Operations stood before the window in his office, legs braced apart, cigar in hand, surveying his domain. Walter was busy at his workstation concocting some agent of destruction with a miniature blowtorch and a steel bar. He seemed to be grinning while he worked. The man certainly did enjoy his craft, Operations thought with some amusement as he inhaled the cigar. Such a shame that the recipients of his artistry rarely lived long enough to truly appreciate it.

The communications center was buzzing with activity. Birkoff was busy propelling his chair from one blinking screen to the next, Starburst wrappers fluttering in his wake. He pushed off yet again and wheeled his chair to a computer on the far side of the platform to confer with another operative. Jason? Jonas? Operations couldn’t keep them straight sometimes. Nikita stood off to one side, watching intently as Birkoff’s fingers flew over the keyboard.

Michael breezed through the corridor and stepped onto the computer platform to engage Birkoff in conversation. His posture was rigid, intense. His energy completely focused on the mission at hand, not Nikita. In fact, he barely acknowledged her presence.

"Finally," Operations exhaled with relief.

At long last Michael lacked the distracted air that seemed to have permeated his existence since Nikita first returned to Section. Sending Nikita on vacation after Jurgen’s suicide mission had been the perfect solution to her hold over Michael’s emotions. For, without her physical presence as a constant reminder of his connection to her, Michael had transformed back into the perfect operative.

Nikita, in turn, had matured rapidly during her time away. Gone was the emotional, insular operative that used to grate on his nerves. The new Nikita was focused on the big picture. She was clinical and detached. Professional. Who’d have thought?

Jurgen remained a wound between Michael and Nikita that wasn’t likely to heal anytime soon. Nikita felt betrayed by Michael’s callous manipulation of her feelings for him, and Michael was unable to forgive the speed at which Nikita accepted Jurgen’s attentions.

Severing the emotional connection between Michael and Nikita had not been the primary objective of the scenario that Operations and Madeline devised to disenfranchise Jurgen, but it was certainly an added bonus. After Nikita’s return from her leave of absence the pair had reached a comfortable truce. They still functioned as a team on missions, but gave no indication of any ties beyond that. They did not seek each other out, and in fact they rarely spoke. The most telling detail of their change in behavior was the fact that Michael no longer invented reasons to stop by Nikita’s apartment, and Nikita no longer inhabited the extra chair in Michael’s office. Operations couldn’t be more pleased.

He was so engrossed in these enjoyable thoughts of improved efficiency that he did not hear Madeline enter the room. Startled, he turned around at the sound of her voice.

"We just got confirmation." She began.

"Good," he replied. "Assemble the team, call a briefing for first thing tomorrow morning."

"Already done. We meet at 6:00am."

Operations took another drag on his cigar, then spoke. "Who are you planning to use on this?"

"Michael and Nikita, of course. He has the ability to move among the highest levels of society without drawing undue attention, and she complements him well. They’re our best team. Why do you ask?" She seemed confused by his question.

"I worry that it may be too soon to send them on a mission of this nature. We’ve worked very hard to erode the emotional connection between them. If we have them pose as a couple for an extended period of time, they may start to behave like one for real…again." He dreaded the mere thought.

"…True," Madeline conceded. "But we have to use Michael on this mission, and there aren’t any other female operatives available at the moment with whom he has worked for any length of time. We can’t send him out with someone new, the Parkers would never buy it."

"Yes, I see your point," he agreed.

"I’ve been watching them as well. They will behave as a couple on this mission, because it is their job to do so, but I don’t think you should worry about any lasting emotional attachments. Jurgen did much more damage to their relationship by dying than he could have ever done living. He stirred up a hornet’s nest, then took himself out of the equation before it could be resolved to anyone’s satisfaction. Michael and Nikita are both pretty raw at the moment, so I think that their new working relationship will remain intact after this mission."

With a small smile, Madeline turned and left the room. Operations continued to smoke his cigar and returned to contemplating the activity in the area below. He hoped that Madeline was right.

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

The team, which consisted of Michael, Nikita, Walter, Birkoff and Terry, a loaner from one of Section’s European substations, was seated at the briefing table when Operations and Madeline walked in at 6:00am.

Operations picked up the remote, clicked it, and paused as an image of an attractive couple in their early thirties appeared on screen.

"This is Nigel and Linda Parker. The Parkers inhabit the upper echelon of London society. They are rich and bored, so they dabble in terrorist activities because it amuses them. It does not amuse us, but we’ve let it slide for some time because they posed no real threat. Their activities so far have been limited to funding small arms shipments for the Irish Republican Army. It seems, however, that they are becoming more passionate and dedicated to their cause."

Operations clicked the remote again, and the image changed to a photo of Al Wahid Assam, a known Middle East arms supplier.

"Last week they broke into the big leagues. Through an unknown source they brokered a deal with Al Wahid Assam to acquire a small supply of a highly sensitive biological weapon which was developed by the Iraqis during the Gulf War. It is believed that the Parkers plan to release the toxin during a not-yet-scheduled London bombing as a retaliation for recent actions of the British government against the IRA. For obvious reasons, we can’t let that happen."

"Why aren’t the British handling this?" Michael interrupted, echoing the thoughts of the other operatives.

"They tried, but it appears that Mr. Parker has ties to the highest levels of the British government, including the intelligence community. He and his wife were warned of the operation in advance, and sent the agent for an extended swim in the Thames. MI6 asked us to step in."

Michael nodded in agreement, as Madeline picked up where Operations left off.

"After further analysis," she began, "we’ve come to the conclusion that the Parkers are merely a front for a much more dangerous player. They may be Oxford educated, but they lack the skills and network to broker a deal with the likes of Al Wahid Assam. There is someone else pulling the strings, and we need to know who. It is for this reason that MI6 didn’t just eliminate the Parkers when they became a problem."

She paused for a moment to look each agent in the eye as she continued speaking.

"Your assignment is to find out who’s really in charge, contain them for questioning, and locate the toxin before they have a chance to use it.

"Michael, you will be posing as Michel Durant. Michel is French by birth, but is of Algerian descent. His family was actively involved in the Algerian war for independence, and provided financial support to the National Liberation Front back in the late 50s. Michel grew up in a rather progressive family environment, and today focuses his energies and considerable wealth on assorted rebel factions which he feels are worthy of his assistance.

"Nikita, you are Emma Durant, Michel’s wife. You are a British citizen, but moved to Australia with your mother when your parents divorced. Like the Parkers, you are wealthy and bored. You have made Michel’s causes your own, and support him wholeheartedly in his endeavors.

"Through a contact of our own, we’ve seen to it that the Parkers are aware of the Durant’s sympathies, as well as their financial status. They know that you will be visiting London for a few weeks and plan to attend a reception at the French embassy in two days time. We just received confirmation that they plan to attend the event in hopes of making your acquaintance."

"Walter, you will be providing research from the underground. See what you can find out about heightened IRA activity, paying special attention to mention of any IRA supporters who either move within or have access to London’s elite.

"Terry, you’ll be the Durant’s driver and general assistant. Get to know the Parkers’ staff, look for any unusual activity. Use the fact that you are Irish to your advantage, it should give you some credibility."

"Birkoff, you’ll stay here and act as point person for both teams."

Madeline then turned the briefing back over to Operations, who clicked the monitor off as he began to speak. "There is more detailed information on your PDAs. Read them, see Madeline with any questions. You leave in six hours. Dismissed."

The agents grabbed the PDAs which had been left for them on the briefing table and quickly got up to exit the room. With only six hours to prepare, each had a lot to do. Michael and Nikita did not even bother to make eye contact as they went their separate ways.

Madeline and Operations stayed behind for a moment, watching them depart.

"Are you sure they can pull this off?" Operations questioned, suddenly concerned that perhaps there wasn’t enough of an attachment between them. Now where had that thought come from? "Neither one of them even blinked when they realized that they would be playing a married couple. That may be normal behavior for Michael, but not Nikita. She didn’t even roll her eyes."

Madeline smiled at his last comment. "We are dealing with a much different Nikita now, you know. She’s becoming more like Michael in that she is able to hide her emotions from us. It’s a protective measure on her part, but one which will serve her well in the long run. They’ll get the job done."

Operations seemed content with her analysis and turned to head back up to his office.

Contrary to Operations’ opinion, Madeline didn’t think that a clandestine relationship between Michael and Nikita was such a bad thing. The truth of the matter was that despite the cool efficiency that they had been exhibiting lately on their missions, they weren’t functioning as well on an intuitive level. The unspoken connection between them was suffering, and that more than anything else could get them killed. Madeline couldn’t count the number of times she had watched them have an entire conversation without uttering a single word. It had saved them in the field on more than one occasion.

She had lied to Operations when she had said that there weren’t any other female operatives who could work with Michael on this particular mission. She could have picked any number of women and changed the back-up role to that of Michael’s fiancee, or even his girlfriend, to account for any seeming lack of personal intimacy. No, she wanted Nikita on this mission. There were a number of issues that the pair had to face, and they weren’t getting resolved in Section because they weren’t speaking to each other. At least, they weren’t speaking to each other constructively.

Operations had been right to be concerned that Michael and Nikita would become re-attached during this mission, she thought wickedly. Based on their past history, she was betting on it. Every other time they had played a couple the sparks had flown. She was just sorry she wouldn’t be around to witness it first hand.

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

When Michael boarded the small Section jet which was taking them to London he was greeted with the sound of Nikita’s laughter. Apparently Walter was relating some dirty story which she found terribly amusing.

Upon seeing Michael enter the area, however, she abruptly cut the sound off and swiveled in her chair so that her back was facing him. Walter looked at her, then at Michael, and wisely retreated to the back of the plane. Terry, who had only been at headquarters for a short period of time, was oblivious to any undercurrents of tension and continued studying the PDA in front of him.

Michael pondered her back as he sat down and buckled himself in.

He still felt the pain of her betrayal, even though he was the one who had engineered it in the first place. He had known exactly which buttons to push to send her flying into Jurgen’s arms. And he had done it willingly. It seemed the best way to convince Madeline and Operations that there wasn’t anything too serious between them. Since their relationship was a secret, he really hadn’t been in any position to turn down Madeline’s plan when she proposed it. He hadn’t imagined that Nikita would take to Jurgen so quickly.

The ease at which Nikita had accepted Jurgen’s attentions had left Michael wondering if the depth of his feelings for her was reciprocated at all. Like Lisa Fanning, did she care for him or would she have behaved that way with any man who had saved her life? Was she in love with him, or just the idea of being in love? It was a bitter revelation, but one he had to acknowledge.

During Nikita’s leave of absence he had come to the conclusion that the best way to survive her was to keep her at arms length. It was not something he wanted to do, but it was something he felt that he had to do. It was the only way to maintain his equilibrium. To stay in control.

Yet, when confronted with the sound of Nikita’s laughter, he had to admit to himself that he missed her. He missed her energy, her devil-may-care attitude, her special smiles that were only for him. As hard as he worked to ignore her, some days he just couldn’t. Keeping her out of his life, and his heart, was wearing him out.

After the plane reached cruising altitude he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. It was the only way to survive her proximity.

Nikita watched Michael as he slept. This was the first opportunity that she’d had since her return to really look at him for more than a moment or two. He looked tired, she thought with some surprise. She squelched the desire to walk over and brush his hair away from his face. As much as she wanted to punish him for manipulating her, she also wanted to comfort him. To protect him. It was an odd combination of emotions that left her feeling frustrated and irritated. She wished she didn’t care, but she knew that on some level no matter what stunts he pulled she always would.

Not that it mattered whether she cared or not, she thought bitterly. Now that the Jurgen situation was "contained," Michael had no more use for her. He had made no effort to seek her out upon her return, and only spoke to her within the confines of a mission. She didn’t even exist as far as he was concerned, and it was abundantly clear that she had no place in his life, in Section or out. It seemed that the plan to use her to retaliate against Jurgen dated back to the beginning.

Sighing, she turned her head to stare out the window. As much as she blamed Michael for Jurgen’s death, she blamed herself even more. She had genuinely liked Jurgen, they were similar in a number of ways, but she had used him in a petty attempt to get back at Michael for rejecting her. Michael may have known that she would behave that way, but it didn’t excuse the fact that a good person was now dead because of it. Because of her. She was finally beginning to understand why Section was no place for emotion.

While on leave she had come to the conclusion that the feelings she had for Michael had given him too much power over her. Given the fact that Section would always come first with Michael, it stood to reason that he would continue to use that power to manipulate her when necessary to achieve Section objectives. As a protective measure, she had vowed to distance herself from him. To be partners and nothing else. It was the only solution, since she knew that she would never survive another betrayal like the one involving Jurgen.

So far, her plan seemed to be working, largely because Michael was too busy ignoring her to notice that she was ignoring him. If the situation didn’t hurt so much, it would have been funny.

Reclining her chair back, soon she too fell asleep. It seemed like minutes, rather than hours, had passed when Walter woke her to say that they had arrived. She, Michael and Terry would pick up their car and check in to their hotel, while Walter went to drop in at the London substation.

It was time to become Mme. Michel Durant.

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

Nikita, Michael and Terry arrived at their hotel at roughly 8:00pm, London time. Madeline had arranged for them to stay at one of London’s more exclusive establishments that catered to the super elite. The facility was small compared to most hotels, but the decor was opulent, the service unparalleled and the staff extremely discreet.

Terry went to the front desk to arrange for their suite of rooms while Michael and Nikita wandered in to the dimly lit lobby to have a look around. The furnishings were an extraordinary mix of authentic period styles, everything from Chippendale to Queen Anne, that looked far better suited to the Victoria and Albert Museum than the lobby of a hotel, no matter how exclusive.

They had changed out of their travel gear into clothing more appropriate for their assumed identities. Michael, as usual, was all Gaultier. Although he’d traded in his standard black suit for a dark blue jacket and trousers that highlighted the red in his hair. Nikita was dressed in ivory Chanel, her hair pulled into a severe bun that only accentuated her beauty. Tiny diamond earrings sparkled in the muted light.

Michael seated himself on a small apple silk settee, bracing his arm across the back, and motioned for Nikita to join him. She gave him one of her most charming smiles, one that anyone who knew her would have recognized immediately as dripping in sarcasm, and primly sat next to him. Her back was ramrod straight.

Michael regarded her governess-like posture with amusement. Trust Nikita to behave like a stereotypical British ice princess. She wasn’t going to give him an inch on this mission. But he’d always been one to rise to a challenge. If he had to pretend to be married to her, he might as well have some fun. After what she’d pulled with Jurgen, she deserved it. And, he had to admit, it was just too difficult to stay away.

Continuing to watch her profile, he moved his arm off the back of the settee and raised his hand to caress the back of her neck. She blinked at his touch, but gave no other outward appearance that she was affected. Inside, her stomach was rolling. What was he doing? He’d spent weeks, months even, pretending that she didn’t exist, and now he was stroking her neck? Slowly she turned to meet his gaze, her eyes as inscrutable as his own.

"Calme toi, chere," he murmured, laying on that damn sexy accent of his. She could feel her insides turning to mush. Leaning in closer to her face he continued. "For the next few weeks, we are a couple. If we behave otherwise, we will contradict the intelligence which has been fed to the Parkers and we won’t be accepted into their circle. Understand?"

Nikita continued to stare at him, then replied in a flawless French accent, "Oui, je comprend."

The look on Michael’s face was so priceless, she allowed herself a cheeky grin at his expense. Noticing Terry at the lobby entrance motioning to them that their rooms were ready, she stood up and beckoned for him to follow.

"Michel, on y va…" trailed after her as she sauntered over to meet the young Irishman.

He sat there for a moment, stunned. He didn’t know when she had started studying French, but the sound of her voice speaking his native language had to be one of the most provocative experiences of his life. As he rose to join her, it dawned on him that he had probably just started a battle that neither one of them was going to win.

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

Michael and Nikita shared an expansive suite on the top floor of the hotel that was decorated in much the same fashion as the lobby below. Terry had an adjoining room which was nowhere near as large as theirs, but still quite impressive.

Nikita felt out of place in such grandiose surroundings, but she noticed that Michael fit right in. He sat comfortably in a chair that was hundreds of years old sipping a cognac and looking as if he belonged. As if he was born to it. She wondered for the millionth time what his background was that he had the ability to adapt so well to such surroundings. She wondered if she would ever know. Considering their current relationship, she figured not.

It was awkward being alone with Michael at first, she had to admit. It was the first time that they had been alone without some sort of Section supervision since he had brought her back. But Michael gave no indication of picking up where he’d left off in the lobby downstairs, so Nikita soon relaxed and went in to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Emerging a few minutes later in a satin floor length nightgown, she ignored Michael’s appreciative gaze completely and crawled into the huge king-sized bed. Grabbing her PDA, she concentrated on memorizing the background which had been fabricated for the Durants.

Michael watched her as she focused intently on the PDA. She had changed a great deal in the past year. On previous missions she would have been crawling the walls, demanding to go somewhere, do something. Anything. Yet here she was, tucked in bed with her hair piled on her head ignoring him and serenely reading her PDA. He’d never been one to go for the studious type before, but she made it look terribly sexy. Did she look like that when she was studying French? Did she wear satin? No, he wasn’t going to go there tonight. It wasn’t healthy.

Polishing off the remainder of his cognac, he set the glass down on a side table and went in to the bathroom to prepare for bed. He stared at himself in the mirror, wondering why it was that despite knowing the feelings that he harbored for Nikita could get them both killed, that he still felt compelled to be near her. Intellectually, he knew he should walk away. But the truth was, he wanted - no, needed - her back. He missed her friendship. He was tired of ignoring her. Tired of her ignoring him. Why would she have studied French if not to converse with him?

He knew that he couldn’t blame her for Jurgen. Not really. He had known how her mind worked, and he had known that she would use the first male who seemed interested to punish him for rejecting her. He supposed that sort of warped, feisty behavior was part of her charm. At any rate, she had learned her lesson the hard way and now they both had to live with the results.

By the time he had finished rationalizing his continued attraction to her, Nikita had completed her review and had turned off the light by her side of the bed. She was sleeping on her stomach with her face turned toward the edge of the bed. He was certain that she was still awake, but she made no move to acknowledge him as he flipped off the light and joined her under the covers.

"Good night, Nikita" he said softly as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Nikita wasn’t sure what to make of Michael at that moment. He had ignored her on the plane, flirted outrageously with her in the lobby, then gone back to ignoring her in the room. Now they were sleeping in the same bed, sharing the same covers. She didn’t know where the mission ended and Michael began, and at this point she was too tired to care.

"’night, Michael" came her muffled reply.

It wasn’t much, he thought, but it was a start. At least she was talking.

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

When Nikita awoke the next morning Michael was gone. She would have never known that they’d shared the same bed if not for the dent in the pillow on the opposite side. She wondered how long he had slept. If he had slept at all. Surprisingly, she had slept like a rock. She attributed that fact to Michael’s presence. As much as he tended to hurt her when she was awake, she knew that he would protect her while she slept. Their relationship was so perverse at times, she thought as she got up and headed for the bathroom.

The party at the French embassy was scheduled for that evening. She and Michael would attend, with Terry acting as chauffeur. Since their cover was that of the super bored, super rich, Nikita had spa appointments for the majority of the day in preparation for her big night out. After all, she was too rich to wash her own hair, now wasn’t she? Yeah, right. Still, some pampering might be fun. Her next mission would probably involve crawling around rat infested sewage pipes at 2:00 in the morning… She shuddered at the thought.

Dressing in a matronly (ugh!) pale blue day suit, she stepped into a pair of navy Prada pumps - a girl could only be so conservative - and selected a matching navy purse. She left "Michel" a note informing him of her location, and exited the room.

She returned later that afternoon, fully refreshed, to find that Michael was still absent. He’d left her a note, however, informing her that he would meet her in the hotel bar at 7:30pm. They were due to arrive at the embassy at 8:00pm.

She took her time getting ready, waffling between several wardrobe options before selecting a floor length sheath of raspberry silk. The dress had a high, square neckline, and form-fitting bodice. It was flattering, without being particularly daring. Her main goal was to get through the evening without giving Michael undue encouragement. Satisfied that her ice princess persona was intact, she collected her wrap and headed downstairs to the hotel bar.

She saw Michael before he saw her, and once again he took her breath away. He was dressed in black tie sitting in a chair reading the Times. She didn’t think she would ever get used to him in a tuxedo. Not even realizing that she had stopped walking, she stood for a moment gazing appreciatively at him, drinking in his appearance. Shaking herself, she forced those thoughts to the back of her head and resumed walking. She would focus on the mission at hand, not him. It was the only way to survive.

Michael had actually seen Nikita long before she’d noticed him. The minute she had stepped out of the elevator he had sensed her presence. She looked pampered and stunningly beautiful. Her hair was pulled up into an intricate topknot that left a few loose tendrils to tease her face. The color of her dress made her skin glow, her eyes appear even more blue. Noting the conservative cut of the outfit, he rightly assumed that she was back in governess mode. If she only knew, he thought, that her figure was best suited to just that type of dress. It revealed nothing, yet suggested everything. It was tantalizing. Not willing to let her know that he had been staring, he resumed reading the paper and waited for her to approach.

"Michel," she greeted him pleasantly as she neared his chair. "Did you have a good day?" Her accent had changed, he noted. There was still an undertone of Australian, but for the most part she spoke the Queen’s English. Her words were measured, clipped.

He set down the paper and stood to face her. Leaning in, he bussed each cheek and replied "Oui. You?"

Her legs wobbled at his touch, but her face appeared unaffected. She wouldn’t let him have that power over her. "Fine, thank you. Are you ready?" She was all business. How ironic that she was the one in mission mode. Operations would be so amused.

"By all means…" He linked his arm through hers and guided her out of the hotel where Terry was waiting with their car. Gazing at her rigid profile, he decided that tonight might actually be fun. He was going to enjoy seeing how long Nikita could behave as a structured, upper crust snob. He was willing to wager it wouldn’t be long.

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

The gala at the French embassy was in full swing when Michael and Nikita arrived. Light shone from every window, and the muted sound of a chamber orchestra echoed in the night as they ascended the front stairs.

They were greeted at the door by an oily ambassador-in-training who was smarm personified. Identifying himself as Antoine, he blatantly ogled Nikita in front of Michael, and was even so bold as to caress her shoulders as he removed her wrap and handed it over to a footman who would take it to the coat room. Michael observed the young man’s actions with a sardonic grin as Nikita gave him a cool stare. He could tell she was seething, but she hid it remarkably well. Yes, tonight might actually be fun, he thought for the second time.

"Coming, chere?" He asked, as he placed his hand on the small of her back and propelled her forward. Leaning in he whispered in her ear, "Remember, we are a happy couple united in our desire to fund rebel factions and sow dissent. It is our raison d’etre…"

"That may be," she replied as she surveyed the room for their target, "but if that little weasel thinks I’m going to let him get friendly with me, he’s got another thing… There they are, far right corner."

"I see them. Let’s stay here for a while, let them approach us." He signaled a passing waiter and grabbed two flutes of champagne. Handing one to Nikita, he continued. "Have I told you how ravishing you look when you are irritated?"

A raised eyebrow was her first response. She considered him for a moment, taking in the evil grin in his eyes, and realized he was enjoying himself at her expense. Jerk. She knew better than to fight fire with fire where Michael was involved. They were liable to both go up in flames. So she did the next best thing, she fought it with ice.

"Actually, no." she replied, trying her best to look bored.

Michael didn’t buy her arctic stare for a moment since the pulse point in her neck was pounding. "Well, you do. It heightens the color in your cheeks." He leaned in even closer to whisper, "It makes you look almost… aroused." Then he stepped back to survey the results.

She gulped at that remark, and took a sip of champagne to clear the frog in her throat. She fixed him with her most disdainful stare, and thanked her lucky stars that the Parkers were winding their way through the crowd to head in their direction. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. She was either going to slap him or jump him, neither an option for a bored socialite at a soiree.

The couple reached their side in a matter of moments. Nigel, a tall blond Anglican-looking man with deep blue eyes, spoke first.

"Excuse me, Monsieur Durant? Madame Durant?" He questioned in a smooth British accent.

Michael spoke first, all affability. "Oui, may we help you?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. My name is Nigel Parker, and this is my wife Linda. I understand from a mutual acquaintance that we have a common interest." His casual demeanor belied the avid interest in his eyes.

It was Nikita’s turn to speak. "Mutual acquaintance?" she asked, feigning confusion.

Linda, a petite brunette with flawless white skin and green eyes, replied to Nikita’s question in an Irish lilt. "Yes, Connor O’Reilly. He mentioned that you were an investor in a small start-up company of his."

"Ah, yes. Mr O’Reilly," Michael replied, hearing her Irish accent and assuming correctly that she must have been the instigator in the couple’s support of the IRA. He made a mental note to have Birkoff do an even more detailed background search for anyone from her past who might be influencing her present actions.

He gave a Gallic shrug and continued in a thick French accent, "It was a rather large start-up actually, if I do recall. It was the least we could do for a friend." He gave her a conspiratorial smile.

This was the response that they had been hoping for, Nigel thought with relief. "Assuming you are interested, Linda and I are having a small gathering tomorrow evening with a few entrepreneurial friends. We thought that you might like to join us. In the interest of free enterprise, you understand."

"But of course," Michael responded, "I have always respected free enterprise. Don’t you, ma chere?"

"Yes, certainly. We would be delighted to meet your… acquaintances… Mr. Parker. Mrs. Parker. " Nikita smiled at them serenely.

What an interesting couple, Linda thought as she observed their interaction with Nigel. The husband had to be one of the most sensual men she had ever seen, yet the wife appeared to be his polar opposite. She was cold, distant. Still, the attraction between them had been palpable from across the room. Well, opposites were known to attract…

Linda would have never pegged them for IRA supporters, but then who would ever think that she and Nigel were? It was what made them so successful at it. Besides, if O’Reilly said they were clean, then they were. That was all she and Nigel needed to know. She hoped that the Durants would be interested in funding their latest project. Assam’s prices had been much steeper than they had anticipated, and the powers that be were anxious for results. The Arabs were holding the toxin for shipment until final payment was received.

Linda reached into her reticule and pulled out a small card. Handing it to Nikita, she gave her a warm smile. "Here is our address. We look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Say, 7:00? We’ll have supper."

"We’d like that," Nikita replied, and found herself liking Linda. How on earth such a seemingly nice looking woman could consider biological warfare on the streets of London a viable solution to a problem that was hundreds of years old, she had no idea. Then again, she had to remind herself that looks were deceiving. She’d had a crash course on that subject from the day she’d first entered Section.

She and Michael watched the pair leave, then turned to consider each other. Nikita spoke first.

"Well, that certainly didn’t take long. They must really be eager."

Michael was forced to agree, thinking that they now had a few hours to kill before they could safely leave. Reaching for her flute, he set it on a nearby table along with his own and escorted her to the dance floor. When they reached the parquet, Michael placed his left hand around her waist and pulled her into a loose embrace. Nikita instinctively placed her right hand in his, and rested her left on his shoulder. They moved in unison with the music.

Looking into Nikita’s face, Michael could tell clearly that she was confused by his actions, wondering why they didn’t just leave since they had achieved their primary objective.

"No, ma chere," he murmured, "we’ll have to stick this out a while longer."

"Dare I ask why?" she countered, wishing he would stop calling her ‘chere.’ His use of the term was cruel in its insincerity.

"The Parkers sought us out, not the other way around. If we leave now it will look like we were waiting for them. Since their source may be here, we have to keep up the charade."

"I see your point." Mentally, she berated herself for not having thought of that herself. Being with Michael had her off kilter. She had to focus.

Nikita had resolved not to let the dance with Michael affect her, but she soon found that the soft music was dulling her senses. She offered no resistance when he pulled her closer, and soon her arms were snaked around his neck and her head was resting against his shoulder. They stayed like that for some time, swaying to the music, each enjoying the feel of the other. She thought that she felt Michael place a light kiss on the top of her head, but she couldn’t be sure.

Michael inhaled her scent, relishing her closeness. He would take this moment for himself, mission or no mission. Peaceful interludes with Nikita were few and far between.

Time passed quickly on the dance floor, and soon it was time to leave. Michael and Nikita thanked their host, and sent word for Terry to bring the car around. An easy silence had settled between them as they waited in the foyer, and for once neither one wanted to spoil the moment by speaking.

When Antoine returned with Nikita’s wrap, Michael took it from him with a stern glare and gently placed the garment around Nikita’s shoulders. She thanked him with her eyes, and he leaned down and brushed a light kiss against her forehead. His touch prompted a quick intake of breath on her part, and Nikita could only stare in wonder as his eyes met hers. For the first time since she had returned from leave she sensed genuine emotion in his gaze. It occurred to her that it was Michael who had just kissed her, not "Michel." It gave her hope that perhaps there was a part of him that did care after all. She responded by smiling warmly at him, giving him hope that perhaps she cared as well.

The moment was quickly broken by the valet, who informed them that their car was waiting out front.

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

Michael and Nikita were silent during the trip back to the hotel, each lost in their own thoughts. It seemed as though the wall between them had been breached back at the embassy, yet the knowledge of that fact was still so new that neither one was willing to test its boundaries by speaking. It was easier to continue on in silence imagining that things had changed, than to speak and find that they had not.

The stillness between them continued as Michael escorted Nikita through the lobby to the elevators, with each person acutely aware of the other. Nikita felt like a nervous teenager on her first date. The knowledge of a room with only a king-sized bed to sleep in loomed before her. Would anything happen? Did she want it to? At this point, did she even have the power to stop it?

She felt a jolt of electricity when Michael placed his hand on the small of her back to usher her into the elevator. Her pulse quickened and she took a deep breath to steady her jangled nerves as she stepped inside. She turned to face the doors as they closed. Michael removed his hand and reached over to press the button for their floor, brushing his arm against hers in the process. Turning her head a degree to stare at him, she found him regarding her quietly, his mask firmly in place. She wondered if he had any idea what kind of effect he had on her.

Michael was actually wondering if Nikita had any idea what type of effect she had on him. The smile that she had given him at the embassy had him completely disoriented. Had he imagined the silent truce between them? She stared at him with an expression that was as unreadable as his own.

Their thoughts were interrupted by the jarring sound of the elevator bell indicating that they had reached their floor. In unison they headed toward their room, each as unsure as the other as to what would happen next.

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

As it turned out, they’d been stressed over nothing. Upon entering their room they found Walter lounging on their bed perusing the best that Britain’s four TV channels had to offer on a Saturday night. Snooker. He had a greasy bag of chips in one hand that reeked of salt and vinegar.

"Hey, Sugar! Michael." He greeted them warmly. "How’d it go?"

"Fine, Walter," Nikita replied. Placing a hand on her hip, she regarded him with mock annoyance and leaned over to grab a chip. Suddenly, she was starving. "May I ask to what we owe the pleasure of your company? I thought we weren’t meeting until tomorrow." She munched on the midnight snack, savoring it. The hors d’oeuvres at the embassy had not been very filling.

"Now, Sugar, when do I need a reason to see you? Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me…"

"…You know I always miss you Walter," Nikita smiled at him, stealing another fry. "But somehow I don’t think you stopped by to say hi. We have com links for that sort of thing, you know."

Walter pretended to look pained. "Of course I know, I designed the first model!"

Actually, Walter had stopped by to check on Nikita, and Michael, but he wasn’t about to tell them that. After witnessing the scene between them on the plane, and all of the others that had preceded it over the past few months, he felt compelled to make sure that they were okay. He’d never seen them so angry at each other. So intent on inflicting pain.

Besides, he had a pretty good idea what Madeline was up to when she’d paired them for this job, so he thought he’d see how that particular "mission" was going. Judging by the bright, flushed look on Nikita’s face and Michael’s obvious appreciation of it, he would say that things were moving along just fine. Ah, romance seemed to be back in the air… He figured he’d trade that information to Madeline for a few new toys that he’d been eyeing. There was a new plastique out that he was dying to play with…

Sitting up, he stopped teasing and got down to business. There was a legitimate reason for him to be there. "I stopped by to update you on what I’ve gathered so far. I’m leaving the city to check out a few leads in Oxfordshire tomorrow, so I thought I’d bump up our meeting."

Up until that point Michael had been standing off to one side enjoying the easy banter between Walter and Nikita. He loved to watch her when she was with Walter. It was obvious how much the old man cared for her, and she responded openly to that warmth with humor and real affection. Walter had never lied to Nikita, he’d never had to, so she trusted him implicitly. Michael hoped someday to earn that same level of acceptance, but he didn’t know that it would be possible. There would always be times when he would have to lie.

He asked Walter to hold off on the briefing for a moment while he went to see if Terry was back from parking the car. They might as well all get the information at the same time.

When all four were comfortably seated around the Chippendale table in their suite, Walter continued.

"First off, I checked in with the local substation to see if they had any new intel since we left. Nothing there, they don’t know who the Parkers are working with. Birkoff did a little extra research on the side, but he’s come up with zilch also."

Pausing to eat another fry, he continued.

"As far as my IRA contacts are concerned, all’s quiet. There are no scheduled terrorist attacks. They seem to be waiting to see what type of Prime Minister Tony Blair turns out to be."

"That’s odd, Walter." Nikita interjected. "Wouldn’t you expect them to have prior knowledge of the bombing?"

It was Terry’s turn to chime in. "Ordinarily, yes. But you have to understand that this situation is extremely complicated. There are levels upon levels, factions within factions. This war has been going on for so long that most people don’t even remember how it started. The Parkers could very well be part of a new group. Let’s face it, what they are attempting to do will escalate the conflict to a whole new level. It will skyrocket it into the global arena."

Michael stood up and began to pace, his finger absently rubbing his chin as he softly spoke. "I think we should investigate this from a whole new angle. Let’s ask ourselves why the Parkers would want to escalate the conflict. What would they have to gain? Use the answers to those questions to find their source. I don’t think it’s going to be anyone who has been identified previously as an IRA supporter. The style of bombing that they propose is new, so it stands to reason that the source is as well.

"Nikita and I will be attending a small fundraising function at the Parkers tomorrow night, at which time we should know more about their motivations. Terry, you should have a chance to talk with the staff at that point."

Michael moved to stare out the windows, his back to the group at the table. He appeared deep in thought.

Something just didn’t feel right, but Michael couldn’t put his finger on it. The meet that evening had been too easy, the Parkers too pleasant. They accepted the Durants without hesitation based on the word of one strategically placed contact who was sketchy at best. They hadn’t even conducted a detailed background check. The original time frame for the mission had been a few weeks, because they assumed that it would take some time to earn the Parkers’ trust. Yet, he and Nikita had gained access in a matter of minutes. It just didn’t make sense. What game were the Parkers playing? They were either extremely naïve, or extremely intelligent. Possibilities whirled through his mind.

With Michael off in his own private world, the impromptu meeting soon broke up. Terry retreated back to his room. Nikita walked Walter to the door.

"Hey, Sugar. Tell Michael I’ve got a lead on some possible activity down in Oxford. Since that’s where the Parkers went to school, and where they maintain an estate, I thought it might be worth checking out. I’ll keep you posted."

"Thanks, Walter," Nikita replied with a smile. "I’ll be sure to tell Michael."

He gave her a penetrating stare, then grinned. "Glad to know you two are speaking."

His grin widened when he saw that she was blushing. Nikita felt her face turning redder under Walter’s watchful stare and did the only thing she could. She laughed.

"Get out, Walter!" She playfully swatted his arm and pushed him out the door. That man was truly incorrigible.

Walking back into the room, she noticed that Michael hadn’t moved. He still stood staring intently out the window. She slowly walked over to him and placed her hand softly on his shoulder, raising her eyes to meet his as he turned to face her.

"Something’s not right." She said quietly.

Michael could only stare at her, amazed at her ability to read him. The more time they spent together, the more they began to think alike. To anticipate each other’s actions. That fact was frightening in its intimacy.

"No, something isn’t right." He agreed.

"The meet was too easy." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes. It was."

"Any ideas?"

"A few. I need to go out for a while. There are some contacts I have here that Walter doesn’t have access to, and I’d like to hear what they have to say."

She nodded in understanding, then offered her assistance. "Do you need any help?"

His eyes roamed over her face, resting on her chin where she’d acquired a salt patch from the chips that she’d pilfered from Walter. He raised his hand to her face and gently rubbed the salt away with his thumb. He watched her pupils dilate at his touch. He could hear her breathing become uneven.

"No, but thank you for offering."

His thumb continued to caress her face, despite the fact that the salt was long gone. Her eyes bored in to his. Moving toward each other in unison, their lips met in a brief, whisper soft kiss. The moment was an unspoken apology between them. It was tender, sincere.

Stepping back, Michael regarded her flushed complexion and raised his hand to smooth a wayward curl away from her face.

"I should only be gone a few hours."

She nodded again, unable to speak after what has just passed between them.

Michael moved purposefully toward the armoire, traded in his tux for his standard black suit, and strapped on his gun. Before Nikita had even had a chance to process the fact that he’d been standing in front of her wearing black silk boxers, he was gone.

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

Nikita was sound asleep when Michael returned to the room several hours later. His meetings had taken longer than expected, and it was now close to 5:00am. He had to smile as he gazed down at her prone form. She’d been sleeping fitfully, and had rolled to the center of the bed. Her limbs seemed to stretch in every direction. He couldn’t figure out which was more tangled, the sheets or her hair.

Moving silently, he placed his clothes back in the armoire and returned his pistol to its hiding place in his suitcase. Then, clad once again in his black silk boxers, he crawled in to bed beside Nikita. She stirred but did not wake when he nudged her aside. Once he was safely settled under the covers, however, she instinctively snuggled closer so that her arm was draped across his chest and her head was resting against his shoulder. He thought he’d died and gone to Heaven when she murmured his name in her sleep and smiled.

Despite the hour he found that he wasn’t even tired. He was content to lie there, stroking her tangled hair, listening to her breathe. For the first time in a long time, he felt at peace.

At some point he did fall asleep, because the next thing he knew he was waking to the sound of the alarm by the side of the bed. Nikita stirred in his arms, grumbling at the indecency of the hour. Suddenly, her head popped straight up. It occurred to her that she was lying in bed with Michael, practically on top of Michael, and he was practically naked. Her legs were tangled with his, and her demure floor length silk nightgown was bunched around her waist. She flipped her hair out of her face and regarded Michael with a startled expression on her face.

"Morning, chere," he greeted her with a sensual smile. He didn’t seem at all surprised to find her there.

Nikita continued to stare, watching him watch her decide what to do. She felt his hands trail up and down her arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Her heart was pounding. The scent of him filled her soul. She shifted her position so that she was straddling him and discovered to her delight that he was just as aroused as she was. Giving Michael a flirty smile, she arched her pelvis against his and leaned down to lave his nipple with her tongue.

Michael lay back, enjoying her ministrations, until he decided that he’d had all the teasing he could take. In a practiced, swift motion he placed his hands about her waist and flipped their positions. Nikita responded with a throaty laugh. She was enjoying her day immensely so far.

They made eye contact, grinning like naughty school children.

Leaning down to place tiny butterfly kisses along Nikita’s collarbone, Michael pushed her nightgown off her shoulders and murmured, "You do realize that we are scheduled to check in with Madeline and Operations in a half hour."

"Mmmmhmmm…" was the reply. She arched her neck as his kisses moved upward. Her fingers grabbed at his hair.

"Ordinarily," he continued, moving to kiss her chin, her cheeks, "I’m not a huge fan of immediate gratification in the bedroom. But today, for you, I think I’m going to make an exception."

Nikita looped a leg over his thigh, pulling him against her. Hard. "Really… you’re too kind."

"I’m so glad you think so…"

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

Michael and Nikita were dressed for their virtual briefing with three minutes to spare. They looked remarkably composed, considering. Nikita had combed her hair into some semblance of order and was wearing white leggings and an oversized gray sweatshirt. Michael had thrown on black trousers and a form-fitting black pullover sweater. His hair was a riot of waves, which he repeatedly attempted, and failed, to tame.

As Michael dug through his suitcase in search of their laptop, Nikita flung open the connecting door to Terry’s suite and ushered him in the door. Her eyes were bright, but at least her breathing had returned to normal.

If Terry wondered why he’d had to knock on the adjoining door for a full five minutes before he was let in, he gave no indication. Nor did he question why Michael waited until the last possible minute to boot up the laptop. He was just a loaner, after all. He didn’t work with them on a regular basis. Perhaps it was just their personal style.

At the appointed time, Michael sat at the table with the computer before him. Nikita and Terry flanked him on either side.

A bleary-eyed Birkoff established the link and greeted the trio on screen. It was late at night at headquarters, and the young computer whiz looked as though he’d been staring at monitors for far too long. His visual was soon replaced by that of Operations’, who questioned Michael as to the status of the mission. Michael filled him in on the meet with the Parkers, as well as the scant intelligence which Walter had been able to gather so far. Operations agreed that something seemed off.

Madeline then came on screen to quiz both Michael and Nikita about the Parkers’ behavior, searching for any clues they might have missed. Unfortunately, since their discussion with the Parkers had been so short, it was difficult to glean much of anything from it.

All agreed that the information they had at the moment wasn’t much, and a short silence ensued. Soon Operations reappeared on screen to address Michael.

"Next steps?"

"We’ll know more after the dinner this evening. Walter should have reported back by then as well." Michael paused a moment, considering, then continued. "Birkoff?"

"Yeah," his face reappeared on screen.

"I need some additional intel. I need you to find out everything you can about the agent who was supposedly killed by the Parkers. "

Birkoff nodded, then scooted off to the side as Operations’ face quickly reappeared on screen. "Supposedly?"

Michael’s face remained impassive. "Supposedly. I may have a lead. I met last night with a few contacts here in town, they indicated that the death of the agent was an avenue that should be explored."

Operations nodded, deep in thought. "Do it, Birkoff."

Michael continued, "Be sure to include the autopsy, if possible. Also, I need to know who specifically forwarded the intel for this mission. Which branch of the British government it came from. It could be important."

Operations peered at Michael intently through the screen. "Is there anything you’re not telling us Michael? Any other information that your source provided?" It seemed as though he wanted to say more, but was restraining himself.

"No," was Michael’s calm reply. There was more, but he wasn’t prepared to act on it until he received Birkoff’s report.

Madeline reappeared on screen. "Michael, Nikita… I want you in real-time communication this evening. We want visuals and voice patterns on each guest. Birkoff will monitor you from here via satellite. Terry, you can pick up the necessary transmission equipment at the London substation."

"I’ll get right on it." He replied earnestly.

Madeline turned to speak with Operations briefly for a moment, nodded, then turned back to face the screen. "That’s all for now. Check in this evening after dinner. We should know more then. Dismissed."

The screen went blank.

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

Terry departed for the substation shortly after the briefing ended, leaving Michael and Nikita alone again in the room. After stowing their equipment, they showered - together - and ordered up a large English breakfast from room service.

Seated at the table nibbling on a scone, Nikita no longer resembled the long-haired urchin from earlier that morning. She was dressed as Emma Durant, sporting a tailored black and white Chanel suit, demure pearl earnings and a severe bun. Michael wasn’t sure that he approved of the transformation. He rather liked the urchin.

Nikita was so busy admiring Michael’s mouth as he chewed his food that she barely registered the fact that he had started speaking out of it. He could do the most amazing things with that mouth…

"I’m sorry, Michael, you lost me. What did you say?"

"I asked if you wanted to go shopping today."

"Shopping? With you?" Nikita didn’t bother to hide her incredulity at his suggestion. "Are you feeling okay? Should I phone the hotel physician?"

Michael merely gave her a lopsided smile. "We have to maintain our cover today… And, since we are supposed to be taking a vacation, there are a limited number of things that we can do. I thought you might like to go spend some of Section’s money…"

"…Why, Michael, I’ve never known you to be one to abuse Section’s bank account…Not that I have a problem with that idea, mind you…" She narrowed her eyes, giving him a deep stare. "… Okay, what gives. I’m not buying this at all. I know you well enough to know you’d rather go ten rounds…"

"…If you must know," Michael interrupted, looking pained, "I thought you might like to get a dress for this evening."

"What, you don’t like my current selection?… Oh!" Nikita started to laugh uncontrollably. "Let me guess, my demure, frigid look is starting to get to you?" She continued to cackle. This was just too funny. She’d initially profiled Emma Durant as pristine as a means to get back at Michael. She’d had no idea it would be so successful.

Moving her leg under the table to rub against Michael’s thigh, she batted her eyelashes. "Would you really rather I wore something racy? Whispered sweet nothings into the com link in your ear? We could give Birkoff a real education…" She gave him a wistful smile, then sighed. "As much fun as I’m sure it would be, Michael, I do sort of have to stay in character."

It was Michael’s turn to smile. "Good point. Have you ever been to the National Gallery?"

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

Michael and Nikita spent a leisurely day touring both the National Gallery and the Tate Gallery. Nikita learned that Michael was a follower of 19th century art, and listened with a smile as he explained his attachment to the works of the Realists. With all of the ugliness in his life, it didn’t surprise her that he found solace in art. For her part, Nikita much preferred the bright palates of the Pre-Raphaelites to the mournful renditions of the Realists, and the two enjoyed a friendly debate on the subject before calling a truce and heading over to the Victoria and Albert Museum. They didn’t stay long at that site, however, since they discovered to their mutual amusement that they already had replicas of most of its contents in their hotel suite.

All traces of their easy camaraderie were gone as the pair returned to the hotel. The dinner party at the Parkers was now just a few hours away, and they had much to do. Nikita began to understand what Michael had meant when he’d said that he lived his life split it two. While today had been for themselves, tonight would be for Section.

Upon reaching their room they checked in with Terry, who had appropriated the necessary transmitters from the local substation. There still did not appear to be any new intelligence as Walter had not yet returned from his trip to Oxfordshire and they were not scheduled to initiate real-time contact with Birkoff for another hour. So, while Michael and Nikita dressed for dinner, Terry returned to his room to prep the equipment. Before departing, the Irishman arranged to meet Michael and Nikita in front of the hotel at 6:45pm. They would check in with Birkoff from their car on the way over to the Parkers.

After he had finished getting ready Michael resumed his standard position by the window. He was dressed in his usual black jacket and trousers, although he’d compromised and thrown on a white shirt underneath. The effect was casual, yet elegant, as intended. As he peered out over the city, he mentally reviewed the information that his contacts had shared the previous evening, considering it from different angles, searching for a way to integrate it with the behavior they had witnessed from the Parkers thus far.

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard Nikita approach from behind, and he paused to inhale the delicate scent of her perfume. Turning, he found her dressed in a pale pink cocktail dress that fell in delicate folds just above her knees. She had softened her bun into a loose chignon that allowed a few stray curls to frame her face.

"Ready to go?" She asked, all business.

He paused simply to admire her for a moment, causing her to blush as she met his intense gaze. It was times like this, times that Michael looked at her with such naked longing, that Nikita wondered how she could have ever doubted his feelings for her.

"Not quite yet," he murmured.

Taking her hand in his, he maintained eye contact as he reached down and placed a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist.

"Et ces plis roses sont les lèvres
De mes désirs inapaisés,
Mettant au corps dont tu les sèvres
Une tunique de baisers"

Nikita had never heard Michael speak directly to her in French before. Without even knowing what he had said, she found the intimacy of that moment, of that caress, shattering. As their gazes held, Nikita could tell that Michael felt the same.

He straightened, gently lowering her wrist so that his hand could smooth the thin swath of fabric covering her shoulder. Then, he translated.

"And these pink folds are the lips
of my unsatisfied desires,
dressing the body of which you deprive them
in a tunic of kisses.

Gautier… ‘To a Pink Dress’…"

Leaning in, he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek and placed her arm through his. "On y va, chere?"

Smiling at his use of her parting comment to him when they had been seated in the lobby, she replied softly, "Oui, Michel… we go there." To herself, she resolved never again to question the sincerity of his use of the word ‘chere.’

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

Terry took his time navigating the route from the hotel to the Parkers’ residence to allow Michael and Nikita ample time to establish the link with headquarters. Pedestrians stopped to stare at the Rolls Royce as it passed by, envious of the individuals inside who possessed the wealth to own such a vehicle. Seeing their curious stares, Nikita had a momentary flashback to a moment once when she was living on the streets and had gaped at a Silver Cloud as it majestically drove past her. She remembered how she had stared at the vehicle as it faded into the distance, wondering what kind of life its occupants had. She’d assumed that their life was wonderful. After all, how could it not be when they had enough money to own such a car? Sighing at the memory, Nikita wished that those people who stared so longingly at them would stop. Things were so often not as they appeared…

She was startled from her reverie by the sound of Birkoff in her ear. "I have ‘A’ channel active. You guys there?"

"Yes," replied Michael from the seat beside her, "do you have visual?"

"Almost. Nikita, tap your pin, its not transmitting clearly."

"That better, Birkoff?"

"Yeah, I’ve got you both now… hey… nice dress, Nikita…"

Michael, who had contemplated Nikita’s dress enough that evening and couldn’t afford the distraction of doing so again, interrupted him. "…Did you get the information?"

"Yeah. The agent’s name was Garrett Thompson. It was a professional hit. One bullet, back of the head. No ballistics match. No evidence, which is not surprising since they found him in the Thames. The body was weighted, but shook loose for some reason. The party responsible obviously didn’t want it found."

Nikita watched Michael as he digested Birkoff’s intel. He didn’t seem even remotely surprised at the news. What had his contacts told him? A part of her felt shut out that Michael hadn’t shared his information with her, but she knew he wasn’t ready to open up to her completely yet. She would take what she could get… for now. She trusted that the rest would come later.

"What else, Birkoff?" Michael clearly assumed there was more. He stared out the window impassively as he listened to Birkoff’s reply.

"This is interesting… Before the body was found, his girlfriend reported him missing. When the police went to his flat to investigate, they reported back that it appeared Thompson had left town suddenly. Their basis for that opinion was the fact that his closet was half empty and there wasn’t a suitcase to be found in the place…"

"… So, someone made it look like foul play was not involved." Nikita commented, deep in thought.

"Exactly. Thompson was only 23. Greenhorn. Straight out of training with only a few assignments under his belt."

"What was his cover?" Michael inquired.

"House staff. He wasn’t supposed to have much real contact with the Parkers. His assignment was to observe, try to get concrete proof of their activities, and report back."

"Report back to whom?"

"Don’t know. Want me to find out?"

"Yes."

Michael continued to stare out the window, absently tapping his chin with his forefinger. He could imagine the agent… young, fresh, idealistic… What had he discovered? Who had he shared it with?

"Birkoff, where did the intel for this mission originate?"

"Higher up in Thompson’s chain of command. Senior level MI6. Somebody knew somebody who knew about Section, apparently."

Michael accepted this information without comment as his suspicions about who had really killed Thompson kicked into high gear. Turning away from the window, he met Nikita’s questioning gaze. "When we go in there tonight, I want you to evaluate the Parkers. I want to know if you think they are committed enough to their cause to execute that agent in cold blood."

"You don’t think they did it?" She continued to search his face for some clue as to what he was thinking.

"My sources suggest otherwise. I want your opinion."

She nodded, pleased that he was finally including her. "Intuition, Michael?"

He nodded. "Something like that, yes."

Shortly thereafter the car pulled up to the Parkers’ townhouse, an elegant four story stone structure whose solid lines and clean proportions echoed the 18th century works of the English Palladians. Knowing the Parkers, Nikita thought wryly as Michael assisted her out of the car and up the steps, the house probably was that old. Assuming you could call it a house. It was actually more like a mausoleum.

Michael watched out of the side of his eye as Nikita assumed the character of Emma Durant. The amused grin which she’d had on her face when she first exited the car was slowly replaced by a calm, placid expression. By the time they reached the front door she had adopted a look of casual disdain that bordered on vapid. Turning to Michael, she raised her chin and met his considering gaze with a hooded stare. He met her look head on with his own ‘patented’ blank stare.

Their mock showdown was disturbed by Birkoff, who couldn’t resist commenting on Nikita’s personality switch. "Nice look, Nikita, did you use that to pulverize the drywall in your apartment?"

Her lips twitched in response, "Shut up, Birkoff, if you want me to make it through this evening without blowing my prissy cover. You think it’s easy to behave like this?"

Then she winked at Michael, whose face hadn’t moved during the entire exchange. How did he do that?

They were met at the door by a very proper, very British, butler. Unlike ‘Antoine the Unctuous’ from the French embassy, this gentleman ushered them in the door with grace and a complete economy of movement. Staring at his rigid posture, Nikita decided she was going to pattern Emma Durant after him for the rest of the evening. Giving him a cool smile, she handed over her wrap and resumed her bored expression.

Linda Parker flowed into the foyer, drink in hand, to welcome them. "Michel, Emma… So good of you to come." She smiled at them both, but her eyes lingered on Michael. Her responded to her perusal by leaning down to kiss her hand. "Bon soir, Linda." His accent was more pronounced than usual.

Nikita groaned inwardly. Suddenly her evening was looming before her, a long arduous torture session in which she was forced to listen to Michael speak French and flirt with other women while she primly stood by and did nothing. All of the sudden her characterization of Emma was coming back to haunt her. What had she been thinking? She wasn’t going to get back at Michael. He was going to get back at her. Big time. She could hear Birkoff joking about Michael’s romantic prowess in her ear, which didn’t do much to help the situation, either.

As Michael looped his arm through Linda’s and headed for the salon where the other guests were gathered, he turned back to meet Nikita’s irritated gaze. Reading her thoughts correctly, he gave her a devilish smile. "Coming, chere?"

"Of course, Michel," she said politely and followed them into the other room. She just hoped the evening would be over soon.

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

Birkoff sat in his chair, legs propped on the desk, gnawing on a red Twizzler. He had been monitoring Michael and Nikita for three hours now, with hardly any additional new intelligence to show for it. The Parkers were behaving as nothing more than happy hosts. They laughed, cracked jokes about the lower classes and drank profusely. They made no real mention of the bombing attempt to either Michael or Nikita. To put it succinctly, Birkoff was confused. And bored. What was going on here?

"How’s it going Birkoff?" Madeline asked as she approached his console. "Any progress?"

Birkoff huffed in response. Funny she should ask… "Not much. There are ten people in all, including Michael and Nikita. The new entries have been identified as Pamela and Richard Hunter-Gordon, Elizabeth and John Pearson, and Sarah and Jeffrey Gould. They’re clean as far as we can tell. No gray activity. No IRA ties." Birkoff paused for a moment to pull a fresh Twizzler out of the bag lying on his desk, then continued with a small snort, "Their bank accounts could float Section well into the next millenium."

Madeline nodded, then moved forward to evaluate the visuals that Michael and Nikita were transmitting. It appeared as though nothing more sinister than a small party was in progress. The group was seated in a comfortable, expensively decorated room and seemed to be sipping after-dinner drinks and regaling each other with amusing ski stories.

"Has there been any mention of the bombing?" She asked.

"Not directly, but Nigel Parker has made a few innuendoes about it privately to Michael. Jokes about start-up companies, exploding capital, that sort of thing. Nothing overt."

"What about payment? Did he mention how much?"

"Nope."

Madeline continued to watch the group interact, searching for any undertones that might give some clue as to the Parkers’ intent. A half hour later, she was no wiser than when she had started. Finding that unacceptable, she signaled to Birkoff to hand her his receiver.

"Michael, Nikita… this is getting us nowhere. Excuse yourselves. That might prompt them to action."

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

All Nikita could think when she heard Madeline give the order was ‘thank God!’. She’d endured three hours of the most inane, flighty conversation that she’d ever had the misfortune to experience in her life. To top it off, she’d had to watch Michael charm the pants off every female in the room. He smiled at them, lapsed in and out of French and listened intently to their stories in hopes of extracting some sort of information from them. In Nikita’s opinion, they were so shallow that the only thing he was going to pull out of their brains was air. Judging from the occasional glances she had received from Michael throughout the evening, she could safely say that he held the same opinion. She took some comfort in the fact that at least he was suffering, too.

The men weren’t much better than their wives. Nikita had spoken to each of them at some point during the evening, finding herself mired in discussions about the polo circuit, recent vacations and race car purchases. No mention was made of the IRA, or anything political for that matter. She’d heard Nigel crack a few jokes with Michael about a start-up, but that was all.

After Madeline gave the instruction to leave, Michael pulled a pager out of his pocket and pretended to check the number. Giving it a concerned look, he turned to Nigel and informed him that he had some business to conduct with his contacts in Asia, and that he would need to go.

"Are you sure, Michel?" Linda didn’t seem to want to let him out of her sight.

"Oui, you know how unstable the Asian market is these days. When my people call, I make a point to get in touch immediately." He let loose a Gallic shrug and gave her a knowing stare.

The group nodded in understanding. They may not have known much, but they did know money.

Nikita stood up from the couch, said goodnight to their companions and walked over to stand by Michael. Taking advantage of the fact that their surveillance cameras were both pointed at the Parkers, Michael took the liberty of placing his hand on Nikita’s back and gently stroking up and down. This action earned him a small smile from her, but nothing more. Section was still listening.

Both Linda and Nigel walked the pair to the door, stopping along the way to instruct the butler to retrieve Nikita’s wrap and have the Durants’ driver bring the car around. As the foursome neared the foyer it was Nigel, finally, who brought up the reason why they had been invited in the first place.

"About that start-up company we discussed last night…" He began, giving them a sly grin.

"Yes?" Michael inquired, looking interested.

"I understand from Connor that he’s discussed the company mission statement with you and you are amenable?"

Nikita, who by virtue of Emma’s reserved character had earned the role of ‘bad cop’ for the evening, replied to Nigel’s question. "We could be, although I’d like to know more."

"More? What else do you need to know that Connor hasn’t already told you? Don’t you find this action of value? Exciting?" Nigel, who was unaccustomed to being challenged, seemed perplexed as to why she was even asking. His face lost some of its good humor. The Durants had the money, they had the means. Lord knows they’d done it before. What was the big deal?

Nikita’s face was impassive in response to his question. "I worry that your business plan is too extreme. Couldn’t you accomplish the same goal with a product that isn’t quite so… impactful?"

Linda watched the exchange between the two and decided it was time to step in. Before she could speak, however, Michael interrupted her. He’d been watching the exchange also, and decided to try a different approach. "Tell me, how long do we have to make a decision?"

Nigel and Linda looked at each other for a moment, then turned back to face Michael and Nikita. It was Linda who replied. "The product isn’t funded yet, so your time frame is actually quite small. A few days. The start-up won’t occur for several weeks."

Michael and Nikita shared a brief look. If the Parkers didn’t have the funding yet, then they didn’t have the product. Assam wouldn’t ship until final payment was received, of that they were sure. The mission had just become much easier.

"Exactly what type of capital investment were you looking for?" Nikita asked Linda.

"Three million," was her nonchalant reply.

The amount didn’t seem like much to Michael. There had to be additional investors. "And the others, they are contributing the same amount?"

"Of course!" Linda actually laughed at his question. "Why do you think they are here this evening? We’ve been celebrating."

Judging by the amount of alcohol the group had consumed Nikita had to agree with that statement. Linda didn’t look particularly steady on her feet at the moment, and was actually holding on to Nigel’s arm for support. Nigel seemed to be leaning on her, as well. Nikita found herself disgusted by the pair of them. She couldn’t fathom how they could actively fund something as horrific as biological warfare, and then decide to have a party to celebrate it. Didn’t they have any concept of what they were trying to unleash?

Michael could feel Nikita tense up beside him and could imagine what was running through her head at that moment. He was having similar thoughts himself. When the butler appeared with Nikita’s wrap, he settled the piece around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. They would be out of there soon. "Let us think on this, and we will get in touch with you tomorrow? Oui?"

Nigel and Linda agreed, stating that they would look forward to hearing from them then. Within moments Michael and Nikita were out the front door, down the steps and in the car heading back to the hotel.

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

Once inside the car Michael severed communication with Birkoff and Madeline, informing them before he did so that they would do a more detailed debrief back at the hotel. Nikita immediately pulled the microtransmitter from her ear and unpinned the camera from her dress. Shaking the gadgets lightly in her hand, she gave an audible sigh and stared at Michael. He too had removed his transmitters and had unbuttoned his jacket to place them in an inside pocket.

"What is it, Nikita?" he asked, knowing full well what she was going to say.

"Those people aren’t terrorists, Michael. They’re dilettantes!" Her voice shook with emotion.

"Yes, I know."

"And? What did your sources tell you Michael?"

He ignored her question and responded with one of his own. "Did you think about the question that I asked you earlier? Do you think they could have executed Thompson?"

Nikita could tell from the expression on his Michael’s face that he was trying to lead her somewhere. She’d seen the look too many times before not to recognize it. In the interest of learning what was going on, she decided to follow his train of thought. "No, I don’t."

"Why?"

"They lack commitment, Michael. They’re not killers, at least not directly. I can’t imagine them putting down their martinis long enough to get their hands that dirty." She paused, tilting her head to regard Michael with serious stare. "It’s all a game to them, isn’t it?"

"Yes." She’d hit the nail on the head.

"How is that possible?"

He looked away from her and sounded thoughtful as he replied. "The Parkers inhabit a world where morality is relative. When you have as much money as they do, normal rules don’t apply. No law exists that can’t be circumvented. Life can get boring, so they create challenges for themselves… Games... They are so far removed from regular society that they view the lower classes as abstract beings, pawns on a chessboard to manipulate at will. In scheduling a bombing, or even financing arms shipments, they’re just making a move. They don’t realize that the repercussions of their actions are very real." He turned back to look Nikita in the eye. "You are right. It is a game, nothing more."

Nikita pondered Michael at that moment. He seemed to understand the world the Parkers inhabited very well. "Are you speaking from experience?"

Michael continued to regard Nikita, his eyes opaque in the dim light of the car. She couldn’t tell if she had struck a nerve or not. Once again, he ignored her question in favor of one of his own. "Ask yourself, Nikita, if the Parkers were to succeed, how would the public react?"

"That’s what makes no sense, Michael. There would be a global outcry against the IRA. The world may tolerate the current level of violence, but the minute biological warfare is involved people will lose any sympathy they may have harbored for the movement in the past. They’d be shooting themselves in the foot."

Michael merely stared at Nikita as reality dawned. Her eyes opened wide for a moment, then narrowed into small slits. "The plan is to discredit the IRA…" Her voice trailed off for a moment. "The Parkers’ source… it’s a rogue agent within MI6… that’s why you wanted to know who forwarded the intel for this mission. Someone suspects a traitor within the organization and is going outside, to Section, to clean house…That’s the only explanation for not handling the murder of an agent internally."

She paused, deep in thought. "Thompson found out what was really going on and he reported it to the wrong person. That ‘wrong person’ is the source, the link to Assam?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who it is?"

"Not yet."

"But you suspect someone in the chain of command, someone between Thompson and the individual who forwarded the intel for the mission…Someone, perhaps, who might have attended Oxford with the Parkers, who has been slowly leading them down this path for years."

"Yes."

Nikita stopped speaking for a moment in order to allow herself time to assimilate the new information. Michael continued to watch her, proud of how quickly she had grasped what was going on. She was well on her way to becoming one of Section’s most formidable agents.

Taking a deep breath, she turned back to find Michael staring at her. She saw admiration and approval in his gaze, mixed with an underlying look of banked desire. It was a heady combination. She reached over and took his hand in hers, wanting nothing more than to touch him. They remained that way for the duration of the trip back to the hotel.

*****

Nikita and Michael were met with an overwhelming sense of deja vu as they entered their hotel room and found Walter lounging on their bed. He was in the exact same position he had been in the night before, and once again Snooker was featured on TV.

"Hey, Sugar! Michael." He greeted them warmly. "How’d it go?"

Nikita shared a grin with Michael, noting that he too had noticed that they seemed to be trapped in some sort of time warp with Walter. The only thing that was missing were those deliciously greasy chips. Instead, Walter seemed to be eating some sort of fluorescent orange reconstituted snack item.

"Walter… what are you eating?" Nikita sounded genuinely concerned as she moved to stand beside the bed. Whatever it was, it didn’t look healthy.

"Cheesy poofs. They’re all the rage down at university…" Noting her raised eyebrows, he continued. "Hey, I had to do something while I waited for you to get back. What took so long?"

"I don’t want to discuss it Walter. It was unmitigated Hell…"

Walter turned to Michael for some sort of explanation, and listened intently as he was filled in on the current status of the mission. He nodded in understanding. It gelled with what he had learned that day.

"Kids, I may have a lead on the Parkers’ source. Turns out both Nigel and Linda were pretty active in the debate society while at Oxford. In fact, that’s how they met. They hung around with a pretty diverse crowd, so I had Birkoff cross reference the society with who we know at MI6."

This was exactly what Michael wanted to hear. "And?"

"And I’m waiting to hear back." He gave Michael a knowing stare. "You’ve had him tied up for the past several hours…"

"… then let’s check in." Nikita offered, wanting to end the mission. The Parkers made her sick. "Maybe he’s had a chance to run the search since we ended real-time communication. It’s been close to an hour."

Terry entered the room just as Michael had uplinked to Section. Coming over to grab a seat at the table, he informed them that he had nothing new to report from his end. The Parkers’ staff had appeared to be totally above board. They didn’t seem to be aware of any suspicious activity on the part of their employers. At least, none that they were willing to talk about.

Birkoff had run the check in the interim since they had last spoken. "I’ve got two names that match. We’re running them now."

Operations came on screen to address the team. "Status?"

Michael filled him in with what they had all learned, and soon everyone was on the same page. Operations actually seemed pleased with their work. "Good job. When we confirm the source, we’ll have them brought in. The only question at this point is if the Parkers have been actively involved in the plot against the IRA from the beginning, or if they have been manipulated by their source into thinking that this bomb would be a positive jolt for the movement. Either way, they’re done for."

"What will happen to them?" Nikita asked, not really expecting Operations to give her an answer. She was surprised when he did.

"As soon as we have their source, we’ll have evidence of their prior IRA funding activities forwarded to the local police. They’ll be spending some quality time with the British penal system."

He stared intently at the team on screen, then continued. "We’ll take it from here with the local substation. Terry, you’ve been reassigned and will report in with them tomorrow morning. We’ll let you take this to completion. The rest of you, head back in. There’s a more urgent mission just in that requires your immediate attention. Dismissed."

The team sat in silence for a moment, contemplating the fact that the mission was basically over. Walter was the first to speak. "Well, campers, looks like the red eye for us. I’ll call and have them gas up the jet." He noticed out of the side of his eye that Michael and Nikita didn’t seem too terribly pleased at the speed at which they had achieved closure on this mission. Their disappointment wasn’t obvious, but he’d known them both long enough to read the signs. Feeling generous, he decided to give them a little privacy.

"Terry, I’ve got to head out the back entrance, pick up my stuff. Why don’t you pack up, check out and meet me with there with the car. Michael, Nikita… we’ll pick you up front in twenty minutes."

The foursome stood up, Nikita and Michael reaching for their respective suitcases as Terry and Walter exited the room. As soon as they were alone, however, they dropped the pretense of packing and went to stand before one another. Nikita placed her hand on Michael’s shoulder, absently removing an imaginary piece of lint. Michael leaned down and brushed his lips across hers, tentatively at first, but soon with great urgency. Nikita responded to him equally, pressing herself against him, raising her palms to his face. She felt his fingers run through her hair, removing the clip that held her chignon in place. His hands massaged her hair as his lips massaged hers. She felt lightheaded. She didn’t want the kiss to end. Ever.

Unfortunately, the moment did have to end. They withdrew their lips from one another, but stayed locked in the embrace. Nikita sighed as she leaned her head against Michael’s shoulder. "This can’t continue when we get back, can it?" Her voice sounded sad, as though she missed him already.

Michael was silent for a moment, content to stand there just holding her, but eventually replied. "No, it can’t. Not in the way that either of us would want. It’s just not permitted." He raised a hand to her hair, stroking its softness. "Nikita, you know how things are done in Section. They will continue to use us against each other because that is what they do. I can’t tell you that I will never lie to you, because I know that someday I will. But when I do, I want you to remember this moment, and how we feel, so that when I tell you I didn’t do it to hurt you, that you will know that I am telling the truth."

"I understand, Michael. I wish I didn’t, but I do." Nikita hugged him tighter, not wanting to let go. Not yet. "Will we ever really be able to be together?" She was almost afraid to ask.

"As ironic as it sounds, Nikita, we have more freedom on our missions than we do back at Section. We know exactly when and where the surveillance is. We can be together some of the time, we just have to be careful."

She stepped back to look him in the eye and smiled. "I’m glad."

He responded with a smile, "Me, too… chere." He dropped a light kiss on her forehead, then stepped back to start packing. They only had a few minutes left before they were supposed to meet the car out front.

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

Operations was back at his perch, surveying the activity below. He saw Michael and Nikita pass through and noted that they seemed much more connected than they had before they had left on the Parker mission last week. They were at ease in each other’s presence. Comfortable. It was almost like old times. Nikita had resumed hanging out in Michael’s office, and they’d gone out for coffee on two occasions that Operations was aware of. He supposed he couldn’t complain too much, since their performance that day on a rather tricky mission had been exemplary.

Madeline stood next to Operations, also watching the pair pass by. She mentally congratulated herself on a job well done. It didn’t take much to see that her hopes for the Parker mission had been realized. Michael and Nikita had resolved their differences and were now functioning better than they ever had before.

Suddenly, as though a thought had just occurred to him, Operations turned to face Madeline. "When you received the intel on the Parker mission, you neglected to mention that MI6 suspected an inside job all along."

Madeline met his inquiring gaze with a blank stare that would have done Michael proud. Her voice was all innocence as she replied, "Did I?"

"Yes, you did." Operations didn’t sound too irritated with her, just curious. "We could have tracked the mole from here. No need to send Michael and Nikita to a five star hotel…"

"…Oh, I disagree. I think the operation was enormously successful. Don’t you?"

Operations stared at her for a moment, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, then turned back to regard Michael and Nikita as they exited the main area. They even walked in unison. He hoped she knew what she was doing with those two…

Madeline smiled, reading his thoughts. "Worked for us…" Then she was gone.

Operations stared after her as she departed, then resumed his stance at the window. Time would tell if she was right or not.

The End. Finis. I'm going to go crack open a cold frosty one now...

Send suggestions and comments to ranma.
OR
If you would like to send a comment to Caro click HERE.