Shaking his head, Michael drew Nikita down to the side of the bed. “He wants to control what I feel,” Michael whispered. And that’s what he wanted to believe. He was tired of the chaos in his mind. He had to make a choice and he would choose Nikita. “I told you once that he knows how to be what a person wants. He knows what buttons to push. But I want you, Nikita. Believe that.”

Nikita found it hard not to believe, when Michael kissed her. She felt his passion, and it matched her own. “I want you too,” Nikita whispered against his lips.

“I’m getting out of here tomorrow,” Michael replied. “I’ll come see you.” As he spoke, his tongue trailed a wet path from Nikita’s ear to her collarbone.

“All right,” Nikita whispered. She swallowed hard then pushed Michael away. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Nikita said softly. Then she blew Michael a kiss and left the room.

Michael smiled to himself when Nikita was gone. For the first time in weeks he felt content. The confusion in his mind was gone. He had made the right choice. It was as he had tried to tell Jurgen. Nikita was the one he loved. Closing his eyes, Michael drifted off to sleep. But his dreams were restless. Filled with images of himself and Nikita making love. But then there was Jurgen, and it was in the other man’s arms that Michael found his greatest peace.

Michael didn’t get to see Nikita after all. The day he was released from MedLab she flew off to Taiwan on a mission. She would be gone for several days, perhaps a week for she was hooking up with other operatives and moving on from there for a big sting. Michael filled his days by running missions from Section. His free time was spent on physical therapy. To rebuild his strength. Of Jurgen he saw nothing. And Michael was pleased.

Three days after his release, Michael was in the exercise area across from his office. He was wearing workout gear, in black, and punching a heavy bag, trying to work the soreness out of his injury. He was healing fast and well and he was pleased.

Jurgen watched Michael working out from the doorway. He had kept his distance after confessing his love for the younger man, because he knew that to push Michael would be to drive him away. So Jurgen had given Michael his space. He knew about Michael’s meeting with Nikita in Medlab. Had the entire scenario on video and had replayed it over and over. Jurgen had heard the lie in Michael’s words. He didn’t love Nikita. He desired her, but he didn’t love her. She was no good for him. What Jurgen had to do now was convince Michael of that. He was pleased that he had Madeline’s blessing.

“Want to spar?” Jurgen queried, as he left the doorway and entered the arena.

“Sure,” Michael replied, playing it cool. He knew that Jurgen had been watching him and had been waiting for the other man to approach. Knew that a confrontation between them was unavoidable after Jurgen’s confession. But Michael intended for Jurgen to know the truth before this was over. That Nikita was the one he loved. Maybe that would keep the other man off his back.

Jurgen slipped on gloves, and then joined Michael at the center of the mat. For the next fifteen minutes they circled each other and sparred. Jabbing and punching, but not trying to hurt each other. It was Michael that intensified the exercise, turning it into full contact when he scissor kicked and brought Jurgen to the floor. Michael then used his body weight to pin the other man. “Equal footing,” Michael whispered, blinking sweat out of his eyes.

Heaving his body upward, Jurgen rolled Michael off him but followed through, attempting to pin the other man. But Michael was expecting that. He rolled to his feet. Jurgen did the same. He smiled. “Very good, Michael,” he drawled. “You do learn fast.”

“I had a good teacher,” Michael acknowledged. He circled around Jurgen again, and then attacked. This time he duck a right cross, moved in and tossed Jurgen over his shoulder. Michael kept a hold of Jurgen’s arm while using a knee on his chest to pin him. “I want this to end,” Michael said softly, his eyes intense.

“What?” Jurgen countered, not resisting Michael’s efforts to hold him.

He remained still, intent on watching the other man’s face. “What ends?”

Michael heaved a sigh. “You don’t love me!” he spat. “You just want to use me. You’re possessive, Jurgen. And I was always a challenge. Let me go.”

Jurgen laughed, and then a hand shot out, slamming into Michael’s elbow, releasing his grip on Jurgen’s arm. A heartbeat later, Jurgen had Michael pinned beneath him. “You don’t know what you want, Michael,” he whispered. “You don’t even understand what you need. But when you’re with me......you can be yourself. No games....no lies. I accept you for who you are.”

“Of course,” Michael countered, scoffing. “You made me.”

“I molded you,” Jurgen allowed. “I had no choice. You do what you can to protect Nikita,” he said softly, his eyes growing warm. “I’ve done the same with you, Michael. I made you the best because that’s what Section wanted. And because I wanted you to survive.”

Michael struggled against the weight that held him, but Jurgen had him well-pinned. So he fell still. His eyes were cold as he hissed, “Let me go!”

Jurgen stood up at once, moving away from Michael. His eyes were still warm, but filled with pain. “I will not let Nikita destroy you, Michael,” he said. “Be ready to leave in one hour.”

“Leave?” Michael echoed, shaking his head. “Where? Why?”

“You’ll know when it’s necessary,” Jurgen replied. “We have a mission.

Transport seven. Don’t be late.” With that he turned and walked out, feeling Michael’s eyes burning into his back. Jurgen never faltered. Rather, a smile curved his lips. They were going on a mission. To New Orleans. But it wasn’t a mission to save the world, but rather to save Michael’s heart, and soul. Madeline’s idea and Jurgen was looking forward to ten days, alone, with Michael.

From the living room Jurgen could see Michael standing out on the balcony, arms draped across the railing as he gazed out. A slight breeze lifted hair up and away from his shoulders and Michael closed his eyes, turning his head into the breeze. Watching him Jurgen could feel an ache building in himself, an ache that knew nothing of his plan to take things slowly; a white shirt was unbuttoned to show throat and lean chest, sweat dampening it in spots and leaving the soft cotton to cling to skin, and the way faded jeans clung to muscular legs and molded firm buttocks was enough to make him contemplate throwing Michael down and ravishing him on the spot. A wry grin tugged at his mouth, the visual image floating through his mind, and Jurgen sighed, thinking that a very cold shower was definitely in order if he were to keep to his plan.

He walked out onto the balcony and Michael turned his head to look at him, a hand lifting to tuck brown hair back behind his ear. “Any news?”

“The meet’s been delayed.” announced Jurgen calmly. Ostensibly their mission here was to do a pick-up, take possession of a packet of papers containing information stolen from the satellites of a foreign power, but from the very beginning it was planned to take place ten days later than was stated in the debriefing. The ten days was the allotted time Madeline had given Jurgen to work on Michael and by the end of that time Jurgen was certain that he would sway Michael away from Nikita....and towards himself.

“How long?” asked Michael tersely, rubbing the back of his neck and tugging hair back and away from his sweating neck.

“Five days.” responded Jurgen blithely.

Michael heaved a sigh and pushed himself away from the balcony, slipping

past Jurgen, thigh brushing against his, and Jurgen turned to watch him walk through the living room, admiring the view. “So....want to go out for dinner?” he offered.

“No.” said Michael coolly, opening his laptop computer and turning it on.

Jurgen shrugged, unperturbed. “Then we’ll have it here.”

“Fine.” Michael’s attention was seemingly focused completely on the screen before him but Jurgen could see the clenched muscles in his jaw and allowed himself a brief smile, trailing fingers across the back of the couch as he moved into the kitchen.

It had been hard focusing his attention on his computer with Jurgen hovering around him but eventually Michael was completely absorbed by the information flooding across his screen and time passed without his being aware of it. So focused was he that he didn’t realize day had turned into evening.

A hand came into his field of vision, grasping the top of his laptop and pushing it down and Michael lifted his eyes to meet Jurgen’s, a frown creasing his brow. “Enough for today. Come eat.” Michael bristled at his tone but realized that Jurgen was right....his back was stiff from bending over the computer and his stomach growled at the mention of food. Hadn’t had anything to eat since beignets for breakfast....

Dinner was gumbo, bought from a restaurant down the street, and for dessert was fresh strawberries with whipped cream. As Michael pushed his plate aside, Jurgen dipped a strawberry in the whipped cream and held it before Michael. “Have one.” He started to reach for it but Jurgen drew it back, shaking his head, and Michael stared hard at him for a long moment before opening his mouth to let Jurgen pop it in.

Jurgen let a fingertip linger on Michael’s lips as he bit in the strawberry and hesitantly Michael parted lips, mouth closing briefly on Jurgen’s finger, tongue giving him a quick flick to clean it of cream. And immediately drew back, cheeks flushing a little as he realized what he had done. Shoving his chair back he tossed napkin on the table and left the kitchen.

Jurgen smiled and popped his fingers in his mouth, cleaning them off.

Even after three years the dream still plagued him, transmuting with time, his psyche adding details to make the experience more traumatic, and Michael twisted in his sleep, kicking at the thin sheet over him. In his dream he was back at the Glass Curtain base but in some odd way it had changed, from the place where he had lost Simone to the later base that she had died in. It began as it always did, with the thunder of gunfire in his ears and burning sweat trickling down into his eyes, hunkered down behind a wall. Could see Simone coming towards him, moving in slow-motion, the bullets striking her and her scream banshee-like as she fell, stretching an arm out towards him....and then fast-forward to finding her locked away with Sparks, refusing to open the door. Pounded on the door and tried to reach her but to no avail....

Jurgen stood in the doorway, watching as Michael rolled onto his back, a moan escaping him, features taut with pain and grief. Another nightmare, he thought with a sigh and found himself moving closer to the bed. As machine- like as Nikita might think Michael to be, she didn’t know this side of him, the man who suffered terrible nightmares borne of things he had seen and done, a torment inflicted on him by a conscience he had long thought dead. Jurgen had seen those nightmares, knew how they tore at Michael.

A sound almost like a sob escaped Michael as he turned on his side, burying his head in the pillow, and before he could think of what he was doing, Jurgen climbed up on the bed and reached out to draw Michael close to him even as he awoke, shaking and covered with a sheen of sweat. He stiffened at the feel of Jurgen’s arms around him and started to struggle in Jurgen’s grip but Jurgen merely tightened his hold, stroking Michael’s hair.

“Shh....it’s okay, I’m not going to do anything to you.” he said into Michael’s ear, pressing a light kiss against the top of his head.

Trembling still Michael tried to hold himself rigid but a part of his mind remembered how it had been with Simone, how she had held him and stroked his hair after a nightmare, whispering nonsense words to him in French and English, using voice and hands to lull him back to sleep. And how protected and safe he had felt with her, someone that didn’t judge him....just like Jurgen.

Jurgen felt Michael relax bit by bit in his arms, the trembling slowly easing as his breathing deepened and he fell back into sleep. Tired himself it wasn’t long before Jurgen too fell asleep, holding Michael against him.

“You like Shakespeare?” Jurgen asked the question as he saw Michael scanning the pages of a book of sonnets. It was an old and fragile copy and he saw that Michael held it gently in his hands. Hands that could easily snap a man’s neck.

Michael looked up from the book and nodded at Jurgen. He was enjoying the day, surprisingly enough. Since they had time to kill, Jurgen had proposed that they visit the Market’s square and they had come across a small book store that contained many treasures, to Michael’s thinking. “Shakespeare was brilliant,” he said softly. “He understood the human psyche. Knew that our emotions rule us, to our detriment.” It was a double entendre statement, and both men knew it.

Jurgen peeked over Michael’s shoulder to read the sonnet on the opened page. “The expense of spirit in a waste of shame, Is lust in action: and till action, lust Is perjur’d, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust: Past reason hunted: and no sooner had, On purpose laid to make the taker mad: Mad in pursuit, and in possession so; Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; A bliss in proof, --and prov’d, a very woe;

Before, a joy propos’d; behind, a dream. All this the world well knows; yet none knows well, to shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.” As he finished reading, Jurgen stepped back to look at Michael’s face. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “And so true.”

“Yes,” Michael allowed. It was very true. But he doubted that he and Jurgen shared the same point of view. To Michael the sonnet spoke of his sins and weaknesses. Of wanting what he knew he couldn’t have, and didn’t deserve. Of his foolish hopes that he and Nikita could have a real relationship, which was impossible inside Section. That same belief had killed Simone.

“Men often find it hard to separate their desires from their needs,” Jurgen whispered, offering his take of the sonnet. “We think we want one thing and we go after it, relentlessly. But once we have it, we end up destroying it....or letting it destroy us. Simply because we don’t understand our own passions.”

Michael closed the book and put it back on the shelf. He knew what Jurgen was trying to tell him. That his loving Nikita was unrealistic. That she was not what he needed. But Michael believed that Nikita was the one who could help him find his soul. She had made his heart beat again. Made him care about living. Jurgen didn’t understand that. And wouldn’t even try. But Michael said nothing as he stepped past the other man and out into the bright sun. It warmed his skin and Michael sighed with pleasure.

Jurgen followed close behind Michael. He studied the younger man, pleased to see him smile at a little girl who passed by and waved. Then Michael was moving across the street, speaking with a black man who was selling Po’ boy sandwiches. When Jurgen joined them, he listened as Michael spoke in his mother tongue, the French words sounding like a melody. He couldn’t understand a word, but it was enough to see Michael laughing with the black man. A moment later Jurgen accepted a sandwich and a can of Dr. Pepper. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Want to sit in the park while we eat?”

“Fine,” Michael replied, leading the way. He found a bench beneath a shady tree and sat down. Without looking at Jurgen, Michael unwrapped his sandwich and began eating.

“You like it here,” Jurgen commented, in between bites of his own.

Michael swallowed a bite, took a swallow of soda, and then replied, “New Orleans is beautiful. And it feels like home.”

Jurgen nodded. “You miss France?”

“Sometimes,” Michael allowed.

“What do you miss most about it?” Jurgen inquired, and he was genuinely interested.

Michael laughed before answering, as if remembering a private joke. “I miss the smell of it,” he said softly, and then he shook his head. “I can’t explain.”

Jurgen smiled. “That’s okay. I think I understand.” He took another bite of the sandwich then asked, “Do you have any family left in Paris?”

“I don’t know,” Michael replied, his tone sharp. He felt his appetite fading and tossed the remainder of his Po’ boy in a nearby trash can. He made to rise but Jurgen grabbed his wrist. Michael stared at the offending hand.

“Stop running away, Michael,” Jurgen whispered. “Face your feelings. Your fears. Your desires.”

Michael yanked his arm free and stood up. His eyes were like jade ice as he stared at Jurgen. “Stop messing with my head!” he hissed, and then he turned and walked away.

Jurgen let Michael go, knowing that it was time to back off again. He finished his lunch then headed back for the hotel. And Jurgen was smiling, because he knew he was making progress. Slow....but steady.

It was almost midnight before Michael returned home. He was relieved to discover that Jurgen had gone to bed. The suite was quiet. Michael went to the stereo and put in a Blues CD. He kept the volume low, and then poured himself a finger of bourbon. The night air was balmy, and Michael stripped off the shirt he had been wearing, stepping out onto the balcony to let the gentle breeze brush over his bare skin. The music was like a pleasant hum in his head and he closed his eyes and let it fill him. He was so lost in the warm sensations of the music and the alcohol, that Michael didn’t hear padded footsteps approaching.

Jurgen was barefoot and dressed in a tank top and boxers. He had been in bed, but not asleep. Couldn’t sleep until he knew Michael was back. The moment he heard him returning and the music play, Jurgen had slipped out of bed. He stood a few feet away now, admiring the play of moonlight over the sculptured muscles of Michael’s strong back. He was like a statue. But warm to the touch. Not cold, not at all. Michael thought he was dead and cold inside, but he was liquid heat just waiting to ignite. And Jurgen was already aflame. He glided forward and slipped an arm around Michael’s waist.

“No....” Michael whispered, as he felt Jurgen move against him.

“Don’t deny yourself what you want, Michael,” Jurgen breathed against soft hair. “Give in to your desires. Let yourself feel.”

Michael took a deep breath, in an attempt to calm his racing pulse. Jurgen’s other hand was caressing him through his trousers and Michael felt himself stiffen. But he didn’t want this. He didn’t desire Jurgen. He loved Nikita. Her image flashed in Michael’s head. Pale hair and beautiful eyes. An angel’s face. Soft innocence....that was Nikita. Then Michael saw himself.

Darkness staining the light. His dead soul suffocating Nikita’s spirit. “NO!” Michael hissed, breaking Jurgen’s hold and spinning around, only to find himself shoved back against the balcony doors. Then Jurgen’s lips were pressed to his.

The kiss was gentle, Jurgen made sure of it. He forced himself to taste Michael’s sweetness rather than devour it. His tongue traced the sensual outline of the soft mouth then slipped into hot liquid, teasing and tasting some more. He heard Michael moan and felt the vibration ripple through him. Jurgen was pleased. And he took it another step. His hands glided over Michael’s back then slid inside the waist back of his trousers to cup hard buttocks. Jurgen felt the muscles contract as Michael tried to move away. But he wouldn’t let him go. Not this time. This time the seduction would play itself out.

Michael felt Jurgen’s erection pressed against his groin. Could feel it hard and throbbing as the other man ground their hips together. Strong fingers bit into his buttocks and a hot tongue ravished his mouth. A part of Michael wanted to push Jurgen away, to scream at the man. But it was as if he were entranced. Michael wanted to move but couldn’t. So he focused on what he was feeling. It was warmth....desire. Yet it wasn’t what he wanted. Couldn’t be. So Michael found the strength to raise his hands and press them against Jurgen’s chest. But Jurgen wouldn’t budge. When Michael tried to break the kiss, Jurgen’s fingers tangled in his hair.

“Not this time,” Jurgen whispered into Michael’s mouth. “Tonight you belong to me.”

“I don’t belong to you.” said Michael stiffly, pushing at Jurgen’s chest, and Jurgen sighed as he stroked fingers through Michael’s hair. Wrong choice of words, he thought ruefully, but this time he wasn’t going to back off—tonight Michael was going to confront and accept his desires.

“With me....you can let yourself go. With me you don’t have to play a role, to be someone that you’re not.” Michael went still, fingers splayed against Jurgen’s chest, resistance flowing away as he listened to Jurgen’s words despite himself. Leisurely Jurgen ran the back of his knuckles up and down Michael’s cheek, the younger man closing his eyes at the tender gesture. “I understand you in a way that Nikita never will.”

A shadow of pain crossed Michael’s features and Jurgen suppressed a smile of triumph, knowing that he had hit on the very foundation of Michael’s pain. “I can save you....and not lose any part of myself in the process.”

Michael’s eyes opened, pain and despair registering in their depths. “Why bother? There’s nothing left in me to save.” he whispered painfully.

“I don’t believe that.” said Jurgen firmly, placing hands on either side of his head, holding him still when he would have pulled away and forcing him to meet Jurgen’s eyes.

“You’ve just learned how to hide it away, forget that it existed....so it won’t be touched—tainted—by the Section.” He tilted Michael’s head up and brushed his lips against the younger man’s. “Let yourself go, Michael. You can feel pleasure without the pain.”

“I don’t want—“Jurgen silenced him with his mouth and after a moment, he felt Michael’s hesitant response, lips parting to allow Jurgen’s tongue entrance. Jurgen let his hands roam down Michael’s torso and to his trousers, fumbling with the zipper and dragging it impatiently down, a hand going inside briefs.

“Do you want me to stop?” asked Jurgen, stroking Michael’s cheek with his thumb, and Michael gave a slight shake of his head, still breathing hard. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“I want—“ Michael flushed hotly and averted his head, Jurgen gripping his chin and forcing his head back up, so that he had to look into Jurgen’s eyes. “I want—want you.” That last was said with a trace of defiance, though color still showed in his cheeks.

Michael stiffened as Jurgen pressed his hard erection against him and started to push weakly at him but Jurgen would not be moved. “I take you either here where everyone can see....or the bedroom. Your choice.”

“Bedroom.” said Michael softly, eyes sliding away from, and Jurgen took him by the hand, pulling into the bedroom. Once there he quickly shed his own clothes and stood still for a moment, letting Michael look at him. Slowly Michael laid a hand on Jurgen’s chest, letting his hand slide down his chest and stomach.... fingers touching Jurgen hestiantly. He shuddered at Michael’s touch, hand closing around him to stroke gently, almost hesitantly.

But that wasn’t the way Jurgen wanted him, he wanted to be in him, to feel his tightness, his flesh against him—he took Michael’s hand and drew it away. “On the bed.” he said succinctly, giving him a push.

Afterwards, Jurgen pressed a kiss to Michael’s shoulder then let himself roll off him and onto his back, trying to catch his breath.

An arm slid across him and Jurgen blinked in surprise as Michael laid his head on his shoulder, nestling against him as eyes closed and he fell into sleep. Jurgen stroked Michael’s hair, a smile curving his lips and not fading even as he too surrendered to sleep.

Michael awoke with a start and a sense of confusion. It took a moment to remember where he was, but hard to forget since his head was lying on a muscled chest and strong arms were wrapped around him. “Jurgen....” Michael whispered the name too softly for the other man to here. “The other thing that had confused Michael was the realization that for the first time in eleven years, he hadn’t dreamed. No nightmares to haunt him. He had slept deeply and with the innocence of a child.

Not even the night Michael had made love to Nikita had been without dreams. If anything they had tormented him more. A part of Michael wondered at that, needed to analyze it. He loved Nikita, not Jurgen. But in Jurgen’s arms he had finally found peace. Shifting a bit, Michael was able to move out of Jurgen’s embrace without waking him. He slid off the bed, reaching for the robe that lay on a nearby chair. Michael folded it in half and belted it around his waist using the sleeves. Then he glided over to the window, staring out at the predawn sky.

“I don’t love him,” Michael whispered to himself. He was certain that he spoke the truth, yet could not deny that he did have feelings for Jurgen. Michael had never felt passion for another man before. Had been asked to seduce them on occasion and it had been a job. But he had never been with any man but Jurgen. And the memory of how he had reacted, of how he had wanted the other man’s touch made Michael flush with embarrassment....and shame. Yet another part of him argued that he should not feel ashamed.

Feeling Jurgen’s mouth pressing soft kisses against his hair, Michael felt tears well up in his eyes. He blinked them back, seeing them as a weakness. He had to survive in Section; he couldn’t give in to weakness. Couldn’t give up his control. Couldn’t let anyone past the wall he had erected to protect himself. Not even Jurgen. So Michael walked away and was relieved when Jurgen let him go. He didn’t look at the other man as he left the room, heading for his own bedroom suite.

Once there Michael took a shower and stood beneath the scalding spray till his skin was bright red. But he couldn’t wash away the imprint of Jurgen’s touch, nor scrub away the emotions that rippled through him at the memory of their union. Michael couldn’t deny what he had felt, but he could suppress it. He had to survive Section and it was the only way he knew how.

Leaving the shower, Michael toweled off and dressed. He heading for the living room and found Jurgen dressed and waiting for him. But when the other man came to him, wanting a kiss, Michael brushed him off. His eyes were cold and empty as he hissed, “Don’t touch me.”

“What?” Jurgen couldn’t hide his surprise. He studied Michael and saw not the passionate lover who had left his bed, but the Section Operative who was in machine mode. “Michael....” Jurgen whispered, knowing that he had to find a way to turn off the machine.

“I’m going out,” Michael countered, avoiding Jurgen’s gaze.

Jurgen cut him off, grabbing Michael by one wrist, his grip hard and cruel. “Don’t shut me out!” Jurgen pleaded. “You don’t have to choose between me and Section, Michael. You can have both.”

Michael tried to free himself, but Jurgen held fast. So he stared at the other man, eyes unblinking. His voice toneless, Michael replied, “I don’t want you.”

“That’s a lie!” Jurgen shouted. “Twenty minutes ago you seduced me, Michael!” He threw the truth into the younger man’s face.

“Yes,” Michael allowed, a cold smile curving his lips. “It was....nice. But it’s never going to happen again.” With that he twisted his wrist, breaking Jurgen’s hold. Then he turned and walked out the door.

Jurgen watched Michael go, but what he didn’t see were the tears that glimmered in the other man’s silver-green eyes.

For the remainder of their stay in New Orleans Michael made it a point to avoid Jurgen, spending his days away from the hotel room and not returning until late at night, when he would shut himself in his room. Any attempts Jurgen made to reach him were met by cool gray eyes and even colder silence and eventually Jurgen had given up, reasoning that once they returned to the Section he could try again to reach him.

Though it had seemed at the time to be the best thing to do, to put up a wall against Jurgen, the actual doing of it proved to be more painful than Michael had thought it would be. Deny it though he might to himself, his feelings for Jurgen existed....even if he wasn’t entirely sure what they were. Anger and fear he had felt towards the older man....but the tenderness Jurgen had shown toward him had been his undoing. He had told Michael he loved him....and Michael had scoffed at that, refusing to accept >that Jurgen felt anything more for him than possessiveness. And yet the time in New Orleans had shown him a different side of Jurgen....

And in his wanderings he’d had time to think about Nikita, to consider the words Jurgen had said; that she didn’t understand him, that she only caused him pain, just as he caused her pain....and that by holding on to her, he risked losing the best part of her. It was truth and once he’d faced it, he’d come to the same conclusion as he had reached with Jurgen: she was a weakness that he could not accept. And to let her go was the best thing for both of them. No more pain for her....and she could move on, find someone else. For himself....there would always be the Section, just as there had been after Simone.

With the packet of information safely in hand, Michael and Jurgen returned to the Section, the plane trip spent mostly in silence. Once on the plane and with nowhere for Michael to go, Jurgen made one more attempt to reach him.

“Tell me that what happened between us meant nothing to you.” he said in a quiet, intense voice.

Michael looked at him, expression completely blank. “What happened between us....wasn’t real. It was simply a means to an end.”

“An end....” echoed Jurgen in disbelief.

Michael raised an eyebrow. “That was the sum total of my training, wasn’t it? To find a solution to a problem....and apply it. Sleeping with you was the solution to my problem. You should know how good my....training was.”

Jurgen shook his head. “I don’t buy it....you weren’t faking it. You’re—“

“Not that good?” Michael finished for him with a brittle smile. “You forget that Madeline was my trainer in this....and she’s very thorough. I’m a mirror—I reflect what you want to see, nothing more.”

It was maddening to Jurgen, made all the more so because he’d had glimpses of a Michael he’d never seen before, a Michael that was vulnerable and shy, capable of showing affection and tenderness. And he could see that Michael vanishing before his eyes, shut away behind a wall he was no longer sure he could penetrate again. A Michael that would not be swayed by threats or pleas....or seduction. The machine that he and the Section had created between them.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Michael.” he said quietly, sorrowfully.

“There’s no other way it can be.” replied Michael flatly and turned away, lowering his head to his laptop computer.

And for the rest of the trip there was only silence.

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

By the time Nikita returned from Taiwan it had been nearly two weeks since she’d last seen Michael and she was eager to talk to him. She’d had time while she was gone to think about the two of them, to explore their relationship, and had come to decisions of her own. The feelings she had for him were stronger than she’d ever felt for a man before, the love she’d dreamed about as a kid, but the position they were in did not allow for the normal kind of relationship that any other couple would have. So she would have to attempt to work with it, to be content with what they got—and at the same time she was going to work on dragging Michael completely out of his shell, kicking and screaming if need be.

As usual she found him in his office, brown head bent over his computer, so intent on it he didn’t seem to see her in the doorway. “Knock, knock.” she said, leaning against the side of the door.

At last he lifted his head and she felt a stab of foreboding at seeing the old coldness in his eyes. “Yes?”

“Haven’t seen you in a long time....thought we could grab some lunch.” She walked into his office, moving up to his chair and turning his chair so that he faced her, hands placed on each arm of the chair. “Have a picnic at the park....or at my place.” she added, leaning forward slightly to kiss him.

Michael drew his head back, blank mask fully in place. “I’m busy.”

“Busy....” Nikita let go of the chair and took a step back, feeling as if he’d slapped her in the face.

“I do have a bit more responsibility than you do.” he said, a cutting note of sarcasm in his voice.

Nikita gave a small shake of her head. “I don’t get it—you said you loved me. I thought that we—we....” Sudden realization flooded her, leaving her sick. “It’s Jurgen, isn’t it? You’re throwing me over for him.” And with it came a sudden hot anger.

Michael leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands in his lap, a slightly bored look coming over him. “He means no more to me....than you do.”

The anger was deflated, leaving her only numb and confused. “So what was it?

Another game, another manipulation? Why do you keep doing this to me?”

“Because you keep letting me.” said Michael with cool logic.

“I won’t let you anymore.” whispered Nikita, blinking against tears, and turned to leave his office. Once she had gone, Michael rose to shut the door and close the blinds, sinking down behind his desk and digging fingernails deeply into his palms, fighting the overriding desire to run after her, tell her it was all a lie. It took him nearly ten minutes to regain control but it was a hard-won thing.

On the surface it had seemed that the trip to New Orleans had done the very thing Madeline had wanted, to wean Michael away from Nikita and place him with Jurgen, but she’d soon seen that the coldness he displayed towards Nikita he gave also to Jurgen. He was once again the cold Section operative they had trained and harbored, a living and breathing machine that performed exactly as they desired without emotion or thought. His performance was exemplary as always....but there was nothing else there. And Madeline began to feel just the smallest regret at her part in this game with Jurgen....because she knew exactly what Michael had done: drawn into his shell to protect himself from the emotional pain of a relationship.

For Michael life had settled into a routine and it was as if he were viewing himself from the outside, watching as his body went through the pretense of life. He had difficulty sleeping and his appetite was waning, so that eating became another task to be accomplished, endured. What little pleasure he had been able to find in his day-to-day life had bled away and he was just going through the motions. So inured had he become that it no longer hurt to see Nikita or Jurgen, nothing penetrated the shell at all....

He didn’t realize how far he’d sunk into his despair, until he found himself in the bathroom running water in the sink, razor blade in hand. Giving his head a little shake, he stared at himself in the mirror, seeing pale features, eyes dark and shadowed, a bleak pain in them, and he let the razor blade fall into the sink, stepping away from it. Had come very close to just doing it, ending the pain, listening to the little voice in his head that said he couldn’t live like this....

“I can’t live like this....” he repeated aloud and his eyes went to the razor blade lying in the sink. But rather than pick it up again Michael found himself moving to the closet and dragging out a suitcase to shove clothing inside. Couldn’t live like this....so instead he would leave the Section and everything behind. Maybe somewhere far away from here he could find that part of himself that Jurgen said still existed....and Nikita had been able to spark.

In less than an hour he was on his way.

Shopping bag in hand, Nikita had the door to her apartment unlocked when she heard a voice call her name.

“Nikita.”

Turning and looking at Jurgen over the rim of her tangerine colored sunglasses, Nikita felt a sneer curl her lip. “What do you want?” she demanded rudely. Somehow she was certain that he had something to do with Michael’s sudden turnabout....even if Michael was as cold to Jurgen as he was to her.

“To talk. About Michael. Outside....” he said with a meaningful glance at her apartment.

“Why should I want to talk to you?”

“Because it’s important....and I know you care about him too.” said Jurgen quietly.

Nikita stood still for a long moment, staring at him, seeing in his eyes a reflection of her own pain at Michael’s rejection and realizing then that Michael had been wrong when he’d said Jurgen just wanted to mess with him. Jurgen loved him too....

“Just a sec.” Ducking inside she dumped her bag and then locked the door behind her, following Jurgen outside of the building. Once they were outside she faced Jurgen. "What about Michael?”

Jurgen shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?” echoed Nikita, frowning.

“Officially....he’s on a fact-finding mission. Unofficially....he’s AWOL.

Madeline says we have a week to find him and bring him back—if he’s not back by then, the order goes out to cancel him.” said Jurgen quietly.

Nikita folded her arms over her chest. “And you want me to help you find him? Bring him back? What for?”

“They’ll find him, Nikita. The Section has a special cadre of operatives that do nothing else than hunt down the rogues. No one has ever escaped them. No one.” The calm certainty in his voice sent a chill down her spine. “We don’t bring him back, he’s dead.” He stood back, waiting for her response.

He’d pulled her back into the Section before, kept her from running with Eric because he’d known she would be cancelled with Eric, and he’d brought her back in after letting her go. Now he had fled the Section....and she was faced with the choice of letting him die or bring him back.

She lifted her head to meet Jurgen’s eyes squarely. “So when do we leave?”

Jurgen had an idea of where Michael might have gone. Back home, to France.

So he and Nikita were on a plane heading there. They would land in two hours.

Nikita had been silent once she had agreed to accompany Jurgen. Her thoughts were chaotic and she had spent much of the flight watching Jurgen. She had come to several conclusions and Nikita approached him now. “You really love Michael,’ she said softly.

“I do,” Jurgen confirmed, as his eyes locked with Nikita’s. “I love him better than you can,” he announced, knowing that his words would hurt, but also knowing that Nikita had to accept that, or Michael was lost to them both.

“Then why am I here?” Nikita whispered, not denying the truth.

Jurgen sighed, pulling off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Because Michael loves you.”

Nikita nodded, then countered, “But he loves you too.”

Jurgen smiled. “I think so,” he allowed. “And that’s the problem, Nikita. He’s truly split in two now. Not just between his emotions and his actions....his heart and soul. But now he’s further trapped because he doesn’t want to hurt either of us.”

“Maybe we should just let him go,” Nikita whispered. “If anyone could escape, it’s Michael.”

“That’s just it, Nikita,” Jurgen hissed. “Michael ran, but not really to escape. I know him. I know how he thinks.”

Nikita frowned. “Meaning what, exactly?”

Jurgen pushed his glassed back onto his nose and his eyes glittered like shards of ice. “Michael wants to get caught,” he said softly. “He’s too strong to cancel himself. Life is too precious to him.” Jurgen shook his head, sadly. “You think that he kills so easily, Nikita. But you’re wrong. I had to make Michael understand that sometimes we kill to save the innocent. That sometimes a life must sacrificed.” Jurgen’s gaze penetrated to Nikita’s soul. “You kill with emotion, Michael kills without it, because it’s the only way he can. But he feels each death, he just doesn’t show it. It would a weakness that Section would exploit.”

“A way to manipulate him,” Nikita replied, finally understanding what Michael had been trying to tell her all these years. Her eyes filled with tears. “He wants to die, so that the choice....is taken out of his hands. He won’t have to choose between us.” At Jurgen’s nod, Nikita turned away, and tears rolled down her face.

Michael did go to France. He knew that he was going to die soon, and he had no regrets, but he wanted to see his homeland. To say goodbye. He walked along the streets of Paris, retracing his footsteps from childhood. Often, at night, he had slipped out of bed, and out of the house, knowing that no one cared if he were gone. His parents were seldom home and the servants had their own concerns. Michael had often walked on Font Street. It was a mirror of New York City’s red-light district. For Michael it had been an education, and a second home. For Lola was on Font Street.

She was black and heavy and nearing fifty now, but Michael had a feeling that she would not have changed much. He hadn’t seen her since he was 20, just before getting into trouble and recruited into Section. She would think he was dead, but tonight he would be resurrected. Lola had always called Michael her angel, and perhaps he was. A dark angel. He would say goodbye to before truly finding his eternal rest.

As Michael headed towards Lola’s place of business, he heard footsteps behind him. At least three men and he could guess their intent, a mugging. A cold smile curved Michael’s lips as he turned and headed down an alleyway. He knew that his followers would be thinking....easy pickings. Once Michael had reached what looked like a dead end, he turned to face his, would be, assailants.

They were a motley trio. Two of them big and brawny, living lush off the money they stole. The other was skinny and feral-looking. The self-appointed brains of the crew. His name was Renault. He smiled at the man in black who faced them, without fear. That shook him a little, but perhaps the man was mad. “Give us your money and we might let you live,” Renault drawled.

“Come and get it,” Michael replied. He was wearing sunglasses, even though it was nighttime and he knew it gave him and advantage. The enemy was nervous. The two muscle guys in particular.

“Do you want to die, mon ami?” Renault hissed.

Michael’s hands were in his the pockets of his over coat and he left them there as he shrugged. “I’m not afraid to die,” he whispered. “Are you?”

One of the big guys, Philippe, swallowed hard. “This guy is creepy!” he whispered to his companions.

“He’s nothing!” Renault shouted. “Just a pretty boy in need of a lesson.” From his pocket he withdrew a switchblade and he flicked it open. “Let’s have us some fun!”

Philippe was one to follow orders. He looked at the other big guy, Leon, and nodded. As a team they stalked forward. The man in black was slender; he would be easy to take down. But Philippe was in for a surprise. As he approached and reached out for the young man, he found his hand smacked aside, and then a heel crunched into his nose. Philippe fell to his knees with a howl.

Leon was stunned. It had happened so fast. But now he was angry. But when he faced the man in black, it was to see a gun pointed at him, and the hand holding it was rock steady. He swallowed hard as he watched the other man slide off his sunglasses and in the silver-green gaze he saw death. “Don’t......kill me...” Leon sobbed.

“I won’t,” Michael whispered, a smile curving his lips. “Not today. Today you are lucky....for I will be merciful.” That said, Michael put the gun away. He nodded at Philippe. “Run away,” he ordered the big guys. “And don’t look back, for I will be watching you.”

Leon didn’t argue. He grabbed Philippe and they took off. That left Renault. The skinny man still held his knife, and he was not afraid. Glided towards the man in black and slashed out with the blade, slicing across the other man’s bicep. Renault laughed, but it choked in his throat when steel fingers closed about his neck. He found himself pressed against the wall, silver-green eyes lancing into his. He felt a cold chill wash over him. He knew he was going to die.

Michael closed his eyes and whispered, “Some must sacrificed to save the innocent.” He grabbed Renault’s wrist, snapping it so the knife fell to the ground. Then he pulled Renault away from the wall and turned him to that the other man’s back was against his chest. Michael pressed his lips to Renault’s ear. “It’s time to die,” he breathed, and then he snapped Renault’s neck. Dropping the other man, Michael stepped over him. Renault would be the first bread crumb on the trail that Michael would leave those who would come looking for him. He slid his sunglasses back into place, and then left the alleyway.

Lola stared at the man on the other side of the open door. She felt the years roll back as she studied his face. The man was more beautiful than the boy, and the boy had broken her heart. “Michael....” Lola whispered. She took his hand and led him inside. Then she pulled him into her embrace, her heavy arms holding him tight against her. “I thought you were dead, ma chere,” she breathed against his soft hair.

“I am,” Michael whispered, even as he hugged her back. Lola was fleshier now than she had been twelve years ago, but Michael thought she was more beautiful. He pulled back to gaze upon her ebony face. “I missed you,” he said softly, one hand lifting so he could press his palm to her cheek.

“I missed you, Michel,” Lola replied. She rested her hands on his arms and felt wetness. Drawing back a hand she stared at the blood staining her skin. “You’re hurt!” Lola exclaimed.

Michael shook his head. “A flesh wound. It’s nothing.” And for him it was true. He didn’t even feel the pain.

Lola was not convinced. She tugged at Michael’s coat, and then plucked at the turtleneck he wore. She saw that the sleeve was soaked with blood. “Take this off,” Lola ordered, as she moved to a chest in the corner of the room. She had the supplies needed to clean and wrap such an injury. To do stitches if necessary. For two years of her young, adult, life Lola had worked as a nurse. A skill that came in handy in her line of work. She pulled out peroxide and pads, and then turned to face Michael. He had obeyed her and she stared at him now, for his torso was bared to his gaze. “Beautiful....” she whispered, as memories flashed like quicksilver. But Michael had changed. He was leaner and harder, his muscles more defined. And she saw scars marring the smooth skin. “You know pain,” Lola said softly, as she pushed Michael down into a chair. She had known him since he was twelve. Knew the emotional pain he had suffered as a child, and the physical pain. She had found acceptance in his death for Lola believed that Michael’s suffering had come to an end. But she saw that it had only begun as a child.

“I am pain,” Michael replied, and then he laughed softly at the look on Lola’s face. He captured one hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the calloused palm. “Do not weep for me, ma chere,” Michael beseeched, as he saw tears glimmer in her eyes.