Nikita had been sitting at home, listening to the stereo and doing absolutely nothing at all, when she had gotten the phone call from Michael, just her codename—Josephine—and two words: one hour. No point in just sitting here so she changed from jeans and T-shirt to loose fitting black harem pants and a silk shirt that was a rainbow swirl of bright colours and went to the Section’s HQ. Passing by Walter’s office she gave him a wave and proceeded on to the computer bay, where Michael stood behind Birkoff, Birkoff chewing on a stick of beef jerky as he studied his screen.

Michael’s attention shifted to her, giving her a nod of welcome, and then up to the second level and Nikita followed his gaze, seeing Madeline and Operations up there, talking with an older man, dark hair a little grey, dressed in a nondescript suit, a wreath of smoke surrounding him.

Glancing sideways at Michael, she saw for a moment an expression of intense dislike before his features smoothed and he returned her gaze, his eyes devoid of any emotion.

“Haven’t seen him around here before. Who’s he?”

“No one.” said Michael flatly and turned on his heel to stride away. Casting another look at the second level, she saw the man looking down at her, his eyes following Michael as he lifted his cigarette to his lips and took a drag, exhaling smoke.

A chill went down her spine and she hurried to follow Michael, having to nearly run to catch up with him, matching her pace with his. “So what’s going on?”

“You’ll find out in the debriefing.” he said dismissively, going into his office without a backwards glance at her.

Nikita entered behind him, folding her arms and frowning at him as he sat down behind his desk. “Come on, Michael, something about that man bothers you—what is it?”

He lifted his head to look at her briefly, a warning glint in his grey eyes. “Leave it alone, Nikita.”

She threw up her hands. “Fine!” Turned and stalked out of the room, not seeing Michael sit back in the chair and close his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Shaking her head as she walked down the hallway, she wondered why the hell she bothered sometimes trying to draw him out; it would be far easier to get something out of Fort Knox than Michael...

And so she went to her second fount of information, someone that if she could not charm him, then could tempt him to give her the information she wanted. Birkoff looked up at her approach and shook his head as she smiled sweetly at him. “Not a chance, I’m not getting involved in this.”

“Oh, come on, Birkoff.” She trailed fingers across his back, perching a hip on the console beside him. “You know everything that’s going on around here.”

“All I need to know is that guy is dangerous and I do not want to be on his bad side.” said Birkoff with a shake of his head, resolutely turning his back on her and concentrating on his computer. Nikita slipped off the console with a sigh of disgust and went to the debriefing room.

After her, Michael was the first one to come into the debriefing room, taking a seat beside her but focusing his attention pointedly on a report he’d brought with him, and Nikita leaned back in her chair, idly kicking at the table leg, aware of Michael’s irritation beside her at the click of her heel against the leg and knowing that he wouldn’t ask her to stop. A petty victory to be sure but she did like to get a little rise out of him...

She stopped as soon as Madeline and Operations entered the debriefing room, straightening in her chair and turning her head to look at the man as he trailed behind them. Up close there was nothing at all remarkable about him, he was an older man, in his early sixties or late fifties, the sagging flesh of his face and pouches under his eyes reminding her a little of a basset hound, but there was nothing soft at all in his eyes, eyes that stared back at her, curiously flat, as he smoked his cigarette. He carried with him an air of menace, sharpened when you looked into his eyes, and Nikita could not suppress a shiver as she tore her eyes away from him, focusing her attention on Operations as he stood opposite them.

“Our...assistance has been requested in a certain matter that could be embarrassing to the government if it were discovered. An experiment has escaped the government’s control and we’ve been asked to step in, clean up the mess, and destroy all evidence of its existence. You’re to go to Harrison, Montana, and retrieve from the morgue there five bodies—we will want all autopsy reports taken as well, any kind of medical tests destroyed.” He leaned forward, eyes going from Michael to Nikita and back. “It is very important that any investigations of outside parties into this matter are...discouraged.”

“Which outside parties?” asked Nikita with a frown.

Operations ignored her question. “You’ll be leaving within the hour. We want this wrapped up as quickly as possible.” His eyes fell on Michael’s as he said, “No mistakes.”

Pushing himself up out of his seat, Michael left the debriefing room, shoulders stiff, and Nikita looked from his departing figure to Operations and then to the smoking man, who smiled as she met his eyes and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

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

Scully knelt beside the body, studying the distorted and swollen flesh, which also looked bruised. The eyes were bulging, and red, since the blood vessels had burst. And on the face was an expression of horror, frozen there in time. And it was the face of a young woman, barely into her twenties. Scully closed her eyes. The woman had died a horrible death.

Mulder stood about ten feet away, grimacing as he stared down at the body. “What did she die of?” he asked, watching Scully peel off her rubber gloves.

“I’ll need to do an autopsy to even hazard a guess,” the lovely redhead replied, as she rose smoothly to her feet. “But, judging from the markings, I’d say that what ever caused the other five deaths, killed her.”

“Which means you don’t know,” Mulder said. They had read the autopsy reports and all five were inconclusive.

Scully nodded. “Which means I don’t know,” she confirmed. “But I intend to find out.”

Mulder paced in a half circle. “Something about this seems very familiar, Scully,” he said softly. He scratched at the back of his neck as he paced. There was something...a feeling...that niggled at him, but he couldn’t quite reach it.

“Familiar how?” Scully asked, but even as she spoke, she sensed a movement. Before she could react, the cold barrel of a gun was pressed against her neck. Looking over at Mulder, she saw a man standing behind him, also holding a gun. A man dressed entirely in black and wearing a ski-mask so that only his eyes were revealed. Startling.....silver-green eyes. Scully caught her breath as the intensity of his gaze burned into her. She was barely aware of being relieved of her gun.

“Who are you?” Mulder asked, as he was relieved of his weapon also. But the question was answered with silence. Briefly, Mulder considered making a defensive move, but he could feel the strength of the man behind him and knew that he would be easily overpowered. Wisely, he remained still. “What do you want?” He queried, figuring that it couldn’t hurt to ask. But even as he spoke, he felt a pinprick in his neck and blackness swirled around him and he fell into it.

Scully suffered the same fate, and never felt the arms that caught her. Her last memory was of silver-green eyes.

There was a heavy darkness and Scully found herself wading through it slowly. She was guided by a pair of luminous eyes. They drifted before her in the blackness and she tried to reach them, but couldn’t. Then they disappeared and a scream left her. And in that moment she found herself sitting upright and trembling. Her heart pounding in her chest. Scully took several deep breaths, to calm her heart rate, and then she took a look around, only to discover that she was in her hotel room. And she wasn’t alone. Mulder was lying in the bed beside her. She shook him till his eyes fluttered open.

“Whaaat?” he muttered, his eyes working to focus. He watched Scully leave the bed, and didn’t even bother to wonder why they were both lying on it in the first place. Mulder remembered the men in black, and he groaned as he sat up. His head was pounding. “What the hell did they give us?” he complained.

Scully glared at him as she stepped into her shoes. “What difference does it make now!” she hissed. “Come on, Mulder, we’ve got to get to the morgue.”

He slid off the bed and found his shoes. “What’s the rush?” Mulder queried. “It’s not going anywhere.” He groaned as he discovered that bending over made him nauseous, so he sat on the edge of the bed to put his shoes on.

“How much you wanna bet that the BODIES are gone?” Scully shot at him as she yanked open the door.

“Dammit!” Mulder muttered, and he was right behind her.

Scully won the bet. All five bodies were gone, as were the autopsy reports and any and all records of them ever having existed, including police reports. They couldn’t find any of the detectives, of which there had been four, who had found the bodies in the beginning, and had written up the reports. Nor was the coroner anywhere to be seen. Those, with whom Mulder and Scully did speak, seemed to have developed amnesia.

Mulder was furious. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded, but he received no response from the room full of people. He felt Scully grab his arm and pull him towards the door. Once outside of the building, he turned to glare at her.

“Save your anger,” Scully advised him, and then she headed for the car.

“Where are you going?” Mulder called after her. Scully turned to look over her shoulder.

“To find the answers,” she replied. Silently, she added, ‘And to find the owner of a pair of silver-green eyes.’

Michael knew that someone was inside the room. It was a corner room of the hotel and he had his gun in his hand as he pushed open the door then entered with the silence and stealth of a shadow. He saw the man sitting in the chair by the window, and even in the darkness, he could see the halo of smoke. Kicking the door closed, Michael turned on the lights then stepped forward to confront the other man. “What are you doing in my room?” he demanded, his eyes glittering like chips of ice.

Cigarette man turned in the chair to face the younger man and a smile curved his thin lips as crushed out the smoking butt beneath his foot. “I think it’s time for you and me to have a little talk...Michael,” he said. Then he lifted his left hand to reveal a gun which he pointed at the young operative’s chest.

Michael looked from the gun the smoking man pointed at his chest and then to the other man’s eyes; his own gun was held down at his side and for a moment he considered raising it, taking his chances that his own aim would be better, but it was an idle thought, easily vanquished. Ignoring the gun that tracked him as he moved into the room and to the dresser, leaning back against it, legs stretched in front of him, setting the gun down on the dresser as he faced the smoking man, eyes cold.

“And what would we have to talk about?” he asked softly, eyebrows raised, nothing at all in his relaxed stance to indicate he was threatened by the presence of the gun.

“Your methods.” Still holding the gun pointed at the younger man, the smoking man withdrew a pack of Morley’s from his pocket, extracting one cigarette to place it between his lips, a flare of fire as the match was struck and brought to the cigarette, shaking it out and tossing it on the floor as well. Michael’s lips thinned as the man drew deep on the cigarette but he could play this game too, he could wait him out...

Smiling a little as he watched Michael, the smoking man thought that if he’d had him to work with, a great deal of the past debacles would have never happened. He had approached the idea once to his old friend, in his own roundabout way, but the answer had been an unequivocal no—Operations had his own plans for Michael. Still, he had agreed to loan him out again... “Mulder and Scully need to be a bit more firmly...discouraged.” A wealth of meaning in those words. And a meaning Michael did not like, bringing to mind another mission on behalf of this man, a mission that had cost him the lives of three members of his team, three people that had died a terrible lingering death from exposure to radiation while attempting to retrieve an item for this man.

“I don’t take orders from you—I’m not one of your thugs.”

The smoking man raised his eyebrows, exhaling a cloud of smoke, and his finger tightened on the trigger of the gun. “You think you can’t be replaced?”

Michael allowed himself a small, insolent smile. “That’s not a decision for you to make, is it?”

The smoking man’s eyes went flat and Michael tensed, preparing himself to go for his gun, but then there was a click—abnormally loud in the silence of the room—as the safety was put back on and the smoking man rose to walk slowly over to him, face inches from him as he deliberately blew a cloud of smoke in Michael’s face. “You still have a great deal of work to do—get to it.” And he opened the door to exit the room, leaving it open behind him. Michael let himself relax, breathing deeply to overcome the anger that surged through him, and straightened, striding from the dresser to go to the door and shut it but Nikita appeared on the other side, casting a look back over shoulder, no doubt in the direction of the smoking man.

She was frowning a little as she turned to face him, seeing his tension, and said, “What’s wrong?” A pack challenge, the old wolf facing down the young, neither wanting to give and in the end it would be a fight to the death...he shook the irrelevant thought from his mind and allowed her into the room, shutting the door behind her.

“We need to wrap this up.”

“What more is there to do?” The memory of having to handle that last body, of the horrified expression on the young woman’s face, made her skin crawl. She had gotten some of the blood on her and had scrubbed fiercely at her skin but she still felt unclean—she couldn’t see how someone could stomach doing this full-time, cleaning up the Section’s messes.

“There’s still the lab to do.” replied Michael absently, thinking of the medical reports he had scanned, reports that had been inconclusive as to cause of death, and thinking as well of the smoking man’s proclivities for using his own people and tossing them aside. There was something here that he hadn’t been told, something dangerous...and he thought that from the smoking man’s reaction, the two FBI agents might be a lot closer to the answer than they knew. It might be a good idea to make contact with them, draw them out—of the two Scully would be more approachable, he had seen...something in her eyes when they’d met his, just before Nikita had applied the stun gun. He had read the file on her and of the two, she was the cool, unemotional one, applying logic to the problems he faced, a trait he could admire...

“We’ll do the lab tonight.” he said aloud, firmly banishing the thought of Scully from his mind.

Nikita rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m starved; I’m going to get something to eat—coming?”

“You go ahead—I’ll be down in a few minutes.” He wanted to examine those reports again before they were destroyed, hardly aware of Nikita as she left the room, focused on the reports.

Scully had compiled some of her observations in her initial report and when she returned to her hotel room to examine the notebook computer, she was not entirely surprised to see that the file was gone, along with any other notes she had recorded.

Mulder checked his own room and reported that several pages of his notebook had been torn out, pages on which he had been keeping notes.

Not even the blood samples she had taken and placed in the room’s small refrigerator, preparatory to sending them off via Express mail to the lab in Washington D.C., were still there.

“This is so...” She threw up her hands in exasperation, staring around her hotel room.

“Spooky?” interjected Mulder with a wry smile.

Scully gave him a look and he raised his hands in mock self-defense. “I don’t see how you can be so blasé about this, Mulder.”

“I think I’m actually starting to get used to this—MIB sweeping in to clean everything up before we can find the truth.” he said dryly. “Besides...I don’t think this is finished yet.”

Scully let out a noisy sigh and went to pick up her purse. “I’m going to go drown my sorrows in something chocolate and incredibly decadent. Maybe a caffeine injection will shake something loose...”

“Mind if I use your computer? I’d like to get hold of Danny, run the names through the database, see what comes up.” Mulder had already turned to her notebook and was tapping at the keys.

“Make yourself at home.” she said ironically and left the room.

It was the off season so the hotel was less than half full, most of the guests either businessmen or truck drivers passing through the area, and the hotel restaurant was virtually empty when she walked inside. In the back, she could see a blond-haired young woman sitting by herself, eating dinner and ignoring the appreciative looks from the two businessmen seated at the table next to her, and Scully sighed as she gave up the idea of having something chocolate for a drink, going up to the bar to sit down on a stool. Just one, something fruity maybe, enough to get her mind off the frustration of this case... As the bartender set her drink down before her, she was aware of someone sitting down beside her, even though the rest of the bar was empty, and she turned a little on the stool, sipping at her drink through the straw, to meet the eyes of the man that sat there, oddly familiar, a shade of grey that seemed green in a certain light. In his late twenties or early thirties, shoulder length wavy brown hair, a lock of which fell across his forehead in a charming way, a slight smile curving sensuous lips, eyes deep and warm, features strong and yet oddly beautiful... “Mind if I sit here?” he asked softly, his voice carrying the trace of an elusive accent.

“Uhh—no, go ahead.” The thought had popped into her head—that he had the entire bar to find a seat—and was easily dismissed, lost in a flicker of interest she hadn’t felt in a long time. Scully ducked her head over her drink, to hide the faint flush that showed so easily in her fair complexion, took a sip and then raised her head again to look at him as he lifted a hand to signal the bartender.

“A glass of red wine.”

The bartender nodded and the man turned to look at her, extending his hand and flashing her a smile. “Hi, I’m Michael.”

Awkwardly she removed her hand from her drink and shook his. “Dana.”

He clasped her hand, his fingers warm against hers, and released her hand, fingers sliding down in an almost caress, sending a tingle through her.

“So—are you here on business?” And could of hit herself on the forehead for such a stupid remark, seeing the way he was dressed, black jeans and long-sleeved shirt opened at the throat to show a hint of a lean chest, sleeves rolled up to reveal slim forearms—rein in your libido, Dana Katherine, she told herself sternly.

“Actually, my cousin and I, we were driving down from Montreal, headed to California—car broke down.” That helped to identify the accent, a clinical part of her mind noted, lost as he gave her another smile and a rueful laugh. “You don’t know how nice it is to see a different face after spending hours in a car with someone.”

“I have an idea.” Too many long hours spent in a car with Mulder, driving here and there, and she could appreciate the sentiment.

“I thought when I got an import, it would be a good investment—until it breaks down and the mechanic tells you it’ll be three days before a part can come in.” Michael shook his head. “So here we are, hoping that the mechanic can do something with the car...you here on business?” A little teasing note in his voice as he parroted her words back at her and she couldn’t suppress a smile.

“Actually, yes.”

“Maybe you’d like to discuss it over dinner?” suggested Michael. Scully studied him for a moment, seeing only a friendly suggestion, maybe a little interest, and slowly nodded. “Why not?”

Dana was impressed with both the restaurant, and Michael. The Black Stallion was surprisingly elegant, and the man who sat across from her was utterly charming. He was also extremely intelligent and she enjoyed debating with him over politics, science, philosophy and the arts. Scully was intrigued to discover that he was an art dealer, with a sideline in computer programming. Michael was also the most sensual man that she had ever met, and Dana found it hard not to stare at him. Every move he made was fluid grace. Just lifting his wine glass made heat curl in her stomach. When she tried to feed him a piece of the cheesecake that they were sharing for dessert, her hand shook a bit and the strawberry sauce dribbled over his mouth. Without thinking, Scully reached out and wiped the fruit from his full lips with one fingertip, and then she caught her breath as Michael captured her wrist and brought her finger to his mouth. His eyes locked on hers, Michael licked the sauce off Dana’s skin then he gently suckled her finger.

Michael knew that he was getting to Scully, but he let nothing but passion show in his eyes as he pressed a kiss into her palm then smiled at her. “Dance with me?” he requested, softly.

“Yes,” Scully whispered, rising from her chair. There was a small area off to the right with a dance floor, and a slow song was playing. She followed Michael, her hand held lightly in his, and when they reached the floor, she found herself pressed against his hard length as he began to move them to the sensual beat.

“So...you’re an FBI agent,” Michael whispered in Scully’s ear, but he had to bend his head to do so. She was very tiny.

Scully nodded, and pulled away a bit, for her sanity’s sake. Besides which, she wanted to be able to see Michael’s beautiful face. “My parents hate it.”

Michael smiled. “I’m sure they would have preferred that you practice medicine. It’s much safer.”

“True,” Dana allowed. “But I put my medical skills to good use on the job.”

“You said that you were here on business,” Michael continued, hoping to draw Scully out some more. He was remembering what the Cigarette man had said to him, about discouraging her and Mulder. “I guess that means you can’t talk about your work? Is it top secret?”

Scully sighed. “It’s confidential,” she allowed. Then she offered a smile as she let her fingers slide into his thick hair. It felt like silk. “Let’s not talk shop,” she requested. “Let’s just be...normal.”

Michael laughed, for her words were full of irony. “Define normal,” he challenged, even as he pulled her closer in his embrace. He didn’t know that a pair of crystal-blue eyes was watching them.

Nikita sat across the room, watching Michael dance with Agent Scully. She assumed that he was with her to gather information from her, but Nikita couldn’t stop the flare of jealousy that simmered deep within her. A part of her wanted to march out onto that dance floor and hurl the tiny redhead across the room. Instead, Nikita reached for her water glass, drained it, and then stood up on unsteady legs. She had been dying of thirst and feeling hot and dizzy for the past three hours. No doubt she was coming down with some kind of flu bug. And it was probably adding to her bad mood. So Nikita left the restaurant. She needed to sleep.

It was almost midnight when Michael dropped Scully off at her hotel room. He bent his head to brush a kiss against her soft cheek. “I had a wonderful time,” he told her. And it was the simple truth. In another time...another place...Michael would have enjoyed getting to know Dana Scully on a whole other level.

Scully smiled up at Michael, and tried not to blush at the passion she saw smouldering in his gorgeous eyes. A passion and desire that was mirrored in her own. If only she weren’t here on business, maybe they could have pursued this relationship. “It’s been great,” she replied. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, Michael.”

“”We’re just getting started,” he countered, ignoring the irony of her words. She didn’t know him at all. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

“I’d like that...but I am here to work,” Scully said, her eyes clouding with disappointment. She saw it in Michael’s gaze as well.

Then he grinned. “You have to eat,” he replied. “How about breakfast together?”

Scully laughed at the little-boy expression on his face. She couldn’t refuse him. “Eight o’clock?” she suggested.

“I’ll be here.” Michael smiled softly, and then turned to go. Only to find her hand on his arm. When he turned back, he felt Scully’s mouth pressed against his own. Michael wrapped his arms around her waist, and then deepened the kiss. A long moment passed before they broke apart. “Goodnight,” he whispered, setting Dana back down on her feet.

“Goodnight, Michael,” she replied, as she attempted to slow down her heart rate.

Dana could not remember ever before being so strongly affected by a simple kiss. She watched Michael stride away, and then turned to enter her room. Only to discover Mulder, sitting on the bed, glaring at her.

“Who was that?” he demanded, not bothering to explain that he had been watching her through the window. Scully scowled at him. She could guess that he had been watching her and Michael, and she didn’t like it. “A nice man,” she replied. “What are you doing in my room, Mulder?”

He shrugged. “It’s late. I was worried about you,” he replied, noncommittally.

“Well, I’m home now. So go to bed,” Scully ordered, even as she took him by the arm and pushed him out the door.

“We have work to do,” Mulder hissed, as the door closed in his face.

As Scully turned the lock she replied, “I know, Mulder. I know.” A moment later she heard the echo of his footsteps as he walked away.

Michael returned to the hotel that he and Nikita were staying at. Since it was late, he decided to check on her. He knocked at her door for several minutes with no response, so Michael picked the lock. Upon entering the room, he discovered Nikita sprawled across the bed. He went to her and called her name, but received no response. Michael pressed his palm to her face and felt the heat of her skin. She had a fever, yet her skin was sweaty. Michael knelt over her to reach for the phone on the nightstand, when he suddenly found himself on his back, Nikita hovering over him, her eyes glassy. “Nikita....” he whispered.

“Hello, Michael.” she drawled, smiling down at him. When he tried to sit up she grabbed his wrists and pinned them down on either side of his head, then she pressed her knee into his groin. Not enough to injure him, but enough to keep him still. “Are you bed hopping?” she inquired, her voice husky.

“What do you mean?” Michael countered, as he tried not to let his concern show. Nikita was ill and he needed to get help for her. Especially if her illness was what he feared. Nikita grimaced and pressed down with her knee till she felt Michael flinch.

“You know exactly what I mean, Michael!” she spat. “I saw you with that Scully woman. You bedded her, didn’t you?” It was an accusation, not a question.

Michael closed his eyes, as he realized that Nikita was slipping into delirium. What surprised him was how strong she was. Despite her training, Michael knew his strength was superior, yet she pinned his arms down easily. Her efforts to immobilize him with pressure on his groin was effective, but wasn’t what stopped him from freeing himself. He didn’t think Nikita realized it, but she had developed three times her usual strength. “I was just seeing what information I could get from Agent Scully,” Michael explained, trying to placate her. He pulled at her grip again, but still could not free his wrists and he winced when Nikita tightened her hold. “Let me help you,” he beseeched.

“The only help I need from you, Michael, is of a personal nature,” Nikita drawled. “I’m the only woman who is your equal,” she whispered, as she bent her head to nuzzle at Michael’s ear. Nikita heard his sharp intake of breath and was pleased. “You’ve made love to many women, Michael,” she purred. “Now you’re gonna find out what it’s like to have a woman make love to you.”

“You don’t want to do this, Nikita,” Michael replied, knowing that it was only the fever talking. And also knowing that he had to get help for her. He had no doubt now...Nikita was infected. If Michael didn’t find a cure, she would die in seventy-two hours...or less.

***********

Some little absurd part of his mind might have enjoyed this scenario, to have Nikita over him, holding him down to the bed, but the cool, rational part of his mind knew that if he didn’t get help for Nikita soon her condition would deteriorate and it would be too late. With that thought in mind, he made one last attempt to reason with her. “Nikita, you don’t know what you’re doing—“

“Don’t I?” Still holding his wrists pinned she leaned over to kiss him hungrily on the mouth, teeth nibbling at his lower lip, and he tried to turn his head to the side, only to stop, gasping, as her knee pressed warningly into his groin. Lips trailed down his chin to his throat and then up to his ear, teeth fastening on his earlobe and tugging, he turned his head and raised his mouth to hers, returning the kiss she gave him passionately.

Rather than the hard pressure of before, her knee rubbed against his groin in a caress and despite himself he felt the stirrings of arousal, tried to shift position but her leg was firmly between his and she laid herself against him, matching him nearly perfectly in length, pelvis to pelvis, her breasts pressing against his chest. As she rubbed herself against him, it didn’t require much acting on his part to let his eyes cloud with desire, his voice husky as he whispered, “Let me touch you.”

Drawing back she stared into his eyes, her own suspicious, and he put all he felt for her in his eyes, the love and desire and respect, no resistance at all in him as she straightened over him, hands closing painfully hard on his wrists before releasing him. Her hands went to his shirt to tear it open, sliding inside to run her hands down his chest to his stomach, one hand seeking to slide down his pants, and he drew back, letting his own hands travel up, closing briefly on her breasts before fastening on her shoulders. Using his weight, he tried to push her down onto the bed but she hissed like an angry cat and shoved him off, the strength in her such that he fell off the bed, cracking the back of his head against the bedside table and sitting hard on the floor as light danced before his eyes. Rubbing the back of his head and wincing, he blinked rapidly to clear his vision, seeing Nikita spring off the bed to go to the dresser, yanking open a drawer to pull something out, whirling on him, hair a wild tangle about flushed features, blue eyes glittering dangerously, a gun held in her hand and pointed at him.

“Bastard! Son-of-a-bitch! Why can’t you just take what I offer? Why do you always have to push me away?”

Slowly, carefully, keeping his hands down at his sides, Michael rose. “Nikita, you’re ill. Put the gun down and let me help you.”

“Help me?” Nikita laughed hysterically, waving the gun. “Like you’ve helped me before? You lied to me, you manipulated me, you seduced me—all for your precious Section! And you think I’m going to let you go off with that red-headed bitch?” Abruptly the mania was gone, to be replaced with grim purpose as she cocked the gun. “I will kill you before I let her have you.”

“Nikita—“ Michael took a step forward, hand extended, and reeled back as there was an explosion, intense pain as the bullet tore through his shoulder and he fell to his knees. One trembling hand touched his shoulder and he stared in disbelief at the red of blood on his fingers, looking from his hand to Nikita, who stood stock still, the gun dangling from her hand. She shot me, he thought incredulously.

Some sense came back to her eyes as she stared at him, seeing the blood streaming down from his shoulder and her face spasmed as she lifted a hand to her mouth. “Michael—God—“She looked from him to the gun in her hands, face twisting with revulsion, and then with a cry sprang for the door, wrenching it open to run outside.

“Nikita, don’t—“ he called hoarsely, struggling up to his feet and staggering out through the door, but she had already disappeared from sight and suddenly dizzy, he slid down the wall to sit on the ground, leaving a trail of blood on the wall.

The distinctive sound of a gunshot roused Scully from her light doze; she had been stretched out on the hotel bed, the notebook computer opened beside her, and had laid her head down on one arm to rest it briefly before going back to work. Sitting up on the bed, she reached to the bedside table and got her gun, shoving it down the front of her pants as she slid off the bed and went to the door, stopping to get her FBI ID from her coat pocket, holding it in one hand as she opened the door, pulling out her gun.

Down the row of rooms some doors were ajar and even a brave soul or two had ventured out of their room to see what the excitement was about but for the most part she merely saw curtains being drawn back and hastily lowered as she went by. Flashing her badge, she called, “FBI—please go back into your rooms!” Doors slammed shut and one man—average height, heavy-set, wearing a baseball cap atop long greasy hair—went reluctantly back into his room, muttering something about the FBI being fascists.

Gun in hand, Scully rounded the corner, turning in to see a stairwell on her right and a pop machine on the left, moved past that to see a man sitting down beside one of the hotel room doors. Moving cautiously around him she came to an abrupt halt as she recognized him. “Michael?”

Michael lifted his head to look at her, grey eyes dark and dazed, and through his open shirt she could see blood dark against pale skin. The doctor in her automatically responded to the situation, kneeling before him to gently pull the shirt away from his shoulder, noting how he didn’t even flinch—he had to be in shock—and studying the wound, sliding a hand down over his shoulder to feel for an exit wound, fingers encountering the more ragged exit wound. But the doctor was somewhat distracted by the feel of his warm skin against her hand, the hardness of muscle under questing fingers, and she had to force herself to move back, regain some of her detachment.

“Scully—“ She looked over her shoulder to see Mulder, barefoot, tails of his shirt hastily tucked into his pants, brown hair tousled, a gun in one hand, and fought against a blush, wondering if he had seen her. God, she was acting like a teenager, not a professional woman...

“Mulder, help me get him up and into my room—we can call an ambulance from there.”

“No.” That from Michael, shaking his head as he pushed himself up to his feet, weaving a little, Mulder moving to balance him, his left arm hung limp at his side as he raised his head to meet Scully’s eyes. Gone was the warmth and humour of earlier tonight, here instead was a hardness that was chilling, showing a completely different person than what she had glimpsed over dinner. “No ambulance, no hospital.”

“You’ve been shot, Michael. You need medical attention.” said Scully firmly.

Michael shook his head again, mouth tight. “No, I have to find her—“ He took a step and his legs folded under him, Mulder lunging forward to grab one arm and catch him before he fell to the ground, slinging an arm over his shoulder and lifting him. “After you, Scully.” Straightening, Scully led the way back to her room.

Scully always kept her medical bag and first aid supplies handy when traveling, but she hadn’t expected to have to put them to such intense usage. Michael still refused to go to the hospital. Had gone so far as to rip the phone out of the wall when Mulder had tried to call for an ambulance. So Dana worked over him now, stitching up the bullet wound in his back. The one in front would heal without stitching. She had offered Michael a painkiller, but he had refused it. To her amazement, he never even flinched while she was sewing. He had an incredible tolerance for pain. By all rights, he should have been unconscious. Michael was clearly in shock, but his eyes were wide open and he betrayed his pain and weakness, only by the heaviness of his breathing and the way he trembled. Other than that he was silent.

Mulder sat in a chair across the room, studying Michael. There was something about him that got Mulder’s dander up. The man was not whom he pretended to be. That much was blatantly obvious. Mulder was concerned that Scully wouldn’t see the truth. She was a big girl, but he didn’t want her to get hurt. “Who shot you?” he asked, for the sixth time.

Michael turned his head to look at Mulder. It was a place for him to focus away from the pain. His mind was filled with thoughts of Nikita. Michael wanted to go after her right now, but he knew he needed to be treated first. Once Scully was finished, then he would find Nikita. But, for the moment, he would have to deal with Mulder. “I don’t know who shot me,” Michael replied, softly.

“You didn’t see them?” Mulder persisted.

“It happened so fast.” Michael locked eyes with the other man and let nothing show in his. “A thief, perhaps.”

Mulder didn’t believe that for one minute, but Michael gave nothing away on his face. There was no expression at all and it gave Mulder the creeps. “We need to call the police,” he said, firmly holding the other man’s cool, green gaze.

Michael shook his head. “I said no police.”

Scully felt that it was time to interject. She had just finished taping a bandage over her handiwork and she gestured for him to lay back. “Why no police, Michael?” She inquired. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“I need you to trust that I know what I’m doing,” Michael countered, his eyes going to her lovely face.

“Trust works both ways,” Dana said softly, her eyes looking deep into his and finding the way to Michael’s soul, blocked. She sighed. “Mulder and I have connections. We can help you.”

Michael was about to respond when Mulder’s cell phone rang. He answered it quickly, listened, and then nodded. Hanging up, Mulder looked at Scully. “That was Sergeant Biggs at police headquarters. He’d like a word with us,” Mulder told her.

Scully nodded. She had wanted a word with him as well about the missing bodies. Pulling out a syringe, she filled it from a small vial then swabbed the inside of Michael’s left arm with an alcohol wipe. When he pulled away she said, “It’s an antibiotic, Michael. To ward off infection.” That was a lie. It was a sedative. Scully had no intention of leaving him here alone, and conscious. She knew that he would disappear on her in a heartbeat.

“All right,” Michael replied, knowing that it was a lie. But it was better this way. He didn’t flinch as the needle went in. He simply watched it, and then closed his eyes as he felt the sedative take effect.

“He’ll be out for a few hours,” Scully said, to Mulder’s unasked question, as she checked Michael’s pupils and listened to the change in his breathing. Dana smoothed an errant lock of hair off his forehead, and then slid off the bed. “Come on, Mulder,” she ordered, reaching for her purse. “Let’s go see the sergeant.” With that, Scully was out the door.

Mulder looked over at Michael for a moment, and then followed.

Five minutes after Mulder and Scully left, Michael opened his eyes. He had actually lost consciousness for a few minutes, which irritated him. The sedative was stronger than he had expected. But he forced his body to follow the commands of his mind, so a moment later Michael was on his feet. He swayed for a moment, but then he took a few steps, only to stop dead when he detected the scent of smoke. Cigarette smoke. His head whipped around and he saw the older man, lurking in the corner. “What do you want?” Michael hissed. He didn’t have time for this. His only concern was to find Nikita. Time was running out.

“There’s been another death,” Cigarette man drawled. “It’s time to clean up the mess, Michael.”

“Meaning what?” Michael spat. He couldn’t hit his contempt for the other man.

Cigarette man stepped forward to confront Michael. “In Section terminology, Mulder, Scully and Nikita need to be cancelled. Do it...do it now.”

Michael almost laughed in his face. “I don’t work for you,” he countered, his eyes flashing green sparks. “Go to hell!” Michael moved to step around the other man only to bite his lip against the pain of finding himself slammed back, hard, against the wall, a heavy hand pressing into his wounded shoulder. Michael caught his breath and, after the fog of darkness cleared, he lifted his eyes to lock with the other man’s and didn’t make a sound.

“Impressive,” Cigarette man allowed, for he knew that Michael was in agony. He leaned in close to whisper, “You do as I say...boy. You take care of Scully and Mulder, and as for Nikita...there’s no hope for her anyway. Consider her death a mercy killing.” He saw Michael’s eyes flicker and was pleased to get a reaction. “Do it,” he repeated, his eyes colder than ice. “Or I will.” A moment later he cried out and fell to his knees, clutching his balls.

“That’s gotta hurt,” Michael whispered, as a smile of satisfaction curved his lips. He kicked out once again, this time his foot connecting with cigarette man’s temple. Then he stepped over the inert body and left the room.

After leaving the police station, having learned nothing from Sergeant Biggs, since it appeared the Sergeant had never requested their presence after all, Mulder returned to his hotel room. He knew that Scully would be checking on Michael, but all Mulder wanted right now was a hot shower and bed. He sensed that Michael was somehow involved in the diversion that had lured them away. He just couldn’t figure out why. Mulder entered his room, closed the door and reached for the light switch. But in that moment he felt a presence behind him and a gun barrel was pressed against his cheek. “Hello Mulder,” said a soft voice.

“Michael,” Mulder replied, managing to keep his cool. “What are you doing here?”

Michael had come prepared. He snapped handcuffs onto Mulder’s wrists, and then he shoved him towards the door. “I’m here to save your life!” he hissed. Then he pushed Mulder out the door, down the stairs and into a waiting car. He put Mulder in the trunk then drove off.

Returning to her hotel room, Scully opened the door, her eyes automatically going to the bed she had left Michael on nearly an hour ago and finding it empty. Only the pushed-aside covers and blood-dotted sheets showed signs of its occupant, his shirt still lying on the floor where she’d tossed it, after removing it to work on his shoulder. Bending over she picked it up and slid her fingers into the breast pocket, finding nothing, examined the interior of it and didn’t even find a tag, let it fall back down to the floor with a sigh of irritation.

The sedative should of had him out for a few hours, he should not of been able to get up and walk out...sighing again she started for the door and came to a halt as a scent tickled at her nose, moved to her right and inhaled, a chill going down her spine at the smell of smoke. Someone else had been in here; maybe that person had been responsible for taking Michael away... “Mulder.” she said aloud and went immediately to Mulder’s room, finding the door partially ajar. Belatedly she realized she should of brought her gun but slipped inside anyways, calling, “Mulder?” No Mulder in here, even though she’d seen him go into the room herself, him saying something about a shower... Glancing over at the dresser she saw traces of red on one of the drawers and pulled it open to see that someone had gone through Mulder’s shirts there, a faint bloodstain on one white shirt. Mystified she shut the drawer and turned to look at the rest of the room, hands on hips as she tried to get some kind of clue as to where Mulder was. “I really should have stayed with medicine.” she muttered to herself and went to use the phone, calling Mulder’s cell phone number.

Lying in the trunk, hands cuffed behind him, Mulder used his feet to brace himself as the car moved, to keep his head from banging again into the spare tire. People really need to clean out their trunks more, he thought irreverently, nose wrinkling at the strong smell of oil. But of course he had far more pressing concerns than getting oil stains out of his trousers... His cell phone started to ring again and this time he just ignored it, rather than attempt to go into yoga-like contortions to extract it from his pocket, the last time he’d tried the car had hit a pothole and he’d banged his head hard against the lid of the trunk. Most likely it was Scully and she was nothing if not persistent, once he got out of the trunk, he’d have a better chance of reaching it and letting her know he was alright, if not entirely sure of where he was.

Then the car came to a halt and in the sudden silence he heard the sound of boots on gravel outside the trunk, wriggled around to put his back to the rear of the trunk, raising legs to kick out as soon as the trunk lid started to open and hopefully catch Michael off guard. A key turning in the lock and a pop, he kicked out as the lid opened but his feet only encountered empty air, head falling back into a puddle of something sticky, strands of hair tearing away as he struggled up to a sitting position.

Michael stood just out of reach, gun held in his left hand, keys still in his right hand, and he transferred the gun to his right hand, gesturing with the gun. “Out.” he said flatly, standing back and disinclined to offer any assistance.

Awkwardly Mulder got out of the trunk, swinging one leg over and nearly falling on his face, leaned back against the trunk to get his balance and Michael came over to grab his arm with his left hand, pulling him along, gun pressed into the back of his neck. Turning his head, Mulder saw that they were in a driveway and beyond a chain link fence was a plain white stucco building, glanced sideways at Michael and realized that he was wearing one of his shirts, his favourite navy one, loose on his narrower frame, the bandage Scully had applied earlier visible through the open collar. For someone that had been shot and stitched up without the benefits of painkillers, he was remarkably steady on his feet.

“Stay still.” said Michael, releasing him briefly to use his keys on the padlock to the fence, letting the padlock fall to the ground and kicking the gate open, giving Mulder a shove. Stumbling, Mulder cast him a dirty look over his shoulder and the flat look in the other man’s eyes sent a chill down his spine, halting him in the midst of a flippant remark. Instead he asked, “Where are we?”

“Lab.” The pain in his shoulder he had been able to shut out enough to be bearable but he was experiencing some kind of side-effects from the sedative Scully had administered earlier, a little light-headed, and he could feel the warmth of blood trickling down his chest from where the smoking man had struck him in the shoulder. With Nikita still wandering around somewhere and the smoking man’s threats against her and the two agents, he had no patience at all to deal with Mulder and his plan was simple: confine him in the lab while he went back for Scully and searched for Nikita.

Mulder preceded him up to the building and as he walked the sound of a cell phone ringing came from the pocket of his suit coat. Michael strode up to him and jammed the gun in his back, forcing the fingers of his left hand to work as he put his hand in Mulder’s pocket, pulling the phone out and flipping it open to press it against Mulder’s ear. “Hello?” said Mulder pleasantly.

“Mulder? Where the hell are you?”

“I’m with our friend Michael. He wanted me to go for a ride with him, he was very insistent—“ Michael removed the cell phone from Mulder’s ear and took a step back, watching him as he said into the phone, “I want you to go down to the hotel lounge, Dana. I’ll meet you there.”

“What are you doing with Mulder, Michael?” She sounded calm but there was a touch of anger in her voice.

“Trying to keep the two of you from being killed. Do as I ask and the two of you should be able to walk away from this.” He pressed the disconnect button, cutting Scully off in mid-exclamation, and tugged Mulder onwards, to the front doors of the lab. Unlocking the door he pushed Mulder through first and shutting the door behind him, turning to face Mulder, gun held loose at his side. And from behind Mulder came a blur of movement, a glimpse of long wild blond hair and then the woman had a hold of Michael’s arms, throwing him hard back against the wall, his head connecting painfully with it. Eyes rolling up into his head he slid down the wall to land in a limp heap and the woman plucked the gun from his limp hand, turning to face Mulder, teeth bared. Mulder managed a smile. “Hi there.”

Nikita glared at Mulder, her eyes wild, and Michael’s gun held out in front of her, pointing at his head. “I...don’t...like...you!” she snarled, her finger pulling back on the trigger.

Mulder scrambled away from her, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to outrun the bullet. He was going to die. But even as he closed his eyes, he heard the blond woman cry out. His eyes flew open and he saw her lying on the floor. Michael was kneeling beside her. “What did you do?” Mulder asked, fearing that she was dead. And that he would be next...still.

“I knocked her out,” Michael replied, even as one hand reached out to smooth pale hair off Nikita’s face. She was getting worse and time was slipping away. Ignoring his weakness and the pain in his shoulder, Michael lifted Nikita into his arms and carried her into one of the lab rooms. It was self-contained and had a door that would seal and lock. Michael knew it was the only way to keep her safe. He laid her down in the corner, and then exited the room, closing the door behind him.

“Now what?” Mulder inquired, his eyes never leaving Michael’s face. He saw pain in the green eyes, as well as weariness. But he also saw cold-fire and a steely determination. This man scared the hell out of him. Michael closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to rest. But then he opened them and reached out to drag Mulder into the room next to Nikita’s. “Get in!” he ordered, even as he shoved Mulder inside.

Mulder watched the door begin to close. “Tell me what you’re going to do?” He beseeched his concern now for Scully. Mulder knew that she had feelings for Michael, and he was certain that Michael knew it as well. At the same time, Mulder had seen the way that Michael had looked at the beautiful blond. He cared for her...deeply.

“I’m going to meet with Dana,” Michael replied, willing to answer Mulder’s question. There was no reason not to. “I’ll be back soon.”

“To do what?” Mulder challenged.

Michael sighed. “I already told you. To keep you alive.” He didn’t add that his main concern was in finding a cure for Nikita. Whatever it took, Michael would do it...and Section be damned.

Scully paced in the lounge of the hotel. Michael was late and she was getting worried. Then she reminded herself that he hadn’t told her when he would be there, only that she was to wait. And it was then that she saw him striding towards her with his fluid grace. The physician in her noted how pale he was. That his skin was sheened, suggesting a fever, but he was still beautiful, and that she was thinking that way scared Dana half to death. Michael had touched her...deeply....in a place she thought was too deeply buried to reach. Michael saw the worry in Scully’s eyes and offered a smile, to reassure her. He didn’t realize that blood was soaking his shirt, or that his eyes were glazing, suggesting that he was slipping into shock. Michael had long ago learned to work through pain and weakness. And now, more than ever, he couldn’t afford to give up...or give in. Too many lives were at stake. Nikita’s in particular. “We need to get out of here,” Michael said softly, as he reached for Scully’s hand.

“Where?” Dana countered, feeling the heat of his fever burning into her flesh. “Where’s Mulder?” she demanded, suddenly remembering what her partner had said.

“He’s safe,” Michael replied. “But you’re not. Please come with me.” Even as he spoke, Michael’s eyes were tracking the room, searching for Cigarette man. He had no doubt that the man would be looking for him. Or that he would follow through on his threat to cancel Scully, Mulder and Nikita.

Dana allowed Michael to lead her outside and over to a dark Mercedes. She took the keys that he handed her and slid into the driver’s seat. “You’re bleeding again, Michael,” she said, reaching out to check his bandages.

He pushed her hand away. “I’m all right. Just drive.”

“Where to?” Scully countered, heaving a sigh, even as she turned the key in the ignition.

“North,” Michael told her. “Highway thirteen.” Dana pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road.

“Who are you, Michael?” she asked as she glanced over at him.

He was sitting upright, but his eyes were closed. He grimaced at the question. “I’m a ghost,” he whispered.

“What the hell is going on here?” Scully shouted, her patience having finally snapped. “You get shot, then you kidnap Mulder. You’re warm and charming one minute and like a machine the next. You should be flat on your back in the hospital, yet you’re on your feet and moving. And how the hell did you fake out the sedative I gave you?”

“Practice,” he replied, his eyes fluttering open to look at her profile. “I’m sorry, Dana,” Michael told her. And he was completely sincere. He also realized that she deserved some answers. But that didn’t mean he could tell her the truth. “I’m here for the same reason you are. The Infection.”

Dana was so stunned by Michael’s confession that she nearly drove them off the road. She felt him grip the wheel to straighten them out, and then she eased up on the gas pedal so that she could regain control. “The virus that’s killed six people,” she said. “That’s the Infection you mean.”

Michael nodded, knowing that her eyes were upon him. So he was careful to watch the road, and prepared to grab the wheel again. “You’ve seen how deadly it is.”

“You’re with the government,” Dana stated, making her words somewhat of an accusation.

“I’m with an agency,” Michael allowed. “That’s all I can tell you. That...and that I’m under orders to make you, Mulder and everyone and everything else connected with this virus...disappear.”

Dana laughed softly, without a hint of humour, for his meaning was clear. “Who gave the orders?” she questioned.

Michael closed his eyes again. “Doesn’t matter. I’m disobeying them. That’s all you need to know.”

“And what happens to you when your superiors find out?” Dana asked the question, then held her breath. She was terrified of the answer.

“Nothing,” Michael replied. It was more, or less, the truth. “I’ll live.” That was the truth. “I’m ....valuable,” he confessed.

Scully didn’t respond. Her thoughts were chaotic. After a long moment of silence she asked, “What about my people? Are they going to let me live?”

Michael thought it a very intelligent question. “I’ll take care of things on my end,” he told her. Then he was silent for a moment. When he caught Dana looking at him again he said, “I need a favour.”

“Name it, seeing as how I’m going to owe you my life,” Dana invited. And she meant it. Somehow, even though Michael frightened her on some levels. She sensed that he would give his life to save her. And Mulder.

“A friend of mine. My partner.” Michael broke off for a moment as a wave of pain suddenly rippled through him, making him breathless. It eased, then he continued. “She’s become infected with the virus.”

Dana felt herself grow pale. “Michael....I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. He locked eyes with Dana for a moment, before hers returned to the road.

“Help me find a cure,” Michael entreated. “Help me save, Nikita.”

***********

Once the lab door had closed behind Michael, Mulder spent a few moments cursing at the blameless door and then turned to look at his surroundings. Standard lab set-up, tables, Bunsen burners, beakers, a locked glass cabinet on the right holding medical supplies, a desk and chair in one corner with a file cabinet beside it. With his hands cuffed behind him, sitting down on the floor was an awkward proposition but he managed to do it without falling on his ass, brought his knees up tight against his chest and slipped his wrists under his feet, grimacing as a heel caught on the handcuff chain and nearly wrenched his wrist out of his socket. Drew in a deep breath and curled his feet up, finally getting his wrists under his feet and bringing them up, let his feet fall back and got up to his feet.

In a pocket he had a key and he used it to open the handcuffs, considered tossing them aside but then the thought occurred to him that once he met a certain spooky young man, he would like to put them on him and get some answers out of him. Shoving the handcuffs in his pocket Mulder went to examine the door and let out his breath in a noisy sigh, turned the door knob experimentally but didn’t expect it to open; obviously the door had been made so that if any kind of “accident” happened in the lab, it would be contained to this room. He gave the door a kick, succeeding only in hurting his foot, and tugged at his tie to loosen it, running a hand through brown hair, slumped back against the wall to think.

The whole cover-up had an ominous ring to it and it also had the trademark touch of a certain individual Mulder had crossed paths with before: Cancer Man. What exactly Michael’s role in this was unclear, if he was one of Cancer Man’s flunkies then it made no sense at all for him to be working so hard to save Mulder and Scully—unless, of course, it was some elaborate game to lure Scully in so that he could dispose of them both with the minimum amount of fuss. He gave that idea a moment’s thought and instantly discarded it with a shake of his head—that would speak to a level of initiative that Cancer Man wouldn’t foster in his flunkies.

From beyond the door came the sound of footsteps in the hallway and Mulder stopped himself from peering out the window just in time, the footsteps paused outside his door and there was several long seconds of silence as he held his breath. It hadn’t been that long since Michael had left, there was no way he had gotten back here so quickly, especially with Scully in tow. Knowing his partner as he did, he knew she would not be moved until she got a sufficient explanation from Michael. The footsteps moved on down the hallway and he let out his breath, sagging against the wall.

Scully slowed as she approached a four-way stop sign and waited for Michael to give her directions; when there was none forthcoming, she looked sideways at him to see that he was slumped against the car door, head resting against the glass window. Putting the car in park, she reached over to place a hand on his forehead and found his skin too warm to the touch, indicating a fever, pulled open the shirt to see that the bandage she had applied to the front of his shoulder was soaked with blood. He must have done something to open the wound farther—shaking her head, she touched him on the cheek and his eyes opened, staring at her in confusion for a long moment, as if he was seeing someone else, and then clearing, pushing her hand away and drawing himself up. “You need a hospital.”

“Later.” All he had to do to keep going was to put the image of Nikita before him, the image of her dead, the light gone from her blue eyes—he hadn’t lied to her when he had told her that she was the only part of him that wasn’t dead. After Simone he had thought himself dead until that day he’d walked into the Section room she’d been held in, until he’d encountered a spirit that the Section could not diminish or tame, a flame that refused to be quenched. A flame that could warm and melt a heart long gone cold...

Michael shook his head to clear it, drew in a deep breath and straightened. “Turn right.” He could get through this, he had suffered worse wounds at that chemical plant and had managed to trek through the snow and elude patrols long enough to make it to a hospital.

With a concerned look at him, Scully shifted the car back into drive and turned right, glancing at him again to see him open the glove compartment and pull a gun out, placing the gun in his left hand and pulling the slide back with his right. “Are you expecting trouble?” she asked, an edge to her voice, thinking of Mulder back there. No matter how much she might be attracted to Michael, her first loyalty was to her partner, with all that they had been through over the last few years she would go through hell for him, as he had for her.

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” He doubted very much that the smoking man would appeal to Operations for assistance in this matter, he would be running his own crew to finish this mess and with them Michael knew he stood something of a chance. Time was proving to be his greatest enemy right now, too many details rushing in for attention and foremost among them was Nikita...

“Who’s behind this, Michael?” She glanced briefly at him, seeing the flicker of surprise in his eyes as she seemingly read his thoughts.

“There’s a driveway coming up on your right...” he said, deliberately avoiding the question.

Scully slowed as she approached the driveway and turned into it, stopped as she came to the fence and turned off the engine. Just as she was about to get out, Michael stopped her with a touch to her shoulder and she turned her head to look at him inquiringly, seeing that though his eyes glittered a little any other sign of weakness was gone, replaced by grim determination.

“Do you have a gun?”

She hesitated at making the admission and a small smile curved his lips. “I thought so—you’re going to want to keep it close to hand. I don’t know how far behind me the other...interested parties are.”

“We are going to have a talk about this.” Scully promised him as she slipped out of the car, waiting for Michael to join her before she approached the fence and pulled it open, the chain clinking at the movement. Michael went ahead, striding up to the front door of the lab, gun held loosely in one hand, and she took her own gun from her coat pocket as she followed on his heels. He opened the door and slipped inside, holding out a hand to indicate for her to wait as he scanned the hallways and then gesturing for her to enter.

Feeling along the wall, Michael found a switch and threw it, a single line of lights overhead coming on to provide scant illumination. Michael allowed her to precede him down the hallway, walking slowly backwards to guard her back, catching her sleeve and pulling her to a halt just outside the second door. “I put Nikita in here.”

Scully looked through the small porthole-like window and reflexively jerked back as a wild-eyed face appeared just inches from her, mouth opened to spout curses, a cloud of blond hair framing her face, fists coming up to pound on the door.

“How long ago was she exposed?”

Michael closed his eyes as he considered the question. “I think at the Henderson house.”

Scully glanced down at her watch, seeing that it was 10:58--hard to believe that all this had taken place in just one day. She and Mulder had been at the Henderson house up until nearly noon before they had been...ambushed, for want of a better word, so it had been about ten hours or so. “When did the symptoms start to manifest?” Watching him she caught the quick glance at his injured shoulder and nodded. “She’s the one that shot you.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “It’s not as if it’s something she never contemplated before.” Scully would of commented on that odd statement but then the thought occurred to her that she had done the same thing to Mulder, if only to keep him from killing Krychek and hanging himself for his father’s death. “I’m going to need whatever medical reports you managed to...retrieve, plus a blood sample from her.”

A sigh escaped Michael as Nikita continued to shout epithets through the door, voice muffled but still discernible. He was not looking forward to tangling with her again, with his injured shoulder he was even worse off than he’d been before and she had been able to overpower him even when he was at full strength.

Scully cast him a sympathetic look and said briskly, “Let Mulder out—between us, we should be able to subdue her.”

Transferring his gun to his left hand he slipped his hand into his pocket and extracted a ring of keys, using one to open the door and stepping back as he hauled it open.

Scully moved into the doorway to stop an angry-looking Mulder with one hand on his chest. “We have work to do—let it go.”

Mulder exhaled noisily through his nose and nodded stiffly, Scully moving aside to let him out and the two of them turning to face Michael, who was looking back down the hallway, his whole body stiff. His head snapped around to look at them and he tossed the keys to Scully, saying, “Wait here.” With that he disappeared down the dimly lit hallway.

“Where the hell is he going?” asked Mulder in a loud whisper and Scully just shook her head in response. She had enough on her hands trying to figure out the way Mulder’s mind worked... The sound of a scuffle down the hallway and a dull sound that could of been a body striking the floor or wall, Scully took a step forward, gun up, and into the light came first Michael and then another man behind him, tall and heavy-set, his arm wrapped around Michael’s throat and the muzzle of his gun pressed against the side of his head. From behind the man there was a flare of light as a match was struck and the flame illuminated the features of Cancer Man as he stepped forward.

“Fancy meeting you here, Mulder.” he said, drawing deep on his cigarette as he tossed the match aside, nodded at Michael as he exhaled smoke. “Drop your gun, Agent Scully, or he dies.”

“Shoot.” said Michael in a ragged voice. Scully looked from Michael to Cancer Man, torn as to what to do...

Scully wasn’t about to let Michael die, so she smiled at Cancer man. “Tell your goon to let him go,” she ordered, as she bent to place her gun on the floor. But even as Scully moved, she heard Michael moan then saw his body sag. His sudden dead weight threw the guy holding him off balance and Scully found that she had an open shot. She fired and the big guy jerked backwards, releasing Michael. Mulder jumped at the sound of the gunshot, and then he reacted, his eyes searching for cancer man. But his enemy was gone. Mulder grimaced and was about to head out after the man when he found himself cut off by Michael. “Get out of my way!” Mulder shouted, trying to push past the other man. But Michael was like a rock. “Let him go,” he whispered. When Mulder tried to push past him, Michael shoved him against the wall and repeated, “Let him go.” His tone of voice brooked no argument.

“Why?” Mulder countered, his eyes flashing. But Michael didn’t answer him He watched younger man pull away and step over to the dead man’s body and retrieve two guns, one them Michael’s own. Mulder nearly flinched when the other gun was shoved into his hand.

Scully’s first concern was for Michael. She could see that he was slipping into shock. But when she went to him he brushed her off. “You need to rest, Michael,” Dana insisted.

Michael glared at her. “I’ll rest later!” he spat. “We have to help Nikita.” With that he headed back over to the room she was locked into.

“All right,” Dana replied, moving to her medical bag and finding an empty syringe. “I still need that blood sample.” Scully looked over at Mulder, who was staring down the hallway where Cancer man had been. “We’re going to need your help,” Mulder, she said.

He grimaced. “This is crazy!” he griped, even as he followed her.

Scully sighed. “We have to find a cure for this virus, Mulder,” she shot back. Then she looked at Michael and she watched as he shifted into machine mode before her eyes. His pain and weakness seemed to disappear, and there was nothing in his green gaze but cold determination. Dana found herself shuddering as he turned his eyes upon her. But then she stiffened and asked, “Are you ready?”

Michael nodded and pushed the key into the lock. A moment later he stepped into the room and found himself slammed hard into the wall. Michael felt a wave of pain wash over him, but he distanced himself from it, not letting it touch him. But he knew he would pay for it later. Now, however, he had a wildcat on his hands., Mulder watched the blond woman leap forward to attack Michael, so he ran interference and tackled her to the ground. It was difficult to hold her and just as he was losing his grip, Mulder saw Michael grab hold of her, using his body weight to keep Nikita still. Scully was ready and she knelt down and smoothly slid the needle into Nikita’s arm. She withdrew some blood, pulled the needle out then headed out of the room. “Go,” Michael ordered, looking at Mulder.

“You can’t hold her on your own,” Mulder protested, knowing that if Michael tried, he risked infecting himself if Nikita were to scratch or bite him.

Michael eyes flashed. “GET OUT!” he hissed. Then he bent over Nikita, pulling her away from Mulder and into his embrace. He ignored the other man as he whispered softly in Nikita’s ear. “Shhhh.....I’m here, Nikita. I’m here, luv.” Michael felt her relax against him and that was all he needed. The fingers of one hand pinched the pressure points in her neck and Nikita slumped into a limp tangle of arms and legs.

From the doorway, Scully watched Michael pick Nikita up into his arms and smoothly rise to his feet. She winced in sympathy for the pain it must have caused his shoulder, and then she turned away as Michael laid Nikita gently down on a cot and pressed a kiss to her forehead. A moment later she jumped to find him standing beside her.

“Do you have what you need?” Michael asked, as he pushed Scully out of the room and closed the door behind him.

“For now,” she told him. “How are you feeling?” Dana asked suddenly, for she saw Michael’s eyes glaze over. He didn’t answer and Scully knew why. “Mulder!” she shouted, even as she reached for Michael’s arm. She caught him as he started to sway and braced his weight until Mulder reached her.

“I’ve got him,” Mulder told his partner, as he hauled Michael over his shoulder. There was a cot in the room he had been locked in and Mulder carried Michael there and laid him down. He studied the younger man for a moment, and then reached into his pocket.

When Scully entered the room, she gasped as she saw Mulder handcuffing one of Michael’s wrists to a pipe in the wall. “What the hell are you doing, Mulder?” she demanded, her eyes flashing with anger.

He looked at her and smiled. “I’m just making sure that we get some answers, Scully.” Mulder took the beaker of water and soft rag from her hands, put them down, and then pushed her away. “I’ll take care of Michael, “he assured her. And he meant it. “Go do what you have to do to help his...friend.”

“All right,” Scully whispered. But she paused to press her palm to Michael’s forehead. He was burning up. She gestured to the water and cloth. “Try to get his fever down, Mulder,” she directed. “Yes,doc,” he drawled, waving her off once more. With a sigh, Scully went.

Michael came to consciousness slowly, fully aware that his body seemed to burn with pain, but that was something that he could control. Still, he shifted his weight cautiously only to discover that one wrist was restrained. Michael opened his eyes to see Mulder smiling at him.

Seeing that Michael was awake, Mulder wasted no time. “Let’s talk...shall we,” he prompted, his eyes watching the other man closely. Mulder could feel sympathy for the pain that was apparent in Michael’s green eyes. And it was obvious that exhaustion and weakness had finally taken its toll. The other man was no longer robocop, or the terminator. He was just a young man who had been shot and was having a really bad night. “All I want are a few answers,” Mulder assured him, his tone becoming more friendly.

“Answers...” Michael whispered, then he curled up and moaned, his body trembling violently as spasms of pain shook him. “What’s wrong?” Mulder shouted, jumping out of the chair he had found earlier and moving to Michael’s side. A moment later...too late...he realized his mistake, as Michael’s free arm wrapped around his neck in a choke hold. Michael pressed his lips to Mulder’s ear. “Release me...or you die,” he whispered.

When Mulder didn’t immediately comply with Michael’s demand, his arm tightened around Mulder’s neck and with a little wriggling, Mulder got a hand up between them and, knowing it was a dirty thing to do, pressed the heel of his hand hard into Michael’s injured shoulder. Michael’s hold loosened enough for him to pull free and stumble back, watching Michael warily as he slumped back onto the cot, eyelids fluttering as he struggled to hold onto consciousness. “What are you doing, Mulder?”

Turning, he saw Scully standing just inside the doorway, a hypodermic in one hand, her tone cold and expression forbidding. “What am I doing? He—“Mulder trailed off as he pointed at Michael, flushing a little, realizing he sounded like a kid tattling on his sibling. “Remove the handcuff, Mulder. Now.” Even though she was a few years his junior, she had a scathing way of talking to him as if he were a child when the mood hit her. Reluctantly Mulder did as she told him, unlocking the handcuff that bound Michael’s left wrist to the pipe, and Michael’s arm fell limply to the cot, his head turning on the cot to look at Scully as she prepared the needle.

“This is an antibiotic.” she said to Michael, stressing the word “antibiotic”, and he nodded, mutely offering his right arm, no reaction at all as the needle slid in. Scully had been about to start the tests on Nikita’s blood when she had found a drug cabinet, used her gun to smash it open and retrieved a vial of antibiotics, to counteract Michael’s fever. It was by no means a quick cure but it would help his body to fight off the infection...

“Nikita...?”

“I’m going to start the tests right now.” Scully dipped the rag in the beaker of water and wrung it out, laying it across Michael’s forehead, Michael closing his eyes at the touch of the cool cloth. Turning Scully faced Mulder, an eyebrow raised. “Can I speak with you? Out in the hall?”

Mulder winced inwardly at the tone in her voice but went with her all the same, Scully letting the door close before she spoke, arms folded over her chest.

“I understand that you are feeling frustrated in this matter but I will not tolerate this behaviour. Despite what you might think of him, Michael is attempting to rectify the situation here and at the very least we owe him our lives. For now, just let it go, Mulder.”

“He knows a lot more than he’s letting on—“

“I’m sure he does. As I’m also sure that nothing you say or do to him is going to pry any information out of him. So—let it go.” Not that she didn’t balk at that idea that this whole mess would be swept under the carpet and the reason for the deaths of six people would never come to light. She could be far more pragmatic about it than Mulder though... “Now—can I leave you two alone?” she asked coolly.

“I’ll try to behave myself.” responded Mulder dryly.