between besides their own.

Michael had done all the talking, what little of it was necessary, since they'd left Heathrow. He'd varied his accents, covering a broad range of the multiple boroughs of London or the surrounding environs depending on what seem most inconspicuous. He hadn't needed to instruct Sam not to speak. Mr. Axe had been to England before and already knew what kind of attention his broad American accent would garner. That's why he'd been a soldier and not a spy. His facility with language was limited to self- defensive Spanish picked on the streets of South Florida and the jungles of South America.

"Mr. Heyer" had gotten them a room, twin beds with a private en suite; the security that privacy brought being the more important consideration. The whole common bathroom at the end of the hall thing was something that the covert operative had never quite wrapped his head around in spite of his years overseas. Their room was small, but clean and well kept despite the hotel being thirty five years old.

After doffing their heavy outer coats and back packs, Sam had set off at his own insistence to shop for provisions. Hotels didn't normally appreciate patrons bringing in things from the outside, but the former SEAL had been adamant that he could pick up what they needed and what he wanted by himself without getting them undue notice from their hosts.

"It's what o'clock at night, Mikey. I'll just grunt. No one'll know the difference."

As such, there had been nothing to keep him from drifting off into the past once he'd finally settled on the bed in the same hotel he'd shared with her all those years ago.

He'd come to England by himself, ostensibly on a mission for the Provo, but it'd really been about a meeting with his handler to explore bringing her with him when he left the country for the final time. He'd told them she would be killed if he left her behind and she was too valuable an information source to be abandoned. His imminent departure after a year and a half undercover had started a disturbance within him that had grown into an ache; one which indicated as he'd put miles between them and Ireland behind him, that she was more than just a particularly good asset, though he certainly couldn't have acknowledged that to the Company or himself just then.

He'd planned on using an IRA safe house in Harrow that he knew had already been compromised. It would be a good excuse for him to be picked up with no one the wiser and then he could explain he'd been released after questioning and aborted the mission. It wouldn't have mattered if his easy escape made anyone suspicious; they were almost done with dismantling the REAL IRA and, with any luck, they could leave Ireland altogether.

He'd been waiting as night fell for MI6 when a familiar pair of small strong hands had wrapped themselves around his mouth and his bicep and pulled him out the back door before the agents could show up to take him into "custody." She'd dragged him back to the room she'd taken at the Hindes Hotel to watch the safe house for his arrival. They'd sat silently in the blacked out room, peering and listening while his intended escorts had come, searched for him and subsequently left, no doubt scratching their collective heads.

Now she'd put him a real bind. He couldn't contact his people without letting her know he was an American spy and he didn't dare take the chance of telling her who he really was until he'd gotten their exit strategy sorted out. Worse yet, she'd just invalidated the one he'd come up with as surely as she had ruined the meet. He'd have a helluva time now selling the fact that her life was endangered back in Ireland when she'd quite obviously been capable of getting out of the country on her own.

His rising frustration with the whole situation and ensuing ire had been difficult to control. Then the lights had been snapped on and he'd seen the fear in her eyes. Fiona had crushed herself against him in a desperate embrace. She'd known as soon as Sean had said he was headed for Harrow that he would be detained and she couldn't allow that. Putting her at arm's length, he'd demanded to know how she knew, fearing that now he'd been compromised. Then she'd begun to tremble in his grasp, confessing that she'd been a party to both the Dockland and Manchester bombings. The house had been used in both operations, she had explained, which he knew. But what he hadn't known about was her involvement.

Furthermore, he had been floored that she would have risked capture on English soil to come after him after what she had just told him and he'd said so bluntly. What she had just done had inexplicably caused fury to mingle together with fear over how she had endangered herself back then as well as now. Wasn't being in the IRA dangerous enough for her? What in the world could have motivated her to take such a huge risk as being involved in the largest bomb attack in the UK since the Second World War?

When the tears started streaming down her cheeks, he had been outright flabbergasted. Fiona Glenanne had a fierce reputation and deservedly so. He had never seen her cry. Michael had struggled to understand her response and had tried to mollify her, telling her that he was capable of holding his own when it came to an interrogation, no matter how many MI6 agents or British soldiers were standing about.

Suddenly, the pale Irishwoman began to shake violently. She tried unsuccessfully to hold her own shuddering frame together until his strong arms encompassed her quivering limbs. He'd pulled her onto the bed, sitting her down before she fell down. He'd begged her to tell him what was wrong. It was then that the substance behind her nightmares had come out; the reasons she screamed in the night that had nothing to do with what she'd done with the IRA, but rather why she'd been in the IRA in the first place.

She and Claire had gotten onto a wrong street back in Belfast; they had been hurrying trying to beat the sunset and had made a mistake. A trio of Protestant paramilitary hooligans had become intent on celebrating their good luck and the girls' misfortune. She'd tangled with them, occupying them so Claire could escape and get help. Though one of them had pursued her sister, she'd won her a good head start.

The larger of the two left had bashed her in the head with the thick liquor bottle they'd been drinking from, leaving her barely conscious and virtually helpless and then they'd taken their advantage. The sounds of the struggle caught the attention of a pair of British soldiers who stopped at the end of the gloomy space between the buildings, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, doing nothing, before moving away.

Then she'd dimly heard the one who'd gone after Claire return. He had laughed and said that since she'd been outrunning him, he'd just emptied his pistol into her instead. Suddenly, Fiona had felt a surge of rage-infused strength and the clarity necessary to smash the ones nose into his brain and leave the other to choke to death on his own Adam's apple. The third got away but, she had whispered in a rasp, he had later come to wish he'd died with his friends that night. They would all pay for hurting her and her family.

Guilt had added another thread to Michael's already entangled emotions. She had started sobbing silently, soaking his thick sweater with copious tears, the shivering slowly abating but never ceasing, as he had lain them down on the bed, rocking her, holding her, kissing her hair and her face softly, whispering words of comfort and love all the while in total shock. After what she'd been through, she had dared to come here alone to rescue him? Worse yet, how could he possibly tell her now that he'd been lying to her all this time after what she'd just done for him, what she'd just shared with him?

He'd heard Sam return from his foraging trip as he'd stood in the shower, hot liquid cascading over his face, and ignored the triumphant exclamation about actually finding yogurt and the expected complaints about the warm beer and cold food. He had been sure that if Sam had heard anything unusual coming from en suite when he barged into the room that his best friend would be equally unobservant.

-ooooo-

"Is this seat taken?"

The lilting accent had jolted him back into the present with the equivalent of an electric shock. The young woman standing before him was a fine example of an Irish lass, but there was only one Irish woman on his mind right now and he wasn't interested in being distracted or having to keep up a conversation, polite or otherwise.

"It tis," he said tersely with not quite a glare, which had her beating a hasty retreat towards the restrooms located behind the bar. He didn't think she'd be back. He'd booked the two seats on the opposite of the table facing theirs as well to ensure their privacy.

He glanced over at his long-time partner standing at the "coffee and cakes" portion of the bar at the far end of the room, pretending to choose but actually using the reflective surface behind the bar to observe the room. He had no doubt that Sam could fill those empty seats if he chose to or, more accurately, if Michael would allow it.

The dark haired man shook his head again, wondering for the millionth time why his colleague chose to put up with his high-handedness. The former Ranger supposed it had to do with loyalty, but it also had to do with the innumerable times the ex-SEAL had conned him into helping people over the years. Left to his own devices particularly after he'd been burned, he knew he wouldn't have given people the time of day, never mind his assistance, if it hadn't been for his brother in arms and his mother and his actual brother for that matter. It had just been easier to take coming from the former naval commander.

He was glad they had come aboard right before sunset. The lowered illumination from the small round lights embedded throughout in the silver metal ceiling better suited his mood. They would be on shore in little over an hour and then the years of remembering her, dreaming about her and longing for her would change into actually seeing Fiona Glenanne again. Just like the morning after their harrowing night in that appropriately named town, the master spy found himself with some very important tactical goals but only rough approach as to how to accomplish them and one lingering question.

He'd gotten up early the next day during both times, which is to say he never really went to sleep in each instance. He had stood watching the sunrise again in front of the Hindes Hotel, except this time there was a melody attached to the eternal question. ~"Change the colors of the sky and open up to the ways you made me feel alive, the ways I loved you. For all the things that never died, to make it through the night, Love will find you."~

Sam hadn't even bothered to make a crack about what he could have done to get dirty overnight when he awoke to find Michael in the shower again. That had not been the case when Mr. Axe exited the en suite after his morning ablutions and found his long-time partner sitting on the bed staring at the now familiar CD player again. ~"What about now? What about today? What if you were making me all that I was meant to be? What if our love never went away? What if it's lost behind words we could never find? Baby, before it's too late.'~

His long suffering compatriot had dropped the wet towels onto the sink basin with a small splat and a mock huff of irritation that was actually covering his discomfort with his best friend's atypical and somewhat erratic behavior.

"Geez, Mikey, at least warn me if you're going to have eyeball sex with that thing again. I'll go to breakfast and leave you two alone."

It had taken the hotel-provided fried breakfast to improve Sam's mood, but thereafter the covert operative had discovered another odd parallel to his next day with Fiona. They both had been surprised by his solution to their transportation issue. Mr. McBride had taken out the paper he'd requested the prior night and had begun calling advertisements for old cars likely to fail their next MOT inspection, again in an amusing array of different accents. Both of Sam and Fiona had had curiously similar 'why didn't I think of that' expressions on their very different faces.

Sometimes he found himself wondering how the two of them would have gotten on had they ever had the opportunity to work together instead of trying to kill each other. The older man had told him about their dust up in Libya back in the day. Michael would have liked to believe that she would be more interested in seeing him again than in trying to exact revenge on Sam when they met up in again at the pub in Kildare.

"'ere's just the thing we'll be wantin': Vauxhall Cavalier 2.0 1995 3 months tax and MOT 2016."

A Vauxhall Cavalier, Mr. Axe had soon learned, was a five door hatchback with a 2 litre engine that was quite speedy and handled well. Despite its beat up appearance, Michael's expert ear and eye for all things automotive had determined the vehicle was mechanically sound enough to get them across the country and was appropriately priced, though it failed by comparison to the Charger in the leg room department. The one he'd purchased seventeen years ago had been in better shape, but he'd been more concerned about breaking down then than now.

After a lengthy cab ride, a prolonged bit of haggling, some falsified paperwork and a quick snack later, their cash stores had been depleted by five hundred pounds sterling and they'd been on their way back toward Wales. By the time the paperwork would have gotten back to the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Authority, they would be long gone to Dublin. Mr. McBride had calculated if they didn't stop too often or run into too much traffic or bad weather, they could be in Holyhead in time to catch the last ferry across.

As they had made their way generally westward along the A55, Sam had talked almost incessantly while they had wound through and around various little towns, villages and hamlets. He'd commented on the stark beauty of the scenery in between speculating that whether it would have been faster if they'd have gone by mountain goat as opposed to burro, although he still had a soft spot for that Colombian burro.

Michael had assumed he was getting it out of his system before Sam had to do the strong-silent thing again in Ireland which was usually the younger man's stock in trade. It was apparent his partner had also been pleased that the conversation had not been entirely one-sided; so much so that Sam had talked about everything but the proverbial eight hundred pound pachyderm in the backseat. His unusual restraint had caused Mr. McBride to crack a rare toothy smile, even if the issue had been on his mind too.

After weaving their way through the last of the Snowdonia Mountains in Wales at an agonizingly slow pace, he had to remind his travelling companion that he hadn't spent over a decade away from her just to lead their enemies to her doorstep now. His unusual candour had caused Mr. Axe to finally come around to asking one of the more personal questions that had been on his mind for a decade or so.

"Don't really see much snow in Miami. Kind of pretty in a pain in the ass to drive through way, huh, Mikey?"

"The weather, Sam? Seriously?"

"Okay, then, brother. So, you, uh, gonna share with me why you're so attached to that audio technology relic or should I just plan on getting a separate room in Dublin?"

Michael had sighed. "When I was-" he still hesitated before saying it, "burned and I woke up in that hotel, a woman had been there. There was no ID or wallet, just a small backpack, like the ones we've got. The clothes were her size, but nothing I'd ever seen her wear before."

"Could have been left behind before you ever got there," had been the reasonable conclusion.

"True, except for the CD player that was in it. I bought her one exactly like that, right before I-" He had gripped the steering wheel tightly and then blew out a slow breathe between his teeth before continuing. "It was a UK brand that played American CD's too, so she could—" There was another pause while he swallowed thickly. "The CD in it had only been released the year before."

"You think she was there?" He'd seen the growing interest in Sam's eyes. The reason they were going back to Ireland besides their meeting with Armand Andreani was usually a forbidden topic. "Then where'd she go? Why didn't she come back for you?"

"I don't know," his voice had dropped to a whisper. "I only know I'd probably have been dead if she- someone- hadn't come and patched me up."

The look on his friend's face had told him Sam remembered what a mess he'd been and that had been several weeks after the fact. Despite what he'd just said, he was convinced it was Fiona who'd been there, tending his wounds and watching over him. He could still feel her hands, still smell her perfume...

-ooooo-

There had been just enough time to discuss where they were headed next and finish the coffee and breakfast items by the time Sam had finally returned with them. It was an odd choice for dinner, but food had stopped mattering much to him. He probably would have lived on yogurt if not for his associate. What had mattered was that it had been time to depart the ferry and stand on Irish soil again at long last.

On their trip from the ferry to the hotel, he'd paid the necessary minimal attention to his actions and his conversations, but internally he was yet again comparing the two incidents over and over in his head. With an ease born of years of practice and comradery, Sam had correctly interpreted the reason for his silence and his almost imperceptible distraction and left him to it, offering just a nod in acknowledgement.

Michael was certain that it was Fiona who had come for him again in Miami like she had back in Harrow. He'd held onto that for years, going back to that truth every time the temptation to just give up threatened to overwhelm him. The fact that an adjacent warehouse had exploded just in time to distract his FBI tail was too much of a coincidence, but he hadn't waited around to be arrested or interrogated about it.

Afterwards, he had searched for her then as best he could without the CIA resources, relying on Sam's good old buddy network and his own less than scrupulous connections with no results. Not that he'd had any better luck finding her using the Agency's resources behind their backs before they'd burned him.

Sleep, though it mattered, eluded him as well. He stood outside their small hotel in Dublin watching the sun rise once more. It wasn't the same hotel he'd been in with his wild Irish rose seventeen years ago, but the memories of it were enough to keep him awake. ~The sun is breaking in your eyes to start a new day.~

She'd been so tense, so on edge, until they'd finally emerged from the shadows of the smugglers hold onto the docks shrouded in the darkness of twilight Dublin that he thought she might implode. He'd been just as tightly bound himself, concerns over her capture evaporating to be replaced with worries about their future and righteous fury over her past. ~This broken heart can still survive with a touch of your grace.~

He'd just asked how she had wanted to get home when she'd informed him she needed some time before she was ready to face her brother. That's when she'd said it and it had surprised him.

"Ya can't pick yar family, ya just have t'deal wit' wot God hands ya and make do. I con't make do wit' Sean tonight."

He couldn't think of anyone she was closer to than her twin. At his puzzled look, she'd assured him that it had nothing to do with her feelings about her brother because that would never change and she would always love her family, but for tonight she wanted to be with just her immediate family. He'd taken the hint and booked a room. ~"Shadows fade into the light. I am by your side where love will find you."~

He had lain down quietly with her, enfolding her in his embrace as he had the night before, his heart swelling with emotions he didn't know how to deal with. But all that mattered was her, so he kept the kisses and caresses light and comforting. He'd been startled when she started returning the affection, his mind still awash in the horror of what she'd told him. When she had let him know that what she wanted from him was to help her banish the past, he'd taken the entire night to slowly, adoringly, tenderly, lovingly and gently fulfil her needs. ~Now that we're here, now that we've come this far, just hold on. There is nothing to fear for I am right beside you. For all my life, I am yours.~

As Michael McBride stood watching the sky transition slowly from darkness to daylight, he held onto the hope that she still regarded him as her immediate family, even if she might not potentially be his anymore.

~Baby, before it's too late, What about now?~

-ooooo-

A/N: Mega huge thank you for everyone to takes the time to read, alert, fav and REVIEW! It is greatly appreciated even if I don't personally reply all the time. Thanks to Amazing Amanda for the BETA and equally awesome Daisy Day for reading through, especially the intense stuff. Special thanks to the incredible Purdy's Pal without whom this never have been as rich in detail. Thanks to the lovely CJ for her friendship and my apologies to EveyNicole. I promise I won't make you wait around another 2 months for an update.