That day they spent most of the day on the big porch swing. Meg promised Norman that no area of her life would be off-limits and he could ask any questions he wanted. In return, he promised the same.

"What is it that you're most afraid of?" He asked at one point.

"Between me and you?"

"For starters, sure."

"I'm afraid of the day you realize I don't fit into your life." She said and when he snorted, she continued. "It's true, Norm. I'm mostly an introvert and you live so much of your life in the spotlight. Pictures on your instragram are one thing, but in front of cameras is another."

"In the grand scheme of things that's a very small percentage of my life and I would never ask you to be a part of those things if you didn't want to be."

"Don't you think at some point people will mostly likely demand to know more about the woman in your life?"

"I don't owe anyone a damn bit of my life, Meg, and neither do you." She nodded and felt herself fall a little more for him.

"So what else is it that you're afraid of?" He asked.

"What'd'ya mean?"

"Just that, what part of what you've done or seen, is so awful that you think you can't face?"

She looked off towards the river where the same breeze that was ruffling the tall grass growing on the south side was causing ripples across the surface, shattering the sun's reflections into thousands of little prisms. What exactly was it that she was afraid of? The deaths she had caused were something that she actually had dealt with through therapy pretty well. The hardest ones were the ones she couldn't prevent. The ones she had caused were in defense of her country and very easy for her to shut away. After all, it wasn't as if she took any pleasure in them, or agonized over them either. She was carrying out orders.

No, if she was being honest with herself, what bothered her most were the lives that she affected through her covert operations. The people like Rooster who got to know the person she was pretending to be, and then had to watch that person either disappear or die. It was screwing with someone's emotions in a deep and traumatic way, and even if it was for a greater good, it sucked.

She looked over at Norman who was patiently waiting for her to work things through. "I had a nickname when I was with the Seals... Mack M.D." She chuckled ironically before explaining, "The M.D. stood for 'Mass Destruction' and alluded to my superior marksmanship and the fact that I left a mess everywhere I went. I used to be quite messy." They both smiled and then her face got serious. "When I was at the Agency, the nickname stuck but took on a different meaning. The joke was that I left hearts and minds destroyed, as my skills in psy ops became unequaled."

"There was this covert operation that I was involved in about 9 years ago in New York City. It was pretty simple and straight forward; we had been watching a human trafficking ring for several months and had finally discovered where they were operating out of. In order to set up the final raid, we needed some surveillance and there were no open spaces near the floor of the building where they had set up their center of operations. It was determined that the best location for us to set up our cameras and sound equipment, etc. was the building directly across the alley on the same level, which happened to be the studio of a semi-famous and super eccentric photographer." She got up out of the chair as the memories began flooding in and she felt the need to move.

Pacing, she continued. "A little research determined that while most thought he was gay, he was not, so I prepped to go in and ask for an internship. My hair was cut into an extreme pixie and dyed baby blue, my eye color changed to a deep royal blue, my clothes and make-up were sort of school girl gothic." She looked over at him and smiled ruefully. "Sounds ridiculous, I know, but you would have had to have seen this guy to understand why this worked. He was this little peacock of a man. Short and little, but the way he dressed and acted attracted enough attention for a giant."

Norman was listening, but something about what she was saying had started a feeling deep in his gut that was a lot like dread.

"Anyway, I showed up one day with a portfolio that had been put together by a photojournalist who had won a Pulitzer. The guy had been allowed to accompany my Seal Team on a mission years before, during which he took the photos that led to his prize and also during which I saved his life... so he owed me." She cocked her head to the side as memories of that particular mission ran through her head. "The portfolio was brilliant, of course, and since I was offering to work for free, and came with a personal endorsement from Anna Wintour, and was able to intrigue him as a potential mate, he told me I could start the next day."

Norman watched as her countenance fell, and in his head it was like a well-worn record was being set back to play from the beginning.

"But the operation took way longer than we expected. Almost 4 months until we took the ring down; it was deeper and had more arms than we ever thought possible so we had to coordinate with teams in Atlanta, Houston, San Diego, and Miami to stop them all. During that time the photographer fell for me, and I mean hard. And what's hard to face up to, is the fact that I led him on. I made him think that I was in love with him, too, and that there was going to be a future for us."

The despair on her face was shocking, and Norman wished that he could capture it. Instead he asked a question that he needed to know the answer to after all this time. "Did you sleep with him?"

"What?" She swung around to look at him with a horrified expression. "No, oh God no... there is actually a limit to what I'll do in service to my country and there's a limit to what I'll do to mess with a person's mind that doesn't deserve it." She blew out some air and paced back to the other end of the porch. "No, I told him that I needed lots of time because of some trauma that I had experienced and was currently in therapy for. I didn't get specific but I think he thought it was rape and I didn't correct him."

"What happened when the mission was over? How did you end it with him?"

"He was in his studio when the "FBI" raided the building across the street. I timed a coffee run to coincide with the raid and was killed in the cross-fire."

Norman looked up at her and slowly started shaking his head before he closed his eyes. "Meg... was the photographer's name Michael Tayte?" He opened his eyes as he said the name to gauge her reaction.

Meg went completely still. It was as if she was no longer breathing. Seconds went by and she finally asked, "How the hell do you know that?"

"Michael was one of my best friends during high school, Meg. He's the one that took my headshots that helped me get my first modelling gigs. Hell, he's the one that introduced me to Helena." Norman was still in shock that he was sitting here looking at Nikki MacGowan, the woman that became an all-consuming obsession for his best friend Michael.

"I'm so sorry, Norm. I..." She whispered and then stopped because she couldn't swallow past the huge lump that formed there.

"I didn't believe him. My God..." Now it was Norm's turn to get upset. "He was obsessed with you... wouldn't believe that you had died. He swore that he was looking out the window hoping you'd look up so he could wave. Said that he saw you look at one of the agents and nod before turning in the opposite direction of the coffeehouse before you were shot."

Meg remembered the scene as if it were yesterday. The agent that she gave the indication to was the one that was to shoot the blank cartridge gun and set off the blood packs. "He was so smart. I was really afraid he was going to catch on... I begged for them to cut me out earlier, let me just disappear or be in a car wreck." She sighed. "Of course I was aware of when he began making inquiries, when he began searching databases. It scared me for him. People get hurt that way. I was so glad when he stopped." Her voice had taken on the monotone she used when give sit-reps.

Silence stretched between them for several minutes, each in their own world, and each uncomfortable for myriad reasons. Suddenly Norman jumped up off the swing, causing Meg to swivel around with her hand reaching for a gun that was not there.

"Shit Norman, don't do that to me!" She gasped.

"My Instragram, Meg." He said with a pointed look on his face.

Immediately she knew what he was referring to. "Aw, shit."