Chapter 27

Fiona elbowed her way through the door, a bag of groceries in each arm. Inside the breezeway of the zoo she'd called home for the past nine years, there were no fewer than a dozen pair of shoes and sandals in sizes from large to not so large waiting to be tripped over. Which she nearly did.

"Careful, Fi." Michael caught her and steadied her before taking the groceries and putting them on the counter.

"Boys," he yelled. "Go to the car and bring in the rest of the groceries for your mother."

A small chorus of Yes, Sirs echoed from the game room which Fiona had appropriately renamed the Wreck Room as six boys, each some variation of their father, ages 12, 11, 9 and 8, race walked by in mismatched pairs at Michael's bidding.

"Seth and Justin, you're in charge of the milk. No instant replay," he warned them.

"Yes, sir," the two oldest Westen twins replied.

Seth and Justin were identical in appearance, so identical in fact, that as an infant, Fiona used a dot of blue fingernail polish on Justin's toenail so she could keep their sons straight until she and Michael could keep them separated. Together, they got in more trouble than the rest of their brothers did collectively.

They were mischievous, intelligent, competitive with each other and everyone else, and loud. Frequently, they thought it great fun to impersonate each other, something most effective with strangers and their cousins. Fortunately, their brothers, grandmas and Michael and Fiona no longer needed help in distinguishing them from each other. They had learned early that maintaining parental control was critical when dealing with their two oldest children.

"And why is that?" Michael asked somewhat loudly.

"Because horse play doesn't pay," the two echoed in mutual response.

Last week Seth and Justin engaged each other in battle instead of simply transporting the milk to the house. Each was armed with not one but two gallon-size plastic milk jugs. This led to the untimely demise of most of the supply their mother had just purchased when the jugs ruptured and the contents spilled across the carport floor.

The mess expanded when Quinn and Rowan, their youngest twins, discovered four gallons of milk on a smooth concrete surface was slippery and, therefore, a slide-worthy surface, as did their brothers, Peter and Dylan.

Joining the fun and lapping up the spills were two rather large Great Pyrenees dogs, a breed known for their protective herding abilities, and a Bassett Hound whose nose could locate any boy's hiding space.

The Westen boys' pets were companions with a purpose. Whether the boys were aware or not, Michael and Fiona knew they kept their sons, each prone to wandering, from straying too far from home. The Great Pyrs were impressively sized animals and the male was more aggressively vocal than his female counterpart. However, the real threat to strangers was the Bassett whose comical appearance belied a defender's heart and whose mouth was filled with very large teeth.

Barking and yelling ensued. Shortly thereafter, Michael directed his crew in a clean-up project that started in the breezeway with hoses and brooms, and ended with dog washing, followed by showers for six boys, and the loss of television and computer privileges for the rest of the week, a punishment both the boys and their mother considered a bit harsh.

Fiona did have the presence of mind, though, to take pictures of a scowling Michael commanding his properly chastised group of dogs and dog washers. It was hard to judge by their faces who was more contrite-boys or dogs-since they were all wearing the same guilty expression. She had been laughing so hard at the two-act comedy beyond the patio windows, it'd been hard to hold the camera steady.

"Dad, will you tell Dylan it's not his turn to feed the dogs, it's mine?" Peter asked.

"Is it?" Michael looked down at the small dark headed, freckled-faced carbon copy of himself who had Fi's green eyes, smiled then glanced at Fiona for confirmation; she nodded. He tousled the hair on his son's head and patted his small sturdy shoulder. "Feed them now before everyone gets here, OK?"

First it was two identical twins, then one, then another one, then another two who were fraternal twins. Fiona had conceived and given birth to bookend twins with two single births between. She laid her hand over her mostly flat belly. Another two were on their way. She closed her eyes, briefly to extinguish a fleeting memory with a prayer for a healthy pregnancy.

It hadn't been until she was pregnant with Peter, born just a year after Seth and Justin, that it struck her exactly how close she could have come to losing them both, had she and Sam missed their shots at Larry.

Having twins, having babies had been remarkably easy for her despite her initial worries and concerns. Her doctor had told her from her very first appointment with him that she was lucky. She had not believed it then, but she did now.

Ruth, her sister-in-law, and Jesse's wife both had troubling pregnancies and difficult deliveries, but for whatever reason, Fiona's sturdy Irish genes had held her in good stead throughout all of her pregnancies. She was healthy and strong and worked at staying that way. And, she had come to understand she had been truly blessed.

Had someone told her years ago that she and Michael would become parents who would be ideally suited for a large family, she never would have believed it, but here they were, and she could not imagine a happier life.

There were plenty of critics, though, most of whom Fi met at various doctors' offices or other public places where perfect strangers would look at their family as if they had done something wrong. It was one of the times her Glenanne temper could get the better of her, so she worked at ignoring critical comments. Death had come too close to both Fi and Michael for them to disrespect the gifts they had been given. She realized it was utterly impossible to explain that to anyone unwilling to understand.

Little did she know until her mum and Madeline independently enlightened her about the generational and gestational history of twins in both families that she and Michael actually had a much above average chance for twins. A much, much above average chance. Of course, they had waited until she was expecting Quinn and Rowan before they relayed such interesting family history.

She was amazed to learn she was not the only woman on either the Glenanne or Westen sides of their family tree to give birth to multiple twins. Unusual, yes, but three sets of twins would not be a family record.

When their second set made their presence known, Michael had looked at Fi with complete disbelief. "What are the odds of that?"

"The doctor said it's around three percent for just one set of twins, so I think we're in a negative number category now," Fiona had replied.

Once the boys left to bring in groceries, Michael walked over to her, wrapped his arms around her and whispered in her ear. "What did Dr. Prentice say?"

She smiled up at him. "He said he thought we were done."

"Are we?"

"Are we?" Fiona asked softly.

"One? Two?"

She simply smiled. "What do you think, Michael?"

He took a deep breath. "Two?"

"Good guess."

"And if we have more boys?"

"Then we have more boys. Have I ever mentioned that I love all our boys?"

He leaned his forehead against hers. "You have. And you still don't want to know in advance."

"Do you?"

"Nope." He pulled her fully into his embrace and kissed her deeply. The impassioned moment was on the verge of becoming something much more serious when a small chorus of snickers and giggles could be heard all around them.

"Oh, yuck, Dad," Seth muttered.

"I don't think you're supposed to be doing that in front of us," Justin said. "Seeing stuff like that could be bad for us, and it's probably even worse for children in isolated, closed environments like we have to live in, who have little social interaction outside of their families. It might turn us into serial killers."

"Isolated, closed environments? Have to live in? What have you been reading now?" Fiona stepped out of Michael's embrace and zeroed in on her current problem child.

Justin had a voracious appetite as a reader, but she was now requiring pre-approval of all his reading material after some questionable words and images recently appeared on his tablet computer.

Michael suppressed a laugh and stopped Fiona's advance with an arm around her still tiny waist, because he caught the exchange between his sons. "No, guys. It's not happening. Nice try, but no."

"But, Dad," Seth whined. "It's not normal."

"Talk to her, okay?" Justin pleaded.

"Please?" Seth added.

"Not now," Michael emphasized. "Later. Company's coming."

Fiona slid a look of confusion to Michael then pointed to the hallway. "Thank you for your help, guys, now back to whatever you were doing."

"You were cleaning up the Wreck Room, weren't you?" Michael instructed.

Mumbled Yes, Ma'ams and Yes, Sirs followed their departure.

Fiona shook her head. "What was that about? What's not normal?"

"They're almost teenagers, Fi."

She paused from putting boxes of cereal in the pantry. "Translation?"

"They've been gathering intel. They want to go to a school with girls. Like the rest of us did. Me. Nate. Sam. Jesse. Your brothers."

The expression on her face made Michael laugh.

"It's not like they are not around girls," Fiona said. "There's Nate's girls, and Jesse's. And of course, the aunts and grandmas."

Michael laughed again. "Cousins and girls who are like your sister? Not the same kind of girls, Fi."

She threw up her hands. "A school with girls? No. No. You know we can give them a superior education to anything they'll get in a public or private school. Oh, I can't talk about this now, not when everyone's going to be here in less than an hour."

"We got it under control. Just waiting for your finishing touches," Michael said as he checked one of the big wall ovens.

Feeding a family of eight was a regular undertaking seven days a week, three times a day. Plus growing boys needed snacks. And beverages. Just the daily run to the store for milk was project, even with two extra refrigerators in the garage for overflow beverage and food storage. Michael continued to veto Fi's plans to buy a cow.

For special events, they needed more of everything. Michael and Fiona were expecting the rest of their family to arrive to celebrate their mothers' birthdays.

That was one of the other discoveries they made during their first year of marriage.

Who knew their mothers shared a birth date?

Different years, but same date. The tradition had begun when their mothers celebrated the coincidence with a drink in a bar while Michael and Fiona were in the hospital, both recovering from injuries Dead Larry inflicted months before he was officially dead.

Ena Glenanne's flight from Ireland had landed two hours ago, and Madeline had met her plane and would bring her to what they now referred to as the Compound, the Westen home and business headquarters for SAU Corp. It was as secure a location as they could find, with limited access by road and water.

Michael and Fi had designed and planned their home together. It was spacious and functional, with an office building and separate garage where the Charger was stored. Next to it was an indoor range on one side, and their home and pool on the opposite. The sparse architectural details imbued a simple elegance with stucco exteriors. Naturally, the compound featured a security system that might be considered overkill but everyone in their circle of friends and family thought of as normal.

Financing it became possible because after Michael's final assignment, Raines had made sure Michael's savings, checking and investment accounts frozen at the time he was burned, were released and restored. He also received more than five years pay previously denied because of the illicit burn notice.

Officially, he was the only reinstated operative ever welcomed to return to Langley. Almost immediately after his record was cleared and his full employment status reinstated, he retired as a full time operative with some unique and rather unusual commendations in his service record. He returned to Langley periodically as a consultant for special projects.

Raines also saw to it Sam received pay commensurate with his years of service, working with Michael as they sought to eliminate Management and Vaughn. Fiona, also received a consultant's pay for her service. Unusual yes, but Raines had made the strong case that without these individuals the CIA would be in the dark regarding the black ops group operating from within for more than a decade. Jesse's service record had been previously cleared, so Raines accounted for his work as a consultant during his service.

The most significant thing Raines had pushed the agency for was a policy revision that allowed an operative relieved of service, a burned spy, a way to refute, if necessary, evidence used to dismiss them. Michael had been instrumental in that project.

It was still fairly easy to burn a spy, and for logical reasons of national security, it needed to be. However, the new procedures allowed doors and windows to be opened, instead of shutting away an operative without official face to face review. The recourse became known as the Westen Rule, and periodically Michael was asked to consult on personnel matters around dismissing an agent.

Michael and Fi were sentimental. They'd retained the loft and ran part of the SAU security consulting operation from there. SAU was Max's suggestion; they honored his memory by using the name he'd suggested in jest.

After they purchased the building from Oleg, they expanded to an adjacent part the second floor. Oleg now rented his club space from SAU for the same rent he'd charged Michael for the loft when he first returned to Miami as a burned spy.

Sam walked in the breezeway door carrying a couple of large gift bags. "Party on schedule? I know you said I should, Fi, but didn't feel like inviting the new lady friend to a family thing."

A loud noise that seemed a bit too close to an explosion came from the Wreck Room. Michael moved instantly that direction and Fi let him take charge since she was putting the finishing touches on a large tray of veggies and dips.

"Or your new lady friend told you to get lost," Fi observed, as she washed her hands again and reached into the fridge. "Here." She handed him a beer. "Sorry about that. I know you liked her, Sam."

He took the bottle, then stopped her by sliding a finger under her chin. He smiled, shook his head and winked. "You know, as soon as the two of you figure out what's making this happen, you'll stop having kids."

Fiona shushed him. "Tonight's a birthday party, and I don't want my mum or Madeline to know yet, OK?"

"How many this time?" Sam asked.

"Two," Michael said from behind him.

Fiona looked up. "I didn't tell him."

Sam grinned. "She never has to-she's got the look."

"What was that in there?" Fi asked.

"What that was is all better now. Or it will be when that lamp is repaired."

Fiona looked up, worried. "Not my ginger jar lamp?"

"One and the same," Michael said, unable to hide a small smile. "We can get you another one."

"I know that's exactly just what you want, Michael, but I love that lamp. We used it at the loft."

Sam had been listening to the ugly lamp debate for at least five years, so he changed the subject for them. "What was that? Football?"

"Soccer ball."

"I thought I was clear when I said all spherical objects have to stay outside from now on." Fiona handed him one of the trays to transport to the picnic area, and handed the other one to Sam.

"I don't think Dylan was in the room when you issued that executive order."

"Oh, good," Sam said, as he backed through the breezeway door with his veggie tray. "Look who's here, the grammas. And Father Hector."

The priest who had married Michael and Fiona had become a trusted counselor and frequent guest in their home. After the twins were born and Raines had made Michael aware of Anson's horrific, manipulative role in his life, he realized the only person capable of answering the questions he had about fighting the evil he knew Anson and Management to be was a warrior who had become a priest.

Jessie and Nate pulled in right behind Maddie and Ena. Jesse married the woman of his dreams, Jana, another security specialist. Their two daughters, Cara age 11, and Sissy, 9, were just as competitive as the Westen brothers.

Nate's Charlie, the first Westen grandchild, had just turned thirteen: his sister Kate was also 11, and little Sara was only 4. She could be found sitting on her Uncle Mike's lap any time he was around. She'd been a little older than two when she'd had leaned too far over the edge their pool and had fallen in the deep end. Michael had reacted faster than anyone and had retrieved her. He'd been her favorite uncle ever since.

Nate's wife Ruth had started coming to more family events after Fiona's gentle, insistent invitations, and Maddie frequently found a moments to thank Fiona for her role in giving her the large loving family she had always wanted but could never imagine existing.

Michael, Nate and Sam helped bring out the platters of chicken and hamburgers, while Jana and Ruth helped Fiona bring salads and the roasted corn on the cob.

"Oh, good, he's here," Fiona said, as a car pulled up and a solitary figure started walking toward the picnic area. Rowan and Quinn ran toward him and started talking excitedly about the new, child-sized guitars he had sent them. Raines' hobby, they had discovered, was playing classical guitar, and the youngest Westen twins had been first mesmerized by the music and then mesmerized by knowledge that they could learn to play. He'd promised he'd help them learn.

Sadly, Raines had lost his wife last year, shortly after he'd retired from the CIA. Without other family to anchor him to the D.C. area, Michael and Fiona asked him to think about relocating to Miami. He got as far as Boca Raton and settled recently. He would be making frequent trips to Miami to periodically advise SAU clients in the future.

All told, when it was time to eat, there were 21 people sitting around Michael and Fiona's picnic tables, eleven of whom were five feet tall or smaller. Father Hector led the blessing for the food, and the birthday party began in earnest. It was loud and no one minded.

There was an elegantly lettered sign displayed prominently on a wall in the Westen home. Fiona had hung it in their spacious kitchen, the heart of their home, the place where inevitably everyone gathered.

Joy is the most infallible sign

of the presence of God.

Fi had placed the well-known quote from a French priest in their kitchen because the words were not only something they believed, it was something they lived.

- END -

This story is for Erin, a lovely Irish lass