Stone of the Heart
The Reveal: Part 1
Fiona Glenanne stood in the centre of the room, her stance wide, both hands gripped around a nasty looking weapon. There was no doubt about her intention.
"Move very slowly toward the chair there." She pointed to a straight-backed wooded chair she removed from the kitchen and placed strategically where she wanted only moments before. "One false move and I won't hesitate to pull the trigger." Her eyes were hard, her voice icy. Michael nodded, slowly releasing his package to the floor, then keeping his hands raised so that she could see them. "Gun, too." Michael reached into his waistband, retrieved his weapon, and placed it on the floor.
"Put them on." She indicated the zip ties near the chair. Michael knew the drill. He zip tied his ankles first, then his wrists. "Now sit." He settled back slowly into the chair as a slight click could be heard. He closed his eyes for a moment realising he was trapped. "Ah, I see ya recognised the sound. I rigged a dead man's switch into the seat there. If ya get up afore our wee chat is done, yer goin' to make an awful mess of the wallpaper. Doubt whoever is footin' the tariff will be gettin' their security deposit back."
"Fiona..." Michael uttered her name tenderly, a plea for forgiveness. The sound of her name spoken so lovingly enraged her rather than elicited compassion. She had welcomed this stranger into her bed and into her heart. The sting of betrayal coursed through her body.
"Who the hell are ya?" She held the gun pointed at his chest. He knew what an excellent shot she was. She would not miss, not at this range. So this is how it would end. Not in the wilds of Afghanistan or a battlefield in Iraq. He had survived those. He had made it through Chechnya, even living through the time working with Larry Sizemore, a sociopathic operative he happened to be partnered with for several years. No, it would end here in a Northside Dublin guesthouse at the hands of a woman he had fallen deeply in love with. He supposed he deserved no better.
"In the world of deception spies inhabit, the truth takes on a peculiar power. The truth, the verifiable,unvarnished truth, becomes the ultimate bargaining chip. The irony is that the only time you get to play that chip is when everything is on the line and you only get to play it once." It was time for truth.
He dropped the false brogue and spoke to her as himself for the first time. "My name is Michael Westen. I'm ... I'm an American spy. I work for the CIA... I have for years." There it was - the reality hidden from her these many weeks. He braced himself for the bullet that was sure to follow that revelation but at least the burden of deception had been lifted from his soul. He watched as her eyes grew wide, her finger ready to depress the trigger that would end his life.
"Bloody hell." She took a deep breath. The words hit her as if she had been punched in her gut. A spy! She wanted to put a bullet through the man's head but knew more was at stake than just her wounded heart. Fiona had trusted him, discussing her business, involving him with the 'RA, bringing him to places where he heard much that was privy only to supporters. She had introduced him to her family! He had made her an informer. "Do ya have any idea what ya done, McBride? Ya made me a tout, ya have."
Michael shook his head, "No, I..."
She interrupted his useless excuses. "Do ya remember what they do to touts here, Michael? Was that part of your Intel when ya were sent here, or did that not matter to ya? Just collateral damage, I suppose." Her heart raced as she tried to grasp the situation that she found herself in, pondering the possible consequences to herself and her family.
"Fiona, if you would just let me explain." Michael needed her to understand.
"Explain? Wot will ya explain ta me? Tat ya've been lying ta me … all dis time? Tat de bullet through me head is fer some greater good?"
Michael blanched. His lips tightened. "I won't let that happen."
"Ya tink ya can stop it, do ya? Tat's wot 'appens 'ere. A bullet in me head and an unmarked grave, becomin' one of de 'disappeared' or perhaps dey'll leave me lifeless body on me ma's doorstep. Another favourite way to dispose of collaborators! At least she'll 'ave me body tat way!" She paused letting that mental picture form in his head. "Wot did ya tell 'em?" She was nearly hysterical now. "Maybe I can trade tat fer me family, keep 'em alive." She took two steps closer, her finger ready to end this, her voice shaky as she screamed her question once more. "Wot d'ya tell 'em?"
He noticed the more agitated she became, the more West Belfast inflections, the less Dublin, could be heard in her speech. She was losing control and she held a gun at his heart. It isn't that he minded dying; he deserved it for what he had done. What agonised him is that she would never know the truth if she pulled that trigger and his lies would haunt her forever.
"I didn't tell them anything!" He screamed back at her, the muscles in his neck grew taut. The force of his voice caused her to stop and refocus, gaining back a modicum of control. She stared at him wide-eyed, her body trembling. His voice softened, his eyes moist, as he shook his head and declared, "I didn't tell them anything, Fiona." Her knees buckled and she slipped to the ground but her gun remained pointed at her target. He watched her crumple and strained slightly at his bonds. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, wipe away her tears, ease her suffering. He wanted to be Michael McBride again!
A wish impossible to be granted, he focused on what could be done. "Look, turn me over to your people, maybe it buys you a pass." She scoffed at the idea. "I'm dead any way you look at it. Either you shoot me, the IRA executes me, or my own people deal with me for NOT passing along information I learned here." He uttered his final plea, praying she would accept his offer. "Fi, it's the smart play here. Barter an exchange, my head for yours."
She stared at his for several moments, his American accent throwing her off kilter. "Ya're really American?" A slight nod of his head answered her question. "Workin' fer the Brits, then?"
"No!" He was adamant. "Strictly an American op. Hell, MI-5 would probably shoot me as well, working on their turf without consent. If I'm caught my own agency would likely disavow, say I was a rogue agent." He saw that she was listening, her body less tense. "I was sent here to go after Hannon. Everything I told you about him is true." The first part of the tale was easy, the next part significantly more difficult. She waited for him to continue. "My government, my president, want this peace deal badly. They wanted me to see if this was real, if the Provos would really agree, disarm, and where those weapons would go when they did. In order to do that, I needed to develop an asset with access." She winced as she heard this part of his mission, her grip tightening on her gun. "But, everything I passed along had to do with Hannon - nothing else." His eyes met hers. "I didn't tell them anything."
She believed him. She lowered her weapon and slid backward resting her back against the wall, fatigue hitting her as the adrenaline rush subsided. They sat silent for a while, emotions raw and wounded. "So, you and me, was it all just a lie?" She knew the game. She had played it once or twice herself but never to this degree, and never for this length of time. The answers she demanded may not soothe her wounded soul but she needed to know the truth.
Michael looked away. "You know how it is. It's never all a lie. It's always more complicated than that." Then, he faced her. "But you and me, it was never a lie. I lied to you about who I was, never about how I felt. That... That was real. IS real... I guess." He was confused as she as what they were to each other, the lines were muddled the moment they met.
"Ya guess? Ya are so not good at this!" Spies are meant to be good liars, but someone working for the American CIA should be able to think up a better cover story than the one he just told, yet it had a ring of truth. She wanted to believe him; she needed to believe him. This had to be more than deception; she felt it deep within her soul. He saw a glimmer of life flicker in her eyes.
He stammered, unsure how to continue. "I ... I wanted to tell you...I was just waiting for the right time..."
Her eyes narrowed in disbelief. "Ah, it wasn't the right time when we met. It wasn't the right time when we started sleepin' together. It was the right time when I caught you meetin' your contact in the park. Is that about right, McBride?"
"Westen. It's Westen." No apology could erase the facts so he added no other plea for forgiveness.
Fiona stopped as she grappled with a memory, her heart racing as her thoughts turned to the past. "McBride. You didn't want me to call you McBride. Never when we were alone. Only Michael." She suddenly realised why it was so important to him that she comply with this request. Maybe she was reading more into that conversation than was intended, but Michael's eyes then and now told a different tale.
"Your name, your given name, it's really Michael, isn't it?" He nodded noting the subtle change in her voice, the spark slowly returning to her eyes. "Michael." She said the name tenderly as was her custom. Perhaps, it wasn't all a lie after all. If she was to lose her life over her involvement with an American spy, at least she could hold on to the fact that they had truly loved.
"I'm Fiona. I've always been Fiona." A weak smile crossed her face, her voice uncertain but wanting to believe. "Nice to finally meet the real you, Michael."
Michael beamed. "The pleasure's all mine." It wasn't much but it was a start.
The next few hours were spent getting reacquainted. It was an odd conversation: the Provo volunteer slumped against the wall, gun in hand, the American spy tethered to a chair rigged with a dead man's switch. All of it with the backdrop of a squalid flat in the Northside of Dublin.
Fiona had known her lover harboured secrets. There were wee lapses over the course of their relationship. She suspected he might be a tinker, one of the many Travellers accustomed to living on the fringes of Irish society. It would explain so any of his gaffs. She had nearly confronted him about it but believed that he was trying to distance himself from his family, from his past. Fiona did not want him to think that would matter to her, so she kept silent. Never did she imagine the truth he so zealously concealed!
It was the first totally honest conversation that the two had ever had. He tried to answer every query with truth, explaining when there were some elements to his story he was unable, unwilling to divulge. As an operative, she understood this need for secrecy, this silence for a cause. He opened his heart, more than he had to anyone, realising it was the only hope of making her see it truly was not all a lie.
There were also a few sins of omission. The topic of his fiancée, ex-fiancée in his mind, was not broached. Fiona never specifically asked if he was engaged although she did inquire whether there was a wife and kiddies waiting for him at home. He assured her there wasn't and vowed to himself there wouldn't be an engagement either once he was able to break it off. He had agreed to marry Samantha in haste. He thought he might love her at the time, but now, now he realised what love was, how it felt, how it consumed you in every way possible. There was no way he could marry Samantha now because he was desperately in love with somebody else. The woman who sat across from him, the woman who had him zip tied to a chair and designed a rather ingenious death trap for his benefit; this was the woman he loved!
Michael's hands were beginning to cramp up; his feet had gone numb long ago. "You think you could...? "He indicated his bonds hoping she would consider removing them. She cocked her head as she considered his request. "After all, there's still the chair." He pointed out that he was still attached to an explosive device. "Very clever, by the way. Never saw that coming."
"It was one of my better ideas." She appreciated the compliment; a slight smile of satisfaction graced her countenance causing him to do the same. She stared at him for several moments as she considered his request. With a loud sigh, she removed a small knife from its sheath strapped to her calf and made her way over to where he was imprisoned. She crouched before him holding the knife menacingly, pondering her next move.
Michael watched as she fondled the knife wondering if he had made an error in judgement. She was unpredictable under the best of circumstances and this situation had pushed her well beyond that. "Fi, the restraints." He grinned as he gave her the subtle reminder.
She placed her face inches from his. The knife neared his throat but then made a detour as she took a chunk out of his chest before cutting the restraints locked around his wrists. Michael flinched at the sudden pain. Blood began to seep through his shirt. "Just wanted to see if ya had a heart in there or if it was made of stone." She examined the cut. "Bit deeper than I intended. That'll leave a scar, I fear. Oops!" She smirked as she cut through the zip ties about his ankles, and then returned to her place by the wall.
Michael gave her a disapproving look as he removed his shirt and made it into a ball using it to staunch the bleeding. He noticed that her attention was drawn to the sight of his bare chest. He took that as a positive sign so he asked, "And the chair? I suppose you can diffuse this thing." She rolled her eyes at the absurdity of his question. "Of course, you can. Look Fi, as I see it you have four options." Her attention was now focused on his words rather than his physique. "Option one: you can contact your associates. Tell them you figured out I was not who I said I was and that you captured me. You get out of this free and clear." It was a sound idea which would vindicate Fiona but lead to a tortuous death for the spy. "Option two: I disappear. You never see me again. Tell your buddies we had a row, a nasty breakup..."
Fiona chimed in, "Not far from the truth." Her eyes flashed a bit of anger.
Michael ignored the comment as he continued. "Option three: you let me take down Hannon. I'll tell them the IRA connection is lost. I can find another asset..."
"Ya can't get to Hannon a different way now. Ya've already laid the groundwork using me." She pointed out the obvious flaw to that idea.
"Which leads me to option four." She stopped, her face reflecting confusion. "You work with me to finish the job - put Hannon out of business - permanently."
"I'm not sure I like any of those choices, Michael." Fiona saw more negatives than positives for each of the scenarios that the American presented.
"Well, which one do you like slightly more than the others." Then he smiled, the smile that had captured her heart originally. His blue eyes with a glint of mischief along with their cool analysis drew her in once more. She was so tired of men lying to her, using her... Armand, now him. But she knew that she wasn't ready to have whatever this was, end. She certainly couldn't see this man she had loved ripped to shreds by her associates. Fiona made a decision, hating herself for her weakness.
She approached slowly on her hands and knees. Lying on her back she scooted under the chair, releasing the wires that would free her captive, wondering if she had been fooled once more, wondering if he would snap her neck as soon as he was able.
Standing up, he stretched his muscles aching from the forced confinement. Michael exhaled deeply and extended his arm to assist her in moving upright, their hands touching once more. Fiona felt the same warmth course through her body whenever she felt his touch. They stood facing one another, neither releasing their grip. Michael waited for her decision. "So this thing with Hannon. I'll expect compensation." Her composure regained, she spoke as if this was one of her business transactions.
"I am sure I can work something out with my people." Michael was used to negotiating terms between the Agency and assets.
Fiona shrugged off the suggestion, "I wasn't wantin' somethin' from your 'people', Westen." She used his surname for the first time, a disparaging edge to her voice. There was a glint in his eye as he made an assumption from her comment but she quickly set him straight. "I was thinkin' more in terms of bringin' me tea, pickin' up my dry cleaning, cleanin' my guns, being my 'go for'. Ya know, instead of just being an ass, ya can be MY asset." Michael looked at her for several seconds trying to ascertain if she was serious or not.
Fiona was not sure whether or not to continue their physical relationship after this debacle, her mind and her heart in conflict, but for now she decided to keep the door open. "Of course, I may require other services." She held his gaze as she lifted an eyebrow, her meaning becoming clear to him.
"I'll see what I can do." Michael moved closer. Her hand reached out, her fingers brushing the open wound she had inflicted. Their actions were tentative, neither knowing exactly how to proceed. Yet both realised they had taken an unprecedented step, a step that was risky, dangerous, and fuelled by emotion rather than reason, a step forged by love.
A/N: So much for the star crossed lovers to process now that the secret is out! The Reveal: Part 2 continues the tale and will be posted on Friday. As always, thank you for your kind reviews. Hope you continue to enjoy!