WHO WE ONCE WERE.
A/N: Thank you everybody who reviewed the last chapter and for your patience in waiting for this final installment of Belfast Nov 98. As always thanks to Jedi Skysinger and Amanda Hawthorn for reading through for me and of course extra thanks to Jedi Skysinger for allowing me to use her BETA skills.
Belfast November 98
Part Three A Bath & a Haircut.
Jeannie wisely kept quiet when McBride left her house in the early evening without speaking so much as a word to his sulking, stony faced girlfriend. She also kept her advice to herself when Fiona sat morosely at the dining table and only picked at her meal of Irish stew and dumplings. Finally though, Jeannie had had enough of the loaded silence and made the decision to take herself out for the evening.
Whatever was going on between the young couple was none of her business and she knew if she stayed indoors eventually Fiona would spill the beans; you didn't get that pissed off without wanting to vent to somebody. And if that happened, she would be honor-bound to report what she heard to Liam Glenanne. Regardless of what had caused the lovers tiff, she was pretty sure wouldn't be made any better by the eldest Glenanne sibling's heavy-handed approach to life's little problems.
Left on her own, Fiona sat and let her anger simmer. She was what her mother called spitting mad. What she wanted to do was go out find John Kelly herself and let him know exactly how she felt about the RIRA and the men who were fighting against the first chance of true peace in over thirty years.
But she couldn't do it. If she went after Kelly, it would ruin what Michael was working on and, as much as she wanted to say she didn't care, she knew it was a lie. So, she was stuck at indoors sitting on her hands waiting for Michael to return.
God she hated the thought of becoming a woman like that, expected to remain on the sidelines while her man went out to have all the fun. She was strong, independent and capable and he shouldn't have left her behind.
Getting to her feet, she paced around the living room, her mind a whirl with the thought of what she could do with the small amount of Semtex Michael had allowed her to pack for this assignment. Allowed! That one word had her hands turning to fists.
Then she stopped and took a couple of deep breaths. She needed to find something to take her mind off what was happening on the Springfield estate. Resigning herself to a long wait, she went over to Jeannie's armchair and began searching through her stash of women's magazines. She was just about to open up a recent edition of Women's Weekly when her cell phone began to ring.
"F-Fiona, I need you to come an' get me."
Her heart leapt into her throat at the sound of his voice, but she forced it down.
"Come an' get ya, Michael? I thought ya needed me ta sit this one out." She managed to keep the concern she felt out of her tone.
"Please, Fi, I'm over by Corporation Square."
"Corpor- ? Damn it, Michael I tol' ya goin' in on yar own wa' a mistake." She was heading for the door, avoiding the tiny dogs which were instantly on their feet following her. Grabbing up Jeannie's car keys, she ran for the garage. "I'm on my way now... Are you hurt?"
"Not exactly."
"Not -? I've got to go." She dropped her phone into her pocket while she unlocked the padlock on the garage door. Two minutes later, she was putting the Lotus Esprit through its paces on the back roads heading across the city towards the docks and Corporation Square. "How tha hell did he end up all tha way over har?" she wondered out loud as she neared her destination.
Ten minutes later, she spotted him in the car headlights, bedraggled and soaking wet. She could make out a slightly thicker substance leaking from somewhere above his hairline and dribbling down his neck. Coming to a stop next to him, she leaned over the passenger seat to try to get a closer look when he opened the car door. Instantly she recoiled in horror, gagging at the awful stench which filled the vehicle. Reacting on instinct, she pressed down on the accelerator pedal making the vehicle lurch forward sending Michael straight onto his back in the road.
As he climbed slowly to his feet, Fiona made sure the doors were locked to keep him outside of the vehicle.
"Fi?" he hissed angrily.
She stared out at him, her eyes watering from the disgusting odour which still lingered inside the car. "Jayzus, Michael! Wha' the hell have ya been up to? Don' think yer getting in here smellin' like thot!" she shouted through the glass. "Strip off them clothes!"
"Yer kiddin' me? This isn't tha time fer yar games, Fiona!" His voice shook with fury as his hand smacked down on the hood of the Lotus.
"You wan' in this car, yer get rid o' those rags. I don't even wan' ta know whar yer've been," she yelled back.
Michael was freezing and he could see Fiona had no intention of letting him in her relative's fancy sports car until he did as she demanded. It went against every instinct he possessed, but in the end Michael removed his foul smelling clothing. As soon as he capitulated, Fiona threw the dogs' blanket out of the window for him to wrap himself in.
"Yer shoulda said sommit, an' I woulda brought ya clean clothes," she admonished when she finally let him inside.
"Thar wa' no time, an' I didn't think ya would make me strip," he answered coldly, pulling the blanket even tighter around his person.
"Stop yar whining, Michael. Ya woulda had ta throw tham away, anyways. I jus' saved ya some time... Now, tell me wha' happened?"
So he explained how everything had been going well, the bugs had been planted along with a couple of trackers and he had left the bar to sit in a car he had stolen for the occasion. He had been sitting taking notes, when out of nowhere an army patrol came upon him acting suspiciously and sitting in a stolen car.
"They shouldn't have been there," he muttered, staring out of the side window. "Chambers shoulda cleared the location. I had no choice. I had to make a break for it. If they'd have arrested me and then let me go -" He shook his head, not liking the way his thoughts were taking him.
"Ta maintain yar cover, they'd had ta have held ya fer at least a week or people woulda got suspicious," Fiona commented.
"It doesn't matter," Michael sighed, "I got away. My cover is still intact. Still, I'm gonna call Chambers the first chance I get an find out what the hell happened to team–" He cut off his speech as he suddenly noticed they were heading east, away from the Falls Road and the city. "Fi, where are we going?"
"If we go back ta tha house, Jeannie'll ask too many questions. With ya stinking ta high heaven an' as naked as tha day ya war born, she'd be on tha phone ta me mudder befer we got ya up tha stairs."
A few minutes later, Fiona turned a corner onto a wide tree lined street in a very affluent suburban area. High walls and fancy gates marked the boundaries of large well maintained houses. All the street lights worked and there wasn't a single piece of graffiti to be seen anywhere.
Half way along the street, she slowed even further and pressed a button on the Lotus key fob.
"Fiona, whose house is this?" Michael sat up straighter to peer out into the darkness.
An electric gate slid open and she pulled onto a wide gravel covered drive. Ahead of them was an impressive two-story property, the whitewashed walls gleaming under the security lighting which bathed the whole of the front of the house in bright lights.
"Liam's, well Liam's and Colin's," she finally answered him, as the door to the garage began to roll up.
Michael went pale, looking down at the old blanket which was the only article he had to maintain his modesty. "I am not walking in on your brother like this," he stated firmly.
He wasn't sure what Liam would do to him, but he was pretty sure it would be something painful involving the surgeons tools he was renowned for using during his IRA sanctioned interrogations.
"Don't worry yerself, he's away," she laughed at him.
"Away?" Questions bubbled up, the most important one being 'for how long'?
"I'm sorry, Michael, can't tell ya 's classified," she smirked and drove the sports car straight into the garage though the open door.
Once inside the house, she gave him no time to look around the head of the Glenanne family's private domain. Instead she dragged him by gripping the blanket straight up the wide carpeted staircase to the first floor. "We need ta get ya clean," she told him. "An' until we do, try not ta touch anythin'."
The bathroom had a cork tiled floor and shiny white tiles on the walls only broken by a double row of dark green tiles. There was a deep, rolled-top bath in the center of the room. One corner was taken up by a large double shower cubicle, while a long vanity unit ran the length of the opposite wall.
All business, Fiona handed Michael a cheap bottle of medicated body wash and pointed to the shower cubicle. "Get tha worst o' wha'ever it is yer covered in off in tha shower while I run ya a bath. Once yer clean, I'll sort out yar head."
While he showered, she ran the bath adding copious amounts of cheap bubble bath. She could never understand Liam. He had a beautiful house which he spent a small fortune on and then he stocked his bathroom with the cheapest products to be found on the shelves of the nearest supermarket.
Once the bath was filled, she glanced over to the glass door of the shower cubicle. Even though it was misted up from the steam from the hot water, she could still make out the shape of the masculine body inside, the play of his muscles as he moved under the jets of water, the curve of his buttocks, the outline of his thighs and calves. She stared as if enchanted, until the water stopped running and there was the click of the shower door opening.
Before she knew it, he was looming over her and then crushing her to his chest as his lips sought out hers in a deeply passionate kiss which left her breathless. When he released her, she staggered back and swore softly when she realized that he had completely soaked the front of her white angora jumper and black skinny jeans.
"Michael!" she shrieked in mock outrage.
But he just grinned and reached out for her again. In his present state of undress, it was easy to see where his mind was going. She knocked his hands aside and pushed him towards the free standing tub in the center of the room.
"Away wid ya! Ya stank out me Aunty's car and then ruined me top. Get inta the water." While she berated him with her words, her eyes were betraying her as they focused on the way droplets of water were trailing over his chest and dripping down onto his abdomen. Without conscious thought, her tongue ran along her suddenly dry lips as she followed the path of moisture lower still.
"Yes, ma'am."
At the sound of his voice, she looked up and caught him smirking back at her; he had seen where and what she had been looking at. Bastard.
Sliding into the water, he sighed and sank down amongst the bubbles, letting his head loll back over the edge. Regaining control of her senses, Fiona reminded herself that she was there first and foremost to treat Michael's head wound.
Kneeling down behind him, she felt the uncomfortable pull of the now soaking wet, tight fitting woolen jumper on her arms. So without a thought, she pulled it over her head to free her limbs for the task ahead. Starting off gently, she ran her fingers through his damp, softly curling hair, probing for the source of the blood that had been running down over his neck.
She felt him flinch when she discovered a lump and a small but deep cut about three inches above his temple. The wound was going to need a thorough cleaning and probably a couple of stitches to be safe. She let her hands drop to his shoulders, feeling the tightness in his muscles. Kneading away at the granite-like flesh until she felt the muscles relax, she stared down at him. He wasn't going to be happy about what she was going to have to do.
"Am gonna have ta cut yar hair."
And with that, she pushed him down under the water, holding him there for just a second or two. Then letting go, she moved back as water splashed all over the floor.
"What the hell!" He gasped, trying to catch his breath while he wiped the water from his eyes.
"It's pointless me stitching up thot wee little scrape if yar hair still stinks o' tha sewer," she answered his look of accusation and her mischievous smile widened as his eyes lighted on the twin mounds encased in white lace.
Letting him look, she strutted seductively across the room to a large medicine cabinet and collected scissors and her brother's surgical sewing kit. He was not going to like her cutting chunks out of his hair and, to her way of thinking the more distracted he was, the easier it would be for her to do the job.
Setting everything down near the bath, she stood up and slowly striped off her wet jeans, peeling them down her legs. Standing before him in only her underwear, she raised her arms up over her head to fix her hair into a pony tail. She watched him through half open eyes as he openly admired her semi-naked body.
"Am gonna have ta cut off some o' yar hair ta get ta tha wound... I'll do me best ta just take a little bit... Yer alright with me doin' it?" She picked up the scissors and made a snipping motion with the blades.
He swallowed, dragging his eyes away from her body. "Just enough to get to the wound," he confirmed.
His hair had grown out of the short, militaristic style he had cultivated for the previous fourteen years. First the Army and then covert operations for the CIA in Russia, Bosnia, and the rest of Eastern Europe had all called for neat, short haircuts. But for this assignment, he had been able to let it grow longer and had become fond of the feel of Fiona's fingers running through it.
She sat down on the edge of the bath, facing him as she leaned forward and took several strands of his thick dark hair in between her fingers. Feeling his warm breath on her chest, she placed the scissor blade flat against his scalp and made the first cut, and got her first unobstructed view of the raised red and black lump marring his scalp.
"Am gonna have ta clean the wound out with antiseptic an' then put in a coupla o' stitches," she told him. "It's a pity me brudders don't have any clippers. It would make tha job a lot easier."
He ignored her comments, seemingly far too preoccupied lightly caressing her stomach and sides. His gossamer-like touch igniting a fire in her belly as his fingers made their way slowly upwards. Holding her breath she blinked and took a second snip of hair, her hands trembling slightly when her bra came undone, the straps sliding down her arms.
"Ya have ta stay still," she ordered, though the words came out a little shaky.
"Mmmm," he answered as he shifted forward to remove the bra completely.
His strong calloused palms cupped her exposed breasts and he moved again and more water went over the sides. His lips tenderly kissed each nipple, then he blew softly over the raised nubs and she felt her whole body pulse.
"Michael, I have ta get this done." Using all her resolve, she pushed him away.
"You started this," he commented, looking up at her with lust written all over his face.
"An' yer tha one who'll end up bald if ya don' keep still," she answered and gathered up some more strands to make a third cut.
Taking a deep breath, she paused before making the cut which exposed the nasty little wound completely. She let out a sigh, seeing it wasn't as bad as she had suspected. It was deep but the edges were clean and the flesh hadn't started to dry out and die.
His hands were back on her waist tenderly stroking the skin slowly slipping lower to the waist band of her French cut lace panties.
"I still have ta stitch it up," she gulped at his delicate touch.
"Get some glue," he suggested as he continued to toy with the edges of lace.
"I don't know if Liam has any or, if he does, where he keeps it... Don't worry. I've sewn ya up befer an' this only needs a couple."
Reluctantly, she got to her feet and went to where she had left the medical supplies. "I've got all I need har." She brought out a pack of sterile dressings and a bottle of surgical disinfectant.
He watched her work at sterilizing the needle and then she came over and, while she cleaned the wound, they both enjoyed his hands skimming over her exposed flesh, kneading her breasts and rolling her nipples between his fingers. By the time she had the needle and thread ready, her body was tingling with desire.
"I mean it this time, keep still." She smacked his hands away from where they had settled on her inner thighs.
Standing up she carefully began the job of closing the open wound. As she worked, she was very much aware of his hand stroking up and down her leg. The only time there was a pause in the soft touch was when she pushed the needle through the skin as close to the edge of the wound as she could get.
"There, we're finished." She sighed with relief and a little tremor went through her body as his hand settled between her legs.
"No," he refuted her comment and swallowed thickly. His fingers edging under the lace, "No, we're not."
She gasped as one finger slipped inside her center and a rush of warmth spread through her core.
"Shh…" He held on to her leg keeping her still. His lips peppering her thigh with kisses, while his finger slowly moved in and out.
"Michael, we -" A second finger joined the first and he increased the pace. "Oh!" she gasped and her hand gripped onto his shoulder tightly as he drove her towards release.
Trembling while her whole body pulsed, Fiona struggled to stay on her feet as he sent her over the edge into a state of bliss. With the tremors still running through her limbs and her mind pleasantly blank, Fiona sank down to sit on the edge of the bath.
"Thank you." Michael pressed his lips to her thigh. "Thank you for coming for me... I shouldn't have cut you out."
He had never apologized to her before. She reached out her hand, pausing inches from his hair, then settling around his shoulders. Leaning forward, she placed a tender kiss to his head. "I'll always come fer ya, Michael. Yer not gonna get rid o' me thot easy."
"Good," he murmured and then lurched up out of the water.
Climbing out, he pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her, soft tender touches of his lips to hers, slowly deepening until they were locked together, losing themselves in the moment. Ever so slowly, they sank down onto the floor, until she was astride him rubbing herself over his erection.
"Fi…" He held her face between his hands. "Please." His hips bucked up as she ground down on top of him.
"After wha' ya did ta me... I don't think so." She moved back until she was sat upright on him, her damp skin glowing under the overhead lights of the bathroom.
Her thumbs circled and rubbed over his nipples, as she gently rocked against his manhood which she held trapped underneath her. "Am not done wid ya yet, McBride."
Sliding down his body, she came to rest with her lips poised over his aching swollen flesh. Staring back up at him, she blew gently on his tip and her smile grew as she saw him tense. Slowly, she took him into her mouth, her tongue licking its way up and down as she went lower until she could feel him at the back of her throat. Then just as slowly, she came up releasing him with a tender kiss.
His hands were in her hair, his fingers entwined in the long reddish brown pony tail, gently but firmly pulling her upwards.
"Come here," he groaned, urging her to work her way back up his body.
Kissing, licking and nipping her way over the flat plane of his stomach, the ridged lines of his abs until her mouth could close over his lips. His hands pushed at her panties until they slipped down and out of his reach. After kicking them off, she lifted up and helped him to find her warm wet core.
Finally together, they moved in a slow languid rhythm. Sitting up, she arched her back to alter the angle of penetration. A low purr escaping from her lips as he sat up to take one breast into his mouth suckling on the pliant flesh while his hand took care of her other one pinching her sensitive nipple making her moan in ecstasy.
As their pleasure grew and breathing became more ragged, he twisted her around so she was on her back beneath him, her long legs wrapped around his waist as he took them crashing over in wave after wave of rapturous bliss.
Feeling his weight settle on her chest and pressing down on her hips, Fiona dragged in several deep ragged breaths. She could still feel his lips and teeth on her neck, his nose nuzzling behind her ear. Gently she eased his shoulders off her, until he took some of his weight onto his elbows, his mouth moving from her neck to her jaw and onto her lips kiss after gossamer soft kiss followed.
"Michael," she breathed his name in between kisses.
He was still within her, unwilling to leave the comfort of her body.
"Michael…"She lifted her hands to cup his cheeks, bringing his gaze to her face. "Let's take this ta tha bedroom, luv."
He nodded and reluctantly withdrew, pulling her to her feet as he rose up. "It's not like ya ta go fer comfort." His hands never left her body, fingers stroking a line between her breasts down to her stomach and then lower still.
"Tha floor is wet an' I don' wan' ta catch cold," she replied. Catching hold of the wrist of one hand, she led him out of the bathroom and along the hall to one of the two guest rooms. The assignment may or may not have been blown, but she knew what Michael wanted and needed after all the stress and adrenaline contained in his body no longer served a purpose.
He pushed her down onto the bed, laying down next to her, his hands gliding over her skin as if she was something truly special. Parting her lips, she yielded to the kiss that followed.
()
The whirr and rattling bang of electronic garage doors being opened and closed woke Michael with a start. He sat up in bed and stared around for one brief second, confused by his surroundings and by the nagging ache emanating from above his left temple. Then it all came flooding back to him and he was instantly on high alert.
He was naked and alone in a large comfortable bed covered by a duck down duvet in a house which belonged to the Provisional IRA's premier expert in torture. If that wasn't bad enough, he had spent most of the night wrapped in said torturer's little sister's arms.
Downstairs, an inner door slammed and he could just make out the muffled sound of several strange voices filtering up the stairs from the ground floor. Fiona had said her brothers were away, had they come back?
The thought of the Glenanne boys in a kitchen full of sharp implements made his blood run cloud. Shit! He shivered.
Kicking off the covers he dashed to the door, opening it just a crack so he could see into the hallway. The voices were clearer; he could make out at least two individual speakers, but they were too indistinct to recognize.
Where the hell was Fiona? He hadn't a stitch of clothing with him and no weapons to defend himself. He cast an eye back around the room. Hopefully, she would keep whoever was downstairs away long enough for him to work out how to extract himself from his present predicament.
Swallowing down his fear, he moved rather unsteadily across to a beautifully craved set of drawers. With a bit of luck, there would be something he could wear in one of the drawers or in the matching built-in wardrobe on the opposite wall.
He was sure both Sean and Seamus were fine with his and Fiona's living arrangements. He thought Colin was, too. But finding him as an unwelcome guest in Liam's private sanctum... If he was lucky, they'd just string him up.
Swearing under his breath, Michael searched the drawers for anything he could use to cover himself... Anything but the bed sheet which was beginning to look like his only choice.
Hearing the rapid pad of feet on the stairs, Michael fell back from the door and started to pull the sheet from the bed. If it became absolutely necessary, he would go out through the window or if he had to face the wrath of the Glenanne brothers, at least he wouldn't have to do it completely naked.
I swear to God I will never sleep in the buff again!
The thought flashed through his mind as the door swung open and Fiona breezed into the room holding a large canvas bag. He stared at her wide eyed, his heart thumping in his chest, while she looked calm and relaxed and strangely pleased with herself. It was a look she normally wore after blowing something big to pieces.
"I thought ya'd still be sleeping, I've been back ta Jeannie's to return har car and collect some clothes fer ya." She dropped the bag on the bed.
"Fiona, whose har?" he hissed out the question in his Irish accent, while peering out into the hall.
"Who?" She treated him a puzzled frown and then she smiled in understanding. "It's tha telly... I thought ya'd be interested..." She paused for dramatic effect, grinning at the thought of the good news she was about to impart. "Sean Monaghan was picked up by the Ulster constabulary early this morning an' a warehouse was raided and a large quantity of explosives wa' found... But thot's not tha best bit."
He stared back at her, stunned at the speed MI6 had moved on the men they had been tracking. Even when Fiona's arms curled around his neck and her lips played across his chin, he remained distracted.
"Tha best bit war hearing thot John Kelly an' another man, Luke Smith, wa' blown ta pieces, tryin' ta escape wid one o' thar bombs. It's all over tha news. Apparently it wa' a joint mission by various intelligence agencies."
They must have got something good off the bugs after he had been forced to leave the scene.
"Michael?"
He dragged his mind back to the present and the woman who was pressed up against his naked body. They had succeeded in eliminating the RIRA threat and the independent commission meeting was still two days away. He grinned at her, pulling her tighter against his chest peppering her face with kisses.
This was the best outcome he could have hoped for. Fiona Glenanne had been the primary asset. Without her input, her knowledge of the area and the people, the mission would have failed. Langley had to see her worth now and Chambers, the uptight British intelligence officer, could no longer deny her commitment to the peace process.
"Are they saying anything about why they moved so quickly?" he asked, as he released her to open the bag and began get dressed. He had to get hold of Chambers; they would be starting the debriefs soon and he wanted to make sure Fiona got the credit she was due.
"No," she answered quietly
"I have to get back to Belfast. Report in, find out what happened." He had to call Dan Siebels to make sure Langley knew how useful his asset had been throughout the mission. "I need to speak with Chambers. There'll be a debriefing. I could be gone all day."
He glanced at the alarm clock beside the bed and frowned when he saw the time. "It's ten AM! I shoulda reported in hours ago! You sh-"
His words faded when he saw her smile disappearing and her expression becoming cold and detached. Why wasn't she as happy as he was?
"Finish getting dressed, Michael," Fiona spoke coolly. "I'll take ya back ta tha city. I promise I won't try ta follow ya ta yar secret meeting. I have ta see somebody anyway."
Before he could ask what she meant, she spun around and headed for the door. Frowning, he finished getting dressed and rushed out to follow her, but then caught sight of his reflection. Slamming to a halt, he stared in horror at what he saw.
The left side of his face was bruised, the skin of his forehead and cheek marred by a marbling of yellow and green. But higher up, his dark tousled hair was missing a huge chunk just above his ear.
He wasn't a vain man, but he liked looking good and, when he had the opportunity he enjoyed wearing expensive designer suits. But his hair was– he shook his head. For years, the length of his hair had been dictated by the Army and later on by the CIA and the missions he was sent on.
In fact, it was only in the last eighteen months that his last buzz cut after a long stay in hospital had finally grown out. But at least they had shaved his entire head. What the hell was he supposed to do with this?
He gingerly ran his fingers over the lump and stitches. He loved the feel of Fiona's fingers combing through his hair, grabbing it and pulling, almost tearing it, when they made love, but there was nothing to love about this!
"Fi! Fiona!" he called out. "My hair, what the hell did you do to it?"
"Wha'?" she called back.
"I can't face Chambers like this. I – I need you to fix the mess you've made." He continued to examine the damage, realizing his only choice was going to be to take some clippers on it.
"You had a hole in your thick head." Fiona came back into the bedroom. "And I did nae hear ya complainin' las' night."
He stood up straight and frowned when she handed him a plain black woolen hat.
"Here, put thot on." Her frown now matched his own and her look of disappointment at his ingratitude tore at him.
"Fiona, I'm sorry... I didn't mean it." He didn't want to fight. Not now when things were so close to being how he wanted them.
"Yar hair will grow back, Michael."
"I know." He forced a smile. "We should go. The sooner I meet up with Chambers the better." Pulling the hat on, being careful of his stitches, he picked up the empty bag and followed her downstairs.
The news was still on the TV; The Chief Constable giving an interview to a host of reporters about the successful arrest of several Real IRA terrorists and the foiling of a planned bomb campaign. He knew neither he nor Fiona would ever get an official recognition for their work, but that didn't matter. Even though it had meant he ended up floundering through sewage, they had helped to take out the bad guys and potentially saved a lot of lives.
Catching his reflection in a glass panel in the kitchen door, Michael smiled ruefully. He was going to have to find a barbers before his debriefing.
And from now, he would be making sure he always had pajama bottoms or shorts or something on hand, especially in enemy territory.
And he was also going to make sure that he never ever let Fiona Glenanne cut his hair again.