/Memo
Protective Marking: Confidential
Clearance: Security Check
To: Jack Simon, Junior Agent in the Field
From: Decade. Chief of London operations, Secret Intelligence Service, Counter-terrorism Section.
Date: June 17, 1998
Subject: Request Approved
Simon - your request for police and military assistance in arresting D. Fitzgerald has been approved. However, whether your verbal contract with Ms. Coleman will be viewed by the Service as binding remains under discussion. We await further information; please continue to monitor the situation as before./
The first thing that Gwen said to Brigid when she and James arrived at the house in Southall was a whispered "Fix your hair, dear."
Brigid caught Gwen's meaning right away, and hastily pulled the pins from her flyaway hair and let it cascade down her back, combing it smooth with her fingers.
"Everything go alright, then?" Dillon asked with a sardonic look as she and James entered the living room. Shit; he knew all too well why she'd be returning from a job with her hair a mess.
"Fine," she said cheerfully, ignoring his implication. "We're all set for tomorrow. Is supper on? I'm half starved."
He smiled slightly. "I'll bet you are, love."
Damn it, she could just about kill him. He'd been doing this ever since last week, after he'd kissed her; dropping little hints and sly innuendos whenever James was around, as if he wanted to make James suspicious. Brigid wasn't sure how much James was picking up on; he still didn't know about their past relationship. She hoped that if he was getting suspicious, he would chalk it up to his normal jealously. So far though, he hadn't risen to any of Dillon's bait, which was encouraging.
Michael and Brent were absent; they would be staying at their own homes that night and going through their routines as per usual tomorrow. The rest of the crew was spending the night squeezed into Tim and Gwen's townhouse so that they could coordinate in the morning. Gwen laid out a feast; as Dillon had always insisted on the night before a mission, they ate as if it was their last night alive. Spirits were high, and even Kelly cracked a smile a time or two - though never in Brigid's direction.
In the past, whatever nerves Brigid felt before a mission would be soothed by the jolly camaraderie around the table. Tonight, her earlier exhilaration dissipated rapidly and all she could think about was where each of these people would be at suppertime tomorrow. If any of them were arrested or hurt, it would be her fault. Tim and Gwen had just bought the house, and were thinking about starting a family soon - would Gwen be able to afford the mortgage payment if Tim was in prison? Kelly was due for a promotion in a couple of months; his career would be over if he was linked to republicanism. And Dillon…
Despite what she'd told Simon earlier, Brigid was worried about Dillon. The more she watched him, the more she got the distinct feeling that his cheerfulness was all just an act. Tim had been right; he was in much the same mindset as he'd been following the death of his brother. He'd just gotten better at hiding it. It would destroy him to know he'd been betrayed; and if he ever found out that it had been her?.
The only silver lining was the thought that if things went according to plan and Dillon was arrested, Eddie might wake up and realize that he was following his cousin down the wrong path. Brigid had given up praying years ago, but nonetheless she surreptitiously touched one of her beads and said a little prayer for Eddie's safety tomorrow.
After supper, Tim got out a bottle of whiskey and poured one drink each.
"Only one?" Eddie protested.
"Trying to pull a job hung over is a disaster waiting to happen," Tim warned him. "I'm sure Bridey can attest to that."
Brigid opened her mouth to argue, then shrugged instead. "It's true," she admitted. An explosion on top of a blinding headache was nothing short of torture; concentrating on any sort of detailed plan nigh impossible.
"A toast for luck!" Dillon announced. He always gave the same toast on these nights; Tim, Eddie, and Brigid said the words along with him: "May your glass be ever full, may the roof over your head be always strong, and may you be in heaven half an hour before the devil knows you're dead." Dillon tossed Brigid a private wink at that last. They all raised their glasses and drank. Gwen had picked up a bottle of sparkling cranberry juice for Brigid; it was a poor substitute. She could really use a good stiff drink tonight.
"And to Bridey," Dillon continued with a grin, "come home at last; we couldn't've asked for better luck on this mission."
They raised their glasses a second time, tossing back the last of the whiskey; it was all Brigid could do to meet Dillon's eyes.
"Early to bed tonight," Tim said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "But not so early that we can't have a bit of music first. James, you said you play, didn't you? Gwen, where's that other guitar?"
They all settled into chairs and sofas in the living room. Tim and James tuned the instruments and warmed up, tossing short phrases back and forth to each other. Brigid squeezed in behind James and wrapped her arms around his waist. It had been a long time since he'd played last; she hadn't realized how much she'd missed hearing it.
"What first, then?" Dillon asked, lounging back in an armchair. "The Wind that Shakes the Barley? That was always your favorite, wasn't it Bridey?"
Brigid smiled a real smile for the first time since returned from the garage. "Even more, now," she said, and kissed James' cheek. He tossed a warm smile over his shoulder. Then with a nod at Tim, picked up the tune.
They played for a good hour; James never sang, but Tim had a sweet baritone and Dillon's voice was strong and fair. Eddie made up for his complete lack of pitch by sheer enthusiasm. As always when James played, Brigid felt herself drifting into a twilight world where time stood still, and only the music existed. She felt only the barest twinge of guilt when Patrick excused himself to go use the restroom - she'd found her way into his spot in the van inside Gwen's medicine cabinet. She'd be surprised if the poor, quiet man didn't spend all night on the bathroom floor.
Despite the train of rousing drinking songs, she was half asleep on James' shoulder, her worries finally subsiding a bit, when Gwen called for The Fields of Athenry. James picked out the slow, mournful melody while Tim strummed a delicate counter. Brigid closed her eyes and tried to shut out the words as Dillon sang in that lovely accent of his, "Against the famine and the Crown, I rebelled, they cut me down. Now you must raise our child with dignity."
Gwen joined in with her throaty alto, "By a lonely harbor wall, she watched the last star falling as that prison ship sailed out against the sky. Now it's so lonely round the fields of Athenry."
"Well," Brigid said, rising abruptly. It was a struggle to keep her voice from shaking. "Off to bed for me."
James cast her a worried glance. "So early, love?"
She gave him a reassuring smile. "It was a busy day, and I'm finding I get tired quickly these days," with a pat to her tummy. "You stay," she said when he made to get up too. "I just need to rest my eyes for a bit."
One benefit to being pregnant was being able to use it as an excuse for just about anything; another was that it had secured her and James the only spare mattress in the house. Brigid wouldn't have minded sleeping on the floor or the sofa like the others, but now she was grateful for the privacy of the small bedroom. She didn't bother to turn on the light when she went in, just stripped out of her stolen clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Her rosary she set carefully on the nightstand, then curled up under the thin blanket facing the wall. She bit down on the side of her hand in and attempt to stem the flow of tears.
She was starting a life with James, she reminded herself. He would stay by her for the rest of their days; so why did she suddenly feel so wretchedly alone? She could hear the sounds of music and laughter coming from downstairs, but she might as well have been living in a completely different universe, one in which she could observe the happiness of others but never feel it for herself. She didn't belong there, with them.
After a time, she heard James come in quietly and undress; he settled in close to her on the narrow mattress. "Brigid? Are you awake?" he asked softly.
She didn't answer; she didn't think that she could bear to talk to anyone right now.
James sighed. Brigid expected him to turn over and go to sleep, but instead he said to her back, "I need to talk to you about something. Just listen - I'd like it if you talked to me, but it's fine if you don't want to. You can just keep pretending to be asleep."
Damn it, how could he tell? She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would help convince him where silence hadn't.
He paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts, then said, "I know it was me who talked you into joining up again; I thought it was something that I really wanted to do. But after seeing all that destruction on the telly this morning…all those people who died…even with the evacuation plan, I don't see how we'll manage to pull this off without people getting hurt. And I don't want to be the cause of people getting hurt.
"I'll still go through with it, don't worry - I gave my word, and I want to be there for you. I'm finding out a lot that I didn't know about you before this week; but even so, I know you're not the type of person who would be careless about doing real harm to people. But I gather that you were with the Cause for a long time. So I just want to know…how did you handle it, before?"
"I didn't," Brigid said softly, still facing the wall. "We never hurt anyone before. I used my explosives as distractions, or to break into buildings, or just general destruction. We did damage to property, not people."
James rested a hand on her hip, and lightly stroked one of her blossom tattoos. "What about that bus depot mission that gets brought up now and again? People died in that?"
"I don't know what happened there," she admitted. "Things went wrong, and I got scared. So I left. I don't really want to talk about it."
"You never want to talk about anything personal. And I never ask, because I want to respect your privacy. But Brigid, we're starting a life together - a family of our own." He rolled her hip down so that she turned onto her back and was forced to face him. "I need you talk to me."
Why did he want to talk now, of all times? She had too much on her mind to have to deal with this too. "Can we just get through tomorrow first?" she whispered. "After this job is done, I'll tell you everything - anything you want to know. I promise."
James studied her eyes for a long moment. "You promise?" When she nodded, he asked, "And what about the bomb? Are you going to be alright tomorrow?"
Brigid raised a hand and combed it through his unruly hair. "I'll be fine. It won't be like the bus depot; no one will get hurt."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Just trust me," she said, and kissed him hard, suddenly needing to be as close to him as possible.
~~~~o~~~~
Some time later, Brigid lay with her head resting on James' chest, playing idly with the strip of hair that ran down to his navel and listening to his steady heartbeat, loud and reassuring in her ear.
"You never used to do this," he said drowsily.
"Do what?" She liked the little curlicue in the center of his chest; it was cute.
He adjusted his hand on her waist and she shifted so that he could pull her even closer. "Curl up to me like this. In the beginning, after we made love you would kiss me, then roll over to the other side of the bed and fall asleep. I still remember the first night that instead of moving away, you stayed next to me, with your head on my chest just like this. That was when I knew for sure that you weren't going to be leaving any time soon. And that I didn't want you to ever go."
"I don't remember that," Brigid said.
James kissed the top of her head sweetly. "I love you."
"Mm," she said, pressing her face into the warmth of his shoulder.
He fell asleep quickly; but as tired as Brigid had been earlier, she now found that sleep eluded her. She was dreading the coming of the morning - she'd never been so nervous about a job before. The details rolled over in her mind in a jumbled mess, never falling into order no matter how hard she tried to lay them out chronologically. The timing was so crucial; if she made even one mistake, it would all go to hell, and fast. There would be no second chances. And just how far could she trust Simon - would he hold to their deal? The future of her fledgling new family depended on the word of a total stranger.
She huddled close to James and listened to his soft, even breathing. That little half-snort that he occasionally made when he inhaled, and once had made her laugh so hard that she'd woken him. A little family of their own… She tried to imagine what life would be like in another four years; their child would be what, three? What did three-year-olds look like? The best picture that she could conjure was of a faceless, genderless doll, with a mop of curly brown hair just like James'. He swore that he didn't mind whether it was a girl or boy, but she could tell that he was hoping for a boy. She didn't know what she wanted.
Brigid turned her head to stare out the bedroom window. A small square of sky was visible; despite the light pollution from the city, the expanse of darkness looked even blacker than usual. Empty. There hadn't been a hint of the moon or stars since they'd disappeared. The news reporters were all saying that it was impossible to know whether they'd ever be seen again. The thought made her a little sad; she'd never be able to take her son or daughter to Carrickmore to show them the stars, like her grandmother had done for her.
Eventually she gave up trying to fall asleep. She was just too restless; maybe food would help. Carefully so as not to wake him, she removed James' arm from her waist and eased herself out of the bed. She slipped on her underwear; his shirt was nearest to hand, so she threw that on rather than searching for her own in the dark. James wasn't much taller than her, but his shoulders were broader, and the shirt hung down long enough to at least cover her arse, though not much else. Before she left the room, she found her rosary on the nightstand and wrapped it around her wrist. Pants were optional, but she felt naked without her rosary.
Brigid padded down the stairs on soft and silent feet. The whole house was quiet and still, aside from Kelly's snores coming from the living room sofa; but upon reaching the landing she saw that there was a light on in the kitchen. When she walked in, she wasn't surprised to find Dillon sitting at the table. He was smoking a cigarette and leaning over the evening newspaper, one finger to his temple in concentration. Still fully dressed; he apparently hadn't even tried to get any sleep yet. She paused in the doorway for a moment, just taking in the familiar tableau.
He looked old. It must be the light.
She must have made a noise, or maybe he just sensed her presence, because he looked up after a moment and smiled when he saw her.
"Well, this is familiar," he said, stubbing out the cigarette and dropping it into the bottle on the table in front of him.
"What is?" Brigid said, affecting not to understand him. She crossed to the refrigerator and began rifling through its contents, though she had no idea what she was looking for.
The chair creaked as Dillon leaned back in it; she felt his eyes on her backside, and bent over a little further.
"You," he said, "climbing out of some bloke's bed in the middle of the night, half dressed, to come have a gab with me. There're some beers in the back - wait, no, sorry. None of that for you now." There was a note of bitterness in his smile.
"It's not like that this time," Brigid told him, grabbing a bottle of orange juice at random. "I just couldn't sleep, is all." She leaned up against the counter and took a swig from the bottle. Dillon gave her a wry look, then got up from the table and pulled a glass down from the cupboard and handed it to her. She sighed, and poured some juice into the glass.
He took the bottle from her when she'd finished pouring. "I don't know how many times I watched you go to bed with one of the lads in those first few months," he said, replacing it in the fridge, "only to leave halfway through the night again, because you didn't want to stay with them, and you didn't want to go to bed alone. I started staying up late every night, just so you would have someone to talk to over a beer."
"I know," Brigid said, taking a sip from the glass. She'd treasured those midnight talks. Unlike the other lads, Dillon had never made a single pass at her; she'd thought that he wasn't interested and that she'd been disturbing him, hard at work on some new scheme. But he'd never seemed to mind, and they'd sit and talk until dawn. About trivial things, mostly, but she had felt a strong connection to him even then. In retrospect, their eventual coming together had been as inevitable as the sunrise, spontaneous though it had felt at the time.
He leaned up against the counter next to her and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, his arm just barely brushing hers. "And each night I told myself, that if you were my lover, you wouldn't be leaving in the middle of the night. You'd stay by my side - and for nearly five years, that's exactly what you did. The two of us, we just worked."
Brigid stared into her glass, swirling the contents a little. There was too much pulp. "We did," she admitted. And it was true, they had worked…as long as she set aside her own hopes for the future in favor of what Dillon wanted. Though she hadn't really seen that that was what she'd been doing until well after she'd left. Her emotions had always blinded her where Dillon was concerned.
"What's in the paper?" she asked, desperate to get onto a new subject. She downed the rest of the glass in a single gulp. She'd never liked orange juice.
He shrugged. "Nothin' new. Government lies about goings-on in the world; more stripping of our rights in the name of safety. Safety from what? The disaster that they say won't affect us here? Load of shite." He leaned in a bit closer to her; his hip pressed against hers, but she didn't move away.
"I've been thinking about our next job. They're hiding something about this Hell's Gate, something that we can use as leverage. You'll infiltrate SIS -"
"Dillon, there isn't going be any next job," Brigid said, cutting him off before he could wander too far down the rabbit hole. "I've told you already: James and I are in it for this one, then that's it. We're starting a new life together. A quiet life."
He snorted. "A quiet life? You really think that that's what you want? You're more deluded than those fools who signed the Agreement."
"It is what I want," she insisted, hoping that her doubt didn't show in her voice. "You keep acting like nothing's changed, like I'm just going to forget all about James and pick up with you again."
"And what's changed, then? I see the way your eyes light up every time we talk about the plan, that flush in your cheeks when you got back from nickin' the van. You'll get a quiet life with James. Quiet and dull. Sure an' you'll be begging me to join up again within a month."
Brigid felt a twinge of frustration at his calm assurance. "And what are you going to do, raise another man's child when you hardly spare a thought for your own?"
Dillon's face closed off at her words. "He's Katie's boy, not mine. It was always different with you. You want a kid, I'll give you one; you're not that far along now, are you?"
Her slap rang out in the quiet kitchen; he put a hand to his cheek in surprise.
"You had your chance," Brigid hissed in a low, shaky voice, "and you made your choice, all those years ago. I knew you didn't like the idea of children then, but that first time, I told myself that if it was me, it would be different. I was wrong. And if you think it'll be any different now, then it's you who's deluded."
"First time?"
Shit. Brigid sighed and looked away. "Twice," she said quietly. "The second was right after John passed. I didn't tell you because I already knew what you'd say. I just took care of it on my own."
Dillon was silent for a long moment. "I wish you'd told me," he said at last. "Maybe I would have said the same. But after John…Christ, I don't know. I had no idea you felt differently than me. You never said."
He reached over and cupped her cheek; Brigid let herself lean into him, pressing her face into his chest as he held her. This would probably be the last time. "I'm sorry. Can we just start over?" he asked, voice muffled by her hair.
There was a dull ache in her heart. "It's too late for that. Maybe if we could turn back time; but we can't. We can only move forward."
Dillon stroked her hair, then placed his wide palm on the back of her head and tilted her face up. If he kissed her, she knew that she wouldn't be able to resist. She turned her face away; and saw James in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the two of them. A look of hurt and resignation was on his face.
Brigid pushed herself away from Dillon, who made no move to stop her. James was turning, leaving the room. "James, wait!" she called after him, her heart in her throat. She caught his arm, but he shook her off and headed up the stairs, not even looking over his shoulder to see if she was following him.
She stopped at the doorway of the bedroom and watched him pocket his wallet, then throw his jacket on over his bare chest and slip on his shoes. He didn't say a word, not even to ask for his shirt back. She would have expected him to shout, to fly off the handle, to swing a fist at Dillon. This cold acceptance was more frightening than any raised voice could ever have been.
"James…" she tried, but he brushed past her without even making eye contact.
She followed on his heels back down the stairs; he pushed the back door open and exited into the garden. Brigid rushed out after him, the night air chilly against her bare legs. She heard Dillon shutting the door behind her, but she ignored him.
"Where are you going?" she asked fearfully, shivering in the unseasonable cold.
James stopped at the edge of the patio. "I'm going home," he said, turning and finally looking at her. "You don't need me around here."
"What are you talking about?"
He gave her a self-mocking smile. "I'd've thought that you would've at least waited until after the job to throw me over; but it's probably best this way. Get it over with sooner."
"James, you're not making any sense," Brigid said, though she understood him perfectly. What was she supposed to say? It wasn't what it looked like?
"Sure he is, love," Dillon said. He walked up beside her and wrapped an arm around her waist, but she shoved him off angrily.
"It's no secret that you love him," James said, gesturing to Dillon. "As close as you two used to be, frankly I'm amazed that you let me tag along at all. I still can't quite believe that you didn't just drop me the second you found out he was in town. It would have been kinder than this. Were you trying to make him jealous, was that it?"
"Who told you about that?" Brigid demanded, hugging her arms to herself. "About us being together, I mean."
"No one. No one needed to." He held up a hand. "No, that's not right - someone needed to tell me, but she didn't. Instead, she let me believe all the lies and falsehoods that she'd told me for four years, let me believe that I was someone special to her."
"I didn't tell you because it wasn't important. It was years ago, I'd left and never planned on ever going back. This is all just a misunderstanding," Brigid said.
"Next you're going to tell me that it's not what it looked like." The sarcasm in his voice cut her like a knife.
"It isn't!" she protested. "I mean, yes, we have a history; I needed someone to talk to and he was there, that's -"
"No, I was there," James interrupted, jabbing at his own chest with his thumb. "I'm the one who's been there for four years; you could have talked to me. You could always talk to me, but you never do!"
Brigid shook her head. "It's just history. But it's over; it's passed." This was why she hadn't told him; she knew he wouldn't understand, no matter how she explained things. "He's my past, but you're my future. We're going to stay together, remember? A little family of our own?"
Dillon gave a sharp laugh beside her. "Come now, Bridey, tears? You've never had an honest cry in your life."
"You shut up!" she snapped, rounding on him, the tears wetting her cheeks. "All you care about is yourself and your goddamn lost cause. You have no right to dictate my life any longer. I can't believe I wasted so many years loving you!"
He looked more shocked than when she'd slapped him. The words weren't true, not really, and it near broke her heart to say them. But it was better that she break things off with him completely. She couldn't afford to equivocate, or she'd lose James. And she definitely couldn't afford that. She couldn't be alone. She couldn't be any sort of mother, alone.
She walked up to James and placed a tentative hand on his arm. "Please," she said, her voice shaking. "Let's just go back home to Chiswick. Together. It was a mistake coming here, I'm sorry." She never should have stopped to talk to Eddie those weeks ago; how could she possibly have thought that seeing Dillon again wouldn't have led to this? Screw Simon and his deal - she'd explain things to James as soon as they got home, and they'd find a way out. Maybe he wouldn't hate her for it. Maybe.
"You can't go now," Dillon said obstinately. "You're committed. Both of you."
Brigid ignored him, and kept her gaze locked on James' face, searching his eyes for any sign of forgiveness, for understanding. But he shook her hand from his arm. He turned his back on her, and strode angrily towards the garden gate. Her worst fear, him leaving her, was coming true, and it was all her fault.
"James, wait!"
He continued walking without a backwards glance. She ought to run after him, but she was too afraid to move. He was almost at the gate. If he stepped through it, she was lost.
Brigid took a few hesitant steps onto the dewy grass. "I love you!"
James stopped, his hand on the latch. He half turned towards her, disbelief in his eyes. She'd never said those words to him, not once in four years. Not even when she'd found out that she was pregnant, and they'd decided to make a proper go of it.
"Is that true?" he asked quietly.
"Of course it is!" She should have told him that a long time ago; but she'd never expected to fall for anyone again. And she needed someone like him in her life, someone steadfast and serious, not a burning brand like Dillon. She didn't know how to take the next step forward, without him.
His mouth twisted. "How do you expect me to believe you? You've lied about everything else."
She opened her mouth to protest, when she was struck by a sudden dizziness. She pressed a hand to her temple.
"Brigid? What's wrong?" James asked, suspicion warring with worry in his voice.
"I -" she began, but faltered. Her head was swimming. The garden and James blurred before her eyes and she shut them in an attempt to make the world stop spinning. The smell of jungle, hot and sticky, was all around her. She could hear sounds in the distance: gunfire, shouting, burning, dying. A light brighter than the inside of a star flashed behind her eyelids; then the world snapped like an elastic band and a deep, bone-chilling coldness swept over and into her, filling her up. It was as if the life was being drained from her; her blood, so warm and alive, was being replaced by liquid ice. Her breath caught; then her body went boneless and she felt herself collapse helplessly to the wet grass of the garden.
"Bit melodramatic isn't this, love?" a mocking voice was saying, as if from a great distance away.
Her face was turned towards the sky. She could feel nothing. As her eyes fluttered shut, she was aware only of the night closing in around her, black and starless.
No, not starless. There was one…