A/N: As Michael and Fiona's time in Ireland is rapidly coming to an end, so is her time as a member of Clan Glenanne as the consequences of their actions take their toll on everyone.
Another long chapter to make up for the wait and grateful thanks for everyone's continued support. We appreciate everyone who takes the time to read and review and hope you enjoy this family-centric chapter while everyone is dealing with the fallout of our fav couple's recent choices.
BE BRAVE LITTLE ANGEL
Chapter Thirty Eight
Family businesses are tough. They're even tougher for criminals and especially for those fighting for a cause. Mix normal family issues with bullets, spies and the danger of being blown to pieces and things can get tense.
"Sean, whot d'ya think ya're doin'? Put thot bag down nar, ya blasted fool. Are ya tryin' ta bust yar stitches?"
Isabelle hadn't heard her brother in law's reply but she had heard the light patter of bare feet running along the landing and the bang of the bathroom door.
She had found the youngest of the Glenanne boys standing in the middle of his bedroom with a large suitcase filled with Fiona's things at his feet, his sharp angular features showing an odd mixture of anger and confusion.
"I wa' jus' tryin' ta help har," had been the puzzled younger man's explanation for what had happened.
"Help har by pullin' out yar stitches? Well, if ya war tryin' ta get on har last nerve, ya have done it nar... Why dontcha go an' see whot Liam an' thot husband o' mine have cooked up while I see if I can get yar Rosie outta tha bathroom?"
As it had turned out, Seamus had been half way up the stairs when his beloved wife had set off to calm down her younger sister in law. She stood silently and listened as the two men had spoken in hushed tones, and blinked back her own tears before softly knocking on the locked wooden door.
"Rosie, tis jus' me… Let us in, sweetheart."
After a little more coaxing, the young blonde opened the door a crack and then in a rush pulled her inside. Before the door had swung fully shut behind her, Sean's teenage bride began to unload all her fears on her older and far wiser sister in law.
"I-I've hadda enough. I cannae take no more. Am leavin' him, I wan- wanna go home, I-I-I cannae do this. I cannae put me babies in danger like this. I want me mum." The girl, not yet twenty years of age, sobbed into her shoulder.
"Hush nar, hush, sweetheart…" Isabelle rocked her as if she was a child, one hand rubbing the younger woman's back in an effort to stop the tremors running through blonde's body.
This wa' Liam's fault… Comin' back an' layin' down thar law tha way he had, all his talk o' Dessie McGarry, tha infamous torturer comin' out o' retirement and all thar fates if anyone spoke one word outta turn, terrifying ta tha young ones who had been listenin' ta things they should nae. She'd had ta spend half an hour calmin' down har own babbies, while in tha next room Rosie an' Sean had been goin' at it hammer an' tong... An' nar har own husband wa' about ta betray his sister in tha biggest way possible... If banishin' Fiona wasnae bad enough... The brunette closed her eyes and shut off her thoughts. Nar wasnae tha time fer recriminations... Rockin' tha boat could sink tham all.
"Ya need ta take some great big breaths, great big breaths, Rosie. Yer gonna have a panic attack if yer nae careful... Come sit down on tha toilet seat an' wipe yar face. Then ya can tell me whot thot idjit brother in law o' mine has done this time."
And tell her the blonde did, in a flurry of words some of which Belle had trouble deciphering as the girl's recently acquired Irish accent had faded away in her hysteria to be replaced by a tumble of her natural East London cockney. It didn't matter though because the heart of the problem tearing apart the marriage was plain to anyone with a set of eyes.
Rosie wa' out o' har depth an' scared ta death an' Sean wa' being, well he wa' jus' being his self.
Brushing off his injury as soon as Liam had given him the okay to get out of bed, the youngest of the male siblings had been itching to be let back into action. He was blaming himself and, to a degree his wife, for encouraging the relationship between Fiona and McBride and, most importantly for the blonde, he was refusing to explain what was happening or even take the time to reassure her everything was going to be all right in the end.
"He-he's treatin' me like an idjit. He te-tells me to stop askin' questions, mind the kids an', an' just to do as Am told," Rosie had sniffed. "I've heard ya all talkin', Am not a complete twit so why is treatin' me like one?"
"Because he's the idjit, but a well-meaning one," Isabelle sighed. "He is tryin' ta protect ya. He thinks by nae tellin' ya whare he goes an' whot he does he is keepin' ya safe... An' let's face it, Rosanna me love, yer tha one who let ham get away wit' it in the first place... But, nae is not tha time ta start demanding he changes his ways or ta go runnin' off across tha water ta yar mammy. Am nae gonna sugar coat it fer ya, we're in trouble har. Fiona has kicked tha wasp's nest an' we'll all be gettin' stung if we donnae stick together."
She handed the younger woman a tissue from the nearby dispenser. It was time to give Sean's bride a few hard facts of life.
"Nar, listen ta me, yar man is keepin ya in tha dark cuz thot way ya cannae tell whot ya donnae know. Ya understand whot Am sayin', sweetheart?.. If tha Gard or god forbid any o' tha boys come askin'... Tis an old way o' thinkin' an' ya may think tis stupid, but he's doin' it ta keep ya safe, ta keep all o' us safe." She paused and tried to gauge how much of what she was saying was sinking in, but it was impossible tell as Rosie kept her head bowed and was still dabbing at her eyes with the handful of tissues.
"Right nar, Sean has ta be able ta trust ya gonna be hare ta hold yar family together an' thot ya'll be hare when he needs ya... He loves ya, Rose, ya know thot dontcha? All this, whot's goin' on nar, it won't be fer long an' if wa're gonna be honest, thar is no place safer than right hare fer ya an' yar babies. Do ya hear whot Am sayin' ta ya, Rosanna Glenanne?"
This time when she paused, her sister in law waited until the young blonde sighed and nodded silently before continuing. "Once tis all over, once Fiona is outta Ireland an' things have settled down I think tha pair o' ya need ta get away fer a while. Ya never had a proper honeymoon did ya?"
The girl shook her head to the negative and tried not to tear up again.
"Have him take ya ta Paris, even if tis just fer a weekend. Ya can leave Sian an' Peter wit' me. Ya book inta fancy hotel, make ham take ya shoppin', do tha whole tourist thing, get pissed outta yar skulls if thot's whot ya want... But think very carefully befer ya ask ham ta tell ya everything he does, ya may not like whot ya get ta hear."
()()()()()()
The strain of having a loved one disappear for weeks affects people differently. Spend enough time as a covert operative and you know better than to try to predict the outcome of a long-awaited reunion... Of course, some reunions are more unpredictable than others…
"Sit yarself down an' donnae utter a single word. I can barely stand ta be hare."
Maeve Glenanne couldn't even bring herself to look at her youngest surviving child. Instead after hustling her daughter into Father Liam's front parlor and directing her towards the couch in the center of the room, the family matriarch turned her eyes to stare intently at the large wooden crucifix which hung above her old friend's mantle-piece.
"Ya have nae idea whot ya have done, nae idea whot ya have––" Maeve swallowed thickly and forced down all her anger and hurt. She had been given her orders and delaying the inevitable scene her words were going to cause wasn't going to make it any more palatable.
Best ta get over wit' like rippin' off a plaster.
"We've discussed yar plans ta marry an' tha news o' ya, yar pregnancy an' whot we think is fer tha best... Tha best fer ya an' fer tha rest o' us taa..." With a tight rein on her emotions, the elderly woman's words came out in a cold matter of fact manner.
"Thar is ta be nae weddin', nae hare, nae now. Tis impossible... Yar brother Liam is makin' plans right nar ta get ya outta tha country as soon as possible, tonight if it can be done. He has Seamus makin' calls, seein' if he can find someone willin' ta take tha pair o' ya, no questions asked, an' Rosie is packing a few o' yar things, things ya may need, keepsakes and tha like."
She blinked away a stray tear, and hardened her heart. This had ta be done, thare wa' nae choice... How had it come ta this? How could har beautiful, intelligent daughter have turned out ta be so bloody stupid?
For a brief moment she a vision from the long distant past, from before Pat Jr had been born… Of Kathleen McCarty, the daughter of a neighbor who had made the mistake of befriending one of the occupying force... Of that poor girl being stripped and dragged naked out of her mother's home… Of her having her head shaved by a baying mob… And how two nights later the girl's family home was torched in the middle of the night…
No one had died in that fire, but it was the last any of them had seen or heard of the McCartys.
"Liam wants ya gone, gone fer good. Thar is nae comin' back... Ever... Nae contact... Yer ta be as good as dead ta us."
Thare, God help har, she'd said it. She'd done har duty.
"No! Mammy! Ya cannae do thot!" Her daughter shot off the couch, her heart breaking at her mother's coldly delivered words. "Please, ya cannae let ham do thot ta me... Ya have ta – I'll speak ta ham meself. I'll apologize... I'll make ham understand."
Fiona was frantic, trying to fight down the panic that threatened to engulf her. She reached out to her mother. Her Mam had ta be wrong, it wa'a mistake, it had ta be…Ta be disowned fer bein' in love?... Nae, thot wasnae goin' ta happen... thot wa' nae whot she had planned fer...
"Speak ta ham?... Make ham understand? Ya little fool." The matriarch choked at the absurdity of her daughter's suggestion. "Ya turned ham away every time he tried ta talk ta ya... Ya pointed a gun at ham, shot at ham more than once an' threw a smoke grenade inta his face an' nar ya wanna talk?"
Maeve let out a bitter laugh. As she and Claire had discovered, her eldest boy was well past listening to anyone's opinion except his own.
"Ya left Sean ta bleed out on tha floor o' thot cottage ya ware holed up in, seconds befer ya blew a helicopter outta tha sky. Donnae even try ta deny thot wa' ya, Fiona... D'ya even care ya coulda killed both o' yar brothers?... Ya've had Liam an' me cleanin' up after ya while ya an' thot man traipse around tha countryside causin' mayhem wharever ya go. Well, nae more, Fiona, nae more."
There was not a trace of compassion in her mother's eyes, as the anger she had tried to quell burst forth the instant her baby girl's small slender hand had landed on her shoulder. It had taken every ounce of Maeve's self-control not to raise her hand to her rebellious child for a second time.
"Yer reaping whot ya have sown, me girl. Ya have lain wit' tha enemy, ya have his child in yar belly... Ya have made yar bed, nar ya gonna have ta lie in it... Ya know whot they'd call ya if it ever got out? Tout..! Whore..! Traitor..! They would tear ya ta pieces, pregnant or nae."
The younger woman fell back from the vitriol spewing from her mother's mouth. She had never seen Maeve so furious and her already broken heart shattered into a hundred pieces. With her legs shaking she fell back down onto the couch and covered her face with her hands.
Thar had ta be a way ta sort this out… If she could just make har mammy understand about how much they loved each other, how much Michael loved har an' tha baby.
"I love ham, mam…" She looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she fought her own internal battle. "I love ham an' he loves me... He's nae longer workin' fer tha British or his own people... He's thrown away everythin' ta be wit' me."
"Aye an' nar ya have done tha same." Maeve sat down next to her daughter, resisting the urge to pull the younger woman into her arms. "It cannae be helped, ya – he... Tha pair o' ya, whot ya have done and whot we have had ta do ta stop yar chaos boilin' over..."
She sighed heavily, letting go of her anger in one long exhale.
"Yesterday, I killed a man, an Englishman, an assassin. I shot ham in tha back then finished ham off wit' one ta tha head. Then I blew up tha car he wa' sat in ta hide tha evidence. He'd kidnapped me in an attempt ta draw out ya an' McBride an' befer he took me he murdered Connor O'Toole, d'ya remember ham? He had a family, ya know, a wife who's lost har husband an' a babby who donnae have a father any longer." For the first time she looked into her daughter's eyes and saw the same sadness and desolation echoing in those blue-green orbs as was filling her own body and soul.
"Yar Aunt Claire killed another man, poisoned ham on me order. He wa' CIA sent ta bring yar man in. He wa' tha one thot told me ya war in tha family way... He's dead an' gone taa. D'ya know whot kind o' risk she took killin' ham or do ya nae care about any o' tha rest o' us nar?"
Her youngest child started to protest her accusations, but Maeve plowed ahead mercilessly.
She needed ta be made ta see whot she'd done...She had ta be made ta understand why she had ta leave an' nae return…ever...
"Fram whot Liam has told me, it wa' yar self who finished off Tommy O'Neill, but did ya give one thought about whot his sister might have ta say about thot…? Nae, I guess not, well dontcha worry about it nar. Liam paid fer har an' har husband ta die... Oh, donnae look at me like thot… Ya had ta have known thar would be consequences ta yar little Romeo an' Juliet romance?" her mother advised as Fiona opened her mouth only to shut it just as quickly.
"Tha O'Neills ar' all dead, a CIA officer an' some Brit assassin killed, tha crew o' tha helicopter immolated... an' then thar's tha body tha pair o' ya left in the forest fer Liam ta find... Colin dinnae have ta time ta get a name, but he wa' an American taa... We've had tha CIA sniffin' around nae just us but 'round Ryan taa. Them CIA fellas picked up yar cousin and locked ham up overnight.
Fiona listened in horror as her mother continued to fill her in on the furor they had caused.
"An' I have nae got ta tha best bit yet... Val Temple an' tha executive council ar' askin' questions an' nar Sinn Fein ar' about ta be kicked outta tha talks cuz o' all tha trouble thot has occurred since tha youngest o' tha Glenannes ran off wit' har radical boyfriend."
She hadnae known... Wa' she really thot wilfully ignorant thot she had thought thar would nae be a price ta pay fer whot they had done?... More like they had both been so wrapped up in staying one step ahead of Liam thot they hadnae cared one bit about the damage they war doing. Tremors ran through the younger woman's frame at the enormity of what they had done settled upon her.
But her mother hadn't finished. "Yar brother has lied ta tha council, He is about ta start a bloody civil fer ya. He has done things... He's done a lotta things an' he'll do a lot more, puttin' hamself in tha firin' line... puttin' us all in tha line o' fire... D'ya understand?"
Maeve took her daughter's hands into hers, her expression softening slightly but her gaze no less intense.
"If this donnae stop nar, ya'll kill us all. Liam has told Val Temple ya've already gone. Sinn Fein is sending tha Taxman 'round ta look inta this. D'ya remember tha stories about ham? If he finds one hair outta place, they'll tear tha lot o' us limb fram limb an' ya know it. If ya care nothin' fer yar brothers, would ya see tha wee ones murdered in thar beds then?"
With a tear trailing silently down the side of her nose, the queen of the clan repeated her eldest's final judgment in a tone that left no room for argument. "An' thot me girl is why ya have ta go nar an' thot is why ya can never come back."
"I understand," the younger woman agreed, swallowing thickly. "I... We...we'll do whotever ya think is best." Fiona sighed while her mind in a turmoil tried to come to terms with not only the consequences of what she and Michael had done, but also the penance she was expected to suffer.
A disgrace ta tha family name, disowned an' thrown out inta tha cold... She must have been touched in tha head ta think har family would ever have accepted a spy inta tha fold.
()()()()()()
"So what does happen now?" the dark haired former spy asked in his own voice. Now his cover was well and truly blown, he was sincerely hoping that the answer to his question wasn't going to be a bullet to the back of his head...
One of the most dangerous times in war is when peace negotiations begin. Until both sides agree on terms, you're sitting on a powder keg...
He hated the thought of leaving Fiona alone with her obviously furious mother, but his being present would likely only inflame the situation... That's what he told himself anyway.
"Fer nar ya're gonna sit hare nice an' quiet wit' me an' Father Liam while Maeve and Fiona have a private conversation... After thot tha plan is ya will both be on yar way outta Ireland as soon as me nephews can arrange it."
"I'm assuming by both you mean we'll be going somewhere together?" Hopefully Fiona's Aunt Claire would give him that much. With no plan in place to separate them, it at least meant he could relax about that.
"Aye together..." the older woman confirmed with a nod of her head. "Am pleased ta see thot matters ta ya. Whare ya will end up I cannae say. Thot will be up ta whoever Shay can find willin' ta take ya and I can tell ya thot will be a short list. With all thot's been happening, most o' tha local hooligans are a touch nervous."
The ex-operative turned slightly in his chair so he could give his full attention to the grey haired old lady sitting at his side. You can't choose your intelligence sources. Might be a heroin smuggler, a dictator... or your fiancée's favorite aunt...
There had been precious little detail in the files he had been given regarding the older sister of Patrick Glenanne. All he could remember was a brief couple of sentences, none of which were useful now, and what he had picked up from listening to local gossip.
Three times married, it was rumored each of her husbands had been more crazy and radical than the last, and all her children were deceased as well. And just like the rest of the clan, the old girl had been suspected of many crimes over the years from common assault to murder. But whenever a case had made it as far as court, it ended up being thrown out due to a sudden lack of witnesses.
"No! Mammy! Ya cannae do thot."
At the sound of his beloved's wail of despair, Michael tensed and made to move out of his chair, only to be stopped by a wrinkled hand landing on his arm and surprisingly strong fingers crushing his wrist.
"Mom, why did you do that?" Michael shook his head slightly to dismiss the unwanted memory which had chosen that moment to try to break free.
"I really think someone should get in there," he ground out the words from behind clenched teeth as his eyes went to where Father Conlon was standing as if guarding the door which led into the hallway.
"Thar still talkin' nar, Yank. We'll nae interfere unless they start breakin' things..."
The release of pressure on his wrist brought the brooding ex-spy's attention back to the woman sitting at his side, her pale blue eyes sparkling with what looked like amusement.
"Whot did ya think? This reunion war gonna be all be soft words and kisses?" She shook her head and chuckled at the stupidity of youth. "Ya really donnae know us very well do ya, Mr. Westen, if thot ta thought."
"No," Michael admitted, exhaling a sharp breath. "This is exactly how I expected it to go. I tried-"
"Yer a brave an' optimistic fella then if ya thought thot would deter our Fiona."
The dark haired man bit his upper lip just for a moment. "I didn't really expect her to listen, but I had to try."
"Tout...! Whore…! Traitor…!" More of Maeve Glenanne's scathing assault on her daughter's character filtered through from the parlor.
And the urge to intercede on his beloved's behalf ran straight into another highly inconvenient piece of his past rearing its ugly head.
"I'm sorry, Frank, I tried to tell them it was nothing. Michael, why were you talking to those people? How could you betray your father like that?"
"Thar'll be none o' thot nar' son..." And he realized he was out of his chair this time. "Yer lookin' a touch green thar, me lad. Ya sit yarself back down an' tell yar Auntie Claire whot's troubling ya?"
Spies deal with foreign agencies, dirty corporations and criminal syndicates all the time. But none of that compares to dealing with families. Asking a man to take apart a business or turn on his country is easy compared to going into a man's home and telling him how to deal with the people he loves. That's why, when confronted with a family situation, it's usually a good idea to tell the truth.
Except in this case, he was not about to admit that his own familial demons were being dredged up by the drama taking place in the other room…
His eyes flickered from the old lady to the priest and back again. He had a choice to make: go with what every fiber of his being was screaming at him to do, to get to his mate's side as quickly as possible by whatever means necessary, or to follow his training, training which had saved his life more times than he could remember, which was counselling a more restrained approach.
"My troubles…?" His eyes darted back to the door, but by sheer force of will Michael seated himself again. "I'm more concerned with what's going on next door. Fiona's pregnant, she -"
"Pregnant, but nae made o' glass an' it doesnae change tha fact thot thare are things thot have ta be said, things ya both need ta understand."
"I understand that –," he caught himself, took a breath to calm his protective instincts and then forced a smile to his lips. "I understand that, but wouldn't it be easier if we all talked together?"
"Ya donnae believe thot and we both know it. Me sister in law has things ta say ta har daughter thot are nae fer sharin'..."
Claire narrowed her eyes as she studied the younger man. She could see what had attracted her niece to the tall leanly built man. There was a strength in him, not only in the line of the well-honed muscles showing on his arms, but a strength of mind too...Thar wa' lots ta like about Michael McBride... Only Michael McBride dinnae exist... So, it wa' nar time ta find out whot Michael Westen wa' made of.
"Though Am pleased ta see ya wantin' ta look after har as thot's ta be yar job fram nar on. But until they've finished tis jus' tha three o' us." She mirrored the younger man's toothy smile and kept eye contact until he looked away.
Claire Glenanne was used to reading people; she had had a long and relatively healthy life because of that innate quality. She waited patiently to see if the man her sister in law had described as a two faced wolf in sheeps clothing really was nothing more than a chancer out to ruin the life of her niece. So far, with everything that had happened, she was confused.
From everything she had been told by her nephews and sister in law, everything she had learned from listening into Maeve's conversation with that smooth talking devil she had recently helped on his way towards his next life and everything she knew from her own contact over the years with the security forces had convinced her the man sitting at her side couldn't be trusted. But now, having spent some time in his company and witnessing his obvious love for her niece, she wasn't so sure.
Oh, there was no doubt in her mind when the spy had first met Fiona he had seen her as easy pickings, especially when compared to striking up a close relationship with her notoriously hot headed brother, Sean.
Besides whot man wouldnae prefer ta have an asset wit' tha added benefit o' a bedmate?
But something had obviously happened over the months and it was not just the baby. Because no man who was well enough trained and disciplined to hideout undiscovered in IRA territory for eighteen months would risk everything for a pretty face unless he was deeply in love.
"If ya donnae mind me sayin' fer two intelligent people livin' dangerous lives, ya have certainly made a complete pigs arse of this." Finally Claire broke the silence. "Whot happened? Am guessin' Fiona's lack o' judgement is down ta baby brain, but yarself, tell me whot's yar excuse?"
"Baby brain?" he echoed.
"An excuse fer makin' appalling choices when yer taa knackered ta think straight an' yar hormones are playin' merry hell wit' yar emotions," she explained... It wa' time ta test tha younger man, ta see if he wa' indeed worthy o' tha love o' her niece. Even though Fiona would be banished regardless, she wanted to assure herself that the man she had run off with was suitable. "Yer disappointin' me, lad. I wa' expectin' more fram tha man who could make me girl forsake har family."
He raised an eyebrow at her comment, the corner of his eyes crinkling slightly as his smile widened. "Sorry to be such a letdown."
Oh yes, she could see exactly whot had attracted her niece ta this man. He wa' trouble wit' a capital T... Handsome, tough and capable of looking after himself but with a slight air of vulnerability, just the sort to catch the eye of a young woman looking for someone different from her suave billionaire ex-boyfriend or the local lads who either had no idea who she was and as such didn't belong in her world or the ones who knew and were hoping that they could catch a ride on her star.
"No, I donnae believe ya ar', nae in tha least, so donnae try ta sweet talk me. Am old enough ta be yar grandma. So, let's get back ta ya. Ar' ya ready ta take on tha job ya have given yarself? Am nae so sure... " This was the crux of the matter, was Michael Westen the sort of man to stay the course?
The elderly woman could see by his countenance that the same question had at least occurred to the younger man seated beside her. It pleased her that she was apparently getting through to him sufficiently that there were observable cracks in the man's façade.
"I love me niece wit' all me heart, but god bless har she's never shown a single shred o' maternal instinct in all tha years I've known har an' yarself, former CIA Agent Michael Westen, whot d'ya know about commitment?"
Fiona's aunt leaned forward, her pale blue eyes taking on a depth of intensity, as she searched for answers in the soul of the spy. "Ya have spent how many years deceiving? Ya lie fer a livin', boy. Ya turn people against thar friends an' family, twistin' tham ta yar will wit'out a single thought ta tha consequences... An' ya did all thot fer tha love o' yar country and government an' nar ya expect me ta believe yer throwin' a glowin' career away fer tha girl who kept yar bed warm on a cold night?"
"I guess so, when you put it like that." Michael shrugged his shoulders. But when his attempt at flippancy fell flat, he took a deep breath. "I still love my country, that is never going to change and I will never do something that betrays the oath I swore. But Fiona and our child, they are my life now. They are all I care about and the only thing that matters to me."
"Tis a fine speech, Mr. Westen, and I can tell ya ar' speakin' fram yar heart, but as tha old sayin' goes, tha devil is in tha details. Am guessin' thot tha life o' a spy is pretty exciting especially fer an unattached fella such as yarself, never stayin' in any place long enough ta form any o' those messy attachments beyond loyalty ta king and country. Ya've made a fine operative fer yer government."
Claire paused, waiting to ensure she had his full attention. "But I know better than most thar's quite the difference between being a good soldier fer tha cause an' bein' a family man. Ar' ya gonna be feelin' tha same way about Fiona as ya do nar when ya've been tied down wit' har in one place an' she's worn out fram four AM feedin's an' har clothes are permanently smellin' o' baby puke?"
"Jesus woman, have you looked in a mirror lately? Ya look like death warmed over, at least put on a clean shirt when Ah git home." Michael shuddered as the sound of his father's angry voice echoed in his head. "How the hell are we supposed ta go anywhere with him carryin' on like that?"
"Bad smells have never bothered me and as for being worn out at four AM, I've done that plenty of times for less good reasons, we both have. We can share the load..."
The dark haired man sighed and shook his head for a moment before looking her in the eye.
"Look, I'd be lying… again… if I said we had planned any of this, you obviously know that much, and the way we ended up doing this is not a good thing. But this is where we are now and I've made my commitment, I would die to protect them. I know there isn't much I can say that will convince any of you of that though. You'll have to judge me on what I've tried to do for them until now."
"I understand thot ya ar' willin' ta die fer yar family, Mr. Westen. Whot I want ta know is ar' ya willing ta live fer tham? When tha days are long and boring an' yar trigger finger is itchin' and yar wife's as well. D'ya have it in ya ta commit ta thot when everythin' in ya is wantin' ta run?"
His expression became steely in an instant. "I have walked away from everything else and there is nothing I won't do for them now, even if it involves dirty diapers and baby puke. Coming here was one of the worst possible tactical decisions I have made since we ran from my government and your family. I did it for her, knowing what the outcome would probably be, because she needed to say goodbye... That is my level of commitment to your niece and to my family and I keep my promises."
Claire nodded thoughtfully and leaned back in her chair. She couldn't deny the man's words. He had indeed risked all by walking into the equivalent of the lion's den for the mother of his child.
"A few years ago, any man who looked at me tha way ya jus' did, wit' tha threat o' death in his eyes, woulda come ta a very sticky end. But ya, Michael Westen, I think Am beginning ta like ya... Tis a pity we willnae get tha chance ta know each other better."
"Maybe someday-"
"Donnae start," she cut him off. "We both know thot's nae gonna happen, ever. When ya leave tonight or tomorrow it'll be tha last time Fiona sees o' Ireland. Liam has banished tha pair o' ya."
"Banished?" he repeated carefully, his brow furrowed. "As in permanently exiled…?"
"Aye, taa much has happened, tha pair o' ya gallivantin' all over tha countryside stirred tha pot good an' proper. Thar can be no other way nar…"
"Too many dead bodies in the ground," Michael agreed, nodding solemnly. "And I sure you've seen my – er – there's been government types sniffing around too? We haven't seen anybody since-"
"Since tha one ya left in tha woods...? Oh, they have been about, trust me on thot, fella. Thar just a bit more crafty than tha ones ya have seen." She briefly thought about telling the former spy of the smooth talking son of a bitch she had poisoned with a toxin-covered receipt but instantly dismissed the thought. She had decided she liked Westen but that didn't mean she was ready to trust him yet.
"When we–" Michael stopped talking as a phone began to ring.
"This'll be yar travel arrangements." Claire drew her cell phone from the pocket of her jacket and as she pressed on the answer key. she got to her feet. "Liam…? Hold on a second, Am nae alone... Yar mammy is speakin' wit' Fiona right nar."
Michael watched with longing as the older woman squeezed past Father Conlon and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. He hated that arrangements were being made for him and Fiona's future and neither one of them was going to be given a say. But they had given up that option when his beloved had decided to try to mend fences with her kinsmen.
When he and Fiona had sat on a grassy hill, watching out for the arrival of Gerry Coleraine's nurse what seemed like a lifetime ago, they had had a long conversation about Denmark and some the other Scandinavian countries as a starting point. He had a contact just across the border in Germany who he was pretty sure no one else knew about who he had planned to utilize as the man's loyalty was to him personally rather than the agency he represented. But now it looked like their plans were on hold as the Glenannes, who had every reason to hate him, were in charge.
In battle, not even the best laid plans survive contact with the enemy. If you want to survive, you have to be willing to improvise. Of course, there's such a thing as too much improvisation…
"Hare we go, son. Tis well inta tha afternoon an' fram tha look on yar face, ya need it." Father Conlon, who up until now had been a silent witness to the conversation taking place at the table, placed a half filled tumbler of Irish whiskey in front of his guest.
"Thank you, Father, but I think it might be better if I keep a clear head." The smell of strong liquor caused his stomach to flip as it brought forth even more of the memories from his childhood he was desperately trying to keep shut up in their boxes.
"Am nae suggestin' ya empty me bottle o' fine Irish whiskey, son. Tis little more than a taste in ya glass ta settle ya down. Am guessin' hare but I cannae see ya bein' on yar way 'til nightfall."
Michael ran one finger around the lip of the glass, his mind drifting from the past to the future for a moment before he pushed the glass away and got to his feet. He was exhausted from sparing with the formidable Claire Glenanne and he had nothing else to add to it with the good father who had heard every word.
"Thank you, again. But I think I should go check on Fiona now, it's been a while."
"Ya heard whot Claire had ta say, lad. D'ya nae think ya should let yar fiancée spend whot time she has left hare with har mother an' aunt? Tha pair o' ya have all tha time in tha world ta be together."
Michael sat down heavily in the chair again.
"Ya've been a bad man in yar life, thot much is apparent an' ya've got things in yar past thot will haunt fer tha rest o' yar life taa. But the Lord will forgive ya fer it as long as ya repent. Ya need ta forgive yarself if yer taa if yer truly sorry."
Father Conlon held up a hand as the younger man started to protest.
"Listen ta me nar, me son… I've done this o' few times, counseled some desperate men in worse trouble than ya if ya can believe thot. Fiona's in thar nar facing down whot she's done, tha choices she's made in har life. Ya need ta do tha same, fer har sake and yar babby's as well as yar own."
The former spy dropped his eyes to the table top, letting the priest's words wash over him.
"Ya stare down yar past an' then ya let it go. Whot yer doin' now is nae whot ya would have chosen, but yer doin' a good thing, tha right thing, by thot young woman in tha other room. It donnae matter whot har family thinks o' it nar, whot matters is whot ya do wit' this chance God has set befer ya ta change yar life. Whot yer losin' is a painful past and whot yer gainin' is the love o' a grand girl an' a family o' yar own and though ya donnae know it, nae yet, yer bein' given a great gift."
The older man reached over and patted Michael's forearm. "I believe ya will keep yar promises an' though ya'd nae be me first choice fer me Fiona, she has chosen ya. Believe in thot."
The American operative who had gone rogue for the woman he loved looked up as the man of the cloth rose from his chair, blinking away the mistiness in his own eyes.
"I've things o' me own ta tend ta nar. I'll come round fer ya when tha ladies ar' done wit' thar visitin' an' ya kin wait har an' take tha time ta reflect undisturbed."
()()()()()()
Pushing an unruly curl of dark hair back behind her ear, while surreptitiously wiping at the moisture building in her eyes, Isabelle Glenanne continued with the task of preparing for her husband's departure.
"I've packed yar bullet proof vest an' I've loaded yar spare clips fer yar Glock; thar in tha side pockets on yar duffel," she spoke without looking around when the bedroom door swung open.
She didn't need to look. She recognized the tread of her husband's stride as well as catching the scent of his cigarettes in a house where he was the only one to get away with smoking.
"Am gonna keep tha kids off school again tomorrow. I donnae care whot Liam says about keepin' things normal. Milo might not know whot is goin' on but Pat an' tha twins do, an' Maggie has been askin' questions about why wa're stayin' hare instead o' at home. Thar all missin' thar own beds... I'll have a word wit' tham all, an– "
Seamus caught hold of his wife about the waist and pulled her into his arms, stopping her words with a kiss and without a moment's hesitation the shapely dark haired Mrs. Glenanne molded her body against her husband's taller muscular frame, her arms circling his neck as her fingers threaded through his sandy brown hair.
"Am gonna be gone fer one night," he told her when they finally broke apart. "Am sendin' tha goods across but nae goin' meself, so ya have nothin' ta fuss about."
Drawing clear of her husband's arms, Isabelle quickly went over to close their bedroom door before returning to the bed where she had been packing, picking up a pair of kevlar gloves which were laying on top of a black silk balaclava.
"Nothin' ta fuss about?" She shoved the gloves into the canvas bag. "Ya know ya set Rosie off again? I've nae seen thot girl shed as many tears as she has today... first Fiona, an' nar this."
"Is thot whot has ya so upset?" Seamus sat down heavily on the bed beside his duffel bag and took his wife's pale hands in his sun darkened calloused paws. "Cuz this isnae like ya ta get so worked up over me takin' off on a job."
Looking into the clear blue eyes of the man she had known for over thirty five years and the only man she had ever loved or slept with, Belle tried to find the right words to explain her feelings about the road her brother in law was taking them all down. She remembered the bad times as clearly as if it was yesterday and feared that Liam's plotting was leading them back there.
"Wa're disownin' yar sister, an' nar yer off ta steal missiles off one arms dealer ta give ta another an' tha man ya're takin' wit ya ta take care o' tha explosives is barely capable o' holdin' a knife an' fork."
"When ya put it like thot, it does sound bad, but tis no worse than most o' me other deals..." He lifted her hands and brushed his lips over her knuckles. "Sean will be fine. I remembered I had some C4 I'd picked fer Fi las' time I wa' over in New York..."
He let his lips linger a little longer this time. "So wa're gonna pick it up on tha way. All he's gonna have ta do is wire it up an' tell me whare ta plant it..." A third kiss followed. "Nar be a good girl an' keep yar voice down, cuz if Liam hears Am tellin' ya all me plans, he'll blow a gasket."
"Seamus!" Isabelle squeaked as this time instead of punctuating his sentences with kisses to the back of her hands, he spun her around and pulled her down on to his lap.
"I told ya ta keep yar voice down." His teeth lightly nipped at her ear.
Her heart sunk; this was her husband's go to method for avoiding answering awkward questions or marital conflict and usually she was happy to go along with his wishes. Sometimes it wa' best nae ta inquire ta deeply inta whot wa' goin' on...But nae this time...
"Shay, Seamus, me love, me darlin' man." Twisting around, she cradled her mate's face between the palms of her hands, forcing him to look her in the eye. "Tell me true... This job ya're doin' fer Armand, is it safe?"
"Safe?" He echoed with a hint of a chuckle. "Safe as anything ever is fer us, sweetheart."
"Ya know whot I'm talkin' about, Seamus Glenanne. This thing yar brudder has us doin' nar, turning the lads against one another again. I donnae think... Whot happens if yer caught in tha middle o' thot?"
She waited with bated breath for his answer, determined not to break eye contact nor to give in and let him deflect her with his love making. She wa' nae ninny, tha head o' tha family wa' leadin' tham all onta a dark path an' she had young ones ta think o'.
"Sweetheart, we'll be fine. Tis one little warehouse an' a couple o' boxes thot's all." He dismissed her concerns, but then swallowed thickly when she didn't let him go. "Tha job itself is easy enough, Armand assured us thot thar is only a coupla guards as they donnae want ta draw attention ta whot they're guardin."
"An' afterwards?"
"An afterwards, tha crates get shipped outta tha country an' I come home ta ya." He took her hands in his and drew them down onto her lap, his mouth and nose nuzzling at her neck, a sure signal that the talking was over.
She loved Seamus with all her heart and loved the life they had together. But there was times like this that reminded her she wasn't married to just her loveable rogue with a penchant for the sea and guns. From the moment she had become Mrs. Glenanne, she had also become part of his whole family and everything that entailed.
()()()()()()
Two hundred miles away across the border in Northern Ireland, a bright red Lotus Esprit wound its way through the heavy evening rush hour traffic heading northeast out of Belfast City to the suburb of Holywood. Finally pulling off the main road, the sports car travelled sedately along a quiet street lined with wide grass verges and tall leafy trees until it came to a stop before a ten foot high wooden gate, which slowly slid open and allowed the sleek powerful vehicle inside.
Coming to a stop before the white painted two story house, the driver switched off the engine and turned his attention to his passenger. "Thar we go, missus, wa're hare an' tis comin' up five, so ya'd best get a move on an' gonna be quick about it or ya'll miss yar flight."
Jeannie Donahue was officially known for being Liam Glenanne's second cousin once removed and for being his and Colin's loyal housekeeper. But for those in the know, the leggy blonde with the hour glass figure was far more than that. For the last fifteen years she had steadfastly been, if not at his side, then there in the background giving the head of the Glenanne clan the same love and support a wife gives her husband.
"I know whot tha time is, Solly…" Jeannie opened the car door and stepped out onto driveway. "I'll be nae more than five minutes. By tha time ya get turned around I'll be back out."
"See ya ar' as tha boss is expectin' ya ta be gone by nar," the grey haired man behind the wheel of the red sports car grumbled.
"If I'd called himself this mornin' it wouldnae have changed a thing except I woulda had ta have listened ta a long lecture about nae doin' as Am told and then I'd still be gettin' on tha same flight as I am nar... So, whot wa' tha point? It would nae change tha fact thot me papers needed updating."
"Aye, but ya dinnae need ta waste tha whole day foolin' around wit' visits ta yar mam an' da because yar dogs need ta be looked after. I coulda -"
"Ya think I'd be trustin' me babies ta ya, Solly O'Hare?" Stooping forward, Jeannie leaned into the car, her mascara framed blue eyes widening as if horrified at the thought, and then she smiled and patted the older man on the cheek to show she meant no harm. "I dinnae want it ta look like I wa' skippin' town, did I nar?"
And with that the blonde unfurled herself from the vehicle and turned on her four inch stiletto heeled Prada sling backs, slamming the car door shut behind her before sauntering towards the wide front door.
"Get tha car turned around or we'll be longer still an' donnae scratch me paintwork," she called over her shoulder as she entered her secret boyfriend's private dwelling.
Solly wa' a sweet old man an' it wa' good o' Liam ta find work fer one o' his daddy's best friend's fram back in tha day when he finished serving a thirty year prison sentence. But at times his naggin' reminded har of her own parents.
Parents she'd had just spent two hours visiting in order to sweet talk them into taking care of her four very pampered Yorkshire Terriers.
Davy Doyle had called her the previous night, passing on a message from his leader. "Liam says fer ya ta get out nar. He said ta tell ya Majorca is nice this time o' year."
It was a code of a sort, one which had remained unused for over ten years. Majorca, in this case, was code for to head not to the Balearic Island off the coast of Spain, but instead for the Canary Island of Fuerteventura, just off the African Coast, where Liam owned, under the name of a Maltese shell company, a villa outside the town of Corralejo.
Unlocking the steel re-enforced wood panel door, Jeannie stepped into the hallway and quickly went over to turn off the state of the art alarm system, her hand stopping inches from the panel, her fingers hovering over the key pad. The alarm was switched off. Did I forget ta activate it befer I left tha last time?
"This is whot happens when I have ta rush around like a loon," she muttered under her breath, pleased that Liam wasn't ever going to be aware of her lapse. It was all well and good for her lover to order her to leave at the drop of a hat, but he sometimes forgot that she couldn't always comply with his wishes.
Running lightly up the stairs, the shapely blonde made her way straight to the bedroom they shared when she stayed overnight. Pushing the king size bed three feet to the left, Ms. Donahue knelt down and using her long manicured false nails, she eased aside a carefully disguised piece of carpet to reveal a small floor safe.
Once opened, she rifled through the papers and various envelopes until she came up with her recently renewed fake passport and two envelopes, one packed with Peseta banknotes and the other containing a book of traveller checks.
With the safe locked and the bed back in place, Jeannie kicked off her shoes and opened one of the doors on the glass fronted fitted wardrobe which covered the length of one side of the room. The weather in Fuerteventura was going to be a lot hotter than Ireland in the spring. She had made the mistake of not changing her clothes once before and had spent the entire time in the line at customs and later waiting for a taxi sweltering in the heat. It was far better to feel a little bit chilled on the way to the airport than it would be to melt under the hot African sun on arrival at her destination.
Quickly stripping off her skin tight pants and the cable knit jumper she had been wearing, she slipped into a pale yellow sleeveless cotton top and a pair of beige colored capri pants. Then after running a brush over her hair and slipping her feet back into her shoes, she went back down stairs.
So it'd taken a wee bit longer than tha five minutes she'd promised Solly, but whot tha hell. Liam's secret lover smiled and was just about to tap in the code on the alarm when she caught the scent of cigarette smoke coming from the kitchen.
Her first thought was that Solly must have got bored waiting for her and had let himself inside. Jaysus, tha man wa' goin' ta get hamself skinned alive if Liam found out.
This was the head of the family's private sanctum, only shared by Liam's inner circle and even they only entered when invited and even then they definitely didn't light up a fag in her boyfriend's brand new kitchen. She hadnae spent over an hour wipin' down all tha surfaces an' making sure thar wa' nae food left in tha fridge or cupboards which would spoil.
"Solly, whot are ya playin' -" She came to a stop and stared at the dark skinned woman sitting comfortably at the breakfast bar, looking for all the world as if she belonged there. "Who tha feck ar' ya?"
"I could be a friend, Ms. Donahue. Or not, that all depends on how friendly you're feeling tonight. When is your good friend Liam Glennane expected home?"
An American, whot tha bloody hell wa' an American doin' sitting hare as bold as brass an' twice as feckin' ugly. Jeannie felt the rise of the perfectly justifiable fury at having her home invaded by a stranger. "Am nae in tha habit o' being friendly ta tha uninvited an' as yer tha one who donnae belong hare, I'll be tha one askin' tha questions. Nar, who ar' ya? An' whot ar' ya doin' sittin' thar like ya own tha joint smokin' me fags?"
"Yours? That's right, Mr Glenanne doesn't smoke, does he? You don't mind do you, Ms Donahue?"
She gestured to the cigarette between her fingers and then the open pack laying on the counter top.
"I've been waiting for awhile for someone to come home, so I ran out. Interesting flavor these Benson & Hedges. Always been a Marlboro woman myself."
She's been through tha house an' she had somehow turned off tha alarm without damaging it. Jeannie was beginning to see she was in trouble, but it didn't faze her.
"Ya have plenty o' nerve, sweetheart, I'll give ya thot. But as Am sure ya dinnae break in jus' ta have a smoke, ya had best be leavin' nar."
"But I haven't got what I came for yet. When will Mr Glenanne be home? We need to have a chat."
"I donnae know. Am jus' tha housekeeper, nae his personal secretary. Ya might do better gettin' an appointment than breakin' inta his home though. I believe he'll take a dim view o' this, especially as I donnae smoke in tha house when Am cleanin' it me self." Jeanne was mentally kicking herself for admitting they were her cigarettes but all she could do now was try to mitigate the damage.
The dark skinned woman got to her feet, causing the blonde to back up a step to keep the distance between them. The stranger was shorter than herself, but every inch of her looked to be hard packed muscle. She had spent most of her life around dangerous people and this woman was dangerous.
"Right, the housekeeper... You know, years ago a very good friend of mine gave me some advice. He told me that one of the worst things that can happen to a person in my line of work was to end up as someone else's asset. That I should do everything I could to avoid it. That I should ensure that there is no one or nothing in my life that an enemy could grab on to and use as leverage. Love nothing and nothing you love can be used against you, that's what Tom Card used to say before he died. Did I mention he was killed in a car crash near some place called Lucan yesterday afternoon?"
The blonde was wondering where her unwanted guest was going with this and hoping that Solly would come looking for her sooner rather than later.
"Yeah, Tom was pretty adamant about that. You probably know firsthand what can go wrong when you break that rule, don't you, Ms Donahue?"
How could she -? Jeannie forced herself to remain calm. Tha woman had had free rein o' tha whole bloody house fer hours. Thare wa' plenty o' evidence laying around thot showed she wa' more than Liam's home help… Clothes in tha wardrobe, har toiletries in tha en-suite....
"Too bad he wasn't home earlier because while I've been waiting for someone to show up, one thing has become clear to me. Liam Glenanne isn't just your employer, is he? Not in the strictest sense of the word. I must say he has gone to a lot of trouble to hide his relationship with you. There is not one single mention of him taking you anywhere in fifteen years. You don't even get to go to family meals, not even at Christmas... You are a very understanding woman, Ms. Donahue."
"Am sure yer comin' ta a point." Jeannie did her best to sound unconcerned but it wasn't easy when looking into a pair of mocking brown eyes which seemed to see straight through you.
"The point is I want you to tell your boss that it will be in his best interest to meet me tomorrow morning at his funeral business down the road. If he decides he doesn't want to talk to me about that traffic accident outside of Lucan, then I might have to start talking to other people about how he conducts his personal business and that could be really bad for business… For you too I'd imagine."
"Jeannie, ya okay? Is thar a problem hare?"
The blonde let out a soft sigh at the sight of her driver with his gun drawn walking along the hallway.
"None whatsoever," the woman assured them, drawing her weapon so fast the pair was momentarily frozen with shock. "I don't really think you want a body on Mr Glenanne's nice clean kitchen floor, am I right? Or be the body for that matter... Think about what I've said Ms. Donahue."
Neither of them heard or saw the flash bang grenade coming and as a result neither Jeanne nor her bodyguard heard or saw anything for the next several minutes.
"Feck! Feck! Feck!..." Jeannie cursed the moment her shattered senses started to return. "Donnae just stand thar, make sure tha bitch has gone an' then get onta – Fergit it, I'll call. Walk tha perimeter an' make sure wa're clear hare."
With shaking hands and ringing ears, she swiped away the tears in her eyes before pressing one on the dial pad of her mobile phone.
"Jeannie? Whot's wrong?" his voice was concerned immediately at the raspiness of her own.
"Liam," she coughed, "Liam, sommit has happened, I need ya home nar."