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Michael Westen found himself looking around the unassuming tea shop wondering which one of these sedate, average looking customers was really an IRA terrorist. He discredited over half of them with one glance. He took in the numerous people populating the shop, recognized the government types by their average suits, their all too shiny shoes, by their stereotypical trench coats that helped protect their average suits from the average London weather. There was one, one that he hoped was not working for the IRA she was too slight, too lithe of limb, too beautiful to be a terrorist. She sat at a table, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, deep in thought. He was taken by how beautiful she was as her hair shone in the café lights, her bright, blue eyes taking in every word on the page she was reading.

Michael dismissed her as he scanned the rest of the crowd trying to figure out who came here to blow up the shop that was really a front for anything the local government wanted to keep out of official channels. Money laundering, black market weapons deals, bribes of officials. Anyone who thought that their government wouldn't do such things didn't know their government.

Fiona Glenanne felt eyes upon her, felt them scan her body and as much as she wanted to turn around and see who was doing the scanning she knew that she couldn't let on that she knew. She looked in the mirror on the wall of the tea shop instead and saw him. She knew he was an American; he had that privileged something that most Americans travelling in Europe seemed to possess. He had it in spades, a certainty and assuredness of his place in the world and that he belonged in any place in the world. As intense as his scan of her was, it was over in a few seconds and at that moment Fiona felt oddly dismissed as if she had passed some test she wasn't aware of taking. She let out a small groan as she realized what song had begun playing on the overhead speakers, "Linger" by the Cranberries seemed to be playing to death the past few months and Fiona swore if she heard it one more time she was going to have to take a hostage. She took this as her clue to leave and gathered up her things.

Michael watched as the attractive young woman he had been watching gathered up her things and left the shop. He smiled as she walked past him, still lingering around the door way, not really committed to entering the shop at that point. She smiled right back at him as she left. He watched her leave, saw her turn back and look at him over her shoulder. It was then that he noticed she had left a small bag behind at the table she had been sitting at. It was also then that he realized he should not have dismissed her so easily. He knew he had found his terrorist. He ran up to the counter and told the manager that they needed to evacuate the shop immediately. The manager listened to him and started evacuation procedures.

Michael exited the shop and ran after the woman he had dismissed. He saw her walking at a brisk pace up the street, in no hurry, nothing betraying what she had just done. He tailed her not wanting to let on that she was being followed. In other words he tailed her just the way they had taught him in spy school, hanging back, looking at his surroundings while he was really focused on where she was and where she was going. He saw her duck down a small alley a few feet away from where he was walking; he picked up his pace so he wouldn't lose her. He cautiously made his way into the alley .He heard a call of "Ar Aire" come from somewhere ahead of him, he wasn't sure if the call to "attention" was for his benefit or for someone else. He heard a feminine voice issue the call so he was pretty certain it belonged to the woman from the café. He wondered if she knew he was nearby and perhaps the Gaelic was to surprise, startle or maybe even confuse the listener, fortunately he had studied some basic Gaelic before his latest assignment so the call didn't have the effect that it might have had on someone else. He walked down the alley a little more cautiously than before, hoping that she didn't have any páirti or associates aiding her in the alley.

Just when he thought he was in the clear, he felt a sudden, sharp pain in his right knee, it was a second later when he realized that the knee had been kicked out by a very strong and powerful opponent, someone who knew what they were doing and weren't afraid to show him that. He felt his right hand touch the wet cobblestones in the alley as he braced himself keeping his body from being more damaged, as his right hand caught his body; he brought his left hand out and pulled on the leg that had kicked out at him. He brought the attractive looking woman down to the ground next to him, while every instinct he had said "don't hit a woman" he knew that if he relied on this instinct he would be in more trouble than he was at the moment. Michael was taken aback by how well and fearlessly his opponent fought, as he was processing which move to make next, he felt her turn around and up out of his arms easily escaping from him and running down the alley before he could get up.

He watched her as she ran away, taking mental notes on her clothing, her accessories, things he noticed in the café but took special notice of now, for they seemed more important than they had previously. Before she was just an attractive woman in a café, now he knew that she was a well-trained IRA terrorist that he had to learn more about and the easiest way was to find out which stores she frequented and maybe "accidently" bump into her at one of those stores in the near future.

After Fiona found her way back to her hotel room after much doubling back to make sure she wasn't being followed by the American who came after her in the alley she took the bounty she had scored off of him out of her backpack. After she felt the American hesitate and not hit her she lifted his wallet. It's a talent she was still fine tuning and was rather surprised that she didn't hear the American yelling for her after he realized what she had done. OK now to the spoils, she opened the wallet was rather disinterested in the credit cards for they were too traceable, slightly more interested in the money and most interested in his identity. She pulled out what looked like a generic driver's license from the rather ordinary state of Oregon, the name Michael Westen and an address printed on the front of it. She expected more somehow, she was sure he was in some sort of agency or another that was bent on infiltrating the IRA. She was rather disappointed that she had just attacked a rather seemingly ordinary tourist who probably wandered down the alley by mistake.

She started to wonder how her instincts could have been so off. She was certain he was following her. She was sure that he knew she had caused the explosion in the café and had come after her to catch her and interrogate her. He had to be a spy, she knew it. After her musings she turned on the television to see what carnage her explosion had left in its wake. She was most interested in seeing one name in particular on the list of dead or injured, preferably dead but she wasn't too picky as long as he was out of commission she would feel that her task had been accomplished. She watched as the local reporter talked about the explosion, "ties to the IRA blah, blah, blah" and what was this? No one was injured due to the help of an unknown American tourist who had asked that the café be evacuated prior to the bomb going off? No ordinary tourist indeed. There was no way he could have known what was in her bag if he didn't know what he was looking for ahead of time. Knowing that he was more than he seemed made Fiona feel slightly better, she knew her instincts were right when she took him down in the alley and now she felt rather vindicated for doing so. She could hardly wait to bump into him again to see what he would reveal to her. Perhaps a call to some of the local hotels was in order so she could make sure got his bogus wallet back. Also, this would be a way for her to find out where he was staying, stake it out, then take him down and interrogate him. Oh! This was going to be fun!

After Michael returned to his hotel room he began taking the many wallets out of his jacket, it was then that he noticed that one was missing. He checked and found out that it was the one with his Oregon driver's license. It was then that he realized that the woman who had taken him down in the alley was a very, very good pick pocket. He hadn't even felt her take it from him when it had happened. Well, at least if she checked on the ID he knew it would lead to a hotel room on the other side of town. Perhaps a stakeout was in order to see if she was looking for him at the aforementioned hotel room? After unloading all of his accessories he turned on the television and watched the local news. He found out that no one had been hurt in the explosion and that he was the main cause for that, granted he wasn't named in the report but it had been his insistence on evacuating the café that the news was crediting for everyone escaping relatively unscathed.

He wondered what kind of fall out would come from this report. True he wasn't named but no one would have known what to look for if they had not known what they were looking for. He found himself wondering about the woman from the alley pondering if she had been watching the news as well and if so if she knew that he wasn't just an ordinary tourist from Oregon. Of course, she could not even be figuring him into the equation, she could be thinking it was someone else but somehow he didn't think so. He didn't think she would have been so adamant to take him down if she didn't know what he was.

This obsessing over what might or might not being going on in some woman's head that he didn't even know wasn't doing him any good. He decided to store his wallets in the secret storage place; known in the spy trade as slicks he had created one above the bathroom sink, keeping one as he headed down to the hotel's restaurant for an early dinner. Tomorrow would be a very busy day and he had to eat, and get a lot of rest before he began his surveillance on the hotel across town. He didn't really know why but he had a good feeling that his mystery assailant would be showing up and possibly hoping to catch him with his guard down. He had gotten a feeling for how good she was so he knew it was important to be well fed and well rested for tomorrow.

Fiona tried to sleep, but it seemed as if the more she tried to sleep the more sleep eluded her. She had never, ever felt like this on a job before she was trying to figure out what bothered her so much about going to the hotel and tracking down this unordinary tourist from Oregon. She found herself reaching under her pillow, checking for the 1,000th time to make sure her gun was still there and easily accessible. She knew that she was not followed to her hotel, she knew that he had no way of knowing where she was but still she was bothered and anxious by what might come tomorrow, well, later today. She checked the clock and discovered that it was already 2:04 a.m. OK she knew she had to stop this, she had to stop thinking and go to sleep. She had to be alert, aware, and ready for whatever may come tomorrow, for she knew this adversary was one to be reckoned with.

Finally she fell into a not very restful sleep. As she slept she found herself plagued by nightmares of her parents, and what had happened to them in her final days. See, Fiona was not one raised to be a part of the lifestyle she now found herself a part of. No, she had spent her time in public schools, also known as private schools on the other side of the pond, she was a part of the upper one percent of the population, those born of privilege who had almost every and anything their hearts could desire. She had ballet lessons at four, riding lessons at eight, etiquette lessons before she even knew what etiquette was. It wasn't until her parent's betrayal and murder by the British government that Fiona even thought of the IRA, until then it was kind of like an annoying gnat always flittering around her consciousness but she was never fully aware of it. When she was suddenly orphaned at seventeen she found herself adrift with no purpose, granted she was the sole heir to her family's fortune and she could do whatever she wanted financially but somehow that didn't fulfill her. She wanted revenge for what had happened to her parents, so she hooked up with an acquaintance of an acquaintance and for lack of a better word, apprenticed with a master bomb maker in the IRA.

Fiona woke up with a jolt, and a scream of "NO!" emitted from her throat as she once again witnessed the execution of her parents in her nightmare. She had replayed their last minutes more times than she could count. Always she tried to change it somehow, tried to make it not come to the conclusion that it had originally and as her skills grew over the years she placed herself in different scenarios in an attempt to rescue them, alternately trying to seduce, shoot, or blow up the guards at their prison. No matter what she tried it never worked, she knew her attempts wouldn't but that still didn't keep her from trying, trying to change her past so it would ultimately lead her to a different present.

She took a minute before opening her eyes and checking the clock to see how early or late it was. She took a deep breath, keeping her eyes closed, trying to quiet her heart that was beating frantically within her chest. Her heartbeat sounded to her like a loud, kettle drum and the more she focused on it the louder it seemed to beat. Finally, she willed herself to open her eyes, turning her head slowly to look at the clock on the nightstand. OK that was a little better, 7:30 a.m., five and a half hours of sleep; not great but not bad. She had made it on far less doing much more dangerous jobs. Not that she was underestimating 's skills, but doing surveillance on a hotel was not as challenging say as building a firebomb in twenty minutes. Granted, it was boring and not one of her favorite things to do, but from a cost benefit analysis standpoint there was normally not as high a cost as there were benefits.

She sat up in bed, stretched her arms up over her head, twisting first one way and then the other, then she finally got out of bed. She walked over to the non-descript, hotel bureau and choose an outfit to wear for the day. Something comfortable that she wouldn't mind being in for a few hours. Something . . . "ah! that's it" she thought, as she took her outfit out of the bureau and made her way into the bathroom to take a shower. Once she was finished getting ready, she checked the clock again, 8:10 OK enough time to eat a quick breakfast before she went over to the hotel and waited on Mr. Westen for a few hours. She grabbed her bag, and exited her room shutting the door tightly behind her.

Across town, Michael found himself checking his supplies one more time before packing his bag and readying himself for a long siege of hurry up and wait. Binoculars-check, camera-check, snacks-check, reading material-check. You never wanted to be too obvious when doing surveillance so taking along some reading material could help persuade someone who noticed you to believe you were just sitting and reading, perhaps waiting for someone. It was rather interesting how comforted most people were by observing another person engaging in such a mundane task as reading a newspaper. They would never think twice about such a person, never give him or her a second glance. They wouldn't dare entertain the thought that this person was really a spy, trained in hand to hand combat and able to take the average person down in less than three moves. No, better for them to seek comfort in the idea that he was just waiting for a business contact, partner, girlfriend or mistress than dare think that the American James Bond was in the house.

As he exited his room and started walking across town to where the bogus Michael Weston was staying, he smiled at that last thought, he didn't know where that had come from exactly he never thought of himself that way. He just went wherever he was assigned, did what he was told that was necessary to complete the task given to him. He did it for the ideal of patriotism and the notion that he was doing all he could to make the world a better, more secure place. People had no idea some of the things he had done, and most people would not understand some of the choices he had made that caused certain things to take place under the designation of allegiance. His own family didn't even know, despite the persistent letters his mother had written him asking for information about where he was and what he was doing. He knew he could never let anyone in, never let anyone know what he was up to especially his family, his security and theirs depended on it. It was bad tradecraft to give too much information to anyone who did not need it, that's what he told himself every time he didn't answer one of his mother's letters, especially when those letters reached him when he was in yet another hospital or another.

For as good as he was at his job, there were others out there who were just as good if not better than he. He had the feeling, from the brief skirmish in the alley that the woman he was pursuing was as good and perhaps better at certain aspects of hand to hand combat as he was and that both shocked and excited him. He had gotten used to getting the upper hand in these situations; it had been awhile since anyone had been able to truly surprise him. It also didn't hurt that she came in a pretty attractive package.

As he found himself getting closer to the hotel he knew it was time to stop musing and take in the surroundings, looking to see if anyone was following him, or perhaps waiting for him. He knew that if his instincts were right she was probably already there, expecting to scope him out and see what he was up to for the day. He looked around and did not see her in any of the venues around the hotel, not in the cherry restaurant directly across from the hotel or the rather seedy looking pub next to it. Either she was late or she had ensconced herself inside in the lobby to get a better vantage point of the comings and goings of the hotel. If that's where she was he was surprised at that very bold move, most operatives prefer to stay out of site, in the shadows. In his experience very few were willing to be as audacious as waiting for their quarry inside their lair. "My, my, my" he thought to himself she is rather surprising, not only could she fight pretty well but she was willing to take chances that more seasoned operatives were unwilling to due to fear of exposure. Michael tried to figure out a way to get into the hotel without being noticed by anyone watching the front door; he looked around and saw a service entrance over to the side of the building. It always amazed him how people never seemed to really notice service personnel, how the people who were waiting on them or serving their needs seemed to take on some strange anonymity. It didn't matter where the hotel was, always; well almost always he was able to gain access to the hotel through the service entrance with little or no resistance. The key was to walk through the door like you belonged there. Don't act like you didn't know where you were going, no hesitation and never betray a sense of doubt, walk in grab a tray or put on an apron then walk into the rest of the hotel. That's what he would normally do.

Now he was just looking for a way to get into the hotel without her, his worthy opponent, knowing he was there. He carefully opened the door leading from the kitchen to the back stairway of the hotel. It would be even easier than he thought because this hotel still had an old fashioned servants' stairway that was far from the prying eyes of the guests. He planned to walk up the stairway a few flights and try to gain a vantage point of the lobby where he could see her but she couldn't see him. That's what he thought he was going to do, then he saw her walking up the very same stairway wearing a maid's uniform. "OH, she is good," he thought as he casually walked down a side hallway and out of her view.

Fiona had that feeling again, the same felling she had had yesterday in the café, the feeling of being watched combined with a really strange sense of approval. She knew that she was frequently looked at by men, but this felt more intense than that. Almost as if someone was watching her, trying to figure out who she was, it was really hard to explain, she knew it went beyond the normal male interest. It was almost as if, if. .. the person watching her forgot that she was a woman and was more interested in her as a person. She did not let on that she sensed she was being watched. She continued walking down the hall until she came to Michael Westen from Oregon's room. She knocked on the door "housekeeping," she said as she waited for a response. She hesitated trying to decide if it was worth the risk to enter the room. She knocked again, a bit louder, still no response. She decided that the risk was worth it as she reached up with her right hand and removed a hairpin from the bun at the nape or her neck and began picking the lock to the room.

Michael watched from around the corner as his opponent reached into her hair for something and brought that hand down to the lock of the hotel room door. He was still trying to figure out what it was she held as he heard a click and realized she had been successful at picking the lock to the door with whatever it was she held in her hand. He was considering going into the room after her and confronting her to find out what exactly she wanted with him and why she had decided to hazard the chance of picking the lock of a rather unassuming tourist's room. He decided that there would be more information to be gathered by following her and figuring out whom her associates were and if any had travelled with her to England. He ducked further back into the hallway and waited for her to finish the search of what he knew to be an empty hotel room.

Fiona started looking in the obvious places, the drawers, and was surprised to find that there weren't any clothes stored in any of the drawers the hotel provided. "Hmmm maybe the closet? "she thought as she walked towards the closet in the room. "Maybe he prefers to hang up all of his clothes and keep them there?"She opened the door to the closet and found that empty as well. It was then that the obviousness of the situation dawned upon her that Michael Westen from Oregon had never occupied this room. It was also at that moment that she found herself thinking of every possible scenario that could happen once she left the room. Either Michael Westen was lying in wait for her somewhere in the hotel or he had no idea that she had lifted the wallet and was in his bogus hotel room. Somehow Fi thought it had to me more the former than the latter. She walked out of the room in the most confident, casual manner she could not betraying the nervousness, and if she was completely honest with herself, fear she felt at the moment.

Michael heard the hotel room door open and waited a minute before venturing out of his hiding spot in the hallway. He heard the "ding" of the elevator doors in the hallway and began walking towards the hidden staircase in order to take it downstairs and catch up with his proficient challenger without her knowledge. He walked back through the kitchen and waited at the side of the hotel. He was there a few minutes when she walked by him, no longer dressed in the maid's uniform but instead in more casual clothes, much like the student garb she wore yesterday; jeans, a shirt and some sort of light jacket over it, carrying that backpack again. He started to wonder that if besides being some sort of IRA terrorist she might also be a university student. Somehow that merger of two seemingly mutual exclusive properties seemed to fit her somehow. Granted he didn't know her, hell, he didn't even know her name, but somehow the idea of her being an IRA terrorist cum student seemed to work for her in some strange way. What was he doing theorizing about her this way? His objective was to get information about this group not hypothesize about one of its members, no matter how capable and alluring he found her to be.

He decided to follow her a bit, see if she met up with anyone, and see if she was going to engage in something as innocuous as going to University. Even though she looked every bit the university student he started to get the feeling that maybe this was another uniform as he followed her for a few blocks, maybe an effort to blend in and look as innocent as possible to bystanders. He made sure to stay out of site and not look like he was following her, although that's what he thought he had done yesterday before he got taken down by a girl. This was not lost on him and he made sure that she didn't know he was behind her. He was walking across the street and he had made sure his reflection wasn't visible to her in any windows if she suddenly decided to stop and window shop, aka checking for a tail. He saw her suddenly stop and look behind her, almost as if she expected him to be there. He thought he saw her give a sigh of relief at not finding him following her.

It was then that he noticed where she had stopped. She stopped in front of a bank, on a Sunday. "Now this could get interesting," he thought as she walked past the bank and around the back. He was trying to decide how much of a risk he could take by following her around the back. He knew that if he did there would be no place to hide and she would know in an instant he was there. However, if she went around the back and did what he thought she was going to do he would be an accessory before the fact. He was about to step off the curb when he started to hear the wail of a distant siren, that siren seemed to be travelling towards the bank he was pretty sure that his adversary had tripped the alarm in her attempt to break into the bank. He was confident that she wasn't that sloppy so she must have received bad Intel from someone who wanted her caught. Before he could think it through he ran across the street to help her aka provide an alibi. He saw her running out of the bank and knew that she must have heard the sirens. He grabbed her, and pressed her up against the neighboring building as the first police officer approached them, he did the only thing he could think of which was to kiss her as the police officer tapped him on the shoulder. He broke off the kiss, and she had the good sense to wrap her arms around his neck as he turned to speak to the officer.

"Yes, sir?" he asked in a docile, yet tipsy tone, as he leaned towards his now accessory.

"Excuse me, but did you see anyone entering that building" the officer asked as he pointed towards the bank.

"I'm sorry officer, but we haven't really seen anyone else but each other today" Fiona answered in a slight, New England accent from over Michael's shoulder as she nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck.

Michael was slightly surprised by the accent but did his best not to reveal his surprise to the officer; he simply pulled her closer to him as she was speaking. He knew that the officer needed to believe that they were just American tourists in England on holiday if they were to get out of this without going to jail.

The officer looked a little skeptical at that, but Michael saw by watching his body language that he was starting to believe them. His foe must have picked up on something as well because he felt her hand snake its way up his back as she pulled him closer to her, her head still doing that nuzzling thing near his neck that was driving him crazy.

"I'm going to need your names and where you're staying so we can get in touch with you later on about this. Do you have your identification or passports with you?"

Fiona answered for both of them. "I keep our identification in my backpack, here you go officer" with that she handed over the fake Oregon ID that she had lifted, could it be, only 24 hours ago? As well as another one that looked like it was also from Oregon, but it flew from her hands into the officer's too quickly for Michael to read. When he was done taking down the information, he handed Fiona back the IDs which she quickly stashed back in the backpack.

"OK Mr. and Mrs. Westen thank you for your cooperation, we'll be in touch if we have any further questions, you're free to go."

"Mr. and Mrs. Westen?!" Michael thought, "who was this woman and who did she know who was able to come up with a fake ID so quickly?" He knew he couldn't betray the confusion and yes, anger, he felt to the officer so he put his hand on his wife's lower back to escort her from the scene "ready honey?" he asked as he applied slight pressure to her back for her to start walking.
"Yes dear" she answered as she turned and smiled at him as they left the scene, not missing a beat. Then she wrapped her left arm around his back as he wrapped his right around hers. They began walking away in tandem not betraying the underlying contempt they felt for each other, but both understanding how important it was for them to keep this charade going until they were out of the officer's line of sight. In addition to the feelings of disdain there were also the underlying strains of respect and admiration that they felt for the other being able to act so quickly and so confidently.

"So are you a spy?" Fiona asked in her Irish brogue.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, miss. . .? You know so much about me and I know so little about you, like your name for instance." Michael volleyed back.

"My name? That's all you want in exchange for telling me if you're a spy sent to infiltrate my organization?" Fiona avoided answering his question with one of her own.

"Your organization? I thought the IRA didn't have any female heads?" Michael asked, and by doing so was able to express to her exactly how much he knew about her organization.

It was at that moment that they both realized they had walked a full two blocks away from the bank and that they both still had their hands on each other's backs but neither seemed willing to break that contact. It was almost as if there was something electric in the air with this light, simple contact. A spark that neither one of them had felt in a long time and one that they didn't want to let go of just yet. They turned and looked at each other at the exact same moment and in that moment something passed between them, something that couldn't be explained but it was almost as if they communicated whole paragraphs about themselves to each other in that glance. This was more than chemistry or attraction but neither one of them knew how to explain it to themselves. He had come here on a mission, to infiltrate her organization, she was there to protect said organization and although they were at cross purposes there was that surprising connection.