If it hadn't been such a slow night, Jimmy O'Hara wouldn't have stopped for the man.

It was 1:48 and his last fare had been more than an hour ago, a twenty-minute drive from one of those little arsty-fartsy clubs downtown to an upscale apartment building, the guy and his girl tumbling out of the cab, both drunk as skunks...but not so drunk that the guy couldn't count out his fare right. Less than a buck for a tip and so Jimmy had "accidentally" run through the puddle at the curb, giving the guy a good splash as he drove off.

So there he was, heading back to the garage, where he would spend the next few hours shooting the breeze with the dispatcher Charlie and sneaking a couple slugs of whiskey into his coffee. He had his hand hovered over the switch to turn off his "for hire" light as he drove down 5th Street and from the corner of his eye he saw a dark figure emerge into the light of a streetlamp, a hand lifting to signal him.

Even as he slowed, Jimmy debated the wisdom of stopping for the guy in such a rundown neighborhood but he had under his seat a baseball bat and an old .38 special in the glove compartment, won in a card game. More than enough to stop some would-be punk trying to rip him off, he decided, and pulled over to the curb, leaning over the backseat to unlock the passenger door.

The man slipped inside and Jimmy lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror, studying his fare as the man settled onto the seat, tugging his coat around him and shivering a little. Younger than he'd thought and nice-looking too, dressed all in black like one of those artist types that sat in dimly-lit, smoke-filled rooms listening to bad poetry. The man's eyes met his in the rearview mirror and Jimmy abruptly revised his mental image of him--nothing soft at all in those eyes, grey eyes cold as stone and as penetrating as a laser. Had seen those eyes in some of the boyos he'd run with the IRA back home--the eyes of men that killed with thought or remorse.

"Where to?" he asked brusquely, turning his head away to hide the unease in his eyes.

"Where's the nearest hotel?" asked the man in return, voice hoarse.

Jimmy laughed as he moved away from the curb. "Mister, at this time of night, not many *hotels* open." he said derisively, dropping the "h" from hotel in unconscious mimicry of the other's accent. Looked back to see the guy watching with that same calm gaze and tore his eyes away, looking out the window.

"There's the Concord Arms--they're open all night." Not exactly swanky but not a dive either. Perfect kind of place for someone that needed a bed for the night without having to provide any kind of ID...

"Take me there."

Jimmy nodded and made a right at the next light, driving in silence to the Concord Arms, his usual line of banter set aside. It was a relief to pull up in front of the hotel, the man getting out of the cab, a briefcase Jimmy hadn't notice before held tightly in one hand. With his free hand he dipped into his jacket pocket and came up with a bill, shoving it at Jimmy.

A fifty for a $6.36 fare--Jimmy sighed as he reached for his change box, counting out the change, but when he turned back, bills and coins in his hand, it was to see that the man had already gone into the Concord Arms. Helluva tip and for that alone, Jimmy was willing to forget he'd ever taken the guy for a ride, in case anyone asked.

Returning to the garage later, he was cleaning out the cab before shutting down for the night and it was then that he saw the blood slicking the backseat...in the very spot where his big tipper had sat. Jimmy stared at it, feeling his stomach twist with a sudden anxiety, and then went to get water and a towel to clean it off.

* * * * * * * *

The room was sparsely furnished; a bed dominated it, a table with a lamp set beside it, and across from it a dresser with a mirror. On the bed a briefcase had been laid and a few feet from it a leather jacket laid on the floor, one sleeve stretched out to point at the half-open door to the bathroom. Light spilled out through the door, lending the only illumination for the room.

On the counter of the bathroom sink a gun had been laid and a hand towel tossed into the sink, the center of it soaked with blood. Closer to the toilet a bottle of hydrogen peroxide had been set, the cap of it gone, lost somewhere between toilet and wall, and beside it lay the torn halves of a plastic wrapper, a long thin streak of blood trailing from that wrapper to the edge of the counter.

Sitting on the toilet seat, black T-shirt tugged up to reveal the red of blood stark against pale skin, Michael hissed in frustration as trembling hands forced him to stop in mid-stitch, the jagged wound in his side only half-sewn shut. Closing his eyes he drew in a careful breath and reached for one of the handful of towels lying strewn at his feet, each liberally stained with red.

Swabbing at still oozing blood, he took the dressing and placed it over the half-closed wound, bringing the roll of tape up to his mouth to tear off a strip with his teeth, taping the bandage in place.

With that done he tugged shirt back down, swallowing hard against a surge of nausea, and pushed up to his feet. The first few steps were unsteady but he forced the weakness back as he moved into the main room. Unlatching the briefcase, he pushed open the lid to reveal the laptop computer inside, going to retrieve his cellular phone from discarded jacket.

A hand to his side, he bent carefully to pick up jacket, setting teeth against the flare of pain, and dropped jacket on the bed, taking the cell phone out of a pocket. Hooking the cell phone up to the computer, he turned it on and went immediately to the email program, drafting a quick message and sending it to its intended recepient. Given that the email program was written by the Section's resident computer whiz--Birkhoff--it had with it an option to use an anonymous ID, making it virtually impossible for the sender to be traced.

Not that they didn't already know he was in town...but at least he'd have a few hours to rest before he set out again. He had alloted himself three days to make contact here and if contact could not be achieved, he would have to attempt the delivery himself. How exactly he would do that without compromising the security of the lab...that, he would think on later. Better to hold to the hope that he could get assistance here...

A slight rueful smile touched his lips, gone as quickly as it came; that after all his years in the Section, after all he had seen and done, he could still find it in himself to hope...that was a gift Nikita had given him. And as illogical as it was, he found himself unable to banish it.

Shutting down the computer, he closed the briefcase and moved it down to the foot of the bed. Carefully Michael laid down on the bed, tugging the blankets around him as he started to shiver, and allowed eyes to drift closed, sinking into sleep that offered no peace, just dark, uneasy visions.

* * * * * * * *

Showered and dressed in a severe black blazer and skirt, coffee drank and toast consumed, the newspaper lying folded on the breakfast table, Dana Scully turned to the last item in her morning routine: checking the email on her computer.

With the reopening of the Xfiles, following a harrowing adventure that led from a bombed-out Federal building in Dallas to a secret lab buried deep in the ice of the Antarctic, there had come as well a flood of cases, all that had to be examined immediately. And of course Mulder was in his element, his purpose in life once more returned to him, working feverishly to rebuild what had been destroyed by a fire.

There had been nothing salvaged from that fire, not a single file escaping the blaze, and seeing that destruction, the ruin of the basement office they had shared for the last five years, had turned out to be symbolic. The Xfiles had perished as well in that fire, the two of them sent off on other assignments, the Bureau perhaps thinking that if pushed hard enough, they might resign.

But bizarrely enough it was because of their assignment to Dallas and their placement on the team sent to scout out a Federal building for a suspected bomb that had led them to another, more insidious conspiracy. One in which a building was levelled simply to cover up the evidence of a strange virus, a virus far more intrusive than that of the Ebola virus and its effects far more deadlier. She herself had been infected by the virus, through the sting of a common honey bee, and only through Mulder's actions had survived it.

Their return to Washington D.C. and the producing of the only surviving piece of evidence--that same bee--had ensured the reopening of the Xfiles, the only body within the Bureau capable of investigating such a strange phenomenon.

Likewise, it had raised in Scully a renewed conviction to pursue the continued Xfiles cases...when days before she had been on the verge of resigning from the Bureau. She was the one to convince Mulder to stay with the Bureau, to continue his search for the truth.

Not that it would be easy, she reflected with a rueful smile as she tapped the mouse, the screen saver--a swirling kaliedoscope of color--fading to be replaced by the main menu. Working with Mulder was challenging, often infuriating...but never dull.

Three email messages in her box--one from Mulder, with an attached file that--once downloaded--proved to be a very hazy photo of some round object, his note attached to it proclaiming it to be a weekend sighting in Florida. With a shake of her head, she moved on to the next email, that from an old college friend now residing in London--both of them had deemed that it was easier to send email than pay for long distance phone calls, never mind that wildly diverging schedules prohibited more than a call once a month. Scrolling briefly through it, she saved the email for reading later and moved to the last one.

There was no return email address attached to it, odd enough in itself to draw a slight frown from her. The fleeting thought that it might be Mulder pulling a joke on her passed quickly through her mind as she saw the terse message. Paradise Club. 8:00 PM. M. She sat there for a long moment, fingernails drumming against the top of her desk, considering that message. Mulder could be coy...but this wasn't like him. Might ask her to meet him in a bar...but not a nightclub...and certainly not one that--by virtue of its popularity and trendiness--would be filled nearly wall to wall with bodies on a Friday night. And there was only one other man with that initial that would contact her in such a cautious manner--letting out her breath in a long sigh, Scully made a mental note of the time and place and hurriedly left her apartment.

* * * * * * * * * * *

It was nearly 8:20 and Scully was ready to depart the club, having already developed a headache from the too-loud music. Had turned down a half-dozen requests for a dance and a few requests for something a little more involved, nursing a glass of wine at the bar as she scanned the crowd, looking for someone--anyone--that was familiar.

8:25 and the conviction that this was some weird joke of Mulder's had set its roots deep into her mind. Tossing a five down on the bar, she gathered purse and turned to leave, only to stop as a hand touched her elbow.

"May I have this dance?"

Scully turned to face the speaker, about to form a refusal, and her heart gave a lurch as she looked into grey eyes she hadn't thought to ever see again.

Michael stood before her, clad in black, a small smile curving his lips, his hand extended, and she took it, allowing him to draw her out onto the dance floor as a soft melody issued from the speakers. With her hand clasped in his, he slid his arm around her waist, guiding her in a slow dance.

Moving his head closer to hers, he placed lips at her ear and said softly, "I need you to contact someone for me."

"Why?" asked Scully suspiciously, frowning up at him. The last time they had met, he had used her to get information on a secret project...and though in the end neither of them had won that engagement, she still held a wariness towards him. Not helped at all by the fact that one soulful look from those eyes made her want to melt in a puddle at his feet...

"I can't reach her on my own. She's being watched by our...people. And what I'm...involved in is not sanctioned."

"And what *are* you involved in?" she asked, studying him as she waited for an answer.

He returned her gaze, eyes cool, and then said at last, "Something that you were also involved in...recently. You and your partner Mulder." Anger flashed in her eyes and she started to pull away but he held firmly to her, giving a small shake of his head. "Not in the way that you think, Dana. I don't have time to explain--" His eyes flicked around, as if seeking someone, and Scully caught herself just short of looking as well, feeling him press a folded piece of paper into her hand.

"Her name is Nikita. This is where she lives. There's a time and place written there for us to meet. Pass along the message--that's all I ask." And bent his head to brush his lips across her forehead before he released her hands, holding her eyes as he took a single step back, a mute entreaty in their depths. Turning on his heel, he vanished into the crowd.

Folding her fingers tightly around the piece of paper, Scully waited a few moments before she too left the club, to go in search of this woman called Nikita.

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

Nikita was working out. Not so much for the benefit of the exercise but because her body was tight with tension. She was worried. No. She was scared. Scared for Michael. He had suffered at the hands of Red Cell once again. Being tortured by chemical means that had left him without his memory for three days. Three days that Nikita had covered for him. Somehow, together, they had fooled Section into believing that Michael was okay. Or so Nikita wanted to believe. End result of the three days was that Michael had been shot.

Because he had suffered that and torture, Madeline had given Michael a week off. An entire week to himself. A week that Nikita had hoped he might share with her. At least a little. But he had taken off immediately, not even telling her he was going. That he was gone Nikita had learned from Walter. Michael had sent flowers to Nikita, however. Lavender roses. A dozen of them that had arrived this morning. They were sitting on the kitchen counter.

Nikita ceased with her sit ups and stood up. She went to the counter and picked up the note that had come with the flowers. *Merci Beaucoup, mon couer*. That's all he had written. "Thank you...my heart," Nikita whispered now as she pressed the card to her lips. She believed, with all her heart, that Michael did remember something of those three days. That he remembered telling her he loved her. And she clung to that belief with the tenacity of a bulldog with a bone.

A knock on the door shattered Nikita's reverie. A smile curved her lips. Maybe it was Michael. Grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat off her face and neck, Nikita ran for the door. Opened it and frowned. A petite red-head stared at her.

"Nikita?" Scully asked, staring up at the tall blond. A very beautiful blond at that, even though she was sweaty and dressed in ratty sweats. Should have known. Just Michael's type.

"Who are you?" Nikita shot back, eyes flickering over the woman's head, searching the corridor. A ripple of tension washed over Nikita. Something was wrong.

Scully stood her ground. "We have a mutual...friend," she replied, eyes cold.

Nikita smirked. "And who might that be?" she prompted, leaning against the door jamb, effectively barring entrance should the little one be so inclined to push her way in.

"Michael!" Scully hissed, sotto vocce.

"Come in," Nikita replied, grabbing the other woman by the arm and hauling her inside. She closed the door then demanded, "Where is he?"

Scully reached in her pocket and pulled out the piece of paper Michael had given her. A part of her was reluctant to part with it. It was all she had of him. But the scientific, analytical, part of her called herself a fool and held out the slip. "I don't know where," Scully answered. "He wanted me to find you and give you this."

Nikita snatched the paper and read it. A time and a place. A place she wasn't familiar with but could easily find. "Why did he send you?" Nikita challenged, blue eyes locking with blue.

"We've sort of worked together in the past," Scully replied, willingly enough. Saw no reason not to tell the truth. "I'm with the FBI." She then put her two cents in. "I've got the feeling that Michael is in trouble."

"Did he tell you what he's up to?" Nikita queried, a frown furrowing her brow. She pulled out her pony tail then chewed on a chunk of pale hair. A nervous habit.

Scully shook her head. "No. But he did say that he couldn't contact you himself because you're being *watched* by your people, and that what he was involved in wasn't sanctioned."

A smile hovered on Nikita's lips. She was beginning to learn that Michael was full of surprises. If he was going against Section, acting autonomously, then it had to be important. Michael was passionate about the things he believed in. A fact that Nikita had only just begun to realize. "What's your name?" she asked suddenly.

"Dana Scully."

"Thank you, Dana," Nikita said, reaching for the door knob.

"I'll take it from here." She knew she was being abrupt, but she didn't have alot of time to prepare herself. She had to make a legitimate excuse to Section for being gone for a bit. Easily done by keeping in contact with Walter. But she needed armament too. No telling what Michael had gotten himself in to.

Scully walked out the door, but hesitated. Then she pulled out her own card. "Call me when you can," she requested. "I just want to know that Michael is okay."

Nikita bit her lip as she took the card. Sensed that there was more to Dana Scully than met the eye. And that more had happened between her and Michael than Nikita wanted to think about. But she nodded. "I'll call," Nikita promised. And she would. Then she closed the door.

"Thanks," Scully whispered, to the empty hallway, then she turned and walked away. But she carried the image of Michael with her and the thought that she should have done more.

Michael winced as he shifted position. It was a chilly day and he should have worn a jacket, but he wasn't cold. Grimaced at the thought. Fever was setting in. Knew he needed medical attention, but couldn't risk it. Touched his side and felt warm wetness. He was bleeding again. Nothing to be done but grin and bear it. Michael was used to that.

He stared through the binoculars again, watching Scully's house. He was waiting for her to return, which would be his verification that she had reached Nikita. But it was heading for dawn and still nothing. Michael was becoming worried. He was also becoming lax. Loss of blood and lack of food, he knew. But he should have been more careful.

So should have Mulder. He was worried about Scully when he couldn't reach her all day, so he had decided to check her house. No one home. Her car was gone. But then he had seen the man in black and decided to investigate. Was nearly upon him, gun in hand, when the man moved. So swiftly that Mulder didn't have time to blink.

Next thing he knew he was lying on the ground, his gun in the other man's hand and pointed at him. "FBI!" Mulder shouted, one hand going for his pocket.

"Don't..." Michael cautioned. "Stand up, agent Mulder," he whispered.

"Shit!" Mulder muttered. "Michael. What are you doing here?" he asked, as he recognized the other man.

Michael said nothing, he simply held out Mulder's gun, grip first. "Forget you saw me," he whispered, and made to glide away.

Mulder grabbed Michael's arm and heard the other man hiss in pain. It was then that he realized his fingers were wet. Peered down. "Blood," he breathed. "You're hurt." It was more an accusation than a statement.

"I'm fine," Michael replied, then promptly gave lie to his words by collapsing at Mulder's feet.

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

The logical part of Scully's mind told her to let it go, that she had done her duty by Michael in passing along the message to the young woman Nikita, but Michael's words--his statement that he was involved in something that she had also been involved in recently--repeated endlessly through her mind. And in turn it roused her curiosity as to *how* he was involved...and what his motives were. Acting not in the interests of whatever group he worked for...but in perhaps his own interests, whatever they may be.

And so she found herself following Nikita as the young blond left her apartment building, able to trail her through the downtown traffic and to a location just outside the business district. Followed her into a parking garage and was delayed by the exit of another car...long enough that she did not see Nikita exit her car or the direction in which she went. For five minutes she circled through the garage and finally found Nikita's car...empty.

Slowly Scully cruised through the parking garage but to no avail and finally found a parking place from which she could observe Nikita's car...and settled back to wait.

While driving to the Section, Nikita had been too preoccupied with thoughts of Michael and how exactly she would manage to wrangle some time off from the Section to notice that she was being trailed. But even if Scully had managed to keep her in sight as she entered the garage, she would not have been able to access the elevator that Nikita took down to the depths of Section.

Her first stop would be Madeline's office, to try out the scenario she had concocted. It was flimsy as hell, she knew, but it showed a willingness to further involve herself in the Section's affairs that might please Madeline enough to garner an assent.

Madeline raised her head at Nikita's entrance and offered the young blond a smile even as fingers typed at the keyboard of her computer. Nikita returned the smile, drifting around the office, going to the small bonsai trees to touch a finger to one branch, aware of the older woman's eyes following her. But with her typical patience Madeline would wait for Nikita to speak first.

"I've been thinking about my role in the Section--about what I have to...offer the Section." she said finally, turning to face Madeline, keeping her expression scrupulously blank.

"And...?" prompted Madeline, turning her attention from her computer to fix brown eyes on Nikita, studying her with microscope intensity.

"I know that as team leader an operative comes to rely as much on their own contacts as they do the Section's. If I'm to continue as a team leader, I'd like to have the option of recruiting my own contacts."

Madeline raised an eyebrow, as much of a show of surprise as Nikita would get out of her, and brown eyes warmed a little as she steepled fingers under her chin. "I think that's an excellent idea. Of course, you know that establishing a network of contacts is a time consuming process..."

Nikita gave a casual shrug. "Well, there aren't any missions on the board and so I thought this would be as good a time as any. Don't have to have an entire network--I just thought one or two to start with...and then branch out from there."

"How much time would you need?" asked Madeline.

Nikita appeared to give it serious thought, even as triumph sent heart fluttering in her chest. "A week, maybe two."

Slowly Madeline nodded, her gaze shifting briefly to her computer. "You'll have ten days. We will expect you to remain within field of contact, of course. In case we should need you."

"Of course." agreed Nikita, managing to suppress a smile of relief. "Thank you, Madeline."

"It's good to see you assuming some more responsibility, Nikita. You have a great deal of potential here--I'm pleased to see you start to utilize it."

"Well, I'm in for the long haul--might as well make the most of it." responded Nikita lightly, though her stomach clenched at the thought. "I'll keep in contact." And with one quick smile she left the office.

Madeline waited for her to go before she picked up the phone and pressed a button. "She's on her way." And sat back in her chair, a cheshire smile curving her lips.

Muttering a curse, Mulder dropped down to his knees beside the still form of Michael, seeing the shininess of blood on black shirt, noting as well the sweat that beaded his forehead. Gingerly he lifted shirt up to see a banadage placed on his side, now soaked with blood, and sat back on his heels, to try and think of what to do. If he was conscious, Michael would refuse to go to the hospital...but then he wasn't conscious...

Taking out his cell phone he hit the rapid dial for Scully's cell phone number and listened to it ring. Once it had rang a dozen times, he disconnected and dialed 911 to call for an ambulance. And shed his coat to lay it over Michael as he alternated between pacing as he waited for the ambulance and calling Scully's number. Seeing Michael here of all places, watching Scully's place--that didn't bode well for Scully...

After making a brief circuit of the level of the parking garage, Scully returned to her car, just in time to hear the sound of her cell phone--lying on the seat--ringing.

Unlocking the door, she hauled it open and snatched up phone.

"Scully." But she was speaking into dead air and Scully drew the phone away from her ear, punching buttons to activate the caller ID. Mulder's cell phone number--quickly she dialed it and waited impatiently for an answer.

At last it was picked up and Mulder's familiar voice came on. "Mulder." "You called me?"

"Scully--" Relief was evident in his voice, so much so that it sparked trepidation in her. "I've been calling and calling--"

"Well, now you've reached me. What's going on, Mulder?" In the background she could hear the sound of voices and the distinct sound of metal wheels on concrete.

"I've got an old...friend of ours here. He seems to have gotten himself into some kind of trouble."

"Michael?" she asked with a frown, wondering how the hell Mulder had managed to run into him. "What's happening there, Mulder?"

"Had to call an ambulance." Mulder said, sounding mildly apologetic. "Tried to call you but you weren't answering--and he needs medical attention--" The sound of voices became clearer, Scully able to catch something about blood pressure and pulse thready, and then Mulder's voice overrode it. "What hospital are you taking him to?"

"County General." said one of the attendants crisply. "And we've got to roll--his pressure's dropping."

"Okay--" Mulder drifted back and said into the phone, "You get that, Scully? County General."

"I'll meet you there." Muttering an acknowledgement, Mulder disconnected and Scully sat still for a long moment, staring at Nikita's car, and then muttered a curse as she started her car and set off.

Once the ambulance was out of sight, lost in a snarl of traffic, the siren was cut and the driver took an abrupt left, heading not for the hospital but for the waterfront. In the back of the ambulance, one attendant was working to strap down the young man as the other prepared an injection.

Michael came back into consciousness to the feel of a strap being wound round one wrist, eyes blearily focusing on the man starting to lean over him and reach for the other wrist. His reactions were slowed a little by loss of blood but not seriously so--one handed he struck the attendant, sending him tumbling back into the other, who dropped the syringe.

Unstrapping his other wrist, he slid off the stretcher, one hand catching it to steady himself, and when one of the attendants came at him with recovered syringe, he ducked smoothly under him, slamming the flat of his palm under the man's chin with sufficient force to send him slumping to the ground. Kneeled to grab the gun in the shoulder holster concealed by a jacket--bearing the words METRO AMBULANCE--and had it swung around to aim at the second of the men as he lunged. A shot in the head and the man fell backwards, twitching.

Yanking out the IV, Michael moved back behind the stretcher as he felt the ambulance slow down, blinking rapidly to clear his vision as the ambulance came to an abrupt halt.

The doors were slowly opened and he remained where he was, even when the driver poked his head experimentally inside and then pulled back as quickly.

"White? Chambers?" called the man tersely and then moved again to stand before the doors, gun out and aimed. Cautiously, he lifted one foot to place it on the ledge and had half-risen into the ambulance when Michael stood to place two quick shots in his chest. Tumbled back to land hard on the ground and didn't move.

Sagging, Michael allowed his eyes to close briefly, supporting himself on the stretcher, then forced himself to straighten. Started to go through the medical supplies, looking in vain for some kind of antibiotics and finding only morphine.

Pocketing a vial and a syringe, he grabbed a handful of bandages and some tape, stooping to relieve one of the fallen attendants of his coat before he left the ambulance, moving as quickly as possible away from it.

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

Mulder was already at County General when Scully arrived in a breathless flurry. He caught her arm as she started to glide by him.

"He's not here," Mulder stated, flatly.

Scully caught her breath. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said," Mulder countered, drawing Scully aside into a private alcove. "Michael isn't here. I've been harassing everyone. Nothing."

"It must have been a set up," Scully muttered to herself. "The people who are after him are good."

Mulder sighed and rubbed his temples. "And just WHO is after Michael this time?" he queried, knowing that he was locked into whatever was happening whether he liked it or not. Scully was involved and she was his partner. So that made Mulder involved.

It was Scully's turn to sigh. "I don't know who," she confessed. "I don't even know what's going on." Dana caught the look on Mulder's face and hastened to explain as best she could. But there wasn't much to tell. "Michael asked me to deliver a message to a friend. A colleague of his." Scully didn't add that she knew for certain that Nikita was much more than a friend. Or a simple colleague. She didn't want to think about that.

"What was the message?" Mulder prompted.

"Just the name of a place and a time for them to meet," Scully replied. She felt frustration wash over her, followed by worry, and resisted the urge to scream and beat her fists against the wall. "How was Michael?" she asked, unable to keep the concern from her voice, or from shining in her eyes.

Mulder patted Scully's shoulder. He knew that something meaningful had passed between his partner and Michael the last time they had met. What it meant, he didn't know, but he owed her the truth. "He didn't look good, Scully."

She pulled away from Mulder's touch and closed her eyes against the threat of tears. Then she realized something. She knew where Michael was going to be. "Let's go," Scully stated, grabbing Mulder by the sleeve.

"Where are we going?" he demanded, falling into a run as Scully dragged him off.

"To find Michael," she said firmly, and was pleased when Mulder didn't argue the point. Why bother? They both knew Scully would win.

****

Nikita entered the club and put a smile on her face. She was dressed in white jeans and a matching sleeveless sweater. Her hair was in a loose pony tail, her gun was stuck in the small of her back. She let her eyes flirt with a few men who made the moves on her, but all the while she was scanning the place for Michael.

And he was looking for her. Michael was at the bar on the second level, towards the back, where there was easy egress. He spotted Nikita the moment she entered the bar and glided out of the shadows and over to the railing so that she would be able to see him as well. It didn't take long. Michael then faded back into the shadows again, but as he did so he spotted two newcomers. People he hadn't expected to see. Mulder and Scully. With a hand that trembled as much from weakness as from the morphine he had injected himself with, Michael reached into the pocket of the amubulance jacket and closed his fingers over his gun.

It was Mulder who spotted Michael and Scully who locked on to Nikita. They chose to ascend to the second level by seperate stairwells, eyes locked on their perspective targets, both agents ready for trouble.

Nikita was still smiling as she approached Michael. He was leaning at the end of the bar. "By me a drink?" she drawled, moving close to him. "You okay?" Nikita asked, leaning in close to whisper in Michael's ear, as if offering a sexy kiss.

"I need a safe place," Michael replied, deeming it best not to answer the question. He disliked lying to Nikita and he was far from all right.

"What's going on, Michael?" Nikita queried, one hand lifting to glide over his chest. She gasped when he flinched and hissed in pain. Nikita stared at the blood on her hand. "You've been shot!" she whispered, stating the obvious.

Michael leaned against the bar, fighting off a wave of dizziness. "I'll be all right," he lied. "We have to get out of here, Nikita. I'm being watched." Even as Michael said the words he saw a red laser beam pinpoint the spot in the center of Nikita's forehead. Michael pushed her down even as he drew his gun and fired. Answering shots smashed the glasses over the bar.

Mulder crouched, reflexively, when he heard the shots. Saw Scully across the way and she had done the same. He nodded to her as he drew his gun. They headed for Michael.

"SHIT!" Nikita hissed, her own gun in hand as she knelt beside Michael. The shots had panicked the crowd and chaos ran amuck as the club patrons screamed and cried and headed for the exits en masse. But Nikita sensed that whoever was after Michael wasn't among them. "They want you alive," she stated.

"Yes," Michael replied, not adding what Nikita already knew. They would kill her and anyone else that was with him. Michael tried to rise, but his knees buckled and he slumped against Nikita.

She supported him but was fearful. Just then she spotted Dana Scully with a dark-haired man. Nikita raised her gun.

Scully waved at her, then Mulder, as she neared them. "He's my partner." Her eyes roved over Michael. He was in bad shape. The doctor in her wanted to examine him. Michael was pale and his breathing was shallow. Blood dripped onto the floor next to him as well. "What can we do?" she asked.

"Do you have a car?" Nikita queried, answering before Michael could. She knew he was in no condition to make decisions, even though he would probably argue that point with her.

"South alley," Mulder replied, but his eyes weren't on the blond. They were flittering about the room, expecting gunfire at any moment.

Nikita patted Scully's shoulder. "Get Michael out of here," she ordered. "To a safe place. I'll cover you."

Michael protested. "No, Nikita. It's too dangerous. I have to go alone."

"You'll do as I say!" Nikita hissed, her eyes locking with Michael's.

"Yes," he whispered, knowing that she was right. Michael thought about what was at stake. This wasn't about his life, but he knew that was what Nikita was protecting. He looked at Scully. "Let's go."

Scully was watching Nikita. "How will we find you?" she asked, knowing that Michael would want to know that the beautiful blond was safe.

Nikita grinned. "Don't worry....I'll find you," she drawled, not mentioning that she had placed a tracker on Scully when she had touched her a minute ago. "Get Michael out of here, NOW!" Nikita demanded. She knew that they had a chance in the rush of the frantic crowd.

"Come on!" Mulder hissed, reaching for Michael's arm, but the young man was already on the move. So Mulder gestured for Scully to precede him and he followed close behind.

Once out of the club and in the alley, Mulder jumped behind the wheel while Scully hustled Michael into the back seat. She paused long enough to remove her medical kit from the trunk of the car then told Mulder to step on it.

He did as she bid, but glanced over his shoulder once they were on the main highway and appeared to be out of danger. "Where to?" Mulder asked, directing the question at Michael. But he received no answer.

"He's unconscious," Scully said softly, biting her lip. Michael was in bad shape and she knew they couldn't risk taking him to a hospital.

"We need a safe place, Mulder," she stated, desperation coloring her voice.

"I know the perfect place," Mulder replied, smiling.

Scully was afraid to ask, but couldn't help herself. "Where?"

Mulder tapped a beat against the steering wheel. "Where else?" he countered, teasingly. "The Lone Gunmen."

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

Supporting Michael between them, Mulder and Scully managed to make it up to the stairs leading to the Lone Gunmen's office and Scully slid out from under Michael's shoulder to pound on the door.

Through the door she could hear footsteps and a faint grumbling voice then a terse, "Who is it?" Langley's voice and Mulder extended a foot to give the door a kick.

"Open up!"

More grumbling and then the door was opened, Langley about to pop off with a wise-crack but going silent as he saw the limp figure of Michael. Scully brushed past him, gesturing for Mulder to follow, and as they moved past the doorway Byers rose from his position behind a computer, a faint frown creasing his brow. His eyes flicked from Scully to Michael and then back, the frown deepening.

"He needs medical attention and we can't take him to a hospital." said Scully calmly.

Langley snorted. "What does this look like, the Red Cross?"

But Byers was already leading them to a small room with a cot--from the pictures of women in various stages of undress tacked up onto the wall somewhere Frohike had stayed more than once--and flicking on the light switch as Mulder gently laid Michael down on the cot. Scully slipped out of her coat, tossing it over a nearby chair, and began to roll up her sleeves as she approached the cot, setting her bag on the floor beside it.

Tugging open the jacket Michael wore Scully motioned for Mulder to help her get the jacket off him and tossed it aside, opening her bag to withdraw latex gloves and donning them. Taking a pair of scissors she cut the shirt away from Michael's torso and peeled it away, shaking her head as she saw bandaged soaked with blood, flowing down to soak pants as well.

"Mulder, make yourself useful. Take his blood pressure." Scully ignored the sarcastic salute Mulder gave her and turned to Byers. "Do you have the equipment to type blood?" she asked crisply.

Byers nodded. "I'll get a slide." And hurried out of the room.

Taking Michael's wrist between her fingers, Scully checked his pulse as she ran through a mental list of what she would need. Whole blood, two units most likely, sutures, bandages, IV, something to put Michael under...antibiotics definitely--she had a scalpel in her bag, she would need more dressings though...

"90 over 50, Scully." said Mulder grimly as he unwound the pressure cuff, Byers returning with the slide. Smearing some blood on the slide she held it between her fingers as she followed Byers to their small lab. It took a precious amount of time to type the blood and once that was done, Langley was sent off to procure units of whole blood, while Byers went to get the other items she had requested.

Three hours later and Scully was closing the incision, a twisted lump of metal--red with blood--tossed on the floor beside her, two empty bags lying on the floor as well, along with a litter of bloodied gauze. Swiping at her sweating forehead, Scully taped a bandage over the stitches and took a step back, nodding to Byers, who had assisted her in the impromptu operation.

"Thank you." Stripping off gloves, she tossed them on the floor and called, "You can come back in now, Mulder."

Sheepishly, Mulder re-entered the room, still looking a little green, trying not to watch as Scully gathered bloody linen to shove in a bag. "How is he?"

"Lucky. He lost a lot of blood...but I've been able to contain the bleeding. Bullet was lodged in a rib...so he has a cracked rib. I'm putting him on antibiotics to combat the infection." She straightened to cast a glance over Michael, covered now by a blanket, left hand with IV needle taped to the back of it lying on on his stomach. "And he's going to have at least two days of bedrest...if I have tie him down myself."

Mulder nodded, studying the unconscious young man, and then turned his attention back to his partner, a hand tugging through brown hair. "So...any thoughts on what's going on here, Scully? Or who the hell is after Michael...this time?"

Scully sighed, rubbing her temples. "I told you, Mulder--I don't know. All that he'd tell me that it was something we'd been involved in recently."

"The smallpox virus?" asked Mulder with a frown.

Grudgingly Scully nodded. "It might be."

"*Might* be?" echoed Mulder incredulously. "C'mon, Scully--the guy is a professional spook. And my money's on him being involved in this somehow."

"If he *is* involved, Mulder, then it's on a personal basis. Why else engage in such a clandestine way of contacting his colleague...and why the attack at the club?" Scully drew in a deep breath, smothering the flare of anger at what she had perceived to be an unfair attack on Michael. "If it does have something to do with the virus, then we both have a personal investment in seeing to it that Michael survives. And gets to where he needs to go."

Slowly Mulder nodded, conceding the point, and was about to speak when Langley poked his head into the room. "Hey, there's this Amazon out in the hall that swears she knows you."

"Nikita." said Scully under her breath, wondering how exactly the blond had known to come here. And shook the thought from her head as irrelevant--nothing that Michael or anyone connected with him did should surprise her. "Let her in, Langley."

"This isn't a flophouse." muttered Langley but did as she said. A few moments later Nikita came into the room, slipping past Scully to go the cot where Michael lay. She took one limp hand in hers and laid her other hand on his forehead, smoothing hair back from his eyes, her eyes going to Scully.

"How is he?" she asked softly.

"He'll be fine...with some bedrest." Scully assured her. Nikita nodded, flashing her a smile of thanks, and turned her attention once again to the unconscious smile, expression tender as she gazed down at him. Scully tried to ignore the pang of jealousy, turning to Mulder, who was watching the pair as well, and drew him aside.

"I don't think we should keep him here, Scully." said Mulder reluctantly. "The kind of people that are going to be on his trail--they'll track him here, if they haven't already. And I don't want to expose these guys to any more danger."

"Okay...we'll move him in the morning." said Scully with a weary sigh.

"I know a place."

Both Mulder and Scully looked to Nikita at her quiet announcement, Nikita raising her head to meet their eyes even as she stroked Michael's hair. Scully nodded, some of the tension easing from her, and left the room to find Byers, procure some additional medicine for their journey.

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

They moved Michael in the morning with relative ease. He hadn't yet awakened from the surgery, mainly because Scully had kept him too heavily sedated. A bit risky to do so, but she weighed it against the odds of Michael waking up and bolting. He would undo all her good work. So now he rested peacefully on a small bed in back cabin of a boat. A small, but rather luxurious, yacht. Scully was impressed.

"Is this yours?" she asked Nikita, as she checked Michael's vitals. He was doing well, but not as well as she might have liked.

Nikita smiled and shook her head, her eyes then flickering back to Michael's face, but out of the corner of one eye she watched Scully tie a binding around Michael's wrist. There was one on the other wrist as well. Restraints. Scully's idea. Nikita had rejected them at first, but then realized it was a wise thing to do. Michael seemed to buy in to his own myth that he was the Terminator, and Nikita knew he needed to rest and heal. "I have a friend," Nikita offered, in vague explanation.

"Some friend," Mulder commented, from the doorway. His tone and expression were both dry. "So...when is somebody going to explain to me what the hell is going on here?" he prompted, as he strode into the room and glanced at Michael. It seemed strange to see the other man looking so helpless and weak. Vulnerability was not a trait Mulder associated with Michael, even in the short time he had known him. As it were.

"Wish I knew," Nikita drawled, her eyes shifting to lock on Mulder and she smiled when he shifted uncomfortably beneath the intensity of her glare. "Michael is the only one that can answer all of our questions," Nikita stated. "We'll have to wait."

Scully glared at Mulder. "Why don't you go get us some breakfast," she suggested, rather forcefully. Her partner's attitude about Michael was beginning to get on Scully's nerves.

Mulder shrugged. "Fine. Donuts work for you?" he questioned, sarcasm oozing from every pore, but he headed out the door.

"He doesn't like Michael," Nikita stated softly.

"He doesn't like the unknown," Scully replied with a soft smile. "And a force like Michael makes him nervous."

Nikita sighed. "I can relate to that," she allowed, with a smirk. Michael did take some getting use to and even after three years she still didn't understand what made him tick.

Scully moved away from the bed and began to pace. She had a million questions and hoped that Nikita could answer at least one of them. "Are your people trying to kill Michael?"

"Possibly," Nikita replied.

"Why?" Scully countered with a shake of her head, then she laughed. Silly of her to question such a possibilty. Her *people* had tried to kill her often enough. "Forget I asked," she whispered.

Nikita nodded then went back to watching Michael. She saw his head stir on the pillow and his long lashes flutter. "Michael?" Nikita breathed and was rewarded when his beautiful eyes opened and locked on to her.

Michael blinked to bring Nikita into better focus then tried to sit up, only to discover that his wrists were restrained. Blinked again. "Release me," he demanded, but his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.

"Not a chance," Scully answered, moving into Michael's line of vision. "You need to rest."

"Later!" hissed, then he coughed and his body tightened again the pain it caused.

Scully grabbed a glass of water and nodded to Nikita to support Michael's head while she helped him to drink. They made a good team and soon the coughing eased. Grabbing a soft cloth, Scully wiped away the film of sweat that sheened Michael's face. He had a fever and that worried her. "Rest," she cautioned him, when he opened his mouth to speak.

Michael could feel his weakness, but he had no time to waste. "I have to go," he insisted, eyes locking on Nikita's face. From her he would gather his strength. "You....have to trust me."

"I trust you, Michael," Nikita whispered, and blinked back sudden tears. "But now...you...have to trust me." She paused then gestured to Scully. "Us. You can't do this alone, Michael. Whatever *this* is."

"I have no choice," he countered, willing Nikita to understand and accept his decision. But Michael saw the cold gleam of stubborn determination in Michael's eyes. She would hold firm. "Nikita...I don't want to put you at risk," Michael stated, and it was the truth. What he was doing was dangerous. He had no support from Section. He was a Rogue operative as far as they were concerned. They would kill him before they would help him. Didn't matter that his cause was just. And there were other factions that wanted him as well. They wouldn't kill him so much as capture him, but Michael knew that anyone with him was fair game. He wanted no more blood on his hands. Especially not Nikita's.

Reaching out, Nikita combed her fingers through Michael's soft curls. "Too late," she said softly. "You asked for my help and you got it. You need me, Michael...and I'm not going anywhere."

Scully patted Michael's hand to draw his attention to her for a moment. She smiled and stated, "That goes for me too. We're all in this...together."

"Together," Michael echoed, then he closed his eyes.

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

Breakfast proved to be more than donuts, Mulder bringing back an assortment of breakfast entrees from a diner on the waterfront. Once breakfast was consumed, Nikita took herself off to "take care of some business", leaving Mulder and Scully with Michael.

Michael was even persuaded to eat a little and once he had been settled Scully took Mulder back out to the main deck of the yacht.

"I need to pick up a few things--watch him while I'm gone. Under no circumstances do you let him loose." said Scully.

Mulder gave her a pained look. "I think I can manage to keep an eye on a guy that's doped to the gills and in restraints, Scully." he said dryly.

"Don't let him loose, Mulder." she repeated sternly.

"Scout's honor." said Mulder, holding his hand up in the Boy Scout's pledge. Scully gave him a long look, seeing nothing but sincerity in his eyes, and then sighed.

"I should be back in a few hours." With one last glance at the sleeping Michael, she left the yacht and Mulder shook his head as he went to sit down at the breakfast table, finishing his coffee.

With his coffee done, he went to check on Michael, laying a hand on his forehead and frowning as he felt the still too-warm skin. Michael's eyes flickered open, blinking to bring him into focus, and he tugged experimentally at the straps that held him down, a slight grimace of pain crossing exhausted features. Despite the heat of his skin, his eyes were clear as they turned to Mulder's.

"Let me go." he requested softly.

Mulder shook his head. "I do that, Scully's going to have my ass in a sling." Michael licked his lips, eyes closing briefly as a shudder went through his frame, and then looked once more to Mulder. "The people that pursue me--they want only me. Anyone that is with me...is collateral. Expendable. I want to protect Nikita...just as you want to protect Dana."

Mulder's mouth tightened at Michael's casual use of her name but he could not keep the anxiety from showing his eyes, could not look away from Michael's calm gaze. "You nearly lost her recently, didn't you?" he asked.

"Yes." admitted Mulder grudgingly. Hadn't realized how much he needed her, how much he relied on her...until it seemed that he might never see her alive again. She was his rock, his anchor, keeping him from going adrift, from being swallowed up by the chaos that surrounded him. Remembered that dark time in his life when she had been taken from him...and returned to lie dying in a hospital room...

"You know how it feels--to want to be between her and danger. To let nothing bad happen to her again..." Michael trailed off, eyes distant, caught in his own memories, and then gave a little shake of his head. "I want the same for Nikita. Will you let me have that? Will you let me go?"

Mulder ran a hand through his hair, staring down at the other man, and then let out his breath in an explosive sigh as he went to undo the restraints. "Scully is going to have my head..." Extended a hand to help Michael sit up and supported him as he weaved, closing his eyes as a hand pressed against his side. Drawing in a careful breath he rose to his feet, holding Mulder's hand as he got his balance and then pulling free, starting to take a step forward. Only to halt as Mulder placed a hand against his chest, giving a small shake of his head. "Uh-uh. You walk out of here, I'm going with you. Condition you're in, one good puff and you're down like a house of straw. You need help...and I've had some experience in dealing with these...people myself."

Michael regarded him steadily for a long moment and then gave a curt nod.

"There's a hotel I need to go to--I have some things there I need."

"Then let's go." said Mulder firmly and led the way off the yacht.

Scully returned to the waterfront and the yacht, to the sound of a furious curse coming from below decks. Moved cautiously forward just as Nikita emerged, blue eyes glittering with anger.

"They're gone." she said through her teeth.

"Gone?" repeated Scully, frowning, and felt anger spark in her as well. "Damn you, Mulder..." Slipping a hand into her coat, she pulled out her cell phone and stabbed at the buttons, dialing Mulder's cell phone number. Paced across the deck as she listened to it ring and turned her attention to Nikita.

"There's no sign of a struggle?"

"No." rapped out Nikita, hands on hips. "No note, nothing. I *knew* I shouldn't have left him alone with you." As Scully raised her eyebrows, eyes a little frosty, Nikita managed a tight smile. "Michael can be a *very* persuasive man when there is something he wants."

So can Mulder, thought Scully wryly as she hit the disconnect button. "He's not answering." Distractedly she brushed hair back from her eyes and faced Nikita. "Wherever they've gone, I doubt they'll come back here."

"No point in sitting around here, waiting for a call. Let's go." Even before she had finished the sentence Nikita was stepping off the yacht and with a sigh Scully followed her.

Rather than wait for Michael in the car--and run the risk that he would not return to it--Mulder followed him into the Concord Arms and up to his room. Not exactly the Ritz but Mulder had stayed in worse places...

He stood at the doorway watching as Michael kneeled beside the bed to pull briefcase out from under it, straightening to set it down on the bed and opening it. A quick scan of the interior and one hand plucked something from inside, tucking it into a pocket as he closed the lid and latched it again.

With briefcase in hand, he walked silently out of the hotel room and Mulder closed the door behind him, following out back out to the front and the car. As Mulder slid behind the front seat, Michael said, "There's a bank on the corner of 12th Avenue and Cypress--"

"Wait a second." Mulder held up a hand, interrupting him, and turned a little in his seat to face Michael. "Now I love a mystery as much as the next guy...but when said mystery might affect my health I have this compulsion to ask questions. Such as...what the hell is going on?"

"It's not a good idea for us to be sitting out in the open like this." said Michael quietly.

Mulder eyed him silently for several seconds and then faced forward again, jaw tightening as he turned on the car and pulled away from the curb, following Michael's directions.

From the briefcase Michael took the key to the safe deposit box and the required ID to access it, eyes seemingly focused on the passing scenery, not speaking even when Mulder pulled up in front of the bank. Without so much as a glance, he left the car, heading into the bank, and tugged coat around him as he scanned the interior before moving into line.

Four minutes later and a pretty young brunette was leading him into the vault and leaving him to open the safe deposit box. From it he removed a small manila envelope and tore it open, glancing over the data tape inside before pocketing it. Removed as well the spare gun, tucking it into the small of his back, and replaced the now empty box, the key going into his pocket. Setting briefcase down he removed a pair of handcuffs from it and slipped them into his pocket before exiting the vault.

As he emerged from the bank, he cast a quick glance up and down the sidewalk before moving to Mulder's car. Slid inside, one hand dipping into his pocket, and Mulder turned to look at him. Seemingly casually Michael looked at a point over Mulder's shoulder and as the other man glanced that way as well he brought out the handcuffs, slapping onto Mulder's wrist and the other to the steering wheel.

Too late Mulder tugged at his wrist and lunged as Michael slipped out of the car. "Michael, damn it--"

"It's better that I continue this on my own." said Michael calmly and moved back onto the sidewalk, flowing into the passing crowd with ease.

Mulder managed to follow his progress for a block and then he was gone from sight. Slapping the steering wheel with his hand, Mulder let his head slump back against the seat. "Stupid, stupid, how could I be so stupid?"

In mocking punctuation the cell phone rang again and this time Mulder removed it, trying to mentally prepare himself for Scully's diatribe. "He ditched me too, Scully." he said before the woman on the other end could speak and gave a tug of handcuffed wrist.

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

"Where would he go?" Mulder asked as he, Scully and Nikita stood in the center of the empty hotel room. A different room. One they had come to using the tracking system Nikita had brought with her. But Michael wasn't there.

Nikita glared at the tiny tracker that Michael had left behind. She should have known he would find it. "I don't know where he would go," Nikita stated, anger coloring her voice. Anger at herself. "I've never understood how Michael's mind works.

Scully sighed and made to sit down on the side of the bed. Glanced at the dingy cover and lumps beneath it and changed her mind. "He's trying to protect us," she said softly.

"From what?" Nikita demanded. "Damn him! Why can't he trust me....just once?"

"He's afraid," Mulder replied and watched as the two women stared at him in disbelief. "Not for himself, for us...like Scully said. He wants to protect us," Mulder was quick to explain. Whatever lies Michael had told them, the one truth that Mulder was certain of was that Michael wanted Nikita to be safe. Wanted all of them to be out of harm's way. He admired that about the other man, even though he was furious with Michael.

Nikita knew that Mulder was right, but that didn't make her feel any better. She was terrified that she might never see Michael again and that thought was unbearable. "We have to find him," Nikita stated firmly, turning to lock eyes with Scully.

Dana nodded. "Yes. He's not strong enough yet to be running around." The doctor in her was desperate to find her patient and tie him down so that he would rest and recover. But she knew that wasn't Michael's way. He would never give in to weakness. "But where do we start looking?" she challenged.

"Tell me what you guys are connected to," Nikita prompted. "We need to find some connection that can link us to Michael's actions."

"It's a long story," Mulder countered, raking fingers through his hair in a gesture of impatience. He wanted to be doing something. Anything. Not just standing around in this seedy motel room that smelled of stale smoke and sex.

Nikita glared at Mulder. "Unfortunately...we've got time," she drawled, then she dropped into a nearby chair to signify the fact that she wasn't going anywhere.

Scully took a deep breath and began.

******

Michael changed the bandages on his wound. They were damp from his shower. He was relieved to see that the stitches were intact. He couldn't afford the weakness of further bloodloss. Couldn't afford weakness of any kind, Michael reminded himself, as he dissolved the sudden image of Nikita that danced in his head. He finished with the bandage and slipped a black t-shirt over his head. That done, Michael swallowed four aspirin to help battle his fever, washing them down with a tall glass of orange juice. New he needed the vitamins as well.

Leaving the bathroom, Michael paused by the silver tray that rested on the coffee table of the elegant suite he was staying in. It cost three thousand dollars a night. Michael knew he would be safe her, momentarily. But he would have to make his move soon. Reached for a piece of toast on the tray then put it back. Knew he didn't to eat but also knew it would gag him right now. So he left the tray and reached for the brand new cell phone he had bought a few hours ago. He punched in a number, waited, then said, "I have the package." Then he hung up. Michael closed his eyes and sighed. Now it was only a matter of waiting. He knew he would be contacted.

With that thought in mind, Michael went into the bedroom and stretched out on the huge bed. Beneath his pillow was a Glock. Another gun was strapped to his left ankle. The dull, aching, pain in his side would keep him from slipping too deeply into sleep so Michael closed his eyes and let darkness claim him.

******

Nikita emerged from the dressing room in black pants with a matching pullover. She, Scully and Mulder all needed a change of clothing, so here they were at the local mall. Nikita paid for the clothes in cash and accepted the shopping bag that contained her old attire. She then yelled to Dana, who was still in the dressing cube, that she would wait for her by the pretzel stand. Nikita's stomach rumbled and she counted out change as she headed for the pretzel vendor. Only to freeze as she caught sight of a familiar figure riding the up escalator. "Michael..." Nikita breathed, all thoughts of food forgotten. Nikita ran back into the store shouting for Scully. "I FOUND HIM!" Then she was off across the center mall, racing for the stairs. Caught sight of Michael as he reached the second level and pushed herself to move faster. But by the time Nikita made her way past the milling bunches of people and stood panting at the top of the stairs, Michael was gone. "Dammit!" she hissed, supporting her hands on her knees as she breathed in and out deeply to calm her pulse.

Turning in circles, Nikita searched for Michael's familiar form and thought she caught sight of him heading into a jewelry store. She bumped into an elderly couple, paused to apologize, then ran off.

By the time she reached the store front, Michael was gone again.Gone....but not far. Michael stood in an alcove, watching Nikita. He waited until she headed off in one direction before moving in another. Shook his head at the odds of them ending up in the same place like this. Michael then reminded himself that he could not allow distractions to interfere with his mission, and so he continued on with single-minded purpose. Made his way through a department store and into the back storeroom. Ten seconds passed and he knew something was wrong. Turned to retrace his steps but cried out instead as he took two hits. One in the thigh and one in the shoulder. Tranq darts and very powerful. Michael didn't even have time to yank them out before darkness claimed him.

******

Came awake in a rush, attempting to sit up but discovering that he was in restraints. A hand pressed against his chest and a blurry face loomed over him. Michael blinked to focus his eyes, but still couldn't see clearly. The lighting in the room was too bright.

"Relax, Michael," drawled the voice as the hand pressed him back. "No one's going to hurt you. We just want to talk." The voice paused.

Michael knew that whoever was there was waiting for him to speak. He said nothing.

The voice sighed. "Why make things so difficult, Michael?" it complained. "We both want the same thing. I'm here to help you."

It was tempting to believe the voice, but Michael didn't. He flinched as he felt a hand grasp his arm. Two fingers tapped at a vein inside his elbow then there was a pinprick of pain as a needle slid into his flesh. Michael felt something cold seep into his bloodstream, then he felt a flush of warmth. He couldn't remain the name of the drug, but he was familiar with it's effects. Inwardly he smiled. They could not make him talk using this. But he would let them find out the hard way.

"So...Michael," droned the voice. "What do you say? Shall we be friends?"

"No," Michael replied, then he waited for what would come next.

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

Slapping a hand against her thigh in frustration as she scanned the second level of the mall, Nikita turned at the sound of running footsteps and saw Scully come up before her, red hair mussed, still tucking in the tails of her blouse into her trousers.

"Gone. He's gone..." said Nikita shortly, striding to the railing and leaning over it to look down at the lower level. Heaving a sigh, she straightened and gave the rail a slap with the palm of her hand, turning a tight circle, fuming with frustration. So close and yet so far...

"It was him? You're sure?" asked Scully as she smoothed hair, glancing sideways at Mulder's approach. Nikita gave her an irritated look and Scully lifted her hands in mute apology. "Why would he come here?"

"Public place--perfect for a meet." supplied Mulder helpfully. "Easy to slip in and out of the crowds--and hard to control."

"And virtually impossible to search thoroughly." added Nikita sourly, running a hand through blond hair. Let out her breath in an explosive sigh and turned to face the other two. "Come on--we might as well check out the parking garage. See if he's gone out that way..." And led the way to the nearest exit, giving the door a savage push, Scully and Mulder trailing behind her, wisely silent.

"He's not talking."

"It--it takes time...it's not exactly something that can be rushed--"

The sound of the voices--one with a soft smoker's rasp, the other sounding younger, a litle bit of fear under the calm tone--brought Michael up out of unconsciousness, holding himself absolutely still. Gave no sign at all that awareness had returned, concentrated instead on using his other senses to determine his situation. Still restrained...but the drug they'd given him was fading from his bloodstream. Given his previous exposure to it, the potency of it was undermined...

In the silence that followed, there was a soft scratch, the pop and hiss of a match lit, and then an inhale. "Time is a commodity we do not have. Events are moving along... and I for one don't plan on standing aside. You have twenty-four hours--if I don't have a name or a location, then you will be replaced." A long pause and then the sound of footsteps receding, a door opening and shutting.

"Let me know when he wakes up." ordered the second voice and went the way of the first, leaving silence in his wake.

Michael lay still, listening for the last of the three, trying to determine position, and then a hand came across his cheek in a light slap. "Wake up--damn it, there isn't a lot of time--"

Warily Michael opened his eyes to look up at the man over him. Young, late twenties at most, very short blond hair, non-descript, perfect for this line of work. Anxiety showed in bland features, the young man glancing back over his shoulder before leaning over to undo restraints. Michael watched him as the young man moved down to free ankles as well and pulled himself up to a sitting position, forcing back the dizziness with an effort.

"This is your only chance to get out of here." said the young man, straightening as Michael swung legs over the side of the bed.

"Why?" asked Michael simply, studying the young man.

"Factions within factions." responded the young man cryptically. "There are some--just a few--that are...concerned. That all these long-laid plans will bear a bitter fruit. I've been placed to watch for you, in case you were taken--and to help you escape...or kill you if necessary."

Michael gave him a slight, cool smile. "And how do I know that this is not part of the game? That I can trust you?"

"Alain Richaud used to live three houses down from you...in Marseilles. You used to play in his father's orchards--and you have a little scar on your knee from when you fell out of a tree. Compound fracture..." said the young man, gesturing to said knee. "You moved to Paris when your parents died...but you kept in touch with Alain. And when he went to the university you met up again."

Michael nodded slowly, rising from the cot, accepting the young man's words of proof.

There wasn't much of his past he had managed to keep secret from the Section--and information that could be accessed by his pursuers--but Alain was the one person from his past he had been able to maintain contact with...his one secret...

"Here." The young man reached behind him, pulling a gun out from the small of his back, and pressed it into Michael's hand. "I can get you out of here...but after that you're on your own. They'll be contacting you again about the delivery." Removing another gun from his shoulder holster, the young man walked to the door and opened it, scanning the hallway before gesturing for Michael to follow him.

Still a little wary, Michael went to the door and the young man indicated the left hall of the hallway with a nod of his head. "There's a door at the end of it--take that to get out. Outside there's a gray sedan--door's unlocked and keys are under the driver's side seat. I don't have to tell you to ditch the car first chance you get..." Stepping out into the hallway, the young man began to move forward and glanced backward at Michael. "Go."

As quickly as he could, Michael went down the hallway, heading for the door. He had his hand on it, the knob starting to turn, when there came the sharp sound of gunfire from behind him. Tense he faced in the direction that it came from...but from the sound it was receding, not approaching--meaning that the young man that had freed him was now providing a suicidal diversion. Hauling the door open, he slipped outside and went for the car.

"Well, no unclaimed bodies at the morgue." Nikita cast a glare at Mulder in response to his dry tone and he blinked innocently at her, replacing the phone in its cradle. "Hey, just being practical."

"Can it, Mulder." ordered Scully crisply, drawing her knees up under her as she leaned back against the couch. They were staying at the house of a friend of hers, off for a month long vacation in Europe, providing a temporary refuge. A place to regroup, to consider what their next move would be... "We need to take a step back." said Scully, thinking out loud as she laid her chin on one knee. "Take a look at what we know...and decide where to go from there."

"What we know isn't much." responded Mulder wryly, ignoring the scathing looks both women sent him. "One--Michael makes contact with Scully, to send a message to Nikita. Wants a meet with Nikita, to give her...something. Two--Michael's injured, possibly by the people that are after him. Three--whatever he is going to pass along is smaller than a bread box...because I'm sure he got it out of the safety deposit box. So that leaves us with what possibities...? Anyone?" he added archly and ducked the pillow Scully flung at his head.

"Information." Nikita stopped in mid-pace as the answer came to her. "Most likely contained on a disk or a tape--but whatever it is, it's not something that our employers are involved in...or will sanction."

"Information about something that we have encountered recently..." mused Scully and let her knees fall abruptly, turning to face Mulder, a mute question in her eyes.

To which Mulder gave a slow nod. "The virus--but I don't think it's the kind of experiments our friends have been engaging in." Through his mind flashed the memory of a conversation between himself and a dapper old man, the crisp British accent fitting the image of some English lord--if not for his intervention, Mulder would have never found Scully...or been able to cure her of the virus she had been infected with. Though his motives proved to be as difficult to decipher as those of Deep Throat, still he had assisted Mulder...though it had cost him his life.

"Dissension in the ranks--maybe not everyone's happy with the status quo. And maybe they're looking for a cure. A cure that might prevent genocide." said Mulder grimly.

Scully gave a small sigh. "Mulder, surely you don't believe that these...men would instigate a world-wide campaign to eradicate all life--"

"Not these men, no. But those that they're allied with...yes." Mulder leaned forward a little, voice intense. "Colonization, Scully. And what does any new explorer due to the native populace once they've landed? Subjugate them...or destroy them. And I'm voting that our friendly neighborhood ET is going for the latter approach."

"Mulder--"

Nikita waved her hands to head off the impending debate. "Okay, let's concentrate on the matter at hand. Michael is out there and he has in his possession some information that might be vital to this virus you're talking about. He has to get this information to someone, most likely in the States. If it involves research...then there has to be a lab. What we need to figure out...is where he would go...and to whom."

Slowly Scully nodded. "There's someone I know from med school, a Dr. Thomas Forrester. He specializes in viral research and he's one of the top researchers in his field. If there *is* anyone working on a cure for this virus, Thomas will either be aware of the research...or involved in it. He lives on the West Coast, in northern California."

"Then let's go." ordered Nikita, grabbing her coat from a chair and pulling it on, out of the door before Scully and Mulder had even gotten to their feet.

"If your friend is so visible, chances are he's being watched." said Mulder quietly as they followed in Nikita's wake.