I Used to Be a Spy

It's not Personal

Michael laid in his bed, mulling over the events from earlier. He kicked himself for not having Kavanaugh tracked, but Michael was more than aware that he was off his game. Fi openly admitted he was rusty. Or was he simply attempting to fail himself? To prevent himself from becoming immersed in that old life, old way of thinking? He had spent five years diligently fighting against his engrained tendencies, and he felt a measure of pride of how far he had come. How far they both had come, from their old ways.
Rolling to his left side, he examined Fiona in the moonlight. Her slender face was calm, and her beauty struck him. Motherhood fit her well in his opinion. This thought caused him to reach out to the protruding bump on her stomach, which held their growing child. His child. What a joyous feeling this caused to leap into his heart.
"I'm sorry I said you're rusty," Fi mumbled.
Michael jerked back his hand, caught by surprise. Sighing heavily he admitted, "You might be right."
Sleepily she grabbed his hand and put it back on her stomach, resting her hand atop his. "You have much to be anxious about. I'm sad to be left out of this adventure, but I know you can do this."
"Thanks, Fi." Michael turned to lay on his back.
"What's the plan now?" Fi asked, curiously.
Michael gingerly bit the inside of his inner lip and shrugged. "Got work in the mornin'."
Fi let out a loud sigh. "Ya gonna meet with Hughes after?"
"I should, shouldn't I?"
"Tá{yes}." Fi said, as she curled up into his side, her bump preventing her from leaning in the way she normally did.
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Michael nodded as the veterinarian examined the Irish Sport Horse and explained how the young horse had a clean bill of health.
"The horse has a buyer?" The doctor inquired.
"Uh, yes. Or no, sorry. It's been a long week." Michael rubbed his right temple and eyes briefly. Tá brón one{I'm sorry, or literally "it sorrows me"}." Michael recognized a curious flicker in the man's eyes. "Want to test him out?"
Almost giddy, Dr. Buckley raised his eyebrows and asked, "Cinnte{certainly}."
The doctor hesitated, as if struggling within himself to give in to his desire to ride the horse. A boyish desire flashed over his face but was struck by indecision. "I ought not to... but thanks for the offer Mícheál."
"Lá ar bith feasta{any time soon}, Doctor." Michael shook the man's hand and began grooming the horse as the doctor made his way out.
Michael had hoped the doctor would be his next sale, so he could return his attention to his friends, as well as the mission.
He scowled at the word mission. This wasn't his old spy life, he was a new man. Michael vowed to keep his old training and desires buried. He didn't want to be drawn to that old way any longer, the obsession of running and pretending to be something he wasn't. Yet he couldn't help but face the glaring fact that his entire life here was a fabrication, wasn't it?
Was he fooling himself, Fiona, Charlie, even their next child? Or was he a changed man?
Michael saddled and mounted the horse, glad he could ride once more to ensure it was broken in enough. He spurred the horse to go from a trot to a canter, closing his eyes against the wind, breathing in the fresh air. He was grateful he wore his plaid long sleeve shirt, the air having cooled down some this evening.
Michael directed the young colt, steering it through the rolling hills before him, no clear destination in mind. His thoughts only focused on the fleeting freedom before them.
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"It's not personal Mícheál," Hughes shrugged, but the perspiration on his forehead and upper lip said otherwise.
Michael narrowed his eyes, recognizing his friends' tell, Hughes was hiding something.
His friend tapped his fingers against his leg, clearly trying to control his fear.
"What do you know?" Michael could feel his jaw tightening, anger threatening to seeth from his body, wishing he could wrangle it from the man. "I thought we were friends?"
Hughes sighed and leaned against the wall they were chatting by, surely looking far less casual than they needed to. Michael knew they looked suspicious but he needed information.
"We are, but Mícheál, I can't just be taking orders from a civilian, ya see? Don't ya? What excuse would I have used to get my men out where ya wanted them? Plus we woulda caught you or needed to register ya as my source of information."
Michael clamped his mouth shut. For the entire existence of their odd friendship, Michael constantly stressed his desire to be nowhere near any police, or doings regarding them.
"What have ya told me time and time again?" Hughes asked, irritation in his voice.
"No guards." They both said simultaneously in a monotone voice.
"There's more to this than ya think friend. There's more going on than I can tell ya, I promise." Hughes said, grasping Michael's arm. He let go and walked away.
Michael shook his head. He had no desire to butt heads with Hughes, nor did he want further involvement in this situation at all, a deep regret settling heavy in his chest at his involvement thus far. Yet here he was, caught in the middle, trying to save some kid. A job he needed to do, as he was once that kid who needed saving too.