#1

I know I should quit; it is a filthy habit, really. When I had my last physical, Doc advised me 'again' that I'm taking years off my life by smoking. Little does he realize, each smoke is one more than I deserve. Since the day I left the camp in 'Nam, I vowed I'd appreciate every moment of my life, and I have.

Damn it, I don't intend to quit. I enjoy smoking, the taste of the best tobacco, the easing of the day's tension that comes from a long slow draw. This is what living is all about.

#2

How long has it been since I wore this tux? Must be six months, at least. I was lucky to get a ticket to Rigoletto at the last minute. Damn, this tie; always gives me trouble when I'm in a hurry. Oh how I wish Belinda was here to fix it for me.

We sure made an unlikely pair; she was so beautiful in that formal gown the night we went to the ballet. Who knew two Section operatives could face guns and mayhem and death in the morning, then share a love of opera and ballet in the evening?

#1

"We stand in first position, toes turned out . . ."

That 'first recital' song dances in her head, accompanying her solo ballet work at the barre. Smiling in approval, she watches the reflection of her yet lithe body precisely execute the opening 'port de bras.'

Secret visits to the small mirrored studio replenish her spirit—allowing her to exchange complex mind control for sensuous body movement she doesn't need to profile. Even when she returns to her tightly controlled world, echoes of the childhood song remind her there is something beyond Section.

"Relevé, plié, this is how it's done."

#2

He keeps it locked up in a nondescript, battered box in the back. He doesn't know why he's keeping it, except the kid told him it was 'charmed' and he would need it one day. He smiles at the thought. Funny kid.

When Sirius called and told him about the kid's trouble, Walter went immediately to help his old friend. He didn't do much, but the kid gave him that charming crooked smile and this thing he keeps locked up. He shakes his head. He likes the kid, but can't help wondering if Harry will ever amount to very much.

*For Swatkat, with thanks. *g*

The old guy looked astonished at her confession. “You don’t know how to drive?!”

She cut him off. “Sssshhh!”

“Do they know?”

“No.”

He shook his head slowly. “I thought someone like you…”

“Someone like me?” She glared at him. “Right, because I’m a piece of street trash who spent all my time hotwiring cars.” Angry, she started to turn away, but he touched her arm awkwardly.

“C’mon, kid, I’m sorry. What can I do to help?”

She took a deep breath and smiled pleadingly. “Teach me how to drive.”

Walter doffed an invisible cap. “It will be my pleasure…Sugar.”

Hopeful, terrified eyes followed him as he walked down the hallway. His echoing steps brought the inmates forward, each one wary, but eager to know if this was the moment that he would take them from their prison.

“That one. I want her.” Large blue eyes looked directly into the man’s green eyes.

Michael’s hand glided down her back, the prickle of static electricity stinging as his fingers broke contact. The Siamese cat arched her back, willing the green-eyed one to pet her again. He came once a week to the shelter to hold and pet the inmates. He always chose her first…

Dragon against the blue... fierce in the sun... attacking, evading, darting... tail thrashing, teeth gnashing...

Butterfly taming the dragon... fluttering, vibrating, alit and playful... evasive, alluring, circling...

Time strung suspended between two kites. Colors flashing, they met and parted, met and parted, met and parted, challenging, daring, unfettered...

Suddenly the wind died. Kites descending, they looked into each other's smiles.

Laughing, the fliers fell to the warm grass, rolling, caressing, strings tangling...

Laughter ceased as kisses turned heavy, hands played hide and seek, eyes closed, then opened, penetrating gazes...

Breath mingled, kites grounded, shoes discarded...

"I love you, Michael."

"...Simone..."

Madeline quickly walked through the pouring rain and into the large brick building. She hated rain, and she especially hated rain on this particular day of the month.

She went up the stairs and through the door into the room marked “Pediatric Therapy”. A young girl on crutches with braces on her legs smiled and waved a book in the air as soon as she saw Madeline.

Madeline smiled and took her appointed spot on the small chair and watched as the other handicapped children slowly gathered around for story time.

She sighed, this was her monthly penance, for Sarah.

It was like playing a piano; the white keys obeying his every command, his body swaying as he composed. He paused, attempting several combinations before returning to his work, but there was no beat, no colorful music to pour out into the blank space around him. There was only the sporadic clicking of the keyboard as he filtered his memories into a computer file. It would never see the light of day of course, but somehow writing it all down calmed him. It was good to remember that his life before section was real and not just some exotic dream.

He sat in the car, staring through the tinted window.

He came once a month. The routine rarely varied. If the sun was out, they’d wheel her through the gardens after lunch.

He knew those involved in the mission thought he’d ordered her used to bring down her second husband as revenge for remarrying after his ‘death.’ How wrong they had been. If there had been another way, he’d have taken it in a heartbeat.

Now he visited her not to gloat, but to remember. Operatives thought innocents were faceless to him, but Corrine was a reminder that they weren’t.

"… He's closing in… swerves to the left… brilliant control… oh, what a fabulous pass…"

Squashed between a middle-aged man and a pretty girl with shocking blue hair, both dressed in the national colours - Birkoff watched mesmerised. The crowd roared with every move - cheering, groaning, drums beating, trumpets blowing, flags and banners waving, myriad colours twisting and swirling; leaving him breathless.

It had been an impulse, this visit; he was mostly clueless about what was happening on field. But as he looked around the giant stadium, so vibrant and brimming with life, Birkoff knew he'd come back again.