Stone of the Heart
The Courtship
They had three days. Three days where they were able to make their whole world a small terraced house in the Lower Falls of Belfast City, the outside forces around them banned from their thoughts as much as possible. They allowed themselves to indulge in pleasure, a rare break in their ordered lives.
Michael had woken early, as was his custom, slipping out briefly while she slept. The larder was getting quite bare at this point, a trip for provisions becoming a necessity. They avoided a shopping excursion as long as possible, neither of them wanting to return to a normal routine fearing it would break the spell they were both under. Unless Michael wanted to face another meal of beans on toast, there was little choice.
He hurriedly completed his task, relieved that he was able to find an open shop at the early hour, anxious to slip back between the sheets once again, to feel her close by his side. She was awake when he returned. "There ya are. I was afraid ya had slunk off into the night. That perhaps ya had already tired of my charms." Her voice was thick with sleep.
"That would never happen." He scoffed at the suggestion and then explained his absence. "I picked up some food."
"Tired of beans on toast, is it?" She propped herself up on her elbow, watching him as she roused herself from the night's slumber.
He grimaced indicating the truth of her statement. "I got something better." He ducked into the other room, swiftly returning, his hands holding the morning's meal.
"Ah, breakfast in bed. How romantic!" She pulled the sheets around her as she sat up in bed. Michael handed her a container and a spoon. She stared at the cup in her hand for several moments before speaking. "What the hell is this?"
Michael his mouth full of his first spoonful mumbled the answer. "Yoghurt. Blueberry."
"Yes, I know what it is, McBride, but I was wondering what you expected me to do with it." Her eyes flashed with irritation.
"Eat it." His expression was puzzled as he took another spoonful clearly enjoying the taste.
"I was hoping for a nice fry up or a croissant at the least." She stared at the cup a mite longer, then dipped her spoon into the purple colloidal mass and slowly raised it to her lips. She held the spoon there in mid air as she worked up the courage to put it into her mouth.
"Afraid, Fiona?" Michael taunted her, amused by her hesitance.
She gave him a look of displeasure, annoyed by the ridiculous assumption on his part and rapidly swallowed the spoonful. Her face contorted slightly, "That's an awful thing."
"It's an acquired taste. Have another bite?" This time he offered her a portion from his spoon. His smile, inviting and hopeful, was an offer that she was unable to refuse.
The second bite went down easier than the first. "Well, maybe it's not so bad as I first feared." She took smaller tastes eventually finishing the entire container. "Ya eat this often, McBride? If ya do, I may have to rethink this relationship."
"All the time." Michael admitted.
"So, we've already come to a crossroads, of sorts. Finding out the secret bad qualities of the other." She winked. "Of course, being practically perfect as I am, ya will find no fault with me."
He silently agreed acknowledging to himself that all the imperfections seen by the world at large about this woman made her absolutely perfect for him. The way he was looking at her was making her slightly uncomfortable. She placed her empty container on the bedside table and drew back the sheets in invitation. "Come back to bed, McBride. Let's see if this yoghurt thing is good for your constitution."
There was that name again. Each time she said it, it was like a dagger through the heart. "It's Michael." He said his name aloud. Michael Westen usually did not reveal himself often, his true self, whether he was under cover or not, but this was one of those times. Her brow furrowed wondering why he was pointing out a name that she already knew.
The lilt in his speech remained but the words were his own, a long speech by his usual standards but spoken from the heart. "I don't want you to call me McBride when we're together, when we're alone. That's for the fellas out there. For when we're working. But here, I want... I need you to call me, Michael." So much of this new relationship was based on lies, but his feelings for her were true. He needed her to call him by his name, his real name. It made this whole affair seem less like betrayal.
She watched his face as he spoke, a catch to his voice as he made the plea, a seriousness there she had not seen before. She saw the truth in his eyes unaware of why this was so important to him. It was an easy wish to grant. "Michael." She spoke the name softly almost as if it were a prayer. She reached for his face gliding her hand across his cheek, staring into his eyes. "Michael." She said it once more dismissing the darkness from his eyes.
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He made another foray to the outside world returning with a more substantial meal this time. When he returned he found her deep in conversation on her mobile. A smile greeted him but soon disappeared as she refocused on the caller. She still wore one of his button down shirts that dwarfed her small frame. It made her look somewhat childlike, innocent, but the tone of her voice quickly dispelled the illusion. Then, the call ended.
She sat motionless, deep in thought, for several moments. Michael interrupted her reverie, planting a soft kiss on her cheek in greeting. "I hope you like Chinese."
She peeked into the take away bag and breathed in the aroma of the feast. "I do, but unfortunately I can't stay." She grabbed a spring roll adding, "Duty calls," as she headed toward the shower. "Go ahead without me." Michael started to pick at the food, his mind in overdrive thinking about the identity of the caller and the reason behind the spur to action.
Fiona emerged in short order dressed in dark fatigues, her hair pulled back starkly, looking as if she were preparing for battle. "Job?" Michael asked though the answer was evident by her attire. A small nod was her answer as she strapped a small pistol to her leg and placed another in her waistband. "Need some help?"
"No, McBride." The use of the name he begged her not to use told him that this was purely business. Concern was written all over his face. "Should be back by tomorrow night and I'll take a rain check on this dinner."
"Tomorrow night? Why so long? Are you leaving the country?" Michael, the spy, gently probed for more information.
"Well, I suppose that depends on your point of view, doesn't it? Whether there are actually thirty two counties in this place we call home." Her smirk spoke volumes. "Wish I could tell ya more, Michael but it's 'RA business. You'd not have me facin' a court-martial, would ya now?"
Her words gave him pause adding a new wrinkle to this assignment, one he hadn't considered. He drew near, laying his hands on her hips. "I'll just be missing you is all. How 'bout a dinner that doesn't come out of a carton when you're back, someplace nice?"
"Like a date? Are we datin' now, Michael?" She looked up into his eyes. "Pick me up at half seven then. I'll ring you if there's a delay." And with that she was off leaving him alone to wonder how he could infiltrate her next assignment.
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Promptness was a quality deeply instilled in the American spy. He arrived at her door at the appointed time.
Promptness was a quality deeply instilled in the Irish guerrilla. She opened the door ready for the night to come.
Gone were the fatigues and boots replaced by a short black dress and heels, a stark contrast to her previous day's outfit.
Gone were Michael's jeans and trainers, replaced by a fitted jacket and a collared shirt. Two people ready for their first official date.
So struck by his appearance, she almost didn't notice the small bouquet he held along with a paper bag. "Picked these up. Don't know if you like this sort of thing..." His voice trailed off unsure if he had made the right move. He lifted the paper bag. "And your shoes." A smile graced his face.
She grasped the flowers gently inhaling their sweet scent, touched by the gesture. "They're beautiful. I love flowers." She opened the door wider. "Let me put these in water. And these," referring to her shoes nestled inside the bag, "won't ya be slippin' them on my feet then?" Her sly smile was met with a blank stare, the reference lost on her date. "Never mind. It was a bad joke anyway."
"Joke?" The spy continued to look confused. She quickly replaced her heels with the returned pair pausing to admire them, pleased to have them back. "Time for a drink?" She moved toward the kitchen and arranged the flowers in a glass vase.
"I made the reservation for eight so we probably should head out." Michael explained.
"Well, flowers and an actual reservation. It seems ya know how to sweep a girl off her feet." Fiona was impressed as she grabbed her raincoat. Michael assisted her in putting it on.
Michael McBride did anyway, he thought. None of these actions were instinctual for the spy, but part of the cover he had invented for himself. His style was more akin to how they had spent the past few days, holed up in a secure location with a steady supply of yoghurt and bottled water.
They headed to a small bistro in the Cathedral Quarter. The wine and conversation flowed easily. Michael played his part, acting as most men do in this situation: pulling out her chair, holding her hand, catering to her every need. However, he was not 'most' men, so he couldn't help himself from scanning the patrons, checking for exits, and eavesdropping on conversations around him. Fiona, not being 'most' women, picked up on these subtle signs causing her feelings for him to deepen even more. Chivalry and training, what more could a girl ask for?
"This is lovely. Are all Kilkenny men so gallant? Apparently, I should have visited years ago." There was a twinkle in her eye as she spoke.
Michael swallowed hard, then put on his poker face. Prior to the posting he had researched all that he could to find an appropriate origin for Michael McBride. It couldn't be too small a village or his deception would be soon revealed if he met someone from that part of the country. It couldn't be one of the few major cities here or it would be likely his path would have crossed with someone she knew. Kilkenny was a mid sized place, known more for tourists than for rebels. Still, he prepped, prepared to answer any questions posed, even concocting excuses for periods of absence from the town. "Have you never been then?" He was relieved to hear that she hadn't.
"Sadly, no. Is your family still there?" She sipped her wine wanting to learn more about the man seated across from her.
Michael had learned to tell as much of the truth as possible to sell a cover. It minimised the lies he had to tell, and perhaps more importantly, to remember. "Probably. Haven't been home in awhile. You know how it is. It's best to stay away in our line of work. Prevent your family from feeling the wrath of an unhappy customer." Fiona certainly did understand that facet of this life. She paused waiting for him to divulge more. "My da's gone, so it's just my mother and younger brother."
She laughed, "One brother? Are ya sure you're even Irish, then?" She stared open mouthed at the man before continuing. "Did your parents not like one another?" A small family size was unusual for the time. Now that was a question he had not anticipated.
Michael looked serious. "He was a drunk and a lout. Doubt it was possible to like him."
"I'm sorry." She had touched a nerve inadvertently, a touch of her hand over his served as way of an apology of sorts. He rubbed his thumb over her fingers brushing aside the past.
"No worries." He pasted Michael McBride's smile on his face and moved the conversation away from painful memories.
Before long the meal was consumed, the wine bottle empty, the couple satiated. While they finished their coffee, Fiona received an unexpected message. "I need to make a stop at the pub on our way back. It's on the way, as we need to go through Divis Street anyway. The gates nearer me will be long closed at this time." She glanced at her watch noting the time. Michael was still surprised about the division between the two neighbouring communities. Several gates were built into the lines of the Peace Wall. They were routinely locked at night physically separating the Falls from Shankill to minimise flare-ups between the inhabitants.
"Why the stop?" He was surprised that Fiona hadn't mentioned it before now.
"In a hurry to get me alone, are ya now?" She raised an eyebrow before explaining. "Called into a meeting of some sort. Shouldn't take long. Then, I'm all yours." She traced his lips softly with her fingers before placing her own lips on his, a promise of things to come.
Michael was greatly conflicted. On one hand, he wanted nothing more than to get her alone, enjoy the simple pleasures of being with her. But the spy part of him kicked in and he wondered what had precipitated the move - an impromptu meeting late at night. He hoped he would be able to stay close to Fiona during the meeting, perhaps glean its purpose and its participants.
They sat in contented silence on the drive away from the city centre, headed back toward the Falls, until a minor roadside fender bender slowed their progress. "Damn! At this rate, I'll be a wee bit late. Can't you speed it up, Michael?" Fiona was known for her speed and her impatience. She urged her date to jump the curb, drive on the pavement, anything to avoid the stalled traffic.
Michael exhaled slowly, "Next time, you drive." He followed her advice and soon they made the turn onto Divis, closing in on their location. A white van zooming down the road nearly cut them off, Michael slamming on the brakes, cursing at the offending driver. They watched as it hurtled through the area, both growing suspicious of its intent. Fiona reached into her handbag, removing her H&K, in case it was needed. The van door opened and both operatives watched in horror as a firebomb was hurled through the front window of The Black Sand Pub. Michael stopped immediately as Fiona shot at the vehicle in vain. She emptied her clip knowing the target was well out of range, her action pointless. Then, they watched as flames burst through the front and they pondered their next move.