Epilogue

"—and then I said, 'that's not my daughter, that's my wife!'"

"That's when I kicked him in the shin."

"Which gave us the perfect distraction to escape."

Michael stared wide-eyed at his two best friends in the entire world, seated across from him at the bar that, over the course of the past three years, had become an unofficial headquarters.

"That sounds… interesting," he managed.

Sam smiled proudly, taking a congratulatory swig of beer. "You shoulda been there, Mikey. Me and the Irish spitfire—we make a great team."

Michael looked specifically at Fiona, who was chewing on the Bloody Mary-soaked tip of a piece of celery. To his surprise, he actually saw amusement sparkling in her eyes.

"Working with Sam has its benefits," she shrugged. "He's much better than you at making a scene in restaurants and getting hit by cars."

"You flatter me," Sam returned, only mock offended.

Michael sipped his own beer, reeling with the strangeness of it all. It didn't seem like that long ago that he'd had to physically restrain Fiona from trying to claw Sam's face off after he'd called her a terrorist and a psychopath.

"So what's the latest on the Columbians?" he asked.

"Way ahead of you, Mikey. Heard from a buddy of mine that the Ponzi guy turned on them. Cops got the Columbians on street racing, but now they're holding 'em on fraud. Ain't the justice system wonderful?"

"And what about the aspiring stock broker with the sick mother?"

"I already scoped out Ponzi guy's safe," said Fiona. "Now that the Columbians are out of the way, it should be easy to speed up that wonderful justice system."

Michael nodded as he checked his watch.

"Getting to be that time?" asked Sam.

"Afraid so," Michael replied.

"I'll walk you to your car," Fiona offered.

"Hurry back," Sam urged. "I still haven't told you about the lead I picked up when I was checkin' on the Columbians. Turns out, it's not a Ponzi scheme—it's a Ponzi ring."

Michael was about to reply, when he realized that Sam had been addressing Fiona, rather than himself.

"Sounds heavenly," she enthused. "I won't be a minute."

Michael exchanged a final glance with Sam, wrinkling his nose when Sam gave him a wink and a thumb's up gesture behind Fiona's back. Fiona turned quickly in Sam's direction in response to Michael's expression, but by that time, Sam was once again calmly sipping his beer, the picture of innocence.

Michael led the way to his rental car, parked across the street from Carlito's

Fiona stood beside him on the sidewalk next to the car, eyes hidden behind a pair of oversized Gucci sunglasses. Her hair was pulled back, highlighting the strong but delicate face that was so much like the rest of her, inside and out. He wished he could see her eyes, but wasn't quite ready to ask for the privilege—not in the light of day on a busy street, with so many potential spectators.

He asked, "You'll keep the loft safe while I'm gone?"

"Of course."

"I'll call if I can."

"I know."

He folded his fingers around hers, squeezing her hand against the almost unbearable compulsion to investigate the dozens of eyes he imagined boring into his back. As usual, the public display of affection stoked anxieties that were worrisome in both their intensity and their irrationality.

Fiona stoked his hand with her thumb as she said, "Give those bastards hell for us. Or I'll kick your ass."

"I will, Fi. I promise."

Reluctantly as well as gratefully, he dropped her hand, affixing her with a final, long look through his own tinted lenses before circling the car to the driver's side. Fiona remained standing on the sidewalk as he pulled away from the curb. But as he continued down the street, he watched in the rear view mirror as she bounded back across the intersection toward Carlito's, rejoining Sam and her Bloody Mary in the late afternoon sunshine. Michael experienced a brief, sudden pang of something he'd once thought he'd never feel again: homesickness.

Michael checked his watch again as he drove. He had just enough time for one final stop before his flight.

When he arrived at his mother's house, he was greeted with the smell of latex paint and a floor covered in clear plastic.

"Mom…?"

"I'm in here, Michael," his mother called from the kitchen.

Michael wandered carefully through the maze of plastic into the kitchen, where he found his mother balanced precariously atop a step ladder, paint roller in hand, cigarette jammed between her lips. She was painting the kitchen a vivid shade of tangerine orange.

"Well?" she asked, dripping paint and cigarette ash onto the plastic-covered floor as she stepped down from the ladder to greet him. "Whatd'ya think?"

"It's definitely different," he offered.

"I thought it was time for a change."

"It looks great," he amended, forcing a close-lipped smile.

His mother replaced the paint roller in the tray and brushed her hands against her paint-splattered apron before attending to her cigarette.

"So you're off?" she asked.

"For now. But I wanted to give you something, before I go."

Michael reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket—one of his own, custom suits—to retrieve the photographs he'd taken from the Dublin flat eleven years ago.

"These are from… a while ago," he said, handing the photographs to his mother. "I know you don't have any pictures of me from when I was gone, and since you seem to be changing things up around here anyway…"

His mother looked at him questioningly, but when she looked at the photographs, she smiled.

"I'll keep them safe, Michael," she promised.

"Just keep them," he said. "I don't really need them anymore."

He wanted to say more—to explain everything the photographs had been through, and that, if he didn't come back, she should give them to Fiona. He also wanted to explain the reason he didn't need them anymore—because for the the first time in a very long time, he was sure the future was going to be better than the past.

But he didn't say any of those things, knowing, somehow, that his mother would understand. Trusting his mother was a relatively new sensation, but one he was willing to explore.

The drive to the airport was quick, and uneventful, his check-in speedy thanks to his temporary government ID. Michael ended the best day he'd had in years in the sky above the Atlantic Ocean, sleeping dreamlessly against the darkened airplane window.

END

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One little context note: In the book/film On Her Majesty's Secret Service, James Bond gets married for the first (and only) time. It doesn't end well (which isn't really a spoiler if you're at all familiar with Bond), but there are some nice moments along the way. In the film version, Tracy Bond is played by Diana Rigg, aka Emma Peel of The Avengers tv show, aka the queen bee of spy-fi :)