It was the third day that Michael had spent in Nikita's apartment. She was finally getting used to it. The first day had been really awkward; neither knew what to say to each other or what to do with themselves.

Nikita had resented the lack of privacy and the invasion of her territory; Michael was equally uncomfortable on foreign ground.

The second night, they had found their respective niches. Michael had settled at the glass-topped table, writing reports on his laptop. Nikita sprawled on the red couch, listening to music, through headphones for Michael's benefit, and reading the paper.

Tonight after dinner, Michael had abandoned his laptop and sat with her on the couch. They had listened to music, without headphones, and talked. Michael had even held her hand, shyly.

Too bad it was for a mission, Nikita thought, as she puttered in the kitchen, making coffee. These last few days they had reached a companionable, easy rhythm. They ate dinner, talked, worked, and relaxed together. They were more at ease with each other than they had ever been. Nikita tried not to fantasize about how it would be if he lived here; how it could be if they had this comfortable rapport between them all the time.

Nikita poured the coffee into the two mugs and carried them over to the couch. She smiled a little when she saw that Michael had fallen asleep, stretched out on his back with one arm over his face. She covered him gently with a quilt and settled herself in the chair opposite with her coffee, watching him.

This would be nice if I could forget we might be killed tonight, she thought.

Sipping her coffee, she recalled their briefing from a few days ago. Operations had shocked them by saying that someone had the Directory. Someone who, instead of wholesale killing, was abducting operatives a few at a time, always in pairs. So far, four 'couples' had dissapeared without a trace.

They had nothing to go on but rumors. Gruesome rumors. Nikita shifted uncomfortably in her chair, recalling them: torture, mutilation, rape, and the most chilling of all, cannabalism.

Operations had chosen Michael and Nikita to be the next on the madman's list. They were to stay together at her apartment, a location known to be in the Directory.

They were bait. They couldn't even fight back; their orders were to let themselves be captured.

In a way, Nikita was grateful to this perverted killer. Because of him, she and Michael had had this time of companionship and ...hominess. Certainly something neither of them had experienced much of in their life in Section.

Michael stirred, turning on his side, one arm stretched out. Nikita thought about going over to hold his hand, or to stroke his hair. She decided against either action, fearing she might wake him. Instead, she sat watching him intently, drinking in the comfort of his presence. In spite of everything,in spite of their past together and their present danger, she felt, in this moment, incredibly safe.

There was a noise on the terrace. Nikita jumped to her feet and Michael raised up from the couch just as the french doors were kicked open.

Two men rushed in, carrying rifles. Michael had a gun barrel pressed to his chest before he could get up. The other man aimed his rifle between Nikita's shoulder blades with one hand, grabbing her by the hair with the other. He barked at them.

"Come along, you two," he ordered. "Dahmer's waiting."

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

They removed Michael's blindfold only after they had shoved him into a chair and tied him, hands and feet, to it. Duct tape covered his mouth. He blinked against the harsh light.

It was a basement of a large house, he guessed. Nikita sat a few feet from him, bound and gagged as well.

One of the men, a powerfully built Hispanic man with dark eyes, stood in front of Michael. "You're in for it now, man. She'll have fun with a pretty boy like you."

He laughed and walked over to Nikita. He looked at her hungrily and put his hand inside her blouse, squeezing her breast hard. Nikita flinched. "Dahmer will like you, too." He continued his groping. "Too bad I can't get a little of you for myself..."

Someone was coming down the steps. Their kidnapper stepped back away from Nikita and assumed a respectful expression.

A woman stepped toward them. "Any problems, Marco?" she asked.

"No, ma'am," said Marco, obviously intimidated.

"Excellent!" she said, her voice filled with obvious delight. As she came closer, Michael could see she was slender and slightly built, with blue eyes and dark hair attractively shot with silver-gray. He guessed she was in her forties. Her smile gave him the creeps; her enthusiasm on seeing them did not bode well.

"Ohhh, yesss..." she crowed, her eyes roving over Michael. "You're beautiful..." she said, running her hands down his chest to his thighs and back up to his crotch. "I will have fun tonight." She smiled and moved her hands to his face. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head back to look at her. "You will entertain me tonight, won't you, my love?"

Michael remained impassive throughout, his eyes revealing nothing. 'Dahmer' looked over at Nikita, who was struggling against her bonds, obviously angered and distressed on Michael's behalf.

"Oh, you don't want me to have fun with him?" she said to Nikita. Her mood changed in an instant, her smile fading as she became more fiercely agressive.

She straddled Michael's lap and yanked a handful of his hair toward her, at he same time flipping open a knife from her pocket. She held the knife up to his hair as if to cut it. "I need to get my souvenier. I always take a souvenier, to remember them by..."

She looked over again to Nikita, squirming in her chair. "Yes," Dahmer addressed her. "Sometimes a lock of hair, sometimes an ear..." She released her grip on Michael's hair to caress the side of his face."Sometimes the tip of a finger..." Her hand moved lower, down his chest to to his crotch. "In your case, maybe this..."

Nikita was openly crying now. Dahmer looked from one to the other. "Now isn't that interesting?" she said. "I touch him, and YOU react." She stood away from Michael and walked toward Nikita.

"Let's see if this works both ways, shall we?" She pulled Nikita's head back by her hair, the knife raised. "What should I take from you?" she stood musing. "You're so pretty."

She ran the knife lightly down Nikita's shoulder to the front of her blouse, cutting the top three buttons off. She pulled the material away from Nikita's skin and pressed the knife against one breast. "Perhaps, just a little piece here..."

She looked over at Michael for his reaction. Every muscle was tensed, his breathing more rapid, and his eyes wide and bright. "SEE," she said laughing, "He does care! This will make our playtime together so much more fun!"

She looked down again at Nikita's chest again, one breast partially bared to her view. Her face clouding over in rage, Dahmer screamed, "What is this?" She shifted her attention to Marco, standing well back in the shadows. "What is it, Ma'am?" he said, his voice shaking.

"Marco, there's a red mark here on my property." She left Nikita's side to stand in front of her henchman. She lifted the knife in front of his face, screaming, "You touched her, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?" Marco closed his eyes and nodded, obviously afraid. "You know the rules. They're MINE. No one gets to touch them but ME..." Her face was red with rage.

She held the blade to Marco's throat. He trembled. Dahmer took a deep breath and pressed the blade harder to his neck. "If this happens again, you'll be my next entertainment, GOT IT?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he whispered.

"GET OUT! BOTH OF YOU, GET OUT!!" Dahmer screamed. The two men left quickly, almost running up the stairs.

She turned around, staring thoughtfuly at Michael and Nikita. They were alone with Dahmer.

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

Dahmer closed her eyes and bowed her head, her arms crossed in front of her. She sighed, and stayed still like that for a long moment.

Michael and Nikita looked at her, tensed, trying to prepare for her next assault.

The older woman finally stirred, running a hand through her hair, and opening her eyes. This time the expression in her eyes seemed different, no longer enraged, no longer gleeful.

Dahmer crossed over to Nikita and took hold of her blouse. Michael strained against the ropes. Nikita closed her eyes.

She opened them a few seconds later, when she heard Dahmer's voice say, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the way I treated you." Dahmer had pulled Nikita's blouse closed for her and was now removing the duct tape. Her touch this time was gentle, almost respectful.

She moved over to Michael to also free him of the gag. Both Michael and Nikita stared at her warily, unsure of what game she was playing.

"You're sorry?" Michael asked, when he was free from the gag.

"I'm not going to hurt you, either of you," Dahmer said quietly, looking from one to the other. She held up the knife. "The only thing I'm going to do with this is cut your ropes for you...." She paused, noting Michael's fierce, wary gaze on the knife. "O.K., let's talk a little first. I'll free you after I've explained a little."

She put the knife down on the floor at Michael's feet, and stood up. " 'Dahmer' is a role I play, an ugly one, but very necessary," she began. "The truth is, she's not real. I've never hurt anyone; I didn't hurt the other Section operatives, and I'm not going to hurt you."

She looked over at Nikita, who was listening intently, and then back at Michael. "I'm sorry I had to treat you the way I did, but I had to. My reputation as a crazed psychotic must be maintained to cover what I'm really doing, what I'm planning for you."

Michael watched her, silent and tense. She gave him a look back, her eyes pleading for understanding. "I'm not your enemy, Michael. I even may be the best friend you ever had."

"What are you planning to do with us?" he asked.

Dahmer smiled. I'm going to get you out of Section One." She picked up the knife and began cutting their ropes.

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

The upstairs of the house was beautiful. Michael, Nikita, and Dahmer sat in the elegant living room, which had French doors opening onto a swimming pool. Breezes made the water ripple, the waves shimmering in the moonlight.

Dahmer placed a briefcase on the coffee table before them. "Everything's in there," she said. "Plane tickets, passports, money, cerdit cards, I.D.'s." She smiled slyly at them. "Even wedding bands, too."

She pointed down the hallway. "Your room is that way. Your suitcases are there, already packed." She sighed happily. "Tomorrow, you'll get on a plane and start a whole new life." She walked to the bar and prepared them each a drink. Champagne. "Let's toast, shall we?" said Dahmer, handing them their glasses.

"What shall we drink to?" said Nikita, smiling back. She was engulfed in a sense of unreality and bewilderment. Things had shifted so fast, in a good but completely unexpected direction.

"How about...reincarnation?" Dahmer laughed.

Michael looked puzzled. "Reincarnation?"

"Yes. You died tonight--- I killed you. Your death will be faked. Again. This time for Section's benefit." Laughing, she clinked her glass with his. "Tomorrow, you'll be born. You'll be a new person, starting over with a brand new life. Just like the others." Nikita took a sip of champagne. "Why do this? Why us?"

Dahmer set her glass down on the table, her face sobering. "Because Section One destroyed my family." Her lower lip trembled a little. "Now I am in a position to create new families for other people Section has hurt. At least, a chance for a new family." She looked from one to the other. "You deserve that chance, both of you."

Michael leaned forward. "What do you mean?" He paused. He too, like Nikita, was still stunned by the radical turn of events. "Why us?" he said.

"Why you?" Dahmer's look was sympathetic and kind. "I picked you, Michael, because once you had a family. A wife, a child... Section One took them from you."

Michael stiffened, pursing his mouth in a tight line. Dahmer touched his arm, briefly, gently. "Now you'll have a chance for that again. With you, Nikita..." she said, turning to face her.

Nikita met her eyes. "Go on," she said. "Why me?"

"Because you've had even less than Michael. Your mother abandoned you. You lived first on the streets, then in prison, then in the prison of Section One." Dahmer paused, shaking her head.

"I admire you," she said to the stunned girl. "I'm amazed at how well you've handled things, as little life as you've been given."

Dahmer sipped her champagne again and smiled at them. "I hope to change that now by giving you both a chance at a real life. Together, or not; that's up to you. But you WILL have that chance."

Her eyes misted over and she added fervently,"If I can't have my family back from Section One, a least a part of Section One will get to be a family."

Michael and Nikita looked at each other. His eyes held not joy, but longing and resignation. Nikita, reading his look, was distraught.

"Nooo, Michael, please! We can do this!" She jumped to her feet, clawing desparately at her arm where the tracker had been imbedded, trying to remove it.

Michael gripped her wrist. "No, Nikita." His voice held vast regret. "It's too late. They're already here."

Dahmer startled at the noise on the far side of the terrace. Figures in black swarmed along the pool.

"Michael!" Dahmer cried. "What's going on?"

He turned to her. "It's time for you to play your role again. I'm sorry," he said, as he punched her out.

He caught her as she slumped, unconscious, against him, just as the operatives entered the room.

Just before they were 'rescued' by Section One.

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

Michael walked quickly up to Madeleine in the Section hallway. It had only been a few minutes since they had arrived with their captive in the van.

"I'd like to be the one to interrogate her," he said, barely able to control his anger and distress.

Madeleine looked at him for a moment. "Very well, Michael. Interrogate her."

He nodded, and strode quickly down the hall. Madeleine watched him leave and smiled. The couple killer was going to be in for a bad night, she thought.

Michael entered the sterile white room. Dahmer was strapped in the chair. She looked up at him as he closed the door behind him. He could see the bruise forming on her cheek where he had hit her.

He glared at her and leaned toward her, his face inches from hers. "Play along," he said very softly. Then louder, "You tortured them and then you killed them. Why?"

The captive's face changed, transforming into that of a psychotic killer again. 'Dahmer' was back.

She laughed. "Because regular victims weren't fun anymore. Section training at least made you people more challenging. More entertaining." She leered at him. "Walk in front of me again; I like looking at you..."

He grabbed her roughly by the hair, yanking her head back. "You're the one who's going to be entertaining," he threatened. "Where are the bodies?"

"My men disposed of them in the canal, I think," she said, laughing. "Or sold them for dog food. I don't keep track of these things." She blew him a kiss.

Michael jerked her head back again visciously. "Where is the Directory?" he hissed.

"F**k you, Darling." She smiled.

Michael, enraged, backhanded her with the full force of his anger. He strode quickly to the button on the wall and punched it,turning off the camera.

Madeleine, watching from the monitor in her office, tilted her head, looking thoughtful. I hope he leaves her alive long enough to find out, she said to herself.

In the white interrogation room, both Michael and Dahmer struggled to catch their breath. Dahmer spoke first. "Michael, you have to kill me. To protect the others." She looked up at him. "Do it."

Michael looked grim.

"It's O.K. Snap my neck, or something. It won't be as bad as what they'll do to me. Section is out for blood, after what they think I did. Consider it an act of charity..."

She was right, thought Michael. It was the only gift he could give her to repay her: a quick death.

"Where is the Directory now?" he asked despondently.

"Here, in my necklace."

He pulled the gold chain out of her shirt. At the end of it hung a gold Egyptian cartouche. "The chip is in there. It's the only copy."

"How did you get it?"

Dahmer shook her head. Telling him would reveal too much about herself. "It doesn't matter. Tell them I acted alone; that's the truth, at any rate."

She sighed and said softly. "Michael, thank you. Doing this will keep the others I've helped safe. I just wish I could have helped you, too."

She closed her eyes. "Do it, please."

Michael nodded, and kissed her gently on the cheek. He went to the wall and turned the camera back on.

He took Dahmer's face between his hands. Her eyes gleamed. "OHHH, that's right, Stud. You know I like it when you touch me...." She leered at him.

They looked into each other's eyes, gratitude and regret in both. Both took a breath....

The door opened. "I'll deal with this from here, Michael. Thank you," said Operations.

Michael reluctantly turned, lowering his hands slowly from Dahmer's face. "I have all the information and the Directory. Please let me finish her..."

Operations' eyes widened. "I said, that will be all, Michael." He stared at him.

Michael's jaw tightened, and he looked back at Dahmer for a moment, his eyes tormented.

Without a word, he left.

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

Operations waited for the door to close behind Michael. "You certainly got him worked up, my Dear," he said. "Must be your feminine charm."

He grabbed her by the front of her shirt, pulling her up a little in the chair. "We'll see how charming you can be with me..." He glared at her, their eyes locked.

He let her go to switch the camera back off.

She leaned back in the chair and looked at him.

"Hello, Marcus."

"Hello, Lily."

Brother and sister were silent for a moment.

Operations looked at her. Poor, crazy kid. He had survived torture in Vietnam, the enforced absence from his family, and the reshaping and retraining of his soul at the hands of Section One. She hadn't.

He hadn't seen her since before his last tour of Vietnam. She hadn't given up on him, apparently. She had kept looking for him until she had found him in Section One.

Somewhere along the way, she had broken, becoming this demented and tortured soul. Another casualty of Section One.

"You should have let him have me," she said. "We were getting along so well." She sighed. "You managed to ruin everything again, Marcus."

Guilt twisted his guts sharply. He took inventory of his life. His wife, a suicide. His son, emotionally lost and running with the kind of people he was trained to eliminate. Lily insane....

She struggled to keep up the charade. It was so good to see him, even here. So hard to think of the torture he had endured, of how Section One had deprived him of everything he loved, how they had stripped him from his family.

Pity for the other ripped through them both.

"Lily, I'm going to take care of you."

Oh, God, please, no, she thought. She closed her eyes.

"You promise not to bother me or my people again and I'll give you a new game to play, all right?"

"What kind of game?" Lily struggled to be Dahmer again. "I like games. I like play-toys like Michael..." She leered.

"No, Lily, not your old kind of game. I'll send you on a plane to a new city, a new place. You'll have a new identity and a new name. You'll play a game of pretend."

He paused. "I want you to pretend that our family is just fine. Can you do that?"

Lily sobbed. He was going to put her in a witness protection program. He was going to protect his little sister, even believing she was the monster she had pretended to be.

"O.K., Marcus. You tell me how to play and I'll play."

"Good girl," he said, sorrow in his face.

My God, she thought. His act of charity was greater than any of hers. Pretending her family was intact would not be that much of a pretense, after all.

"I love you, Marcus," she said.

"Yeah, Sis, me too." He put his arm around her shoulder and rested his head on her hair.

They stayed that way for a long time.

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