It was only one week later but Nikita felt like a lifetime had already passed since she'd last been here at work. Everything seemed vaguely familiar and strange at the same time. It was like looking at old childhood photo's with her mom, who'd be down one gin bottle and bugging the hell out of her to remember stuff that she really didn't know, maybe never knew. So eventually, Nikita's memories and her mom's half-drunk stories would all blur into something called "the past." Nikita couldn't tell which were her own experiences any more. She had only those old funky photos instead of anything authentic singing inside her.

Those blended memories were like her post-recovery days now. She hated it, but there was nothing she could do about it. She felt detached. She was only someone resembling Nikita instead of her real self. She was just going through the motions in the same old place she thought she recognized from before. Maybe it all looked the same, but she wasn't really a hundred percent sure. Let's see. The fading sign of the Nite Owl Store still peeled badly in one sun-exposed corner. And the neon sign blinked "Closed" regardless of the hour; fritzing on and off in a steady rhythm she'd known for the last nine years since she'd transferred here from Section One.

Nikita stepped aside, letting the river of downtown shoppers flow past her. She scuffed past the crumpled paper coffee cups and the empty bottle in a brown paper bag until she reached the newstand rack outside the store. Then she leaned over and picked up a free weekly, quickly glancing over her shoulder. No surveillance. Good. Go. Nikita's heels clicked over the cracked hexagon tiles on the threshold, and then scraped against the cold concrete floor inside the store. It was exactly the same: cool and dim - a perpetual twilight inside. The shiny bags of Mother Goose BBQ Potato Chips bags were clipped in a neat shingled row, and the shelves still held boxed cereals, Hominy Grits, and Campbell Soup Cream of Something. A fine dust settled over everything. None of the stock ever moved, not even the rubbers behind the counter or the cigarettes. Today Mister Kim with the thick glasses and bad teeth was on-duty, sitting behind the counter where a television blared shouts and gunfire from a Chinese vampire-cop show. Bobbing his head, Mister Kim pressed a button by the cigar boxes on the counter.

Nikita shouldered past the large Frigidaire iceboxes that roared like a air cargo carrier taking off. Beyond the refrigerators and around the corner, crates of bottles and cans were stacked to the ceiling against the wall. An outlet was stuck oddly in the middle of the wall as if the electrician had been terribly nearsighted. Nikita pushed one finger into the socket, which hummed and retracted two millimeters. Tapping her foot, she waited for the infrared to scan her genome. One, two, three. She glanced over her shoulder. A curling poster on the wall promised that Coke was the Real Thing. Four, five, six. The color of the diode switched from red to green. A match. Identification confirmed. The steel doors slid soundlessly open, and Nikita stepped into her world of facts and analysis. Section Ten. She was back.

She couldn't imagine a place more different than Section One. Instead of grim black-clad soldiers, there were kooks and nerds, who could be wearing anything from Versace to Goodwill on any given day. Tattoo's and body manipulation were almost the uniform of choice here, and a frequent show-and-tell topic whether or not the audience was interested. Half the time, this place seemed like a goddamn carnival. Everyone was a prankster. Rabbit had set the tone when he'd headed this Section, and the same flavor remained long after he'd been promoted and left. It was a loony place - all inmates, no staff or straitjackets. The zaniness had taken her awhile to get used to, but it didn't matter, she supposed, as long as they delivered the results. And they always did.

Behind her, a bike horn honked like a duck with a head cold. Nikita hastily stepped aside just as a boy with tufts of peacock-colored hair whizzed by the work stations on his Ninja scooter. "Hey, Nikerooni. Whatcha doin' here?"

"New color, Hakim." She searched for the right word. What did they say these days? Oh yeah. "Ecstatic."

"Yeah, ain't it? Do you next time. Just food coloring. Nothing permanento." He dropped a stack of disks on to someone's desk, and zipped off again. "Tag. You're It!"

By the time Nikita reached her own office, she was almost convinced that it was good to return to work so early. There was Botswana to consider, the Ruby file, plenty of loose ends to tie together. She'd be busy in no time. Too busy to even think. That sounded good, real good. She turned the knob and pushed open the door.

The smell of fresh coffee hit her like a fist. And music - if you could call it that - blasted through the room. Jeez. It sounded like electric guitars and garbage trucks. Amped noise. Even her molars were vibrating. Some goddamn nerve. Where the hell was he?

"Behind ya, tough stuff. You're slipping. If I was one mean-mother with an automatic, you'd be hamburger now. Just hamburger. Nik-splat. Back to basic training for you." His low mocking voice sounded a little breathless.

She swept around. There he was. Rabbit was in the back corner; his rangy six-foot frame completely upside down, standing on his head. The Lycra jersey shirt pooled around his armpits, and his biking tights were ripped at both knees. Almost-black curls stuck out through the vents of his X-treme helmet. His peat-brown eyes were set wide around a crooked nose. They stared unblinkingly at her; tilted and curious like a cat. One cheek was bruised. The other sported a gauze four-by-four, tacked down with duct tape. Fresh injuries by the look of them. Nikita noticed the dry blood. Make that very fresh.

What did he do to himself this time? Nikita wondered, thinking she had heard it all by now. She didn't have to look far to figure it out. The suspicious weapon was propped against the wall next to him. A large dinged-up skateboard had foot straps. One end was partially chewed off, and a wheel hung drunkenly from a bent pin. She folded her arms.

"Nothing. No big deal," he said at first. Rabbit whistled along with the music.

Nikita arched one brow.

"All right. Stop that. Stop that right now. Can't stand that White Room stare of yours. Creeps me out. You're one scary chick. Like a blonde Elvira, you know. Especially when you wear those damn depressing black weeds like every day's a funeral. Only big chunks are missing out of the back or the skirt. Must be discount clothes. Like they were saving on material or something. Used the rest of the leather to make boots. What do you think about that?"

Nikita's brow arched higher. She started tapping her foot.

"Hey, no, I mean it. Stop it, Nikita. I can't stand it any longer. I confess. Did street luge. Right down Portrero Hill," said Rabbit, answering her look of inquiry. He closed his eyes and crowed. "Man, what a butt-scooting zoom. Twenty-degree grade. Mach Three at least. You should try it. Live a little. Live dangerously."

Ridiculous. She'd tasted enough danger to last three life times. Nikita wasn't interested. Shrugging, she shouted mildly over the music, "You're turning red."

" 'course. All the blood rushing to my head. I think better that way. It's amazing how two-point-five percent more oxygen just improves the synapses. Really gooses them, revs them up. Go, go, go. I'm telling you. I see things I've never seen before."

"Sounds scary. Maybe it's the new medication they have you on. Do you still see those pink elephants?"

His eyes snapped open. Rabbit grinned suddenly, and the bandage creased like a tent. "Damn, you're always sweet-talking me. I've missed you. Turn around. Let's see. Uh huh. You're looking pretty good for a vegetable. You'd be a spud. A sweet tomato. No, celery because you're so tall. I can just hear it now. 'She walked out of the fog and into my office ...' "

"This is my office."

"...'Tall and cool, a real sweet bunch of celery. Her legs shot from her feet to her hips, and she smelled like sin. Too bad I had a real bad taste for sin. Bad for her. Bad for me'."

Nikita laughed, holding up her hand. "Whoa. Stop the movie. Just stop right there. You're a happily married man, and besides, I happen to know that your wife wields a mean soldering iron."

"Not to mention the explosives. She's a cute little bomber. A hundred megaton fun."

"Well, she doesn't direct R&D for nothing. A true blue gizmologist. All those cool devices for keeping you in line. So you better watch your step, pal."

"You know, the bombs aren't so bad. It's the duct tape I worry about. Look. Just look at this." He tilted his head to show off the bandaged cheek. "All I wanted was a little sympathy, a few encouraging words for a change. And what do I get? Cussed out, Hawaiian style. What a hupo idiot I am. No TLC. Just fwap! And then, this patch job like I'm a defective car or something. Duct tape, I'm telling you! The woman's crazed. DT uses it on anything that doesn't move."

"I heard dat. You wan' nursing, you marry Florence Nightingale. Not me. No time for crazy-man idiots. I waste my tape," called out a woman's smoky voice from around the corner where Nikita kept an indoor atrium garden. There was the chukka-chukka of a socket wrench, then the pop-popping of an oil can. Feet pounded like the tattoo of little kettledrums, followed by kids' laughter as leaves rustled noisily. Metal clanged. Loud. Then dead ominous silence. "Shane. Kelly. Get offa dat scaffolding now."

"Awwwwww," someone protested.

"I mean it, monkey boys. You go splat like your crazy dad, yeah? Good, good. Help him out, Shane. You got him up there. Good, boy. There you go. You listen to me. Not like some people I know. Huh. Next time, Rabbit, you won't be so lucky. Next time they scrape you offa da sidewalk and there won't be nothin' to patch together again."

"Next time I won't tell her," Rabbit whispered.

"I heard dat too," said his wife, her voice sounding louder as if she were approaching.

Rabbit grimaced. First his knees, then his waist flexed as he carefully folded down to an upright position. His long arms rested lightly on the tops of his bony knees. He sat cross-legged on the floor and looked sorrowful. Really pitiful. "Jesus. Can you believe that? Where's the cone of silence when you need it? DT hears everything. She has radar."

"Radar? You talkin' through one stinky-head," said DT Kanahele calmly as she entered the room with a baby in a flower-print carrier slung across one shoulder and over a pair of grimy coveralls. The combination made her look functional and feminine at the same time. She was elfin; built neatly and small all over. Her hip-length wiry black hair and graceful dancer's walk were inherited from her mother, but the short Roman nose and the blue-gray eyes were all Walter's. They twinkled just like her father's as she whapped Rabbit on the shoulder.

"Aiâ! Ow. Not so hard." Clearly unaffected, he only grinned wider. "Violence is not the answer."

DT snorted. "Depends on the question. You think you're so smart. The Big Akamai 'round here. 'Round Center. But you're not so smart. Just smartass, ne? Radar! What are you talking 'bout? No way. Not just puny old microwaves. I hear all the bandwidths, sugah. Every single one. To da max. I need to. Got to catch up with you somehow, yeah?" She pocketed a roll of tape and some thin black tubing. From the other pocket, she pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the brown stains from her hands. Smelling like grease and garden roses, DT turned to Nikita, and offered a serene smile that lit her eyes like the sun in the sky. "Howzit, Nikita? Pops say 'Aloha'. Mom too."

"How are they?" Nikita asked, wondering how Walter handled retirement. She couldn't imagine it.

DT chuckled. "Great. Really great. They're makin' up for all the lost time. Couple of teenagers."

"That's sweet." But Nikita thought it was also a little sad. She didn't want to wait that long before she had "her" time with Michael. You could keep putting things off, wait and wait for the proper time, but it might never happen. Life was too damn uncertain, death - too sudden. If you weren't careful, opportunities were lost. Or maybe - if you were lucky - they were simply mislaid. Nikita tried not to think about those lost chances. She tried not to stare at the little black head that peeped through the sling as her heart turned and twisted. There was a squeak, then a smacking sound. The black tufts shook back and forth. Without thinking, Nikita reached out to touch the baby's hair, but her hand froze midway.

DT and Rabbit exchanged a long look, not saying anything but communicating in the way that long-time couples do.

Stop me. Before it's too late. Nikita stared at the baby, wanting, not wanting. How could she be so confused? She felt joy for her friends, and grief for her and Michael. It welled inside her chest, squeezing out all the air. This hurts. Her hand flew to her sternum, pressed. The pain caught her completely unawares. She was fine, wasn't she? Suddenly she wished she was somewhere else. If only she knew where.

"Aunty Nik, Aunty Nik. You 'kay now? Why did you kick the bucket? You should kick balls. Balls are better. Soccer balls." The boys ran into the room like two black-topped tornadoes. Their sturdy legs pumped as they circled around and around until they seemed to blur into one kid. One had black spots on his face and shirt. The other had the oil can. They stopped in front of her, grabbing her hands and jumping up and down. "Hey, hey, hey. Any candy? We've been go-o-o-ood. Mostly good. Well, sometimes."

DT shook her head. Nikita said, "Sorry, guys."

"Awwwwww. You got yucky old coffee. Coffee's no good if you don't got cookies. Cookies with sprinkles," said Shane optimistically.

"And frosting. Lotsa frosting with lotsa lotsa sprinkles. Double triple gazillion sprinkles. Infinity sprinkles," agreed Kelly, wiping his perpetually runny nose. "Sorry we broke that ugly thing. Mommy says we can weld it back again."

"I weld it," corrected DT.

"How 'bout ice cream. Cake? We won't break anything else. Promise."

Rabbit laughed. "You mooches. Go play."

"'Kay. We fix it. We fix everything good. Even that funny old thing we buried." Then they ran out again into the garden.

Even with the music pumping, it seemed quieter after the boys left. Rabbit rolled his eyes. "Uh oh. You're in trouble now, blondie. You'll have to retrofit the whole building again, down to the last bolt. You don't know what they've done. What they could do."

"No crazy talk," said DT calmly. "They do just fine. Rigged their first security alarm last week to keep out their brothers. Only five years old. Earlier than Brian or Joel did. Much earlier."

"Ha! Go ahead. Get all fluffy and maternal and proud. You weren't the one that got the twenty volt zap in places we won't mention in mixed company. Jesus, what a real wake-me-up that was."

DT only smiled benignly at her husband. She turned to Nikita. "Wanna hold Nikea? Go 'head." DT reached inside the sling and expertly took her daughter out. She handed the baby over, guiding Nikita's hands to the neck and the soft warm bottom.

So heavy. Head bobbling, the baby's weight sunk into Nikita's arms and on to her chest. Little blue eyes - like DT's, like Walter's - squinted up at her. She cradled the baby closer so that its head rested against her shoulder. She rubbed her cheek against the downy hair. "So soft. And small," breathed Nikita, smiling for the first time in weeks. The baby smelled like sleep and breast milk; all new and innocent. "So this is ... Nikea?"

"After you, yeah. 'Bout time one of da bunch named after you," said DT.

"So you finally got your girl. Four boys. No, with Rabbit, make that five. You're outnumbered, five to two, DT."

"He-e-e-e-ey, I don't know about that. In fact ..." sputtered Rabbit.

Ignoring his protests, the women admired the baby. Nikita inspected the tiny pink fingernails, the little dimples between the fingers. So perfect, all miniature. It was a goddamn miracle. "Nikea's what? Two weeks old now? Sorry I missed it. I wanted to be there." Nikita held the baby tighter, remembering all the preggo girl-talks with DT, the plans they'd made together. Their due dates had only been a month apart.

"Well, you were busy. In La-la land. Vegetables R Us. No problem," Rabbit said.

DT shot him a dirty look. Then she touched Nikita's arm. "I know you wanna be there. You were there. I felt your spirit." She reached up and lovingly stroked her daughter's cheek. "Hey, Nikea. Say 'hi' to Aunty." The baby smiled.

And Nikita's heart broke and mended all at the same time.

###

"Ninety-nine point nine-nine percent probability," declared Rabbit, still right side up in the office and pouring a white mountain of sugar into his fourth cup of coffee. He stirred the slurry like he did everything - fast and reckless - so that sugar and coffee sprayed every which way. Then he tilted his head and tossed it down. "DT, you know I'm right. Check the stats. This will go global. Land, air, sea. Mmmm hmmmm. There's no other way. Satellites are unreliable. We need the ground hubs for comm back-up. So you better get those C-71's uplinked and operational by maņana. Or the East Sector will be SPAM in a can by the next day. Bet my ass on it."

"Your ass? Some bet, sugah. Big deal. You can do better. Bet your skateboard on it. That would really mean somethin'." DT stuffed her hands into her pockets and shrugged. Nikita circled around them as she walked the baby. They were still sparring about something when the shriek curdled Nikita's blood. In alarm, she watched the baby's face turn bright red. The plump little bottom lip began to quiver.

"Hey, DT. Uh, Rabbit." Shocked, Nikita watched the baby's face turn completely eggplant purple. Then the tiny rosebud mouth widened into the size of a manhole. She even saw the little pink thing hanging down in the back of Nikea's throat. It wobbled. "I ... um. Hey." The baby turned its head and suddenly lunged, clamping on to Nikita's breast. Nikita jumped. The baby's juicy mouth worked hard, sucking a few seconds, before she arched backwards and yelled even louder. Nikea waved her fists like a tiny boxer. One, two. One, two. A flurry of solid hits. And mad. Mad as hell.

DT laughed. "Sorry. I think dat's my cue. You no mind, ne?"

"No. Be my guest." She hastily returned the screaming baby to DT, who immediately sat down on a small couch.

Rabbit sauntered over, and perched on the sofa's arm next to his wife. He slung an arm around her shoulders and laughed. "Look at Nikea go. Hey, girl. You go. Loud, isn't she? And determined. That's why we named her after you."

"Oh, yeah?" said Nikita absently. She watched Nikea stare intently at DT's bosom as if the rest of her mother was incidental, just some supporting structure instead of a whole person. DT unzipped the front of her coveralls, and brought out her breast, thumbed her nipple. A half second later, Nikea latched on and was greedily gulping. Her tiny fist rested possessively on the curve of DT's breast.

Feeling fascinated and embarrassed at the same time, Nikita looked away. She cleared her throat. "Well, it's good to see you here. And the kids too. But what brings you to the neighborhood?"

"Could ask the same of you, blondie. Why the hell are you here?"

"Work," answered Nikita shortly.

"Work? What work? Check your stack. It's been cleared. Go home. No one wants you here." Rabbit sat down next to DT. He put his arms behind his head and leaned back, slouching lower in the couch. He crossed his legs.

"What?" Nikita switched on her PDA, then her laptop computer. Both screens were blank except for one word. Reassigned. "Who did that? No one else has authority to reassign these cases except for me."

"No one? Think again. Think long and hard. I'm telling you there's a good reason right now. You're trouble. First, it's the hormones making you cockeyed. Irrational. Wild. Believe me, I know that one from personal experience. I can't tell you ..." Rabbit broke off suddenly, scooting sideways just in time to avoid his wife's flying elbow. He settled down at the other end of the couch. Lifted another finger as if he were counting and ticking something off. "That's one reason. And then, there's number two. See, you find out that you've been ... well, tricked would be the kindest way of putting it. Jesus, blondie. What are you thinking? Doing that loco mission. I told you not to do it. Didn't I tell you? What a piss-poor gamble."

"Everything's a gamble." Nikita's hands fisted and struck futilely against her thighs. "And I would do anything ... Anything. I would even go through it again if I thought there was a chance that something could work. Would work. I want a kid. I don't care what Michael thinks. You understand, don't you, DT?"

DT looked up from her baby and nodded, woman to woman. "Stubborn men! Those pa'akiki kanes are da worst. They think they smart, but they know nothin'. They think they strong, but women gotta be stronger. Only one way fo' dealin' wi' them. I can fix dat. I fix anythin'. You sit on Michael, an' I strap him down good wi' my tape. No movin' 'round. He stuck. Then you a-Taser Michael. Zttzz. Ztzz. Until he stoppa the stink-head and listen to you good. Real good, yeah?"

Rabbit shook his head. "And they call you the gentler sex. You are so bloodthirsty. Listen, my chiquitas, it's not a good plan. Sucks. Majorly."

"Who say?" laughed DT. "Worked on you all right. Worked good. Not a big zing," she added hastily. "Just loud enuff so dis one finally listens. Don't wanna teach da boys da wrong thing. Words are bettah, but sometime you need some juice. Just a coupla volts. No biggie."

"No biggie? That's not how I remember it. Depends on which side of that weapon you were on. As the only male in this room, I, Rabbit Kanahele, feel honorbound to defend Mister Samuelle. It doesn't happen often. Or really at all, come to think of it. But this is one of those rare times when the male code is more important than ... personal differences. He can't help it if he's always wrong, you know. That's neither here nor there. He's a guy. I've got to defend him. You can't do it, Nikita. Don't listen to DT. It's just not logical. Doesn't make a lick of sense to me. You almost died and you want to do it again? I'm telling you that's just proof that you're nuts. I'll be generous and say it's the hormones making you act so psycho. And if that's not enough, you go and come back so early. Like nothing's happened. Nothing happened at all."

"I'm fine," said Nikita stonily.

"You're not ready. Still zapped. Someone might need something critical and you'd be off staring into space thinking about baby booties and Tucks wipes for hemorrhoids. Useless. Completely useless."

"Llewellyn Kanahele, dat's enough. Manners," hissed DT, leaning way over and jabbing him in the side. He yelped and rubbed the injured spot, then pretended to cower as DT reached into a pocket with her free hand and brought out a roll of duct tape. She waved it threateningly over his head.

"Please. Please. Anything but that. I promise to be a good boy."

"Ha. You don't fool me, bruddah. Not for a Swiss-timed minute, you don't." DT returned the roll into one of her bulging pockets. "Play nice. Be nice."

"No blood, no foul," returned Rabbit. He held up his hands. "Hey, hey. Don't look at me that way. Listen, tough stuff. It wasn't my idea. No way, Jose. I know better than to interfere. Uh uh. Talk to your friendly neighborhood Frenchman."

"He didn't," said Nikita. But even as she spoke, her heart was already disagreeing. What had Michael done this time without telling her?

"Okay, okay. Whatever you say." Rabbit made his eyes turn round and innocent. He gave a big phony smile just like his sons.

Frowning, Nikita leaned over her desk and furiously typed in her access code, the keys sounding like the rata-tat-tat of gunfire. She watched a picture of a globe rotate on her screen while she waited for the links to connect. What was taking so goddamn long? Finally a small window opened on the bottom of her screen.

At first she saw only the back of an auburn head against the blue sky. Clouds, no buildings. And even though the transmitting sound had been damped down, she could make out the chuff-chuff-chuff of a helicopter. He was airborne. Going to or maybe returning from some mysterious meeting he hadn't told her about. Again. So what else was new?

Michael turned. His mouth looked solemn but the light in his eyes were welcoming. "Nikita."

"All right, pal. What did you do?"

Michael's gaze flickered over her, then seemed to look past her. "Section Ten?" he asked softly.

"Hiya, Mikey. Busy making the world safe? Keep at it. There's a good boy," called out Rabbit through cupped hands.

"Kanahele." Michael's forehead creased, then smoothed out just as quickly. He looked as if he were about to say something else, but thought better of it. A muscle in his cheek twitched. Stopped. "Later, Nikita. Not now."

And the window closed with a soft electronic blip.

For a moment, she could only stare at the blank screen. "Damn it. Come back. I'm not finished with you. I hate it. Just hate it when you do that." Nikita typed in the code again, tried a different access point. Even Rabbit's suggestions didn't help. Michael had terminated. Wheeling around, she folded her arms. "So did Michael sic you after me? I get it now. Now it's all clear. Poor me. Follow me and make sure that I won't fall apart. That's your profile. Gee, thanks. No thanks."

"Wha-a-a-at? Now don't go blonde on me. I don't need that right now. I'm a peaceable kinda guy," protested Rabbit. He held up his hands, palms out, as Nikita stormed towards him. "Don't hit me. I wear glasses."

"No, you don't." Nikita advanced. Anger steamed each step. Just whose friend was he? Whose side was he on? She would give him a good piece of her mind. Hit him? Just wait. He wouldn't know what hit him.

Calmly DT continued to breastfeed her daughter as if nothing were going on around her. She was a serene island in a sea of chaos, apparently used to this. Must be since she was married to Rabbit. DT stroked Nikea's head, then her cheek. She slid her thumb near the baby's mouth and disconnected Nikea with a small pop. Then she lifted her daughter over one shoulder, and firmly patted the baby's back in a slow steady rhythm. When Nikita was an inch away from Rabbit, DT finally spoke up. "We're not spies. Not on you, ne? We just stopped by to fix da auto-irrigation in your garden. Valve bust. Spewed water everywhere. Even dripped into da storefront. Mister Kim called. All da breakfast cereals were goin' snap, crackle, pop."

"Oh. Sorry. I ..." Nikita broke off, her step faltering as suspicion ebbed. You could take the girl out of Section One, but you could never take Section One out of the girl. Not completely, anyway. What was wrong with her? Paranoia. It was like a goddamn poison, seeping everywhere. No containment. Now Nikita felt very small. She wished she could completely disappear right now. She had no business taking out her frustrations on her friends. They only meant well. Michael she would see to later. "Must be a helluva mess," she said finally.

"No worries. No big deal. Just a few new adapters and a T-route connection, yeah?"

"That's why I love you," said Rabbit admiringly. "When you talk like that, I feel inspired all over. Adapters. Widgets. Pessal Chromotizing Process. DT, I'm having an emotional outburst. A real gale force ten. Can't hold me back."

"Whoa, tiger. Better bottle some of dat energy and save it." DT looked her husband in the eye, her gaze turning as smoky as her voice.

"Is that a promise?" he asked.

DT blew a kiss at him. Then Rabbit reached over and slowly zipped up DT's coveralls. He lifted his wife's hand and brushed the knuckles against his lips.

"Mmmm." He pretend to swish something inside his mouth like a wine expert. "Let's see. Baby lotion, axle grease, Missus Murphy's oil-soap, and, what's this?" He tasted the back of her hand again. "Hmmm. You. Perfectly onolicious. Even better than the day we met. Five kids later, a real house with a mortgage and crabgrass ..."

"And your skateboards ..."

"And I ... damn it, I love you even more. Why does it keep getting better? How can that be?"

"One-hundred percent probability. Bet your hapa ass on it," said DT softly. The couple stared at each other for a long time. They seemed lost in their private world where only they spoke the same language, read the same looks. Nikita felt like they needed to be close-captioned in order to understand them at all right now. She watched them sit on the couch together: mother, father and infant. She loved them. And how she envied them right now.

At last, Rabbit broke the long silence. "Hey, blondie. Do the right thing. The world isn't going to end tomorrow. Maybe the day after, but not tomorrow. Not even without your fine touch. So take care of yourself. Please. Go home, Nikita."

Home? What was that? There were things she couldn't face yet. Things behind closed doors. Home was the last place she wanted to be right now.

###

She hadn't asked for advice. She didn't agree with it. Being forced to follow it was like wearing a charity hand-me-down dress from some do-gooder who meant well but made her feel like crap. It was awkward, didn't fit, and Nikita felt totally humiliated and out of sorts. For the last month, she'd been banned from Section Ten. By Order of Mister Samuelle. She hated it. Michael wouldn't listen even though her headaches had finally changed from constant thunderbolts to a rare dull pounding. And that weird disconnected feeling was finally gone. She was back to her old self again. Even better than before. Now she felt incredibly strong and healthy like one of those Nordic poster girls for some vitamin tonic. Even her cheeks glowed. But Michael wouldn't budge. Not even a goddamn millimeter. She was half-tempted to take DT up on the duct tape/Taser scheme, but she couldn't quite do it. Not yet anyway.

So instead, Nikita did as she always did, trying to make the best out of a lousy situation. But, man oh man, she was burning up inside. She took it out on the house since Michael was conveniently away a lot of the time. For the next month, Nikita became a one-woman demolition team, turning their home into a complete shambles: broken walls, dangling wires, and a fine powdering of plaster everywhere. Everything was packed in boxes. Everything else was wrapped in clear plastic cocoons. Leaning against her sledgehammer, she surveyed the damage. The walls in the study were coming out easily. Michael didn't complain. He never did. So she had taken his silence as an okay, and kept on moving through, leaving destruction and dust in her trail. Do the kitchen last. And the other room. She didn't want to think about the front room right now. Didn't know if she ever could.

She straightened up and rolled her shoulders, then rubbed the small ache in her back. From down the hall came the steady scrape of shovels and the shoosh-THUNK of debris sliding down the garbage chute and into the dumpster on the ground four stories below. She could hear the boys chatter and Michael's soft voice guiding them away from mischief time and time again.

"Right back. Stay there," he was saying.

He'd make a great father. Patient. Strong. Why can't he see that? thought Nikita, as she watched Michael walk towards her. Plaster streaked one jaw and along the legs of his faded jeans. His plain white tee-shirt pleasantly outlined the firm muscles of his chest like gift-wrapping. Despite all the strenuous work, his shirt was still perfectly tucked under the waistband of his pants. How did he do that? That was pure Michael, she supposed. She wanted to yank the shirt out and muss him up a little. The consequences could be interesting. Very interesting. For a moment, Nikita forgot how annoyed she was with him.

He stopped in front of her. Michael lightly touched her face, his way of greeting and asking. Are you okay?

Nikita nodded, leaning into his touch. "Yeah, I'm fine. Piece of cake. Ready for anything. Even work."

He grunted. "I will think about it."

"Only think?" Nikita frowned, all her frustration flooding back and swamping any affectionate notions. Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. Pa'akiki, all right. Well, DT was nearby. How convenient. Maybe she would do it after all. She opened her mouth to say something when there was a loud scraping sound, then Riiiiiiiiiiip.

Then it was very quiet. Much too quiet. The kind of quiet that happens right before the next round in a firefight, or after a kid's misadventure. The hair ruffled behind her neck. What had they done now? All the sharp things were packed away, the combustibles locked up.

And into the silence, a little voice said, "Uh oh." It fell quiet again.

Michael and Nikita exchanged a quick look, then ran down the hall. They dashed into what was left of the living room. Heart pounding, Nikita scanned the area. Boxes, covered furniture, one big shovel, two little ones. Nothing broken. And to her relief, the twins were still there and in one piece. Shane and Kelly stood four feet apart. They were completely naked except for the mixing bowls on their heads. The boys immediately pointed to each other. "He did it. He did it. He did it. It was his fault," they both said at the same time.

Thank God they were all right. She didn't care about anything else, not even the new black graffiti on the south wall. A bubble of wild laughter rose in Nikita's chest. She swallowed hard. "What happened to your clothes?"

Shane said, "We were demolition workers, but Uncle Michael left and we got bored. So then we were doing laundry and then we were playing luge. We got our helmets on ..."

"Daddy says you should know the course first and Mommy says always test your equipment. So we did. We did that. We stayed right here. Do you got any cookies?" finished Kelly.

"Where's the coffee table?" said Michael softly.

The boys shrugged identically. Their big eyes were round and shiny like Junior Mints, and their smiles - all innocent. Michael walked over to the open window where the chute was attached. He peered out for a long time. When he turned back to Nikita, his eyes were a little wider than usual, and his mouth was pressed tightly together as if he were holding something back. "Shane, Kelly. Come."

The boys eagerly trotted after him like puppy dogs. "We fix it. We can fix anything. Do you got tape? Do you got cookies?"

"Clothes first," said Michael, walking down the hall.

"Awwwwww. We like being naked. Do you like being naked?"

She couldn't hear Michael's quiet answer. Laughing to herself, Nikita shook her head. She went to sit down, but at the last moment, realized that their armchairs were missing too.

###

"Hey, chute's mo' bettah. We fixed it to da max." DT tiptoed into the hallway, which was all naked struts now. She held two mugs, balancing them carefully as she stepped over the piles of bashed up fiberboard. "Michael playin' soccer with da boys outside. Keep them outta our hair fo' awhile. Thanks for stoppin'. Nikea's finally asleep. I put her down in da front room. Nice and cozy. Sure it's okay we use it?"

"Fine. Great. Go right ahead." Nikita nodded, surprised by her lack of feeling. Maybe she was getting better after all. It didn't bug her any more.

"Howzit goin'?"

"Good." Nikita mopped her forehead with the back of one hand. Even her cheeks felt flushed. She pulled on the neckline of her tee-shirt and fanned herself a little.

"Hot?"

"Lately. Like a goddamn furnace. Well, it saves on our heating bill."

"Maybe you workin' too hard. You're all red. Take a break, yeah? Kick back. Then you let me help. We use the Vac-50's. Sucka up real good. Clean no time." DT handed Nikita a cup of coffee. The strong dark smell of the French Roast made her feel a little queer. She held it away from her. Lately coffee had been gassing up her stomach. Probably stress. That acid reflux thing. She'd dipped into Michael's secret stash of antacids, but they hadn't been working. She still felt queasy.

"You okay? Look pale alla da sudden. Eat somethin'. Come on, come on." DT grabbed her sleeve and dragged her into the kitchen. Then DT yanked open the refrigerator and peeked inside, started rummaged around. Packages rustled. Something clanked against the metal racks.

"No thanks. Not hungry. Don't feel like eating." Nikita set her mug down on the counter. She washed her hands anyway. Snapped off the faucet.

"Wha's dis here?" DT straightened up and held out a clear box of lumpy looking things. They were gray and slimy.

"Oh, some Thai fish dumplings I made a couple of days ago. I think they're off. Ate them last night. They tasted okay then, but now I'm feeling kind of funny. Better throw them out." Nikita rubbed her stomach clockwise. That seemed to help.

"Dat's what you say this morning. Not so good. Unsettled." DT felt Nikita's forehead as if she were one of the kids. "No. No fever. Shane has da bug. Thinkin' he gave it to you. Good thing I wen' shoppin'. You need dis. Real bad." Clucking to herself, DT reached inside a paper bag that was on the counter. She took out a small square package and ripped off a corner. Then she took down another mug from the cupboard, sprinkled some powder into it, and filled it with hot water from the Insta-tap. As she stirred the mug, the room started to smell lightly sweet and spicy.

"What is it?" asked Nikita.

DT gave her the mug. "Just drink it."

Nikita peered over the rim. DT gestured up, up with an encouraging hand. Nikita took a cautious sip. Mmm. Ginger. It tasted like liquid gold, curling into and warming her stomach. The queasiness left, and suddenly she felt hungry. She hadn't eaten all day. Nikita ate the rice cracker that DT gave her. Then she ate seven more. She licked the soy-flavored sesame seeds off her fingers.

"Mo' bettah?" DT was giving her a curious look.

"Yeah. That hit the spot. Thanks for the tea. What? What is it? Why are you looking at me that way?"

"Nothin'. Come wi' me. There's somethin' we gotta do."

###

The door to the front room was slightly open.

"Oh." Nikita stopped so suddenly that DT bumped into her back. She stepped aside. "That's okay. I don't want to wake the baby up."

"No big deal. Nikea like Rabbit. Run, run, run, then off they finally go. Poop outta gas. Mind empty. Sleep like stones. Nothin' wake them up. Come on. What's givin' you chicken skin?" DT pushed her into the room.

###

Nikita stumbled forward. She hadn't been into the nursery for weeks now. Reluctantly, she looked around. The room looked the same. Why shouldn't it? The pale yellow walls were just as fresh and sunshine-y as the day she had painted them. There was the dresser she'd decorated, and the glider whose rainbow cushions matched the curtains and the bumper pads running inside the crib. She'd spent hours picking out the brightly colored rug, so soft that it would never rub Misha's cheek or her little knees the wrong way.

How often had she visited this room in the middle of the night, and hopefully stared down at the empty crib? She used to rearrange the stuffed bunny and smooth out the baby quilt and imagine Misha laying there, sleeping peacefully, full of her milk.

Just remembering this overwhelmed her. Nikita hadn't entered the nursery since that last visit to the doctor's when she'd met Katie Donnelly for the first time. Met and killed her. Her and her baby. Nikita wondered if Sean Donnelly felt this same aching too. Maybe in his house, there was a room that made the emptiness grow, the pain double. Maybe Donnelly had a room that he avoided.

Just do it. Don't be a girly girl. Come on, come on. Force yourself. And at last, slowly, painfully Nikita looked down at the crib. And this time it was different than her nightmare. Because instead of an empty space was a living baby. Nikea. The closest thing she'd ever have to a daughter. The baby was snuffling, then stopped, smiling deeply as if she were dreaming about the best thing in the world. Her arms were flung over her head, and her legs were wide open like a leaping baby frog. Nikita reached over the bars of the crib, and gently touched a finger to the baby's hand. Nikea clutched her. Wouldn't let her go. Her smile deepened.

And then, as she listened to the baby smack her lips and sigh, realization finally hit Nikita. It all became clearer by the moment. She couldn't believe how very simple it all was. This was what was important. This was all that really mattered - the living, not the absent. She needed to focus on what was real, not the regrets. If she spent all her time on the could-have-been's, then her life could pass her completely by without her even knowing it. Jeez, what an idiot she'd been, wasting this time, this second chance. She stared down at Nikea and made a vow. To herself. To herself and Michael. And gradually, she felt better, lighter, as if a terrible weight had finally fallen away.

She continued watching the baby for a long time. DT left the room to take a nap, and still Nikita stood by the crib; watching, feeling the warm sun on her back. She basked in a whole golden feeling that she didn't recognize. It was brand new, strangely peaceful, an easing sigh in places she'd never known before. So this ... this was contentment, a special quiet magic. She tasted it and marveled.

Gradually the late afternoon light turned softer and rosy as the sun lowered in the sky. She could hear Michael feeding the boys some cookies in the kitchen, and the soft graceful footsteps of DT approaching.

"Howzit goin'?" DT yawned and stretched.

"Good. Nikea's still napping."

"Bettah wake her up soon. Otherwise she up all night." DT lowered the rails of the crib. Smiling, she smoothed the baby's hair.

"DT."

"Yeah?"

"I've been thinking. I know you hate shopping."

"Oh, yeah. Shoppin' make me dizzy. Rather defuse a bomb. Mo' fun. Lot mo' fun."

"And I have all these baby girl things. Dresses, rompers. I'd be happy if Nikea could use them."

DT turned around, looked Nikita up and down. "You givin' them to me? Why? Why you do dat?"

"Because ... well ..." Nikita broke off, feeling flustered. Didn't they want them? She imagined Nikea duded up in a series of tee-shirts and knee-patched jeans. Poor little girl. Growing up deprived of pink and little ruffle-y things. No dresses. Not a hint of them. Well, that couldn't be. Not if Aunty Nik could do anything about it. She was going to buy Nikea her first pair of little shiny black shoes and those white anklets with lace around them. They came in really small sizes now. "Well, why won't you use them?"

"Because maybe you need them, ne?"

"What do you mean?"

DT looked as if she were going to laugh. "You work in Analysis, Nikita. So ... analyze da facts. Think about it. Just look at you. You warm all of da time, li'l off dis mornin', then hungry like a ghost. Eat half-a my package of rice crackah's. What do you think?"

"No, can't be." What DT was suggesting couldn't possibly be true. Nikita denied it even as the first embers of hope sparked somewhere deep inside her.

"Missed your period?"

"It's always irregular. I go months without a period sometimes. That doesn't mean anything." But while she spoke, she felt the sparks turn into little tentative licks of flame. Maybe DT was right. It could be.

"Sore breasts?"

"Yeah, for a week. Isn't that just the hormones? Leftover from the treatment?"

"No. No, it's not. Can't be. Outta your body by now. Long gone. It's all you."

"Pregnant! Can't be. For God's sake, not just like that. Section One sterilizes all their operatives. We were fixed long ago. Soldier drones. Michael and me. We can't have kids the normal way. It's IVF. Or IUI with other partners. Like Adam. It's impossible for us."

"Impossible but possible. You make-a baby, yeah? I know it. Michael, there you are. What do you think?"

What? Nikita turned around. Jeez. Silent like a cat. How long had he been standing there in the doorway with that plate of cookies? Listening and wondering without saying anything at all. He looked thoughtful as he slowly entered the room, set the plate on top of the dresser. "Then the impossible is true. Perhaps ... infertility is not contraception after all."

"Michael, can you be happy about this? I want you to be happy." Her mind slowly accepted what DT was saying, what her own body already knew without confirmation. She felt a sudden fierceness. Her hands covered her flat belly; wanting, protecting. He couldn't talk her out of this. There was no way. She wouldn't let him.

He walked up to Nikita and lightly kissed her brow, then her lips. His eyes darkened to green-black like midnight pines with those deep shadows and deeper emotions that she could sense more than she could actually see. His mouth parted but he didn't say anything at first. It was if he were still deciding, still searching for the right words. He breathed once, twice, a third time. Then finally, he leaned closer and murmured, "Don't change this room, Soleil. Don't change a thing."

And for the first time in a long time, Nikita let those flames burst into a full bonfire. She suddenly felt too hopeful to be scared at all; too happy to be sensible about anything. She didn't care if dreams were dangerous or if believing in them was even worse. All she cared about was this second chance. Her chance and Michael's.

No one was going to stop them.

Continued in Green For Danger?

For Mister Bo. Be well soon, darlin'. Without you, life would be like Sanka: flat, flavorless, and missing that special zing. And to the Bo-kids: thanks for greeting each morning with joy, and reminding me to appreciate the daily magic in life. It's there. Don't waste a drop!

All non-LFN characters copyright (c) Bonnie Bo 2000. The right of Bonnie Bo to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her. All rights reserved.

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