After Michael disconnected from talking to Marie, he looked at the nearly empty Section staging area. From Operations’ aerie, he could sense the hollow feeling that was usually present only in the early morning hours. Operations and Madeline had taken everyone but the most crucial personnel to infiltrate the convention of some insane group of women. Whether these two hundred plus women presented a danger to Section One was unknown.

What Michael already knew about them was that they had incredible sources of intel., including highly secured surveillance tapes. What these women did not know about Section One was not worth knowing! A great number of them appeared to be obsessed with him--that was the supposed reason for his being left behind--in charge. He was in charge of, frankly, not much considering nearly everyone was already on site in Toronto.

Michael debated on how to leave Section One and not be canceled in the process. There was no Asian hot spot, in spite of what he had told Marie earlier. All Section’s energies were focused on the Toronto convention, and Michael was determined to be there as well. He paused before punching in Paul Gilbert’s number. He hesitated to involve his doppelganger with Section One, but since Paul was supposed to be dead, and if all went as he planned, no one would ever know.

Luckily, for Michael, Paul answered on the second ring of his cell phone. “Brother, is it really you?” he asked.

“Oui, c’est moi.” Michael quickly explained the situation to Paul, as well as what he wanted him to do.

“Of course, I will meet you in less four hours. I am closer than you think.”

Michael breathed a sigh of relief. He began making preparations for his infiltration of the con. He packed lightly--no mission pants on this mission--dead giveaway! Nerd glasses, white waiter uniform, blue jeans, boots, gloves, a colorful shirt with horizontal stripes--nothing black to give him away.

The exchange would have to take place in Section, but with the minimal staff, Michael had no qualms about the switch of identities, and he hoped Paul wouldn’t mind cutting his hair again.

The four hours passed almost too quickly for Michael. His arrangements were made, but so much could still go wrong. His cell phone chimed.

“I am here, Brother,” came Paul’s soft voice.

Michael quickly ushered Paul to his standby quarters, after shielding the surveillance cams. Paul shook his head when he saw Michael’s short hair.

“Sorry, it ‘s part of my cover, and here’s something to change the color of yours.” Michael tossed Paul a box of L’Oreal chestnut brown hair color. “Cause you’re worth it,” he said with a half grin.

“The things I do for you, Brother.” Paul smiled and shook his head again. He cringed as Michael started whacking his long black locks into a semblance of his new severe style.

Half an hour and a pair of green contact lenses later, Michael and Paul were again twins. “Everything is quiet. If you need me for anything, here is my international pager. Don’t hesitate to call me, and don’t start WWIII, okay?” Michael said with good humor.

“No problem. No WWIII. I promise. And have fun with all those women, Brother. Are you really sure you don’t want me to take your place there instead of here? I think it might be fun,” Paul said with a twinkle in his new green eyes.

Michael rolled his eyes and said, “You don’t have any idea the fervor those women exhibit. I can handle them one at a time, but over 200 of them, I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, much less you, Paul.”

“All right, you’ve made your case, Brother. Leave, take all the danger on yourself. I will take care of Section till you return.” Paul clapped Michael on the shoulder and watched as his twin exited Section One.

***********

PART 2 by Kate

(Friday morning)

Initially, Michael planned on calling Marie to see if she'd like to come along for the ride. In fact, after looking through the list of his favorites who were NOT attending the con (and you know who you are), he thought it might be a good idea to simply issue plane tickets and pick them all up from the airport in the mission van. But Kate and Caddie were both sick; Marie would have to have handicap access; several of the others were either working on stories or doing the bidding of family members. Prior commitments aside, though, Michael decided it simply wasn't practical. No -- he'd do this alone. As usual.

Michael set his mouth in a grim line, and instead of taking his own car, he got in the mission van. He glanced at his watch. Almost time for the field trip. He wondered how Birkhoff was making out.

________________

Birkhoff tried, he really did, but it was HARD trying to find people in this melee! He'd been prepared for the confusion of real names vs. board names, but he wasn't ready for the exuberance of the crowd. It didn't help that he was in disguise, either. His glasses were equipped with special sensors to visually record everything he saw, but the downside was, they emitted a very high-frequency noise that made his head hurt. His mustache itched. And he was hungry.

"All aboard!" someone called, and Birkhoff hastened to join the queue that waited for the field trip bus. He had his pad and pencil ready to make surreptitious notes about the venues ... Operations wanted full details, and Birkhoff wasn't about to disappoint him.

"Hi!" A cheerful woman greeted him: her nametag said Zouzou, and Birkhoff gulped. This was another one of those women that Nikita wanted to meet ... according to Nikita, Zou had a mean streak. "After each chapter," Nikita had said, "I'm never sure that I'll survive the next one. It's nerve-wracking. If she's not trying to kill me, she's trying to kill Michael. And you know how I feel about that."

Boy, did he ever. "Hi," Birkhoff said weakly. He gave his glasses a tap, taking a quick picture of her.

"This seat taken?"

"Ah ... no."

"So," Zou said, after making herself comfortable. "Where's your tag? Who are you? No -- wait -- let me guess -- martyr? Jack? Rob? Ron? You're not Lorraine's husband, are you?"

"N-no."

The tour was starting. "And over here we have the train station ...." a woman with a megaphone was saying, and, like the rest of the passengers, Birkhoff swiveled to see, touching his glasses again and recording a picture of the woman in the seat in front of him. He could get her name later, he thought. "I'm sorry, we can't stop for pictures ... now, on to the park ..." the guide said.

Despite Zou's interrogation, Birkhoff was beginning to enjoy himself. After all, he seldom got out and it was a lovely day -- not too cold, not too hot.

Zou continued to guess. "Redhub? Oh -- you aren't -- Hopposai -- are you?"

"Who?" Oh, right, Birkhoff remembered. Hopposai. The other half of the split personality page. Where was he, anyway?

The guide was pointing out a few interesting sites in the park. "Here is where Nikita left Lisa and Michael to go get juice ..."

Ugh, Birkhoff thought. Now there was a mission I really hated ...

"Okay, I give up," Zou said, smiling. "What's your name? I'm Zouzou, by the way. Not to be confused with Zzoomama, a completely different person."

Birkhoff fumbled in his pocket and came up with some identification. "Ah ... press ..." he said weakly, and Zou grinned again.

"Wow! I can't believe someone's covering this! Who are you with?"

"Vancouver Sun," Birkhoff lied effortlessly. Maybe this wouldn't be as hard as he thought it would. "We're doing a series on television shows and the internet."

"Really!"

"Yeah, you know ... there's a big following for Buffy, X-Files and Star Trek ... when we heard about the LFN Con, we decided to include it in the series." He tapped his 35-mm. Operations insisted that everyone had a back up plan, and the regular camera was Birkhoff's. "Get some pictures, you know."

"So," Zou said, swiveling around to catch a glimpse of the building Perry Bauer had poison-bombed, "Exactly what are you including? Meetings like the Con? Because you know, awhile back, a bunch of us met in Atlanta."

"Really?" Birkhoff tried to act surprised.

"Uh-huh. Completely informal."

"So," Birkhoff said, pulling out his pad of paper. "What made you decide to come to Con? And what's the obsession with LFN?" As Zou opened her mouth to answer, he thought to himself, maybe this won't be so hard after all.

____________________

"And here," the guide intoned, "Is where Simone was held captive. We'll stop off here for a few minutes for some pictures ..."

Great, Birkhoff thought, grinning. He'd interrogated -- okay, interviewed -- Zou, Cynaera, Taichi and ‘chelle, who had recently, like others who owned story boards, been put on Operations's Black List. Birkhoff even managed to get pictures of the four -- "For the article," he said, and they cheerfully agreed. Carefully, he printed their nicknames and their real names on his paper. A picture without an ID was no good, and he sure wasn't going to mess this one up.

"Here's an idea," Taichi said excitedly, as she exited the van with the rest of the group. "Why not take a group picture of us?'

"I'll need to get everyone's name," Birkhoff said, sounding doubtful.

"No problem!" Cynaera said. "I'll help. Hold on just a second."

Cynaera ran back to the bus, picked up the megaphone, and called out, "Hey, everybody! Let's get a group shot for the ‘Sun.' Come on, everyone line up ... short people in the front ..."

As Birkhoff watched, mayhem turned into order. Four even lines appeared, smiles on all faces. He couldn't believe his luck. He focused, snapped the shutter and focused again. "Everyone say ‘Mission,'" he requested, and a chorus of "mission" was heard.

"Don't move!" Cynaera bolted out of line, ripped off four sheets of paper from Birkhoff's pad and passed them down the row. "Don't forget to put your real name down!"

Still unable to believe his good fortune, Birkhoff wondered what the chances would be of getting them to write down their social security numbers.

__________________

3. by Marie

Friday afternoon--

Michael stepped off the private Lear Jet, and looked around the cool Toronto landscape. Fall had come with sudden swiftness as it can in Canada, and it had come later than usual. His rental car, an inconspicuous royal blue VW beetle awaited him. Black would have been conspicuous, but not the colorful ‘bug.’

He decided to make his disguise the next step in his infiltration of the convention goers. He headed for the nearest restroom to change. He pulled on the loose fitting jeans--no tight ones for this trip--no need to emphasize his butt and thighs that seemed to be the fixation of those crazy women, who trekked all the way to a foreign country to be near him. The rugby striped shirt in red and navy completed his ensemble. He looked at himself in the mirror--something was missing. He still looked like Michael. Quickly, he placed the brown contact lenses in his eyes. He had used them before when he had been disguised as Madeline on a mission. Nerd glasses on top of that. Hmm, he mused, still not quite the transformation, he had desired. He tried walking without his usual confident stride. It was difficult. Maybe a little shuffle to his step would stop the arrogant swing of his shoulders.

It’s hard to hide perfection, he thought to himself and giggled. This will have to do for now. Maybe some padding to make me look heavier, he thought. Perhaps, I can locate some towels for padding. I will have to be careful around those linen rooms--those obsessed women had been known to faint at the words ‘linen hamper.’ Trying his new ‘walk,’ Michael left the safety of the airport restroom. It was fairly successful--only four women in ten turned to give him a second glance, instead of the usual nine in ten.

Quickly, he made his way to the Don Valley Hotel. He entered, shuffling and keeping his head down as he walked, and trying to avoid looking at anyone directly. This was almost as scary as infiltrating a terrorist’s home like Perry Bauer’s with a raw and untried Nikita. Whoops, better not go there, he thought, as he started to remember her biting him on the chin. I have to focus on this mission. Not only do I have to keep from being recognized by those women, I have to avoid all the Section Ops as well.

Michael had already spotted Mentz and Snow trying to appear inconspicuous as waiters. Guess that waiter costume is useless, he thought. Maybe I will just pretend to be another convention goer. That way I won’t be so conspicuous, and I can just blend in.

Michael looked at the convention schedule which was posted prominently. Opening Ceremonies tonight--hmm. That will give me time to observe the entire assemblage in one spot, then I can begin my plan to infiltrate the groups, he thought. He continued to read the schedule--later fan fic reading room--no way! He was not going near any of those fan fic rooms. He couldn’t bear to hear the things they said about him and Nikita and Brian and Paul. Those writers blow everything out of proportion, he thought. It was getting so that even Nikita expected.......

His preparations were almost complete. He registered for his room without comment, but was startled to find out he had been upgraded to a double and had been given a roommate, from the CQSB group.

“But I only wanted a small single. I don’t want to share,” he protested to the registration clerk.

“Well, Mr. Black, there won’t be any extra charge and you can actually split the difference with your roommate. We had a late cancellation--some chick broke her leg and couldn’t make it,” he said cheerily to the dubious Michael.

Don’t make a scene, he thought. This may be a perfect cover. “Okay, I guess that’s the thing to do then.” Michael was then lead to his room 412. Unreal, he thought. It’s the same as Nikita’s apartment. Wonder where she is anyway? The roommate was not in sight as yet. He tipped the bellhop and lay down on the bed to consider what to do next.

His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of his roommate-a medium tall, blonde with blue eyes and a mustache. Michael could not believe his eyes. It was Nikita dressed as a man in a black pinstripe suit. Nikita was his roommate! He tried to avoid her gaze while the bellhop bought in her/his bags.

This is a disaster, he thought. He had no fear that Nikita would betray him, but having her so close would prove an undeniable distraction.

After the bellhop left, Nikita started to introduce herself. One look--nerd glasses, brown contacts, colorful clothes notwithstanding-- and she said breathlessly, “Michael, oh my God. What are you doing here? Operations left you in charge of Section.” Nikita’s blue eyes grew wider and wider as she beheld the sight in front of her. She pulled off the male wig, and her long blonde hair spilled across her shoulders.

“Shh. Paul and I switched places, so that I could be here. I wanted to see for myself what this was all about.” Michael’s eyes glazed as he watched Nikita start to undress. He was definitely having trouble focusing on the mission at hand, which was?

“Michael, you are not disguised. I knew you instantly, and so will these convention goers. Hmm, I think I have something for you. The hair cut is not enough,” she mused. “We’ll have to change the color. Ever want to be a blonde and see if you have more fun, Michael?” she asked with a wicked grin. Nikita began rummaging in her bags and retrieved a box of palest champagne blonde--there you go, sport,” she said as she tossed the box to him.

“Blonde?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, blonde, Michael. Don’t worry, the first few applications don’t cause any loss of IQ points,” she said with a big grin, which widened as she saw the stricken look on his face. “Off you go now. It only takes 25 minutes to become a blonde. We don’t have any time to waste. Those women will be back from the Toronto bus tour soon, and I’ve never had a blonde lover before.”

Michael, with one quick movement, took the box of hair color into the bathroom, but not before pulling Nikita to him, saying, “We’ll have to do something about that sad fact, and I’ve never had one with a mustache!”

*********

Part 4 by Kate

Friday night

"Nikita."

After a long silence, he finally heard a slow, somewhat dazed, mumble. Michael moved over, careful not to squash her, and pushed her hair from her face. "We really should go," he said, and she blinked up at him.

"I don't want to go anywhere," she decided, rolling on top of him.

"But my pants ... the welcoming ceremonies ..."

"If you wore pants now, you'd be way overdressed," Nikita said, willfully misunderstanding him. "As for the welcoming ceremonies ... let's just have our own little welcoming ceremonies right here," she grinned and gave him a slow, heart-stopping kiss. "Welcome," she whispered against his mouth. She leaned back and studied his face, taking in his new blond hair and his brown eyes. "I almost feel like I'm making love to a stranger," she remarked, smoothing a hand across his temple.

Something jerked inside of Michael. He forgot about the story boards, he forgot about the bevy of beauties that worshiped the ground he walked on, and especially, he forgot about his mission pants. "Close your eyes," he suggested.

"Oh .... Michael ...."

_______________________

After a full day of noshing with what he'd begun to think of as The Women, Birkhoff wearily retired to his room. He sat on the edge of his bed and carefully rewound the film in the camera, took the exposed roll out, and replaced it with a fresh one.

He was just about to take off his shoes and hop on line when he heard a faint tapping. Birkhoff frowned, then slowly approached the door. He looked through the peep hole. A nervous-looking somewhat familiar face gazed up at him, and he opened the door a crack.

"Yes?"

"Hey. You're the guy from the Sun, right?"

Birkhoff nodded.

She looked pointedly at the chain, and Birkhoff slid it off, opening the door wider. "Hi," she smiled and held out her hand. "I'm Ghost. I just came down to see if you'd like to come to a party. Not a big one," she said quickly, seeing the alarmed look flash across his face. "Just in one of the guest rooms."

"Whose --"

"Well, it's Ranma's room. So far, we've got Wintor, Ranma, myself, pbj, Ursula, Catsma, mak ... oh, a whole bunch of people. Want to come over?"

Another opportunity to get more of them on film! "Sure," Birkhoff grinned. "Just let me get my camera."

___________________

"I see," Madeleine said, keeping pace with Circe as they traipsed down the hall toward the hospitality suite. "So, first you outline, then you begin writing?"

"Um ... sometimes. Sometimes, they just come to me, you know?"

No, Madeleine thought, a little irritated. If I knew, I wouldn't be asking you. "I see," she smiled. Time to butter her up, she thought. "I ask because ... well ... I've admired your work for a long time."

"I'm glad you enjoy it. I haven't had as much time lately ... hey, is this the right room?" Circe stopped outside one of the ballrooms and tried the door. "Guess not. It's got to be here somewhere .... Yoo Hoo!" she waved wildly, and Madeleine waited with the frozen smile of someone caught in purgatory as Circe called out, "Hey, Nikita507! You know where the hospitality suite is?"

"I'm being Blank Stare now!" the other girl called out, waving them toward her. "But yes, I do. Come with me."

Dear God, Madeleine thought. Will this nightmare never end?

___________________

Nikita woke from a light doze and glanced toward the clock. "Michael," she shook him and he groaned, pulling her closer. "Michael, wake up. It's late. If we want to steal your pants back, we better get to work ..."

"I don't care about the damn pants." Michael tucked himself around her, relaxing completely. "It's for charity, right?"

"Yes. But," Nikita protested, "Once the pants are in their hands, you know what will happen. They'll become a relic. Women all over the world will worship them."

"Let them," he said sleepily. "I'm only worried about one woman."

"Who? Zzoo? Lorraine? Dawn? Cygnet?"

"Are you jealous?" he asked, eyebrows arching. He propped his chin on his hands and watched her.

"Don't be silly," Nikita tossed her head. "Of course not."

"Then you wouldn't mind if I decided to give Marie a call, see how she's doing."

"It's pretty late, Michael," Nikita said quickly. "She's probably asleep. She is on pain medication, you know."

"Perhaps you're right." He pretended to consider another alternative. "Maybe I should call Kate. Or perhaps Eva, it's too bad she couldn't come to con."

"If you're going to call anyone," Nikita said, draping herself across him and running her fingernails lightly under his chin, "I'd suggest you call room service. I'm getting a little hungry and something tells me we'll both need to keep our strength up."

"Perhaps you're right," Michael said again, grinning. "How about some pudding?"

__________________________

Part 5 by Marie

Saturday Morning-

In his hotel room Operations paced and smoked his ubiquitous cheroot as he spoke to Madeline. “You mean to tell me, that those women writers claim to be ‘making it up’ as they go along.”

“Yes, that is what I mean to tell you. I spent entirely too much time in their company last night probing their intentions and evaluating their psyches. Except for their obsessions with Michael, they are a harmless group,” Madeline nodded and gave him her Mona Lisa smile.

“So their obsession with Michael is unabated.”

Madeline gave a rueful smile. “Yes, their obsession with Michael is quite fervent. Have you seen them down in the room where his Mission Pants are displayed? Some have almost genuflected, but caught themselves before they did. It’s a good thing we left him back in Section. I shudder to think what would happen if he had been allowed on this mission.”

“I think we would be minus one Class Five Operative is what I think,” Operations mused. “What does Birkoff report?” he asked.

“Mr. Birkoff has made great inroads in collecting intel on these women. They think he is a reporter for the Toronto Sun, and they have almost adopted him. They insist he go to all their gatherings and parties.”

“And Nikita? Has her disguise as a man proved to be of any value. Personally, I think she just wanted to pretend to be a man for a while.”

Madeline hesitated before she answered, “I haven’t heard from Nikita, but I expect to soon. There have been no incidents, so I am not concerned at her silence. Possibly, she has infiltrated one of the more subversive groups of women. Who knows?”

Madeline shrugged. In reality, Madeline was quite concerned, but felt that Nikita could take care of herself.

“If she doesn’t report in an hour, I want to be notified,” Operations demanded.

“Of course,” Madeline replied. __________

The bright Toronto sun made highlights that shone as glistening sparkles on Nikita’s blonde hair. Michael drank in the sight of her, lying there asleep. A totally unexpected night with Nikita in his arms had been heaven-sent--unexpected and best of all, unmonitored. Realistically, he was thankful for the hotel full of mission pants devotees.

His times with Nikita were few and all the more precious when they occurred. Michael felt Nikita begin to stir in his arms. He stroked the silky blonde hair that he loved to touch as her blue eyes opened slightly. A catlike smile crossed her face, and then a deep throaty giggle erupted as she saw the blonde Michael before her.

“Good morning,” she said trying to keep a straight face as she planted a kiss on his lips.

“Coffee, I need coffee,” was Michael’s reply, but his body said ‘Nikita.’

“Hold on there, pardner. I’ve got to check in. I totally forgot to contact Madeline last night. She’ll be turning this hotel upside down, if I don’t call her.” At that exact moment, Nikita’s cell phone chimed. Nikita grimaced and whispered, “See what I mean. Hello,” she said into the phone. “Uh, huh. I’m fine. No, there’s nothing of importance to report. I spent the evening ‘gathering intel,’ but these women seem pretty harmless, except when it comes to Michael. Honestly, Madeline I talked to a gal named Marti last night, and the mere mention of his name or those mission pants they have for auction sent her into a fit of trembling giggles. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Nikita listened for a moment as Madeline responded in kind.

“Meet you at noon in the courtyard. All right. I’ll be there.” Nikita disconnected and turned to Michael. “Well, that’s three hours from now,” she said with a smile.

“You think you need to ‘investigate’ some more of these women?” Michael asked with a smile. “One of them might really be a true subversive and a danger to Section One.”

Nikita giggled, “From what I’ve seen here, Section isn’t in danger, but ‘you’ are. Are you aware there is one woman out there called Venessa with four inch long nails with black polish, and she’s just dying her get her hands on you, I’m told. I think it would be best for all, if you never leave this room. Yes, that would be the safest scenario,” Nikita said as she nodded to give her words emphasis.

Michael smiled, “As long as I don’t have to stay here alone.”

It was Nikita’s turn to smile, “I can almost guarantee you won’t have to stay here alone, Michael. ____________

Munitions expert Walter was doing a little reconnaissance of his own. He had spotted a certain KathrynKS over at one of the dealers’ tables--a nice armful she appeared to be. He approached her. “What do you have here, Sugar?” he asked as he checked out the ‘merchandise.’

Kathy grinned, “Well, what did you have in mind? As you can see, everything is pretty much displayed as is.”

“Yes, I can see that,” he said with a leer he usually saved for Nikita. “I was wondering if you could tell me what’s going on here anyway. I’m visiting my niece who lives here in Toronto, and this seems to be a really fun group.”

Kathy gave a quick and spirited explanation of the CQSB convention and was rewarded with Walter’s room number for a later tete-a-tete. “8PM” he said, “I’d like to check out that band, too.” Kathy’s response was a quick nod in the affirmative. _________________

Operations was trying to blend in with the crowd, which was quite difficult since there were about 250 women and only about seven men. He had managed, however, to obtain an hotel employee badge, so now felt less conspicuous. He spied a tall woman, Hmm, might as well try to talk to her. She seems quite normal for the moment, he thought.

Putting on his best public relations smile, he advanced on his quarry. “Hello, there. I’m Sanders from PR, and I was wondering how you were enjoying the convention, Miss uh- Hunseyboo?” he asked as he looked at her name badge. HB laughed, “That’s my online screen name, but you can call me HB. We’re all having a great time, and we wish Michael were going to be here, but at least his pants are!”

Operations gave a feeble laugh. He simply could not understand the fascination Michael held for all the women here. And the pants, go figure. He supposed it was a gender thing and that he would ‘never’ understand. “So, tell me, HB, what is the deal with that pair of ski pants?” Operations really did want to understand.

HB giggled, “It’s because Michael has worn them, and because of the way he looks in them. His butt, his thighs....” HB closed her mouth quickly and blushed as she realized what she had just said to this mere stranger.

“Ah, yes, well. I begin to get the drift here,” he said as he felt his face start to flush as well. Madeline, he thought, you have created a monster. “Very nice to meet you HB, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call,” Operations said as he decided to make a hasty retreat. Gathering intel in a situation like this was not all it was cracked up to be, either that, or his field mechanics were a trifle rusty. ______________

Madeline decided to take another crack at the fan fic writers by attending one of the panels--Hopeless Romantics Vs Cynics. What an eye opener it was as she heard the women on the panel arguing about Michael and Nikita--as if they had any real relationship--other that what she condoned. It was unnerving to say the least. Michael and Nikita would bear close observation when she returned to Section. There must be some reason for all the heat generated by the panel and the writers. She knew the old adage to be true, ‘When there’s smoke, better be finding that fire extinguisher!’

Madeline looked at her watch. Nearly noon, time to rendezvous with Nikita. Madeline briskly walked toward the courtyard, and saw only a tall slender man there. As the man turned around, Madeline smiled to see that it was indeed Nikita in her manly disguise. Crooked mustache though, she thought.

“Well, Nikita,” Madeline prodded.

“Nothing. Not a thing. I can’t find a single subversive in the whole lot. Obsessives, yes, but subversives, no.” Nikita’s lips were swollen from her long overnight encounter with Michael, and her cheeks were pink from his unshaven caresses. She turned to leave, but Madeline stopped her.

“Nikita, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you look exactly like someone who’s recently had intimate relations.” Nikita allowed a look of great wonderment to cross her face. “Madeline, you’re imagining things. What a thing to say. I’m on a mission. I wouldn’t lose focus like that.” Nikita refrained from looking at the heavens, fearing a lightning bolt.

“All right, but I want you to know, I’m going to be keeping a very close watch on you from now on,” Madeline said with a deadly smile.

“Fine. Anything else, Madeline?”

“That’s all, Nikita. That’s all.”

**********

Saturday Afternoon--by Kate

Chapter 6

Madeleine's words still ringing in her ears, Nikita chucked her initial plan -- to go back to Michael as quickly as possible -- and instead wandered apparently aimlessly into the hotel. She checked out the hospitality suite, grabbed a few shrimp and shook a few hands. She was introduced to Birkhoff -- he almost dropped his camera -- and passed Walter in the hall. Walter was looking a little dazed himself, and she wondered exactly what the woman he was with was telling him. She was speaking too low for Nikita to overhear.

Since she was in the neighborhood, Nikita stopped by the auction room. Unbelievable, she grinned. Not only were Michael's pants spread out for all the world to see, but there was a dress of hers and Michael's awful tie that she was oddly fond of ... and her hat!

Nikita nearly swore. She stared at the hat, making sure -- but there couldn't be two of them in the world! She'd bought it at a junk store off DuPont Circle the last time she'd been in DC. It was ugly, but she loved it -- her John Denver hat, she called it.

Damn Birkhoff, she thought. He'd stolen it, and now, here it was, ready to be bought. The still sane part of her brain said, ‘It's all for charity,' but Nikita was running on low sugar and practically no sleep. It was very easy to tune out that little voice of reason.

Nikita glanced around quickly. No one was looking. There were perhaps a dozen women in the room, but predictably, they were clustered around Michael's mission pants.

She inched forward. She almost had her hand on the brim when a serious voice said, "Watch it, Mister."

Nikita froze.

"Turn around and take your hands off the hat."

Slowly, Nikita turned, her hands submissively in the air. She faced a wrathful woman, hands on hips, face stern.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

"I ..." Nikita improvised wildly, "I was thinking about bidding on it. You know, a souvenir ..."

"What's your name?"

"Uh ... John."

"John. Well, John, I'm Susan." The other woman didn't offer her hand, and though she hadn't been given permission, Nikita's hands slowly lowered. "You weren't thinking about stealing that hat, were you?"

Nikita blushed. "Of course not! It's for charity ..."

"Yes," Susan said evenly. Her eyes narrowed and she stepped a little closer. "I don't know you, do I? You're not one of mine, are you?"

"One of yours?"

"You know, on the message board and story boards."

Susan! The name clicked into place and Nikita wished Birkhoff was around. He'd been trying to find her for ages ... "I'm mostly a lurker," Nikita said, and it wasn't entirely a lie.

"I see." Susan's eyes became a little friendlier and she patted Nikita on the arm. "Look, I'm sorry I accused you ... it's just that I feel so responsible for this material. We really want to raise a lot of money."

"No problem. How much do you think the hat'll go for?"

"I don't know. Maybe a hundred dollars? I mean, it's ugly and all, but we've hated that hat for ... well, you know. It's been a popular topic of conversation."

A hundred dollars! Nikita bit back a laugh. She'd only paid a buck and a half! American! Seemingly trying to smooth ruffled waters, Nikita cordially asked, "Where did you get all this stuff?"

"Oh, here and there," Susan said cagily.

From across the room someone called for Susan, and with a friendly smile, she trotted off. Nikita sighed in relief, and cast one last longing look at her hat but she wasn't bold enough to make another attempt.

And after all, she thought, trying to cheer herself up as she left the room, where would I hide it?

_______________________

Michael waited for what he considered to be a very long time, then he gave up and went out.

It was a mistake.

Though even he didn't recognize himself in the mirror and apparently no one else did either, just the fact that the hotel was bursting at the seams with women who no doubt would do serious harm to his person if he were found was extremely unsettling. It made him nervous. And on top of that, he'd passed both Walter and Birkhoff in the hall. Both were preoccupied with women -- Birkhoff was apparently garnering quite a following, and fleetingly Michael hoped that next year some of the pressure would be taken off of him. Maybe Birkhoff would have his own fan club.

Air, Michael thought as a troupe of red-haired flamboyant women traipsed by discussing the size of his anatomy. I need some air.

He exited the hotel, breathing in the damp smell of fresh air. It was chilly out, but after the sealed atmosphere of the hotel, it was refreshing. He went round to the back of the property. There was a deserted outdoor terrace, and he took a seat on the railing.

One of the doors opened, and a tall man hurried out, clutching a sheaf of papers in his hand. A spy? But then the man turned and Michael called out, "Over here."

Nikita looked startled, but obeyed. "What are you doing out?"

"Where have you been?"

"They have my hat, Michael," she said crossly. "And your pants ... they're laid out like a ... a relic! It's preposterous."

"They are obviously deranged," Michael said, amused at her annoyance. "What do you have there?"

"Ah ... nothing ..."

"Come on, Nikita ..." His hands went out and Nikita stepped back, avoiding him.

"Cut it out."

"Nikita ..." he made a wild grab and came up with a handful of closely-typed pages. The top one said Chapter 41, and his eyes quickly scanned it. "What is this?" he said finally, his voice very quiet and very dangerous.

"Nothing ..." Nikita made a half-hearted attempt to regain the pages, but Michael firmly held on and gave her a no-nonsense look. "Okay," she said weakly, "Look, I know you told me not to, and I know I promised I wouldn't ... but I couldn't help it, Michael."

"Don't tell me ... you haven't ..."

"It started out so innocently," she said, truly miserable now. "I mean, I was just curious, you know? Especially after I escaped Section. Then when I came back in, it just got worse." She was almost crying from shame now. "I ... I couldn't stop ..."

"Nikita, why?" his voice was so gentle, Nikita started crying in earnest now.

"Remember how things were after I came in? I never knew what was going on with you ... at least on the story boards, we end up happy. Usually," she amended. "And all those loose ends after missions? Katherine Gilbert ties them up. They have rules, Michael ..."

"Rules?"

"Yeah. The story you're holding right now ... Zou started it by killing you, but she was persuaded to let you live. We got to go to the suburbs, Michael. You couldn't talk, but then, you were never much for chit chat."

"Suburbs." Michael dully realized he was merely repeating Nikita, but he honestly couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Yeah. Anyway, ZouZou's been busy, and of course, we have too, and I kinda lost the thread of the story. But here's the latest edition. Want to see how we make out?"

A gust of wind tugged at them, and Michael realized it was cold. The papers flapped in his hands as if they longed to be free, and he kept a good grip on them. "Let's go back to the room," he said reasonably. "We'll discuss it over lunch, all right?"

__________________

Five hours later, Nikita woke up from a brief doze. Good grief, she thought. I think I was in my clothes for maybe two hours.

Scattered among their apparel were stacks of papers. On one side of the room were Betsy's stories; Quinn graced the desk; Trudy and Sandra's stories were a jumble on the dresser; Tina's dossier took up the couch; the combined works of Shelly and Ghost took up most of the floor. T'nT's work was between Dana's and DL Witherspoon's, and sprinkled liberally about were EAB's poems. Nikita rolled over, pieces of paper crackling under her. She glanced down and saw part of a story imprinted on her stomach like mirror-writing. Sleepily she surveyed the rest of her body. Even round light bruises covered her stomach and probably her neck. Her ears were hot and her lips felt like Julia Robert's. Every muscle -- with the possible exception of her toes -- ached. In a good way, she amended quickly.

"I can't move," Michael groaned.

"I know," she sighed and ignoring his grunt, lay down on top of him. He sported a bite mark on his shoulder and, she suspected, several scratches down his back. She reached up and kissed his chin and he groaned again.

"Tell me we don't have to go to the party tonight," he said.

Nikita stretched and settled back against him. "Frankly, the thought of clothes ..."

Michael growled, "Don't even say it, Nikita."

"Is there any part of you that doesn't hurt?" she asked curiously.

After a brief pause, he said, "My elbows feel pretty good. You?"

"Toes."

The sky outside was dark, and thoughtfully, Michael said, "Do you think you could stand a bathrobe?"

"For how long?"

"Long enough to go down to the pool, put a "Out of order" sign on the door and soak in the whirlpool?"

"You got yourself a date."

_____________________________

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

Part 7 By Marie

Saturday PM

While Rhea’s Obsession began to warm up for the evening dance, other festivities were taking place. EZbee gave a stirring belly dance and also demonstrated the tricky finesse needed for a sword dance. Operations appeared mesmerized, and Madeline was none to pleased at the enthralled look on his face. She cleared her throat in order to attract his attention, but it was futile as long as the shimmying hips of EZbee were in action.

Madeline looked around the room for Nikita, whom Madeline had not seen since their courtyard meeting at noon. Birkoff was surrounded by the Birkoff Babes; as they called themselves--obviously a splinter group of devotees, who were a little younger than those that appeared to be so obsessed with Michael. Where could Nikita be? Her male disguise wasn’t all that good--perhaps, she had been compromised.

* * * Michael and Nikita wearing white terry cloth robes walked quietly to the whirlpool. Nikita had long ago abandoned her mustache and male wig, but she wore a towel wrapped turban-style around her head. Both operatives held their heads down and avoided looking directly at anyone during their pilgrimage to the whirlpool.

Walter walked by them on his way to KathyKS’s room. Walter would have known Nikita anywhere, but he was puzzled by her ‘escort.’ Tall, well-built, another blonde was what he appeared to be. Neither of them noticed him, as he turned to watch them go in the opposite direction. At first, Walter thought, atta girl, Nikita. Have some fun while you’re here; however, the longer he watched them walk, the more confused he became. The man actually walked with Michael’s characteristic swagger of the shoulders, but it couldn’t be, could it? Michael was supposed to be back in Section One--holding the fort down, so to speak.

Well, he thought, Kathy is going to have to wait a bit. I have to see what these two are doing, although he had a pretty good notion. He watched the elevator which stopped on the Mezzanine level. They must be going to the whirlpool--the little rascals, he deduced. A formal sim had been part of the briefing, so Walter was sure he knew what the robes and towels meant.

* * *

Michael attached the “OUT OF ORDER” sign to the door knob of the whirlpool room. Nikita sighed as she inhaled the moist fragrant air. “Frangipani, I love it,” she said as she dropped her robe by the side of the pool.

Michael, no matter how many times he saw Nikita’s body, was breathless. She stood as if she were a nymph, sculptured of marble, with one toe in the steaming, swirling water. Her long blonde hair, free from its towel, spread across her shoulders. He wanted to remember her always in this way, and he continued to watch her in order to photograph the image of her in his mind.

Slowly, Nikita eased her body into the whirlpool. “Mmm,” she sighed and the warmth began to relax her tired and sore muscles. “It’s heaven, Michael. Get in.” Michael shed his robe quickly and was in the pool before Nikita could catch her breath. “Ahhh,” was the only response he was capable of making as Nikita began playing footsie with him from her side of the whirlpool. The steam and swirl of the water was healing both to their bodies and minds. Their isolation in the mist made the surroundings seem surreal, along with the dim lighting and botanicals.

Nikita felt as if she were in a jungle, and she felt as free as a native. Soon footsie was no longer the game she wanted to play with Michael. She began to stalk him on her hands and knees as if she were a lioness after her evening meal. A little “Grrr,” erupted from her throat as she sprang at his relaxing and reclining form.

His arms caught her and he brushed his lips against her cheek. “Mmm. So you still want to play games, after all we have done today?” he asked with a grin.

Nikita’s response was a shy downcast look and a “Yes, please. I’d like some more.”

It was Michael’s turn to ‘attack.’ His lips ravaged hers, and she responded by moaning his name. His hands slid over her wet body as she clasped her legs around his waist and slid down his male hardness. Michael was trembling with desire, and the feel her warmth suddenly enclosing him nearly brought him to the brink. “Slowly, Nikita. Don’t rush, or it will be all over,” he whispered softly in her ear.

“Come on, Michael,” she said with a soft teasing tone in her voice. “Those fan fic writers give you the recuperative powers of a Don Juan. Why you’re always ready, and always able to do it 10-12 times a night. At least that’s what they say. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me now, would you?” Nikita nibbled at his ear as she continued to tease him verbally and with her body as well.

“Nikita, you have been reading too much of that stuff. I am only a mere mortal man,” he began. Nikita, however, had decided that she had heard enough talk and stopped his words with a kiss. Michael relished the heady feeling that only being with Nikita could bring--Nikita was simply and purely the only heaven he knew or wanted.

Words became unnecessary. Only breath, lips, skin and water mattered now, and they surrendered themselves to sensation and to each other.

* * *

Walter stopped before the Whirlpool Room door which was labeled with a not-to-professional sign that said, OUT OF ORDER. “Out of order,” he laughed quietly as he eased the door open. The sight before him left no doubt as to with ‘whom’ Nikita was sharing the whirlpool. The simple fact that she was moaning the name Michael was another none-too-subtle clue. Way to go, Sugar, he thought. Way to go. He didn’t know how Michael managed to escape his post at Section One, but he was glad the couple had managed to steal this time together.

----------- Nikita was nestled in Michael’s arms, nearing a sweet, contented sleep, when a cell phone chimed.

“Oops,” Michael said with a guilty expression as he reached for his robe.

Nikita looked at him in disbelief. “You brought your cell phone to the whirlpool, Michael?”

“I had to, Nikita. You remember I left Paul back at Section.” Michael’s face changed as he flipped open the phone and answered, “Yes?”

“Sorry, to disturb you, Brother, but this place is going crazy.”

“What do you mean?”

“The operatives left behind are on a minor rampage of petty high-jinx? What do you want me to do?” Paul asked in desperation.

“Petty high-jinx?” At least it wasn’t a mission, he thought in relief.

“Oh, you know, like redecorating the place with spray paint. By the way, the white room is no longer white. Thinks like that.”

“Here’s what you must do. Put on your most serious Michael manner, call them all together, and make them fix it.”

“What if they won’t, Brother?” Paul protested. It was easy for Michael to say to ‘Make them fix it.’

“Do whatever it takes, Paul, but get that place together before I get back there. I will leave now, or at least as soon as I can,” he added after observing at Nikita’s look of dismay.

*********

Part 7B. by Marie

Saturday Evening

“Do you really have to go back now?” Nikita asked as she put her arms around Michael’s neck. “We were just getting warmed up, you know.”

“Nikita, I have to go back. Paul says the place is falling apart. I can’t let Operations and Madeline come back to a white room that’s been spray painted. I might end up there myself,” he said as he placed his hands on each side of her face and kissed her forehead (a la Psychic Pilgrim). “We have had a gift of time together, but it’s over for now. Plus, I can’t let Operations and Madeline discover that Paul is alive.”

Nikita sighed. She knew he spoke the truth, and she certainly didn’t want anything to happen to Paul Gilbert. “I know, Michael. It’s been wonderful being here with you. We have a lot for which to thank those obsessed women, Michael. We wouldn’t have had this weekend, if it hadn’t been for those mission pants, which by the way, I happen to love to see you wear, myself. Especially, when you have that big gun of yours strapped to your thigh.” Nikita’s hands traveled down Michael’s abdomen to his right thigh, then up to that area that was a giveaway to what Michael really wanted to do.

“Come on, Michael, theres’s time for a quickie,” she said as she deepened the kiss.

Michael’s head rolled as he gave up the fight, “All right, Nikita. All right.”

___________

Paul Gilbert looked at the various operatives standing in front of him. He tried to keep a straight face as he did his best to imitate Michael.

“This situation is in tolerable. Section One must be returned to its former pristine condition in two hours. I will tolerated nothing less. Anyone who does not comply faces being placed in abeyance.”

“Ah, Michael, we were just trying to have some fun,” whined Stephanie.

“Michael, have you never heard you can get better results with positive reinforcement than negative. I know it’s not the Section way, but you could try it,” proposed Sally as she sidled up to Paul and gave him a decidedly suggestive leer.

Paul thought for a minute and Michael’s ‘do whatever it takes’ resounded in his memory. Paul smiled at the operatives, and they in unison sighed in response.

“Tell you what I’m going to do,” he said.

_____________________

Part 7B

Sunday Morning

At 10AM Nikita stretched and yawned, then let out a groan as she did. Every muscle in her body was sore--even her toes this time. She hugged Michael’s pillow to her and could smell his unique woodsy fragrance. Michael had finally left at 2AM in order to rush back to Section One to switch places with his twin, Paul Gilbert.

Nikita ignored her muscle aches and headed quickly for the shower. As the hot steamy water sluiced down her body, she realized what a healing experience the weekend with Michael had been. No Section One monitoring, and no guilty morning-after feelings. She had felt the peace within Michael as well, as he returned one last time to kiss her good-bye. She didn’t have to ask him, if he were all right, because she could feel that they both were in sync, for once at least. The day and night had been given to them, and they had seized the opportunity to share their passion and feelings for one another.

They night before they had laughed until the tears came while Nikita had died Michael’s hair back to its former chestnut shade. Streaks of color ran down the sides of his face before Nikita could stop them, and she giggled at the sight. When he had looked at her and asked, “Why?” she had shown him the mirror, and he had dissolved into giggles as well. Michael had a wonderful giggle, but she doubted that anyone else had ever heard it. Again, she felt blessed.

________________

At the Auction

Walter had made such a hit with the convention goers that he was asked to do the honors for the charity auction. Various picture, games, and articles of clothing were going for prime prices. At last the Mission Pants came up for sale, and the bidding was furious, but PBJ won the day and the pants for $700.

Operations sat and shook his head. A lousy pair of ski-pants going for that price, just because Michael wore them, he thought. Simply incredible the fervor that the sight of the pants caused. Damn! Some of those silly women (DOM’s, of course) were actually bowing as they saw them brought forward.

Madeline sat next to a tiny redhead, named Zzoomama, who seemed quite excited at the entire proceedings. Madeline looked around for Nikita and saw her dressed in female garb. She motioned for Nikita to sit on the other side of her.

“What have I missed?” Nikita asked breathlessly.

“Well, the tie went for over $400 and that old hat of yours did too,” Madeline whispered.

Nikita gulped in amazement. “Four hundred dollars? Good thing it’s for charity, or I’d be feeling a little swindled, you know.”

“Well, I have an old hat or two for next years convention,” offered Madeline. “But somehow I don’t think it will bring quite the same excitement that Michael’s mission pants brought.”

Nikita grinned and said, “Probably not.”

________________

Michael entered Section One surreptitiously and beeped Paul to meet him in the lower maintenance level, so that they could change places unseen and unheard.

Paul walked toward Michael with a very un-Michael smile on his face. “Well, how was the convention, Brother? Were all those women as crazy as you had heard they would be? Were you recognized? Come on, give me details.”

Michael gave a small half smile. “I didn’t see much outside my hotel room. Nikita thought I was too recognizable, even after we bleached my hair blonde.”

Paul broke into a hearty laugh. “Let’s see if I can figure this out now. Nikita recognized you, and bleached your hair blonde and wouldn’t let you out of the hotel room. No wonder you didn’t see much of the convention, Brother. Sounds like you had a little honeymoon instead.”

Michael’s half smile threatened to become a full smile, but Michael was in too much control for that. “Yeah,” was his sheepish answer.

“Back to business. Was our deception detected? Is everything like it’s supposed to be?” Michael was definitely back in machine mode.

“Whoa. No detection, Everything is back to normal, but I did have to make some compromises along the way. You know, do whatever it takes, Brother.”

Michael made a half turn, “Compromises?”

Paul giggled as he turned to leave, “Yeah, I had to promise that I would take every single one of them out for coffee. I’ve made a schedule for you in your computer. Just key in “coffee” at the schedule menu. You’re going to have quite a social life for a while I’m afraid.” Paul waved at Michael, who was staring at him in disbelief.

“Coffee?” Michael repeated. “Mon Dieu! How will I ever explain this to Nikita.”

He gave a feeble wave to Paul, who quickly disappeared, going back to his new wife, of course. Michael decided to check out Section One and determine if everything was truly back to normal.

After a two hour inspection, Michael found no flaws. There was no evidence of all the ‘redecorating’ and mischief. Michael could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Paul was safely away, and all was right in Section, if not Heaven. The only anomaly Michael had found was a vase of roses on his desk. They were lovely, but there was no note. He inhaled their rich heady fragrance and thought of Nikita.

______________

Sunday Afternoon

Michael felt the energy level change in Section as the operatives began returning from the convention. The air filled with noise and people began filing past his door in order to go about their various duties. His cell phone chimed, and it was Operations.

“You wanted to see me?” Michael asked as he entered Operations’ aerie office.

“Yes, Michael, how were ‘things’ while we were at the convention?” he asked as he waved his brown cheroot in the air. Madeline stood beside him quietly, watching.

“Very quiet. No anomalies,” was Michael’s response.

“Are you sure, Michael?” Madeline asked.

“Of course.”

“That’ll be all, Michael,” said Operations.

Michael turned and left the office with his usual graceful stride. He felt uneasy and did not trust Madeline’s expression. He sensed that they knew ‘something,’ but he had no idea ‘what.’

“After reviewing these surveillance tapes, it is obvious that Michael lost control of the remaining operatives, at least for a time. What do you think we should do?” Operations asked of his second-in-command.

“It’s not like Michael to lose control of himself or the operatives in his charge. I think it more likely that he allowed the mischief making as a morale builder, then obviously, called a halt to it and it was corrected. I don’t think we should do anything,” Madeline said with a smile--just continue to watch him and Nikita.”

“If that’s what you recommend, Madeline,” he agreed reluctantly.

_____________

Michael went back to his office and found three more vases of flowers, different varieties and arrangements. My twin has stirred up a hornet’s nest, he thought, and I am the one who will be getting stung. Michael smiled again as he thought of his weekend with Nikita. Nearly two whole nights with her in his arms--that would make up for any number of coffees.

Fini

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