Truth: Neil Finn ( from the album: Try Whistling This)

Remember who we are,
Supple and new,
If I lose my way,
You'll tell me the truth,
For all it's worth.
Lift up your head,
And show me my rescue,
It's what I said,
Truth is worth more than pride...

I was jogging in the park like I normally do on my down time. I don't really like to exercise but I figure that I had to drag myself out. It is imperative that operatives be in tip-top shape. I've been stiff since Michael shot me in the stomach muscles with that damned tranquilliser dart. That was a trip. Me, Simba. You, Daktari. I never thought I was going to be the big game in a big game hunt. I was in such a big hurry to get to him and my body had been so tight from the drug that I think I pulled every muscle from stem to stern. Especially stern. I was proud of myself though. I saved his sorry butt without a second to spare.

I remember when I went down. It felt like I'd been shot with a bullet. I thought for the few second's awareness I had left that he'd really done it, turned on us all. I thought I was dead and how ironic it was that he's killed me to get out of Section. Me. Too weird. When we were leaving the plane after taking down that creep, Philo, he actually laid his hand on my arm and thanked me. He said he hoped that I hadn't been hurt when I fell down or when he'd grabbed my wrists at Section that afternoon after I tried to escape my would-be executioners. Frankly, I was surprised that he cared. When I showed him the bruises on my arms that looked like two black bracelets, he winced and told me how sorry he was. Wow, that really floored me.

Actually Michael has been touching me a lot lately. It's disconcerting. I'll be walking down the hall trying to ignore him and he'll just stride right up to me and take my elbow while we walk. It's driving me nuts. Doesn't he know what it feels like to me? I'm supposed to hate him now. I have a real hard time with that when he's being so nice to me. I keep thinking he wants something out of me and I don't know what it is. One dreary Monday I got a smile. I almost shot out of my shoes.

Oh, hell, I didn't want to think about Section or Michael either. I had four days of downtime ahead of me and it was Easter. A chocolate freak's Nirvana. I had four days of heavy chocolate indulgence to look forward to. I had to be in shape to handle it. This morning I had stayed in bed until nine. I have a tendency to be a bed-slug. I like to stay in bed until I feel like being alive, make my coffee and then take it back to bed with a novel or a magazine. I never read the paper or watch television in bed. I don't want to read about real life mayhem in my cozy haven. I see enough of that on my job.

So I was running through the park on Good Friday, in my grungiest sweats and a really old but great pair of Nikes, soaking up the sun, watching people who were strolling with cups of coffee, walking their dogs. God, I want a dog to run with. I like dogs, but of course I can't have one with my lifestyle. I'd love a cat again, too. And a horse. Maybe a bird or two. Actually I'd like a whole farm. Nikita's farm. I grinned to myself as I ran picturing myself wearing rubber boots and overalls, tossing corn to the chickens. Do chickens eat corn?

I was reading one of those books this morning about this lady rancher. She had the dog and the horse and then she got a man. What a man. I was sort of weaving fantasies in my head while I read it. I like the old West. There's just something about rangy, green eyed hombres with gun belts slung really low on their hips and those ties that strap the gun onto a long, muscular thigh. That is so sexy.

It was a pretty good book, all about one of those really feisty girls who has this handsome ruthless neighbour who wants to take her land. She gets her daddy's ranch in one of those touching deathbed scenes and promises to do anything she can to hang on to her daddy's ranch. All she has is her horse and a bandy legged old ranch hand to help her. Did I mention that she was tall? Whoopee. Double bonus. I hate reading books about dainty, prissy things who wouldn't say shit if they had a mouth full of it. Sorry, but that's the way I feel. Give me a good, strapping heroine who'd not afraid to say what she thinks.

The hero was described as tall, dark and greenish-gray eyed. His hair was chestnut brown with cinnamon flecks. Yea, okay, I was thinking of Michael. I don't know many men who could be cover-boy for a novel, but Michael sure fits the bill. The author kept describing swells of muscle covered with smooth, velvet skin, heated lips, sculpted face, rugged torso. You get the picture and I was laying there in bed reading and swooning and thinking it's been one hell of a lot of time since I've had any. That was when I decided to go out on a run.

Anyway the hero of this book gets jumped and badly beaten by cattle rustlers and loses his memory. The lady rancher finds him and takes him home. Strips him. Bathes him. Treats his wounds. Oggles him. Tells him he's her husband so she can keep the ranch a little longer. Pretty standard.

Pretty hot sex scenes though, so I didn't mind the plot holes too much. Thankfully it was one of those books with the flowers and the pair of boots with lace tangled in the spurs on the cover. The clinch between the half naked dude and the chick with the boobs hanging out was hidden inside so you don't have to blush when you take it up to the counter with your extra large box of Tampax, PMS pills and week's supply of chocolate. I bless the person who invented those innocent looking covers. Now you can read them anywhere and no one will know how depraved and sex-starved you really are.

And while I'm on the subject I have a question. Why is it that these romance book cover folks are always doing it in the rose garden or up on a horse or right behind a big cactus? Ouch. Personally, I like it in a nice comfy bed.

So, you know of course it was the memory loss thing in that stupid book that started me thinking back about Michael again, in terms of what I'd lost, what had never really started in the first place, even though I have told myself that I am way over him. I was thinking about that time about a year ago when I could have easily had my wicked way with that perfect body. I could have taken him home, stripped him naked as the day he was born, gotten him in a nice bubble bath and told him that we were lovers and he'd have liked it, too. He'd have let me do anything. I am still kicking myself for being so noble.

You know I'm a real idiot to even be writing about the man. I'm supposed to hate his guts for being a mega-jerk. I can't believe myself sometimes. But he's just so hard to forget and I take one look at that handsome face or he smiles and what the hell, he's forgiven. I have to see him every day. I have to look at him and smell him and breath the same air he breathes and listen to that accent. God, I love his voice. He talks and this arrow just shoots right through my stupid heart.

Yesterday he sat beside me in the briefing, right beside me even though there were other seats. It was the first time in months that he took the chair beside me. He smelled so good. I was just sitting there trying not to breathe him into my lungs and then he rested his arm on the arm of his chair so that it was just brushing mine and once he kind of swivelled in his seat and his knee touched mine. He didn't move it either. I know he was doing it on purpose. That one little spot where his knee touched me. Well, I swear that it burned a hole right through my pants. I'm going to request a transfer one day or I'll go insane.

As soon as Operations was finished I leaped out of my seat to go. Then I got my foot wrapped up in the wheel of the stool and I fell backwards and sort of half landed in Michael's lap. I heard this rush of breath come out of him because my hand landed right there. Yes. Right there. And then his hand went right up onto my butt to push me up. It was awful. My face was flaming. I just muttered my apology and went back to my desk. Or skulked back to my desk. All I could think about was his hand on my butt and mine you know where.

Anyway, before I got off track thinking about how Michael smells so good, the thing I was telling you about the memory loss happened before I got the journal so I guess I ought to fill you in on the details. If you're reading about me a hundred and twenty years from now, you might want to know. We were in this super-creep Perez's club when Michael got taken, trying to save me. I saw that ape-like arm wrap around his throat, drag him away and then the door slammed shut. One minute I was putting a gun down into his pants and the next he was gone.

I remember it like yesterday. It was like I was staring down into a long, dark tunnel. I was numb. I could only gape at the door through which he had disappeared and wish it were all a mirage. It was like my life just fizzled right out and I knew there was no future. Birkoff's voice was a watery echo in my ear as my knees knocked together with panic. I wanted to scream obscenities at them. It felt like they had reached into my chest and had torn my heart out. I felt as useless as I had that time Michael was left behind in Albania and we didn't know if he was dead or alive. I remember I didn't sleep or eat until I could actually touch him, until I could see with my own eyes that he was safe. I was seriously reprimanded by Operations for insisting that we get Michael out of Perez's hell-hole. I felt, not for the first or I'm sure the last time, like telling him to: " Bite me."

Words cannot relate you how I felt when we finally found him there. What I had stayed awake for nights imagining was not half so bad as the reality. He was in appalling condition. With his skin ashen and cold, his arms up like that and his head in that ring, he looked like one of those saintly tortured martyrs in a medieval painting. I could barely breath from the relief at finding him alive and the anxiety at what they had done to him. My hands shook as I freed him from his bonds. And then he opened his eyes and looked at me. I knew right then and there that the Michael I knew, the level five operative, was gone. I had no idea who the damaged being was that had taken his place.

His memory was completely erased. The wintry stare that I am so accustomed to was replaced by an ingenuousness expression that I've only seen before in the eyes of a child. Michael, the dark warrior, was no more. In his place was a person I can only describe as clean slate. I remembered that man, Rudy, the pizza delivery man who'd stumbled in where he wasn't supposed to be. Michael, for all intents and purposes, was like Rudy, an artless being in a world where he didn't belong. He was practically helpless in that state and he looked at me like I was his mother. I felt like his mother. I wanted to hug him and rub his back, make him chicken noodle soup and tell him a bedtime story. In the car I was swearing a lot under my breath, sort of mumbling plans to myself. He kept asking me if I was mad at him. Can you imagine that? My imperious Michael caring about whether I was mad at him or not?

I'd look at over at him, at that guileless angel's face, trying to think of what we could do. He'd return my look with a bashful smile. Then I'd catch him looking at me like an awestruck pre-teen looking at a pinup for the first time. It was bizarre. For God's sake, he walked out of the shower stark naked and asked me what he was supposed to do with the shampoo bottle. I just told him what to do. Now I really wish I had jumped into that shower with him. I would have demonstrated the proper use of the washcloth, too. I like showering with Michael. He feels even better all wet and slick with soap. I'll admit that quite freely.

At the time sex just didn't enter into the picture. I watched him sleep. He mumbled some names that I hadn't heard him mention before, but I didn't know any of Michael's friends. I still don't. There was one name he said a lot. Adam. I know now that he'd been remembering his son. When he asked about family I'd told him he didn't have one. He did have one, of course. I was so tired I imagined myself climbing into bed beside him. We could lay there together and sleep, oblivious to the whole mess. I just pressed my head back to the wall and closed my eyes in despair.

It was when he asked me if I'd ever danced with him that I noticed a little of the old Michael there in his eyes. The old Michael tempered with the new, gentler version. He was still quite capable of winding me around his finger with just a lift of his brow, of making me forget who I am. I really didn't want to dance, to have him hold me. For some reason the very thing that I have always longed for felt all wrong, but one smile and he had me forgetting everything. Those few words he whispered in breathless French. Un peau. Just a little. Hold me just a little. He had never asked me like that before. Oh, he had taken. Tried to seduce. He had never asked me so sweetly.

God, how I wish I hadn't been so noble. He was putty in my hands, looking at me with all that love, admiration. I wish I'd taken his hand and jumped on a plane for a deserted island some where. We could be making love on the beach right now and he'd be none the wiser. I closed my eyes as I ran and imagined my hands stroking suntan lotion down those tree-trunk legs of his, rubbing it into those deep hollows in his flanks, right above his legs. Running my hands up his sun washed back, his shoulders. God, he has the widest shoulders I've ever seen.

Smack.

Splash.

Before I tell you what happened, I'll say this. Never dream about rubbing suntan oil on someone's bare butt while listening to Fat Boy Slim's Rockerfeller Skank (Check it Out Funk Soul Brother) at top volume on your Discman with your eyes closed in the vicinity of a duck pond. And by the way, goose shit tastes really awful.

I was submerged. My first thought was: This is what I get for being a pervert. Face first in the dank bed of the duck pond. There was a man on top of me, a heavy body. Lips were pressed against my ear, a chin against my neck. His knee was right up against my crotch. I kind of flailed against him. I was not going to drown in a damned duck pond. Suddenly two hands were snaking around my chest and yanking me out practically by the boobs. I thought to myself, okay, I knocked him in here but he doesn't have to take advantage of the situation. Glad to be out, I was sputtering and moaning the loss of my Discman. I think I said a few choice bad words. I looked up over my shoulder into a very familiar pair of deceptively calm, grayish-green eyes.

" Michael, " I breathed.

I used both hands to squeegee goose crap off my face. My heart was hammering. I didn't know he came to this park. I should have known better. His loft is about a block east of the park, mine ten blocks west. He has a gorgeous view of the woods and the fountain. Mine is of a dumpster and a brick wall.

He had some kind of duckweed in his hair. His lashes were all wet and spiky. There was something stuck to his beard stubble, algae I think. He wasn't dressed for jogging. He had this really nice butternut coloured suede jacket and a pair of faded Levi's 501 jeans on. The jacket was now ruined of course. Covered in slimy green duck poop. I'd grabbed him and pulled him in with me when we crashed. God, he'd die if he knew that I'd been thinking really sassy thoughts about doing it with him when I'm supposed to be hating him. Section errand boy and all that.

" Do you always run with your eyes closed? " Michael pushed back his hair and shook some water out of his ear.

" Yep. I meet a lot of interesting men that way."

" You ought to be arrested as a menace." He was grinning.

God, he looked gorgeous. Even wet and covered in stanky duck poo. So unlike at Section in the dead zone twenty feet below ground where he's pale and pasty like we all are. " I think I'm going to sneeze.' I sneezed three times in a row.

" Bless you." He put his hand on my shoulder. " You're sure you're okay?"

" If you hadn't blessed me I'd have to marry a leprechaun."

" Well, we couldn't have that. Although," he sais as he pulled a string of duckweed from his collar. " I think I'm green enough to be a leprechaun.."

I thought under the circumstances he was being very good about it. It was March and the water was very cold. I was starting to shiver. People were staring at us and giggling behind their hands. My nipples were poking through the fabric of my tee shirt like two beacons saying : Hey! Look at us. He was looking. I don't know if it was from the cold or because he was touching me. I could only talk in sputters. " I'm really sorry. I'll pay for your jacket. I just think I'll go back home now."

" It's an old jacket, Kita. Please don't worry about it. We can got to my place. I'm closer."

" Oh, no. No, I'm fine. " There was no way. I just wanted to go home and scrub the duck poop off me and tell myself what a stupid, bad girl I am. Then I would dig a big hole, crawl into it, and die. Simple as that.

" Don't be silly, Kita. Come to my place. I have clothes that'll fit you. I was meeting someone but I don't think they're coming. I need to change, too. We can have a shower. Come."

He put out his hand. I reluctantly put mine into it. His fingers closed over mine. I was thinking about the shower. I'm sure he meant separately. I will not tell you where my mind was wandering as we walked towards his loft, him dragging me along by the hand while I tried to keep my wet pants from falling down. My shoes kept making this awful squishing noise. Squelch. Suck. Pop. Squelch. Suck. Pop. Like two whoopie cushions. He kept shaking one leg like a fish had gone up his pants or something. God, I felt so dumb.

As I walked along beside him shivering and dripping and squelching, I was wondering who he had been meeting. A girlfriend, maybe. Had she stood him up?

Michael has two bathrooms so we didn't have to shower together. Not that I wanted to do that or anything. And if you believe that I have this really nice piece of land for sale in Albania to tell you about.

He was very nice to me. I felt awful about dripping mud and duck poo on his nice wood floor. I looked around while he went off to get me clothes. His place was bachelor messy, a jacket on the rail, newspapers on the floor, CDs on the carpet. I think it means there's no girl picking up after him. Oh, why should I care? I always have this vision of Michael being meticulous, but he isn't. Elena used to tell me that he drove her nuts tossing his underwear all over the place. I was thinking at the time that I wouldn't mind at all if he left his dirty socks under my bed.

He came back from his room carrying a long sleeved tee shirt, a knit jacket and a pair of matching tear-aways. He had taken off his clothes and was wearing that blue velour bathrobe and probably nothing else. I looked at the vee of skin exposed by the robe's collar and then down at his large bare feet. He has very shapely calves, sexy ankles and really nice slender feet. Even his toes are nice. But what else would you expect. He is perfect. He smiled and handed them to me. "Hope they won't be too big. Sorry, there's no lady's underwear."

" I'm glad. You'd look really gross in women's underwear." He looked at me and his eyebrows knitted together and I was thinking - Gross. What does that mean in French? Fat. God! Did I say that? " I meant weird." I explained. " Not fat. God, you are not fat at all, Michael." I was truly screwing it up here. I had to get dry and get home. He was now trying not to laugh at me.

" The guest bath is through there. There are plenty of towels and shampoo. There's a comb in the drawer, I think. There's a washing machine in there so just toss the stuff in. Put your runners in the dryer. My feet are a lot bigger than yours."

" I guess level 5 ops rate their own washer, dryer, " I said. " I have to share the one on my floor with Mick." I wrinkled my nose. " I use a lot of bleach for the cooties."

" How is that working out?"

" Well he wanted to roger this luv-ley bird last week and well, baby, he ran out of rubbers. He asked me if he might borrow some. At five in the morning. Of course I had . . ." I clamped my mouth shut then. I didn't want him to know how hard up I am. That I have no condoms in my house. The last person who had sex at my place was Michael! And that Abby person. Isn't that just about the most pathetic thing you have ever heard? " I, mean, he's annoying."

" Maybe I could fix that." His green eyes were twinkling. God, he looked good in that blue robe, even with a little smear of duck poo on his face.

" No. It's okay, Michael. I can live with it." I escaped him, the clothes clutched against my chest.

I took a hot shower in his marble and glass enclosed stall. The shampoo smelled like ripe bergamot pears. I have always wondered why his hair smells so good. And he uses English Leather mild soap. There is a little gold crown on the bar and it says; By Appointment to Her Majesty the Queen. Mine just says LUX. It smelled awfully good and it took all of duck poo off my skin.

His clothes were soft and warm on my body. If I didn't feel so stupid, I might have felt pretty relaxed. When I returned he was already cleaned up. He wore a pair of jeans and a faded chambray shirt that was open all the way down the front. I just looked at his bare chest and felt my heart go into spasms. He is so damned beautiful. Who was he meeting at the park? The women had to be lined up in droves.

I cleaned up after myself, dried my shoes off with the towel and tossed my clothes into the wash with what was in there already. I started the wash thinking lewd and lascivious thoughts about our clothes intertwining in the washing machine. This is what I have come to.

" Are you hungry, Kita?" He had made coffee in one of those plunger things and was grilling cheese sandwiches. I was going to tell him that I'd be on my way but I love grilled cheese almost as well as chocolate and the coffee smelled so good. And I just wanted to look at that bare chest for a little longer.

" Are they made with those gooey slices?"

" And plain old white bread. And I call myself a Frenchman. Sit down, Kita." He pointed to one of the bar stools." Do you want coffee? "

I swallowed hard and sat down. " I never say no to food or coffee."

" Neither do I," he admitted. " I love coffee. I have been drinking coffee since I was six. My mother started giving it to me espresso for asthma attacks and I got to crave it."

" I was sipping my mom's beer at six." I was surprised he would so freely talk about his childhood. " Did you hate that, Michael? Being sick?"

"It wasn't so bad. The medicine made my face swell up sometimes and the other kids would tease. I still did most things though my mother was always afraid I'd die on the soccer field. I remember her coming on to the field once with her arms flapping. She thought I was dying. She didn't want me playing sports. Elena may be afraid of that with Adam. The drugs are a lot better now and that's a comfort." His voice became soft, sad.

" Adam? I don't recall him having it."

" He had an attack in December. I managed to get into his files last month while I was in charge. He spent a week in the hospital. They hadn't bothered to tell me about it in their progress updates. I feel as if it's my fault he has it. My legacy. That and a hell of a lot of pain."

" They wouldn't feel that way. I know that, Michael. They loved you."

" I don't see how they could. I lied to them both." His voice had an edge of bitterness I rarely hear, his eyes sorrowful.

" I won't believe that, Michael," I said. I was shocked that he had used Operations condition to check his files and that he'd admit it so freely. Yet the welfare of that little boy had to weigh deeply on his mind. I'm sure Michael thought about that boy every waking minute. I sometimes forget what Section has done to him. They have hurt him as badly as they have me. Stealing his son, leaving him alone and fatherless. Yet he never complains. He just takes it. The idea shamed me. I always think that I'm the only one with problems. I am so quick to blame him for being unsympathetic to me. I wonder if this worry has been the cause of his preoccupation, his stony silences. I'm sure Michael only wanted to make sure that Adam was safe and now he had the added burden of knowing that his son has a serious illness.

" I sort of knew it was coming. The asthma. He had croup as a baby. I remember he could barely breath with it." He took a deep breath. His hands shook a little on his coffee mug.

" Does it hurt to talk about it?"

" No, Kita. Talking to you about it makes me feel better. The memories are good ones. You knew him. You loved him, too."

" I do, Michael. I do love him. Tell me."

" I'd take him out in the cold night air. Me, Adam and the dog. Elena was back working part-time as an interior designer then and she needed the sleep. I'd walk around the yard just holding him and singing in his ear until the coughing would stop and he'd fall asleep with his little head on my shoulder. I'd stay out there for a while just waiting. I can still feel the weight of him in my arms. One night he just wouldn't stop crying and the crying made the coughing worse." He smiled. " He was into Phil Collins. He was only three. His nanny used to listen to CDs while she did her housework. He liked that song, Easy Lover. You know: ' She's an easy lover. She'll get a hold on you, believe it. She's like no other'. . ."

He had a nice clear singing voice. I was trying not to smile like a lovesick goon.

" There was this one night when he seemed a lot sicker than usual. Nothing I could do would comfort him. He just kept screaming and saying, " No, Daddy, you don't do it right. Dance like Dolores," She was the nanny. I just couldn't sing as good as Phil Collins. And dancing. Oh, Kita, I just couldn't dance right, you know. He said I was bouncing too hard. I'm not a good dancer." I can refute that. "And then the dog started barking and some neighbour phoned the cops claiming that I was abusing him." While he was talking he flipped the grilled cheese sandwiches over. " I thought for a minute that I'd blown it. I thought I was going to wind up in jail, that I'd blown the mission"

" But all you really cared about was Adam and making him better."

He gave me a look that made my heart go "thud". " Yes. I only wanted him better. And then the police cruiser came and the cops let Adam look at the lights and talk on the radio and sound the siren. He loved it. He stopped coughing."

" I'm glad that you have that memory, Michael. You must be thinking about him a lot lately"

" It seems like every minute. Especially now. He loved Easter." He shook his head and rescued the sandwiches. " They'd colour the eggs with crayons and one of those messy kits. I can remember coming home and finding all the tea cups full of coloured water. I used to argue with Elena about the candy. I said it couldn't hurt him. She didn't want him having sugar. We'd argue over whether he should have Nintendo and about his bedtime. She thought he should have a schedule and I thought he should get to stay up on the days when I was home."

" The regular things that married people don't agree on," I said softly, not that I would know.

"I guess so. I could be difficult. I always had it in the back of my mind that it wasn't a real marriage and yet it seemed as if it was too real... One year I went ahead and bought candy and chocolate bunnies. I figured she could deal with it after I gave it to him. It was my job to hide all the hard-boiled eggs and the toys before we went to church. When we got home Adam would get his basket . . ." He smiled sheepishly. " That year the dog got out of his door and ate it all, all the chocolate and even the hard boiled eggs. Then he went back into the house and threw up on the sofa. I thought she might kill me. I was more afraid then I have ever been on a mission, Kita. It was not a pretty sight."

I listened, grinning, staring into those sad, green eyes, rapt with longing to hear more. I hadn't given a thought to the idea that this holiday would be hard for Michael. I can be very selfish sometimes. And yet I was jealous, hearing about what fun he'd had with his family, even if only for that short time. " Did you go to church every Sunday or just at Easter?"

" Elena was very religious. I was brought up a Roman Catholic. An alter boy, choir, all that. I went when I was at home with her and Adam because it meant a lot to her. Sometimes I think that I'd like to go back. But I feel as if I shouldn't be there, like I don't belong with normal people in a church. " He lowered his eyes ans stared at his barely touched food. " The person I was to meet today at the park thinks I should start going again, that it would be good for me."

" I think she's right."

" The person wasn't a she, Nikita. I was meeting Father Ambrose. We play chess in the park on sunny days. I met them there by accident on one of my days off and just started playing. I guess he was too busy with church. There's another old man who comes, Mr. Goldman. He lost his entire family in the Holocaust."

I couldn't imagine Michael playing chess in the park with two old men.

" Mr. Goldman has a thing for you."

My head snapped up." Me? How does he know me?"

" We always see you running by down the duck path. He always jabs me with his elbow in the ribs and says: Mike, there's that healthy looking girl. She's so beautiful. You go and ask her on a date. I never tell him I know you. I think he would have enjoyed seeing you crash into me."

I flushed and took a gulp of coffee.

The enthralling dimple appeared beside his mouth. " He's retired a diamond broker, Nikita. He says that he'll give us a good deal on an engagement ring."

At that I choked on the coffee. If you've ever come close to drowning, having coffee come out your nose is doubly unpleasant. God. I never thought he'd ever say my name and the word engagement ring in the same sentence. Even if he was teasing.

" Are you okay?" He was laughing, getting me water from the sink.

" Yes. I'm okay." He did not know how close I had come to grabbing him, throwing him on the marble island and having my wicked way with him amidst the toast crumbs. I had to get out of there. I stood abruptly and said between coughs.

" Nikita, I've been wondering. Would you run away again if you could?'

I was glad I hadn't taken that sip of water. " Run? You mean from Section?."

" Yes, from Section. If there was a chance again, what would you do? "

I shook my head, stunned. He hadn't given me the time of day for months and now here he was telling me everything, asking me if I considered running away, pouring out his soul about Adam. When I fell into that duck pond, did I crash into an alternate universe? Was this some sort a test for me? Or him? Did he really have it in his mind to run?

He would never be so foolish. And I didn't want him to run. I didn't want something terrible to happen to him. There was no one at Section to make things easy for him as he'd done for me.

" I found out that being out wasn't what I thought it would be, Michael. I don't know if I'd run again." I didn't tell him that I missed him like hell, that he was the only reason I came back. For what I thought could happen between us. I wondered if he had some sort of sixth sense to know that running with him to a deserted island had been on my mind all morning.

" I have to go now, Michael. I-uh-have a date later." I didn't tell him it was only Ben. We were going to a German film festival at the Strand. I thought of asking him to come, but I didn't. " Can I help with the dishes?"

" It's okay." He began to stack the plates.

I looked at him and this overwhelming need to have him hold me just washed through my body. I am supposed to be hating him. Section errand boy and all. God, it was only a few months ago that I smacked him across the face. Am I a spineless jellyfish or what?

The very idea that I might fall for him again, that I never fell out of love for him, scares me. I've been through this so many times before, thinking I am closer only to have him turn away from me. I think that it's better that Michael and I remain polite co-workers. On friendly speaking terms and nothing more. I thanked him for lunch. And then I said I had to leave. It was such a hard thing to do.

" Have a nice time tonight."

" Oh, thanks." I nodded. I bit my tongue against telling him it was only a hamburger and a movie with Ben. I reiterated my offer about getting him a new coat. He declined. He offered me a ride home. I said I'd walk. It was all very awkward, the comradery gone.

All I really wanted to do was turn back and kiss him. Kiss that gorgeous, firm coffee scented mouth of his. Just once. Just a little. So I'd have a reason to be on this stupid planet.

I was wishing I had the croup so he'd carry me in the garden and sing Phil Collins songs in my ear.

I also wished I wasn't a coward.

I was wishing we were just two normal people who were free. I wished Mr. Goldman were here to tell us that we belong togther. Despite everything. Despite our wayward, awkward, jaded, frightened hearts.

I told Ben that if he ever suggested we go to a German film festival again I would blacken his eyes. Jeez. Nudity. Angst. More nudity. Sub-titles. Lesbians. Male prostitutes. Ben knows German. Said he learned it in a week, so he knew what they were talking about. Total recall has to come in handy. I was just confused, especially about the guy who falls in love with his own mother and then strangles her. Those freaks made the people at Section look normal, though I do feel that Madeline would fit in well with the lot of them. Maybe someone should suggest that she move to Germany and pursue a film career.

Altogether a truly happy and uplifting cinematic experience. Not. Ben said that he couldn't believe that the director committed suicide, a man so talented. I told him the man's work was one big cry for help. Ben just said that some of us are deep thinkers and can appreciate German cinema. The rest of us lemmings line up three months early to see Star Wars so they can help fill the coffers of Lucas Co. Ben says it's all a political conspiracy.

I assume that I fit into the lemming category. I didn't tell him that I sneaked into the Bijou and watched The Empire Strikes Back fifteen times when I was little. I wanted to grow up and marry a man as heroic and rugged as Han Solo. It wasn't asking too much. I loved the gun strapped to his muscular thigh. I loved his long brown hair. I loved the lack of stimulating conversation and the glacial stare. Come to think of it, I had a thing for Mel Gibson in the Road Warrior. I wonder if my delusions about what constituted the ideal man started there. I'd have been better off forming an attachment to the Wookie.

I guess I was a little preoccupied at the movies. I was thinking about Michael, about being with him, talking to him. It has been so long since I felt as if he wanted my company. He is the most fascinating man and the most aggravating. No wonder I lost the plot lines so many times. I'm afraid that I was a little rude to Ben. I declined his offer of coffee and dropped him off at his apartment.

I spent Saturday cleaning my apartment and doing errands. I was six when I came back from a trip to market and the drycleaners. I found a plastic bag hanging from my doorknob. I made the assumption that it wasn't a bomb. It contained my neatly folded clothes and a huge cellophane wrapped chocolate bunny with pink satin bow around his neck.

I just stood there grinning. Three pounds of the most divine, pure Swiss milk chocolate. He knew my absolute weakness. Now maybe if he just dipped himself naked in a big vat of chocolate...

No, I will not think about that. I just went into my place and ate that heavenly chocolate bunny's head for dinner. And by the way, I thank which ever angel it was who told me to wear the brand new Calvin Klein underwear yesterday morning and not the greyish, grungy stuff with the stretched out elastic and the rip over one leg. I left a really lame message of his voice male service saying that I got the bunny. I told him I'd see him Monday at work.

I was sound asleep at six when the door buzzer woke me. I dragged myself from bed to the monitor expected to see a condomless Mick. I was determined to kill him.

It was Michael.

" Michael. Hello." I was pushing the hair out of my face knowing that I look awful in the morning with my blonde eyelashes. I am not a morning person. Is Michael one of those people who rises cheerfully at the crack of dawn? I hope not. It would seem there is one more strike against us. " Is there something wrong? Did I forget to turn on my cell phone again?"

" No, nothing like that. I'm sorry that I woke you. I was having trouble sleeping. I had to ask you something, Nikita, if you don't mind. May I come in? "

I tried to think. Did I mind? What was happening? " No, I don't mind, Michael. Please come in. I'll just get dressed. "

" You might want to wait until you hear what I have to say."

That was an interesting thought. That I might want to stay in my bedclothes for this.

He came into the room. I stepped aside and tugged down my shortie housecoat. As usual, he smelled wonderful, like the pear shampoo he uses and the early morning air. The frostiness of the morning seemed to emanate from his coat. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes very bright. He looked very handsome in his usual black suit but today he wore a white shirt adding a purity to his features that was very appealing. " You might want to say no," he said softly.

" I have to hear what it is first. Ask."

He took a deep breath. " I was wondering if you'd like to go to church with me."

" Church?" I sputtered.

" Saint Anthony's. Just up the street. They're having a sunrise ceremony. A short mass. Just prayers and stuff. It won't take that long. It starts at seven." He seemed stiff, awkward, like he couldn't make the English words come out. " Father Ambrose is giving it. I thought I'd like to try it but I didn't want to go alone."

" I..." I bit my lip. This seemed very important. Deeply important.

" I thought it might be a way to be closer to Adam. Where ever he is, he's probably in a church too. I just feel like if I'm there I'll be able to feel him. I know it must sound stupid "

" I don't think it's stupid, Michael." I told myself it was something I could do for him. This one small thing. " I'll get dressed. Okay. Just wait there." I turned to leave and then turned back toward him. " Do you think I need a hat?"

" No. I don't think so."

" Darn. I like hats."

" Wear it then." He grinned at me.

" Okay." I was a little nervous. " Do I have to eat those little cracker things? "

He just shook his perfect head and smiled.

And so I found myself in a beautiful church on Easter Sunday morning staring at the sunlit stained glass windows. Seeing Michael right there beside me with all those colours catching in the glints on his hair. That was a religious experience in itself. I looked around, admiring the candles and the paintings of the saints. It was nothing like the Gospel Hall with its wooden chairs, fire and brimstone and eternal damnation. I sat beside Michael and the few other couples, families and little old ladies in Easter finery. I just watched what Michael did, tired to kneel when he did. Our fingers touched across the hymn book once and he grinned at me.

It was when the priest called to bless those near and dear to us, those far away and those who had departed the earth that I looked up at Michael. His lips were trembling and a single tear fell from his lashes, trailing down his cheek. I knew that he was thinking of Adam and all that he had lost. He continued to stare straight ahead, trying not to cry, failing miserably.

My own throat got thick and I thought of my mother, with charity for once. I reached over and took Michael's hand. It was cold and it trembled. His fingers wrapped around mine, pressing slightly into my palm. I felt a sense of peace and forgiveness that I have not felt in a long time.

I was very glad I had gotten up that Good Friday morning for that run.

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