Jilly winced and turned over very carefully to lie on her side in the bed, thrusting the pillow a little further under her knee.

*Damn leg*, she thought. She ran her hand slowly up and down the leg from her hip to mid-thigh, massaging with slow strokes. It throbbed like a bad toothache.

She noted with disgust that the entry point was still swollen and sore where the bullet had had torn through her leg the month before. It was almost the same spot she had been shot in before on a mission last year.

She had only had a few months of complete recovery before she had been incapcitated again by this last gunshot wound. She grimaced. It wasn't really that unusual. Being shot was all part of a day's work in Section One.

Trying to forget the pain, Jilly adjusted the pillow under her head and settled herself, making an attempt to sleep again. After a full five minutes of keeping her eyes determinedly closed, she sighed again and opened her eyes, staring off into the darkness.

She lay there turning over her options, debating with herself about whether she should take the pain pills the Section doctor had given her. She realized in dismay that they were not here on the nightstand. She had left them in the kitchen.

Jilly groaned. The act of getting out of bed, something that should be so automatic and mindless, was now a torturous, painstaking ritual since her injury. It took forever, it seemed to her, requiring a complicated series of incremental changes in position, careful shifts of weight and balance to manoeveur to a sitting position without hurting the leg too much.

She sighed and decided it was easier to just lie there.

A soft noise at the window broke her concentration on her aches and pains. She was instantly alert, all the muscles in her body tensing along with the ones in her leg.

Still feigning sleep, she slipped her hand carefully under her pillow and retrieved the gun she always kept there, then slowly began to lift her head up....

Before she could raise up either her upper body or the gun, they were on her. Two figures in black rushed her, and she felt herself flipped over on her back and pinned to the bed.

One of the intruders held her down by her arms, the other had her legs. The first man had twisted the gun out of her hand as she tried to punch him. The second one she had attempted to kick, but was thwarted by the sudden sharp pain in her leg when she moved.

Now she lay helpless, grunting in pain. Despite the agony it caused her, she still struggled to free herself from her assailants.

"Let me go, you bastards!" she cursed them, twisting futilely in their grip.

One of the men laughed, and she felt a gun barrel pressed to her temple.

"It's all over, Love," he said, cocking the trigger. "You're dead."

Jilly froze. The voice sounded very familiar.

"Mowen?" she said uncertainly.

In the dark, her handsome fellow operative grinned, and loosened his grip on her, pulling the gun away from her head. "That's me," he acknowledged, laughing.

"What the hell is going on?" Jilly demanded, still wriggling.

From the corner of the room, a soft French-accented voice gave a command.

"All right," said Michael. "Exercise over."

***********

Michael hit the light switch and Jilly blinked in the sudden glare. She glanced briefly at the two men above her, but her eyes soon settled on the one with the real power over her-- Michael.

He stood staring at her solemnly, the light catching in his gray-green eyes. She thought he looked almost... sad.

"Jesus, what is this about, for God's sake?" she demanded.

Michael stayed where he was, voice still soft. "We had to see if you could perform," he said.

"Perform?" Jilly asked, staring back.

Cooper, the operative at the foot of the bed who still held her legs, laughed.

"Yeah, it looks you're not up to going out on missions just yet," he taunted in a sneering voice. "Not up to speed AT ALL...."

He laughed again, and moved one hand up higher on the bare skin of her uninjured thigh. "If we had been enemies for real, you'd be dead by now..."

Cooper gave the leg a squeeze, still chuckling.

In an instant, Jilly pulled her hands from Mowen's loosened grip and snatched the gun from him. A second later Cooper was looking down the barrel of it and into Jilly's angry eyes.

"You're the one who's going to be dead if you don't take your hand off my thigh," she intoned through clenched teeth. "NOW!"

Cooper gulped, no longer laughing.

"I suggest you do as she says," said Michael, a lilt of amusement in his voice.

Cooper slowly backed off, releasing her. Jilly sighed and handed the gun back to Mowen.

Michael through both the men a commanding look. "Wait outside," he ordered.

Her gaze locked with Michael's, Jilly hardly noticed that the men had left. All at once she was finding it hard to breathe, as if all the air in her lungs had been sucked out. She was cold, afraid.

Just as suddenly as the flash of fear came, it was gone, replaced by a a wave of relief and resignation. It was over. Finally, it was over.

"Are you going to cancel me?" she asked, her voice level. She sounded almost blase', even to her own ears.

Michael's steady gaze flickered for a moment, then was back.

"No," he said quietly.

Jilly let out the breath she had been holding all at once in a deep sigh. She let her head fall back on the pillow and closed her eyes.

"Oh," was all she managed to say.

"We need to talk," he said softly.

She opened her eyes to see Michael holding out her robe to her. Their eyes locked again for a moment, and then she took it from him and began the arduous process of sitting up.

Expertly, deftly, he helped her, supporting her with a hand at her back and letting her pull on his arms for leverage.

When she had manoeveured her feet over to the side of the bed and was sitting upright, he released her. She put her arms through the sleeves of the robe and tugged it closed over her thin T-shirt and bikini panties, grateful that he had turned away while she did so, suddenly shy.

When she had the robe belt tied securely around her waist, she looked up to see his hand extended to her again.

She gripped it as he helped her to stand. As soon as she was on her feet he released her. Still silent, he walked out of the bedroom. She trailed slowly behind him into the kitchen.

"What does this mean, Michael?" she asked him when after a few minutes he still did not speak.

"What happens now? Now that I failed your little test?" Jilly queried calmly. "Am I in abeyance?"

Michael sighed as if in frustration and pushed a lock of hair back behind one ear.

"No. No, you're not in abeyance," he told her. "You'll be on probationary status until you.. recover. You won't be going on any missions again until then."

"I see," answered Jilly. The unspoken threat lay between them; if she didn't recover fully, she'd be cancelled.

"And just what do I do 'til then?" She tilted her head, and tried to sound flippant. "Am I on vacation?"

Michael admired her bravery. He had seen much tougher men than she handle this kind of news much less serenely than she. The fact that she understood the situation and accepted it made his sometimes unbearable job much easier.

"No, you'll still be working," he told her. "You'll be re-assigned to a support area."

"Oh," she said, still flippant. "Typing and filing, I guess?"

He smiled in spite of himself. "Something like that."

She nodded.

"You start tomorrow," he said. "Five a.m."

***********

Michael gave her one last look and then turned to leave. Jilly stood numbly in the kitchen, listening to his footsteps in the living room as he approached the front door and heard him open it.

Suddenly it hit her that she couldn't let him leave just yet. Turning, she limped after him as fast as she could, arriving breathlessly in the living room in time to see him with his hand still on the door handle.

She wasn't too late.

"Michael?" she gasped out.

"Yes?" He turned to face her, the green eyes again looking solemnly into hers.

"Uh.... I... uh..." She stammered, her courage faltering. Now that he was here, and she had the opportunity, she found it hard to say the words. She cleared her throat and tried again.

"Could you do something for me?" she began again. "A favor?"

He paused. "If I can," he answered warily. Promises were hard to keep in Section where there were no guarantees. He did not want to have to break one to her.

"If I don't make it," Jilly plunged on, the words coming out in a rush, "I want you to be the one to cancel me."

Her eyes pleaded with his. "Please," she said.

Michael flinched. "Why? Why me?"

She took a deep breath and went on. "Because.... because I'd like my death, when it comes, to have a little dignity..."

And because...." Jilly turned her face away from him, and lowered her voice. ".... I respect you...."

She looked up at him then, and their eyes met again, his softening. He looked somewhat disconcerted and she realized she had managed to fluster the usually totally controlled and stoic Michael.

"Don't look so shocked, Michael," she said, grinning, suddenly struck with the macabre humor of the situation.

"Everyone knows that everything you do, you do with style. And a lot of class...." Her grin widened. "Way more than Cooper....."

Despite himself, Michael let a small smile creep up his lips. He gave her the slightest nod of assent, and opened the door wider.

"Get some rest," he told her in parting, and then he was through the door and gone.

Jilly stared after him, slumping against the wall.

"Yeah, RIGHT," she said outloud. "REST..... Sure...."

Leave it to Section to demand the impossible, she thought.

She limped back into the kitchen and noticed the bottle of pain pills on the counter. Pushing them aside, she began instead to make herself a pot of strong coffee to help her get through the long vigil til morning.

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

Jilly walked haltingly up to the head of the work-station where she had been ordered to report. She stood in silent respect next to her new boss, not wishing to disturb him where he sat totally absorbed in his work.

"Hi there, Sugar. What's shakin'?" Walter said absently, giving his standard greeting to all female ops. He frowned, concentrating on the delicate task before him.

*Me* Jilly thought to herself. *In my shoes*. "Hi, Walter," she said timidly.

Walter looked up from the circuit board he was soldering and eyed the wan-faced girl before him. She was pale and looked like she hadn't slept much.

"What can I do for ya, Sugar?" His voice was more kind than suggestively lewd. Jilly looked like she'd had a hard night. He gave her a reassuring smile.

Jilly smiled tentatively back. "That's what I'm supposed to be asking you," she said softly.

"Huh?" Walter dropped the soldering iron on his work table with a clatter and stared at her. "What do you mean?"

"I've been assigned to help you," she answered hesitatingly. "To be your assistant."

Walter stiffened. Did they think he couldn't handle the job? Did they think he was too OLD? Or was Jilly sent to keep an eye on him?

"WHY?" He said angrily, the word coming out more sharply than he had meant. "Why are you really here?"

Jilly understood the question and was not offended. "I'm here because they don't know what else to do with me until my leg heals...."

Walter looked up at her, old blue eyes meeting frightened young ones. A look of complete understanding passed between them as they held the glance for a few moments.

Walter nodded, and picked up his tools again. "Yeah, sure, O.K.," he said in mock gruffness.

"That'll be fine. Just do EXACTLY what I say and don't TOUCH anything unless I tell you to, got it?" He smiled at her to let her know he was only partly teasing.

Jilly let out a relieved sigh and smiled back. "Got it," she said gratefully. "You're the boss, Boss."

He grinned. "I like the sound of that. I could use someone to order around around here..."

Jilly smiled at his lie, knowing he was humoring her. Walter obviously didn't really need her help.

"So, order me," she said. "What do you want me to do?"

Walter figured it was time for an obligatory leer and lewd remark. If she was going to work with him, she'd have to get used to it.

His eyes twinkled. "Well, now, that depends...."

"How are you at handling ... equipment?" he said suggestively.

"What kind of equipment?" she asked innocently.

He smiled and tilted his head toward the rack of high-powered rifles behind him. "This kind," he said. "Long, hard, dangerous.."

He pulled one to the rifles from the rack and tossed it to her. Jilly caught it expertly and gave the barrel of it a light, slow caress all along its length with one finger.

Batting her lashes, she lowered her voice coquettishly. "I'm very, VERY good," she said in her best bedroom voice.

Walter laughed loudly and pointed to the table next to him. "Good! Then you can start with that one there. Break it down and clean it. Then you can do the rest..."

Jilly nodded, and gave him a little bow. "Yes, Boss," she said grinning.

She put the weapon on the table and carefully settled herself on the workbench, finding a comfortable position for the stiff, aching leg, and pulled the gun toward her.

Soon she was absorbed in her task, feeling almost happy. *This isn't so bad* she thought, as she worked. *Beats being dead, anyway.....*

She did not realize Walter had been watching her and had seen the emotions flickering over her face. She was startled when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at him in surprise. The pat on her shoulder was fatherly and kind.

"It'll be O.K., Kid," he said.

Jilly ducked her head, not wanting him to see her sudden tears. "Yeah, sure," she said, her voice trembling.

He gave her shoulder one last pat and went back to his bench.

"Walter?"

He looked up to see Jilly smiling at him, her eyes suspiciously bright. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Thanks, Boss," she said.

"Yeah, yeah," he said in gruff dismissal. "Get back to work."

Jilly nodded, and looked away, bending her head over the table top again, but not before she had seen the huge grin on the old man's face that he was unable to hide.

***********

The day wore on, the time flying by more quickly than Jilly had expected. She worked quietly through the afternoon with Walter and learned that she had an aptitude for this new assignment. He usually only had to show her something once, at the most twice, before she could take over his tasks from him.

Of course, the really delicate jobs he did himself.

They had established a cozy comaraderie as they worked side by side, Walter finding her presence soothing instead of annoying as he had expected it to be.

It occured to him that Jilly was incredibly mature for her age. He laughed to himself. *And I'm pretty immature for mine* he thought. He supposed they got along so well because they were both at the same level.

Later that evening the cozy atmosphere in the equipment bay changed radically and suddenly over to a new dynamic as their two-some was joined by a steady stream of operatives prepping for a mission.

The assault rifles Jilly had cleaned were quickly emptied from their rack, as well as the comm units and other devices she had checked and tested during the day.

Jilly watched in admiration as Walter handled the commotion with serenity and ease. The whirlwind of activity was almost reminiscent of backstage at the theater before the curtain went up.

The operatives milled about nervously, tensions high, adrenaline pumping, like actors before an opening night performance. But this was not a play they were in; this was life or death. Some of them might not be coming back.

Jilly realized it was not just the weapons that Walter prepared, but the operatives themselves. Jilly watched admiringly as he handled the operatives with as much skill as he handled the equipment, instinctively knowing just what to say to each one.

To the quiet, thoughtful ones who just wanted a small pause in time to compose themselves and think, Walter gave a short greeting and efficient service.

To others less serene he offered a joke, usually lewd,to break the tension. Sometimes he would pat one of the men on the back and say something encouraging, almost wise, in their ear. Others received a seemingly viscious, but actually good-hearted, teasing.

At first Jilly hung back, trying to stay out of Walter's way as he worked. But he motioned her forward, and encouraged her to help the next operative in line.

"You can do it," he told her. "Just give him the same supplies I gave the last one, O.K.?"

She nodded. She had been watching closely and knew what to do. Nervously, she looked up into the face of the black-clad man before her.

"Mowen!" she exclaimed, a little flustered.

"Hi, Jilly," he said, smiling. "Uh, I was wondering....."

She handed him his comm-unit and looked up at him. "Yes?"

The usually self-assured operative looked uncomfortable. "What I mean is, I hope you're not ticked at me about the other night..."

He blushed. "Jumping you in your bedroom, and all..."

The operative behind him, a short blonde named Ken, overheard them and whooped out, grinning, "Woo hoo! You jumped her, man?"

Walter and Mowen both shot him dirty looks. "Shut up, Ken," Mowen told him in a menacing tone.

Ken backed off, the grin dissapearing. Mowen was bigger, taller, and, thanks to Jilly, now armed with a deadly weapon. Ken realized retreat was the wisest tactical move he could make.

"Uh, sorry," he threw out, retreating to the back of the line. "No offense. O.K.?"

Mowen turned back to Jilly and shyly continued his apology. "I hope you'll let me make it up to you by taking you out sometime..."

"Oh!" Jilly hadn't been expecting this and she looked at Walter for guidance, unsure what to say.

Walter leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. "Never turn a soldier down flat just before he goes into battle. It's bad for morale. Let him think he's got a chance...."

Jilly smiled and turned back to Mowen. "Sure. Maybe sometime..."

Mowen gave her a wide grin. "O.K.! Thanks! See ya when I get back?" he asked.

She nodded and smiled again warmly. "Sure. When you get back."

The tall man smiled and gathering his equipment off the table, went whistling down the hall to van access where the mission was loading.

"Good work, Kid," Walter told her under his breath.

"Thanks, Boss," she said, smiling, and turned to help the next operative in line.

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

The next operative in line proved to be someone that Jilly knew from a computer class several months ago. She greeted him, smiled, and gave him his weapons along with a little encouragement. She could almost feel the man relax as she spoke to him.

"I know you'll do fine, Carter," she told him. "You were always the smartest guy in the class..."

Carter laughed. "Smarter than Birkoff?"

"Of course not," she dead-panned. "No one is. But you come the closest. You almost beat him once at Quake, didn't you?"

"Yeah, that's right. I did," the young man beamed, remembering a past triumph. "Thanks, Jilly," he said, and strode with new confidence toward the egress point.

Jilly was beginning to relax and gain confidence, too. She looked at Walter who gave her the thumbs up sign.

And so the next half hour went, Jilly falling into synch with the rest of the team, playing her role along with the other performers, following her part with occasional prompting from Walter in his role as stage director.

She found she knew most of the twenty or so operatives already, some better than others. She was beginning to sense from them what Walter did from long experience- they all needed encouragement; it was up to her to figure out what form that encouragement should take.

More quickly than she expected, their task was nearing completion, the whirlwind of activity slowing down. Walter had retreated to the far corner of the equipment bay to go over an inventory list on his desk.

Jilly looked up to smile at the last man in line, who stood shyly back from the table.

"Hey, Miguel," she said, holding out the comm-unit. "I've got your stuff all ready for you."

Miguel Salazar made no move to take the device from her. His eyes, liquid and dark, roamed wildly over the alcove of the equipment bay, as if looking for a means of escape.

"Miguel?" Jilly asked. "You O.K.?"

The handsome young Hispanic flinched, jumping nervously at her words. "No," he said, his voice rising in panic. "No, I'm not O.k..."

He stepped closer to her, his eyes fixing upon her as if he were a drowning man and she was holding out a life-line.

"I'm not going to make it," he declared, chest heaving as he gulped air in short rapid breaths. "I'm going to die tonight....."

Jilly walked as rapidly as she could to his side of the work-table and pulled him toward the corner. She looked around and noticed with relief that no one had been near enough to over-hear him.

She gave his arm a hard squeeze and lowered her voice. "Miguel," she whipered urgently. "Don't talk like that. Everything will be fine..."

"No!" he said sharply. He gripped her by her elbows and pulled her closer to him and began speaking in an anguished whisper.

"The signs are there," he said. "A black crow tapped on my window last night..."

"Miguel!" Jilly was tempted to dismiss his fears at first as superstitions, but then remembered she had several of her own. Just last night she had sensed the ominous currents swirling around her and had felt the urgent need to talk to Michael about helping her die with dignity.

As operatives, they all lived very closely to Death and had good instincts about when it came near. She couldn't dismiss what Miguel was feeling as just jitters. On every mission the chance was always there that it would be the last, that they wouldn't come back.

Maybe Miguel sensed that game was against him now, and he would not be able to escape his fate. Jilly decided it was a waste of time to argue with him about it now, especially if his instincts later proved to be correct.

Instead she lifted her hand to stroke his cheek, and met his eyes solemnly. "What can I do to help?" she asked quietly.

At her calm acceptance the young man seemed to calm as well. He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, his eyes infinitely sad.

"There's nothing you can do. It's too late to get a priest to say last rites. Or even a prayer..."

She gripped his shoulder. "I can say prayers," she said softly.

Hiis eyes searched her face, a glint of hope lighting their dark depths. "You can?" he asked. "You believe in God?"

"Yes." The answer came swiftly out of her mouth, said without hesitation and with total conviction.

Jilly had never been a church-goer in her life before Section, and what she knew of religious ritual was sketchy at best. But she had always had a sense that something greater than just chance was at work in the world.

She knew that on some higher level, there was a purpose for everything. She was sure that it all MEANT something, even if she couldn't figure out what that was.

"Yes, I believe," she said.

Miguel took her hand in both of his and pleaded with her. "Then will you do something for me? Please?"

He took a set of rosary beads out of his pocket, and pushed them into her hand. They were lovely, delicate and light, but Jilly felt the weight of them like a heavy burden in her hand.

"You will go to the church and say the prayers for me, and light a candle, yes?" He waited breathlessly for her answer.

Jilly had no choice but to agree to the request of the earnest and tormented human being before her.

"Yes. Yes, I'll go. I promise," she vowed solemnly.

Miguel dropped his hands from hers and let out a sigh. Jilly could see the set of his shoulders relaxing as soon as her promise was uttered. A look of calm acceptance came over his face, and he smiled at her.

Numbly, holding the rosary beads to her chest, Jilly watched as he stepped to the table and retrieved his equipment. He nodded to her and turned to walk down the hallway to van access. To walk to his death.

"WAIT!" Jilly cried, and ran to him.

"Yes?" Miguel turned back to look at her, almost impatient at the delay, now that he was reconciled to his fate.

Jilly reached up her arms and gave him a brief, fierce hug. "Vaya con Dios," she said softly into his shoulder. "May angels go with you."

He hugged her back, just as fiercely, and then stepped away from her. "Vaya con Dios," he said, blessing her in return.

He turned and gave her one last smile, and then was gone.

Jilly slumped against the work table, letting the tears spill over. She still clutched the beads to her breast.

Walter came from out of his work area to stand next to her. He put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "Good job, Kid," he said.

Jilly said nothing, just cried a little harder.

"Think that was rough, do ya?" he quipped gruffly, clapping her on the back a few times. "Now comes the hard part..."

Jilly stared at him. How could it get any harder than what she had just gone through? "Hard part?" she gasped.

"Yeah," he sighed, settling himself wearily on a stool next to her.

The wise blue eyes looked at her sadly. "Now," he said grimly, "We wait."

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

Taking a deep breath for courage, Jilly pushed open the tall door and stepped haltingly into the dimly lit space, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the change from the bright glare of morning outside.

When her vision cleared she took in a breath at the sight- it was beautiful here. Soft colors from the stained glass windows on either side spilled onto the polished oak pews. The light had a warm, golden quality that touched the cold stone of the walls and made them seem lit from within.

The walls rose high above her head, soaring up to meet at a peak in the center. The height made her feel at once small and insignifigant, as well as comforted and protected. The vast room was quiet, a hushed peace seeming to fill it. Jilly felt strangely comforted as she stood drinking in the atmosphere of the sanctuary.

She swept her eyes downward from the heights back to the pews. They were empty except for one elderly woman in black who knelt, head bowed, in one of the front rows.

Jilly limped slowly forward, planning on taking a seat near the back. Before she had gone very far, the old woman, finishing her prayers, rose to leave and slid to the end of the pew.

Jilly watched carefully as the woman faced the altar, bent one knee in respectful humility, and did something complicated with hands, a gesture...

The younger woman's heart sank. *How can I do this?* she thought. She didn't know the rituals, didn't know the forms, didn't know what words to say, didn't know how to pray for Salazar...

The old lady brushed past her in the aisle, giving her a slight smile. Jilly smiled uncertainly back at her, and took a few more steps down the aisle. She heard the heavy door close behind her; she was alone.

Steeling herself, Jilly picked a row to slip into and hesitated. She had promised. She would try to follow the rituals as well as she could. It was the least she could do. If she was going to do this, at least she wouldn't do it half-heartedly...

Feeling awkward, Jilly faced the altar and bent one knee, lowering her weight onto the good leg. She wobbled a little bit and steadied herself by holding onto the arm of the pew.

Jilly bowed her head, and then rose after genuflecting, and slipped into the seat. She forgo making the sign of the cross, deciding that her fumbled attempts would be more disrespectful than doing nothing at all.

Sliding further down the pew, she looked down to see the kneeler bench all along its length. Gripping the back of the pew in front of her for support, Jilly carefully lowered herself onto her knees. Her injured leg twinged in protest, but she ignored it.

Jilly groped in her coat pocket, her hand closing around the the small bundle of the rosary. She held the beads in her hands, fingering them idly. She knew there were words to say with each bead, but she didn't know those prayers either. She would have to say them her own way.

She closed her eyes and let the peace of the place sink in. After a moment, she relaxed enough to begin, feeling the comfort surround her. It was as if this sacred space welcomed her, in spite of her past and the horrible things she did now in the name of the greater good.

She tilted her head, eyes still closed, listening. It was almost as if a voice had spoken to her inside her mind, telling her it was all right, that her prayers would be heard....

Jilly rested her head on her folded hands and waited for the right words to come.

Suddenly she felt the pain well up inside her and break free, the words coming out on an anguished sob that was torn from her throat.

"Oh, God," she cried, tears streaming, "He was so young.... just a kid..."

Behind her closed eyelids Miguel's face rose before her. Images played across her mind like a movie in fast forward, memories swirling together...

She knew Miguel had come from a poor family, had gotten involved with gangs at a young age, and had ended up in prison. Then recruited by Section One. It was a familiar story; it was everyone's story. Miguel had been no different than the rest of them.

They were all struggling with their past crimes, all struggling with theever increasing weight of fresh sins committed on behalf of Section.

The sins piled up, added together, growing with each atrocity, with each impossible choice, until they were crushed under the burden of their guilt....

Jilly sobbed brokenly. "Oh, God..... oh, God...."

No other words came, only those, as she cried out her heart's sorrow. But somewhere deep inside a wordless plea rose up from her soul to soar into the heights of the church and beyond.

*Forgive me..... Have mercy..... Help me....*

She cried for herself as much as for Miguel. She cried for all of them. She cried for a young boy who had died in prison, and then died again last night, taken by a terrorist's bullet...

Gradually the tears, so unbearably painful at first, eased, as did the pressure of the burden on her soul.

Somehow she knew that her obligation to Miguel had been satisfied, that her tears and the genuine outpouring of her heart's remorse had been accepted here in the Lord's house, perhaps more accepted than any proper prayers, said by rote, would ever had been.

She felt suddenly lighter, at peace. She felt a presence, a strength nearby... An angel, perhaps? It was almost as if there was someone there with her, watching over her...

Her sobs eased and she looked up, straight into the angel's green eyes.

"Michael?" she gasped. "What are you doing here?"

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

Michael had entered the church and paused in the doorway, his eyes riveting on Jilly where she knelt, head bent, crying softly.

He knew why she was there; he had received the mission report that morning--- three dead, five wounded, and their target, a ruthless Red Cell arms dealer named Kerchin, had escaped. A total failure.

Miguel Salazar was one of the listed dead. Walter, face grim, eyes red-rimmed, had told him where Jilly had gone.

He walked softly down the aisle to stand next to Jilly. Absorbed in her own anguished thoughts, she had not heard his footsteps approaching over the sound of her sobbing.

He paused again, feeling he was violating her privacy. He decided not to interrupt her just yet, but stood in the aisle and averted his eyes from her in respect.

His gaze took in the beautiful stained glass and he smelled the familiar scent of incense and candles. It had been a long time since he had been in a church, a long time since he had prayed.

Not that he hadn't prayed often in his early years in Section. He had prayed before missions, prayed while facing death during missions, prayed while his team-mates fell around him...

Michael recalled how often he had done what Jilly was doing now- mourn the dead. There had been so many lost, so many he had lost count, so many he couldn't remember them all.

He didn't want to remember. Sometimes the only way he had to deal with the memories was to shove them down, deny them, close them off, not feel anything.....

They were all officially dead anyway to the outside world. Michael found it easier to deal with the unrelenting losses, the people ripped violently from his life, by thinking of them as dead already. He began to think of himself as dead. Not outwardly, but inside....

He stood now in the aisle, a dark ghost in the golden light of the church. He turned back to gaze solemnly at Jilly again.

*I'm sorry* he thought to himself. *Sorry about Salazar. Sorry about what I have to do now...*

As if she had heard his unspoken words, Jilly lifted her head and looked up at him with tear-filled eyes.

"Michael?" She gasped. "What are you doing here?"

His green eyes held hers for a moment, then he looked away, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he clenched it hard.

"Michael?" she asked again.

He turned back to her, finding the words hard to get out.

"You've been called in. As soon as we a get a location, we'll be going after Kerchin again."

Jilly looked confused. "You mean, you want me to help Walter again?"

"No," he said, his eyes sad. "You'll be in play. You'll take point on Team One."

Jilly's eyes widened in shock. A flurry of questions raced through her mind.

* Why me? Why now? What about the leg? Were they so short-handed for ops that they were going to send her in before she had fully recovered from her injury?*

A worse thought occured to her, making her stay silent, not asking any of her questions outloud.

*Was this a suicide mission? Were they sending her in as an obeyance op? Would her name join Salazar's on the list of the dead?*

Unable to speak, she merely nodded her assent. There was nothing else she could do.

"Are you done here?" Michael asked gently, looking around the church.

Jilly gripped the beads more tightly in her hand and held them against her breast for a moment before slipping them back in her pocket.

"Yes," she told him calmly. "All done."

He offered his hand to her and she took it, leaning on his arm as he helped her rise and exit the pew. When she was standing in the aisle on her own, he dropped her hand and preceded her down the aisle to the doorway.

Jilly paused, stopping for a moment to drink in one last breath of golden-lit air before following him out of the sanctuary.

***********

Jilly rubbed her hand up and down her black clad thigh from the knee to where her holstered gun was strapped to the top of her thigh. The leg ached abominably, the pain exacerbated by the jostling ride she was getting in the Section van.

The terrain they were going over was bumpy and rough. Kerchin's hideaway was a long way off the highway, in an abandoned house that once was an elegant plantation.

From the feel of it, Jilly guessed that the long drive up to the house hadn't been worked on since the house had been built. It was only fit for a horse and buggy, she thought grimly, as the van lurched along.

"Alpha point in three minutes," announced Birkoff from where he sat across from her, hunched over his laptop.

Her team- mates tensed up around her, going on alert, all turning to look at their mission leader as he stood near the doorway of the swaying van.

"All right," ordered Michael. "Jilly, you'll take point. The goal is the computer in the office on the second floor."

"What about Kerchin?" asked an operative from the back.

"This is a sattelite location. We don't think he's here," Michael answered. "He's most likely at Red Cell's main headquarters."

He glanced around the vehicle, catching the eye of each operative in turn with a stern look. "But anything's possible. His men are everywhere."

"Watch for traps. Stay alert." This last was said while he stared at Jilly. She met his gaze and shook her head in assent.

"O'Toole, Watkins- you're Team Two. You'll be back-up. Carter, Mowen- you'll cover the perimeter."

The men nodded. The van rumbled on, and with one last jostling bump, lurched to a halt. Michael flung the door wide then looked at Jilly.

"O.K., let's go."

Jilly felt her throat go dry. "Yeah, let's go," she croaked out.

She rose stiffly from her seat, her leg twinging painfully at the sudden movement. In a few limping steps she crossed to the door, her teammates rising and standing behind her, waiting their turn to exit.

Michael stopped her with his hand on her arm before she stepped out into the night.

"Good Luck," he said softly, the moonlight gleaming in his green eyes.

Jilly held his gaze for a moment, nodding her head. She knew something more was going on with this mission than what he had told her. She flashed him a look back.

*Remember your promise, Michael* she said silently with her eyes. *Make it quick and easy for me. Please.*

"Thanks," she said outloud.

Michael nodded his head imperceptibly in assent. "Go," he ordered.

Jilly set her mouth in a grim line and from long practice, switched into mission-mode, mind clear and calm.

Her team following closely behind her, she exited swiftly into the night.

The play had begun.

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

Jilly waited in the bushes near the huge white house, holding position until the guards passed by again on their rounds. She was sheltered behind a large tree with wide, glossy leaves, branches spreading out all the way to the ground. The rich heady scent of its flowers assaulted her senses with its overpowering sweetness.

*So that's what magnolia blossoms smell like* she thought idly to herself.

Pulling her attention back to the building, she saw the two men in camouflage walk desultorily by, talking and smoking cigarettes. Obviously the guards were not expecting any action tonight.

*Good. We'll take them by surprise.* she thought. *We need all the advantages we can get.*

She waited until the guards had strolled around the corner of the building, and then made her move. As quickly as she could, she limped across the lawn and up to the side door of the house, pressing her back up against the wall.

"Birkoff?" she asked into her comm-unit.

"We're not reading any alarm systems," the young voice answered. "You're clear."

Jilly fished in one of her vest pockets and took out a tool. Within minutes the door was unlocked. She pushed it open slowly, and saw that the hallway was clear and empty in front of her, her access to the stairs unblocked.

She stepped stealthily inside the house. "I'm in," she reported in a whisper.

"O.K. Up the stairs, third door on the right," Birkoff's voice directed.

Jilly pulled her gun from its holster and went toward the stairs, staying close to the walls. She noted with relief that this wing of the house seemed empty, but she could hear voices coming from the main part of the house. It sounded like they were all in the kitchen, having a party.

No one stopped her as she went quickly up the stairs and found herself in front of the door to Kerchin's office. There had been no one in the upstairs hallway, either.

*This is too easy* she thought, feeling apprehensive. She shoved the thought away and tried the door handle. It was unlocked.

She pushed the door open while at the same time she flung herself back against the wall, out of the line of fire. No one shot at her; the office was dark and empty.

Jilly closed the door behind her and holstering her gun, took a seat at the desk.

"I'm at the computer, Birkoff."

"Good," he instructed. "Look for anything having to do with project "Swan Song". Kerchin is planning some bombing attacks on government buildings."

"Got it." Jilly switched on the computer and began her search. *So far, so good* she thought, as she scrolled through the vast amount of files, looking....

Suddenly the door burst open and the lights blazed on. Two large men rushed at her. Before she could get her gun out of its holster and bring it up to fire, they had disarmed her and pinned her down on top of the desk, slamming her down on top of it.

White-hot pain lanced through her leg at the impact, and she cried out. The men handled her roughly, one of them gripping her by the injured leg, squeezing it painfully.

The attack by her fellow Section ops in her apartment had been gentle in comparison. She wished it was Mowen again who held her now. Or, hell, even Carter. Carter wasn't really so bad....

"Well, well," said a gloating voice from the doorway. "What do we have here?"

Looking past the men who held her, Jilly looked straight into the eyes of Salazar's killer. Kerchin.

He had thinning gray hair brushed straight back from his high forehead and a distinguished air; he looked like he should be a college professor, a gentle intellectual. But his eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses were the cold, dead eyes of a killer.

The guards hauled Jilly up off the desk and holding by her arms, brought her up to a standing position before their leader.

Kerchin glared at her. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" he demanded.

Jilly grinned suddenly at him. "I'm one of Santa's elves," she said, smirking. "I'm here checking to see if you've been naughty or nice..."

Kerchin backhanded her, his palm cracking loudly against her cheek.

Jilly saw stars for a moment, then quickly recovered. She turned her head to look defiantly back at him, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

"That wasn't very NICE," she said, panting. "No toys under the Christmas tree for you...."

With an angry grunt, Kerchin struck her again. This time the world blinked out completely and she slumped, unconscious, between the two guards.

"Take her to the car," said Kerchin, anticipation in his voice. "I think I need to have a more in-depth conversation with our.... visitor."

The men nodded and dragged their captive between them out of the room and down the stairs.

Mowen's voice came over the comm-link to Michael and Birkoff in the van.

"Jilly's been taken," he reported. "Shall we go in and retrieve her?"

Michael rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. It was going just as planned. *God, how I hate this job* he thought.

"No," he told his team. "Everyone hold position."

"Michael?" Birkoff stared at him with a stunned expression on his face.

Michael glared back. "Just.... just shut up," he hissed. "Just do the job."

This last was said almost to himself and not to Birkoff.

Michael threw his comm-unit on the table where it clattered loudly and sat down abruptly on the van bench, his head in his hands, eyes closed.

Birkoff was silent. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn that Michael was praying.

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

Jilly woke up to a strong smell in her nostrils. This time it was not the sweet perfume of magnolia blossoms, but the acrid fumes of an ammonia capsule broken under her nose.

She flinched back from its pungency, head coming up. She realized quickly she was tied down to a chair by her ankles and wrists. Groggily, she blinked her eyes and looked up angrily at her tormentor.

Kerchin laughed, amused at her defiant glance. He liked the spunky ones. It made it so much more fun when they broke. He enjoyed a challenge.

He looked around the large, laboratory-type room with satisfaction. He had brought his captive here to the Red Cell main headquarters because he knew that here he would have everything he needed to break his prisoner.

The plantation house, though useful, lacked the variety of equipment he needed. Headquarters, om the other hand, had the latest and most efficient devices known to the modern terrorist world.

His captive was obviously well-trained, and strong. But she would break, all right. He was certain of that. It was just a matter of figuring out which, of the many methods available, to use on her.

So far, regular beatings had gotten nothing out of her. But he liked to keep his methods simple. He would try beating her again. For now.

"Let's go over this again, shall we?" he said in a pleasant tone. Kerchin grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head back so that she was forced to look up at him.

"Who do you work for?" He shouted at her.

Despite her pain, Jilly gave him a challenging look and a smile. "I TOLD you," she said tauntingly. "Santa Claus....."

Infuriated, Kerchin slapped her. Jilly's head snapped back from the blow, then lolled forward. Consciousness winked out for a moment, then was back.

She looked up at his angry, red face and managed a small, weak laugh.

Kerchin gripped her face by the chin and tilted her head back. "We'll see just how funny you think this is when I get through with you..."

He leaned his face close to hers and and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. The caress unnerved her far more than any of his blows had done.

"I promise you, Sweetheart, you'll never forget the time you spend with me...." he whispered intimately against her cheek.

Despite her bravado, Jilly shuddered in his grasp, a tremor of cold dread shooting through her.

Kerchin laughed. "Wait here," he taunted. "I'll just go get a few things ready for your.... entertainment...."

He turned away and crossed the room, fumbling in a drawer in a nearby table. When he returned, Jilly's eyes widened in alarm when she saw the syringe in his hand.

"No! No!" Jilly struggled uselessly as he pushed up her sleeve and plunged the needle in.

The last thing she remembered before she blacked out was hearing Kerchin's laughter.....

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

Kerchin was right, Jilly thought. She would never forget this. The pain was incredible.

She could hardly believe that the drug he had given her could cause such agony. Her heart felt so large in her chest, the pressure so great she thought it would burst. If her lungs didn't first. It felt like her chest would explode with each anguished breath.

"That tightening and that burning you feel in your chest will only get worse," Kerchin told her gleefully.

"Why don't you just tell me what I want to know?" he continued in a reasonable tone. "I already know you work for Section One. Just tell me where there main command center is and I'll let you go."

"All right," she gasped out. "I'll tell you...."

Kerchin smirked triumphantly and leaned closer. "Yes. I'm listening."

It was beyond her power to smile, but her eyes still held a defiant gleam. "Santa's Village... The North Pole...." she panted.

Angrily, Kerchin grabbed her by her shirt-front and shook her. The movement intensified her pain to a new level almost beyond her endurance. Jilly bit her lip to keep from screaming. She closed her eyes tightly shut, waiting for the next blow to come.

To her surprise, none came. She felt her tormentor release her suddenly, and she forced open her eyes to look at him, a moan escaping her lips.

Kerchin stood before her, his eyes wide with fear. A black-clad figure behind him had one arm around his throat and the other held a gun to Kerchin's head.

Jilly saw the glint of green eyes in the mask-covered face of the man in black. She sobbed in relief. "Michael..."

From all directions more black-clad figures came. Jilly realized groggily through her haze of pain that Section operatives had taken over the Red Cell compound.

She heard through her fog Michael's voice giving orders, directing the men. He shoved Kerchin toward two of them as they approached.

"Take him to the van," Michael told them, his tone showing his distaste for the man he held captive, green eyes blazing.

She was free. She was rescued. Jilly whimpered, the relief assuaging but not overcoming the pain.

Michael came closer, and she tried to smile at him, but couldn't manage it. He pulled off his mask, and she could see the green eyes more clearly, concern in their depths.

He put his hand against her cheek, and she closed her eyes, weariness and pain overcoming her.

The hand on her cheek was removed and she expected to feel his hands next on her wrists, releasing her bonds, but instead she felt them moving on her neck. For some reason, Michael was pulling the collar of her shirt back....

She looked up to see him holding a syringe, ready to plunge it in her carotid artery. His face held an infinite sadness, her agony and his own reflected in his eyes.

Suddenly, it was all very clear. He was fufilling his promise, she thought in shock. He was ending it for her. She closed her eyes again.

*I'm cancelled. *I'm dead.*

A deep calm stole over her. She accepted it.

*So be it*

It was the last thought she had before she felt the needle plunge in and the darkness engulf her.

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

It was over. She was dead.

It wasn't quite like she had expected. There was no tunnel, just a sudden black oblivion that engulfed her. She welcomed the darkness. Welcomed the surcease of pain and the sweet peace of nothingness...

After a time, she didn't know if it had been long or short, minutes or days, the darkness lifted. There was suddenly, in the nothingness, something. A light. Voices.

She opened her eyes to glaringly bright light and quickly shut them again. She lay, groggy and confused, eyes closed, and listened to the voices above her.

The angels were talking about her, having a discussion about her life, reviewing her past. Her performance. This must be the Judgement she had heard about.

"Do we have closure?" asked a throaty female voice.

"Yes," said the male angel in a soft French accent. "Using Jilly as a decoy worked. Kerchin took her to the main Red Cell base, led us right to their headquarters."

"And?" asked the auburn-haired angel in black blazer and skirt.

The male angel continued. "The base was destroyed, and we picked up Kerchin...."

"What about the tracker?" asked the woman.

"It worked perfectly. It's been removed from her leg."

The soft voice paused. "It caused her a lot of pain; slowed her down...." The angel sounded full of regret.

"Good. That's just the effect we wanted," commented the female in a business-like tone. "We had to make sure she would be caught."

"Of course." The angel sounded weary. "What now?"

"She's back on full status. She'll be on Blue Team, under your direction. She's your material, Michael."

Jilly heard the angel's heels click on the tile floor. "Good work. Let me know how she's doing, hmmm?"

"Of course," the angel with green eyes said again.

Jilly opened her eyes to see Madeleine leaving the room. She looked around, realizing she was not in the after-life, but on a gurney in Medlab.

Not in Heaven after all, but in Hell. Right in the middle of it.

It all made sense now. Why her leg didn't heal. Why they tested her with the midnight visit. Why the back-up team didn't come to her rescue when Kerchin took her. Why they had left her there to be tortured....

"Jilly?" Michael said, coming to stand by her bed. "How are you feeling?"

Her eyes blazed angrily up into his. *How do you THINK I feel?* she thought. *Humiliated.... Angry.... Used..... Betrayed .....*

*And so very, very dissapointed.*

"Why couldn't you have done what you promised, Michael?" Jilly groaned. "Why didn't you give me what I asked for? Just a little dignity...."

She saw pain flicker in the green eyes before he lowered them.

"I'm sorry," Michael said softly. "Yes, I tricked you. I lied to you. But I did it for a reason..."

Jilly turned her head away and held up one hand as if to push away his apology.

"I don't want to hear it," she said sharply. "Let me guess-- it was all for the greater good, right? That was the reason?"

"No."

Jilly turned back to look at him. His eyes were soft and pleading.

"I did it to keep you alive." That was all he said outloud, but his eyes told her his other reasons.

*Because I didn't want to lose another comrade* Because I need you as my friend* Because I DO respect you*

Jilly sighed and closed her eyes. She was angry. She was humilated. Her body was hurt and bruised, and so was her ego. But she was alive. That counted for something.

And friends were hard to come by in Section.

She opened her eyes and sat up. Michael was standing in front of the door, ready to leave.

"Michael, wait," she called him back.

He turned, eyes hopeful. "Yes?"

"I need you to do something for me. A favor. You OWE me."

She gave him a mock glare that did not deceive him. Michael suspected correctly that he had been forgiven.

"What is it?" he asked, unable to keep a small smile from lips.

"I forgot to do something," she said, smiling slightly back at him. "I promised to light a candle for Salazar and I didn't..."

She reached out her hand to him and he took it in his. "Will you go for me?" she asked softly.

"Of course." Michael squeezed her hand, relief and tenderness for her flooding him. He hadn't lost another friend after all.

"Anything else?" he asked with a lift of his eyebrow.

"No, just.. " Jilly fell back on the pillows and despite her weariness her smile widened. "Just.. Thank you..."

Nodding once, he kissed her hand. Then, with a smile on his lips, her dark guardian angel went out the door.

************* Epilogue

Michael pulled open the heavy oak door and let it swing closed behind him. The peace and silence engulfed him; the church was empty of any visitors but him.

He paused to look down the nave to the altar and the statue of Our Lady standing off to one side. She was serene, sweet and loving. She held out one hand as if to comfort him. Her blonde hair framed a face of tender beauty.

*As beautiful as Nikita* he thought.

Michael walked forward and genuflected to the image.

The sense of holiness he felt in this place at once comforted and disturbed him. He was attracted to the love and the goodness he felt there, but knew himself to be unworthy of it.

*Just like with Nikita* he thought again.

It seemed he was always thinking of her. She was like the light in the darkness that kept him sane. She was a spark of aliveness in his dark, dead soul.

The only part of him that wasn't dead....

He stood up from his kneeling position and went to the table where the candles burned brightly in rows. He pulled an unlit one toward him and stood, head bowed, over it before he lit it.

Since he was alone, he spoke his prayer outloud, his words echoing in the high walls of the sanctuary.

"For Miguel..." he whispered. "May he find peace in your Heavenly Kingdom..." He paused and bowed his head, giving Salazar a moment of respectful silence.

He started to leave, but turned back when he had only gone a few steps from the table. Although he knew he had technically fullfiled his duty to Jilly, his task felt unfinished. There was more he needed to do.

He walked back to the table and pulled another unlit candle toward him, frowning down into it.

"Father, I know I have done some terrible things...." he found himself saying.

To his astonishment, the words flowed out of him, as if from a deep place inside that had been unheard so long, suppressed and silenced by the needs of his life in Section One.

"Sometimes unbearably painful things, to myself, and to ... others."

He closed his eyes, bowing his head over his hands. "Others that I care about, that I love.."

Unseen in the farthest dark corner of the church, her head covered in a black shawl, Nikita bit her lip to keep from gasping out. She ahd been praying there as she occasionally did, stopping in when there were no services scheduled and she knew the church would be empty.

She had looked up in shock when Michael came in and had almost spoken to him, but seeing the intensely serious look on his face, she had hesitated, and stayed where she was.

He had not seen her, and she had watched and listened in fascination as he had gone about his respectful acts of devotion. She was embarrassed by her eavesdropping on this private moment; it was like she was seeing Michael's naked soul- a soul he kept well-hidden in the black garments of Section One.

"Please..." Michael asked of the Spirit pervading the church. "Help me. Help me protect the ones I love. My friends, and the one who is my life..."

He pulled the candle toward him and lit it, the flame flaring brightly.

"Nikita..." he said like a prayer.

He rose and bowed one more time to the Lady, before turning to leave.

Nikita sat, stunned in the dark corner of the church, hardly believing what she had heard. A moment later, it occured to her-- a thought that left her breathless.

Her prayers had been heard, too.

Out on the sidewalk in the bright afternoon sun, Michael strolled down the block past the church.

"Michael?" He heard footsteps approaching behind him and looked up to see Nikita coming toward him.

"Nikita!" he said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

She smiled, and gave him a carefully casual answer. "Oh, nothing, really..."

She linked her arm in his and they kept walking down the street.

"Just thought I'd go out for a cup of coffee..." She smiled up into his face. "Want to join me?"

Micahel paused, then a huge smile lit up his face. He looked like a heavy burden had just been lifted from him, an oppressive weight on his soul relieved.

"Id love to," he said softly.

"Good."

Nikita put her hand in his and together they walked past the sanctuary, their steps, and hearts, light.

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