Stacking the empty mugs and glasses on the tray, Fallon blew a long lock of auburn hair out of her eyes and gave the table a swipe with her damp rag, tucking it between the ties of her apron as she lifted tray to carry it back into the kitchen, weaving between a preppy couple as they breezed past her, arm in arm, oblivious to the fact that they nearly sent her falling to the floor. She was getting better, she reflected ruefully--a month ago she would not only have lost the tray but probably ended up spilling the remains of espresso and Italian soda over the couple.

Making her way past the long wooden counter, she slipped into the kitchen and deposited dirty glasses by the dishwasher for cleaning, taking a moment to lean back against the wall and regain her breath. Fridays were always brutal and today everyone seemed to have decided to celebrate the lovely weather by taking off early, coming to the coffee house in droves. Space at the Paradise Espresso was always at a premium and on Saturdays they often had people lined up along the walls as they drank their espressos and ate their biscuits.

Of course given that the clientele were mostly upper scale yuppies the tips were good and kept Fallon quite well in her little apartment. It had taken her a while to adjust to this new life, after the years she had spent in and out of Juvie and then her final run in prison, to live like a normal person, where her only concerns were paying the rent and bills, setting aside money for the longed-for car. Had taken her a while as well to open up to her fellow workers, to see that their smiles and attempts to be friendly were genuine, not calculated efforts to manipulate and control her.

A year ago and her life had been very different.

A year ago she had belonged body and soul to the monster that was Section One.

A highly covert agency that targeted criminals and terrorists regular law enforcement agencies could not seem to touch, working behind the scenes, tugging at the strings of the marionettes they called operatives. A twitch to move them this way, a jerk to move them the other, and each operative dancing to that tune because to defy the puppet master was to risk death...or worse than death. And all the time the masters watched as their puppets moved across the world stage, giving life and soul for what was deemed the "greater good".

Fallon had been seventeen when she was pulled into the Section, seventeen and serving hard time for killing a cop. That the cop had been doing his level best to kill her didn't seem to matter to judge or jury--who would believe a street rat's story about a dirty cop that shook down drug dealers and storekeepers alike, who had a thing for young girls and an inability to hear the word "no"? Especially since that same cop busted her twice for prostitution when she'd refused his offer to earn a little money in the backseat of his car. And that last time he'd not accepted her refusal, had beat her then raped her--

She had been so out of it she hadn't even remembered getting his gun and shooting him... Tried as an adult and tossed into an adult's prison, that was nothing at all like Juvie. Years on the street had toughened her but not enough to handle prison...and she had fallen to a knife attack by another inmate, sure that she would bleed her life out in the prison's infirmary. Only to awaken in a white room, to a handsome young man with cold grey eyes that told her she was being given a second chance. That if she did as she was told she would be allowed to live.

Two years of grueling training, of them attempting to break her down and rebuild her in their image. She had learned one very important lesson from that handsome young man--that to survive, she had to cut herself off from what she did, what she endured, showing nothing of her true thoughts or feelings to the outside world. By that creed the young man called Michael lived and even flourished in a way...and she had followed his example, divorcing herself from what she did for the Section.

And there was nothing that the Section did not ask from her. She was the Section's to use as they saw fit and use her they did--whore, assassin, mole, whatever role they assigned her, she took and performed to her best ability. For seven years she remained with the Section, up until the fateful events of nearly eighteen months ago.

There had been no warning, no sign, just the sudden vicious attacks of Section operatives and substations by the terrorist group known as Red Cell. Her substation had been one of those hit hard, the survivors carted off to be tortured for what information could be had. No one in her substation had survived and those taken with her had died as well, she managing to survive by sheer luck, and when the Section had retaliated against Red Cell, their numbers were sufficiently decimated that the remaining members fled back into the woodwork, to recoup their losses.

In that chaos Fallon had escaped, fleeing both Red Cell and Section, going to ground like a wounded animal, to lick wounds and rest. During that time, it had occured to her that she might actually be free of Section--no one would know she lived, if she was smart and kept her head down, she could stay free of the Section. For those first two months she had kept on the move, still driven by the paranoid instinct that the Section had fostered in her, seeing in every passing face the cold eyes of an operative sent to collect her.

After six months she began to dare to hope that she was indeed forgotten, that she had been marked off as dead, lost in that war with Red Cell, and settled cautiously into a life here. Learning to trust people again--to open herself up to them--had been as hard a lesson as anything Section had taught her but she had come oh so slowly out of her shell, accepting that a friendly smile was just that, that there was no motive behind it, that it was not a show of amiability to make her drop her defenses.

She even had a pet, for God's sake, a black tortoiseshell cat she had found as a kitten behind the espresso bar's garbage dumpster in back, scarcely old enough to be left by its mother.

Banshee she had named the little kitten, for its loud siren-like wail had led her to the small creature, and she had held and nurtured the tiny kitten, lavishing the love and affection lying dormant so long on it. A kindred soul was Banshee, a survivor like her...

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

"Hey, you, quit slacking! We're up to our eyeballs out there!"

Straightening automatically Fallon started to move forward at the sound of the authoritative voice and scowled as she saw it was Angela, grinning as she lounged in the doorway. Angela ducked the thrown towel and came to deposit her own glasses, running a hand through short-cropped black hair as she stood beside Fallon.

"God, I need a smoke..." said Angela with a heavy sigh, swatting at Fallon's hand as she gave a tug of her hair. "Haven't had one, I swear, girl scout's honor!"

"Like you were ever a girl scout..." scoffed Fallon, blue eyes glinting with amusement.

"But seriously...is it starting to slow down out there?" She had an hour left in her shift but if necessary she'd hang around for another hour, to get the worst of the rush done.

"Yes, finally! Just when I was beginning to think some of those people had their butts glued to their chairs..." Angela glanced through the doorway and a mischievous smile lit elfin features as she took Fallon's hand to tug her closer to the door. "Potential lifemate, girlfriend--" She indicated a man seated at one of Fallon's tables, his back to them, stylish black leather jacket, brown head bent over a menu.

"Please..." Fallon rolled her eyes, remembering the last time Angela had set her up with a customer. In the bar he'd seemed perfect, witty and sophisticated, but once outside he morphed into Mr. Hyde, suggesting that they skip dinner and go directly to his place.

"Go, go, go--" Angela gave her a shove, sending her stumbling out into the bar, and Fallon cast her friend a good-natured glare as she removed her order pad from its pocket in her apron and approached the table, removing pen from its position tucked behind her ear. Putting on her best smile she rounded the table and stood with pen poised over her pad.

"Hi, what can I get for you?"

The brown head lifted and Fallon froze under the gaze of cool grey eyes, staring into a face she had hoped--no, prayed--that she would never see again. Not here, of all places,

God, life could not be that unfair...could it? The smallest of smiles curved his lips but did not touch grey eyes that studied her with a cold reptilian light that she knew all too well. She had spent six months of training under those eyes, eyes that missed nothing and gave nothing at all of their thoughts.

"Espresso." said Michael calmly, with the politeness of one to a stranger, as if he did not know her, as if he had not participated into turning her life into the mindless soulless hell it had been...

For a moment she dared to hope that he had not recognized her--her hair was longer, she had used a rinse to bring out the red in it--but that hope died as it quickly as it was borne. She knew from painful experience that there was nothing Michael missed.

"I'll...I'll be right back with it." She put on a false smile and managed to walk--not run--back to the bar, to put in his order. Charlie frowned slightly at seeing her sudden pallor but before he could voice a question, she ducked back into the kitchen, thankfully empty, to slide down the wall and put head between knees.

Run, run, every instinct screamed for her to do that very thing but reason intervened, stating with cold brutal logic that she would not get far. Fallon hugged her knees tightly to her chest and pushed herself up to shaky feet, sticking her head out through the doorway to scan the bar...and finding the table that Michael had sat at empty.

But rather than a relief his sudden absence sent a chill of foreboding through her.

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

With her shift over, Fallon gathered her things, her motions mechanical, mind occupied with the situation she was in. Mind shifted mental gears, going from the person she was now to the one she had been, the operative that had lain dormant asserting itself again.

She found herself once again watching passerbys, looking for anyone that seemed to glance at her a little too much, to follow her path a little too long, taking a long circuitous route back to her apartment.

Standing at her front door she tried to listen through it for the sounds of someone inside but heard nothing. Fingers trembled a little as she unlocked the door and eased it open, scanning the empty living room, eyes not missing a single inch. Slipping through the door she had one hand on it when a black-clad arm came into her field of vision, spinning her around as a foot hooked behind her leg, sending her down onto her back.

Over her loomed Michael, gun out and pointed at her head, his other hand going to push the door shut. "Arms out, hands on the floor." he ordered tersely.

Swallowing hard she did as he told her and closed her eyes as he searched her, the touch of his hand brisk and impersonal. Once done he stood back to regard her and Fallon slowly sat up, moving so that her back was against the wall. She felt tears fill her eyes, tears she blinked back--had they known where she was all along, merely allowed her this last year to torment her, to tease her into believing that she could once again have a normal life...only to pull it out from under her?

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

"Explain." Michael ordered curtly as Fallon sat with back pressed against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest. Hugging her knees, she lifted her chin, defiantly silent, and he took a step forward, jacking the slide of his automatic to chamber a round and aiming it unerringly at her head. "Explain." he repeated.

Fallon felt a surge of hatred for him that made her feel weak and dizzy. Where had he and the rest of the Section been when she had sat in a cage, listening to the screams of her fellow operatives as they were tortured, the screams fading to whimpers? Where had Section been when they had sent out the distress call, asking for assistance as they were being overrun?

"I don't owe you an explanation." she said, voice tight with the effort of suppressing her rage.

He raised his eyebrows at her, cool amusement in his eyes. "Don't you? You're supposed to be dead...and yet here you are, alive. How is that, Fallon? That you are alive while the others at your base are dead?" His tone was soft, insinuating, but there was a hardness in his eyes, as if he had already passed judgement on her...and was awaiting her words to further condemn her.

"I am *alive*...because I was lucky. *I* am alive because those...bastards decided to save me for last. Because they thought that just listening to the others would be enough to break me."

And there were times that she still had nightmares about it, forced to kneel on the floor, a hand in her hair to pull her head up so that she could watch as each of her fellow survivors were tortured. Could hear Silvia's screams, Archer's breathless curses, the only sound they were able to drag out of him before he died. Sometimes in her nightmares she was the one being tortured, the one struggling to remain silent through the fiery agony, knowing that even if she could tell what they wanted, it would not end.

"I was lucky." she continued flatly, swiping at a tear trailing down her cheek. "I got to watch as they were tortured. Lucky that they saved me for last...lucky that the guard they left to watch me thought I was too far gone to hurt him."

There was a brief flicker of...something in his eyes, too complicated for her to decipher, and though his tone softened a little, the gun in his hand remained steady. "Why didn't you come in?"

"Because the Section wrote me off as dead...and I didn't see any reason to correct them. The Section abandoned us...and I didn't feel I owed them anything. Certainly not my loyalty." she said bitterly.

He was silent for a moment, studying her, and then said softly, "All of Section was hit. There weren't any resources to spare."

Fallon waved her hand at him, suddenly weary. "I know the party line, Michael. Sacrifice the few for the many and all that--the ends equal the means. Believe me, that doesn't mean anything when there's a sadist hovering over you, thinking that he can bleed the truth out of you." Sinking back against the wall, she regarded him levelly. "I'm not going back. You'll have to cancel me here."

Slowly, deliberately, he stepped forward to press the muzzle of his gun against her forehead and she closed her eyes tightly against the feel of the cold metal, trying to still the trembling that ran through her limbs. And felt the gun pull away from her but kept eyes closed, not daring to look at him.

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

"You want to live."

"Yes..." she whispered, hugging herself to stop trembling, finally daring to open eyes and look up at him as he put his gun away. She blinked back the tears that had come to her eyes, unaware of the naked pleading in her eyes, the wounded look, seeing only his mouth tighten in what she thought to be irritation or disgust at her weakness.

"There is a mark I need you to get close to. A dealer. You're his type." said Michael calmly, as if he had not just held a gun to her head, as if he had not been prepared to pull the trigger. The mode of mission leader to operative and she resisted falling back into that...

"To do what?"

"To find out what you can about his contacts. To sleep with him if it's necessary." He ignored her flinch at that bald statement. "He will be coming into possession of some Stinger missiles. We want to know where and when the missiles will arrive. Get close to him and find out. Any other information you can secure will be welcome, of course."

"If I--if I do this...you'll let me go?" she asked slowly, searching his eyes and seeing nothing, just a cold emptiness, remembered that this was Michael she was dealing with.

"You won't let me go...so why should I do this?"

Clasping hands in front of him, he glanced briefly off to the side and then fixed her with his cool grey eyes. "You'll do it...because the possibilty exists that I might let you go. And as long as that possibility is there...you'll do what I want."

And the hell of it was that he was right--he could dangle that lure like a carrot before her and she would pursue it with dogged mule-like determination. Fallon bit her lip hard against the words that threatened to spill out, wanting to call him a bastard, to rail at him, but knowing that he would be completely unaffected by it.

"Who's the mark?" she asked in a dull voice.

"I'll give you the mission parameters tomorrow. Here. Eight o'clock AM...sharp." He walked to the door and paused, hand on the knob, turning his head to regard her. "If you're not here, Fallon, a team will be sent to cancel you." And opened the door to stride out it, shutting it behind him.

Pushing herself up to her feet, she went to give the door a hard kick before sinking down to the floor, arms covering her head as tears streamed down her cheeks. No matter what he said, what he promised, she knew she would never be free...because if there was one thing she knew about Michael, it was that he was the prince of lies. But as he'd said, she would do what he asked...because there would always be the possibility that he might indeed let her go.

Meowing anxiously, Banshee emerged tenatively from her hiding place to rub her head against Fallon's leg and she lifted her head, blinking back tears as she drew Banshee into her lap, stroking her till she purred. And sat there for a long time before she found the energy to get up and make dinner.

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

The shrill sceams echoed off the walls of the abandoned factory, stabbing into Fallon like a thousand tiny needles as she was dragged along. Impossible that the one uttering such rending cries of agony and despair could still be alive, still be conscious throughout whatever torment was inflicted on her. But conscious she was, as Fallon saw when she was thrust down to her knees before the two hanging figures, to watch in unblinking silence as Silvia squirmed and jerked like a worm on a hook, begging for an end to the pain.

"Shut her up--I'm tired of listening to her." That from the short man that oversaw the interrogation, dragging deep on his cigarette, and the cries were cut off abruptly, only a faint gurgling sound and the frantic scuff of boots before sudden silence.

Attention was shifted to the man that hung beside Silvia, head down and sweat-dampened blond hair obscuring features, and as if feeling their eyes on him, Archer raised his head to look at them with bloodshot eyes. Eyes that flicked briefly to Silvia and then to Fallon, resigned to his fate, lifted his head a little farther as the interrogator came closer and spat in his face.

At last they were able to wring a cry from him before he died...and then they turned as one to Fallon, to drag her to where Silvia's body had hung, to fasten wrists in the chains.

She breathed deeply, striving to be as strong as Archer but knew that she would not be able to hold out as long.

A hiss and whoosh as a blowtorch was lit and brought close to her face, fingers holding her head still as heat baked her skin...

Fallon came out of the nightmare with a jerk, heart pounding painfully hard in her chest, her thin pajamas soaked with sweat and blankets tangled around her. Lay still, recovering her breathing and trying to calm her racing heart, as she told herself again and again it was just a dream. Shoving the blankets aside, she slid off the futon and got to her feet, padding into the kitchen.

3:17 AM by the digital readout on the coffee maker and she raked long hair back from her eyes, opening the cupboard to get out coffee. She occupied herself with the task of making coffee, yawning and rubbing at her eyes, and as the pot started to fill, she leaned back against the counter, rubbing the back of her neck.

It had been weeks since she'd had that old nightmare and the cause of it was more than apparent. In the daytime she had never been able to fully remember those horrifying three days spent at the mercy of Red Cell, just bits and pieces here and there, her mind blocking it out...but at night she revisited that time in excruciating detail.

Gradually, with time the dreams had faded, in direct proportion to her sense of fear and paranoia, until they became only uneasy visions to occassionally disturb her sleep. But not as intense as this one was, where the smells were sharp and distinct, even the sound of dripping water, Silvia's piercing screams and Archer's labored breathing--

Fallon gave her head a hard shake, wrapping arms around herself as she shivered, suddenly cold. Resolutely shut it out of her mind, turning to the problem that presented itself to her, in the here and now.

She could run--the thought whispered through her mind, seductive, tantalizing, and for all of a few minutes she actually contemplated it. She had managed to put this life together without any aid from the Section, she could pick up and go on, find another life, another place...

But before it had been different. Before...Section had thought of her as dead and therefore had made no active attempt to seek her. With her alive Section would find her...and cancel her.

Another possibility occurred to her. Michael was the only one that knew she was alive-- eliminate him and she eliminated the threat of discovery. Part of her was appalled that she could think so calmly of what was tantamount to murder...but this was the law of the world and Section in particular, survival of the fittest.

That scenario too had to be discarded. Even when she was at her top form she was no match for Michael--and her chances of catching him unawares were minimal, if not non-existent. He would know that she might be desperate enough to try and take him out... and would be ready for such a tactic.

And so her only alternative was to do as he asked, all with the tiniest of hopes that he would allow her freedom again once this was done.

Fallon grimaced at that thought, that her freedom--her life--depended on Michael's mercy. That in itself was a sobering thought.

Pushing away from the counter she got down coffee mug and dumped in sugar as she waited for the coffee to be done.

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

Michael was prompt as always--he would no doubt show up exactly on time for his own funeral, Fallon thought sourly as she rose at his rap on the door. She had showered and dressed, opting for a rarely-worn dark brown pantsuit that a brisk, efficient look, armoring herself for this confrontation. She would have to be the Section's Fallon here, set aside the person she had become over the last year.

He moved through the doorway and into the small living room with that long purposeful stride and confidence that dominated a room, settling down onto the couch without so much as a word to her. With him he carried a briefcase and laid it down on the coffee table, flipping it open to show a notebook computer inside.

Fallon sat down beside him as he brought the main screen up with a flick of his finger, moving to the desired area and bringing up a picture. "Thomas Clennon." On the screen came the image of a man in his early thirties, longish blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard, a mobile mouth made to laugh and bright blue eyes. "Initially he worked solely as an intermediary between various terrorist groups and arms suppliers...but he's now chosen to branch out. An U.S. armory was raided, with seven crates of rifles and a dozen Stinger missiles taken. We believe that Clennon has made arrangements to purchase these missiles...with an eye to sell them in the Mideast."

Fallon nodded. "He'll get the best price for them there. They're always hot for weapons of mass destruction." She gave a little shake of her head, forcing herself out of operational mode as she glanced sideways at Michael. "Why me?"

Michael turned his head to regard her levelly. "Because the operative sent in failed to achieve the desired relationship with Clennon. And my window of opportunity is shrinking."

"I don't get it--what makes you think you can trust me? That I won't sell you out to save my skin?" she asked, genuinely curious.

He was silent for a long moment, studying her, and then finally said, "I know you. I know what you would or would not do. What you are capable of..."

"And you've probably got an insurance policy too." said Fallon bitterly, lifting a hand to press it briefly against her eyes. "So--give me your profile on him, tell me where I'm supposed to pick him up...and get the hell out of here."

Without another word he withdrew a slim sheaf of papers from an inner pocket of the briefcase and laid them out on the coffee table. "There's a club called The Inferno. He likes to go there, have a few drinks. You'll find a profile as well of the type that Clennon likes. I'd suggest you study it today and attempt contact tonight. I'll check with you tomorrow on your progress."

Shutting the briefcase, Michael rose from the couch and went to the door as Fallon picked through the papers, raising her head as he opened the door. "Michael." At her call he looked back at her and she asked, "Will you really let me go...or am I just fooling myself here?"

In response he merely blinked and then slipped out the door, closing it behind him. Heaving a sigh, Fallon lowered her chin into one hand and turned her attention to the papers before her, overcoming the strong impulse to sweep them off the table with a great effort.

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

With wineglass in hand, Fallon leaned against the railing of the catwalk overlooking the dance floor of The Inferno, eyes scanning the bodies below. Techno music pounded from the speakers at a near ear-shattering volume and the dancers writhed and gyrated to it like marionettes, odd jerky movements combining with those of fluid grace. Engaged in a mating dance as old as time, strutting and preening before each other, striving to impress their chosen mate.

No sign of Thomas Clennon...but then it wouldn't be easy to spot him in that crowd, with the lighting dim and only the flash of strobe lights to illuminate the floor. Fallon took a sip of her wine, grimacing as she thought of where she would be right now...if not for Michael's impromptu re-emergence in her life. Watching a movie with Cassie, curled up on the couch and sharing a bowl of popcorn--a much better time than being here.

Sighing she straightened and smoothed down the long skirt of brown linen dress, holding the wineglass between two fingers as she made her way to the stairs, taking them down to the main floor. Here the crowd was a little thinner but no less vocal, as if striving to make up for the slightly lower volume, and she wound her way through it effortlessly, stopping at the bar to set down her wineglass.

Looking past the bartender at the long mirror behind the bar, she found a stranger staring back at her, a poised, chic-looking young woman in simple yet elegant brown linen sheath, curly auburn hair piled atop her head in an artfully haphazard arrangement, tendrils of it escaping to frame pale features. A young woman that did not quite blend in, stood out from the middling crowd...

A calculated look, one designed to draw the attention of Thomas Clennon. From the report Michael had given her, he liked to be the playboy, liked to go home with a different girl every night...but with a typically human perversity sought someone that was the polar opposite of those girls. A woman that was above the party scene, someone that was not an easy conquest, someone to share nights before the fireplace and take long walks with--the profile read like a singles ad, she'd thought ruefully as she'd scanned it, but it would hold true. Michael was always scrupulously attendant to detail.

Another hour and she would go--it was already 10:32 and she had to be at work early tomorrow. Sunday she was off and she could spend more time Saturday night here...

Turning she started to signal for the bartender--to order a diet soda this time--and her eyes fell on the man making his way down the bar. He fit the photo Michael had provided her with exactly, from the longish blond hair and beard to the bright blue eyes, even the little crinkles around his eyes as he smiled. He wore a dark suit, the blazer opened and shirt unbuttoned to show a bit of tanned chest, and had clustered around him a pair of young women, hair teased and sprayed to within an inch of its life.

Fallon didn't have to pretend the smile of amusement that curved her lips at seeing the way the two girls draped themselves over him, one running long red nails across the bared skin of his chest. They wouldn't be pros--didn't have the look or attitude of it--but they no doubt smelled money and attached themselves leech-like to him. He gave one a lingering kiss, hand caressing the thigh of another, and extricated himself to move down the bar, to within less than a foot of Fallon.

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

He glanced sideways at her and she could see the interest spark in his eyes as his head stopped in mid turn, examining her with more attention. Thomas Clennon flashed her a smile, teeth white in tanned features, and said, "Can I buy you a drink?"

Fallon smiled slightly, head tilting towards the pair of girls down the bar. "I think you have your hands full." she said dryly, amusement flickering again in her eyes as the pair watched Thomas, one all but tapping her foot and scowling in a most unbecoming manner.

"Oh, them--" Thomas dismissed them with a wave of his hand, a disparaging gesture.

"They're a dime a dozen around here. But you..."

"I'm a gem?" supplied Fallon with a cool smile. "Thanks...but I'm not really looking into joining your harem." And started to push away from the bar, only to halt as he moved into her path.

"No more come on lines, I promise." said Thomas with a disarming smile, laying a hand over his chest. "Boy Scout's honor."

"Oh, certainly, when I looked at you I just pegged you for a fallen Boy Scout." returned Fallon, the corners of her mouth tugging up.

Thomas laughed, a genuine laughter, and gave a small shake of his head. "You're tearing me down and you don't even know me." He glanced briefly back at the two young women and then offered his arm to Fallon. "It's noisy in here--how about we go somewhere else? Get some coffee and talk maybe?"

Fallon studied him for a moment, seeming to give the proposal serious consideration, and then gave a regal nod of her head, taking his arm. As he led her out of the club, it saddened her that she could slip so easily back into this old personna, that she could so callously manipulate another to achieve her ends. But when she held her survival up against those morals...she found the instinct for self-preservation overriding those troublesome morals, as it had always done in the past.

The diner was small and more than a little grungy looking, the waitress as old and tired-looking as the decor, but the coffee was decent and there weren't that many patrons, making it easy for them to grab a booth. As the profile had indicated, Thomas Clennon was a glib, charming man, with an easy manner, but the charm Fallon was inured to-- she'd had experience with glib, charming men and knew how to armor herself against them.

The conversation had consisted mainly of generalities, the stock subjects of first dates-- weather, movies, music, personal interests. She had studied his profile devoutly and knew just the right replies to give, showing just a little bit of interest but not too much, remaining just out of reach.

At last it began to wind down and they sat for a moment in silence before Fallon spoke, cupping her chin in upturned palm. "So...what do you do for a living? Lawyer?" she asked, extending a hand to flick fingers at his blazer.

"No...to the eternal disappointment of my mother." said Thomas with a laugh. "No, I'm in the export business."

"Really?" She let just the smallest bit of interest creep into her voice. "What do you export?"

"Whatever's in demand." responded Thomas with a dismissive gesture. "It can be boring."

"I imagine you meet all sorts of interesting people, go to all sorts of interesting places..." She let out a small sigh, trailing her finger around the rim of her coffee cup.

"If you play your cards right, maybe I'll take you along sometime." He laughed as she arched an eyebrow at him and lifted his hands defensively. "Sorry! The macho remark just slipped out...won't happen again."

"Better not...if I'm going to have dinner with you tomorrow night." Fallon opened her purse to remove a stick of lipstick and took a napkin to scrawl phone number on it, handing it over to him before she rose from the booth to walk away. Well aware of Thomas' eyes following her as she left, pausing at the door to toss a smile over her shoulder at him before she went out into the night.

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

Fallon sat on her couch, sipping at her coffee and reviewing the provided profile, when the knock came on her door. She remained sitting for a moment, waiting for a second knock, and then rose to open it.

Michael stood on the other side and wordlessly she let him in, shutting the door behind him.

He moved into the living room, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, and Fallon went to sit back down, taking another sip of her coffee, waiting for him to speak.

"How did it go?" he asked finally.

Fallon lifted her eyes to his. "He's definitely interested. I should be getting a call from him for dinner tonight." she said flatly.

Michael inclined his head slightly, eyes moving briefly around the living room before settling on her once again. "Invite him here for dinner."

"Why here?" she asked suspiciously.

He met her eyes levelly. "We suspect that Clennon is keeping records of his transactions on computer--and that it should carry the itinerary of his upcoming shipment."

"Then why not grab him? Wring it out of him?"

"Because we want the people he will be selling the missiles to as well." replied Michael calmly. "Clennon doesn't have much computer experience...just the basics. He is likely to be carrying the password to get into his computer with him. His wallet, perhaps."

"I see." Her throat tightened as it came to her how exactly she was supposed to distract Clennon long enough to search his wallet.

"It would be better for you to sleep with him at this location--we can control it better in case something goes wrong." continued Michael, without so much as a flicker of emotion in his eyes. As matter of fact as if they were discussing the weather...she thought, hating him with a sudden virulence.

"Fine." snapped Fallon, rising from her couch, wanting nothing more than to just see him gone. It would be different if he seemed to take some kind of perverse pleasure in this, in teasing--tormenting--her but he approached it with the same lack of emotion as he did anything else. As if she were a puppet and he the controller of her strings...

He studied her for a moment and then turned to go to the door, opening it and striding out, allowing it to close behind him. Fallon sank back down on the couch, head in hands, as angry at herself as she was at Michael. Because she knew she would do it, she would have sex with Clennon and do as she was ordered, to save her life. And felt self-loathing curdle in her along with the anger...

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

At noon she called in to work, letting them know she had some important personal business to take care of and wouldn't be in. And after that she proceeded to wait for Clennon's phone call, occupying herself with cleaning the apartment to within an inch of its life.

She didn't have to wait long; he called just past two.

"Hi, there--remember me?"

Fallon wound her finger in the phone cord, closing her eyes as she brought herself into focus, adopted once more the Fallon personna necessary for this. "The fallen Boy Scout, right? I was expecting you to call sooner than this..." she teased.

He laughed and she could nearly picture him in her head, the sheepish expression on his face as he replied. Hooked and landed... "Had some business to take care of this morning--y'know, all those little details that just *must* have my personal attention."

Another laugh, rueful this time, and then he said, "Anyways...I'm calling about dinner. What time can I pick you up? And where?"

Fallon sighed. "Actually...I thought that we could have dinner here. I'm really not in the mood for crowds...and I make a mean coq au vin. Sound like a plan?"

A moment of silence and she thought for a moment that she had misjudged him, that caution would override desire, but the pause was evidently only so that he would not stumble over his words. "That sounds great! I'll bring the wine and some flowers. Time and place?"

Fallon gave him the address and time--6:00--to which Clennon agreed speedily, swearing that he wouldn't be late. And hung up, leaving her with the now dead receiver in her hand. After a few moments she stirred herself, drawing in a deep breath and squaring her shoulders as she went to make plans for their dinner...and the seduction.

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

At 5:52 PM, a knock came on the door and Fallon took a quick look through the living room, judging it to be satisfactory. She had worked on setting this up all day, deciding to go for a casual rather than seductive atmosphere, arranging everything perfectly, from the choice of dinner to the after dinner...entertainment. Had chosen her attire carefully as well, going for casual elegance, a long wrap-around skirt done in swirling shades of brown and gold and a plain beige tank top, hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Brushing a wayward curl out of her eyes, Fallon put on a welcoming smile and went to open the door. The first thing to meet her eyes was a bouquet of a dozen long stemmed roses and her smile felt a little less forced as she accepted them, Clennon moving inside with a bottle of wine carried under his arm. He gave her a kiss of greeting on the cheek and moved past her into the living room, Fallon shutting the door behind him.

He had opted for a casual look as well, cream colored slacks and a brown raw silk shirt under a cream colored blazer. As Fallon retrieved a vase from the cupboard, she said, "Go ahead and sit down. Dinner's ready--I just have to set it out."

"Smells great." said Clennon with a grin, sitting down at the table as instructed and opening the bottle of wine to fill the two crystal goblets set out.

Filling the vase with water, Fallon brought the vase to the table and set it down in the middle, giving Clennon a smile. "The flowers are lovely."

"Not as lovely as you." he returned, his grin widening as she arched an eyebrow at him, trying to look injured. "Well, it's true!"

"Thank you." she responded primly and went to get the plates from the oven, setting Clennon's down before him and going to sit down across from him with her own plate.

Dinner was a leisurely affair, the conversation light and comfortable, and even as she smiled and laughed at his jokes, Fallon felt a pang of guilt for her participation in this.

If they had met under any other circumstances, she could have actually liked him...but she had to remind herself what this man did. Even if he did not pull the trigger or employ the other weapons of destruction he sold, the blood of innocents stained his hands nonetheless.

"You were right--you DO make a mean coq au vin." said Clennon, patting his stomach, as she cleared the dishes from the table and set them in the sink. Wine glass in hand he drifted over to the stereo and called, "Do you mind if I put on some music?"

"Go ahead."

A moment's silence and then the melodic strains of Enigma issued through the room, the volume turned up just loud enough for the music to be heard. She walked out into the living room to find him sitting on the couch, his wineglass set down on the coffee table, and he patted the couch beside him. "Come sit."

Slowly Fallon sat down and his arm stole around her shoulder, pulling her close. She leaned against him, letting the music wash over her, silencing the tinny voice of her conscience, and when he kissed her on the top of her head, it was natural to turn in his arms and kiss him on the mouth, her arms slipping around his neck. Natural to press up against him, to unbutton his shirt and slide her hands inside, even as he lifted her top.

After a few moments of heated fumbling, she took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom.

Fallon lay on the bed, Clennon's arm draped possessively across her stomach, and gazed up at the ceiling as she listened to the sound of his breathing, waiting for that moment when he slipped into deep sleep, when her movement would not disturb him.

As she lay, she thought of how many times she had done this and found that number to be depressingly large. Another thing that Section had taken from her--the ability to appreciate, to enjoy, the simple act of love between two people...

With a sigh, Clennon rolled over in his sleep and Fallon slipped carefully from the bed, going to where pants lay on the floor. His wallet was tucked into the back pocket and she took it to the living room with her, where a light had still been left on.

Quickly, with a brisk efficiency, she searched his wallet, sifting through a mass of credit cards, through folded receipts for everything from gas to hotel rooms, business cards... and finding at last a single folded piece of paper, tucked back behind his driver's license. Written on it was just one word--ARES--an appropiate password indeed. The name of the God of War in Greek Mythology...

Replacing the items in the way she had found them, she returned to the bedroom, marking that Clennon hadn't moved while she was gone, and slipped his wallet back into his pants.

Moving back around the bed, she slid once more under the sheets and was startled badly as Clennon's arm moved over her. Heart beat painfully hard in her chest, she half-expecting that he had known she was gone, knew she had looked through his wallet, but he merely murmured in his sleep, snuggling closer to her.

Letting out a shaky breath, she settled into his embrace but sleep was a long time in coming.

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

The next morning she sent Clennon off with kisses and promises of another dinner, once he had returned from his business trip. He was reluctant to go, expressing the wish that he could take her along, and she saying that she would hold him to that. And when he had finally gone, she went to sit down on the couch, remaining there in a numb fog, stirring only when the phone rang.

Brushing at her cheek and surprised to feel the wetness of tears, she picked up the phone and said into it, "Hello."

"Any success?" asked Michael, cutting quickly to the point.

"The password is Ares." she said and hung up the phone. Let her head sink into her hands and the tears of shame and anger stream down her cheeks.

For two days she remained at home, doing virtually nothing other than watching TV or listening to the stereo. Over the course of those two days she packed and unpacked her suitcase a total of six times, the debate raging wildly in her mind as to whether or not she should just run. Caught herself once nearly all the way out of her building before reason intervened and she returned to her apartment, to sit with curtains drawn and gun in her lap.

On the third day she finally ventured out to the grocery store, wearing dark sunglasses and a scarf over her head, eyes constantly scanning around her, looking for anyone that might seem to be following her. By the time she made it home she was fairly vibrating with tension and it took her a good two hours to relax.

On the fourth day she returned to work, to try and pretend that her life was normal, that all she had to worry about was paying rent and buying groceries and maybe finding a nice guy to date. She had become so accustomed to playing roles that she found it dismayingly easy to play the Fallon that she had been just a week ago, before Michael's appearance in her life. A Fallon that could laugh and joke with her coworkers, flirt harmlessly with a customer, spend breaks goodnaturedly b*****ing about those same customers. A Fallon that didn't scan each customer, assessing him or her as a potential threat, that didn't keep an eye on the exit.

On the fifth day she found herself slowly relaxing, getting once more into the swing of things. Made plans with Cassie to see a movie and have pizza, agreed to serve as catcher for an impromptu baseball game against Second Street Deli. Dropped clothes off at the dry cleaners and picked up some Chinese for dinner.

Entering her apartment and juggling the takeout bags with her mail and purse, she kicked the door shut behind her and turned.

Only to freeze as she saw Michael sitting on her couch, rising smoothly to his feet.

She considered pitching the takeout bag at him, taking her chances that she would make it to the door before he recovered, but the thought left her head as quickly as it came. He was quick, too damned quick, and he would no doubt be prepared for such a reaction. And so she went to set the bags down on the kitchen table, unslinging her purse to drape it across the chair, and turned to face him.

"If you want we can do it in the bathroom...it's easier to clean blood from the tile than it is the carpet." She was amazed at how calm she sounded. When exactly she had come to this decision--that she would accept death, or "cancellation", as they preferred to call it--she didn't know, only that she would rather be dead than go back there.

Michael regarded for a long moment, eyes half-lidded, and then slipped a hand inside his coat. Despite herself Fallon flinched as his hand came out but rather than a gun he held an envelope, which he tossed to her. Reflexively she caught it, staring down at it with knitted brows, and then lifted her eyes to his.

"What is this?"

"Open it." he instructed with a touch of dry amusement in his voice.

Slowly, fingers trembling a little, she opened the envelope and saw first a thick bundle of bills. Nestled behind it was a driver's license and a passport plus an airplane ticket. "I don't understand--" she said.

"Driver's license and passport, identifying you as Angela Carver, citizen of Toronto, Ontario. Airplane ticket to Toronto and instructions to a private airfield. The pilot will take you where you want to go."

Slowly Fallon shook her head to clear it, certain that she wasn't hearing him right, that he wasn't helping her escape the Section. "I don't get it...why are you doing this for me?" she asked suspiciously. "You hardly know me...so why would you do this? Put yourself on the line for me?"

Michael moved a step closer to her, expression still scrupulously blank, and his gaze shifted briefly off to the side before returning to hers, eyes inscrutable. "You don't know me as well as you think you do." he said softly and moved past her, heading for the door.

"Michael." He stopped with his hand on the door, looking back over his shoulder at her, and Fallon said simply, "Thank you."

A brief flicker of something in his eyes and lips twitched at the corners, in what would have been a smile if he'd allowed it, and then he was gone, the door shutting softly behind him.Fallon let out a shaky breath, staring down at the envelope, and clutched it to her chest, tears borne of relief and gratitude springing to her eyes. And then she was rushing to her bedroom, to throw as much as she could fit into a suitcase. She didn't know where she would go once she reached Toronto...but wherever she went...it would be her choice. A gift of compassion from a man that she would have sworn had no heart...

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