Donegal, Ireland;
Present Day

Marianna Chagnon scrubbed at the stubborn spot dotting the old oak counter with a worn and well-used blue cloth. As she worked, thick falls of crimson hair fell into her jade eyes which she impatiently blew aside immediately. Marianna had inherited her father's old bookstore more than twenty years ago and, now that she was approaching her sixtieth birthday, her sights were starting to stray toward joining her husband in retirement.

Not that the Irish family hadn't made plenty of money in the bookstore over the years. It was widely successful at its little corner in Donegal, the kind of place tourists stopped at out of curiosity. Admittedly, the one-story dark blue store with its trademark circle windows was as interesting on the outside as it was homey and comforting on the inside. Book stands stood every five feet or so from floor to ceiling and overstuffed chairs were strewn carelessly about; their arms offering warm embraces after long days and hard nights. There was no other place Marianna wished she had spent her last few dozen years, but she was getting restless. She wanted a few years to spend with her partner, Rory, and make a home life for herself, maybe buy a dog. The store took so much care and time.

The twinkle of a door chime interrupted Marianna's thoughts and she turned toward the door with a welcoming smile that warmed instantly as she recognized the customer. She'd never gotten her name, but the face had become a familiar one. The Lady smiled back slightly as if unsure of how to return Marianna's kindness.

Yes, Marianna thought, she had the kind of face that would be unforgettable; the kind of face that the boys in the pubs would write love struck poems about on warm starless nights. Creamy white skin was stark in contrast with her deep coffee-colored eyes and flowing sienna hair. Artistically arched eyebrows gave her a look of constant skepticism that was at odds with the vulnerability of her pouting lips. The rest of her was just as intriguing; slight but holding a manner of aristocratic sophistication and infallible patience. Marianna - being the humbly nosy woman that she was - had mused on her heritage many times, and whether or not there was any Irish in that beauty remained a mystery.

"New arrivals?" The Lady questioned, as was custom, in a voice as quiet as the whisper of silk against the wind. Marianna nodded and bent at the waist, hauling a few volumes up that she'd saved especially for her.

"Aye, ma'am," Marianna gestured to the stack, "read as you choose. They haven't gotten much attention in the past few weeks." The Lady nodded, chose a thick edition of Dante, and headed toward her favorite chair. Marianna would have picked one in the back of the store for a woman who appeared to be more inclined to solidarity, but The Lady always took the blue velvet facing the door - another oddity.

Marianna watched her most intriguing customer as she worked, trying not to stare but failing as usual. There was something about the woman that was both intimidating and frightening; something that made Marianna want to confess her sins. She wondered if The Lady was in power, if she made deadly decisions - decisions that most people wouldn't ever consider - on a daily basis. At that uncomfortable thought, Marianna laughed inwardly. No one ever said the Irish lacked imagination, she thought, amused at herself.

As Marianna continued with her blissfully simple lifestyle, she had no way of knowing how close to the truth she'd hit with her only current customer. No way of knowing how many enemies the lovely woman had, and therefore, no way of knowing the danger that was coming toward her peaceful corner of the world.

Madeline altered the position of her body - albeit reluctantly - knowing that if she got too comfortable she would soon fall asleep. Many years ago she'd claimed this spot as her own; at the time it had been a mere convenience. The old blue chair had a view of the door and street that would keep her on her toes and that was something she couldn't have passed up, not with her job.

Now however, she found herself the most comfortable when she was in this part of the world, surrounded by quaint coffee shops, pubs, and the bookstore, which she treated as her personal sanctuary. This was a part of her life that she kept completely seperate from Section and the often unspeakable acts she committed there - something that she wanted as her own. Something that she could be completely positive wouldn't be ripped from her heart and taken, as so many things that belonged to her in the past had been.

It wasn't often she got to visit, once a month if she put everything on hold, but the woman who owned the store - Marianna, she'd found out with a little research - welcomed her with open arms every time. Madeline had long ago identified her urge to come back having to do quite a bit with the woman, though the reasoning was beyond her.

"I was wondering," Marianna started, startling Madeline out of her thoughts, "if you were from around here?" Madeline had suspected that someday the older woman would want to have more of a conversation than the their typical short-and-sweet greeting, but she still wasn't prepared for it. The blankness in her face as she thought of a response must have been showing, because Marianna hurried to explain herself.

"Don't answer if you don't want to, lass. I'm just trying to satisfy my own curiosity," she went on, purposefully directing her attention elsewhere. Madeline sensed Marianna drifting away, and she didn't want that -- for both personal and professional reasons.

"No, it's all right," she answered, startling Marianna just as she had been. "I'm not from here myself, but my grandmother grew up in Dublin." The woman nodded, seemingly content with the information.

Madeline picked up where she'd left off in her book, but her mind wasn't really on the story unfolding before her. It was on the contact with Marianna she'd just achieved - a bit of friendly conversation she hadn't realized she'd been missing. That contact was something she could have had, but did didn't allow herself in Section. If she permitted herself to get close to the select few she'd have liked to form a bond with, she would inevitably end up hurting them. The way she had it was better, she told herself through the blanket of loneliness that swept over her being. If she didn't have friendships, there would be none to betray.

So caught up was she in her line of thought that the figures coming into the store didn't rouse her attention the way it should have. Not until long after the act was committed did she drive herself to near insanity, thinking of what she could have done differently if given a chance to redo that one moment in time.

Marianna was stacking books towards the back of the store - trying to ignore the dust and thinking happily about the apparent breakthrough she'd made with The Lady - when she heard the voices out front.

At first she payed them no mind and instructed herself to finish with the books, though all her years as a storeowner had her almost jumping to greet the newcomers. She knew herself well though, and instinct told her that if she stopped in the middle of her chore she wouldn't start up again.

It's old age, Marianna, she told herself with a cringe for what seemed like the hundreth time that day. You're getting much too lazy.

It wasn't until the voice of The Lady rang clearly through the store that Marianna paused in her work, an inexplicable feeling of fear seeding at the pit of her stomach. Her legs wanted to run while her mind was reasoning with her to stay.

"What is your problem," Marianna berated herself, feeling foolish, "go on out there and see what's happening." Still, with her decision apparently made, Marianna hesitated slightly, bouncing her weight on each foot before visibly forcing herself to exit from behind the shelter of tall cheery oak bookcases. When she saw the scene before her, she wished that she'd have heeded more attention to her gut instinct.

The Lady was standing now, the book Marianna had given to her long forgotton at her feet. Her eyes were hard and cold, focused directly forward at the man holding his gun on her. Several others were scattered around the small area, all armed with weaponry -- serious weaponry, as Marianna's eyes took in. The IRA had ruined her hometown when she was a little girl, and Marianna had never forgotton the looks of a killer. Even The Lady looked like them now, with her face hard and her eyes unforgiving; Marianna wondered how she could have missed it.

She didn't have time to wonder about such things any longer, as it turned out, before one of the men detected her movement and, yelling for her to stay still, put her under the scope of a gun as well. Marianna sucked in a breath and glanced towards The Lady, whose own surprised eyes were fixed on her.

"This isn't going to accomplish anything," The Lady directed her words towards the men, while keeping Marianna in her line of vision. "I don't know what you want, and I wouldn't give it to you if I did. Put your weapons down and I'll see to it that your death is relatively painless."

The man in front of The Lady laughed at that, and Marianna admitted to herself that The Lady's words didn't hold much threat considering their position. She closed her eyes and thought of her husband and the dog she wished she had. She wouldn't give up, she told herself. She would see them again.

"I don't know what gave you the idea that you're in control here, Madeline, but as an example to how much you're not.." With a jerk of his head, his man on the left fired. Marianna barely had time to register The Lady's name before she was on her back, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of her with a club.

There was no pain, but in the back of her mind she knew that she'd been shot. The bookstore was silent with the exception of gasping breaths that reached Marianna's ears as if from afar, and after a moment she identified them as her own. With a sinking heart she felt herself begin to float, her own blood coating her numbing hands as she fumbled to apply pressure to the wound in her chest.

She watched the happenings in her store as if from a distance - knowing that what was going on was probably important, but not being able to keep her vision and hearing focused. She saw The Lady try to reason with the man and, in consequence, was struck with his fist. As she was propelled backwards, another man appeared from behind one of their attackers, snapping his neck with his bare hands. He had brought people with him, Marianna noticed, and watched as the others in the dead man's team were disarmed; some violently, some giving up right away.

The Lady -- Madeline, Marianna reminded herself dimly as she continued to float -- was by her side a moment later.

"Was she an innocent?" The man who had rescued them just a few minutes ago asked quietly in a voice pleasantly accented, though not from Marianna's homeland. Marianna watched The Lady nod and saw rather than felt her hand being gripped as she closed her eyes for the last time.

"We have to go," a tall blonde informed, coming up behind all of them. "Someone had to have heard the shooting. Police will be here any minute." Madeline nodded, and leaned down to Marianna's ear.

"I'm sorry," she whispered softly then stood and walked away, her hands once again covered with the blood of a lost friend.

"After Birkoff discovered that someone had hacked into our system, it was easier to narrow it down to what area they had been interested in. We found that they had accessed your location through the implant, so we dispatched a team," Operations explained, standing in front of Madeline's desk as he filled her in. He watched as she lowered her eyes and nodded, seeming to make sense out of the incident.

"I see." She turned toward her computer, signifying that the conversation was over on her end. Operations complied with her wishes and headed for the door, almost making it halfway before he realized that an important question hadn't been answered.

"What were you doing there?" He asked her, watching as she looked back at him with a perfected blank expression.

"What was I doing there?" She repeated and was answered by an encouraging nod. "I was trying to identify the source of some of our most recent Intel for the Armagh situation." Operations nodded immediately, but hesitated a minute more before exiting the room completely, feeling as though there were something she was leaving out.

Madeline watched him leave before looking down at her hands. She'd washed the blood off, but the memory of it was fresh in her mind. Sighing, she picked up the file she'd hastily thrown over an object on her desk as Paul had entered her office uninvited.

Madeline lightly traced the engraved gold letters of the book with her finger, allowing herself a moment of reflection. Dante. She closed her eyes as she shut Marianna's gift into a desk drawer like she were shutting the door to her memory as well.

She'd have to forget and move on. She always did.

-- End --

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