Stone of the Heart
The Reveal: Part 2
"So, what do we do now?" Fiona looked at the man before her.
"Honestly... I have no idea." He had nothing profound to offer, no clear-cut plan to go forward. His cover had been blown by his asset. His training screamed at him to abort the entire mission, call Card with a mea culpa speech, brief the Agency on all that he discovered during his time here, and hope people were in a forgiving mood or his next posting would be in Reykjavik. But looking into her eyes, filled with a pain of his making, he realised his training never covered this situation. He needed her to see what began as a task morphed into something else, something real.
There was an awkward silence as Michael searched for a fresh shirt and something to bandage the gash in his chest. Fiona grabbed a serviette and some duct tape improvising a makeshift dressing. She attended to the wound with care, a small part of her repentant. The damage that Michael had wrought was less visible but no less present as he sought a remedy for his actions.
Michael had already messed with Fiona's life by recruiting her as an unwitting asset and then getting involved with her romantically. He was willing to follow her lead now, willing to support whatever move she was about to make. She waited for him to speak, to offer some suggestion. "Well, we could have a yoghurt while we talk about it. I got some at the store." He spoke softly in his American accent, a sad smile gracing his countenance, as he buttoned up his shirt.
She shook her head as she mirrored his smile with one of her own. "Something fermented is definitely in order, but I was hoping for something a bit stronger under the circumstances." Some of the tension dissipated as their conversation turned slightly normal.
Fiona sighed, looking around the flat. "For starters, I'd say we leave here." Her expression clearly indicated a great distaste for the state of her surroundings. "Is this the best Uncle Sam could do for ya here?"
"Apparently." The spy grinned. He did not find these accommodations too bad. He had experienced much worse.
"Well, remind me to never trust the opinion of anyone named Sam then." Fiona rolled her eyes as packed her supplies and headed for the door.
"I'll keep that in mind." Michael watched her every movement trying to gauge her mood, trying to figure out exactly how things stood between them.
She paused at the door looking back into the flat. Michael stood immobile, hands on his hips, a forlorn look on his face. "Are ya comin' then, Michael? Ya can even bring the damn yoghurt if ya like." Her heart raced as she said the words.
She tried to read his expression. Gone was the lightness of Michael McBride. Now, she understood the dichotomy between the private and public faces of this man. She may have originally fallen for the suave McBride, always knowing the right thing to do or say, but over time the man with the soulful eyes tugged at her heart. Those eyes knew sorrow as did her own. Together they took solace, comfort without words. The term 'soul mate' seemed so trite yet applied, he completed her, he was the piece missing in her heart, missing ever since Claire. So, she waited for his response, praying he would accompany her, praying that he was finally being truthful that there was more here than lies and betrayal.
He moved slowly toward her side. "You sure about this?" Once they took this step, she could never undo the action. She would have willingly worked with a foreign agent. That fact that he was American and not British might be looked upon in a slightly more favourable light, yet may not be enough to save her if it was discovered.
"I'm not sure about anything right now." Fiona was struggling to get her head around all that she had learned. Every time he spoke, his accent was a stark reminder of her new reality. She offered him her car keys. "Ya drive." Then, she closed her fist around them just as he was about to take possession. "Maybe not. Not sure I trust ya now that I know ya usually drive on the wrong side of the road."
Michael reached for her hand, holding it gently in his own. "I'll be extra careful." Her fingers slowly unfurled, a small gesture of faith, his touch soothing. Fiona looked at his hand, focusing on a tiny scar near his thumb. It was the same hand that held her close during that first dance, that cradled her face to look into her eyes, that moved along her body when they were alone, that pulled the trigger of a sniper rifle on a Belfast rooftop. She felt as if she knew this man better than herself, yet now she wondered if she knew him at all.
The spy's mind was in a similar state of confusion. She never asked him to drive; she much preferred to be the one in control in nearly every facet of life. The fact that she readily relinquished her keys indicated that her distress was profound despite her outward appearance of calm. Was he making a mistake trying to keep her close?
The journey home was strained as each attempted to resolve their own inner conflicts. Michael, wondering if he could betray all that he was to remain by the side of this woman now that the truth was disclosed. Fiona, wondering if she could betray all that she was to keep this secret, knowing the consequences if the truth came to light. Two people so hopelessly wrong for one another, yet so perfect together.
As they entered the house, Michael tried to duplicate the easy life they had created for themselves. He ducked into the kitchen, emerging with two bottles, and some glasses. "Wine or whiskey?" The familiar question posed. Fiona moved toward him taking the bottle of Jameson's from his hand and she started to turn away. "Glass?"
"I don't need a glass." She curled up in the corner of the sofa, opened the bottle, and took a large drink of the fiery liquid. Her eyes bored into his with each movement. Michael set the remaining bottle and the glasses on the table and sat in the armchair opposite her.
She took another large gulp. "So, where ya from again? I was only half listening before." The blood had been coursing through her, her own heartbeat drowning out the peripheral sounds around her as the truth was revealed.
"Miami." Michael poured himself some wine. Even he felt the need for alcohol, a need to dampen his senses.
"Miami? In Florida?" He nodded. "Maybe, we can go there one day. Try someplace sunny." She searched his face, hoping for confirmation that they might have a future together.
Michael winced. "Rains a lot, too. Miami is somewhere I'd rather avoid."
"Is your family not there, then?" Fiona was curious regarding his aversion to the place.
"They are which is the reason I'd rather avoid it. Can we talk about something else?" The current situation was awkward enough. He would rather not add his dysfunctional family to the mix.
"I think it's only fair that I get to choose the topic of conversation." She cocked her head and glared at the man daring him to disagree. Michael could offer no rebuttal. Fiona's questions did lead in another direction, one that was no less uncomfortable for the American. "That man. In the park. Who is he?"
Michael squirmed as he readied himself to tell another lie. He looked up, looked into her eyes. She was trying to make sense of this situation. He could not begin another trail of deception. He cleared his throat. "His name is Tom Card. He was my training officer in the CIA. Still runs me in operations. He's the one who sent me here." He stopped and stared into his wineglass, knowing he had already divulged too much, hoping she would be satisfied with that answer, knowing that she would want more.
The Irishwoman continued to sip the whiskey straight from the bottle. Michael watched her down nearly half a bottle, reassured that at least she had a high tolerance for the liquid. "Why's he here?" Fiona, the PIRA volunteer, needed to know what possible reason would cause a high level CIA officer to come to Dublin. Michael insisted that he told the Agency nothing about the Army but the older man's presence seemed to belie that statement. She waited for an answer.
The spy's voice was barely a whisper. "He knows, Fi."
"He knows? What the hell are ya talkin' about, Michael."
"He knows... About us." He looked up. Their eyes locked. Michael was totally blindsided that Card had any idea of what was happening here in regards to his personal life. Apparently, there were other field agents in play.
"Don't tell me ya never 'romanced' an asset before?" Fiona discounted the confession. She worked in the field. She knew how the game was played. Unfortunately, it was all too common to use sex to gain trust and information. She had engaged in that tactic, as well. Americans were said to be a bit prudish about the subject but surely that did not apply to their covert operatives. She watched his face for clues and then she saw it, the complete unvarnished truth. She wasn't just an asset; she was something else, something more.
She sat up, a slight lift to her spirits. "What did he say about that, about us?" Michael dropped his gaze as he tried to find the words to soften Card's message. " Jaysus, does he want ya to shoot me then?" She took an extra long swig from the bottle thinking that it might dull the blow of the bullet.
"No, no, nothing like that." Michael waved his hands completely discounting the possibility. "I think he wants me to, uh, put a little distance between us."
"Ah, he wants ya to stop riding me, does he now?" Fiona's eyes widened, an amused expression appeared on her face in sharp contrast to Michael's grimace, uncomfortable with her phrasing.
"That's the general idea." Michael tried to sound nonchalant but his uncharacteristic gulp of wine told another tale.
"And do ya intend to comply with yer orders then?" Her tone was more of an accusation than question.
Michael knew that he should. He understood that was possibly the best course of action in this situation even if it meant Hannon would continue to ply his trade unimpeded. "I'm a spy, Fiona. I'm not very good at following orders." His gaze turned toward her, a bit of mischief in his eyes. One of the reasons he preferred covert work to soldiering was the opportunity to improvise in a given situation.
"And if ya don't? What will they do to ya if they find out?" She had no idea of how American agencies meted out their displeasure.
"Send me to some undesirable posting." Michael thought of all the unwanted locations that he could wind up: Reykjavik, Nuuk, Miami. He had to hope Card and Raines would not want his talents wasted in some far off outpost. They may put him on ice, figuratively or literally, for a few months as a type of penance, but eventually they would bring him back to the fold. It was worth the risk, worth it to be with her a bit longer.
He watched as the tenseness in her body started to ebb, fewer sips of whiskey taken. The topic veered away from the personal to a more comfortable operational one. Their professional association had sound reasons to continue. This part of their relationship had fewer complications, more synchronicity. "So, while ya were off having your secret meeting, Hannon called. We set up another sale. We'll get another chance at the bastard."
Michael nodded. "That's good news." They were moving into a realm where Michael Westen excelled, where he rarely struggled for answers. He had told her the truth and they were both still alive. He began to relax believing the worst was behind them.
"It is." She smiled, placed the nearly empty bottle on the table, and moved toward him. "Maybe..." He remained stationary on the chair as she approached, straddling him. " ... After we take care of Hannon, we could set up our own business. Ya'll be done with your mission. The Agreement will be in place, so I won't be necessarily needed..." Fiona was envisioning a life beyond the one they currently knew. Perhaps it was time to throw off the shackles of the past, make a fresh start - together. But then, she saw his face and realised this dream could never be.
"Fi." His voice cracked as he said her name.
She sprang from his lap as if it were on fire. He was going to leave. They had no future, they never had. "Ya bloody bastard!" She reached for the bottle, crashing it over his head. He ducked and rolled to the floor avoiding the worst of the blow. She followed it up with a kick to the ribs, unleashing the fury that had returned in full force.
The spy quickly got to his feet and tried to calm her down, or at least fend her off. "Fi. Fi. Fiona." But if the mention of her name was supposed to reduce her anger, the action failed miserably. He slowly backed up as she kicked into the air, her second attempt landing a blow to his solar plexus. "Ow!" The pain radiated throughout his body. He was beginning to get irritated. "You can stop now. You've made your point."
"Have I now?" She moved in position intending to flip him into the air. "Don't think I'll stop till yer bruised and bloody, head to toe." She grabbed him but Michael simply spun her around increasing her ire.
"I don't want you to get hurt. Can we just talk about this?" The American put up his hands, a gesture of a momentary cessation of the battle. Fiona paid no heed to his warning and charged at him full force. He caught her nearly in mid-air and forced her against the wall. She tried to claw her way free but Michael held her fast, his body pressed against her, his hands holding hers. Struggling was pointless.
The Irishwoman ceased all movement using the time for a brief rest and to plan her next attack. Michael felt her body relax slightly, realising it could be nothing more than a ruse. Their breath was laboured more from emotion than exertion. Both felt the heat from the other.
Fiona tried to resist the pull of his eyes as they sought out hers. She looked downward avoiding his gaze, avoiding the need his nearness provoked within her. But, it was futile. Like moths to a flame, their attraction was deadly but irresistible.
Michael loosened his grip not wanting anything to seem forced. His hands no longer held her, his body still pressed against her, feeling more like desire than restraint. His gaze met hers, seeking permission, hoping for permission. Fiona's voice heavy with desire soon honoured that request. 'If ya stop now, Michael, I really will kill ya?" Michael needed no further invitation.
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Sleep was nearly impossible. They avoided speaking, fearing it would lead to more disagreement. Instead, they lie within one another's arms, relishing the closeness, the warmth of the other. It was almost easy to pretend that all was normal, that the previous day had been but a nightmare.
Fiona's mind wandered. She thought of the old toast. "May you never lie, steal, cheat or drink. But if you must lie, lie in each other's arms..." There was temporary comfort here, a comfort of limited duration. It may last another day, another week, another month, but then he would be gone, and she feared her heart would always long for his return. Still, she would cling to these moments however fleeting.
Michael was usually the early riser but Fiona could no longer feign sleep. She eased herself from the bed, acting as if she believed her partner was truly sleeping. The man felt her depart, slipping from his arms. Although fully awake himself, he understood that she craved a few minutes of solitude, time to process yesterday's revelations. He forced himself to remain in bed, try to clarify his own thoughts as he lie alone.
She put the kettle on and downed a few aspirin for her pounding headache regretting drinking an entire bottle of the pure the night before. There was a heaviness around her heart; a heaviness she feared would always be present now that she learned the truth. The whistling of the kettle disrupted her morose thoughts. The familiar actions of making tea provided a brief distraction.
Tea, Ireland's solution to every worry. She sipped the warm beverage and settled by the window pondering her future, a future that would likely not include the man currently sleeping in her bed. Light began to seep into the room just as the sun began to rise.
Michael entered, his eyes immediately drawn to her. She stood bathed in light, staring at the sea, lost in thought. His presence noted, she faced him, a slight smile at the corners of her lips. She was so beautiful it nearly took his breath away. He took the smile to be an invitation and he soon joined her at the window. They watched the sun rise over the Irish Sea in silence, the sky alight with colour. She reached for his hand. A new day, a new life was beginning.