Michael sighed inwardly. She was lying to him. That revelation didn't warrant her going on a mini-drinking binge. He wasn't sure whether to push her or let the matter go until she did decide to finally come clean with him. Or maybe he didn't have to get the truth from her at all. He could always pay Jamey a visit.

"Is that all?" He asked again.

"Isn't that enough?" She raised a brow.

"I knew about your past when I married you."

"But I never told you I was arrested. I just wanted you to know...in case it ever came up in the future." Nikita twisted a lock of her hair and averted her eyes again. She was a poor liar, but he decided to let her off the hook.

Rising, he unbelted his robe and tossed it over the chair. "It's after one. Let's go to bed."

Nikita got an eyeful of muscled backside as he walked to the lamp and switched it off. He drew back the covers and they settled under them.

"So you're not upset?" She ventured.

Michael rolled over and tugged her beneath him. "No."

"Ashamed of me?"

"We've all done things we're not proud of."

He pressed his face against her breast as images of his past misdeeds flashed before him. Her hands encircled his broad shoulders and she squeezed him between her soft thighs. The images dissolved as he lost himself in the safe haven of her embrace.

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

"May I have a moment?"

Operations glanced up from the PDA he was perusing. He gave Madeline a curt nod and returned his attention to the data he was studying.

Madeline moved further into the room. She stood close enough for him to catch the subtle scent of her perfume, but far enough away so that she wouldn't intrude on his personal space. For the past month, since his discovery of her affair with Hutchins, he had heeded her advice and kept their relationship on a strictly professional level.

Now she realized what an error that had been. Stringing him along had afforded her special privileges in and out of Section. Now she was subject to the same discipline as all the other operatives. Just last week, he had reprimanded her for a mistake in a profile that had left three of their best people dead. A few months ago, he would have taken her to task for it in private and let the matter slip. This time, he had added it to her file.

Operations growled and begin punching keys in frustration.

"Is there a problem?" She inquired, her voice tinged with just the right amount of personal concern.

"George is on the rampage." He grumbled. "Our numbers are down again."

He tapped a few more keys, then paused to give her a caustic look. "Your blunder on the Bokal profile factored in significantly."

Madeline tamped down the biting rejoinder that entered her mind. "I could run a full analysis. Pinpoint the areas where we're weak and make adjustments."

"Michael's doing that now."

She processed this information with trepidation. As of late, Operations had been shifting a share of her responsibilities to Michael. And despite his already full agenda, the Level Five operative was juggling everything, including his blood cover mission, with enviable finesse. Operations had even begun seeking him out for his input on the more abstruse missions. That, more than anything, had Madeline questioning the solidity of her position as his Number Two.

She watched him yank his glasses off and massage his lids with his thick fingers. "You need a break. Perhaps we can go out for lunch."

"No, thank you." He replied tersely. He had been rejecting her occasional invitations with the same detached politeness she had his. Lately, he hadn't bothered to be courteous about it anymore. He'd also ended their breakfast ritual, preferring to discuss Section business in the sterile confines of Committee.

"You wanted something?" He prompted her.

Madeline squared her shoulders. "The Chernek mission. It's been dormant for too long."

"I thought we agreed to wait for his next move."

"His activities have increased. Syzran. Hurghada."

"We don't know that those were his."

"Intel suggests it is." She countered.

"Inconclusive intel." He rebuked her.

She tried another tactic. "Snaring Chernek would throw George a bone and keep him satisfied until we could restore our numbers."

That statement got his attention. He pulled his eyes away from his PDA and leveled her with an unreadable look. "It might at that. Have you discussed this with Michael?"

"I thought I should bring it to you first." Madeline told him, then added with gentle censure. "And despite your confidence in him, I doubt Michael would be receptive to using Nikita as a lure for her father."

"A lure." Operations repeated. He contemplated her words for a moment, then slipped his glasses on again and resumed his task. "Work up a profile. Have it to me in two hours."

"Actually," Madeline pulled a disc from behind her back and held it out to him. "I already have."

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

During her two years of Section training, Toni was conditioned to perform in all kinds of treacherous weather. She could take everything Mother Nature dished out, except frigidly cold temperatures. During her downtime, when the climate was cool, she preferred to stay indoors. Yet here she was, at seven on a chilly Saturday morning, preparing to go jogging with an exuberant Nikita.

"Can I go home now?" Toni whined as she watched Nikita do warm-up exercises.

"We haven't even started yet." Nikita scolded. "Maybe if you limbered up instead of bitching, you'd feel better."

Toni made a half-hearted attempt to stretch her calf muscles. "I'm not a morning person."

"Neither am I. But I was getting claustrophobic at home."

Michael was on another clandestine assignment. He and Toni were usually paired together, but when the job was of a highly classified nature, she was left behind. Invariably, she would spend most of her downtime with Michael's lonely wife.

Not that she minded. Nikita was a fun person to be around. Still, Toni couldn't help but resent Michael for unintentionally dumping the heavy burden of guilt over their deception on her shoulders.

A nasty blast of arctic air hit her square in her already numb face. She shivered and began dancing in place. "Damn it, Nikita! Can't we go to a nice, climate-controlled gym to work out? It's too cold to go jogging."

"Are you kidding?" Nikita grinned as she did deep knee bends. "Exercising in this weather is exhilarating. And besides that, the exertion does wonders for sexual frustration."

"I am not sexually frustrated." Toni bristled.

"Well, I was talking about me seeing as Michael's been gone a couple of days, but since you brought it up..."

"Don't go there, Nikita."

"We should find you a guy."

"I can find my own man, thank you very much. And there's nothing wrong with celibacy."

"True. But some people don't handle it as well as others." Nikita teased pointedly.

"Are you ready to jog?" Toni said through clinched teeth, a little put out that Nikita had hit so close to home.

"That's it." Nikita propped her hands on her hips. "We're taking out an ad in the personals today."

She jerked away to avoid the playful swipe Toni aimed at her and plowed roughly into someone who came running around the corner of the bike path. The momentum threw Nikita onto the hard, cold ground and Toni immediately stepped forward to aid her.

"Jeez, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" A deep male voice asked with concerned.

As Toni grabbed Nikita's arm, she looked up and into the ruggedly handsome face of Kevin Hutchins. Level Two operative. Rumored to be Madeline's newest boy toy. He gave her a conspiratorial wink before helping Nikita to her feet.

"I'm sorry." Hutchins apologized again. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

Toni brushed the dirt from Nikita's sweatpants as she eyed Hutchins suspiciously. "You alright, Nikita?"

"Yeah, I just got the wind knocked out of me." Nikita clutched her left forearm. "I'm fine."

"Gee, I feel like a heel." Hutchins smiled charmingly at the beautiful blond. "Let me make it up to you. How bout I take you to dinner?"

Toni opened her mouth to warn Hutchins off, but Nikita beat her to it. "Sorry." She wriggled her left hand at him. "My husband wouldn't approve."

"Damn." Hutchins sounded properly disappointed. "All the good ones are taken."

Before Toni could hustle Nikita off, she was speaking again. "Not all of them. My friend here is very single."

"Nikita." Toni shook her head in warning.

"And she's just as beautiful as you are." Hutchins turned his masculine charm on Toni. "I'd love to take you to dinner."

"Not interested." Toni muttered as she tugged Nikita away.

"Sure I can't change your mind?"

Toni gave him a scathing look and Hutchins shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly. "Too bad. You ladies have a great day."

"You too!" Nikita called cheerily after him as he jogged away, still clutching her arm. She frowned down at Toni. "What was wrong with him?"

"Too pretty." Toni examined Nikita from head to toe. "You sure you're okay?"

Nikita nodded in assurance. "I'm cool. My bum is sore, but I'm fine. Let's run."

Toni looked back to see Hutchins disappearing through a grove of trees. A chill that had nothing to do with the winter air made her body quiver. Blowing the incident off as another weird coincidence, she turned to catch up to Nikita.

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

When Michael entered the loft in the early evening, he wasn't greeted by the usual sounds of deafening music and Nikita banging pots and pans in the kitchen. Instead, dim light from the windows filled the room and it was deathly quiet. If he hadn't seen her car outside, he wouldn't have known she was home.

He moved to hang his overcoat on the rack next to the door when he heard the skitter of footsteps. When he turned around, it was Toni, not Nikita, who came flying down the stairs. Her dark eyes were wide with fear and her short hair stood up in tufts, as if she'd been pulling it in agitation. At the sight of her, a sickening sense of fear and dread begin to set in.

"What are you doing here?" He asked calmly as he moved towards the stairs. "Where is Nikita?"

Toni was hot on his heels as she hurried upstairs after him, a flood of high-pitched words spewing from her trembling lips. Michael walked purposefully towards the bedroom, registering only three of her hasty words.

Section. Nikita. Sick.

He burst through the open door of their bedroom and started at the sight of Nikita lying on their bed in her underwear, her long legs dangling from the side. He moved forward quickly, his eyes assessing her sweat-drenched body, the angry red rashes covering most of it, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

"She's gotten worse since we came in from jogging." Toni prattled on behind him, pulling at her hair again. "She thought she was getting a cold, so she went to bed and I stayed here to keep an eye on her. She woke up a few minutes ago with a high fever."

Michael leaned over his wife's still form and touched her cheek. His inner panic grew at the fiery feel of her skin and the rattling in her chest as she labored to breathe.

"I was trying to help her get dressed so I could take her to the hospital, and she just passed out on me." Toni's worried eyes flew to Michael's deceptively composed features. "I think they did something to her."

Michael remained quiet as he yanked the blanket beneath her around Nikita's limp body and scooped her up in his arms. Toni turned and raced out of the room ahead of him. "I'll drive."

With Michael and Nikita ensconced in her back seat, Toni made a thirty-minute trip in half the time. A vague thought that she'd broken every driving law imaginable entered her mind as she jerked the car to a halt in front of the emergency room. Michael was out of the car before she could open the door for him and she was hard pressed to keep up with his long strides as he carried Nikita into the brightly-lit hospital.

Toni stood by helplessly as the hospital staff pulled Nikita from Michael's grasp, placed her gently on a gurney and wheeled her into the ER. Without thinking, she clutched Michael's arm and pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry! I was with her when this happened!" Toni sobbed.

"It's not your fault." Michael's eyes remained locked on the door they'd taken Nikita through. "It was Section."

"I don't understand." Toni looked up at him. "What are they trying to do?"

"Draw her father out."

"Like this?" She asked incredulously, eyes filled with indignant tears. "This is inhuman, Michael."

He stood so perfectly still and calm, that Toni wondered angrily if he condoned inflicting Nikita with the mysterious ailment. But the storm brewing in his gray-green eyes belied his outward composure. With trembling hands, he pulled his cell phone from his suit coat and dialed Section.

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

Madeline hung up the phone as her office door slid open and Operations hurried in, his features pulled into a menacing scowl.

"What's happening?" He barked.

"Michael and Antonia are at the hospital with Nikita." She replied, her demeanor cool and unconcerned.

"How is she?"

"She's in the early stages of the illness. It's too soon to tell."

"How long before it kills her?"

"About three days." She told him. It was actually two, but Madeline surmised that Operations wasn't thinking clearly at the moment. The longer Nikita remained sick, the better chance they had of Chernek appearing.

Operations shoved his hands in his pants pockets and began his familiar anxious pacing. "How is Michael handling this?"

"I’m not sure. He basically called to confirm what had been done and get a time frame on getting Nikita the antidote."

He shook his head in trepidation. "Maybe this wasn't the best way."

"It was our only course of action given the circumstances." Madeline reasoned.

Operations heaved a disgusted sigh and turned to leave. "Keep me informed." He turned back to her, his blue eyes burning, his scowl deeper. "If we lose her, we lose our best chance at getting Chernek. And since this was your idea, if she dies, you die."

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

One whole day. Not a word from Section. Not a word from Nikita.

She lay as still and unresponsive as she had when Michael had found her that day in their bedroom. The red rash had spread to her face. Little tubes snaked in and out of her body. A respirator was helping her breathe.

Michael leaned back in the hardback chair, his fingers carefully entwined with those of Nikita’s IV covered hand. In a barely audible voice, he alternately spoke to her and prayed in his native French.

He had once wished Andrei Chernek would stay away, but now he desperately hoped that Nikita’s father would appear. That would assure her of freedom from exploitation at the hands of Section One. Yes, it would hurt, in the end, when he finally had to leave her. But being forever separated from her was worth it if it kept her from being used, manipulated, and watched.

It had been hard for Michael to keep the maelstrom of his emotions in check. Roberta, Julie, and surprisingly, Jamey had arrived the night before and Antonia had been a constant presence. Despite their own worry, the women had been after him to go home, eat, and rest. They’d offered hugs and reassuring words, but Michael had been adamant about remaining at his wife’s bedside and maintaining his composure.

He had never been comfortable with sympathy, compassion, and praise. And he was loath to allow their coddling to unleash his turmoil. Not that he was afraid of them seeing him in such a state. Logically, he wanted to be as level headed as possible for Nikita’s sake.

It was only when he was alone with her, as he was now, that he allowed himself to outwardly express his feelings. Now he allowed the tears that he’d been forcing back for to escape from his tired eyes. He gripped her still fingers a little tighter as he leaned forward and softly kissed her dry lips.

Roberta entered the room at just that moment. Smiling gently, she moved forward to stand next to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. She had been as strong as Michael had. She’d only broken down once -- when she had first arrived last night and seen a sickly Nikita unconscious and attached to quietly beeping machines in the ICU room. After the cathartic release, she had gathered herself and, in spite of the despair of the others around her, had remained brave and confident about her daughter’s condition.

She bent down to place a kiss on Nikita’s forehead, then slanted her eyes towards her son-in-law. Dark circles beneath his eyes and the stubble of his five o’clock shadow made his drawn features appear paler than normal. His messy hair wasn’t as attractive as it usually was when tousled and his usually neat clothing was wrinkled and disheveled.

“I love you, honey, but you look horrible.” She smirked. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Michael’s eyes remained locked on Nikita’s still form.

“I’m not taking no for an answer. She’s stable and she has no idea you’re here. If there’s a change, I’ll call you.” Roberta said forcefully. “Nikita has no use for an emaciated insomniac.”

Michael sighed and passed a hand over his face. She would probably hound him until he obeyed her and he didn’t have the strength to argue with Roberta now. Besides that, her reasoning was sound and he had some business to take care of.

He stood and faced her. “Alright. But I don’t want you here alone. Where are the others?”

“Jamey and Julie are sacked out at your place. They should be here in a few minutes. And Toni left to run some errands for me, but she should be back soon.” Roberta assured him, then hugged him fiercely. “Now you go home and get some sleep. I think Julie made a little something for you to eat. I want you to be well-rested when Nikita wakes up.”

Michael nodded and turned his gaze back to Nikita.

“You know it’s strange.” Roberta said, still holding onto him as she stared down at Nikita.

“What?”

“I was sick like this a few years ago. Same symptoms and everything. Doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me and then I just got better.” Roberta told him, her tone perplexed. “Maybe we should go for a complete physical when she’s better. There might be some kind of hereditary illness in our family that we don’t know about.”

“That’s a good idea.” Michael replied woodenly, his heart full of remorse. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then leaned down and kissed Nikita again. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Take your time, honey.” Roberta insisted. “You need more than a couple of hours sleep. We’ll be fine.”

He nodded then pulled out the chair for her to sit down. As he moved towards the door, he heard the beginning of her one-sided conversation with Nikita.

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

Jamey gazed down at Nikita's inert form, his emotions a mixture of anxiety and fear, but mostly guilt. His decision to cut all ties to her had been a way to assuage the pain of her rejection. He still cared for her however, so he occasionally gleaned bits and pieces of information about her new life as Mrs. Michael Samuelle from Julie.

Even though he missed her friendship, he had been determined to make her pay for marrying Michael by keeping himself distant. His actions had been childish and selfish, as Julie had reminded him countless times. At the time, however, they had made him feel better.

During the months following their rift, however, dawning awareness of just how fatuous he was behaving made him want to reach out to her, beg her forgiveness, and renew their adolescent bond. It had taken him a long time to realize that his clinging to her was fear of losing the only person who’d shown him compassion during that horrible period with his abusive mother and stepfather.

However, he had been too embarrassed to call her and apologize for his behavior. Now it appeared he would never get the chance to redeem himself to her.

“I’m sorry, Nikita.” Jamey sighed as he took her limp hand in his. He leaned forward, his face mere inches from hers. “Wake up. Give us some sort of sign that you’re still in there.”

Nothing. Not that he really expected it. She’d been unconscious since the first day of her illness. He straightened, his eyes clouding momentarily. As he swallowed back tears, he tried to remember the prayer his grandmother had taught him when he was a small child.

“Uh…The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.” He faltered for a moment, then begin his whispered words again. “He maketh me... “

“Jamey.”

He jumped at the quietly commanding tone of Michael’s accented voice and turned towards him. “Shit, Michael.”

The unnervingly placid Frenchman paused at the door before striding slowly forward. He looked much better, rested and dressed neatly again in jeans and a brown sweater. He stopped next to the bed, his eyes caressing Nikita’s features before flickering towards Jamey.

Suddenly uncomfortable under the other man’s scrutiny, Jamey pulled his hand from Nikita’s and shoved it into the pocket of his khakis. “I was just, uh, talking to her. Maybe she can still hear us.”

“Maybe she can.” Michael agreed, covering Nikita’s abandoned hand, his eyes still on Jamey.

Nodding, Jamey gave Nikita one last look before turning to leave.

“May I talk to you for a moment?”

Jamey turned back towards Nikita’s enigmatic husband. He couldn’t think of a thing the two of them had to discuss. Michael had married Nikita. He had won.

“Look, man.” Jamey began, wanting to lay everything out in the open once and for all. “I’m sorry about all that shit way back before you and Nikita got married. We were…close, and I was afraid of losing her.”

Michael shook his head. “I’m not interested in that part of Nikita’s life. It’s over. Forgotten.”

Confused, Jamey rubbed his chin. “What do you want to talk about then?”

“The time you and Nikita lived on the streets.”

Jamey’s brows knitted together in a defensive scowl. “Roberta has already reamed me out about that. I know it was partly my fault she was in that scene, but I took care of her the best way I knew how.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything.”

Ignoring his statement, Jamey rushed on. “We never slept on the streets. Well, maybe once or twice. But we mostly camped out in an abandoned building. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping in alleys and parks. And yeah, I taught her how to hustle, but it was the only way I knew how to get us something to eat.”

“It doesn’t matter to me how you took care of her. I’m grateful she had you. She probably wouldn’t have survived alone.” Michael told him solemnly.

His eyes narrowing, Jamey held out his hands. “If you’re not going to blast me for that, what is it you want?”

Michael’s gaze shifted to Nikita again, his finger caressing the back of her taped hand. “I believe Nikita’s hiding something concerning that time.”

The pink tinge drained from Jamey’s sharp features, a telltale sign that he did indeed know something.

Michael caught his expression and pressed him. “What happened to her?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Michael took a step towards him and Jamey instinctively moved back. The fierce look on the Frenchman’s face foretold of a sure throttling if Jamey didn’t acquiesce. But if he wanted a fight, a fight he would have. He was prepared. He’d been taking karate lessons ever since Michael’s impromptu visit to his apartment last year.

Jamey balled his hands into fists as he straightened to his full height. There. He had at least a full inch and a half on the lethal-looking man. “I don’t know anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Why don’t you?” Michael countered. “You spent a year with her on the streets.”

“I didn’t.” Jamey said vehemently.

Michael blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

Jamey’s shoulders suddenly drooped again. That damn secret had been haunting him forever. In hiding it, he felt as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. “She made me promise not to tell. Not even her mom.”

“Jamey.” Michael spoke to him calmly, as if were cajoling a reluctant child. “Nikita is dying.”

“Don’t say that, man.” Jamey choked. The thought of Nikita dying…

“She is.” Michael asserted firmly, though his voice cracked just a bit. “Before her illness, she wanted to tell me about something that happened to her during that time. Since she’s not able, it falls to you.”

Ashamed of the tears that were gathering in his eyes, Jamey swallowed and took a deep breath. His eyes met with Michael’s and he was surprised to see the same emotions reflected there. Fear. Desperation. Love.

Michael had seemed so calm and unperturbed during their vigil at the hospital, even as his wife’s life was quickly ebbing. And despite their rivalry, Michael hadn’t shown him any hostility, going so far as to offer Jamey the use of his and Nikita’s home during his stay.

At first, Michael’s behavior had confused and angered him. Now Jamey understood Michael’s tendency toward the understated was probably the only way he knew how to deal with such a tragic emotional event. He suddenly felt sorry for the older man and decided helping him would be one way he could make things up to Nikita.

“I wish I could tell you what happened to her. But I don’t even know.” Jamey sighed.

“Why don’t you?”

“Nikita and I were living in this abandoned warehouse. One day, I came back from, uh, getting us some food, and she told me she was going to stay with a friend who wanted to help her get her life together. She made me promise not to tell anyone. Not Julie. Especially not her mom.”

“What friend?”

“I don’t know.” Jamey shrugged. “She wouldn’t tell me. Just said that he was cool and he was going to help her. And I guess he did, because when I saw her again, she was back living with her mom and talking about going to college.”

“When you saw her again?”

“Yeah, man. I lived on the streets for a year. Nikita and me spent only four months of that year together. The other eight months, I don’t know where she was.”

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

Later that evening, they were all gathered in the waiting area, eating stale, dry sandwiches and drinking weak, vending machine coffee when Nikita’s doctor entered the room. Michael’s body tensed suddenly, alerting Toni to the man’s presence.

Michael stood and waited as Dr. St. Arnaud made his way towards them. Middle-aged and capable, he had been contrite for his inability to diagnose Nikita’s mysterious ailment. But he had been forthcoming with any new developments regarding the battery of tests they had been running and he made himself as available to them as his busy schedule allowed.

However, Toni didn’t like the grave concern etched in the weathered lines of the doctor’s face.

“May I talk to you in private, Mr. Samuelle?” Dr. St. Arnaud gave Michael his full attention as he spoke to him in French.

Unable to understand him, Roberta began to protest, but Michael silenced her with an upraised hand. “Everyone here is family. You can speak freely.”

With a sigh, the doctor continued, this time in thickly accented English. “I’m sorry. The tests have revealed nothing. The medications we’ve administered seemed to slowed down the progression of the virus at first, but now her condition is deteriorating rapidly.”

Toni and Julie simultaneously grabbed Roberta as the older woman swayed. A barely audible whimper escaped her lips as she held onto them for support, her bloodless lips trembling as she tried to speak. “H-how rapidly?”

The doctor rubbed his brow in agitation, obviously dreading his next words. “She has maybe four or five hours left.”

The strangled cry, muffled by her hand, came from Julie this time. Everyone else was stunned into silence. Toni’s eyes flew to Michael, whose face had cracked just a little before he turned away from them to stare out the window.

“I’m sorry.” Dr. St. Arnaud. “Believe me, we’ve done everything possible.”

“Are you sure, sir?” Jamey asked again, his arms going around Julie to comfort her as she cried.

The doctor nodded and looked towards Michael. Sympathetic to his obvious turmoil, he instead addressed his next words to Roberta. “I can have one of the nurses to arrange for a priest. For the last rites.”

Julie’s sobs grew louder and Roberta sat down hard on the worn, plastic couch, her head falling into her hands. Toni immediately dropped down beside her and hugged her tightly. She probably would have lost it too, but she knew for certain that Nikita wouldn’t die. Surely Operations would send the antidote now that Nikita’s father had not initiated further contact and the young woman was near death.

“Oh, God. Oh, God.” Roberta cried repeatedly as she took in great gulps of air in an effort to calm herself. She scrubbed her hands over her face and looked up, her eyes searching the room. “Where’s Michael?”

“He went into the hallway.” Dr. St. Arnaud told her.

“I’ll go check on him.” Toni kissed Roberta’s cheek, then gave her over to Julie. “It’s going to be okay.”

She found Michael outside in the hallway, his cell phone pressed to his ear. “She only has a few hours. Chernek’s not showing. Send the antidote.”

He paused as he listened to whoever was speaking on the other end, not acknowledging Toni as she moved beside him.

“Let me speak to Operations.” Michael ordered and Toni knew immediately he was speaking to Madeline. But not for long, because a few seconds later, he lowered the cell phone and closed it.

“What?” Toni demanded. “Are they sending the antidote?”

“No.” Michael replied, his demeanor calm, but the quiver in his answer giving away his true feelings. “Madeline says the doctor is mistaken, that Nikita has at least another twelve hours.”

“She’s lying.” Toni spat out. “Where’s Operations?”

“She didn’t say. Only that he was unavailable.”

“That’s bull, Michael! What are you going to do? You just can’t let her die.”

Toni’s apprehension was born of her concern for Nikita and the memory of her mother’s slow demise in a hospital ward very much like this one. The fear began to lessen as she watched Michael’s pained expression fade and morph into one of stalwart resoluteness.

“Look after Roberta.” He told her, his voice firm and authoritative. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get the antidote.”

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

The gray hair on the back of Operations’ neck prickled in awareness as he entered the darkened aerie. He’d only walked a few steps when he heard Michael’s distinctive voice behind him.

“Turn around.”

Frowning, he paused for a millisecond before turning slowly to face his best operative. Michael was standing in a shadowed corner, his black garb effectively camouflaging him, but Operations could make out the gleam of metal and the broad, round barrel of a gun aimed directly at him.

Jesus.

He knew Michael might be a little distraught over his wife’s forced illness, but this…

“Go dark.” Michael ordered, his repose obviously obscuring the inner turbulence he must be experiencing. Actually having the balls to hold a gun on a man who could surely have him killed for such a barbarous act revealed Michael’s state of mind more effectively than words could.

“I don’t have to tell you that you’re making a grave error -- “

“Go dark.” Michael commanded again.

Operations picked up his remote and aimed it at the glass enclosure, shielding them from view. He turned back to Michael, angry at his subordinate’s actions, but fully prepared to try to understand. “How is Nikita?”

“You should know.” Michael moved forward from the shadows, his green eyes glowing brightly against his black countenance. “She’s dying.”

“One more day, Michael.”

“Nikita doesn’t have one more day. Her doctor has given her a few hours.” Michael advanced, his arm extended, the barrel of his gun almost touching the tip of Operations’ nose. “Give me the antidote.”

“There’s no word from Chernek?” Operations asked lamely.

“Obviously not. And there won’t be. This scenario was skewed from the beginning.”

“It was a course we had to take.”

“And now it’s over. Give me the antidote.”

“Madeline said we had three days.” Operations blue eyes nearly crossed as they focused on the tip of the menacing, silver weapon.

“Madeline is lying.” Michael informed him. “Right now, I don’t have time to convince you.”

“Would you kill me, Michael?” Operations asked, regretting the question as soon as it was out. The answer was there in the hard glint of Michael’s stormy eyes.

Operations continued to reason. “And then where will that leave you, not to mention Nikita?”

Michael let the questions go unanswered.

“You’re right, of course. The scenario was weak from the beginning.” Operations admitted. “I had doubts about it, and about Madeline’s timeframe regarding administering the antidote. Seeing as we can’t afford to lose our only chance to get Chernek, I’ll send Walter with it now.”

Michael kept the gun pressed under Operations nose.

“You have my word.” Operations assured him.

Michael lowered the gun and took a step backward. “Thank you.”

Confident, despite the fact that Michael still held the gun, Operations gave the Level Five operative his back and picked up his phone to make the necessary arrangements. When he was done, he turned back to Michael with a sarcastic smirk. “Satisfied?”

“Not yet. I’ll accompany Walter to the hospital.” Michael told him.

“Suit yourself.” Operations walked towards him and stopped a few inches from Michael, leveling him with an imperious stare. “That was a very foolish act, Michael. Simply noting such heinous insubordination in your file wouldn’t do it justice. By all rights, I could have you cancelled.”

“I understand.”

Operations actually laughed at this. Only Michael. “That’s why I admire you. You’re not afraid of anything, are you?”

As if bored with the conversation, Michael consulted the time on his silver wristwatch before returning his attention to his superior.

Operations tilted his head as he studied Michael’s impassive face. “I feel sorry for you, Michael. You’ve allowed your emotions to get in the way of what’s important here.”

“Nikita is innocent.”

“Yes. But her life compared to the thousands that her father has taken is an even exchange.”

He reached into his jacket pocket for a slim cigar and lit it, took a deep drag, then expelled the smoke as he continued speaking. “I understand that we sometimes get attached to marks. It’s happened to me several times in my days as a field op. But your marriage is make-believe, Michael. When this is over, you’re going to have to have to leave her behind. There will be no happy ending. Are you prepared to deal with that?”

“Yes.” Michael replied unconvincingly, averting his gaze to the window.

Operations shook his head. “No, you’re not. The stunt you just pulled proves it. However, you’re a great asset to Section, and I understand your temporary lapse of sanity. Given the situation and your exemplary record thus far, I believe I can let it slide. This time.”

“Then may I leave now?”

“By all means.” Operations gestured towards the door with a flourish and a sardonic smile. Then abruptly the smile disappeared and was replaced by a trenchant glare. “We will discuss this further.”

Michael nodded, sheathed his weapon beneath his coat, and left the aerie.

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

"Where the hell is he?" Jamey demanded.

Toni looked at the good-looking young man with sympathy and frustration. He'd been asking after Michael for the past half-hour, railing at her mentor for leaving his wife at such a desperate moment. Julie had properly chastised him for not being more understanding of Michael's plight, and he'd quieted for all of two minutes before the railing began anew. Toni felt like clocking him.

"I'm sure where ever Michael is, it's got something to do with Nikita." Toni said in Michael's defense. "He wouldn't just abandon her. He'll be back soon."

"He should be here when she...she shouldn't d-die alone." Jameyfumbled over the words as his eyes began to glisten with unshed tears.

“God, please.” Julie's moaned as she slumped in her chair and buried her face in her hands.

Toni closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Despite the fear that embraced her pounding heart, she was still confident that Michael would arrive at any moment with the antidote and end this nightmare.

God, please.

She opened her eyes again as Roberta entered the waiting room. The older woman rubbed tears from her swollen eyes as she moved towards the little group. Jamey sprung to his feet, his eyes wide as he took in Roberta's despondent countenance.

"She's not..." Jamey's voice faltered and trailed off, unable to voice the question on everyone's mind.

"Oh, no!" Roberta shook her head. "She's still --. One of her doctor's colleagues dropped by to examine her for him. He asked me to give him a few minutes."

They all breathed a collective sigh of relief as Roberta sank down into the chair next to Julie and took her hand. She gave it a pat and smiled weakly. "It's okay. My baby's a fighter. I don’t think that damn doctor knows what he's talking about."

She didn't realize how close to the truth she was, Toni thought. She glanced at the slim gold watch encircling her wrist. The time seemed to be flying by dangerously fast. Where was Michael?

After sitting in silent misery for almost an hour, Toni and Roberta decided to go back to Nikita's room. Neither of them felt comfortable leaving her alone for more than a minute, even though she probably wasn't aware of their presence. As they passed the nurses' station, a tall, blond man dressed in scrubs and a white lab coat emerged from Nikita's room.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Toni couldn't help but notice how classically handsome the man was. His hair was almost white, and his eyebrows were a few shades darker. His eyes were a very pale blue, his nose straight and thin, his cheekbones high and chiseled. Slim, but nicely so. He gave them a small smile as they approached.

"I'm finished here." He told them, his words tinged with a slight trace of an accent. German? Russian?

"Dr. St. Arnaud is seeing to other patients, but he wanted me to tell you he will return here shortly."

Toni nodded. "Thank you, Dr...?"

"Stanislov." He inclined his head towards them and tapped the chart he was holding. "I want to get this to Dr. St. Arnaud right away."

"Is there any change?" Roberta asked.

He smiled again, politely, sympathetically, attractive little crows' feet appearing at the corners of his incredible eyes. "I think you should discuss that with her doctor." He suggested, then turned to disappear down the corridor.

Toni pulled her eyes away from his retreating figure to look at Roberta, who was putting up a brave front. "No news is good news, huh?"

"I've always thought so." Toni patted her shoulder as she followed her into Nikita's room.

Even though both women's faith that Nikita would recover had remained constant, neither was prepared for the sight that greeted them upon entering the room. In surprise, they watched Nikita's head slowly swivel towards them, her blue eyes cloudy, but open. She blinked at them several times and her lips curved into a wan smile.

"Mom? Where's Michael?"

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

Walter panted as he hustled to keep up with Michael’s determined stride. For every step the cold op took, Walter took two. As he followed Michael through the hospital lobby and into a crowded elevator, his thoughts ran to the succinct briefing Operations had given him earlier.

Although he’d heard unsubstantiated rumors of a deep cover mission in which Michael had actually married a woman to capture her terrorist father, he hadn’t really given them much merit. Walter also knew that if the rumors were true, he was certainly not privy to such sensitive information and didn’t want to get into trouble for knowing too much. After the initial scoop had been delivered to him by that slimy Hutchins, Walter had avoided gossiping about it with anyone else.

When Madeline had requested a special concoction that they’d used on a few occasions to poison unsuspecting innocents, he’d ignored that as well. He did as he was told and kept his head down where she and Operations were concerned. But he had been curious. Add to that Michael and Toni’s unexplained absence from Section for the last couple of days, and his interest had been peaked.

Then came the briefing from Operations. He hadn’t been given too many details, but he hadn’t needed much. Michael was married to the daughter of a terrorist. She had been poisoned and was seriously ill, a ploy masterminded by Madeline to smoke the estranged father out. Apparently, it hadn’t worked. Now Walter was standing next to the enigmatic operative with the serum to save his wife’s life in his jacket pocket and lot of questions on his mind. Given the fierce look Michael wore, Walter wasn’t inclined to ask them out loud.

The elevator stopped on the ICU floor and they exited to the right. He was always so careful of concealing his emotions that Walter wondered if Michael realized that he’d let his feelings slip to the surface a few times since they had left Section. It had been understated, but still there. A quiet desperation. The strain of it had appeared several times as Michael had steered his black Mercedes through Paris at break-neck speed. His eagerness to get to his wife revealed the true state of their contrived union. It may have started out as a mission, but it had turned into something much more.

Of course, Walter had never subscribed to the notion that Michael was an unfeeling, machine, as everyone else did. He was simply a very skilled poker player, with an impenetrable poker face to go along with the Section hand he was dealt. And in the end, that’s all life in Section One was all about. A great, big poker game.

As they slipped through a set of double doors and passed a nurses’ station, Walter spied Toni standing outside a doorway with a small, dark-haired woman and a younger man and woman. All of them were holding onto each other for dear life and dabbing at their faces with tissues. Walter nearly ran into Michael as he abruptly halted, a stricken look on his normally imperturbable face. He’d seen them too.

Dear God, were they too late?

Suddenly, the dark-haired woman caught sight of them and her face broke into a jubilant grin. “Michael!” She took off running and jumped into Michael’s arms with a loud whoop, nearly toppling him.

For the next few seconds, she blathered on through a mixture of happy sobs and high-pitched squeals about Nikita’s sudden recovery. The stricken expression Michael had worn a moment ago was replaced by one of skeptic relief. He murmured comforting words to the woman as he tried to ease her vice-like arms from around his neck. Tucking her into the crook of his arm, he looked to Toni for confirmation.

Toni gave Walter a brief smile of greeting and then addressed Michael. “It’s true. A few minutes ago, she just woke up and started asking for you. I haven’t seen her since, but a nurse came out a few minutes ago and told us that all signs point to her making a miraculous recovery.”

Michael squeezed the woman Walter figured was his mother-in-law and kissed her gently on the forehead. “Wait here.”

“They won’t let you in.” Toni told Michael as he moved towards the room. “They’re still examining her.”

“They’ll let me in.” Michael asserted as he pushed inside the room.

The little woman blew her nose loudly and sighed. Her gaze fell on Walter. “Are you a friend of Michael’s?”

Walter’s eyes twinkled as he shook the woman’s hand. “Yeah, I’m Walter. Used to work with Michael. I called him to see how he was doing and he told me about his wife. I wanted to stop by and offer my support.” He grinned charmingly. “Looks like it’s not needed.”

“Honey, we need all the support we can get.” Roberta blew her nose again. “Thank you. I’m Roberta, his mother-in-law. This is Toni, Michael’s cousin. And these are friends of my daughter’s, Julie and Jamey.”

Walter greeted them all and surreptitiously gave Toni a please-clue-me-in look.

“Hey, why don’t I go get us some coffee or something while we wait?” Toni suggested with a rub of her hands.

“Nothing for me, thanks, honey.” Roberta told her.

Jamey and Julie accepted and when Toni excused herself, Walter graciously offered to escort her. As soon as they were out of earshot, he started questioning her. “Cousin?”

Toni rolled her eyes. “Believe me, I didn’t go into this thing willingly. I bumped into Michael and Nikita outside of Section, he introduced me as his long-lost cousin, and things ballooned from there.”

“I heard rumors that he was on a deep cover, but this? When does he have time to be a husband? I don’t remember him being out of play for any longer than a month, and he was still working on profiles from some remote location then.” They both paused by the elevators as Walter continued. “She’s either really stupid or Michael’s waxing her ass something --“

“Walter.” Toni warned him. “Nikita’s not stupid and if anyone’s whipped, it’s Michael. He and Section have used some pretty elaborate tricks to keep her clueless.”

Walter shook his head. Poor woman. At one time he had been proud of the organization and the work they did. When Adrian was in charge.

But now…

“Is it my imagination or is Michael, of all people, a little more into this mission then he should be?”

“It’s not your imagination.” Toni answered as they entered the empty elevator. “And it’s tragic. Or at least it almost was. So they sent you to administer the antidote?”

“A long time ago I helped make it and the virus. What happened? That shit was too powerful for her to overcome it on her own.”

Toni shrugged as she exhaled a relieved sigh and rubbed a hand across her face. “Don’t know. Don’t care. I’m just glad she’s alright.”

Walter examined her more closely. Her face bore the faint imprints of tear streaks and her nose was bright red. “Looks like Michael isn’t the only one in too deep.”

Toni didn’t answer as they stepped off the elevator and walked towards the cafeteria. Walter decided not to push, but was thankful Toni at least opened herself up to a friendship with another woman. His gender was not very gifted in the areas of communication and understanding.

Although Toni kept things to herself, he felt someone to confide in when she was troubled, as long as it wasn’t Section related, was just what she needed. Judging by her frazzled appearance, Walter assumed she had found that friendship with Michael’s wife. Now he really wanted to meet the young woman who had affected such a change in his fellow co-workers.

“Maybe I should go back to Section, since she’s okay now.” He suggested.

“No.” Toni dug in her jeans for loose change. “I think you should stick around in case she suffers a relapse.” She began feeding coins into the vending machine. “You know, they poisoned her mother a few years ago.”

“Get out.”

“Really. Except Section wanted her to die because she and her ex apparently abhor each other and they thought he’d claim Nikita once Roberta croaked. But she pulled the same number Nikita did. At the brink of death and then suddenly, she recovers.”

Walter took two steaming cups of coffee from her. “Like I said, surviving that virus isn’t likely without the antidote.”

“Are you sure?”

“Damn sure.”

“Hmm. Strange.” Toni sipped her coffee as they walked back to the elevators, deep in thought.

“It is.” Walter agreed, his mind whirling with possibilities. “A quick recovery like that could mean one of two things. Either Michael’s wife has an out-of-this-world immune system or someone else gave her the antidote.”

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

Michael ignored the doctors talking quietly amongst themselves in a corner as he bent over Nikita. Her blue eyes were lethargic and glazed, but they were open, and he’d never seen a more wonderful sight.

She held out her hand and he clasped it tightly as he bent over her. Their eyes locked together briefly, silently communicating their mutual love before Michael closed his and kissed her mouth softly.

“I itch.” She whispered as he pulled away.

“It’s the rash.” His fingers brushed along her jaw. “All over. Especially my ass.” Nikita’s eyes danced with merriment. “Would you scratch it for me?”

Michael shook his head with a chuckle. Leave it to Nikita to be thinking of sex at a time like this. “I’ll scratch where ever you want me to. When you’re better.”

“I can’t wait.” Nikita breathed. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful.”

“Liar.” She smiled weakly. “Are you really taking me to Rome?”

Michael’s eyes widened in surprise. “You heard me talking to you?”

“Uh huh.”

“So you were paying attention all those times I tried to teach you French?” Michael smoothed back her hair, disconcerted by the ugly rash he saw peaking from her scalp.

“Of course. In case you started talking about other women in your sleep.”

Michael laughed softly, then he suddenly had a thought. “Did you hear your mother? Or Jamey?”

“Jamey’s here?” Nikita asked groggily, closing her eyes. “No. Just mom and you. I’m tired, babe.”

“Go to sleep.” Michael’s voice quivered slightly, almost afraid to let her for fear she wouldn’t wake up again.

Nikita’s eyes flew open. “You’re not crying, are you?”

“No.” Michael hid his face in her hair before she saw the tear roll down his cheek. “Go to sleep.”

“Doctors keep poking at me.” She turned her face towards his and closed her eyes again. “You’re not going to leave me, are you?”

Michael sighed as her fingers squeezed his. “No. Never.”

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

Michael wrapped his arms around Nikita’s slick body and hauled her gently from the tub.

“I’m not an invalid, Michael.” She protested as he set her slippery feet on the fluffy bathmat.

“You’re not a hundred percent either.” He brushed his lips against her hair and wrapped a thick towel around her.

Despite her protests, Nikita was still weak and unsteady after arriving home from the hospital only a few days before. Jamey and Julie had returned to London, but Roberta had stayed to help with her daughter’s convalescence after garnering time off from her job.

Nikita objected again as Michael began to rub her dry, his eyes glancing over the faint, dry patches that had once been irritated rashes. He moved closer and lifted a lock of her hair, blotting the damp ends with the towel. That done, he helped her into a terry robe and belted it as she leaned into him.

Nikita’s slender arms snaked around his neck and she pressed her body close to his. Nuzzling her face in his neck, she inhaled deeply. “Mmm, you smell good.”

“Nikita.” Michael tried to put her away from him, even as his body began responding to hers. Though he longed to whip the offending robe from her body, lower her to the floor, and bury himself deep within her, he forced himself to remember that she was still recovering from a physically draining illness. “You’re still weak.”

“Then I’ll let you be on top.” She whispered against his throat. “Come on, babe. It’s been months.”

“It’s…Nikita…it’s only been two weeks.” Michael pulled her hand out of the front of his jeans.

“It seems like months.” One busy hand slid under his pullover as she twined the other in the curls at the nape of his neck and forced his mouth down upon hers. Michael was surprised at her sudden burst of strength for only a moment before he lost himself in the erotic spell she was weaving.

When she released him, they were both slightly dizzy and his hands had somehow attached themselves to her breasts. He glimpsed the shadows that were still beneath her eyes and he reluctantly extricated himself from her. With fortitude, he turned his back to her and opened the medicine cabinet. “Your mother is waiting breakfast for us.”

“So? She won’t care if we’re a little late.”

“You know your mother, Nikita.” He pulled a prescription bottle from the shelf and closed the door. Through the mirror, he could see she’d deliberately left the top of her robe open, her small, perfect breasts daring him. “She’s interrupted us before.”

“Lock the door.” She told him saucily. A beat later she swayed and collapsed heavily onto the closed toilet seat.

“What is it?” Michael was instantly kneeling before her, his fingers splayed across her knees as he looked into her face.

“I got a little woozy.” Her voice trembled as she leaned forward and wearily rested her head against his shoulder. “Maybe I should lie down.”

Michael gathered her up and in his arms and headed for the bedroom. For the umpteenth time in the past week, he cursed Section One for inflicting her with such pain. And himself. All of his loyalty and hard work over the years, all of his sacrifices in the name of ‘justifying the ends’ had yet to net him the respect and consideration he knew he deserved.

Bitterness and hatred manifested anew in his heart as he lowered Nikita tenderly on the bed. Her arms circled his shoulders in a weak hug and he eased his body down beside hers to return the embrace. He rubbed her back comfortingly. “Would you like me to bring your breakfast up here?”

“I’m not hungry.” She breathed tiredly against his shoulder.

“You have to eat Nikita. You need to take your medication.”

She murmured in agreement as she tilted her head upward for a kiss. Michael concurred with a soft buss, but Nikita would have none of that. She rose up on her elbow and fastened her mouth to his, her once weak arms pinning his torso to the mattress. Michael’s hands dropped to her waist as suspicion flared. Nikita stretched one leg across his as she slipped her tongue between his lips. Her hand coasted to his denim-covered buttocks and squeezed. His lips curved into a knowing smile beneath hers and she pulled back to give him a triumphant grin.

“That was a dirty trick, love.” He chastised her.

“You know you like it.” She whispered into his ear and flicked her tongue against the lobe. His hands flexed on her hips at the contact.

“You’re still weak.” He said feebly, closing his eyes as her tongue danced enticingly inside his ear. “At least let me lock the door. Your mother --“

“No. I let you up and you won’t come back.” She unzipped his fly and slid her fingers inside his briefs. “You’re not leaving.”

Right now he didn’t want to leave. As much as he wanted this, though, surely Nikita wasn’t up to such strenuous activity. He made a half-hearted attempt to rise. “Nikita…”

“All I need is fifteen minutes.”

Her fingers stroked him, making him gasp. “Alright. Twenty minutes.”

“I said fifteen.” She giggled as she pushed up his shirt and slowly scraped a nail across his flat nipple.

Michael sucked in a breath. “Thirty minutes. That’s my final offer.”

Nikita’s laughter drowned out Roberta’s giggle as she eavesdropped outside their bedroom door, a breakfast tray balanced in her hand. With a shake of her head, she tiptoed back downstairs.

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

When Michael entered the kitchen an hour later, he found Roberta sitting at the table, leisurely sipping coffee, and scrutinizing the ‘London Times’. Over the top of her paper, she followed him as he walked to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup.

“I swear, if all your limbs were broken and Nikita was in a body cast, the two of you would still find some way to fool around.” Roberta said in a wooden tone.

Michael chuckled. “Am I going to have to send you home? Stop listening at our door.”

“I was bringing my poor sick baby her breakfast.” Roberta bristled as she waved her hand at the tray perched on the counter.

Michael lifted the napkin covering the plate and peaked at its contents. “It’s salvageable.” He placed the plate in the microwave.

“You’d think all that copulation would net me a grandbaby.” Roberta huffed some more, but she was grinning as she rose and moved towards him. “I’m surprised you could walk downstairs.”

Michael waited as the breakfast warmed, then pulled it out of the microwave and set it back on the tray. “I’ll just take this up.”

“Oh no!” Roberta scooped up the tray and headed towards the door. “If you take it to her, dishes and food will go flying and I won’t see the two of you for another couple of hours.”

Silent laughter rumbled in his chest as he took his coffee to the table and sat down to read the paper Roberta had abandoned. A few minutes later, he heard the distant ringing of a phone and it grew closer as Roberta appeared in the doorway, holding his cell phone.

“It’s your phone, honey.” She tossed it to him and he deftly caught it with one hand. “Must be that damn job of yours.”

The earlier anger Nikita had unwittingly tempered returned. He flipped open the cell phone and pressed it against his ear. “Yes?”

“Jacques.” Madeline’s dull voice intoned. “Come in.”

Michael didn’t know what possessed him. He’d always responded to any summons from Section with immediate action. There was never any question as to the urgency of his duties. Whomever or whatever occupied his attention when he was called in was hastily put aside in deference to his responsibilities.

But in the seconds after Madeline requested his appearance, Michael’s dormant rage resurfaced and boiled to overflowing. How dare they call him in after attempting to murder his Nikita only a few days ago?

The force of his wrath and long pent up frustration surged forth as he brusquely replied. “No.”

He flipped the phone closed and held it tightly in his palm as images of Operations and Madeline swam before him.

His superiors.

His tormentors.

He squeezed the phone brutally, imagining it to be them instead, transferring his emotions onto it. His hatred for them was fierce. If he could just get his hands on them. Have a moment alone with each of them in the White room. Or, no, maybe together. Then they could each watch as he tortured the other.

His knuckles whitened as his fingers clenched the black plastic. But he was doing it no damage that way, so he drew back his hand and heaved the phone at the wall. It crashed and clattered to the floor, exploding into pieces.

In his mind's eye, the scattered parts represent their battered bodies. Madeline’s head rolled under the refrigerator. Operations’ torso smacked against the baseboard.

Satisfied, Michael lifted his cup to his lips and continued to read the paper.

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

“Michael’s insubordination is unacceptable.” Madeline stated.

Operations had to agree this time. They were spread way too thin as it was. Michael’s refusal to come in at such a critical time, right on the heels of his attempt to retrieve Nikita’s antidote at gunpoint, left him with no choice but to come down hard on the Class Five operative.

Having just come from a meeting with George at Oversight, Operations was even more inclined to see that Michael’s focus was returned where it needed to be. Being verbally blasted in front of other Section heads about his division’s steadily declining success rate had been painfully unpleasant and embarrassing.

Adding insult to injury was the fact that George was not even worried about Andrei Chernek or Salla Vacek at this moment. There were other international ticking time bombs that were more urgent just now. The time they’d squandered poisoning Chernek’s daughter could have been better utilized elsewhere. He regretted ever taking Madeline’s advice on that issue.

“Are you prepared to exact punishment now?” Madeline pushed. “This time Michael’s insolence can’t be ignored.”

“I’m well aware of that Madeline.” Operations snarled.

“Good. Then how do you want me to proceed? I can have a team sent out to retrieve him.”

“A team? Are you daft?”

“He’s deactivated his cell phone.” Madeline told him. “He’s screening calls to his home through his mother-in-law.”

“Sending a team to retrieve him is an asinine idea. How the hell do we do that without exposing Michael’s true identity or ourselves? I’ll handle him personally.”

Madeline gave him a doubtful look. “In what way?”

“That’s between me and Michael.”

“May I offer a suggestion?”

“No, dammit! I’ve had enough of your advice to last me a lifetime.” Operations glared at her. “I’ll handle this without your input. I’m sure whatever you’re about to suggest will only succeed in alienating Michael further.”

“Michael’s feelings are secondary in this matter.” Madeline declared.

“Not this time.” Operations replied. “At one time or another, all of us have let personal feelings interfere with our duties. It’s a mistake that we learn from and try not to repeat. You of all people should know that. Or do I need to mention Charles Sand to remind you?”

Madeline’s dark eyes flickered with resentment for a scant second. He regretted the words as soon as they were out. Not because they had brought back the pain of losing her presumed dead husband, but because they reminded him of his self-serving duplicity where that matter was concerned.

Operations shrugged on his suit coat as he continued speaking. “I will punish Michael. But I will also try to reason with him. I need him. I need him leading teams and profiling missions as only he can. Our success hinges partly on him. I do not want another meeting with George like the one I had today.”

Madeline nodded in understanding as she helped him on with his overcoat. The subtle scent of her perfume reached his nostrils and for a moment, he remembered that he still intimately cared for this infuriating woman. Yet her affair with Hutchins remained fresh in his mind and he wasn’t about to make the mistake of wearing his heart on his sleeve for her again.

“Keep an eye on things.” He told her. “I’m going to pay Michael a visit.”

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

Operations questioned his sanity as he stood on the threshold of Michael's loft. Surely, it would have been in his best interest to bring along two operatives as bodyguards in the event that Michael might declare war. Given his current state of mind, that was a likely scenario.

However, he believed a show of force would only escalate the situation. Offering the wayward operative an olive branch was the most effective way of dealing with him. Michael was far too cunning and dangerous to piss off at this point in time.

Resting his hand on the pistol beneath his overcoat, Operations pressed the buzzer. Minutes later, a small brunette answered the door. He recognized her as Roberta Wirth, Andrei Chernek's former wife. He vaguely wondered why a refined man like Chernek would want with such a blue-collar woman. She was attractive enough, with her dark eyes and dark hair. But her background was so lower class when compared with that of her ex-husband's.

She was in her late forties, but she could pass for a few years younger. The jeans and the knit pullover she wore revealed a surprisingly fit body. She appeared healthy despite her battle with alcohol and hard living. A bit on the thin side...

"Yes?"

Operations blinked and started at the sound of her voice. Consternated at the train of his thoughts, he forced himself to remember his reason for being there. He cleared his throat and gave her a cordial smile. "Good evening. I'm here to see Michael Samuelle."

"And who might you be?" She asked politely.

"Paul Wilson. His boss."

Roberta's pleasant expression was replaced by caustic regard. "Oh." She leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms over her chest. "Michael's taking a nap."

Apparently she had no intention of inviting him in and her attitude annoyed him. Usually people took one look at his imposing countenance and jumped to do his bidding.

"I don't suppose you could wake him?" He wished he could take back the question. He had meant it to come out an order, but her stance was so formidable for such a wisp of a woman. Why did he suddenly feel the need to tack a 'pretty please' onto his request?

"Hell no. He needs the rest. He's had a rough time of it lately, or hadn't you heard that my daughter -- his wife -- almost died recently?" Roberta's voice dripped venom.

"Yes, I did hear, and I'm sorry." Operations felt uncomfortable with the subject. He pushed his hands into his coat pockets. "How is she?"

"Better." Roberta straightened and stepped back. "I'll tell Michael you stopped by."

"Wait --"

The door slammed in his face, the sound reverberating loudly in the empty hallway. Stupefied, Operations’ head reared back and his mouth fell open. How dare she? He had a good mind to...

Breathe in. Breathe out. 10, 9, 8, 7...

His anger under control, Operations pressed the buzzer again. It took a full minute for her to answer the door this time.

Upon seeing him, Roberta rolled her eyes and gave him an exasperated look. "I'm trying to cook dinner."

He took another deep breath. "I apologize for the interruption. It's important that I see Michael."

"I told you he's taking a nap. And if you're trying to get him to return to work, you might want to get yourself another boy."

"Why is that?"

"Because he's pissed. He smashed the fucking phone you're always calling him on to pieces. Which is what I'd like to do to that bitch who kept calling here this afternoon."

"Really?" Operations drawled menacingly.

"Really." Roberta mimicked with an equally menacing drawl. "Now if you don't mind --"

Operations hand shot out to stop the door from slamming in his face again.

Roberta's eyes narrowed and she practically snarled at him. "You're asking for an ass-kicking yourself, mister."

"Look, Mrs...?"

"Ms. Wirth."

"Ms. Wirth." Operations' smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I apologize for my colleague if she was rude. But I'm here to smooth things over with Michael. He's a valued employee."

Roberta snorted. "That’s bullshit."

"He is." Operations tried to convince her. Why was he even bothering? "Can I please come in? I don't want to leave without clearing the air with him. Please." He experienced a shiver of revulsion. It had been a long time since he had begged anyone for anything.

For a minute, he thought she would hit him, giving the intense burning in her eyes. But instead she moved aside and gestured for him to enter. "Well...since you're here to make amends."

"Thank you." Operations walked passed her and begin shucking his gloves. He scanned the cozy, warm apartment as he inhaled the delicious aromas of garlic and freshly baked bread.

"I'm still not waking Michael. Not until dinner's ready." Roberta propped one hand on her hip and held the other out towards him. "May I take your coat?"

Operations should have stormed upstairs and hauled Michael out of bed himself. Instead, he slipped off his expensive cashmere coat, folded it carefully, and presented it to Roberta.

"Wanna drink?" Roberta slung the coat over a nearby chair. "We have wine, gin, and my personal favorite, chocolate milk."

"I'm really pressed for time." Operations followed her to the bar.

"Your type usually is." Roberta turned and eyed him. "You look like a gin and tonic man. You kinda remind me of this guy I used to work for. Edward Geoffrey Ashmore. Real snooty bastard, even though he owned a strip joint."

"You were a stripper?" Operations asked in surprise, looking over the fact that she had just insulted him.

"Uh huh." Roberta expertly mixed his drink. "Stripper slash bartender. That's how I met my ex-husband, Nikita's father." She gave him a sly smile and a wink. "There's lots of rich, potential husband material to be found in strip clubs."

Operations found himself smiling as he followed her into the kitchen.

"Have a seat." Roberta pulled out a kitchen chair as she passed by the kitchen table on her way to the sink. She stuck her hand in sudsy water and began washing pots. "I have to tell you, I'm disappointed. You say Michael's a valued employee yet he never got a card or flowers from you people when Nikita was ill."

Operations took a sip of his drink. Perfect. "My employees weren't on their jobs. I apologize again."

Roberta waved a sudsy hand in the air. "Forget it. I'd be worried about making it up to Michael." After placing the pots in a drying rack next to the sink, she picked up a large bowl of potatoes from the counter. She sauntered toward him, paring knife in hand, and placed it and the bowl on the table before him.

"What's this?" Operations arched an imperious brow.

Smirking, Roberta walked to the stove and threw over her shoulder. "Since you're here, you might as well stay for dinner. My mama always made us work for ours. Peel them into small quarters."

Operations looked at the pile of spuds with dismay. If only his peons could see him now. He hadn't done such menial work since his days in boot camp.

Picking up the knife and a potato, he began to peel clumsily. He paused a moment to look up at Roberta, who was swaying back and forth to some tune she was humming under her breath. She wiped her hands on her backside and began stirring in a pot.

Former stripper. Former wife of a terrorist. Battered wife. Recovering alcoholic.

All those things should have repulsed him, but he found himself intrigued by other things. Qualities he had always found irresistible.

Dark hair. Dark eyes. Feisty personality. Beautiful smile.

Not that he could do anything about it, but what harm would come of just enjoying her company? She was rough around the edges and she had a mouth that would rival some of his platoon comrades. But there was something about Ms. Roberta Wirth.

She looked over her shoulder again and caught him staring. Embarrassed, he lowered his head to concentrate on his peeling, and she turned back to the stove with a knowing grin.

"Speaking of Michael." Roberta said in a sugar-sweet voice. "He could really use a vacation."

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

Operations was assisting Roberta in setting the dining room table when Michael finally made an appearance. He was assisting his young wife downstairs, an arm clamped firmly about her diminutive waist.

As soon as they reached the bottom, Michael spied Section's head honcho and halted, his eyes automatically scanning the room. He could have been searching for more Section personnel or looking for an escape route. With his wife and mother-in-law in the room, he really couldn’t do much of anything but stand there and wait to see what would happen.

Operations placed a fork in its rightful position and turned towards the couple. "Good evening."

"Good evening." Michael responded stolidly.

“That was some nap.” Roberta quipped as she moved towards Michael and a curious Nikita. "Honey, this is Michael's boss, Paul Wilson. Paul, this is my daughter, Nikita."

Operations stepped towards the slender blond. Though her skin was pale and marred with faded, scaly patches, she was an incredibly beautiful woman. Not in the conventional sort of way. Her unique features were far more interesting than the typical Western idea of beauty.

"Mr. Wilson." In spite of her recent illness and her still obviously fragile condition, Nikita shook his hand firmly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

"Please, call me Paul. I was sorry to hear about your illness, but I'm glad to see you've recovered so well." He held her smaller hand between his two larger ones.

In her sky blue eyes, he saw passionate spirit and a bit of Roberta. From the information he’d read in her psyche file and what he saw before him, she seemed a refreshing mixture of feminine grace and tomboyish charm. Operations could understand why Michael was so smitten with her. Nikita Wirth-Samuelle was totally different from the type of women Michael usually encountered.

Operations glanced over at his top operative, who was not too pleased at his superior’s unwelcome appearance. "You have an exceptionally lovely wife, Michael."

"Thank you." Michael placed a possessive hand on his wife's lower back and Operations released her hand.

"I asked Paul to stay for dinner." Roberta told him, gifting Operations with a radiant smile.

A smile Paul, the man, couldn’t help but respond to. Michael’s eyes narrowed at the exchange and Operations returned his attention to him. "I hope I'm not imposing." He gave Michael a tight smile, daring him with a look to send him packing.

"Of course not." Michael replied, giving Operations a look meant to remind him whose turf he was on.

Sensing the mounting tension, Roberta intervened. "Maybe you two should get your business out of the way before dinner." She slipped her arm around her daughter's waist. "Nikita, do you feel well enough to help me in the kitchen?"