Not even that scathing little voice mail from CBS about notifying them when she was taking off early from an assignment was going to make her feel bad. Plus, those guys would clam up when they saw the footage from the two specials. It had taken Jim and her about five hours to finish that stuff up, but she thought it looks great. She was leaving the stuff that Armstrong said about PRIMUS in. GA provided enough rebuttal to make it a fair piece. Plus, with the clause in her contract about creative and editorial control, she wassure it wouldn't be cut by CBS. Besides, everything expressed in those interviews was personal opinion and the last she saw, you couldn't get sued over personal opinions of public agencies. 

Leaving Jim napping in the edit bay at his house (poor guy didn't get any sleep on the way back 'cause he was flirting with Annike), she took a quick trip by cab or to CBS office and hand deliver the tapes to the production editor. Actually, not having a car is starting to work to her advantage. (Though she still missed the VIPER mobile. She had the bomb-scared license plate sitting in her sock drawer at home.) She could keep all these receipts for transportation and take them off on her tax return. 

Once the tapes were delivered, she left her voice mail number with the production editor in case there were questions and headed off for some quick errands. PRIMUS dirty laundry was becoming a far bigger problem than she expected. She didn't think it is safe to keep this info at her place any more. 

She made a copy of Jim's tape and the other information she'd gotten and place it in a safety deposit box. She was also going to give Eleanor a copy -- Video capture equipment was a wonderful thing. She loved VRML technology.

She left a message for the guys. And she let Olympian know that he should look at the PRIMUS stuff she left with Eleanor. If he asked nicely, she'd let him look at it. Where were those guys anyways?  

She had decided she was never going to be able to figure Armstrong. Just when she got good and mad with him, he turned up with a wife/girlfriend(?) and a kid. She'd love to hear the story about that. Christine said Avengers couldn't have kids, but it sounded like Armstrong found a way around that. She wondered if her father knew the answer to that question? He had fooled around with chemicals. Maybe there was a chemical solution for Avengers' infertility? 

Well as much as she was still irritated with the man, (Hey, They still were making jokes about that incident on live TV. Then the annual Washington Press Corps. dinner included a skit about it. You know, you'd think these guys would learn the joke is getting old. ) She guessed he was OK. Actually, it was kind of amusing to think of Armstrong with a 2-year-old. She wondered what he did when she wrote on his motorcycle with a crayon? She just didn't understand how he worked for VIPER. She could understand his leaving PRIMUS, but why didn't he just go renegade?  A lot of people were hurt by VF-2's actions. 

When she got back home she packed a bag for Ireland. Oh boy, I wonder what Ronan's motheris like? Please, please, please let her be nothing like Christine's in laws. I think I'll die if she's like them. I hope she likes me or at least tolerates me. 

I don't have a mother anymore and this is kind of a hard thing to discuss with dad. Plus, Christine is off on her honeymoon. I really need some womanly advice.I mean I think I'm in love with him. I just don't know how this happened? I mean is this going to work? 

Ronan stayed with Marjorie while they were in Hudson City. He took her out to dinner on the last night and waited relatively patently when the two of them went shopping. Just like before, he was the soul of courtesy. He danced with her -- he was a good dancer, she must admit. All of the women in the restaurant stared at him, and appeared openly jealous to Marjorie. 

He told her of his childhood, and of college. Asking him what he'd initially planned to do with his life, he explained, "I became involved with the Wild Geese after my brother was sentenced to the Maze. It broke his mind, Marjorie, and I've never heard him speak since we broke him out." Looking down, then back at her, he smiled. 

"Actually, I always thought I'd be a priest. I was the youngest, you see, and none of my sibs went for the Church. Mom always wanted me to, but after Trevor was arrested..." his smile faded. "Anyway, this all leads up to what I've been meaning to talk to you about." He took a deep breath. Leaning forward, she wondered what's next. First he was an evil VIPER agent (though a very handsome one at that), then he was a mysterious agent of the Irish government, then he was a mercenary, then she found out he was working with someone who had a million dollar price tag on his head, THEN she found out he wanted to be a priest. Now what? 

"I'll understand if you don't want to go to Ireland with me, but I couldn't not tell you , you know? Anyway, the fact is that I'm something of a mutant. Nothing big, though I don't talk to Falswell about it" he smiled wryly. "But I can tell what people are feeling when I'm near them. I can't read minds or anything, but I can tell if they're lying or whatever. It's certainly useful, anyway, in this line of work." He stopped, and looked expectantly to her. 

I think I'm turning red to the roots of my hair. Oh God! I hope he never read my mind about what I was thinking about him two nights ago! I'm sooo embarrassed. Why is he staring at me like that? Does he know? Oh God, he was going to be a priest. I'll probably burn in hell for that thought. 

Silly, he's probably expecting me to say something. 

She opened her mouth and tried to say something refined, thoughtful, understanding, meaningful, loving.  What actually came out was something like, "I could see how that talent would be useful." 

What the hell was that! Sometimes I don't know where I leave my brain. Oh that was witty and insightful and understanding! And you call yourself a master of communication. 

She rushed on, saying, "I mean, well, it doesn't bother me that you can do this. That is I don't have a problem with people with powers. You know I hang out with Orion and Olympian and I've got my own abilities. And, well, I love you because your you and it doesn't matter if you can read minds or run around with guys in gray or anything." 

Ok mark this down as one of those brilliant moments in my life when I just demonstrated why I never should have been given a Mr. Microphone for my 8th birthday. The great journalist just demonstrated that when it comes to personal relationships she just can't communicate worth a damn. 

Cradling her head in her hands, Marjorie stiffened as she heard someone approaching, the fast, sharp clicks of a woman in heels. She tried not to groan as her fingers came back bloody. Water dripped down the walls of her dark cell, and baffled moans reached your ears, echoing through the expanse of prison. She was sitting on the damp cement floor of the cell, for there was nothing in here but her, the toilet, and Miss January 1983. 

"Jesus," she muttered, wishing she could really pray through this nausea. "How did I get here?" 

The week started well enough, she supposed. Images still haunted her of  the trip to Alaska, and what she'd found there. She still didn't have enough evidence to do anything with it -- as Ronan had pointed out to you on the Air Lingus flight, anyone with a decent camera and laser printer could generate your "evidence." 

"It's going to take a lot more," she told him as they talked quietly in first class. He'd surprised her in the past days -- romantic and open, he'd told her about his family, his siblings, his education. He'd even told a few priest jokes. And he'd stayed the night, informing her he didn't care if it imperiled anyone's souls when she wondered out loud about his former inclinations. 

"What?" he seemed distracted. 

"It's going to take a lot more evidence," she explained. "To prove this to anyone. Not even NBC is going to run what we've got. Heaven knows CBS never will -- they're still uptight about tobacco. What we need is an eyewitness, or real files, not printouts." 

"Hmm. That's going to be a neat trick, especially since PRIMUS took their system off-line." 

"They did what?" she asked. This isnews to me. 

Ronan explained that a couple of months ago, PRIMUS divided their system in two -- public and confidential systems. There was no way into their other system, now, without literally going into the building and entering the proper codes. 

Well, she thought, she must have contacted the Lone Gunmen at exactly the right time, to have gotten the secret file that she did. Maybe she'd gotten it just in time. 

Marjorie was taken to the large estate where Ronan grew up, and she met his mother (his father was at a horse show in Dublin). She was a warm, friendly woman in her early sixties, who rode daily and wove tapestries. She also got a chance to meet Trevor, Ronan's brother, for whom the Geese broke into the Maze. He was an eerie, older copy of Ronan, handsome, though his blue eyes didn't register anything. Ronan's whole demeanor changed when Trevor is around, and he became thoughtful and sad. 

Her father visited as well, though he only stayed a day since he's in the middle of a "big project," as he told her. "Hush-hush, but very exciting." She got the feeling his mind was half gone as well, though he seemed lucid enough. It was hard to stifle the guilt around him, too. She couldn't help feeling that she was the cause of his madness, for it wasn't until she'd faked her death that he began to act with increasing eccentricity. He still hadn't regained the ability to use his legs, though he looked healthier. 

Her time with Ronan was amazing -- she'd never been happier. He showed her all the places where he played as a child, took her to Mass at the church his family had attended for a thousand years, and teached her to ride a horse. (The lessons she begged her mother for when she was seven didn't count, here in horse country!) Luckily she had a strong constitution, and recovered quickly from the muscle soreness usually associated with learning to ride. 

It was on one of those rides through the countryside that the two of them stopped on the banks of a river. Ronan had just finished recounting another battle which occurred around here, in which his ancestors killed a lot of Englishmen but still lost. "Ah, well," he concluded, turning back towards her. "It's ours again now, isn't it? Only a few more counties to go." 

She was never really sure how to respond to his Republicanism, and usually she didn't discuss it. She didn't even feel strongly about being an American, and it was pretty foreign, this vehement patriotism. She was starting to understand more and more about his feelings, both about her and England, and it was amazing that he could be so tender towards her while hating as purely as he did. His whole family was involved with the Geese, though she was not sure exactly how. 

But mostly, though, she didn't think too much about politics with Ronan around. After all, he was still the most amazing man she'd ever seen, even after she'd seen all of him. Quite passionate, too, for a former candidate for the priesthood. Marjorie was no novice, but neither was he. It was something which engendered feelings of jealousy, after she'd returned to lucidity, though almost as soon as the feeling started he laughed at her, a deep baritone. "What on Earth are you jealous about?" he asked. 

"You know," she'd told him pointedly, trying to look indignant (which was very difficult while naked) "I hate it when you do that. I don't read your emotions." 

"Only because you can't. You're trying to change the subject," he told her. "What is it?" 

After realizing she'd never be able to weasel out of this, she ended up explaining why. It only made him laugh harder, which unfortunately made her more angry. 

"I really don't see what's so funny," she said in her coldest tone. 

To his credit, he managed to stop. "Jesus Christ," he said. "I haven't been with a woman in a year and a half, since I met you, and now you're jealous. I just think it's funny." 

But on the banks of the river, he surprised her again, this time asking her to marry him, and presenting her with a beautiful diamond ring, in a Celtic setting. "I do realize that it's something of a shock." He paused, then began quickly. "Or maybe not, I don't know. Anyway, I'm not the oldest, and none of this is ever going to be mine"--he gestured around them -- "but I do make a good living, doing what I do. I'd take care of you, if that's what you wanted, or not, if you didn't. I know you American women are very specific about these things." He continued to ramble on and on, exhaustively explaining why you should marry him. She was no empath, but he seemed nervous. 

After listening to Ronan go on about why she should marry him for a few minutes and realizing that he was so nervous he was not going to stop any time soon, she did the only thing she could think of to get him to stop. She kissed him. 

"You were begining to sound like a horse salesman," she said after she was sure he was not going to start back up again. "The next thing you'll be telling me is that you've got good teeth and pleasant walking gait," she added with a smile. 

Reaching a hand up to caress his face she said, "I love you. You don't need to sell me on that. If you think you can put up with a reporter in the house, I'll be your wife." 

Returning from their ride, they heard unusual, rather funky music coming from the mansion. "What the hell?" Ronan said, dismounting and handing the horse to a stable boy. Hopping off, Marjorie follow him as he stalked towards the house. 

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed as he stepped through French doors into the ballroom. Marjorie saw his mother dancing with a man who looked to be Kevin Armstrong. Both were laughing as they mime club dancing (very funny given that Ronan's mother is 60 if she was a day, and the fact that Armstrong was a lousy dancer). She smirked, and Ronan's expression is pure horror. Sitting in a Queen Anne chair was the woman she saw Armstrong talking to through the holographic imager. On her lap was a beautiful two-year-old girl, with blond curls and blue eyes. That must be Ed, Marjorie figured, although she was more curious about the woman. She was laughing to the point of near hysteria, watching Armstrong dance with Máire. She was bouncing Ed on her lap in time with the music. Her hair was the same shade of blonde as her daughter's, and very curly and long. She was wearing a fitted black jacket and colorful skirt. She looked up at the two of them as they entered, though Armstrong continued to dance with Máire. Her eyes were a clear green, and she grinned wickedly at Ronan, eyes twinkling. 

Ronan spoke first. "Not that damned Israeli music again," he complained. "You don't know how irritating it is, to hear him singing that in the middle of a mission. Kevin has an awful voice." He was trying to be serious, but he broke into a smile instead. Armstrong's wife stood up and hugged him. 

"It's good to see you again, Ronan," she told him, then turned to you. "And you must be Marjorie. I'm Moira Rennie, and I'm very pleased to meet you. Dear me," she said with mock gravity, "But I've heard a lot about you." She gave the reporter a friendly smile as she shook her hand firmly, then retrieved Ed, who was trying to chew on Ronan's boot. "Yuck, Ed, that's disgusting." 

"She's a handful?" Marjorie asked, as the music continues. 

Moira rolled her eyes. "Is she. Normally Dona Michaela is here to watch her, but she's in Portugal for her fiftieth birthday. Which is partially why we're here -- we couldn't miss Dona Michaela's party, and also I wanted to bring this by." Moira handed a large package to Ronan. "And besides, I couldn't think of anything better to do than spend twelve hours on the jet today." 

"That was quick," Ronan commented, gesturing at the package. 

She shrugged. "Codes really weren't very sophisticated four hundred years ago, Ronan. Even French necromancers' codes. It took me about an hour and a half to solve it, a couple of days to finish the translation. And it only took that long because I'm in the middle of a big, stupid trade conference." She made a face. 

Ronan turned to Marjorie. "Moira interprets much of what we recover on our missions. It's a good thing she has no magical aptitude, since she probably knows more spells now than Merlin himself." 

"What makes you think I don't have any magic?" she smiled, and then winked at Marjorie. "That isn't what my husband says." She noticed that her eyes crinkled around the edges when she smiled. She was probably in her late twenties. She was very pale and had delicate features. Standing, she figured she was about 5'5, and couldn't weigh more than 110. In riding boots, Marjorie almost towered over her. 

Ronan laughed and started off towards the office with Armstrong, leaving Marjorie standing with Kevin Armstrong's wife and daughter. She talked to her for a while -- it was pretty shocking just how friendly she seemed, especially considering the way Armstrong treated Marjorie after he finisheed dancing with Máire. "Cool" was probably a good way of describing it, given the curt nod he gave her as greeting, though "cautious" is also right, seeing as how he acted very protective of Moira and Ed. "Almost rude" occurred to her once, though she thought it may have been inadvertent. He politely declined Ronan's mother's offer of dinner, claiming they needed to be off. 

"I'm sorry, Marjorie," Moira apologized, glancing towards her husband's back. "He doesn't mean to be rude, it's just that, well, he's always been really protective of us. He's always been terrified that VIPER might find out about me and Ed. Or maybe he's scared PRIMUS will find out more, I don't know." She was quiet for a moment. "It's not that he dislikes you or anything, but --" She looked really embarrassed by his behavior, and really apologetic. Marjorie got the feeling she may have had to apologize for him before. "He'll warm up in time. He's pretty skeptical of everyone now. But not as bad as Darin, at least," she sighed. She was about to ask her more when Ronan emerged from the study with Armstrong, laughing. 

The Armstrongs left, then, with Moira telling Marjorie that they really must have lunch with together sometime soon. Ed (she'd learned by now that it was Ellen Danielle -- Ellen for Armstrong's mother, Danielle because Moira wanted to call her Ed) was chewing on Armstrong's ear. 

After they left, Marjorie ended up eating dinner with Ronan and staying up late, talking for a change. Telling him about how nice Moira was, he agreed. "She's really wonderful. Speaks thirty-eight languages and decrypts things in her head. She claims she's no mutant, but I think she probably is." He leaned closer to her. He smelled very good. "What's funny is that she wrote most of the encryption software the Pentagon uses now. She's still really trusted by the government. That's how Kevin's been able to get as much information as he has. Their relationship is really, really secret. She'd be crucified if anyone ever found out." 

Ronan turned to Marjorie again, and they didn't talk about Armstrong or any member of his family. 

The rest of Marjorie's visit passed quickly. Ronan had to get ready for their next mission-- this one was for real money, he told her. He drove her to the airport that Friday, and stayed with her until their flight left. 

"I'll call you when I get in," she told him. 

He smiled and kissed her. "Do that." 

It was a long flight back to the U.S. Almost made her wish she was a teleporter, instead of a marital artist. She was in first class again, idly watching CNN (it was the only news on). She hadn't been paying attention, since she'd been working on another story idea, listening to the new Sting CD quietly. But she'd heard the name "Armstrong" over the music, and it made her look. 

She saw a burned-out vehicle, in front of a huge house, which looked to be in the Marina in San Francisco. A blonde reporter was commenting on the scene, saying that several hours ago, the paranormal villain known as Armstrong was confronted and captured in front of the home he shared with his wife and daughter. The Golden Avenger, along with Silver Avenger Maria Chow and Hudson City paranormals Orion and Olympian, tracked him down and defeated him as he was on his way to pick up his wife at work in their Range Rover. Both are now in custody, though Armstrong has been taken to an undisclosed location for security purposes. 

Marjorie's stomach hit the floor of the cabin. "Oh my God," she muttered. "This isn't happening." Not only were Kevin Armstrong and his wife in custody, but they were captured by her teammates. If he didn't trust her before, he really wasn't going to now. What was Ronan going to think? She tried to call him, but she didn't get a response. 

She still hadn't been able to reach Ronan when she reached Hudson City. The cab ride home was hell -- a Pakistani cab driver sang along to country music the whole way. Neither could she reach Orion or Olympian (a pat answering machine told her that Orion was out saving the universe.) 

She had to step over a drunk to get through the security gate of her building. At least, she thought, someone was putting a bakery in the old Radio Shack. That was something. 

Stepping into her apartment, she considered her options. There was Christine, but she was still in St. Croix. The Golden Avenger and her weren't exactly friends, especially since the news conference. Trying Ronan's number once more, she still couldn't get through. Maybe he was breaking him out, she thought hopefully. 

Turning towards the kitchen, she saw something flash out of the corner of her eye. Too late, she staggered backwards into the kitchen. 

Still stunned, she was hit again. As the light around her faded, she thought she heard someone opening her refrigerator. "Hey, there's nothing in here!" a familiar, faintly Swedish voice exclaimed, "Doesn't she ever eat?" 

Which, she thought, pretty much catched her up to the present. The footfalls were closer now. Fighting the pain she struggled to her feet as the door opens. Immediately she was hit with some kind of energy beam, which left her drained, and she collapsed again, conscious but unable to move. 

"Ah, Ms. Dellinger," a crisp, British voice said. "How pleasant to see you again." 

Looking up, she saw Gwen Jones-Owen, dressed impeccably and not a hair out of place. She tried to speak, to curse her, but she couldn't make her lips move. She was completely paralyzed, though the pain hadn't been dulled at all, and her head still throbbed. 

"Well, I must say that fate is an interesting thing, is it not?" She said, stepping towards her prone body. "Here we are...Well. First things first. You'll be happy to know, that for whatever reason, our psis were unable to get anything out of you, even with drugs. But there is the small matter of disposing of you. Certainly you can understand how it could be a problem..." her voice trailed off. "Hmm. But since I'd been meaning to test this particular acquisition anyway," she gestured to a huge bazooka-thing being held by Milo Ryan, sliding her hand along his arm as she did so. "So it all works out, doesn't it?" She smiled faintly. "Oh, and that was such a cute transmitter you put in the silver dollar. I do not appreciate being taken for a fool, Ms. Dellinger." 

She looked at Ryan. "Commander Ryan." The order was a quiet one, and she turned and steps out of the room. As he lowered the gun at Marjorie, she tried desperately to pull out of the way, anything. But it was not enough, and a bright flash of light engulfed her.