Stone of the Heart

The Epilogue: Part I

Seven months later...

It was strange to be back in this place, strange to be himself once again. He had spent most of his adult life assuming other identities, lives less complicated than his own. After months spent living rough in the field, he was clean-shaven, dressed in Armani, and once more at Langley. There was always a bit of disconnect at the end of a mission as he readjusted to what most would consider a normal life, the type of existence he had avoided for years.

Michael Westen weaved along the labyrinth of corridors. He had just finished an extended debrief with Dan Siebels, his long-time handler, and was now headed toward Tom Card's office. He had been summoned. The man wasted no time in demanding his presence once Michael had returned to U.S. soil. The spy steeled himself for the meeting, reluctant to see his former mentor, reluctant to remember the past.

He had not seen his former training officer since that fateful day, not been in this place since that mission ended. He wanted to forget the entire episode, pushing it deep within his soul. He avoided thinking about his time in Ireland, avoided thinking about her, avoided thinking about the life that was almost in his grasp before fate snatched it away. But now as he headed toward Card's office, memories came unbidden and he was transported back to those first few hours of re-entry.

Nine flight legs through multiple time zones had landed him back in D.C. over seven months ago. In some twisted overture of helpfulness, Card had arranged for Samantha, his former fiancée, to greet him at the airport. The man had good intentions, hoping the 'lovers' would be reunited, eliminating thoughts of the woman left behind, as if what happened in Ireland was merely a union of opportunity, ephemeral and meaningless.

Samantha had been overjoyed at their reunion, appreciative of the CIA officer's thoughtfulness in arranging the welcome. She rushed to the airport, scanning the exiting passengers, eager for the sight of him. He was easy to spot but his appearance gave her pause. He was haggard, his eyes dulled, the strain of the mission evident from his posture and appearance. She shrugged off her concern and pushed her way forward. He watched her approach, silently cursing her presence. It was too soon. He was not ready for this, not ready to face her, not ready to release the woman he had left behind. But here she was, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her lips toward his. Michael had no time to react as expected, instead his body tensed. Samantha pulled away, confused by his greeting.

The months of separation had taken its toll. They were slightly awkward with one another. He was quiet and somewhat distant, she filling the silence with meaningless conversation. Michael feigned interest but his mind was thousands of miles away, wondering how Fiona was handling the situation he had handed her, wondering what she would do next. He checked his watch. It would be nearly morning in Dublin. She would likely be nestled in the duvet, her auburn hair splayed across the pillow, the moonlight streaming through the curtains that didn't completely close. He was grateful for the flaw that had allowed him to watch her sleep, the room never completely dark. A small smile appeared on his face as he thought about those stolen moments, her face serene, his heart filled with her.

Samantha caught the change of expression and began to relax. She believed that the man was coming round. He was home and soon all would be well. What she did not realise or begin to understand was a truth that the spy knew only too well. A deep cover job changes you in ways that are hard to describe. To become another man for months, or years, it's impossible to go through and not be effected at the most basic level. The Michael Westen that she had fallen in love with, that she had proposed to, that she had waited for these many months, had ceased to be. Their future evaporated the moment he asked a fiery redhead to dance in a dingy pub an ocean away.

The moment the couple reached the hotel, Samantha realised the romantic reunion she had envisioned was not to be. Michael opened the door to the suite she had booked and with a sad smile, then declared that they were over, no explanations or excuses accompanied this statement. Samantha had tried to draw him into a conversation, believing this was nothing more than the need for space after a difficult deep cover mission. But as she looked into his eyes, she saw more than just fatigue. His eyes were empty, no hint of affection remained. There was nothing left to say. He pressed a light kiss on her forehead and left. Samantha stood in the centre of that suite, champagne chilling, wondering what exactly happened, knowing she was once again single, and grieving for a future that would never be.

Michael intended to return to his solitary life, free from emotional entanglements, ready to do the job he was meant for. He couldn't...wouldn't embroil himself in another relationship. The pain that he felt was almost too much to bare; the collateral damage left in his wake was too high a price to pay.

Michael spent several days upon his return reviewing the Irish operation with his superiors, carefully deleting any information that would lead directly back to Fiona. He focused on all that had happened as related to Hannon and his business, brushing aside any knowledge of PIRA activities or the mood within the organisation. Questions about Fiona were deflected or ignored. He protected his asset, placing her safety above all else.

His actions were scrutinised, as well. A fleet of psychologists analysed him, searching for any breaks that would cause him to be a hazard in the field. But he knew the game. He brushed off any suggestion of personal 'involvement' that had the potential to compromise the assignment. He betrayed her once more, citing their closeness was purely operational. Luckily, they couldn't see inside his heart, couldn't see that he was forever changed by their coupling.

He had wrapped up the Agency business as quickly as possible anxious for his next posting. Siebels, Raines, and Card basked in his success rewarding him with a mission more to his liking. Six months spent solo in some of the most dangerous operations in which he had ever been involved. He immersed himself in work, the riskier the better. Living on the edge prevented him from having any time to think, any time to focus on what was lost. But the assignment had finally wrapped up, recalling him to Langley temporarily.

Some R & R, an intensive debrief, and a quick turn around as a new mission was presented. As Michael and Dan finished up their meeting, the spy had been summoned to Card's office. It is not as if he were intentionally avoiding his former mentor, but his presence dredged up painful choices, painful memories, memories that were best left behind.

He was ushered right through by a harried administrative assistant. Michael entered the office, stiff and uncomfortable, his hands in his pockets, hoping to keep the meeting as brief as possible. Card had other ideas. His toothy grin was wide and welcoming. He immediately stood up, walked from behind his desk, extending his hand in greeting. "Michael. How the hell are you? You look like crap by the way."

Michael stared at the hand for several seconds before removing his own from his pocket. The handshake and the comment diffused some of the tension. "Nice to see you, too, Tom." The older man indicated that his guest should have a seat. "I've been in the field living on goat cheese and rakia for the past six months, sleeping four hours or so at a time, so I guess it's not surprising." Michael took a seat as Card returned to his desk. "Going back in a coupla days so..." The spy was not in the mood for idle chitchat.

"I hear you, buddy." Tom understood the man's need to decompress before heading back into the field once more. He looked at his protégé for several seconds, as if deciding on a course of action. Then, he reached for a file and passed it to the younger man.

"What's this?" Michael already had an assignment. Surely, the Company didn't expect him to take on two tasks at once. The spy was perplexed by the action.

"My part of the deal." Tom turned serious. "Open it." Michael's heart skipped a beat recalling those hurried moments, creating an exit strategy on the fly, bargaining with the CIA operative. "All the exploits we could gather on one Fiona Glenanne over the past six months. Not a lot there. She's careful."

Michael could barely breathe but tried to appear nonchalant. He opened the file slowly following along as Card droned on about what their surveillance uncovered. "Seems she headed back to Belfast not long after your 'break up'. Moved mommy into the Dublin house soon after. Big brother took over the family homestead." Michael thought about the seaside cottage where he spent so many happy hours. It had been Fi's sanctuary but she abandoned it. Was he the cause?

"According to Behan, it looked like she was about to jump ship and join up with the Real IRA." Card cleared his throat. "But after Omagh..." Both men flashed back to the headlines from that fateful day in August. A bomb went off in the centre of town killing twenty-nine and wounding over two hundred others. "Looks like she decided to distance herself from the whole damn movement. Heard she's still handling Provo gun deals, not much else."

Michael pursued through the file. There were photos, photos of her alone, photos of them together, photos he never knew existed. "Popped up in Eastern Europe. Surprised you, two, didn't run into one another in Kosovo. She's been blowing up things fairly regularly so we've heard but nothing definitive to pin on her. The Interpol file is there." Card pointed to the file on the bottom. "Suspected links to several bombings but nothing definitive to tie her to the deeds. Seems your ex-girlfriend is good at disguising her tracks." He had a grudging respect for her skills.

"This is all very fascinating, Card, but..." Michael did not need a timeline of Fiona's exploits. It was not what he wanted when he made the deal with the man before him.

"No foreplay, Michael?" Card tried to lighten the mood. "Should I get right to the juicy parts, then?" Michael shot the man an icy stare. "Last month one of our cruisers ran across an arms transaction in the Mediterranean. Boarded the vessel. Found your wild Irish rose there in the middle of a deal with a Libyan arms trader." Michael closed his eyes as a wave of anguish surged through him. "Navy were as giddy as a bunch of schoolgirls thinking they had come away with a big win." Card continued. "As soon as she was identified, her name was flagged, call came straight through to me."

Michael looked at his mentor waiting for the rest of the tale. "Told them she was a 'protected asset of the United States government' and they needed to cut her loose. Needless to say, they were less than enthusiastic about the news. Lieutenant Commander Sam Axe, especially. I take it you know him?" Michael nodded. "Well, buy the man a beer or something to make up for it next time you see him." Card stood up, walked over to a sideboard, and poured himself a stiff drink while Michael perused the file. "Think he was expecting a commendation or another shiny medal for his dress whites. Instead he was told to forget the whole damn thing. Officially, no sale was intercepted; no international nasty arms dealers were put out of business. Officially, it never happened."

Michael looked up from his reading, urging Card to continue. "So, the Navy boys seized the cargo. Ms. Glenanne and her associates were quite insistent that they were interrupting a legitimate sale. Yeah, right. Apparently, the language flowing from Glenanne's mouth made the sailors blush." Card's smile widened. "She's got balls, I'll say that for her." Michael scowled at the commentary, wanting to focus on the facts of the incident. "Anyway, they set her and her friends off in a dingy. Heard they made it back to land. End of story." Tom finished his tale.

"Did Axe or anyone else explain why they were letting her go?" Michael had been very clear about keeping his name out of the mix should this type of situation ever arise.

Card scoffed. "There wasn't a whole lot of chitchat going on. Axe and Tinkerbell were ready to come to blows. I take it they've met?" He gave a disapproving look to the younger man.

Michael nodded slightly. "I think it's safe to say they hate one another." He thought back to their brief meeting in Germany. There was mutual, instant loathing. Their only point of agreement was befriending Michael Westen. The thinnest of threads had connected them. A thread now severed. It was unlikely the pair would ever meet again which was probably for the best especially after this incident. Sam lost the opportunity to put some major bad guys away. Fiona lost her cargo. Neither would feel the result had been justified. Blows would follow... or worse.

"I don't want to know." Card help up his hand, urging Michael to refrain from telling him any more. Despite his concern for the younger man, there was only so much baggage he was willing to shoulder on his behalf.

"And the Libyan?" Michael followed up, curious as to the fate of the other players in the drama.

"How the hell do I know? What? Did you sleep with him, too?" Card shrugged his shoulders while Michael rolled his eyes at the question.

The older man turned serious once more. "So, Michael, that's it. Your ex-girlfriend has gotten her one time use of her get-out-of-jail-free card. There won't be any more favours. If she blows something up, shoots someone, gets a parking ticket, she's on her own. Got it?" Tom Card had put himself and the Agency on the line when he agreed to the spy's terms. It had been the only way to extricate Michael from the situation in Ireland. He was too personally involved and was not thinking clearly at the time. Card had little choice but to agree to his demands. The man and his skills were worth the cost. But now the debt was paid. Hopefully, Michael would not expect more.

"That was the agreement." Michael nodded. He had negotiated the price of his Irish exit, leaving her behind, saving her life, adding one more layer of protection despite his absence. It was not much but it was all he could do.

He turned his attention once more to the file before him and picked up a photo of the two of them: a moment captured on the streets of Dublin, their eyes locked upon one another. A sad smile appeared as he remembered the incident. A fleeting few seconds of happiness captured on film, proof that they were a couple for a time. However ephemeral, he loved and was loved in return. Card watched the spy's face and quickly diverted the man's attention. "So, Michael, heard about you and Samantha. Sorry it didn't work out."

Michael looked up, returning to the present. "It's for the best. You know how it is, living for the job. She deserves better." He had made his choice. He had known love, known its joy and its despair. His career, his life, complicated and destroyed relationships. He had finally found someone who knew all his flaws and accepted him despite his many failings. A kindred spirit. A soul mate. Now, lonely and abandoned in Ireland.

Card took another gulp of his drink. "Look on the bright side, buddy. You just got out of years of alimony. Still paying the first two Mrs. Cards." The life of an operative was hard, sometimes harder for the spouse. It takes a unique individual to put up with long absences, lives filled with secrets, and danger lurking ready to strike without notice. Too bad about Glenanne, he thought. The woman was crazy enough to get it, skilled enough to deal with it. They might have made it work. Too bad she just happened to be an international arms dealer with a penchant for explosives with ties to a known terrorist network. A relationship doomed from the start. He felt a pang of regret for his protégé to come so close to happiness only to have it ripped away.

"So you have time before you skedaddle back to wherever-the-hell-you're-going for a bite. I'm buying. Give you a chance to eat something other than goat and yoghurt." Tom Card had a fatherly regard for the young spy. He wanted to get their relationship back on track, back before Fiona Glenanne had put a wedge between them. Michael nodded. "Great! Let me tell that bonehead secretary of mine that I'm headed out and not to disturb me unless World War III breaks out. Give us a chance to catch up." Card offered friendship but also wanted an extended interview, time to assess his fitness for duty, wanting to be reassured the ugly mess in Ireland had truly been put behind him.

Card stood up. "I'll give you a minute with that." He pointed to the still opened file in Michael's hands, understanding the man might need a moment, a chance to say goodbye once and for all. "Meet you by Brunhilda's desk." The training officer strode out of the room, closing the door behind him, leaving the spy alone.

Michael looked at the photos again, her face once more before him, the face he saw nightly in his dreams. She probably rued the day they met, viscerally hating him for his abandonment. But she was alive. His sacrifice had saved her. His love had saved her. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek in the photo, wishing it were flesh rather than paper. A final act of parting.

The spy closed the file, tenderly setting it on Card's desk, and turned to leave. He nearly reached the door before his heart stopped him. Things went missing from files all the time. After all, he was a spy. Stealing information was exactly what he did for a living. He checked for any sign of surveillance, any sign that he would be interrupted.

Spies are supposed to travel light, with nothing that could identify them. Some do, but most find that staying sane requires staying connected to something that reminds you why you do what you do. He flipped open the file and removed one of the photos slipping it into his jacket pocket quickly. His face broke into a wide grin as he secured the photo, a last piece of her, of them. He would keep her close to his heart, something to remember their time together, something tangible to get him through the loneliness and isolation of life in the field, something to remind him that his calling, however difficult, protected those he loved, something to remind him of his own humanity.

He shut the file for the final time, ready to continue the detached life of a spy, ready to dedicate his life to the Agency, ready to save the world. Some sacrifices are worth the cost and Michael had paid a high price. Michael Westen bid goodbye to his asset, determined to remember the great love of his life, and strode toward his future.

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