Madeline looked across at the gentle face of the man behind the wheel.

"It was very kind of you to meet us at the airport George" she smiled.

"No trouble at all. Adrian doesn't drive any more, otherwise I'm sure she would have been there" he replied cheerily.

Madeline let out a soft, sad laugh. "Yes, of course, I'm sure that's the reason."

George shifted uncomfortably for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. "You know Adrian" he proffered, as though it where explanation enough.

"Yes" she smiled, "I know Adrian."

"When do you start the new job?" he asked, moving the discussion onto a more cheery footing.

"Monday week. I tried to get a bit longer, just until the boys had started school, but they really need someone there as soon as possible."

"It's a good hospital, you've made the right decision." As they waited at a set of lights, he turned to her. "I was sorry to hear about the divorce."

"Thanks George, though I doubt it would have come as a surprise to anyone. As much as I regret the way things turned out, I'm glad its over."

"That sort of thing is hard on everyone" he said quietly, glancing in the rear-view mirror.

"Yes, it's been hard. Especially the decision to leave Paris. It seems unfair taking them away from their friends and home, such as it was. But I think this is for the best" she replied, the cheery note in her voice too obviously artificial. With a sigh, she looked out the window.

George nodded thoughtfully, then glanced in the mirror again. "They're asleep" he observed quietly.

Madeline turned her head and glanced at the back seat, "yes, it's been an exhausting few days. I don't think they've had a normal nights sleep in the last couple of weeks, they both have some catching up."

"It's just around the corner from here, then you'll be able to tuck them into a proper bed. She's gone to a lot of trouble to set things up, though she won't admit it to you. It's kept her busy for the last month, since she found out. It was just like the old days, with Adrian barking orders at the painters, the delivery men ... and me" he chuckled. "I had to bite my tongue a couple of times not to offer you fathers standard reply of 'yes dear'."

Madeline smiled and patted his arm.

He glanced across at her, his smile fading for a moment, "she hasn't met them before this?"

Madeline took a deep breath. "No" she replied softly.

They drove in silence for a while before George turned the car into the driveway of large, sprawling house. The ground floor was surrounded by a wide verandah, dripping with wisteria and jasmine. The garden was myriad of flowers nestled between large, graceful trees.

"Here we are" he announced as he turned off the engine.

"It's lovely" she whispered.

Madeline sat for a moment, watching as the front door opened and a figure emerged to stand on the verandah. She felt her stomach churn in trepidation at the familiar stance, perhaps a little older and more fragile, but unmistakable nonetheless.

"You get the boys, I'll get the luggage" he said, giving her hand a reassuring pat.

"Thank you" she whispered.

"Just give it time, it'll work out."

"It's been 20 years, George, it already seems like a long time."

"I know, I know ... so just a bit more won't matter. Will it?" he gave her a conspiratorial wink.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't think there was a chance." She rested her hand on his for a moment and then, with a sigh, opened the door.

As George started unloading bags from the boot, she eased the backdoor of the car open, gazing in at the two sleeping boys.

"Darling" she whispered, slipping into French, "wake-up, we're here." She laid a soft kiss against his cheek as eyelids fluttered and slowly opened. "Come on, wake-up, you only have to make it inside then you can sleep as long as want."

He rubbed his hands in his eyes, a childish gesture that made her heart melt. She pressed another kiss to his temple and with a hand on his back urged him up into a sitting position.

"OK?" she asked.

He nodded his head drowsily, then stretched long, slender limbs.

"Will you carry your brother in while I help George with the luggage."

She brushed the hair from his forehead and looked for confirmation that he was awake and listening to her.

"Oui" he said softly, reaching down to pick up the small body resting against his leg.

She nodded and went around to the back of the car. Picking up two suitcases she made her way slowly up the path to the front door, climbing the steps up to the verandah.

Adrian's eyes followed her progress, her face an interesting mix of emotion shrouded in steel. Madeline put the bags down and leaning forward kissed her formally on each cheek.

"Hello Mother, it's been a long time."

"Yes, it has" she said stiffly, "hello Madeline."

"Thank you for offering to put us up for a while, it was very generous."

"It's no trouble, there's plenty of room, the house is much too large for just me."

Madeline summoned a polite smile. Hearing soft footsteps coming up the stairs behind her she turned and held out her hand.

"These are my sons" she said softly, "Michel and Adam." Placing a hand on Michel's back she urged him forward. Adam slept soundly against his shoulder, resting on his hip. She brushed a finger down his cheek. "Michel, this is your grand-maman."

"Enchanté" he said softly, holding Adam's head against his shoulder as he leant forward and kissed her politely on each cheek.

Adrian's eyes seemed to shimmer as a thin smile softened her sombre face.

"And I'm pleased to meet you, Michel, and Adam. Please, come in, make yourselves at home."

**************************

Madeline sat at the table nestled into a corner of the huge kitchen. Around her, floor to ceiling glass windows held the promise of a magnificent vista of the garden. Adrian had always been proud of her garden, she had made it her sanctuary, her place to escape, to forget. Perhaps it was where Adrian had spent time trying to forget her and her family.

With a sigh, she stared absently at the darkness beyond the window, hands nursing the steaming cup of coffee sitting on the table before her. The ceramic of the cup warmed her hands in the cool, utter quiet of the house.

"I want to go home maman" he had announced in that quiet, icy controlled voice he used when very upset.

"Parlez Anglais, Michel, s'il te plaît. We must speak English in your grandmother's house, so she can understand us. Is that clear" her voice had been a little too sharp, the raw edge of weariness.

She had watched as the words hovered in the air between them, seeming to make him fold in on himself as protection against the sting of their delivery. She had seen him do it when his father had been in one of his moods, this was the first time she had ever seen him do it with her. With a deep sigh she smoothed the hair off his face, watching the slight tremble of emotion in his lower lip. She gathered him against her, he didn't resist, but nor did he participate in the embrace.

"Please Michel, not tonight" she added wearily. "We're both tired and likely to say things we'll regret."

"Oui" he whispered into her shoulder.

She pulled back, holding his face in her hands. His sad, handsome face.

"I know you're unhappy about the move, Michel, but it's done now. So let's just make the most of it." She kissed him softly on the forehead. "Please try to understand why I made this decision. Adam and I need you."

He looked away, then turned his beautiful green eyes towards her.

"Just try" she urged, "please."

With a sigh he shrugged his shoulders, eyelids drooping lazily as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"Oui maman" he said softly.

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Thank you" she whispered. She put her hands on his shoulders and moved him towards the bed. "Now, into bed, you're exhausted and it's very late" she said in a brighter tone, pulling the covers back and waiting for him to lie down. "Adam's in the room next door, I'm just down the hall." As she pulled the covers up around him, she sat on the edge of the bed.

"Sleep well my precious boy, good things will come of this, you'll see" she whispered softly in French in an effort to make up for her earlier comment.

"Yes, we will see" he murmured, eyes closing as he turned and burrowed under the soft warmth of the comforter.

She lingered for a moment, listening as his breathing slowed. Pulling the covers up snugly around him, she felt the tears welling in her eyes. *My poor baby* she thought, *what have I done*.

What have I done? The thought bounced painfully in her head as she gazed into the darkness. She'd done what she thought was best for all of them. Get away from that place that held so many unhappy memories. An indifferent husband and father, an unhappy marriage, a son she could barely communicate with, another who craved nothing more complicated than love and attention. And as for her ... She sighed, rubbing a hand wearily over her face.

So here she was, back in her mothers home. A mother she hadn't seen or communicated with in years. A stranger to her sons, a virtual stranger to her.

How was she going to make this work? With a sigh she reached up and flicked off the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. She felt the first sob bubble up in her throat as tears started streaming down her cheeks. Before she knew it, the emotions she had been holding so carefully in check for the last few days, weeks, months, years came spilling out. She laid down on the bench seat by the window, giving in totally to her misery and doubts. Crying herself into an exhausted sleep.

*****************************

Madeline woke with a start, momentarily disorientated, before placing the unfamiliar shapes in the muted light. With a groan she eased herself up off the bench, stretching her cramped limbs as she stood. She rubbed at her face, feeling the puffiness of her eyes from her crying. But feeling somewhat better for having unleashed all that emotion.

Placing the cold cup of coffee on the sink, she moved quietly towards the stairs, eyes drifting towards the closed door of Adrian's bedroom as she climbed up to her room.

Her mother had moved into the guest bedroom on the ground floor so they could all be together in the upstairs bedrooms. The generosity and understanding behind this simple gesture had nearly brought tears to her eyes, again. Her mother, of course, had waved off her gratitude. Asserting that climbing up and down the stairs all the time was putting too much strain of her bad hip, and besides the children would be too noisy. George had grinned and nodded at that comment, earning him a stern rebuff.

Whatever interpretation you put on it, it was clear that Adrian was not seeing this as a fleeting visit, a few days accommodation until she could find them a house of their own. As George had mentioned, it was obvious she had redecorated the boys' rooms in anticipation of their arrival. The smell of fresh paint still lingered, faintly, in the air. The furniture too appeared new. Reflecting the needs of a teenager and young child rather than those of a retired couple, such as a large, colourful toybox and painting easel for Adam, a magnificent wooden desk and bookshelves for Michel. There was even a beautifully crafted timber chair sitting by the large window in his room, a music stand to its side. She had no idea how Adrian had found out that Michel played the cello. It made her wonder how much else she might know.

It was a start, and it filled her with a cautious hope that this had been the right decision, after all. Some permanency and stability in their lives. It didn't seem like too much to ask for.

She pushed open the door to Adam's room, a moment of panic at seeing the empty bed before she moved down the hallway to Michel's room. Opening the door, she looked in on what had become a familiar scene over the last few months. Michel was lying on his side, balanced on the edge of the bed, fast asleep. Beside him, Adam lay sprawled, his small body taking up most of the space in the generously proportioned single bed. He also laid claim to most of the sheet and comforter, she observed with a grin.

It had begun within days of her and Charles talking to then about their intention to divorce, amidst the turmoil of arguments and recrimination. After years of showing them barely any attention, other than insisting his family follow him around Europe to wherever his latest posting was, Charles had suddenly decided he wanted the boys to go with him following the divorce. It had been unpleasant, to say the least.

That Adam could seek such comfort from his brother made her ambivalent. Happy that Michel was willing to provide it. She often heard Michel playing his cello at Adam's bedtime. To help him drift off to sleep and, no doubt, to cover the sounds of she and Charles fighting. But it also made her sad that events of the last few months had robbed her of the opportunity to give Adam the attention and comfort he so obviously had needed.

She crouched down by the bed, feeling the tears well up in her eyes again. Enough she thought, pull yourself together. She leaned across and reassembled Adam's limbs so he took up less room. With a gentle push, she moved Michel into the space, he mumbled and rolled onto his stomach, head retreating into the soft pillow. After laying a soft kiss on each beloved head, she pulled the covers over them. Smiling in the knowledge that, within an hour, Adam would have Michel perched back on the edge of the bed.

On the rare occasions when he had come to seek solace from her during the night, he would move around her queen size bed like a propeller. Taking up as much space as he could find. She found it impossible to sleep with his constant activity, content to just lay there and watch him in his spellbinding, child slumber.

After one such night, feeling exhausted and bleary eyed as she prepared for work, she had asked Michel how he coped. He had just shrugged in that placid, resigned manner of his and replied that it was Adam's way. As was the way of things between them, she had imagined a note of reprove in his voice. Some sort of message there that he could accept this strange nocturnal behaviour in Adam, and so why couldn't she. If she really wanted to be hard on herself, she could imagine that the message was one of blame, that this behaviour in Adam was her fault, so she should just accept it.

Don't go there, she told herself. It was time to put things behind them, start anew. She would make this work, feeling the surge of the ruthless determination that had helped keep them together over the years. Prepared to do whatever was needed to protect and renew these two precious beings, the focus of her life and love from the first instant she held them in her arms.

She would find a way to make this work. Failure was not an option.

*************************

"Dad ... phone" Nikita screamed at the top of her lungs for the third time. With an impatient shrug she took her hand off the mouthpiece and held the receiver to her ear again. "Nope Birkoff, I can't find him" she said.

"Why can't you go and look, like any normal person would, instead of standing there screeching in my ear. God damn you do it every time" his voice echoed back at her. She could imagine the big grin on his face.

"Awghhh Birky what's up, Gail put too much starch in your shorts again?" she replied laughing.

"I'll try being nicer if you'll try being smarter. Now go and find your father, you brat, I have to talk to him, it's urgent."

"I told you, he's not answering, maybe he went out for something. You want me to chew him out for you when he gets back, maybe I should torture him?" she asked eagerly.

She didn't get to hear his reply, the phone, still attached to her hand was suddenly ripped away from her mouth.

"I think your screeching was torture enough, but thanks for the offer princess" her father replied, trying, but not succeeding, to look stern. The look of amusement in his blue eyes quickly spread into a smile.

"It's your social secretary, Semen Jerkoff" she laughed, relinquishing the phone to him.

"Don't call him that" her father replied, serious this time, "he doesn't like it, and neither do I." He put the phone to his ear and then added, "see Jerkoff, I mean Birkoff, I do tell her, she just doesn't listen."

With a wink, he pushed her on her way as he settled down behind his desk and continued his discussion.

Nikita dived into one of the lounge chairs, swinging her legs over the armrest as she watched her father talk quietly to Birkoff. They'd been here now for going on six years, it was the longest stretch she'd ever had in one place. Moving from one navy base to the other had seemed OK while her mother had been alive, but after she died they sort of lost the spirit for all that change. They'd coped as best they could, clinging to each other to get through each day.

She never stopped missing her mother, but in a way, the time since her death had brought other things she would never had thought possible. Like getting to know her father. She had always thought him too authoritarian, everything had to be done just so, following his rules. He seemed disinterested in the humdrum of her life. But the pain that followed her mother's death had forced her to depend on her father to fill the emotional vacuum left behind. That he had filled that vacuum with such ease and unquestioning love had been a revelation, forcing her to reassess the relationship he must have shared, in private, with her mother. Full of love, warmth, and quiet humour. She had missed so much, or maybe she was just too wrapped up in herself to see the obvious. What-ifs, they drove her crazy.

The honk of a horn outside broke her from her reverie. She grabbed her bag from the floor and swung it over her shoulder. Striding over to her father, she planted a noisy kiss on his cheek.

"Seeya dad, gotta motor" she breezed and turned towards the door. Waiting.

"Hold on a minute Birkoff" she heard him say, right on cue. "Where are you going, with whom and when will you be home."

She stood to attention in front of him. "Up to the lake for a swim, Carla and Mick, back by five" she saluted.

"At ease" he grinned, "not going to the beach?"

"Nope, too many civilians. It's a potential nauseous situation."

"Who's driving?"

"Carla. That all?" she smiled expectantly.

"No, of course not. Tell Mick that if his hands touch the wheel of that car or any part of your body, I'll shoot him."

"Standing orders, I think he's finally caught on. Anyway, he and Carla have sort of got a thing going."

"Hmmm, well that's relief for me, but I'm sure it's not for Carla's parents. Now get out of here Niki, I have work to do. Tell Carla to drive carefully on that road."

"Yes Sir" she laughed, giving him a quick hug and running to the door. Yup, things were pretty darn good, she thought. All she needed to do now was get him to start going out again, with someone other than her or his navy buddies. Easier said than done, as her recent efforts had proved.

Oh well, she smiled, where there's a will ... there's a way.

***************************

"So which part of my anatomy is the Admiral going to shoot today if I lay a hand on that scrumptious body of yours" Mick grinned as he slid over on the seat to make room for her.

Carla eased the car out of the driveway and headed up to the mountains.

"Ewwwgg Mick, don't be gross. I'd rather dive head first into my own vomit than have your soggy hands on me."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me."

"As if" she drawled, "you better get a grip on those pre-pubescent hormonal surges, it's a half hour drive up to the lake."

"If you two are done" Carla interrupted before Mick could get another word in. "We have five days left of the holidays and I intend to make the most of it. Enough of the pathetic dribble, Mick, and Niki, I don't know why you always take his bait."

Nikita shrugged, smiling. "'Cause I love him" she purred.

Carla burst out laughing. "That'll be the day. It seems I'm the only one stupid enough to do that."

Mick reached his arm around the back of her seat and kissed her cheek.

"Mmmm love" he murmured. "Now if only we could get our Niki here interested in the concept, instead of spending all her time chasing bugs and bouncing balls. Not that there's anything wrong with that Niki baby, I love watching you bounce balls, as long as their not mine. The tomboy image can be very alluring."

Nikita frowned. "Love, ha! All those guys sniffing around just want one thing from me, and I don't think it has much to do with love. The only reason they're interested is because I'm not."

"Well, there might be a little bit more to it than that popsicle. Like my lovely Carla here, you are one seriously succulent specimen."

Mick groaned as two elbows dug into his ribs from either side. "Ouch ... OK, OK, I'm only stating the obvious, you know. Speaking of which. David Fanning and his neanderthal clan of followers were heading up to the lake today" he announced.

"Ohh great, there's the afternoons entertainment" Carla moaned. "Watching that chump flex his muscles and flaunt his stupidity in front of his adoring fans."

"He's still pissed you rejected him Niki, wise decision though it was."

"Rejected him" Nikita scoffed, "not sure how it qualifies as rejection when nothing happened in the first place. Anyway, he's got a girlfriend."

"She's just adornment" Mick replied, "a little bit of eye candy to make him look and feel the super stud. What he likes is a challenge, and unfortunately pumpkin, you're it."

"The only challenge that dipstick should be looking for is getting that lump of muscle masquerading as brain to do some work. What a loser" Nikita laughed. "You know what the Admiral would say."

"No, what would the Admiral say" Mick and Carla parroted in unison. They all enjoyed this game.

"He'd say, 'Princess, you should never be surprised by the things people do, after all, the two most common elements in the universe are hydrogen and stupidity.'"

"Good one, Admiral" Mick scoffed.

*******************************

They pulled into the carpark, pleased to see only a few cars there, not so glad when they realised whom those cars belonged to.

"You wanna deviate?" Carla asked, looking across at Nikita. "We could hit the beach, instead?"

"No, why should we" Nikita replied.

"Cool" Carla sang, turning off the ignition.

They piled out of the car, Nikita taking a deep breath, a huge smile on her face.

"Mmmm ... can you smell that?" she said, turning around in a slow circle as she took in the forest and more distant mountains surrounding them.

"See Nik, this is just what I was talking about. You seem to have an unnatural affinity with the smell of ..." he sniffed dramatically in the air, "cat piss and mould."

"Oh Mick, you don't have a romantic bone in your body" Nikita shook her head slowly, smiling.

"Sure I do lovechunks, well, ... let's see, I've got one, at least" he grinned, rotating his hips provocatively.

Carla swatted him on the arm, "oh Mick" she groaned.

Nikita just shook her head, eyes rolling in exasperated amusement.

They found a small grassy area, away from the others and their shouting and loud music booming from a portable stereo.

Nikita stifled her irritation at the intrusive noise, peeling off her tshirt and shorts until she was wearing her bathers.

"I need a swim, I'll see you guys later" she announced, heading down to the water.

She sighed as she waded in, the water cold and refreshing against her warm skin. With a small jump she dived underwater, surfacing and stretching out into long, slow strokes. She swam until she was a couple of hundred metres from the shore, then slowed, turning over to float lazily on her back.

She loved it here. Her Uncle Walters' cabin was on the far shore of the lake, nestled in the woods with a dazzling view of the water and mountains, and the ocean in the distance. It was like a little oasis she could escape to, sometimes her father would come along, sometimes she went out there by herself. She never grew tired of his company, or her fathers.

Her mind drifted to the conversation they'd on the way here. Love, huh! Big woop. Having some animal drool in your ear, meaty fists groping in your bra, saying ohh and ahh baby as they rub their sweaty crotch against you. Gross. It wasn't as if she hadn't tried it before, just to see what all the fuss was about. Only problem she kept encountering was that she didn't like it, and so she never let it go *that* far. Having a tongue thrust down your throat while being poked and prodded by hands and a heat seeking sausage was hardly her idea of a life defining moment.

She wanted more than just sex. And she didn't want sex until she understood what that something more was. Maybe it was as simple as someone whose face would light up when she walked into the room. Or someone who would listen happily when she babbled on about some strange bug she'd found while planting something in the garden. Or someone who would hold her hand and whisper that everything would be OK when she felt bad. Someone special, who thought she was too. It's not like she was a total loser, so why did she keep attracting total losers? It was depressing to think she was a bum magnet.

There had been some OK guys. Like Eddie Kruger, he was sort of sweet and they always had fun together. Mick had invited him along to movies tonight. Yeah, he was sweet ... but ... There was always a 'but'.

She hated being 16, things were just getting so complicated.

A sudden splash of water on her face gave her a fright, forcing her to swallow a mouthful of water. Spluttering as she started treading water, she looked across to the grinning face of David Fanning.

"Hey, Nikita, you OK, need a little mouth to mouth?"

Nikita just shook her head, then started doing a slow breaststroke back towards the shore.

"Getting tired?" he tried again, "you can wrap those long legs around me and I'll help you get to where you wanna go."

"How many times do I have to flush before you go away Fanning?"

"How could I knowingly deprive you of this Niki" he smiled, sweeping a hand in front of his face.

Nikita groaned and looked around for a moment, her enjoyment of the surrounds rapidly fading.

"Well, it's been real, as usual, but I have to get home and clean out my sock drawer. See ya." She turned and stretched out, starting a stroke towards the shore. Before she had managed a second stroke she felt his fingers grab her ankle. She kicked back violently, feeling his grip loosen then drop.

"Don't ever touch me unless you're invited" she hissed, barely able to control her anger.

"Come on Nikita, I was just fooling around" he grinned. "What's the big deal? You must be in a bad way if one little touch gets you so stirred up."

"I'll speak slowly, Fanning, since you seem to be suffering from an excess of dense, why it's a wonder you even float." She moved in closer to him, treading water. "I don't like you and I don't want you near me. Grow up and face the facts. Oh, and Fanning, just in case you're still clueless, a hard-on does NOT count as personal growth."

She turned suddenly and started sprinting for the shore, feeling her anger slowly ebb as she focussed on each fluid stroke. By the time she reached the shallows she felt back in control, wading in slowly, getting her breath back. She glanced across, satisfied to see that she had beaten him in. Her gaze picked up the petulant glare of Lisa, Fannings' girlfriend, as she watched her progress into the shore. Nikita looked away, dipping her head back to get the hair out of her face, as she left the water and picked up her towel.

"Was that fun?" Carla asked, watching her intently.

"In a twisted, psycho, hose beast sort of way ... yeah, it was" Nikita grinned.

******************************

"Maman, maman" a dark haired blur screamed as he roared in the backdoor of the kitchen and attached himself to her leg.

"On est allé dans la forêt and we saw a bunny rabbit et il y avait un lac and we swam with no clothes on at all and Michel a attrapé un poisson et we met this old man and he had a snake skin and said Michel was a girls name and..."

"Slow down Adam, slow down, what language are you speaking" Madeline laughed as she extracted him from her leg and lifted him into her arms. "You had a nice time, then?" she smiled, kissing his grubby face and plucking a leaf from his hair. "Where is your brother?"

"Ummm ... I don't know, I didn't look" he whispered guilty, rubbing stubby fingers in his eyes.

"He's getting the things out of the car, I think" Adrian smiled, as she looked out the window towards the garage.

"Were you scared sleeping out in the forest last night?" Madeline asked, removing his muddy boots before they made an even bigger mess of her skirt and the floor.

"Non" he replied enthusiastically. "Michel found a secret place where the fairies watched over us while we slept."

She smiled and kissed him again, dropping his boots by the back door. She looked across at Adrian, delighted to see a smile of enjoyment on her face.

"It must have been a special place, to find fairies" Adrian commented. "There's so few left in the forest these days."

"Oui grand-maman" Adam agreed, "c'était magique, just like your garden."

Adrian smiled and walked closer, giving Adam a kiss on the cheek.

"Sometimes I think there might be fairies in my garden. Have you seen any yet?" she asked.

"Non" Adam replied, wide-eyed at this revelation.

"Then perhaps we should have a closer look. Maybe tomorrow?"

Adam nodded solemnly; any mission to find fairies was taken very seriously.

Adrian and Madeline exchanged a quick smile.

Michel emerged a few moments later, his backpack hoisted over one shoulder and Adam's small pack in his hand.

"Salut maman" he smiled, leaning down to unlace his boots and take them off before he stepped inside.

A smile. The first one Madeline had seen in a while, she thought happily. He looked just as wild as Adam, his hair falling in unruly curls about his face, jeans and boots covered in mud.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" she asked, putting Adam down and helping Michel with his pack.

"Yes" he grinned, glancing over to Adrian. "Salut grand-maman, you are very lucky to have such a beautiful place so close to where you live."

"And to where you live, Michel" Adrian observed with a smile.

"Oui" Michel shrugged in acknowledgment, the smile disappearing from his face for an instant. He stepped out of his boots and socks then left them outside, wiping his hands on his jeans as he closed the door behind him.

"Here Michel" Madeline indicated as she turned on the tap in the sink.

"Adam" he called, "come and wash your hands." Adam grumbled and then let out a satisfied giggle as he poked his head through Michel's legs where he stood at the sink. Michel picked him up with one arm and held his hands under the water. "Wash them properly" he urged, rubbing his free hand over Adam's grubby fingers. He put Adam back on the floor and Madeline dried his hands. She waited with the towel until Michel had finished and started drying his hands.

"I can do that" Michel whispered softly, taking the towel from her.

"Yes, of course" Madeline replied, her now empty hands suddenly feeling clumsy.

Michel looked up at her, a small smile tugging at his lips. "How were your first couple of days at work?" he asked, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of juice.

"Good" she replied, leaning back against the sink. "It's very modern, the staff seem agreeable and I don't have to see any patients for three weeks. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, yes, yes" Adam announced eagerly as he ran to the kitchen table and climbed on the chair next to Adrian. He picked up the knife and fork, using them to trace the outline of the place mat in front of him.

"And you?" Madeline asked of Michel.

"Oui, j'ai faim" he confirmed, pouring the juice into two glasses. "I can fix something for us if you have already eaten."

"Come and sit down Michel" Adrian commanded "your mother has been preparing a feast while we waited for you to return."

"Merci maman, Adam's stomach and mouth have been grumbling for food all the way home" he responded, gently squeezing her hand. "I am glad you are enjoying your new position. You deserve this, maman" he added quietly.

Madeline turned to face him, eyes blinking rapidly as she pulled him towards her. A tear slipped down her cheek as she felt his hands rest gently against her back.

"Thank you" she whispered, reluctantly pulling back from him, "now go an sit down, everything's ready."

He rubbed his thumb against the moisture on her cheek, then with a sigh picked up the glasses, placing one in front of Adam as he sat, as directed.

******************************

Madeline put the last dish on the table then sat with a contented sigh. As Michel poured the wine, she and Adrian served Adam and then themselves. Finally, Michel filled his plate and they all started eating.

"I want wine too" Adam announced through a mouthful of food.

"You always want wine" Madeline replied playfully, "you can have some when you finish your milk, and only then if you don't speak again with your mouth full."

Adam grumbled tiredly, then picked up his milk and took a few big gulps.

They ate in silence for a while, enjoying the food Madeline had prepared for them.

"So what's this about swimming in the lake with no clothes on?" Madeline asked, looking from Michel to Adam.

"We did" Adam replied, "with nothing on at all. It was very cold but I was brave and smelly."

"Brave and smelly?" Adrian questioned.

"We had been walking all day in the heat and the temperature in the lake was very cold" Michel offered by way of explanation.

"Ah I see" Adrian nodded. "Yes, despite the outside temperature, the lake stays quite cold. Who was the man Adam mentioned?"

"His name was Walter, he lives in a large cabin on the north-east corner of the lake. We came across him just before lunchtime today and ended up spending the rest of the day with him."

Adrian smiled, nodding her head.

Adam leaned towards Madeline and whispered loudly "he called Michel a girl."

Madeline raised an eyebrow as she looked towards Michel for clarification.

"He didn't say that, Adam" Michel corrected, "he said that here my name is pronounced Michael."

"How is my name pronounced here?" Adam asked after a moment.

"It's the same" Madeline told him.

"Ohhh" Adam sighed, disappointed.

"You might want to think about that when you start school next week Michel, it might make it easier to fit in" Madeline suggested.

"Maybe" he shrugged, pushing a piece of potato around on his plate.

"Just a suggestion" Madeline said lightly, suddenly realising how he might interpret this. That she was asking him to surrender his past, his identity.

Michel looked up at her, his face unreadable. "No, you are right, it's a good idea" he replied softly.

Madeline sighed and turned back to Adam. "What else did you do with Walter?"

"He had all sorts of ... comment il les a appelé Michel?" Adam asked.

"Je ne suis pas sur d'avoir bien compris moi non plus, Je crois qu'il a dit ... 'gizmo'. Tu sais ce que ça veux dire maman?"

"English, please boys" she said sternly, casting an apologetic look towards Adrian.

There was an awkward silence at the table. Michel stared at her resentfully, before standing and clearing some plates from the table. Adam watched him and then turned teary eyed towards Madeline, too tired to remain unemotional after angry words from his mother. Madeline sighed and reached across to him, pulling him into her lap.

"I'm sorry darling, I didn't mean to snap, but you must remember to speak English. Grand-maman wants to be part of the conversation too."

"I didn't mean to" Adam whimpered.

"I know, I know..." Madeline said softly, pulling his head against her shoulder and rocking him gently.

"Sorry grand-maman" Michel mumbled as he took his seat again.

Adrian's eyes passed over each of them as she took a final sip of wine from her glass. "It's all right Michel, don't be sorry for doing what comes so naturally. You should be free to speak your native language in your own home, and maybe it's time I brushed up on my high school French. How about this for a plan? Every second dinner we shall eat and speak French. You'll all have to help me, of course, but it might be fun - teaching an old dog like me new tricks. What do you think Michel?"

"I think that sounds like a very good plan" he replied, a small smile brightening his face. "Thank you" he added quietly.

"Yes, thank you" Madeline smiled, overwhelmed by the offer. Adrian had been so rigid about this issue when they had first arrived.

"Good, well, that's settled then. Now, why don't you two explorers go upstairs and have a bath, it's well past your bedtime Adam. I'll clean up down here."

Adam smiled wearily and leaned across, planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

"Good night Adam" Adrian smiled.

Madeline stood and picked him up as a big yawn stretched his face and he flopped his head against her shoulder.

"I'll see to Adam then come back down and help you clean up" Madeline offered.

"There's no need" Adrian replied with a wave of her hand. "I'm perfectly able to clean up and load the dishwasher."

"But..." Madeline started then stopped, seeing her mothers' uncompromising gaze levelled at her.

Michel rose from his chair, diffusing the sudden tension by bending down to kiss Adrian's cheek. "Bonne nuit grand-maman, faites de beaux rêves" he smiled.

She smiled and patted his cheek "good night Michel."

He went to follow Madeline out of the kitchen, then turned gracefully to look back on Adrian. Madeline paused as well, waiting for him.

"Grand-maman?"

"Yes?"

"The piano ... in the sitting room, do you play?"

"Yes, yes I do. Though rather badly nowadays."

"Perhaps one day we could play together. I have some pieces you might like to try."

Adrian smiled, nodding slowly. "I'd like that very much, Michel."

"Good, so would I" he replied, turning to make his way up the stairs, followed by his proud and happy mother.

*****************************

Madeline stepped into the steamy bathroom.

"Adam, tu es toujours là? Allez dépêches-toi s'il te plait" she directed, slipping easily into French now that it seemed Adrian would be comfortable about it. He was sitting on the floor of the shower, playing with the soap and a face washer.

"Yes maman, one more minute" he said distractedly.

"You've been saying that for the last ten minutes. Michel, has he washed his hair?"

"No."

She watched through the pattern on the glass door as Michel leaned down and squirted shampoo onto Adam's head. Squatting behind Adam, he worked the shampoo into lather.

"Hold still Adam, stop wriggling" Michel admonished.

"I am a wriggly worm, see how I can squirm, watch me dig my burrow..." Adam started to sing as he wriggled out of Michel's hands and laid down on the floor of the shower again, bending his body backward and forwards.

Madeline heard Michel let out an exasperated sigh as he tried to grab the slippery body wriggling at his feet. He finally managed and lifted Adam up into the stream of water, rinsing his hair.

"Now close your eyes, tight" Michel instructed.

"Owww ... your fingers are rubbing too hard, that hurts" Adam whimpered.

"If you would just stand still little one" Michel whispered. "There, done" he finally announced, turning off the water and sliding open the shower door. He pushed Adam out into the towel Madeline had ready. She reached over and handed him another. Michel shook his head and grinned, securing the towel around his hips and shaking the water from his hair.

"For such a little boy, you are a lot of trouble" Madeline smiled at Adam, punching each word out in a gruff voice as she wrapped the towel around him and started rubbing him dry. "You're lucky you have such a patient brother who will wash your hair while you pretend to be a worm."

"Yes" Adam smiled as he turned and latched onto Michel's leg, wrapping his arms around and wriggling his shoulders in what she could only assume was an imitation of a worm giving someone a cuddle.

Michel detached him by grabbing his arms and lifting him up until he was at eye level. Letting Adam kiss his cheek, he then deftly flipped him up and over in a mid air somersault, catching him by the legs and lowering him to the ground as Adam squealed with fear and delight.

Madeline caught her breath at the same instant as Michel caught Adam. "Michel, I wish you wouldn't do that, what if you were to drop him?" she said, gazing at the tile floor of the bathroom.

Adam scrambled up off the floor and rested a palm on her cheek. A serious look on his face as he said, "he never misses, maman, don't be silly."

Madeline laughed and pulled him closer, wrapping him in the towel again. "Yes, of course" she smiled, "what was maman thinking."

Michel just grinned and continued drying himself.

"Did you meet anyone else while you were walking?" she asked Michel.

She sat down on the rim of the bath and started drying Adam's hair as he rested between her legs, wrapped in his towel on the plush bath mat.

"No, no-one other than Walter. He invited me to drop by anytime I wanted to 'chew the fat with an old codger'" Michel said the last phrase slowly in English. "I don't know what this means, was he asking me back for a meal, or perhaps...?" he asked with a troubled frown on his face.

"It's not what you think" Madeline laughed, interrupting him. "It's means to discuss things or talk things over and 'codger' is a just a colloquial term for someone who's a bit eccentric."

"Ahh... I thought..." he shook his head, "... doesn't matter." He reached for another towel to dry off his hair as he sat down next to her. "I was hoping I would have enough English to understand everyone here. It seems I was wrong."

"Your English is good, don't be so hard on yourself. Perhaps next time you could swallow your pride and just ask. You might find that's easier that misconstruing the conversation, or not following it because you don't understand a word or a phrase. Give people a chance, Michel."

"Maybe" he shrugged, letting his head droop down for moment, hair spilling over and hiding his face.

Madeline reached across and tucked a few strands of curls behind his ear, so she could see his face.

"I think, sometimes, you forget that you're only 16" she said softly. "No-one expects you to be perfect, so why do you demand it of yourself? I know that your father said things that made you..."

"I don't want to talk about this" he hissed brusquely, rising to leave.

Madeline grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down. "At some stage we have to Michel. Whatever is going on in your head about all that has happened, you have to let it out. I see what it's doing to you and it's breaking my heart" she whispered softly.

"I am not one of your patients, maman, stop treating me like one."

"Oh Michel, why do you use that against me every time I want to talk to you about this" she sighed. "I am your mother, I love you, it's as simple as that."

Madeline watched as he let out a deep breath. "It has been a long day, Adam has fallen asleep" he noted quietly, bending down to pull the towel around his brother where he was curled up on the floor.

"Yes" she sighed, realising he was signalling an end to the discussion. "It was good of you to take him along, I know you enjoy having the opportunity to get away by yourself."

"He is no trouble" Michel responded. "Anyway, I enjoy the opportunity to see the world through his eyes sometimes, it is so full of colour and fascination."

Madeline nodded in understanding, unaccountably saddened by his observation and what it reflected of his own view of the world.

"There were some kids at the lake today, swimming and stuff" he suddenly announced.

Madeline looked up at him hopefully, "did you speak with them?"

"No, they were on the other side" he shrugged. "Time enough for that. School starts next week."

"Yes, we have a meeting with the Principal tomorrow at three, you won't forget."

"No maman, I won't forget" Michel replied as he bent and scooped Adam into his arms and carried him to his bed.

How could he forget? The image of the sun reflecting off blonde hair as the girl had stroked effortlessly. Alone, at least for a short while, on the glistening, still surface of the lake. No, I won't forget, he thought.

PART TWO

"Good morning Princess, how was the movie?" Paul asked as Nikita came out onto the verandah where he was reading the paper.

Nikita stretched and yawned lazily, kissing him on the cheek and mumbling good morning. She slid her arms around his neck and yawned again.

"It was OK. More coffee?" she asked, reaching over to pick-up his empty mug.

"Yes, please" he replied as she disappeared into the kitchen.

Nikita poured some more coffee, then put some bread into the toaster. She poured herself some orange juice then went back out to join her father.

"So it was just ... OK?" he asked, smiling curiously at her.

"Yes?" she grinned. "What are you fishing for dad?"

"I was just wondering how the evening went. You were on a date, weren't you?" he asked, an evil glint in his eye.

"Oh purlease daddy!" Nikita said dramatically. "It was just a movie with some friends."

She jumped up and went back into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with some toast spread thick with strawberry jam.

"He seemed like a nice young man, though I wouldn't have thought he was your type."

Nikita laughed, resting her chin on her hand, looking at him closely. "And, ummm, since you seem to be the expert, just what is 'my type'?" she asked, curious.

"Let's see" Paul replied, folding his paper and picking up his coffee. "He would be very handsome, though unassuming, intelligent and committed to his school work, of course, sensible and wise beyond his years, goes without saying, a good driver, though he'd probably prefer to walk most places, excruciatingly polite to and slightly afraid of me, you'd like him but he would always fall short when you compared him to your father, and .... hmmm, let's see. Oh yes, and not the least bit interested in sex."

Nikita burst out laughing. "Nice one dad ...'not interested in sex'" she scoffed. "So does this mean I have your approval to start dating 40 year old men" she grinned.

"Nikita" he admonished, "contrary to all your beliefs, life as you know it does not end when you turn 40. In fact, at the ripe old age of 52 I consider I still have a few good years left."

"Soooooo ..." she grinned triumphantly, "if you really want to prove me wrong, maybe *you* should go out on date."

"I must be getting old" he sighed, "I walked right into that one."

"Yup" she smiled. "The best defence is a good offence, you always told me that Admiral."

Paul laughed. "Touche."

"So, shall we start drawing up a list?" Nikita replied eagerly.

He removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It's not quite that easy princess" he sighed.

"Sure it is dad, you just do it."

Paul smiled, gazing across as his daughter, pulled, as he always was, into memories of the past. He saw Robbie in her every move, every gesture. At first it had been painful, being reminded every waking moment of what he had lost when she died. But time passes, and he was no stranger to loss. More than thirty years in the navy had taught him how to cope with loss.

As the saying goes, when the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window. And the chance to really get to know this precious young girl their love had brought into the world was like a fresh breeze energising his life. Giving it a purpose he thought he might have lost with the death of his adored wife. He wanted only the best for her, and he would make whatever sacrifices were needed to ensure she got it. That included, however difficult, dropping his protective instincts to give her the space to be a normal teenager.

"So tell me then Niki, if its so easy, why is it you haven't had a boyfriend yet?"

Nikita laughed. "You threaten to shoot any guy that comes near me, dad, that's a pretty good turn-off to most of the boys I know."

"You're exaggerating" he laughed, "I've only threatened two of them, the multiple threats on Mick don't count."

"I'm not sure he sees it that way, daddy."

"You haven't answered my question Niki."

She sighed, stretching out and slumping in her chair.

"I don't know" Nikita frowned, looking out into the distance. "I've thought about it a lot lately, its been driving me crazy. But the only answer I can come up with is that none of the boys I know interest me in that way." Nikita turned to face her father, blue eyes meeting blue. "Maybe I want too much" she mused resting her chin on her hands. "Maybe they offer too little."

"Never accept second best just for the sake of having something, princess" Paul replied. "That's not fair on anyone, least of all you."

"But how will I know dad?" she replied, her face scrunching up in a confused frown. She let out a deep sigh, resting her chin on her hand. "How does anyone ever know" she whispered.

"I knew when I met your mother" he smiled, "you'll know."

"Big groan. You sound like Julie Andrews, you're not gonna sing now, are you?"

"No, I think your pretty safe on that front" he chuckled.

Nikita was quiet for a while before looking up at him. "Hey dad?" she asked grinning.

"Yes princess?" he asked, curious but not surprised by the sudden mood swing.

"Did we just have a 'moment'?"

"Why yes, I think we did" he smiled.

"Then I better go and get the Nescafé" she laughed.

****************************

Madeline looked at her watch, yet again, five minutes to three. She looked up and down the road, impatient, bordering on furious. Where was he? He should have been here ten minutes ago. If there was one thing she hated it was being late. He knew that.

She sighed and headed up the path towards the front doors of the School. Her mind was racing over this mornings staff meeting at work and the irrational image of Michel slumped over the steering wheel of the car, blood pouring from a wound in his head. Every mother's nightmare, she rationalised, he's just late, nothing more, nothing less. Testing her patience, as he loved to do.

Reaching the bottom step, she heard the quiet hiss of brakes behind her. Turning she saw Michel climb gracefully off his pushbike and rest it against the bike racks. He avoided her gaze as walked up to join her, passing his forearm over his face, wiping at the sheen of sweat that glistened there. Dressed in jeans and a tshirt, her irritation grew. This morning, before she left for work, she had set aside the clothes she wanted him to wear for this meeting. "Fine maman" he had replied absently, curled up in bed with his head buried in a book, she gave him instructions about what to wear and what time to meet her.

She shook her head angrily as he finally looked up at her. "You're late, let's go" she announced tersely, turning and walking up the steps and holding the door open as he walked through ahead of her.

He fell in step beside her, his movement silent and supple compared to her angry strides and the click of her heels echoing in the empty corridor.

"If you were running late, you should have driven down here" she finally whispered.

"It was a nice day for a ride" he shrugged.

As they found the entrance to the administration area, Michel stopped and gently caught her wrist.

"Three o'clock" he observed, glancing at her watch, a look of guileless innocence his face.

"Don't push your luck, Michel" she replied drolly, unable to hold back a smile. Taking his hand where it rested on her wrist she gave it a squeeze. "Now tidy your hair, you look like you just stepped out of the shower."

"I did" he mumbled. He combed his fingers through his hair and pushed it back behind his ears as he followed her inside.

There were a couple of people tapping away at computers in a far corner of the large, open plan work area. Madeline contemplated ringing the bell on the counter to ask for help.

"Dr Binoche? Right on time" a deep voice behind her announced. From the corner of her eye, Madeline caught Michel's grin as she turned.

"I'm Chris Davenport, pleased to meet you" he smiled affably, extending his hand in greeting.

"Pleased to meet you, Madeline Binoche" she smiled, shaking his hand

"And this must be Michael" he observed, holding out his hand again.

Madeline watched as the two shook hands, trying to gauge Michel's reaction to this greeting. He remained silent, his face cautiously neutral as he sized up the man in front of him.

"Please come into my office, have a seat" Davenport invited, holding open a door and gesturing them inside. Once inside he closed the door behind them.

Madeline sat in one of the comfortable chairs opposite his desk and crossed her legs, resting her bag in her lap. Michel remained standing for a moment, evaluating the layout of the office before taking the seat beside her, as though he were planning his battle strategy.

"Thanks for coming in" Davenport said breezily as he sat behind his desk. "I wanted the opportunity to get to know you and answer any questions you might have about Norfolk High or the subjects Michael will be taking, before school starts next week."

"Thank you for the opportunity, Mr Davenport" Madeline replied. "As you know, we flew in from France only the week before last. I would have like to have arrived earlier to give us more time to settle in before I started work and the boys started school. But ..." With a shrug of her shoulders she left the sentenced unfinished.

"Packing up and moving always takes longer than you think it will" he smiled in response. "I gather from our phone discussion yesterday that you've already started work?"

"Yes, I've taken a position in the Reynolds Institute, at the Westmead Hospital, it's one of the reasons for the move."

"Yes, I saw that in the enrolment information you provided. Chief of Psychiatry, very impressive, the Institute is world renown" he smiled. "My wife, Angie, works at the Hospital" he added.

"Really, what area?"

"Paediatrics, she manages the ICU. Nursing is her life, I sometimes think I'm just a hobby" he laughed. "She loves it at Westmead, I'm sure you will too."

"Yes, thank you."

"And your other son, Adam, he's ..." he flicked through the papers in front of him, "ah ... five. Will he be ready to start school this year?"

"He turns six in a couple of months, I've enrolled him into Kindergarten at Woodbury."

"That's a good school, he'll like it there."

"I'm sure will. We're meeting with his teacher next week, he starts on Wednesday. He's very gregarious, I'm sure he will fit right in with no problems." Madeline raised her eyebrows slightly as she glanced from Michel then back to Davenport, to make sure he understood the parallel she was trying to draw with her last comment.

Davenport smiled to acknowledge her silent message. Turning to Michel he asked "so where did you live in France?"

Michel stared at him blankly, as though unsure how to answer this basic question.

As the silence stretched out, Madeline looked across at him, seeing the familiar signs of him disengaging and shutting down from the discussion going on around him. Ohhh... this was going to a long half-hour she sighed.

"We were based in Paris and Zurich. My ex-husband worked for the UN, so we moved around a fair bit when Michel was younger; Geneva, Madrid, Vienna, Brussels."

"So I guess you're used to settling in to new schools Michael?" Davenport tried again.

Michel at least nodded this time in response to his question.

"Your English is very good" Davenport commented to Madeline, eyes making contact with her in a silent question about her son's curious silence.

"My parents were English, from London originally. My father also worked for the UN, I spent most of my childhood in London, then we moved to Montreal."

"So after living in so many places, what made you decide on Geraldton?"

"My mother lives here, we haven't had much of a chance to see each over the years."

Davenport smiled, nodding his head. He clasped his hands on the desk in front of him and turned again to Michel, fixing him with a penetrating gaze.

"So Michael, if you read the information I sent you you'll know we have quite a few international students here at Norfolk. Most of them have parents stationed at the NATO Base in Hayfield. Consequently, we've developed a comprehensive language program to cater for a range of needs. We can offer you some special courses in English, if you need it, that is."

Madeline groaned inwardly at this comment, well intentioned though it was.

Michel returned Davenport's gaze, deliberately thickening his accent as he replied, "I'll be fine."

"Good. I'm pleased to hear that. I hope you'll let me know if you're having any trouble" Davenport said amiably, with something close to an ironic smile on his lips. He glanced at the paper on his desk again. "I see from your enrolment forms that you're also fluent in Spanish, Italian and German, will you wanting to be taking any courses in these."

Michel stared at him curiously. "Why?"

Davenport gave out a small laugh. "Some international students take electives in their native language as an opportunity to practice their language skills ... as well as keep their grade averages, up." He smirked and then continued, "I guess that's not an imperative in your case. The academic records your mother sent us from your last couple of schools are very impressive." Davenport skimmed over some details on the page in front of him, fully aware of two intense pairs of eyes watching his every move. He felt like he was under a microscope. "I see you've enrolled in the music program, do you play an instrument?"

Michel merely nodded in affirmation. It was the last straw for Madeline, she glared at Michel and replied on his behalf.

"Michel plays the cello" she said briskly. "And, despite all evidence to the contrary, his English is excellent. His father insisted both he and his brother be fluent in English. The curriculum you have here is very comprehensive, Mr Davenport, it's one of the reasons he chose this school. I think Michel will be fine, once he has adjusted to the new environment."

"Of course, I expect there will be a settling in period" he concurred, smiling knowingly at Madeline. He rested his hands on the desk, turning to Michel. "I hope you'll be happy here Michael, I'll do everything I can to ensure that. We operate an open door policy. You're welcome to come and see me anytime to discuss any questions you might have or any problems you might encounter."

"Thank you" Michel said softly, his tone suggesting he was unlikely to take this offer up.

"Yes, thank you" Madeline smiled, feeling very much comforted by his words despite Michel's response. She rose from her seat. "I'm sorry but I have to get back to work. Thanks again for this opportunity to meet you and discuss Michel's placement here."

In the time it took her to stand and straighten her jacket, Michel had risen from his seat and was standing in the doorway, ready to flee.

"My pleasure" Mr Davenport replied as he also stood. He looked from mother to son, then shuffled again through the papers on his desk. "There's just one more thing" he said, looking up at Michel. "I noticed your mother refers to you as Michel, rather than Michael. What would you prefer?"

Michel looked at him for a long moment. "You can call me Michael" he finally replied in perfectly enunciated English, a faint smile emerging with his words.

*********************************

Birkoff sat at the Admirals desk, all but submerged in the mountain of paperwork surrounding him.

"God damn I'll be glad when the Navy finally does away with paper."

"It will never happen, Birkoff" Paul replied absently, perched on the edge of his desk as he read a report.

"Yeah well, my dream is an office where there's not a piece of paper, or even a pen, to be seen. Just a computer on every desk and people trained to use them." Birkoff sighed and started rearranging the piles on his desk according to urgency.

"Mmmm ... " Paul responded.

"That's the first time I've ever seen you engrossed in one of Zalman's reports" Birkoff observed. "Usually you read the first paragraph and mark them 'redraft'."

"Who upgraded his clearance to take on the Rome mission?"

"Not sure" Birkoff shrugged, "he's been working with the DPC."

"That's Petrosian now, isn't it?"

"Yes. He took over a couple of days ago from Bauer. What a freak that guy turned out to be. My friend Mentz, works Operations Division in HO, said they found all this weird equipment and videos in his home. Guy apparently stared in his own porn movies." Birkoff shook his head, "security at Head Office seems to be a little careless at the moment."

Paul just nodded at him without really listening. "Birkoff, I want you to put a tag on Zalman."

"Why, what did you find?" Birkoff looked up, "I'll need to put it in the request report."

"Nice try Birkoff" Paul grinned.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have lasted long as your Adjutant if I didn't have a few angles for getting intel from the common masses." Birkoff suddenly looked up, a cautious expression on his face. "Ummm ... I didn't mean to include you in that reference Sir."

"Of course" Paul replied, "though I wouldn't underestimate your abilities in that particular area, Birkoff, and as you correctly point out, you wouldn't have lasted long without those skills." He took off his glasses and rubbed them absently against his shirt. "Get Mowen to initiate a security review of my command" he ordered as he sat in one of the lounge chairs arranged near the bay windows of his office.

"What class of security review would you like?" Birkoff asked. "The Central Intelligence Division is a big command, Sir, as you are, of course, aware."

"I want a Level One" Paul replied, turning his gaze to Birkoff.

"That's a big job" Birkoff replied thoughtfully, suspending his paper shuffling and gazing across at the Admiral. "Perhaps I should read Zalman's report" he continued slowly, "or .... you could save me some time and tell me what's going on, Sir."

"It seems, Birkoff, that our ship has sprung a leak" Paul responded.

"What sort of ... 'leak'?"

"Zalman's report include some references to the P15 project."

"That's still in development, he wouldn't have clearance for accessing any information related to the project" Birkoff replied, wide-eyed. "What sort of references where they?"

"There's nothing in there about the project itself, but he appears to have been given the names of all the right people to talk to if he wants to find out" Paul responded. "I don't need to tell you what the implications of this would be if it got to the NAC before the project was finalised."

"No you don't" Birkoff replied grimly. "It's just the sort of cherry that shit Petrosian would love to take to Oversight to make you look bad."

"Yes, that was the line I was considering" Paul replied, glancing at his watch. "Arrange a briefing with Mowen for 0800 tomorrow at my home. Apologise for calling him out on a Sunday." He stood and started piling papers into his briefcase. "I have to get going, Niki's cooking dinner. Walter's coming in tonight, we're going fishing tomorrow."

"Should I organise a car to collect you after dinner and take you to the infirmary?" Birkoff asked, a deadpan expression on his face.

"Very droll Birkoff" Paul replied, closing his briefcase. "Niki's not such a bad cook"

"Not if you're used to Navy food" Birkoff mumbled.

"I'll take my chances" Paul smiled. "You and Gail doing anything special tomorrow, you'd be welcome to join us?"

"She wanted to go up to the Bay tomorrow afternoon, there's some sort of craft fair on" Birkoff sighed, "but fishing sounds good. I'll see what I can do."

"I'm sure you will" Paul replied, picking up his cap and tucking it under his arm. "I'll see you in the morning, Birkoff, have a nice evening."

"You to Sir, goodnight."

*******************************

Michael sat by the window, plucking scales on the strings of his cello. His eye's glazed in concentration as he stared vacantly out through the window to the leafy green of the backyard. In what had become a depressingly common routine after such a short time, his ears and eyes scraped over the sounds and scenes from the neighbouring houses as his fingers moved mechanically over the strings. The shouts of laughter and the splash of water served only to remind him off his isolation in this strange new world his mother had brought them to.

It wasn't as if this was a new sensation, he had followed his parents to new places many times. He had coped because they were together, his mother the constant in a world of continual change. The focal point that anchored them to each new location. But all that had fallen apart with the death of his sister, Charlotte, four years ago. After that, everything changed. He fought back the tears that threatened whenever he thought of that terrible day.

They had stayed mostly in the house in Paris after her death, his father travelled alone. They would move to the apartment in Zurich for a few months when he had a long stint at the office there. But his fathers' sharp words and constant criticisms drove them back to Paris each time. The moves became irregular and then finally stopped. His father would come to visit them in Paris, the tension in the house was palpable during these short stays. He often heard them late at night as he lay in bed, his fathers' voice raised in anger, his mothers softer but edged with steel. His mind working hard to shut out the words and the pain they caused. Adam would crawl into his bed and the two of them would cling to each other as the storm raged around them. It had been a relief when they finally told he and Adam that it was over. A relief until his mother announced a couple of months later that they were moving.

He sighed, laying the cello down on the floor as he rested his elbows on the window frame. School started on Monday, only one day away. He was dreading it with the same sense of fear he had felt just two weeks ago when he had sat on the floor of his empty room in their home in Paris. Two weeks. It seemed like forever since he had been surrounded with the familiarity of his home, his friends. He wondered what they might be doing, Rene, Elena and Simone.

Simone. There had been tears when he told her he was leaving. Her tears, that had left him despondent and confused. And surprised that she would mourn his departure. He had tried to comfort her, but his clumsy words seemed hopelessly inadequate. Before he knew what was happening their fingers had been fumbling with clothing, his mouth was on her hot skin, fingers were tugging on his shirt. Her mouth finally found his and then frenzied, reckless sex. Simone had leant across after they had finished, resting her chin on his chest as her fingers traced some unseen pattern on his skin. "This is what I will miss" she had whispered, smiling. The comment had left him strangely empty.

His mother had caught them one night. Simone had come over to study. It started out innocently enough, he sitting on the floor and she lying on his bed as they worked through some maths problem due the next day. They were all but finished when her arm drifted lazily over his shoulder, sliding slowly down until it came to rest in his lap, pressing hard against him. Adam was fast asleep, his mother was working a late shift at the hospital, or so he thought.

Instead she had walked in a short time later, arms balancing freshly washed and folded laundry. The smile poised on her lips had rapidly dissolved as she had taken in his naked body on the floor, Simone perched on top of him, back to the door, in the same state of undress, their hastily shed clothes strewn about them. Simone's brown eyes had seemed to enlarge to twice their normal size as she looked down at him. He hadn't known what to expect, but what he didn't expect was his mothers' cold calm.

She had greeted Simone in what could only be described as a pleasant voice, and then placed the washing on his bureau, reminding them it was a school day tomorrow before she closed the door behind her. His heart had been hammering in his chest, its frantic pace spurred on by the adrenaline rush of lust and fear. She hadn't mentioned it until a couple of weeks later, but the very next day after coming home from school he had found a box of condoms perched conspicuously on the foot of his bed. The next morning as he left for school he had left the box, along with the one he had already purchased, on the end of his bed. When he came home, both boxes were discretely tucked away at the back of his top drawer.

"Michel, Michel" came the familiar voice from the backyard, high pitched from excitement.

"Up here Adam" he called out the window, slightly irritated that English still did not come naturally to him. The familiarity of French made English seem too cumbersome. He would have to try harder. His father had insisted they learn to speak English, sometimes forbidding any French at home for weeks at a time. It had been confusing, but he had managed.

"Michel" Adam called again, this time from the stairs.

He had noticed that his mother and grandmother had started calling him Michael, following the disastrous meeting with the Principal of his school last Wednesday. He accepted it, as he accepted everything, with studied ambivalence. Knowing this is what he would now be called by all those outside his small family, he had been working hard to think of himself as Michael. Michel was a creature he would store away, bury deep with the other memories that both sustained and tormented him.

He was sure this change of title was one of the little tests his mother frequently subjected him to. Her attempts to goad him into reacting, 'externalising his emotions' she called it. It was a mystery to him why she still bothered.

Adam roared into the room, stumbling to a halt in front of him.

"Michel, grand-maman and I found a fairy's home" Adam announced breathlessly. "Under the ferns in her glasshouse."

Michael smiled, as much at Adam's excitement as the comforting effect his young brother's presence had on him.

"Did you see them?" he asked, getting up from his chair and placing the cello on the stand in the corner.

"No, grand-maman thinks they may have been out collecting strawberries for dinner. Did you know fairies ate strawberries for dinner Michel?" Adam whispered his question, a deep frown on his face as he sought confirmation on this new piece of information.

Michael came and knelt on the floor in front of Adam, rubbing his chin ponderously as he considered the statement.

"Yes" he replied, nodding his head slowly. He smiled as Adam mimicked his action. "I think I read that somewhere. For dinner, they like to eat strawberries and ice cream, sprinkled with rainbow dust. I think I also remember papa telling me that fairies liked to play the harp as they eat their dinner."

Adam frowned, a look of suspicion in his eyes.

"What's wrong Adam?"

"Papa did not say that, he told me fairies aren't real, they were just baby stories."

Michael smiled sadly, smoothing his finger over the worry lines wrinkling Adam's brow. How typical of his father to dismiss Adam with such a cursory remark. How often had he felt the sting of similar comments not to know the scars they could leave in their wake.

"Papa must have been confused. Of course fairies are real" he grinned. "Here" he said, pulling some strands of hair from his head and placing them in Adam's palm, curling his small finger over them. "Fairies collect the hair of the people they live near to use as the strings in their harps. It's so they can play special music to help us sleep at night. Put this on the ground near the home you found, if it is gone in the morning you will know if there are fairies living there."

Adam's face broke into a huge grin, delighted with this suggestion.

"Most fairies like blond hair, but this will have to do. If only we could have asked the angel we saw at the lake last week for some of her hair" Michael smiled, his mind wandering with thoughts of the girl he had watched swimming.

"She wasn't an angel silly-billy, she was just a girl" Adam corrected.