:

THE IRISH ASSIGNMENT

Part Two

ooOoo

The End & The Beginning

2009

The sound of an unknown car pulling up outside the loft drifted up through the open doors at the far end of the building, causing the dark haired spy to briefly look up and break his reverie. Then, as he recognized the familiar tap of high heels on the steel staircase, he turned his attention back to the photograph in his hand: a surveillance shot of himself and Fiona standing on a Belfast street after an evening at the theater taken by whichever MI5 or CIA drone had had the job of following him that day.

He remembered how her lips had tasted and how the cool night air had felt against his skin on that May evening, but was unable to recall the name of the play... Something about an Irish poet and a tragic love affair…? Not his thing, but Fiona had enjoyed it... A lot.

"Michael?"

He was so wrapped up in the memory of that particular moment, he barely registered his girlfriend, or was it ex-girlfriend again, slipping through the door.

"I'm upstairs, Fi," he called down to her while at the same time discarding the picture of a night out in Belfast for one of a close up of Fiona sitting at a table outside Carlito's sipping on a Bloody Mary through a straw. "What's that you're driving? It didn't sound like your car outside."

"It's a rental. I sold my car."

Sold her car? The car he had given her in way of an apology for not being the man she deserved. "Really…? Your car didn't exactly have a pink slip."

"The buyer didn't mind, not at that price."

She had his full attention now as he realized exactly how serious she was about leaving. "This, er, this moving out of town thing… if you're trying to make a point…"

"I'm not trying to make a point, Michael. I'm trying to make a change. I'm going home." He watched as she moved over to sit on the edge of his bed, the filmy pale shift dress she was wearing turning very nearly see through as sunlight shone across the room. "I told my mother to expect me."

"We have one fight and you decide to go back to Ireland?" He had thought when she had said she was leaving Miami she had meant a move to Boca Raton, or maybe Fort Lauderdale, but not gone for good.

"This isn't about one fight, Michael." Fiona was back on her feet, crossing over to the work bench. "If you didn't see this coming, you weren't paying attention. You're too worried about your own future for there to be one for us."

He closed his eyes, just for a split second. This was the same old argument they had been having for the last fifteen years: his job, what he did and why he did it. She had never approved of any of it and had only grudgingly admitted he occasionally did some good. Michael opened his eyes and erupted in a burst of frustrated anger of his own.

"I'm not doing this for me! Fiona, I'm out in the cold and the longer I stay there, the more I endanger everyone in my life."

"Don't you pretend this is about us!" She punctuated her words by slamming shut the cover of the manual she had been idly flicking through, her Celtic temper rising in an instant. "It's about YOU!" Then the fury faded as quickly as it had come. "Which is fine... It's... It's just time I did what I need to do too." A deep sadness filling her voice as she continued, "Michael?"

"Yeah?

"Have you seen my H & K USP compact? The one with the silver slide…? I need to finish packing and I think I left it here."

"Yeah, I er…" His eyes drifted to where the gun lay beside the photographs, his hand closing about the chequered grip. "I think I saw it around here somewhere. I'll find it and bring it to you, okay? You're not leaving today are you?" Please don't say you are… we… I can make this work.

"No," she spoke so softly he barely heard her response and then before he could get up the nerve to say what he really wanted to, she was gone.

Michael winced as he heard the roar of her rental's engine protesting the heavy foot pressing down on its gas pedal as Fiona Glenanne took off.

Picking up the gun he turned it over, running his hand over the cold steel as his mind was once again drifting back to those early days in Belfast, to those days when she had favored the little snub nosed Smith and Wesson .38 special which she had pushed into his belly. He had been damn lucky in those early days that she hadn't left him gut shot on the dance floor of a dingy little Belfast club or blown his hand off half an hour before they had connected for the first time on the hood of a stolen car.

Getting to his feet, the hopefully soon to be reinstated spy tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants. It was nearly time for his meeting with Diego Garcia. He was half way down the steps when he turned back to return the photographs to the drawer on his desk, his eyes settling on a strip of four pictures taken in a photograph booth at a Belfast fairground...

God, they were young back then, young and reckless. He had just broken free from the grip of Larry Sizemore, and she… well, she had been so full of fire you felt the heat by just being in her presence.

Ten minutes later sitting in traffic, his mind was still on those four faded and crinkled black and white photographs, her long hair tied back in a ponytail brushing against his cheek, her firm backside pressed into his lap and her carefree laughter in his ear...

And he wondered why he could remember that first time he had heard her squeal with an almost childlike delight, but damned if he could remember the last time he had seen her genuinely happy...

Maybe once he was back in the CIA's good graces, they could get back to what they had had before.

()()()()()

As cover ID's go, I prefer rich businessman, or international playboy to petty criminal. But if the situation calls for it, you do what you have to do.

It was seven PM and he was still debating about where to take his date for the evening. A sleepless night and a whole day spent wandering about the city searching for inspiration had failed to help him reach a decision and it was frustrating. He had never had this much trouble reading a potential asset before. Was he losing his touch? Had a year behind a desk followed by six months working with such an accommodating asset as Samantha Keyes dulled his skills?

The dark haired man looked down at his meager selection of clothing which he laid out on his bed: jeans, shirts, T shirts and woolen sweaters had been all his SAS instructor had deemed he would need to fit in with the local community.

Michael knew from her dossier that she had dated an international arms dealer, a wealthy man with powerful contacts, so powerful in fact that all mention of his name or any identifying information had been blacked out in her file, including the reason for the split.

It had to have been something big though because she had gone from traveling the world selling latest in deadly weaponry to whipping up homemade explosives in a derelict warehouse for a Real IRA bomber who didn't even warrant a MI5 file of his own.

Pursing his lips, the spy frowned. Fiona Glenanne had gone from riches and power to dark and deadly and neither man had managed to hold onto her. She was obviously looking for someone different. He thought again about the woman he had watched dancing as if she was the only one in the room and slowly a smile spread across his face.

He walked swiftly across to the kitchen area and picked up his copy of the local newspaper, turning the pages until he found what he was looking for. As his eyes eagerly scanned the advertisement, his confidence grew.

Where do you take a psychotic bomber with side lines in bank robbery, and gun running…?

You take her somewhere totally unexpected and totally suited to her crazy assed character.

He had arrived at the meeting spot below the Albert Memorial Clock fifteen minutes before eight PM, his eyes scanning the faces in the crowd of tourists and locals passing by hoping to catch sight of his future asset.

It had been at the precise moment when a group of teenagers brushed by that she had sneaked up behind him, making him flinch and spin around when her hand landed lightly on his shoulder.

Her long auburn hair had been hidden under a wig of long black hair worn in a ponytail hanging half way down her back, her slender figure concealed by a knee length beige trench coat and her legs once again shown off to their best advantage by killer heels.

"You're tryin' a different style?" he had asked, his fingers capturing a few strands of her fake locks.

"I told ya I have a job to do later." She gently palmed his left cheek, her eyes narrowing with concern as she studied the evidence of the previous evenings fight before, in an obvious effort to change the subject, she added. "That is one nasty looking black eye ya have there. Anyone would think you had a run in with a truck rather than a cowardly lout."

"Ah, he got in a few lucky shots, that was all." He'd flashed his teeth in a cocky smile and was rewarded by a soft kiss to the side of his mouth.

"So where are ya takin' me, Mister McBride?" she asked.

He remembered the rush of excitement, carefully masked, in anticipation of her response to his chosen evening entertainment. If he had gotten it wrong, the whole mission would be at risk... "Ah, um… There's a funfair, an' I er, thought we'd start there and see where we end up."

"A funfair…?" She had raised one eyebrow in surprise and just for a split second he had thought he had gotten it wrong and his mind set to work on a change of venue to get them back on track when she relaxed. "That isn't what I was expecting. Ya're a man with a sense o' humor I can tell."

"Ya would prefer ta go to some fancy restaurant? Or ta go dancin'? AM afraid I don't have the funds at the moment for much more than sommit from Gantry's burger van over there." He indicated said mobile food bar with a tilt of his chin.

"That's not what I meant…" She sighed heavily, as a look of melancholy fleetingly passed over her expression before she brightened. "I think a visit to a funfair is just what I need right now."

Linking her arm through his, they strolled away from the square, heading towards the River Lagan and a large stretch of ground where a traveling fair had set up two days earlier.

When he had contacted his handler earlier that morning to report on the nights activities, he had been warned that his target would be at her most suspicious.

"Just remember the role you're playing. I don't like that she told you she's got a job to do. Whatever it is, you're just going to have to roll with it. It'll be a test of some sort. Don't worry about any blow back from the local guys; we can smooth things over. Just don't fuck up."

It had been on the tip of his tongue to snap back this wasn't his first time at drawing in a potential asset, but good sense had made him refrain. The British were in his opinion still being far too cautious.

At the fairground, he had dutifully let her lead the way and choose the rides they went on. As he expected, Fiona picked the ones that went fast, or upside down or preferably both. An hour later, they were walking arm in arm sharing a stick of candy floss while checking out the various stalls and side shows until she all but dragged him over to a shooting range and challenged him to a contest. In a closely run contest with a pair of ancient air rifles, the petite paramilitary won them a large yellow fluffy teddy bear, which she gave him the honor of carrying.

Afterwards they walked into the city center and found a bar selling pub food. He had scowled at the men who followed her with their eyes when she sashayed off to the toilets. She elbowed him hard in the ribs when a bar maid spent too long counting his change into his hand.

But then, just after last orders were called, Fiona had squeezed his arm and whispered that it was time for them to go. "Remember tha little job I told ya about? It's nearly time."

They stepped outside into a downpour of rain and ran along the near deserted streets until they found some shelter in a shop doorway. Laughingly, they shook the rain out of their hair before she took his breath away by slamming him back forcibly against the metal shutter covering the door.

"Do ya want to know what really turns me on?" The words were growled out between lips which brushed over his ear before sharp little teeth bit down on his lobe, causing him to gasp in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"Mmm…." he mumbled when he found the power of speech again, one hand still gripping her prize bear, the other tangling in her hair and pulling her head into a long kiss.

The Irishwoman broke away from him, her eyes sparkling, her breath quickening.

"How do you feel about getting us a fast car?" she asked.

Michael sighed and looked down at her expectant expression. "Ya have a job ta do and ya didn't think to get yourself a car?"

She liked him, that much was obvious and now she was testing him. The spy caught hold of her and changed their positions, so she was now against the security door. He pushed his knee in between her legs, spreading them apart and leaning over her, his dominant position at odds with the gentle way he nibbled her ear before breathing gently against her neck.

"Now, why would I need to get my own car when I have one o' tha most talented wheel men to grace our shores at me beck an' call."

"One of the most talented wheel men in the whole of Ireland... I like the sound of that." He smirked, and then, when his mind caught up with another of her statements, he had been unable to stop himself asking. "Exactly how turned on…?"

With the teddy bear discarded on the damp pavement, he used his body weight to keep her pinned against the door as his hands slipped inside the unbuttoned trench coat, his thumbs brushing against the sides of her bra.

"Depends on how fast a car," she replied as she reached up to scrape her nails over his scalp pulling his head back while her lips grazed on his exposed neck.

The American spy stretched his chin upwards, giving her full access to his throat, feeling a mix of gentle kisses and little nips along his jaw. Fiona released his head and wrapped her arms around his waist, then snuggled her head against his chest.

"Get me a Porsche, Michael. There is a dealership two streets away."

He rested his chin on the top of her head. "I don' have me tools with me," he admitted. Michael felt the redhead start to try to pull away and he tightened his hold on her arms. "I can get into any car, but a dealership, they'll be alarms an' without me tools..." Keep to your cover, he reminded himself.

"Oh, I can get us in anywhere... I never come out without the right tools."

He had felt distinctly uncomfortable as she had gazed up at him, the tip of her tongue wetting her lips as one slender hand rubbed across the front of his jeans and then before he could come up with a reply, the wild Irishwoman had wriggled out from under him and picked up her prize bear, brushing the fur straight.

"Come along, Michael, did I not mention Am on a schedule?" She gave him no choice. Hooking the fingers of her free hand into his waistband, she pulled the dark haired man along in her wake.

They carried on down the narrow street, out onto another main road and then across to a large flashy luxury car dealership. Fiona peered through the windows and pointed to a black 968 convertible.

"That one," she told him.

He smiled and lent back against the glass. "You said you would get us in," he pointed out.

She gave him a mischievous grin. "Hold the bear."

The spy felt a little bit ridiculous standing out in the pouring rain clutching a large fluffy yellow teddy bear to his chest while his new friend used his body to cover her lock picking activities.

"You know there's an alarm in there? Looks like it's a key pad."

"I can see that, Michael. One thing at a time." She had the door open and was heading for the alarm. He wondered if he should risk his cover and help her.

"There," the redhead smirked. "All done…." Her fingers ran along a row of keys hanging on hooks. "All ya're goin' to have to do is find the right key."

Michael dropped the bear onto the back seat of the car she had chosen and came over to where she was picking the right key for him. He planted a gentle kiss on her collar bone and whispered in her ear. "Ya're not finished. Are ya going to open the front up for me to get the car out?"

Fiona laughed and almost skipped over to the large glass doors. Finding the clips, she slid them open as he started the engine and then raised the folded roof before pressing down hard on the accelerator, revving the engine. As soon as she jumped in beside him, Agent Westen floored the car, rapidly going through the gears he took them into the city and hoping his handlers kept to their word about clearing his illegal activities.

"Where to…?"

"Back the way we came. I'll direct you," she answered as she leaned forward, searching under the passenger seat until she sat up to reveal a small canvas bag.

"Ya planned on stealing this car!" Michael accused, as he realised he had been out maneuvered by the petite hellion sitting at his side.

"I told ya before, Am always prepared. Now take the second turning on the left and let me out round the corner... And Michael…" She had the car door open as soon as he brought the vehicle to a stop. "Keep tha engine running."

And then the Irishwoman was gone, running across the street to the line of cars parked along the curb.

He'd had no idea what she was planning, but he was used to thinking on his feet. One thing he had been sure of was that the British agents had been right: the Glenanne girl was going to be a handful.

Keeping one eye on the rear view mirror which allowed him to watch as the petite 'black' haired woman ducked down beside a parked car and placed what looked like a bomb underneath, he used his other eye to find a safe spot to wait for her as she planted two more devices under other vehicles.

"Why did ya park so far away?" Fiona demanded as she slid down into the seat next to him, her face flushed with excitement, though her eyes held a glint of anger at having to run further down the road than she had been planning.

"I didn't want to get blocked in," the American operative answered, though in truth at that moment he was more interested in the two cars which were passing by at high speed. "I had a notion ya were doing more than slashing tires."

One – two – three – explosions, strong enough to make the Porsche rock and set off car alarms down the length of the street, also conveniently brought to a stop the three police cars, which had been giving chase to the fast moving vehicles that had just shot by.

"Ya think ya know me, Michael McBride?" she whispered huskily into his ear.

There were dozens of other things he should have been considering at that moment, but all he was thinking about was how beautiful she looked with the flickering flames behind them illuminating her features.

"I think Am learning." He hadn't been able to stop himself from drawing her into a kiss and had then found himself surprised yet again in the passion with which she responded.

The kiss only ended because of the sound of the heavy boots running towards them and shouted orders to exit the vehicle.

"Time ta go..."

"Or we could shoot them," Fiona offered an alternative, her hand bringing out her .38.

"Not today, I think we've had enough excitement for one night."

Pulling away fast, he hadn't given her the chance to act on her bloodthirsty nature. His MI5 contact had promised to smooth over any crimes he committed while on the job but the murder of a couple of police officers would probably be too much of a stretch.

The loud beeping of several car horns brought the soon to be reinstated spy back to the present and he realized the traffic ahead of him had moved off, leaving a large gap ahead. Ignoring the sound of frustrated Miami drivers taking place behind him, Michael eased his foot off the Charger's brake and quickly caught up with the slow moving line of traffic.

The turn off which would take him along the promenade was coming up, a quick glance at his wristwatch told him he was still making good time. He wanted arrive in plenty of time for his meeting with his unwilling CIA contact just in case it wasn't the good news he was expecting.

He knew is mind should be completely focused on Diego Garcia and what he might have to say. He had worked too hard and had never gotten as close as he was to getting his job back as he was now.

He had alienated his friends, even Sam, who while being supportive had let his dislike for Tom Strickler show. The former CIA agent pursed his lips. Regardless of what Fiona thought, he was doing this for them all. He was doing this to keep everyone safe. His name was out there for all to see. Without the protection of an agency, he was putting everyone who knew him in danger.

Danger... It wasn't until he had begun working with Fiona that he had realized what an aphrodisiac danger could be. Oh, he knew all about the thrill of walking away from a near death situation, but with Fiona Glenanne that head rush had been taken to a whole new level.

After the explosions and the near miss with Belfast's finest, she had directed out of the city and onto the twisting, unlit country lanes of rural County Down. "I have another car ready an' waitin'. We'll dump this one an' then go back ta my place."

The Porsche tires skidded on the gravel and mud which littered the road surface causing frequent massive under steer that made him very aware of the high stone walls lining much of their way. But woman beside him, sans the ugly black wig which was now laying on the back seat along with the teddy bear, hadn't cared about them ending up buried into a wall or upside down in a farmer's field.

She'd had other ideas...

As much as he had been aware of the road conditions, the spy was even more aware of the hand gently stroking his left thigh.

"Faster, Michael, stop playing games!" She twisted in the bucket seat, leaning her other hand on his stomach, her perfectly manicured nails tapping on his belt buckle. The car felt like it dropped and shot forward even faster.

Her right hand was no longer on his thigh and the seasoned covert operative was nevertheless finding it harder to concentrate as her left freed his belt from the buckle.

"If you keep this up, we're not going to make it home." He gasped as the zip on his jeans slid down.

Fiona flicked the button on his waistband undone, giving her hand free access. "But you showed such self-control last night."

The car swerved, tires squealing in protest as he brought it to a skidding halt.

"That was last night," he growled.

Pushing his seat as far back as it would go, the dark haired man turned towards her, pulling her into a kiss, his mouth hard against hers, his tongue pushing against her teeth demanding entry.

Not to be out done, Fiona shimmied her tight skirt up over her hips and climbed astride his lap. One hand now inside his boxers, she felt him grow in her hand and his breathing become more ragged.

"Ahhh, me lovely man..." Her words had come out in a throaty growl as she stroked up and down his growing length.

"Bloody hell, girl," he groaned, resting his chin on her shoulder. Michael lifted her top up, his fingers finding the fastener on her bra. Then he lowered his mouth and latched onto one now bare breast, his teeth grazing her nipple.

The way she had arched into his touch and the long sigh that had slipped from between her lips sent the blood rushing from his brain to feed the another part of his anatomy which was growing even harder under the ministrations of her hand and it wasn't long before the cramped conditions inside the car was not enough.

Flinging the door open, he drew back and half pushed her out into the rain. "Get out."

"Michael!"

The spy followed her out. Not giving the auburn haired woman any chance to protest any further, he picked her up and dropped her down onto the long sleek bonnet of the Porsche.

"I want ya now."

With her skirt already up around her waist, it gave him easy access to thrust aside her panties and cup her womanhood, to feel the heat of her own desire. The Irish hellcat lying before him didn't want safe and would be bored by gentleness. She needed passion and spontaneity.

Even though in the back of his mind his brain was telling at him he was committing tactical suicide, the American operative didn't care because all his instincts were yelling at him to take her right there and then on the hood of a stolen car in the pouring rain...

And when he had slipped his index finger into the warmth of her moist center and her legs had locked about his waist, Michael had known he was right.

With heaving breaths and a scrabble of fingers, they quickly had her knickers half way off and twisted about one leg and his jeans and boxers hanging midway down his thighs. The risk of being seen, the danger of being caught or shot, the rain which was soaking them to the skin and running off them both in rivelets, none of that mattered as he slowly pushed into her feeling, sleek muscles cocooning him and emptying his mind of anything even resembling coherent thought.

They paused like that for a moment, until the heels of her shoes dug sharply into his flanks driving him on, his hips bucking into her slowly at first and then faster as she urged him on.

It was all over quicker than he had wanted. Fiona came in a rush, her nails scraping down his sides hard enough to draw blood and then, with more control than he would have believed possible at the time, Michael had pulled out just before he came, letting her finish him off by hand.

Falling back afterwards his Irish vixen lay sprawled wantonly on the hood of the car as he leaned over her with a hand either side of her shoulders. Slowly, Michael took one hand away to wipe his arm across his forehead as he gazed down at her, her hair fanned out, framing her face which was flushed, her eyes shining. Fiona ran her tongue over her lips, her eyes drinking in his features as raindrops continued to fall and trail down her cheeks.

"We should get going."

He nodded, pulling up his boxers and jeans and then helping her back into her clothes. Back inside the car, he started the engine and looked across at her. Swallowed thickly, he asked, "Fancy going out tomorrow night?"

Fiona Glenanne, his intended target, leaned her head back against the headrest, her eyes half closed.

"I think… I think tomorrow we should spend the night in." She turned and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. "What do you say?"

And for the first time Michael McBride and Michael Westen found themselves wanting exactly the same thing.