A/N: So here is the chapter you've all been waiting one and another extra long one to make up for the wait. Once again, we thank everyone for their enthusiasm and their support, especially all your kind reviews for this and our other offerings, Reconnecting and Life with Larry. Thank you, Burners!

The next chapter of Reconnecting with be a Halloween Edition of AU 401, When Irish Eyes are Smiling and the next chapter of Life with Larry (Pakistan 1994) will not post until Saturday. Sorry, but real life is still just a little too real for us, but we appreciate your patience and your interest!

The next chapter of this intrepid tale will post next Monday (we hope!) and now on with our story….

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BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL

Chapter Ten

When "Patrick" had taken his leave of the pair of young Canadian tourists, he had spared a moment's thought for the other two Patricks who had been instrumental in shaping his life and what they would have said about what he was trying to deal with right now.

His older sibling, Pat Junior as he was known, who had been murdered years ago when a team of paratroopers had come a calling, would have exploded in a rage greater than his youngest brother Sean's meltdown at finding his sister's boyfriend was a Yank spy working for the British.

His father, Patrick Glenanne Senior, might have been a true believer in the Cause, but Liam had to wonder how the man would have dealt with his little girl's desires to run away with an American interloper. It had seemed to the present head of the family that their father had at times even put the sacred cause of a free and united Ireland ahead of his family's needs, leaving their mother to tend to hearth, home and all manner of family emergencies while he fought a bitter guerrilla war against the British overlords.

But Fiona had always been a daddy's girl and the apple of her father's eye, spending hours with the family patriarch listening to all his stories and learning the skills of the master bomb-maker, while Claire with her heart of gold had been their mam's baby.

The thought of his dearly departed baby sister, murdered by a British soldier during a riot in the center of Belfast, made him even more determined to find his youngest living sibling before she could finish destroying her own life and possibly bringing about the destruction of the whole clan.

"Are ya sure yer nae just pissed off wit' McBride cuz he pulled tha wool o'er yar eyes as well as tha rest o' us?" The Irishman ground his teeth together as his lover's words came back to haunt him. He wasn't used to the blonde woman who shared his bed if not his name questioning his motives.

He had never truly trusted Michael McBride, yet he had done nothing to hinder the relationship because it had been such a long time since he'd seen his sister so happy... And he did want Fiona to be happy. But right now he'd be satisfied with her alive and free of the threat of a PIRA death squad hunting her to the ends of the earth.

Nearing the harbor filled with tiny pleasure boats, yachts and several medium-sized fishing boats, Liam turned his attention to locating his brothers who should be somewhere in the locale asking questions of the various fishermen and boat owners who spent their days working or hanging out along the quayside.

With no sign of either Seamus or Sean, the oldest of the Glenanne siblings preceded to walk along the wharf wondering what had caused his brothers to fail in their task. Hearing a familiar laugh followed by another voice complaining about the luck of newcomers coming from the raised deck of a pleasure boat, Liam came to a stop.

"Shay?" he called out, staring up at where the voices had come from.

"Liam, I wa' beginning ta think ya had forgotten all about us." Seamus Glenanne leaned out over the side of the boat with a wide grin creasing his tanned features. "Ar' ya comin' up ta join us?"

"No, I need ya down har," he called back, doing his best to hide his irritation at Seamus' casual approach to the search for their sister.

When he had ordered his brothers to keep a low profile, he hadn't expected to find his younger sibling sitting down with a group of fishermen, smoking cigarettes and playing cards.

"I'll see later, lads... An' remember if ya need any help out thar protectin' whot's yars, let me know," Seamus shouted back to his new friends and possible new business associates once he had disembarked from the boat.

"I thought I told ya ta ask questions, not tek tha coillte fer every penny they own." Liam scowled at the younger man, but then couldn't help but ask. "How much d'ya make?"

"A hundred an' fifty punts, thank ye very much." The family gunrunner and part time gambler grinned. "Oh an' as fer askin' about Fi, we all have our own way o' doin' things. Me own way is jus' more pleasurable fer all concerned..."

He paused to light up a cigarette, cupping his hands about the matchstick to keep it dry as the soft weather seemed to have set in for the morning, before continuing to update his older brother.

"Me new friends told me thot tha young colleens wa' attacked o'er by tha coach park right opposite thot café." Seamus pointed across the road to the row of small shops and the café with the name Sally O'Brady's emblazoned across the plate glass window. "So, thot's whar I sent Sean ta ask a few questions o' tha staff, as am pretty sure Fi must ta been inside thar when all tha ruckus started, cuz fram whot I wa' told it wa' a woman who came outta no whar an' chased down tha muggers."

Liam nodded thoughtfully, hiding his admiration for his brother's knack for getting people to open up to him. "He's on his way back now. Let's wait ta hear whot he has ta say."

The youngest Glenanne male sibling ran across the road, his hands buried deep in his bomber jacket pockets and his black woolen hat pulled low down on his forehead and covering his ears. "Fi an' M – Westen wa' in thar same day as tha mugging. Westen has his hair cut real short an' Fi hadda hat on, but tha girl inside said she thought she had short hair too, as none o' it wa' showing. She also said she dinnae hear 'em talkin' much. But she thought she heard 'em say sommit about cookin' off a camping stove. She remembered cuz she thought it wa' funny cuz they dinnae look like they war tha sort ta be camping."

"So, thar living rough..." Liam barred his teeth in a smile as his mind turned over the possibilities. "Sean, get onta Colin. I want a list o' all tha empty buildings, houses, barns, warehouses anywhere somebody might be livin' rough. If thar usin' campin' gear, then they have nae broken inta anywhar with tha power still connected." He paused as Sean turned away, his phone already in his hand and pressing the keys to contact the family intelligence officer.

Satisfied that the younger man was doing his job, Liam turned his attention back to his other brother.

"Shay, I want ya ta head along tha coast in thot boat o' yars. Check out tha docks around Wexford and Rosslare, tha two lasses I talked ta wa're spinning me a yarn, but I think tha may have been a little truth in thar tale. They might be tryin' ta jump onta a ferry, though I think MI6 will have all tha official ways outta Ireland cut off, an then go an' spread tha fear o' God in ta any who might think o' helping 'em cross over ta France. Remind 'em we donnae take kindly ta people interfering in our family business."

"Ya think tis wise ta split up, brother?" Seamus tossed the remains of his cigarette into the water lapping against the quayside.

"I donnae like it, but this way we cover more ground an' one o' us has ta keep an eye on Sean thar. I promised our mam I'd try ta bring 'em back ta har in one piece. She wants ta talk ta 'em both."

"So wa're not killin' Westen?" His eyes widened at this bit of news.

"I promised I wouldnae kill ham," Liam reluctantly admitted. "But I know fer a fact ya can do a lotta damage ta a body wit' out endin' a life. Ma can talk ta him all she likes, but it changes nothin' in tha end. Only difference will be thot we'll be puttin' him outta his misery later rather than sooner."

"Whot does Ma want wit' him?"

"I dunno, Shay." The man shrugged his shoulders. "She's worried about Fiona, same thing as Jeannie has been bending me ear about night an' day. None o' tham are thinkin' o' tha bigger picture."

"Ya sold tha story wit' tha body o' thot O'Dowd fella an' Pat Mulholland, did ya nae? I mean they musta believed ya. They put a bullet inta tha back o' Mulholland's head. So, whot's tha problem? McBride is in tha clear an' only we know any different. If Ma says -"

"Tis not our mam's decision, tis mine alone." The head of the family laid down the law, his mouth forming a thin line as his pale eyes bored into his younger sibling's darker blue orbs.

Sensing he was drifting into dangerous waters, Seamus took a step back and lit up another cigarette, using the time to let the threatening storm pass overhead. "So, whot d'ya want me ta do if I find 'em, now thot wa're nae killing Michael on sight?"

"Ya ring us an' wait fer us ta get thar. We'll be no more than an hour an' a half away fram ya." He glanced over to where Sean was finishing his call to their brother Colin. "Ya best get goin' an' call us if ya have any news. Otherwise we'll meet back har tonight."

"Aye," Seamus nodded his agreement and waved to his younger sibling. "Take care, tha pair o' ya, cuz Fi is gonna be spittin' bricks if she catches sight o' ya."

Having sent one brother on his way, Liam waited for the other one to join him. Once they had a list of empty properties to check out, the head of the Glenanne clan was sure they would find their runaway sister and her American spy.

()()()()()()()

"Whot have ya done ta him?"

Her voice came to him soft and echoing, as if he was far away in a dark tunnel. She sounded frightened and that was all the incentive he needed to push towards the light.

Conditioned from a lifetime of taking beatings, first from his old man, then later as a teenager involved in street battles and single combat against opponents usually older than himself, followed by the harsh rigors of life as an army ranger and as a CIA field operative as an adult, Michael Westen's body and mind threw off the effects of his fight with the British stranger far faster than the other man suspected.

"Nothing he won't recover from… as long as you continue to do as you're told."

The former covert operative had first become aware when he had been rolled onto his stomach and his arms pulled behind his back. He had resisted the urge to fight back, all those years of training and experience in combat and covert activities reminding him that he stood a better chance of taking on his highly skilled opponent once his head had cleared and his muscles regained their strength.

"And whot d'ya intend ta do wit' me?"

Even with his eyes closed and his mind still trying to catch up with what had happened, Michael could sense the man had left his side. The soft telltale noise of his boots moving over the dirt and dust covered floor followed by the breathy gasp coming from near the stairs.

"Oh, not what you're thinking, my dear girl... Sorry, but you're not my type."

As the stranger walked Fiona past his prone body, the ex-spy risked opening his eyes just enough to witness the petite redhead who meant the world to him being pushed down onto a chair before being handed a mobile phone.

"I just need you to ring your brothers and invite them to join the party."

He nearly gave the game away when a pistol muzzle was pushed against the side of Fiona's head.

"I will nae help ya slaughter me family." Michael bit down on his lower lip as his lover attempted to turn her head but the pressure from the end of the weapon kept her facing forward.

"It's your choice of course, but you should spare a thought for poor Michael. He gave up a promising career for you."

At the mention of his name, the former agent allowed his eyes to slide shut and did his best to keep his breathing slow and regular. Now was not the right time to attempt to fight back. Until he could figure out a way out of their predicament, all he could was pray his lover would have the presence of mind to do the right thing.

"I'll do it. Ya'll have ta dial. I'm tied up at tha moment."

The man who had claimed he'd been sent by the CIA had said Fiona's brothers. So it seemed he had been right, Liam wasn't alone. Michael swallowed and opened his eyes a slit. The gun was no longer pointed at Fiona's head. Instead the soft spoken limey bastard was holding his phone up to her ear, all the man's focus on trying to detect any subterfuge in her conversation with her kin.

"Now, be a good girl, keep things nice and simple no code words or hidden signals unless you want things to get messy."

()()()()()()()

With Seamus off to check out the nearest major port and the numerous small harbours between there and Waterford, Liam and Sean took the list drawn up by their brother Colin and began to investigate all the abandoned and derelict buildings in the town before making their way outwards.

The two men had just reached the third address on their list, a building site containing the shells of what would one day be five detached four-bedroom homes.

"This is gonna take a month o' Sundays," Sean complained as they carefully cleared the first house before moving onto the second. "Thar's o'er sixteen o' these little building sites scattered all around tha town an' thot donnae include all tha empty factories an' warehouses."

"An' ya have a better way o' findin' tham?" Liam growled back. "Cuz if ya do, I'd love ta -" The older Glenanne brother reached for his cell phone as soon as it started ringing. "Am here," he answered the unknown number.

"Liam, it's me." At the sound of their sister's voice, the premier PIRA interrogator put the call on to loudspeaker. "I need ya ta come an' get me." They could hear her deep breaths through the phone. "Am in a rundown farmhouse on tha Reisk Road, ya... Ya cannae miss it."

As the two men turned and rushed back to the car which Sean had removed from the staff car park of the local Supa-Valu store, Liam answered their sibling's call for help.

"Wa're coming, sweetheart. Have ya hadda change o' heart, has he hurt ya?"

"Mike is here, he's wit me... We've realized wa're making a terrible mistake an I jus' want ta go back home."

"Okay, sweetheart wa're mabbe half an hour away. Donnae go anywhar."

The call ended abruptly, just as they reached their stolen ride. Thrusting his phone into his coat pocket, the older man stood aside while Sean opened the trunk.

"She called ham Mike. She never called ham thot. It wa' always Michael or McBride." The younger brother pulled out an AR15 handing it over to his sibling. "An' d'ya catch tha way she wa' breathing?"

"Aye, two long breaths, two short ones and then one long, four short…"

"MI6. She's being held by tha fecking Brits." The family enforcer added two fragmentation grenades to his personal arsenal. "If Westen has handed har over ta tha Brit-"

"He has nae -"

"An' ya willin' ta stake our sister's life on thot?"

"Aye, I am." Liam surprised even himself as he defended a man he could have quite cheerfully turned into corpse. "If he'd wanted ta turn har ov'er ta tha Brits, he coulda done it at any time, thar runnin' off together." He gave his younger sibling a look of disgust. "Jayzuz, Sean, thot bit between yar ears, why not try usin' it sometimes? Ya didnae think we wae tha only ones chasin' 'em down?... Get in tha car, ya idjit!"

()()()()()()()

Michael knew he couldn't play dead forever. With his eyes closed and his breathing kept slow and regular, the American operative listened and waited for the right moment to announce his return to consciousness. Fiona was close by, the phone being held to her ear by the British assassin.

As she followed his command to lead her brothers into the waiting trap, she'd chosen her words carefully though and he prayed his lover's deception hadn't been noted by their captor. Using the shortened version of his name had been a good tactic. It was something that Liam or most definitely Sean would pick up on. A tiny clue that all was not well, the brothers would still come to her aid.

But at least they wouldn't be walking blindly into the ambush being set.

"Okay, sweetheart, wa're mabbe half an hour away. Don't go anywhar."

Their captor dropped his phone into his pants pocket as soon as the call ended. "See, that wasn't hard, was it? And now my dear I need you to stay quiet while I prepare for our guests."

From his position on the floor, the ex-spy could only watch as the cable tie about Fiona's wrists was cut and new ones were applied, securing each wrist to the arms of the chair and a hanker-chief he sincerely hoped was clean was pushed into her mouth and held in place by a blue and red striped tie.

It was time to wake up and try to get some answers before the Glenanne boys arrived and all hell broke loose.

With a long moan of pain, the disavowed agent rolled awkwardly over onto his back, his eyes blinking as if he was just coming around from the blow to his forehead.

When you're a spy, you learn to live with the idea of people wanting you dead. It could be an old enemy, a dissatisfied former employer, a disgruntled asset… Work long enough and the line gets pretty long, Kid. The voice of his deceased former partner was the last thing he needed to hear right now, but Larry did have a point. At the moment, he had a disgruntled asset in Sean Glenanne and, if his captor was to be believed, he had two former employers dissatisfied enough to bring in a wet work specialist to clean up the mess he'd created.

"Michael," the stranger spoke warmly as he came over and helped him to sit up by dragging him a short distance across the floor so he could brace his back against a wall. "So good of you to join us… I wondered how long you were going to play possum... That's the correct terminology, isn't it?"

"Yeah, that's right... What did you say your name was?" Making as little movement as possible, the former covert operative inched his fingers towards his belt and the small craft knife which was held in a hidden sheath along the underside of the thin piece of leather.

"I didn't, old boy... But, as you were busy getting your hands dirty in Eastern Europe when I was making a name for myself, I'll give you a little clue and see if you can work it out for yourself... Algeria, '93… the unexplained deaths of three Iranian diplomats?"

Michael vaguely remembered talk of the incident but drew a blank when he tried to recall any of the details. However, he did need to buy some more time as he'd managed to get the small knife into his hand and was now beginning the tricky task of maneuvering the blade so he could cut through the thick plastic tie holding him prisoner. He shook head and prepared to keep the other man talking.

"Sorry, '93 was a kinda busy year for me, you understand."

"Really, Michael, I'm disappointed... I know all about you. Company man gone bad, your previous employer gave me a rather nifty dossier and I have to say, after reading all about your exploits, I find you quite fascinating."

Michael swallowed and then barred his teeth in a dazzling smile. Was this guy flirting with him? "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Only the ones I like," the assassin replied in a silky tone.

"I'm flattered."

He just needed a few seconds longer and while he found the way the British wet work specialist was staring into his eyes a little disconcerting, it did mean the man wasn't paying attention to any tell-tale movements his arms were making as he continued to slice through the tie wrap.

"You should be, most people bore me, especially Americans. You always have a structure to report to, some memo to file, everything in its proper box. All your talk of rugged individualism, in my experience you're just a nation of sheep."

"I guess you've been talking to Tom Card."

"Well done, Michael." The killer smirked, but then straightened up, his eyes going to the black face of his Glycine Combat Sub wrist watch. "We'll have to continue this conversation a little later. I have guests I have to prepare for."

A complete contrast to his earlier relaxed manner, he began to move about the living room in a determined manner arranging the few pieces of furniture to suit his plan for an ambush.

"Ms. Glenanne, I should be getting word any moment to say your broth-"

As soon as Michael felt the plastic fall from his wrists, he launched himself straight at their captor, ready to fight for not only his own life but that of his girlfriend and their unborn child.

()()()()()()()

Liam wiped the blade of his knife against his trouser leg and grinned across to where his sibling had just choked out the second of the two men they had spotted hiding in the bushes close to a brand new shiny Range Rover with blacked out windows which screamed out special ops.

"Ya take tha back door in five minutes," he hissed and then, as Sean turned away, he called his impetuous younger brother back. "Sean, remember this only works if we go in at tha same time, no feckin' about. Five minutes an' then we go in hard. Ya take down anyone who gets in yar way, but nae Mc- Westen. D'ya hear me, babby brother?"

Sean blinked his blue-green eyes. "Ya want Westen alive, I get it... But jus' fer now, right?"

"Aye, jus' fer now."

Watching the younger man duck down and disappear into the high growing weeds which filled what once would have been a large back garden, Liam sheathed his wickedly sharp hunting knife and unclipped the strap which had allowed him to carry his AR15 rifle across his back. Flicking the safety off, the Irishman began to cautiously make his way to the front door of the run down farmhouse.

He had lied when he told his sister it would take them half an hour to reach her position. With Sean behind the wheel, it had taken them less than twenty minutes. Finding the two sentries hadn't been that difficult either, as both men were skilled at moving silently. Their opponents had obviously underestimated the abilities of two paramilitaries, who were more used to an urban environment rather than sneaking down the side of a field and over a rickety fence.

While Sean had held onto his victim, he had pressed his knife to the throat of the other not-so-lucky guard and within seconds had dug the whole plan out of the CIA's tactical officer. There was only one man inside, a specialist called Gilroy, brought in from London to run the op and a short distance away a helicopter carrying a support team ready to come when called.

Fiona had warned them about MI6, yet the guards they had discovered were Americans, based out of the US embassy in Dublin, which all supported to his mother's theory that Westen had gone rogue on both his masters. Liam scowled. It changed nothing... He knew exactly how dogged the PIRA death squads could be. After all, at one time, he had run one of the most successful cells, hunting down informers and traitors for a large reward.

He wiped a hand over his mouth. I bloody well warned har...She knew tha rules an' tha consequences o' treason. Once in, never out... She might as well have loaded, cocked an' aimed tha executioner's gun at her own head…

Reaching the side of the house, Liam stopped to take a quick look at his watch. He still had two minutes to get into position. That was plenty of time, as all he had to do was get past a window and he'd be where he needed to be. Taking the safety off his rifle, he changed his hold on the weapon and crept along the front wall.

It had been years since he had been involved in any sort of breech and capture. For the last decade, he'd had a trusted team made up of distant relatives and old friends who did this part of the job. He found their target, planned the take-down and then dealt with the messy job of getting answers before handing all he had found out on to the executive council to pass judgement.

Two shots rang out from inside the cottage and it took all of Liam's self-discipline not to break down the flimsy looking door. Sucking in a deep breath and forcing down the thought of his sister lying wounded or dead inside, the Irishman continued to glide forward, telling himself they had a plan to follow.

Then came the sound of splintering wood and another shot from inside and his carefully thought out strategy to free their youngest sibling went to hell.

()()()()()()()

As the two men traded blows, kicks and holds in an effort to gain the upper hand. Fiona rocked in the chair which held her prisoner until it toppled over, crashing to the floor and sending a shock wave of pain through the side of her head and shoulder.

Ignoring her own discomfort, the petite paramilitary thrashed about, determined to break free from the chair, twisting, kicking and jerking her arms until the old brittle wood splintered and broke apart.

As soon as she was free, Fiona got to her feet and tore away the gag as she searched for some way of aiding her lover, who was grappling with the assassin over the gun the now bloody and battered Brit had drawn in a last ditch attempt to end the fight before the arrival of her brothers.

"Michael!" she called out. Stooping to pick up one of the broken chair legs, she strode swiftly towards the two men. Holding the makeshift weapon aloft, Fiona watched for the chance to enter the affray, knowing that now a gun was coming into play she had to concentrate on staying out of the line of fire yet still be ready to attack.

The loud retort from the weapon made the redhead's heart leap inside her chest. Another shot had her blood running cold as the two men stepped apart. Michael's hands were covered in red as the thick life giving liquid stained his shirt and dripped down his pant legs. Acting purely on instinct, she swung the broken chair leg as hard as she could at the back of the assassin's head, knocking him out cold as the other man collapsed.

"Michael, you're hurt."

Ignoring the hired killer laying in a crumpled heap in front of her, Fiona rushed to her lover's side. Reaching out, she attempted to examine his injuries. But he brushed her hands away.

"It's nothing… The blood is from my wrists. I cut them getting free..." He looked around, swallowing thickly when he noticed the two neat bullet holes buried into the wall at his chest height. "We need to get outta here. C'mon…" He took hold of her arm and dragged her towards the stairs. "We can't risk going out any of the doors. C'mon, Fi… now!"

They had barely made it half way up to the second floor when the sound of shattering wood was followed by an angry male voice. "WESTEN! Face me like a man, ya feckin -"

Sean Glenanne's diatribe was cut off by a hand grabbing his ankle and then before he could react, the bloody and bruised figure lying on the floor fired up at him, sending the irate Irishman spinning back against the wall, his right arm hanging uselessly at his side, the sleeve of his bomber jacket already turning crimson.

Upon hearing her brother's voice, Fiona had jerked her arm out of her lover's grasp and ran down the stairs, the sound of the shot adding even more speed to her descent.

"Fi! Fiona, dammit!" Michael shoved the petite woman aside in an effort to stop her from running straight into what he suspected was a beginning of a fire fight and made it to the bottom of the staircase in time to witness the British assassin rise up with a smoking gun in his hand, pointed at the slumped figure of Fiona's youngest brother.

As much as the former spy didn't want to kill anybody in the employ of the CIA, he saw no other choice. Sean might hate him, but they had been friends in the past and he still held out a small hope they would be friends in the future. He shot the hired killer twice in the back before spinning to cover the front door, which had just been broken down by the head of the Glenanne family armed with a semi-automatic rifle.

"NO!" Fiona screamed as the man she loved opened fire upon her oldest brother.

Michael blocked out the cry of his lover and ignored the drum of her tiny but powerful fists hitting his back as he squeezed the trigger on his handgun. His first two shots hit the AR15, tearing the weapon out of Liam's hands, and then a third and fourth shot caused the older man to throw himself flat onto the floor.

"Stay down, Liam. I don't want to kill you."

"Ya shot Sean, ya bastid! Am gonna-"

"He dinnae!" Fiona interrupted her brother. "He saved him, ask Sean yarself."

"Fi, Fiona, go get the last of our bags and get the car started. We're going." The former cover operative spoke in a cold flat tone. He was falling back on all his training and expertise to get them out of the deadly situation they now found themselves in. The whole time he was speaking, he never took his attention off the older man lying on the floor just inside the front door.

"We're going now, Liam. Believe me when I say you do not want to try and follow us. Your brother has a bullet wound to the top of his arm. He should be your first priority. But don't take too long. Do you hear that?" He gestured with a look upwards. "My guess is that's a full tactical team coming in to try to pick us up. You are not going to want to be around when that happens."

Fiona passed behind him. Having retrieved the last of their bags from the second story, she hurried out the back door her fallen brother had burst through minutes earlier, leaving the cottage without further comment.. Seconds later, the sound of the Discovery could be heard and Michael slowly backed away from the prone man who would one day soon be his brother-in-law.

()()()()()()

Reaching the car, Michael opened the driver's side door and stared into the turbulent blue-green eyes of his lover. "Move over, Fi. I'll drive."

She shook her head. "You have cuts ta yar wrists thot need seeing ta an' I doubt ya could hold tha steering wheel fer long, not wit' tha sort o' drivin' we've got ahead o' us." To make her point, she revved the engine and slipped the large vehicle into gear.

For a split second, he thought about arguing with her; however, there was no time and she did have a point. Overhead the helicopter was beginning to descend and it was possible to see a figure leaning out of one of the doors holding a rifle.

With an annoyed huff, the former spy slammed the door shut and quickly made his way around to the passenger side. As soon as he was inside, the Discovery shot backwards and then the redhead spun the steering wheel hard to the left before setting off forwards in full four wheel drive.

"Fi, Fiona where the hell are -" His words were cut off as the large SUV ploughed through the waist high wild flowers and weeds covering back garden. "Fi, watch out for the-"

His words were cut off by the roar of the helicopter's engine and rotor blades, as the Kiowa military aircraft flew low enough to buzz the tree tops, and that was when Fiona took one hand off the steering wheel long enough to press down on the trigger switch she had positioned on her lap to detonate the roadside bombs they had planted the previous day.

The walls which lined the narrow country lane disintegrated, sending large stones flying into the air, hitting the under carriage of the helicopter, causing it to tip and rock. As the Discovery crashed through the rickety wooden fence at the end of the garden and into the fields beyond, the helicopter engine sputtered and stalled, sending the chopper crashing to the ground and exploding into a massive fireball. She had expected it would take down their pursuers, not disintegrate them.

"Whot tha -?" Fiona twisted around to take a look at the devastation she had wrought until she was forced to turn back to concentrate on guiding the heavy vehicle over the rough ground.

"It would have been loaded down the weapons, ammunition," Michael muttered. "You couldn't have known that."

"I didnae-," the young Irishwoman swallowed thickly, her pallid complexion turning green as her foot slipped from the accelerator pedal. "Me brothers! I -"

"Your brothers were still inside the cottage. They're fine, Fi, but we won't be if you don't get going."

"But -"

"But nothing," he replied harshly. "They were here to kill us or throw us into some deep dark hole. Now drive, we need to get outta here."

When she tried to take another look at the growing flames, which were now roaring towards the farmhouse, the ex-spy reached over with his foot and stamped on the gas, causing the Discovery to fly forwards, forcing her to focus on the rolling pasture ahead of them.

"We have to get away from here as quickly as possible, that explosion, the fire, it's gonna bring the Gardai and every spy and hired killer hunting us straight at us."

"Thar's no need ta shout at me!" She glanced over at him, determination shining through the tears which filled her eyes and stained her cheeks.

"Just get us back onto a road going north for now... Not a main road."

"North?" She was no longer looking at him. She aimed the car at a five bar wooden gate at the edge of the field which would put them back onto the road.

"For now, we need to hide out. What about those mountains?" he asked. The former agent reached across his body to grab the seatbelt and clip it into place before they smashed through the gate. The large SUV then fishtailed up the narrow road, almost crashing into the fence on the opposite side of the thin piece of tarmac.

"Ya want ta go ta tha mountains? I thought ya meant we'd try fer tha far North."

"No, every time we go into a town, we risk Colin being able to track us down. From now on, we're doing things my way... We need to drop off the grid, at least for a while. We'll have to live on whatever we can carry or kill."

Michael's memory momentarily served up a series of images from his time as a Ranger and later as a spy of having to travel fast through hostile territories and sometimes living off the land when food supplies ran out... He shook his head for a moment, trying to clear away all the recollections of so many servings rabbit stew he'd had to endure in Serbia. Just the thought of Lapin, even when served in the finest restaurants, turned his usually cast iron stomach. However, he would do what he had to.

"Michael I'm not sure -"

"Do you remember what we did in Slieveanorra?" he asked abruptly, refusing to let her voice her doubts about his strategy. This time she wasn't going to talk him out of doing what was necessary.

"Slieveanorra? Michael, I donnae think now is tha time..." Her confused expression and blushing cheeks told him immediately that she was thinking about the sexual antics that had followed their flight from the RUC and the British army when he had led her away to hide in the Slieveanorra forest following a botched robbery of an armored payroll truck.

"What we did to escape the police and army," he clarified, enunciating every word in an icy monotone, wanting her thinking tactics instead of pleasure. He watched the ex-guerrilla carefully, hoping she was beginning to understand now how deep a hole they had dug themselves into.

Fiona swallowed thickly and nodded wordlessly. Then, with a sniff, she schooled her features to show that she was back in tactical planning mode.

"We need to get off the road and into the closest woods, like Slieveanorra or better still a mountain range like that one in the distance. We need somewhere with deep tree and ground cover, caves if at all possible, but high ground with a good view of the area. So, tell me quickly, where are we headed?"

"Slieveamon," she spoke softly, blinking away the moisture filling her eyes. "Thar's a forest, mountains an' fram whot I can remember a treacherous bog... I'll get us thar. Now, clean up those cuts an' stop bleedin o'er tha upholstery."

Fiona drove onwards, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the maze of winding country lanes as she aimed the Discovery at the mountain range dominating horizon. Michael was now in the rear of the car with their rudimentary medical kit cleaning and bandaging his wrists.

She let her gaze drift to the rear view mirror, catching the sight of his battered features in the reflection. The fight back in the cottage had been brutal even by her own standards and it had given her another glimpse to the true nature of the man she had run away with and it thrilled her more than she cared to admit. He had fought for her and then saved her brother's life, even though Sean had entered the cottage with the intention of killing him.

"Michael," she wanted to tell him he had been right all along.

"Not now, Fi. Keep your eyes on the road and get us up into those hills. I'm going to make up two backpacks with our gear. We're going to stash the vehicle and go in on foot. It's gonna be a hard march, but we need to be set up somewhere by nightfall."

He spoke in the same cool clipped tones he had been using since they had left Waterford after spotting Liam talking to the two teenagers. It was on the tip of her tongue to snap back at him, but she resisted the urge. The cuts to his wrists were not the only injuries her dark haired lover was nursing. A vision of the British killer's fists smashing blows into Michael's ribs and stomach briefly filled her mind. He was probably nursing some broken ribs, bruised the very least even if he was showing little sign of it. He'd been hit in the head more than once in the melee as well.

"Fine," she mumbled and turned her attention back to the road.

()()()()()

For the next hour, they travelled in silence. The one-time paramilitary could hear him moving about in the back as he sorted through all their supplies, choosing which items were necessary and which they could do without. Every now and again she heard him mumble something, but didn't deign to reply as he was obviously in no mood to listen to anything she wanted to say.

Finally, Fiona brought the Land Rover to a stop in a deserted car park at the edge of a wide expanse of wilderness with the Slieveamon Mountain peaks risings up in the distance above a dark green forest which surrounded its base.

"It's a good coupla miles walk, but fram what I can remember this is tha shortest route ta tha forest."

She watched as Michael climbed slowly out of the back of the car, dragging two back packs with him. The petite woman could see that the journey had given his muscles time to stiffen and the bruises, which covered his face and no doubt the rest of him, would come out in glorious technicolor hues once the morning light was upon them.

"D'ya want me ta take tha car further in? Wit' tha four wheel drive, I could get us all tha way ta tha tree line. We could hide it further inta tha-"

"And leave a nice wide trail for anybody coming after us to find," Michael countered. The ex-spy lifted the smaller of the back packs and helped her settle the weight on her back. "No, it's fairly well hidden where it is and hopefully if we're seen from the air they might take us for a couple of ramblers. It's about time something went our way." He tried to hide the wince of pain as he slipped his arms into the straps of his back pack.

Fiona soon found herself falling behind as the former Army Ranger set a blistering pace over the rough ground. She followed in his wake, sliding on slippery stones half buried in the mud and trying not to fall. Even worse was the threat of twisting her ankles in the deep ruts left by the cattle that grazed on the lower level of the foothills.

"Michael!" she called out. "Michael, are ya sure ya donnae want ta slow down? Ya took quite a beating an' lost a lotta blood back thar. "

He paused, his blue eyes blinking away the fine misty rain which had been falling all day.

"I'm fine, Fi, unless you need to rest for a while?"

She did, but she wasn't about to admit it. She had never felt so tired and worn out in her whole life as she did right at that moment, but Fiona would never tell him that. "No, we'll keep going."

"Good…" came the short reply and then he was off again. "We need to find somewhere to make a camp. Once we're deep enough the trees, it should be drier. Maybe if the cloud cover stays this low, we'll be able to have a small campfire."

It was late afternoon when Michael finally called an end to their march. Deep into the forest and off the marked trails, he had found a small clearing. Helping her off with the backpack, he eased the redhead down onto a rock and for the first time his blue eyes softened as he stared down at her.

"You rest up while I see to the camp. I'll make a shelter and then we can eat." The dark haired man looked up through the trees. "I think we'll be able to risk that fire I talked about."

Too worn out to say a word, the young Irishwoman just nodded wearily and then watched as her lover, still obviously in full military or super spy mode, made a small shelter using tree branches and leaves before going off to find all he needed to make a fire.

Maybe after they had eaten a meal and had a rest he would be prepared to talk to her properly.

Wiping a hand over her face, Fiona wondered how her brothers were getting on. The wound to Sean's arm had been bleeding enough to make her worry that the Englishman's bullet might have clipped an artery. She tried to console herself with the thought Liam had trained as a doctor. It was many years ago, but her older brother had patched them all up at one time or another. That is, if they got out of the fire, which had been taking hold of the rundown property when she had driven away.

Ms. Glenanne was still lost in her thoughts when Michael returned and began to build the fire close where he had made their shelter for the night. Once lit, he sat back heavily, staring into the flames.

"I've done a quick perimeter check and I couldn't see any sign of pursuit. But that mess we left behind us will keep the local law busy for at least twenty four hours and I imagine Tom Card is doing some serious tap dancing to get outta the shit storm caused by a blown up helicopter and tactical team on foreign soil. That should slow him down a bit."

"So wa're safe fer now?"

"As safe as we're going to be until they find the car."

"If wa're safe, can we talk now?" she asked in a small voice, hoping that he had gotten over his almost wholly justified righteous indignation.

"Talk?" he countered. "I don't know what else you want me to say, Fiona." His deep blue orbs bored into her weary eyes. "I told you before we ever left Dublin what was going to happen. These people, the CIA, MI6, and god only knows who else, they have resources you cannot imagine."

It was as if she had opened a floodgate because her lover was on his feet now, the fire forgotten as the words poured from between his lips. "You don't have your family or your family name backing you anymore, they are hunting you and now that you're not under their protection, everyone the Glenannes have ever pissed off is lining up to put your head on a pike. Don't you understand? This is not your Daddy's war, Fiona. You're not fighting injustice and evil on your home turf. You. Are. Being. Hunted. On. Your. Home. Turf. You have one job, ONE! That's to keep yourself and the baby safe. I can't do it for you and I can't do my job if you won't do yours!"

All the pent-up fear and frustration caused him to begin to pace around the small clearing. "You can't keep being so irresponsible. You're not part of the Glenanne family anymore, it's just us. How the hell is this supposed to work? This…" and he gestured between them with a stiff and accusing forefinger. "This thing…with you and me… How can this work if you won't listen me?"

"I wa' tryin' ta help ya—"

Michael's blue eyes blazed. "By running into a fucking firefight unarmed, that's helpful? You can't ignore what I say. You can't endanger yourself on a whim. You can't just do whatever you feel like and expect it to work out okay. There are consequences to your decisions, to your actions. God, Fiona, you're acting just like Nate. You don't hear a word I say, you do whatever the hell you want and then you expect me to pick up the pieces and I won't do it anymore! You're all about protecting the innocent, right? Well, there's only one innocent person that matters to me right now, the one who should be the only one who matters to you!"

And then it wasn't his pregnant girlfriend he was talking to anymore. Her lover's face was alien to her as he looked right through her, his voice a low hiss she could barely make out. "It's just like getting drunk all the time, smacking and shoving people around and expecting them not to get hurt! Yeah, that always turns out well, doesn't it? That was another little defenseless life at stake, dammit!"

The shock of it all stopped him cold. Michael couldn't believe what he had just said. Suddenly his focus shifted back to her, staring into her wide, guilt-ridden orbs. The anger and the anxiety had brought one of his most deeply suppressed traumas to the surface. He'd been shouting at Fiona, trying to impress upon her how precarious their situation was, when the raw memories had crashed together in his consciousness and somehow found their way out of his mouth.

Then the astonishment compounded into outright horror as the red haze cleared from his vision and the mother-to-be of his baby was doubled over and holding herself together with shaking arms tight about her midsection, crumbled up there before him… weeping… gasping for air in between the great gulping sobs as the tears flowed freely down her tormented face. Michael was stunned.

He'd seen her screaming mad, roaring drunk, even teary-eyed and sorrowful, but never like this...ever...

He dropped down to her side, wrapping the wailing woman in his arms while she buried her face into his coat. The dark haired man held her tightly, totally at the loss for words. Of course, he hadn't wanted to hurt her like this, but he didn't want her to be okay. He needed her to understand how not okay everything she had done was, so that maybe she would listen to him in the future.

If it had taken getting captured and then a fire fight between her, her family and a former MI6 assassin for her to come to grips with their new reality, then she needed it stuck in her head permanently. They had barely escaped with their lives this time. This cannot happen again.

It won't happen again, he vowed silently as he stroked her short spiky hair and stared silently into the gathering gloom of night while his exhausted Irish lover cried herself to sleep in his embrace.