Seated before the computer, Butterfly failed to notice that the light outside had faded from bright afternoon, to soft twilight. Mesmerized by the information on the screen, struggling to absorb it, then succumbing to the unaccustomed wave of elation and triumph that followed.

The light faded from dusk into soft night, and still Butterfly sat in front of the glowing screen, now the only light in the room. A tear rolled down one cheek, glistening a trail over skin, young and smooth. More tears followed, as Butterfly erupted simultaneouly in laughter, and in wrenching sobs.

The information had hit hard like a punch in the gut, and soft as an angel's kiss. It released a flood of long-suppressed memories, some tender, but most overwhelming in their horror....

That night. The night everything ended. Mama and Daddy tucking Butterfly into bed, as usual. Then being awakened in the night. The bad men. Mama's screams. Then Daddy's. The smell of their blood. What it felt like when the knife cut into your flesh, again and again.....

Later, hoping it had all been a nightmare. Knowing it wasn't. Wondering why it had happened. Wondering who the bad men were. Wondering if the world would ever be safe again....

And now Butterfly knew. Finally, there were answers. And everything would be O.K.

Slowly, the sobs subsided, the whirlwind of emotions settling into a feeling of calm and deep peace.

After searching fruitlessly for years, at last, the bad men had been found. And there was a way to make them pay. And Butterfly could be part of it.

The bad men would be confronted and taken down. Butterfly would finally face and destroy the butchers that had shattered their world and their life.

The bad men now had a name. Section One.

**********

At three a.m., the bustling hallways of Section had quieted. Birkoff's running shoes made soft padding noises that seemed to echo loudly as he approached his work station.

He looked around surreptitiously, noting with satisfaction that the window of Operation's tower office was dark and that the com area was empty of operatives, the hallways clear.

*Good* he thought to himself. *Finally, a little privacy*

With another sweep of brown eyes around the room, Birkoff lowered himself into his chair in front of the computer console and booted up the darkened screen. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk while he waited, then anxiously made the modem connection and used the password to access the file he wanted- his private e-mail.

Most of the time he checked the messages sporadically when he was able to escape Section and drop in on his favorite cyber-cafe. There he replaced the never-ending games of strategy and intrigue of Section with the strategies of monster-killing during games of Quake.

For some reason he had not yet figured out, the fantasy version of beating the bad guys seemed to somehow assuage the tension of beating the bad guys in real life. For Birkoff, it was more than a game- it was almost a cathrtic release. Quake was more direct than section sims, offering immediate gratification. And none of his friends were ever killed, either.

***********

Friends. Birkoff supposed the only "real-time" friends he had were Walter, Nikita, and, surprisingly, Michael. Others were either his subordinates or his bosses, not friends. Gail, of course was in a category by herself. He still hadn't figured that one out.

Except for those three, who seemed to respect him as an equal, the other operatives tended to regard him as not one of them, but as a necessary evil-the resident geek....

Oh, who am I kidding? thought Birkoff angrily to himself. They thought of him as something not quite human; he was some kind of major freak to them. FREAK, with a capital F.

Birkoff took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily as he waited for the messages to download. Why should Section be any different than the rest of the world? It has always been that way. When had he ever fit in?

He remembered his first day of college. He was eleven years old, and he had come home from his classes in a rare mood of excitement, elated by the vista of new horizons of knowledge opening up before him.

"Mom, I'm home," he announced enthusiastically, entering the living room where his mother sat visiting with their neighbor, Mrs. Baker.

The women had looked up at him as he dumped his books in a nearby chair. "How was school, Darling?" asked his mother, smiling.

"I think my advanced calculus class is going to be fun," enthused the young Birkoff. "It'll be alot more challenging than that lame, boring class I had in high school."

"Oh, Helen!" the neighbor, Mrs. Baker, twittered to his mother. "Isn't he just the little show-off?"

Seymour had been at first angered by her remark, then resigned. Why couldn't people just accept that he had a driving need for intellectual stimulation, and that understanding new things was a requirement for him, not an ego-trip? His mind needed to soar and explore, just like his lungs needed to breathe air.

He was constantly hurt and bewildered by other people's hostility toward him, and their need to belittle and insult him to make themselves feel better. Most people seemed to respond to him the same way Mrs. Baker did- with ridicule.

He was hoping that at the university, in an academic atmosphere, he wouldn't get the same reaction from people, bu he was wrong. College for an eleven-year-old boy with an I.Q. of 195 was -pure and simple- a living Hell.

The computer emitted a soft beep, startling Birkoff from his reverie. The messages had finished downloading, and Birkoff put his glasses back on and began scrolling through them, trying to decide which one to read first.

On line with his cyber- friends was one of the few places where Birkoff felt truly accepted. There he was not pigeon-holed in his role as child- genius/nerd/geek/freak.

In the virtual world his age, his job, his looks, even his I.Q., was unimportant. He was just one of the gang. With his on-line friends, he even dared to be silly, carefree, even dared sometimes to say dumb things.

Sometimes he even forgot to be cynical.

From the list on his screen Birkoff selected an e-mail message entitled "I have good news" to open first. It was from "Butterfly", a person he had met on the Mensa forum on-line. Birkoff smiled to himself as he clicked the mouse to open the message.

One of the few times he could recall being completely accepted, other than the times when he was on the computer, was at a Mensa gathering he attended when he was thirteen, shortly before he was "recruited" into Section One.

The membership of Mensa, the high I.Q. Society, despite Operations' low opinion of it, did not consist only of restless anarchists and social misfits who ended up working for terrorists, like those who had joined Erroll Sparks in Glass Curtain.

The people Birkofff had met at the gathering were old and young, male and female, from all different backgrounds, ranging from struggling students and starving artists to wealthy business people, from extremely shy to raging extroverts.

Andin this group of regular people, Birkoff was just another one of the group. He enjoyed not feeling special or different. It was incredibly refreshing to feel 'normal' for once.

Smiling at the memory, Birkoff eagerly read Butterfly's note. It was about an upcoming Mensa gathering she was planning to attend. As he read further, Birkoff's smile faded.

Before he was finished with the first paragraph, his face had turned ashen with shock.

"Oh, no," he muttered to himself. "Oh, God, no..."

Quickly he pressed the intercom button that was only to be used for emergencies.

Gulping nervously, Birkoff licked his suddenly dry lips and spoke into the com unit."Sir?"

There was an anxious undertone to Operations' disembodied voice as he answered gruffly. "What is it, Birkoff?"

Birkoff closed his eyes, feeling like the ground had been knocked out from under him. He couldn't believe this could have happened.

"Sir," he answered in a faint voice. "I've been compromised."

***********

At 4:30 a.m., Nikita rushed down the hallway toward the briefing table, brushing a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. She had gotten the call to come in less than an hour earlier, and had not bothered to take the time to put on make-up. She had hastily dressed in blue jeans and an old, comfortable sweatshirt in a flattering shade of pale pink.

Michael, sitting at the large table, swiveled his chair to look at her. With her hair down, her face scrubbed clean, her clothes unsophistocated, she looked several years younger than she normally did in the chic black-and-hair-up style she lately preferred.

Despite himself, his heart leapt at the sight of her. She was so beautiful....

Michael turned back to face the others around the table before Nikita could catch the look in his eyes. He carefully put the impassive, blank expression that he usually wore back on. The green eyes that flickered over her as she took her place at the table revealed nothing.

Finding no answers to her unspoken questions in his blank stare, Nikita next looked for clues from the others present. Birkoff sat in the chair on the other side of Michael, looking exceptionally pale, his eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. He would not meet her gaze.

Operations paced restlessly on the opposite side of the table, taking long, angry strides and puffing on his cigarette. Nikita knew something was seriously wrong.

But it was the presence of Madeleine, seated calmly at the end of the table that really alarmed Nikita. Behind the older woman's serene exterior, Nikita sensed an incredible tension. Whatever this briefing was about, it was definitely going to be a doozy.

Operations stopped pacing and pulled off his glasses, tossing them on the table. Glaring at the operatives across from him, he started the briefing.

"Less than two hours ago, Mr. Birkoff received an e-mail message from someone we know only as "Butterfly"." The silver-haired man sighed wearily and continued.

"Butterfly claims to have the Directory," Operations told them, his eyes riveted on Birkoff.

"I'm sorry," Birkoff blurted out, his eyes pleading. "I never should have responded to the messages..."

Madeleine pursed her lips and leaned forward. "How you contacted him- or her- is not important. We need to get a handle on this situation, and we need to do it NOW."

Michael turned in his chair to address Birkoff. "Did Butterfly access the Directory through Section files?" he asked.

The younger man shook his head. "No, security here hasn't been breached. Butterfly claims to have an outside source for the Directory."

Nikita gazed first from Birkoff to Operations and back again, before asking a question of her own. "What does Butterfly want for the Directory? Has he made any demands?"

Operations grimaced in a mock smile. "No, that's the interesting part," he replied sarcastically. "Birkoff?"

Birkoff flushed red. With eyes lowered, he elaborated. "Butterfly seems to think Section is the root of all evil. He doesn't want to sell the information, but to expose it."

Nikita gasped. "You mean, go public? Newspapers, t.v.?"

Madeleine nodded her head. "In a way," she answered enigmatically.

Michael lifted one eyebrow and gave her a curious look. "In a way?"

"Butterfly wants to reveal the existence of Section One at an upcoming Mensa RG," said Birkoff.

"RG?" asked Nikita, feeling slightly confused. She looked at Michael.

"Regional Gathering," he said, nodding. "They have several annual meetings and conventions all over the country."

Nikita gave him a sympathetic glance. Michael had probably researched Mensa thouroughly after Simone had been taken by Glass Curtain.

Michael did not meet her gaze but turned to Madeleine. "Why would Butterfly use such an obscure setting to reveal Section?" he asked. "And why warn Birkoff AND tell him the location?"

Madeleine steepled her fingers, resting her elbows on the table. "The person we are dealing with is unsophistocated and naive," she said thoughtfully.

"Butterfly is most likely someone young, idealistic..." The auburn-haired woman shook her head. "He is probably an innocent being manipulated by one of our enemies."

"Red Cell?" asked Michael.

"They are the most likely candidates, yes," said Operations, perching on the edge of the desk.

Michael closed his eyes for a moment. What a mess, he thought to himself. He turned to Birkoff again.

"Who else has this intel?" he asked. "Has Butterfly announced his planned presentation to anyone else? To the Mensa membership, perhaps?"

Michael tensed, thinking how unmanageable this would be if this information had been printed in the newsletters or any other of Mensa's numerous publications. Housekeeping would be almost impossible. Would the entire membership of Mensa end up as acceptable collateral?

Birkoff sighed and put on an almost happy expression.

"That's the good part," he announced. "From what I can tell, Butterfly has told no one but me of his plans. And that was in a specially encrypted e-mail. The information is contained, for now."

Nikita turned in her chair and asked another question. "But why tell you, Birkoff?"

Before he could answer, Madeleine spoke. "Butterfly doesn't know of Birkoff's connection to Section One. He believes that Birkoff was a victim, like himself, of a terrorist act, perpetrated by us. Butterfly is inviting Birkoff to be in on the moment of revenge."

Michael nodded his head. "It's a trap. To lure us out."

He turned to look at the young man beside him. "They want Birkoff. He's the target."

Operations smiled. "Exactly." He put his glasses back on and looked from Michael to Nikita. "But they're not going to have him."

Nikita met the cold blue eyes with the warmer blue of her own. She knew what was coming. It was with no surprise that she listened to Operation's next order.

"Birkoff will remain in Section," he said. "Nikita, you and Michael will be going in."

**********

"What's bothering you, Sugar?" Walter said nonchalantly as he assembled the com units and trackers for Nikita for the mission. The young blonde was slouching against his work table, head down, staring at her shoes, with a frown on her face.

"Huh? What did you say, Walter?" she said, rousing from her reverie and raising her head to look at him. She had been very far away.

Walter finished his task, tossing the last piece of hardware in the equipment bag and zipping it up. He shoved the bag toward her and met her gaze, old blue eyes meeting younger ones across the table.

"I SAID," he answered, "What's eating you, Sunshine?" He put his hand on hers and patted it in a fatherly gesture. "Think you can't handle anything Red Cell throws your way?"

Walter thought back to how she had survived torture and captivity by Red Cell, twice. Once for six months. He was proud of her. His Sugar was a survivor, a fighter. And it was unlike her to be afraid of anything.

"No, no...." she answered in a soft voice, lowering her eyes again. "That's not it...."

"Well then, what is it?" Walter grinned and gave a little laugh. "It can't be this convention that's got your panties in a twist," he teased. "Don't tell me you're afraid to be in a hotel full of Birkoff's for the weekend?"

Nikita lifted her eyes to his. He saw the unshed tears that glistened in the blue depths, and that her lower lip trembled slightly. His comment had hit home.

"Aww, Sugar," he reassured her. "What's the big deal? They're just a bunch of nerds..."

" Not nerds, Walter. Mensans," Nikita protested. "MENSANS. The top two percent of scorers on I.Q. tests. The intellectual cream of society. They're brilliant. They're geniuses..."

She shook her head and spoke in an anguished voice. "How the hell am I supposed to fit in?"

Nikita was confident in most situations, but the more she thought about this assignment, the more inadequate she felt. The mission touched a deep core of insecurity inside her.

As a child, she had done well in school. Very well, considering how unsettled her home life was, with her mother entertaining one new boyfriend after another. Her mother was too hung over in the mornings to help Nikita with her homework, and too busy drinking in the afternoon to encourage her in her studies.

Nikita's education was a low priority on her list. Less than that, really. It was an annoyance. The point became moot, anyway, when she had thrown her daughter out of the house two years before she would have graduated from high school.

Nikita had learned a whole new cirriculum on the streets. She had had to use her wits, her cunning, her instincts, to survive. Section One had honed those instincts to a an even finer point.

She had received an extensive education from Section, all right- Nikita had graduate degrees in lying, deceiving, seducing, fighting, and killing. She hardly felt that put her in quite the same league with the people she would encounter this weekend.

Walter gave her an exasperated look. "Listen to me a minute, Sugar," he told her sternly. "The only requirement to get into Mensa is to score well on a test. Do you think that makes those people better than you?"

Nikita looked at him, a glimmer of hope in her eye. Walter warmed to his subject.

"Hell, Sugar," he continued, putting his arm around her shoulder, "Geniuses are overated, anyway. You're ten times sharper than most of them..."

Nikita gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

Walter smiled. "Hey, everyone knows Einstein flunked out of school for daydreaming too much. AND he routinely got lost going home from work..."

Nikita giggled. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," said Walter, making it up as he went along. "He had to wear loafers because he never learned to tie his shoes. And anyone could tell by looking at his picture that he was too much of a space cadet to learn how to comb his hair..."

Nikita laughed loudly and gave the old man a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Walter," she said, smiling at him.

"They're just human beings, Kid. Remember that," he told her.

Nikita nodded and reached for the equipment bag.

Before she could leave, Walter leaned toward her, whispering.

"Just between you and me, Sugar," he said conspiratorily, "I think Michael is a lttle in awe of how smart you are..."

Nikita chuckled. Walter had made her feel better, had put it all in perspective. He had shown her that the only stupid thing she had done was feeling bad about herself.

With his mission accomplished, Walter reverted to his usual tactics. "Michael's also in awe of that beautiful little caboose of yours..." He said, eyes twinkling, as he pretended to try and pinch the body part in question.

Nikita pushed his hand away and stepped deftly out of range. "Cool it, Walter," she said affectionately, as she grabbed the equipment bag and started walking to the exit.

"Hey, Sugar," Walter called after her. "Did you hear the latest joke about the dumb blonde who....."

Nikita stopped in her tracks and turned back to him, one hand raised boldy in a rude jesture. "Up yours, Walter!" she called out, smiling happily.

She could still hear the old man laughing all the way down the hallway as she continued on her way.

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

Brenda Ferguson, a plump middle-aged woman with glasses and a kindly expression, looked up from the Mensa reception table set up in the hotel lobby and smiled at the handsome young couple coming toward her. They crossed from the hotel registration desk on the far side of the room where they had just checked in. The distance gave Brenda a good opportunity to admire the delightful display of youth and beauty. They were both tall, both athletic, and looked like they belonged together as a team.

"Hi, I'm Brenda," she smilingly introduced herself as she extended a welcoming hand to the couple. "Is this your first time at an RG?"

Brenda had been in on the planning of the RG's hosted by her local Mensa chapter for the last six years, and prided herself on knowing most, if not all, the participants. She was sure if she had seen this particular pair before, she would have definitely remembered them. The girl was unforgettably stunning. And the man... who would ever forget those eyes?

Michael took her outstretched hand in his and turned on the charm. Instead of shaking her hand, he bowed over it and then brought it to his lips.

"Enchante', Mademoiselle," he said in insidiously seductive French. "Je suis Michel, et cette fille la est Nikita. A votre service."

"Enchante'," Brenda responded, blushing. Michael released her hand and she composed herself, remembering her duties.

"Hello. Nice to meet you." The older woman extended her hand to the young blonde.

"Thanks, same here," said Nikita, shaking hands.

"Welcome to the RG," Brenda said, beaming widely at both of them.

"You'll find us a fun group and I'm sure you'll have a great weekend," Brenda gushed. "You won't be bored, that's for sure. Our program schedule is pretty full, but we try to remain open and allow as much free reign and flexibility to our presenters as possible. Last minute additions and changes are welcome."

Brenda pointed to a chalk board mounted on the wall behind her. On it was drawn a grid chart with the time, location, and topic for the today's events. Nikita read the selection. Along with several boring sounding lectures, a dance, games, a joke-telling marathon, and something called "Fishbowl" was listed.

Michael leaned forward across the table, closer to Brenda. In an intimate whisper he made a request. "Is it possible to get a copy of the schedule and a list of all the presenters?"

Brenda smiled. "Oh, but of course! Here you go..."

She picked up two identical tote bags from the table and held them out to the couple.

"These contain all the convention information you'll need, including map of the hotel, showing where all the programs will be," she said.

Nikita accepted both the packets from her and handed one to Michael. "Thank you," said Nikita.

Brenda picked up a map from the table before her and held it out to them.

"Here," she said, pointing, "is the auditorium and the three ballrooms where most of the programs will be held."

Michael nodded, studying the map. "Oui," he said again, giving Brenda a devastating smile and another flash of the green eyes.

"Have many people checked in yet?" asked Nikita, looking around. The hotel lobby seemed deserted.

"Oh my, yes!" twittered Brenda. "You'll find most of them getting acquainted in the Hospitality Suite. It's just down the hall to the right. Room 107..." she said, pointing.

"Merci," said Michael, bowing. He took Nikita's arm and started moving away.

"Wait!" called Brenda. "You forgot your name tags!"

"Name tags?" asked Michael, returning to the reception table.

"Yes, you won't be allowed anywhere without them," commented Brenda as she efficiently searched the file box in front of her and retrieved their i.d.'s. She handed them over and then held out a sheet of stickers in various day-glo colors to the couple with an expectant look on her face.

Michael was pinning his i.d. badge on his shirt and looked inquisitively at Brenda's offering. "What are those for?" he asked.

Brenda laughed again. "Oh, I forgot, this is your first time at an RG. I'll explain."

Nikita pinned her badge onto her jacket and then leaned closer, looking over Michael's shoulder as Brenda went on.

"Each color is a code for something," Brenda told them. "Orange stickers mean you're part of the staff, like me," she said pointing to her own name tag, where a bright orange circle garishly glowed next to a bright green one.

"And purple stickers indicate you are a presenter," she continued.

Michael and Nikita exchanged a look. That would make their search for Butterfly a little easier, at least.

"Now, a green sticker means 'go ahead', a yellow sticker means 'ask first', and a red sticker means 'don't'," Brenda went on a little breathlessly.

Nikita looked confused. "Go ahead and what?"

Brenda laughed again. "Oh my, sorry. I'm not explaining this well, am I?"

Her brown eyes twinkled at them both. "At the RG we hug everybody. It's a tradition."

"You mean, if I wear a green sticker on my name tag, people will just automatically come up and hug me?" said Nikita, a little surprised.

Brenda smiled at the younger woman's slightly shocked expression. "Yes, exactly. It's a great ice-breaker, trust me. It builds comaraderie among the participants."

"I'll bet it does," said Nikita as she caught Michael's wry smile out of the corner of her eye. He reached forward and procured several green stickers from Brenda's outstretched sheet.

His smile widening, he placed two green dots on his name tag and then pressed two more on Nikita's tag, his hand lingering longer than necessary on Nikita's shoulder.

Nikita gave him a challenging look. "Why two, Michael?"

His green eyes smoldered into hers, and he gifted her with a sweet, if impish, smile. "I don't want there to be any doubt that it's O.K. to .... touch..." he said huskily.

Nikita felt her knees go weak and she looked away from his gaze to see that Michael's words had had the same effect on Brenda. The older woman stood with her mouth hanging open and a slightly dazed expression on her face.

Michael stepped away from Nikita and walked around the table to stand next to Brenda. He held out his arms to her and smiled, then enveloped her in a bear hug.

Brenda hugged him back, daring to give the broad shoulders in her grasp a hard squeeze in return. when he released her, the older woman was blushing. "Thank you," she stammered.

"No, thank YOU, Mademoiselle, for all your help," Michael told her. "I can come back and see you if I need help again, non?"

Brenda only nodded, speechless. She was not used to flattery and appreciation from handsome males. At least, none as handsome as this one.

Nikita gave Michael a saucy look as they walked down the corridor toward their hotel room.

"So, Michael," she challenged. "Where's my hug?"

He gave her a look that stopped the breath in her throat. Then Michael leaned toward her and whispered sensuously in her ear, his breath stirring the hair at her temple and sending shivers of anticipation up her spine.

"Be patient," he said.

**********

Michael unlocked the door to the hotel room and pushed it open. He surveyed the room cautiously from the doorway out of habit before entering and leading Nikita inside.

She followed and closed the door behind them. The first thing she noticed was that there was just one bed-- king -sized and spacious, but still singular. Nikita realized that this would be yet another mission when she and Michael would 'sleep' together.

It hadn't been that long since the Armel mission when she and Michael had posed as husband and wife. The vision of the night they had made love was seared in her memory. she could recall every detail of what they had done, every touch, every move, every kiss......

She also remembered Michael's words afterward. The ones that had been more wounding to her than any blow could have ever been. "It was a mistake," he had said. She wished she knew what that meant. How could anything so beautiful, so tender, have been a mistake?

She noticed that Michael was staring at the bed, too, but when she looked up to gage his expression, the green eyes were cool and blank. As usual.

To distract herself from the erotic memories that came unbidden to her head, Nikita focused on the mission. Pulling her PDA from her jacket pocket, she asked, "Does Birkoff have any new intel that would help us find Butterfly?"

"No. Nothing since the last e-mail." Michael looked up from the suitcases on the bed that he had started un-packing and met her gaze.

He was dressed in a white polo shirt and casual khaki pants. The lighter colors seemed to bring out the green of his eyes and the gold highlights in his hair. Gold wire-rimmed glasses that contained his com-unit complemented the theme.

Nikita thought he looked the part of a successful intellectual. He looked like he belonged here. A twinge of unease hit her, and she looked down at her own outfit of brown tweed skirt that skimmed the top of her knees and solid-colored jacket in a rich brown.

"Should I change, or is this all right?"

Michael's gaze swept over her, lingering on the long legs and slim hips, then moving upward to her breasts, to her hair, and then her eyes. At last his gaze riveted on her soft lips. While he surveyed her, he stepped slowly closer until there was barely a hand's breadth of space between them.

Nikita stood still, captivated by the heat of his gaze and the sudden thrill of his nearness. Green eyes locked with blue and she tried not to shudder with the impact of the promises she read in those green depths.

A long moment passed before Michael spoke. "You look... perfect," he said in a low voice.

He did not move away from her then, but raised one hand to her face, caressing her cheek gently. Nikita sighed and closed her eyes. She felt his hand move lower to lift the hair from the side of her neck, then felt him trace one finger along the curve behind her ear.

"This is your com unit," Michael said in the same seductive voice as he pressed the small metal dot to her skin.

Embarrassed, Nikita opened her eyes. Michael had dropped his hand to her shoulder and was still standing as close as he had before. She caught her breath as the green eyes bored into hers.

"Butterfly is the target, but he is not the threat," Michael continued softly as he began to caress her shoulder. "Red Cell operatives will be watching for us..."

Nikita nodded, and allowed herself to feel a slight thrill at how he said the word "us".

"Now is not the time to go off on your own," he went on. The sternness of the words was overcome by the seductiveness of his tone.

The hand moved with mesmerizing slowness from her shoulder to her back. Michael pulled her gently to him and she found herself pressed against Michael's hard chest, wrapped in his embrace.

"Stay close to me," he whispered into her hair.

Nikita sighed and laid her head against his shoulder. A part of her mind was amused that he could make what should be an order sound like a lover's plea. Or was it the other way around?

"Yes, Michael," she whispered back. Her meaning was clear. Yes to the mission leader. Yes to the lover.

She reached up a hand to gently touch his cheek in turn, all her caring emotions, her longing to be close, welling up inside her and translating themselves to the tenderness of her caress.

Michael closed his eyes and let out a long sighing breath. Nikita felt him tremble slightly as he fought for control.

He wanted to kiss her, to pull her down on the bed and make sure she knew there was no question about the depth of his feelings for her. He struggled within himself, but he knew this was not the right time. The mission had to come first.

Reluctantly, he stepped back from her touch, but his eyes were still intent on hers, glazed with passion.

"Let's go," he said breathlessly.

Nikita nodded, and gave him a trembling smile. He opened the door for her and she stepped past him into the hall, trying vainly to control the shaking of her knees and the sweet, sudden leap of her heart.

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

Room 107, the Hospitality Suite, was noisy and crowded, the unmistakeable signs that a real party was going on. Just inside the doorway, Michael stood next to Nikita and tapped the stem of his glasses, activating his com unit.

"Birkoff, we're in," Michael announced softly. "Are you getting my feed?"

"Got it," came the reply.

Michael smiled slightly as he scanned the room. "Feed" was the right word. Apparently Mensans defined 'Hospitality' as unlimited supplies of food and drink.

Glancing through a doorway to his right, Michael realized that Room 107 was actually two hotel rooms with the dividing wall knocked out between them and the furniture removed. At each end of the Suite lay a bathroom with the bathtub filled with ice and drinks; one end had soda, the other beer.

Nikita slipped into the bathroom closest to them and snagged herself a soda from the tub. She joined Michael again, looking with amazement around the room.

In the large area between the bathrooms lay a minimal amount of chairs and even less floor space. Every remaining square foot seemed to be filled by wall to wall tables of food-- Huge piles of sandwiches, immense bowls of various salads, deep oblong trays of pasta dishes, crock pots filled with swedish meatballs, platters of assorted breads and cheese and fruit; and that was just the half of it.

Even more table space was dedicated to junk food, arranged in mind-boggling quantities and variety. Potato chips, nachos, cookies, candies of all kinds spilled out of overflowing bowls.

It reminded Nikita of the top of Birkoff's desk, with its stacks of oreos and bowls of M&M's. Maybe junk food was a Mensan thing, she thought with amusement.

A happy crowd moved around this Bacchanalian display, filling their plates, laughing, eating, drinking, talking, and hugging.

Michael and Nikita did not stay as unnoticed observers in their corner for long; they were soon drawn into the infectiously happy atmosphere. Both were inundated in greetings, hugs, and offers to join in the fun. They were encouraged to relax, have a beer, EAT SOMETHING, and talk about themselves.

The dynamics of the party worked in their favor. With the hugging and the greetings, the operatives hardly had to make any effort to work the room. People came to them. The video/com units recorded every face, the images sent back to Section One, immediately appearing on Birkoff's monitor screen.

"Nothing so far," muttered Nikita into her communication device. They didn't know what Butterfly looked like, but no one in the crowd seemed to fit what the little they did know.

Most of the people present were in the late twenties to late forties age range. No one appeared very young. Or very shy, for that matter.

In fact, for Nikita's taste, some of the women were definitely not nearly shy enough. Watching Michael be hugged by the first twenty-five people or so, both men and women, hadn't bothered her. It was the group of four attractive college women traveling together that did it.

They had cornered Michael, surrounding him, and took turns hugging him and giggling. Michael smiled at them and hugged them back.

Nikita managed to contain her growing annoyance until the first girl who had hugged him reached out to embrace him again. The girl, a pretty red-head with dimples, tapped the stickers on Michael's name tag playfully and looked up at him coquettishly.

"Two stickers must mean I get two hugs, right?" reasoned the red-head with a gleam in her eye.

That did it. Nikita decided to take action. She wedged her way between Michael and the would-be hugger. Linking her arm with Michael's, Nikita smiled with false sweetness at the girl.

"Wrong," Nikita told her. "That's not what it means. The second hug is for me."

She tightened her grip on Michael's arm, squeezing it tighter, and gave him a look. "It was our little symbol, wasn't it, Darling?" she cooed, and kissed him lightly, if possessively, on the cheek.

Michael held her glance for a moment, then lowered his eyes, the corners of his mouth turning up in amusement. "Oui. C'est vrai, Ma Cherie...."

He turned Nikita in his arms and gave her a strong, but quick, embrace. The redhead watched glumly and turned away in dissapointment to join her friends.

Nikita held on to Michael's arm after the hug. "You're enjoying this too much," she whispered to him under her breath.

Michael tried to look innocent and failed. "One of them might have been Butterfly, Nikita," he answered in mock admonishment.

Both of them heard Birkoff snigger through their com units.

Nikita decided not to argue with Michael, but tried another strategy. "I'm starved," she announced, and led Michael by the arm to the end of the nearest serving line.

He followed her docilely and did not protest when Nikita shoved a plate in his hand. She reached into a goodie bowl at the end of the table and plucked out one piece of chewy caramel candy and fed it to Michael.

He allowed it, and stood in line with the others, calmly chewing and holding onto his plate.

Nikita watched him with satisfaction. He can't hug anyone like that, she thought. Or talk to anyone, either.

She gave the length of the huge table another look. Junk food definitely has its uses, she thought. Smart people, these Mensans.

Happily, she smirked at Michael and reached for an oreo.

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

"Michael, this feels wrong," Nikita whispered to him softly. They were seated side by side on a couch in a far corner of the hotel lobby; it seemed to be the only place of relative quiet in the ever growing throng of convention-goers.

Since their stop at the Hospitality Suite, the pair had attended a poetry reading, the joke-telling party, and two lectures. They had been to the Games Room where fierce battles of Scrabble were being waged.

They had checked out conversations held by the heated hotel pool, in the lounges, and in the hallways. They had even been back to the Hospitality Suite again in-between these events. Nikita was almost getting sick at the sight of Oreos and M&M's. Michael had had so many cups of coffee Nikita knew his stomach must be burning.

They had hugged more people than they could count. They had talked and flirted and smiled until their faces hurt. And still nothing.

"We should have picked up something by now," she said anxiously, scanning the crowd. There was still no indication of the presence of Butterfly. Or, even more surprisingly, of Red Cell.

Michael said nothing, but gave her a look that assured her that he agreed with her assessment. He sighed wearily, and then spoke quietly into his com-unit.

"Birkoff, anything?"

"No, nothing," came the equally as weary reply. "I've scanned for weapons. Except for you two, no one in the hotel is carrying. And we did a match on the entire list of participants against the Mensa membership roster...."

"And?" prompted Michael, voice anxious.

They could hear Birkoff sigh, then answer with a note of frustration. "Everyone present has checked out. They're all long-time Mensa members; they're all legit."

This news made Nikita even more nervous. "Then if Red Cell is here, they're not on the inside posing as participants."

She licked her lips and spoke to Birkoff again. "Is the perimeter still clear?"

"Outside teams report no anomalies," Birkoff answered.

Birkoff wanted to tell them how incredibly tense the lack of activity was making all the teams. Inside Section was no different. Operations had developed a twitch in his eye and had escalated from four cigarettes a day to almost chain-smoking, never a good sign.

The stress of knowing the Directory was possibly in the hands of Red Cell was taking a toll on everyone. Birkoff was particularly upset about his role in all of it. He was the one who had responded to the messages on the Mensa on-line group. He was the one who had made friends with Butterfly.

He was the one responsible if the mission failed and Section One was brought down. And if the mission succeeded, he was the one responsible for luring the innocent, young Butterfly into the dark net of Section One.

"O.K. Thanks, Birkoff. We'll keep trying." Nikita sighed again, and stood up, bracing herself for another trip to the Hospitality Suite. Michael rose beside her and they began the trek across the lobby to Room 107.

They had only gone a few steps when Michael felt Nikita stop him with a firm grip on his forearm. He turned to look at her, a question in his eyes.

"Michael," she hissed a warning. "Over there..." Nikita gave a jerk of her head, indicating the registration desk.

Michael turned his head to look. They watched together as a petite young girl, no more than sixteen, filled out a registration form at the desk. She wore scruffy overalls and sneakers, and carried what looked suspiciously like a laptop in a backpack she had removed and rested on the floor beside her.

The girl faced the hotel clerk, her back to them, so that their view of her face was just a glimpse of a softly curved cheek framed by thick, honey-colored hair in pig-tails. She looked impossibly young, and impossibly innocent.

Nikita could feel Michael tense beside her as the girl finished checking in, picked up her back-pack, and turned to scan the lobby.

Nikita gasped. The girl's face was pretty, with flawless skin a uniform shade of peach-pink, except for the subtle, small splash of color at the side of her right cheek.

It was a tatoo of a butterfly.

Before Michael and Nikita could move toward her, the girl, who had been anxiously searching each face in the lobby, spotted them. The girl's blue eyes locked onto Michael, registering instant recognition.

To their intense surprise, Butterfly gave a cry of delight and rushed across the lobby toward them. The girl launched herself at Michael and threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"Oh, Michael!" she cried, sobbing and smiling at the same time, happy tears streaming. "It's so good to see you again!"

------------------------------------------------------

Stunned, Michael allowed the embrace, automatically wrapping his arms around the sobbing girl in a gesture of comfort. He patted her back and let her cry, her face buried in his shirt-front.

Nikita stood warily guard a few steps away, watching them, one hand in her jacket pocket, fingers curled around her gun.

After a moment, Michael recovered from his shock and took Butterfly firmly by the shoulders and held her away from him. He studied the small face in front of him, searching his memory for signs of recognition, but there were none. He didn't know this girl. But she obviously knew him.

The girl hiccuped, swallowing a sob, and wiped her eyes with the end of her sleeve. The tears in her eyes could not hide her look of adoration. she beamed up at Michael, a beatific smile lighting her face.

"You saved my life, remember? You rescued me...."

Butterfly's lower lip trembled, and she almost started crying again, but regained her composure, taking in a deep breath.

Michael, staring at her in bewilderment, watched as she smiled at him again.

"It's me, Michael," she said. " It's Becky Gordon...."

Michael paled visibly, and felt his throat go suddenly dry. Oh no, he thought. God, no...

Keeping one arm securely around Butterfly's shoulder, he pulled her to him in a protective gesture. With the other hand he snatched off first his own glasses containing his com-unit, then reached for Nikita's, removing it from the back of her ear.

He shoved both devices in his pocket, then gripped Nikita by the arm, a look of total desperation on his face.

"Michael?" Nikita asked, feeling bewildered. "What's going on?"

His green eyes looked anxiously from Nikita's suspicious face to Butterfly's trusting one, and then back again. This was a huge mess, but the beginning of a plan was forming in his mind. There was a chance for a way out of it for all of them, but he couldn't do it alone. He couldn't do it without Nikita.

He pulled Nikita closer to him and looked pleadingly into the blue eyes.

"Nikita," he begged in a low whisper. "Please. Please help me...'

His eyes locked with hers, and she could see in them, to her shock, that this was no guile, no trick, no deception. There was nothing in his eyes but a deep trust for her, and an even deeper faith that she would be there for him.

"Nikita, I need you," he said hoarsely.

"O.K., Michael," she answered immediately, sudenly knowing that, despite everything in their past, she whole-heartedly returned his trust.

She linked her arm through Michael's and began to lead them all out of the lobby. He shot her a grateful look, eyes soft and adoring on her face.

Nikita looked back at him, a slight, tremulous smile on her lips. "I'm with you, Michael," she whispered. "I'm with you."

***********

Michael's first instinct had been to run, to get Butterfly to safety. Section One would eat her alive, like a snake devouring a tender chick. They wouldn't care about her youth or her reasons; she already knew too much for them to let her live. He wanted to save her, to protect her from what would most likely be first slow torture and then a long death.

And, God knows, thought Michael, she had already suffered enough.

But they had not gone very far down the hallway when Michael realized he could not take her out of the hotel. The perimeter teams would be watching and would descend on them immediately.

Their hotel room was the safest place. They needed time, and privacy, and a chance to figure things out.

And so it was that now Becky Gordon, AKA Butterfly, sat cross-legged in the middle of the king-sized bed in Michael and Nikita's room, the lap-top computer open in front of her. Michael paced the carpet restlessly while Nikita slumped in a nearby chair.

They were waiting for the secure link-up to Section One.

They had a million questions for the young girl, and she had promised to answer all of them, under one condition. Butterfly insisted on talking to Birkoff. She stubbornly refused to explain anything until he could hear it, too.

"I messed up real good," she had told them. "And I'm sorry. And I need to apologize to Seymour most of all." And that was all she would say.

Michael recognized there was no point in arguing with her. He could tell she wouldn't budge, and the last thing he wanted to do was push. He knew first-hand what she had been through. How horrible it must have been for her...

He remembered the mission well. It had been five years ago, and he had been First Team on the mission to retrieve Dr. Robert Gordon, a research biochemist, and his family from Red Cell.

Dr. Gordon had been working on a cure for a a particularly virulent strain of ebola when he had come across a way of controlling the progress and rate of the disease to a very fine degree.

Once infected, the victim was never cured, but the scientist had developed a method to keep the victim in remission. Or, at least, that was Dr. Gordon's goal.

Red Cell had other ideas. They saw it a perfect way to extort, control and enslave individuals or whole populations. They could infect people, then bring them into remission so they could function however Red Cell wished them to. And if they dis-obeyed or were no longer useful, it was a simple matter to reactivate the virus and eliminate them.

But Dr. Gordon had proved very stubborn. Red Cell had tortured him, his wife, and his child, but still he would not agree to co-operate. By the time the location had been secured and Michael's team had burst in, the scientist's wife was already dead, and Dr. Gordon had managed to impale himself on a terrorist's knife that had been held at his throat, ensuring that his formulas would never be used.

Their daughter was the only survivor. Michael had been the one to find her first, curled up in a corner on the floor. He had been amazed that the child was still alive. She was barely recognizable as human, her face and chest a mass of blood....

Michael had been carrying her to the van when he realized the child was awake and watching him. She never spoke, but she held on to Michael's hand tightly all the way back to Section.

Michael felt that during that short trip in the van a deep connection had grown between them. Somehow, without words, they had formed a bond. He had been in despair then; it had been just a short time since he had lost his wife in the failed raid against Glass Curtain, and it was before Nikita had entered his world and his heart.

Life had seemed particularly pointless then; he was dead inside. There was no meaning to what he did anymore, no purpose. But somehow this litle girl, so battered, but so strong, touched him deeply. She had awakened hope in him again...

Michael stopped his pacing to stare at the young woman on the bed. She was still strong, and brave. And still so completely innocent.

God, he couldn't let her die. Not his little Butterfly...

**********

Becky felt Michael's eyes on her and looked up from the computer screen. He was staring at her intently, green eyes bright.

She was relieved he no longer seemed frustrated or angry with her like he had before when she had insisted she talk to Birkoff. In fact, she was almost sure Michael was looking at her now with something like admiration in his eyes.

Smiling shyly at him, Becky tilted her head to the side so he could get a better view of the butterfly on her cheek.

"You like my tatoo?" she asked him.

He walked the few steps to the bed and sat down beside her. Gently he reached up his hand and stroked her cheek, his fingers tracing the outline of the butterfly's wings.

"It's beautiful," Michael told her sincerely.

Becky blushed in embarrassment and lowered her gaze, then glanced quickly over at Nikita in her chair by the bed to gage the other woman's reaction.

Nikita recognized the girl's natural need for affirmation and was quick to reassure her. "Yes, beautiful," she agreed, smiling. "And very, very KEWL."

Becky laughed. "It's new. I haven't had it long."

She pointed to the butterfly's left wing and rubbed the spot with her finger. "My plastic surgeon told me he had done all he could do, and that I would always have these red marks on my cheek from the scars..."

"So I had the tattoo done to cover it." She beamed at them, with an almost guilty expression on her face, like a child who had been naughty and had gotten away with something.

"I hope Seymour will like it," Becky added, blushing again.

"He'll like it," said Michael sincerely.

Just then the computer beeped loudly, startling them. Michael slid the laptop over in front of him so that Becky would not be visible when he activated the link.

He typed a command code and the screen lit up. Michael found himself looking into Birkoff's concerned brown eyes on the monitor.

"Michael, what happened?" Birkoff demanded anxiously. "We lost your com-link..."

"A temporary anomaly. Everything's fine," Michael answered cooly. "Can you get us a factor six isolation?"

Birkoff's eyes widened at Michael's request for the highest security possible on a communication, where no one, inside Section as well as out, could eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Just a second," Birkoff told them distractedly. Michael watched him as he typed furiously at first one keyboard at his station, and then another. After a minute, Birkoff settled in front of the screen.

"Done," he reported. "Go ahead."

Nikita met Michael's relieved look and got up from her chair and crawled onto the bed on the other side of Becky. She took the laptop from it's place in front of Michael and slid it across the coverlet so that Becky would be visible on the screen.

"Birkoff, there's someone here who wants to talk to you," Nikita announced.

They watched as Birkoff's eyes grew round with surprise behind his glasses. He stared at the pretty young girl on his screen.

"Who?" he asked. "Who is that?"

Becky Gordon very becomingly blushed again. "It's me, Seymour," she said. "It's Butterfly."

***********

Birkoff's first reaction was a purely personal and non-professional one. Wow, she's cute! he thought.

He knew Butterfly well, or so it seemed to him. They were old friends- old cyber-friends, that is. They had joked and talked and shared things, had supported each other off and on for over two years. Butterfly was just... Butterfly. It hadn't occurred to him to wonder too much about his friend's gender or looks or age; he just accepted the friendship and that was enough.

But now, with the reality of her youth and her feminine vunerability staring him in the face, it seemed to Birkoff to make this difficult situation even worse.

He was experiencing a resurgence of the same feelings he had before for Butterfly, only this time the feelings were almost overwhelming in theeir intensity- he wanted to protect her from Section, and he felt guilty for drawing her into their world in the first place.

He was also intensely anxious about the Directory.

"Hi," he said lamely, somewhat at a loss to know what to say. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Becky lowered her eyes and bit her lip, too shy to look at him on the screen. Michael, watching from beside her, thought she looked even more uncomfortable than Birkoff did.

Taking a deep breath, Becky found her courage and raised her eyes to the screen. Her apology came out in a rush of breathless words.

"It's really nice of you to even speak to me after what I did, Seymour. I really messed everything up. I didn't mean to...."

Tears formed in her eyes and she struggled not to let them fall. "You've always been so good to me. You were always there for me in the bad times...."

She recalled all the lonely hours she had spent in hospitals recovering from surgery after surgery to repair the damage the terrorists had done. She probably would have gone crazy if she hadn't had her computer and her connection to her cyber-friends.

It was a way to still feel part of the world. It relieved the boredom. It gave her a feeling of empowerment, a sense of control. And she had wanted to use that power to do something for her friend in return....

"You see," Butterfly went on, stifling another sob, "I just wanted to help you. From some things you said - hinted, really- I just KNEW you had lost your family suddenly, too, like I did..."

Birkoff flinched. The memories of that day came flooding back to him. His parents and his two brothers weren't dead, but he hadn't seen them in seven years. Not since Section One had brought him in, snatching him off the street as he was on his way home from grad school.

He had been bored that week and had hacked into some encrypted files of the Agency's. And, as in the case of Greg Hillinger, it was decided his talents would be of use to his government- of use to Section One.

"It's O.K.," Birkoff soothed. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me. We'll get this straightened out."

He took a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm. He asked the question he knew would probably have a terrifying answer.

"Butterfly, can you tell me who has the Directory?"

On either side of Becky, Michael and Nikita tensed. They had been listening silently to the exchange, and now they shot each other looks of concern.

The most likely group to have the Directory was Red Cell. But there had been no sign of them. It might have been some other, more obscure, terrorist faction that had manipulated Becky. Or some deranged individual, like Harding. The possibilities were staggeringly grim.

While the faces of the three Section operatives tightened, Becky's expression relaxed into a warm smile. She let out a little giggle.

"That's what I've been trying to TELL you," she said, looking around to meet the gaze of alll three of her companions. "Everything's fine now. You don't need to worry...."

She nodded her head affirmatively, pigtails bobbing. "Honest!" Becky assured them, blue eyes wide with sincerity.

Nikita felt so tense she could snap. The girl's words had alarmed her even more. She gripped Becky by the arm and looked intently into the sweet, cherub-like face.

"WHO has the Directory?" Nikita demanded.

Butterfly smiled and patted Nikita's hand reassuringly.

"I do," she said pertly.

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

Nikita gasped in shock, and Michael emitted an involuntary grunt. They could hear Birkoff make a choking sound across the link.

Becky, oblivious to the fact that she had rendered everyone speechless, went on with her explanation.

"I was angry, you see," she elaborated. "I wanted to find out who was responsible for killing my parents..."

She looked tenderly at Birkoff's image on the screen. "And I wanted to find out who the people were that had hurt you, Seymour..."

The young girl let out a long sigh. "So I dug a little deeper than usual into the covert files, and that's when I found Section One."

Birkoff found his voice first. "Are you saying you hacked our system?" he said in astonishment. "But those were all new codes, completely secured..."

Becky giggled again. "No, they weren't. That one was kind of easy, really. Cubes wrapped around Z-functions are such a cinch, I..."

Michael interrupted her. "If you didn't mean to hurt us, why did you threaten to expose us and release the Directory?" he asked tensely.

Becky's looked stricken and she lowered her eyes. Michael thought she might start to cry again.

"I'm sorry," the young girl choked out. "The files were so vast; I only skimmed them and I jumped to the wrong conclusions..."

She went on in another breathless rush as the others listened in another stunned silence. "The file on my family...." She stopped to swallow hard as the memories assaulted her.

"I only read the record that I was there in Section One on the date they died. So I thought you were responsible.." she said softly to Michael.

Becky looked pleadingly at Birkoff's image on the screen. "And I just read the first page of your Psych file, Seymour, where it described how you were abducted and your reactions that day. How afraid you were...."

"My Psych files?" Birkoff said faintly. "Jesus..." He had tried for years, but had never been able to access them. His mind was whirling at the implications...

Butterfly went on. "I was so STUPID," she chastized herself. "I got it all wrong, like I said, and I copied the files and decided to tell everybody..."

Nikita shook her head in bewilderment. "But Becky, why here? Why a Mensa gathering?"

The girl blushed furiously and stared at the bedspread, too embarrassed to look at her young cyber-friend on the screen. "I.... I sorta hoped... I mean, I wanted.. uh...." she stammered incoherently.

Michael smiled. He was very familiar with this scenario. Becky Gordon had all the signs of being a woman in love.

He looked across the bed at Nikita and caught her smiling, too. "She wanted to meet you, Birkoff," said the blonde. "In a setting that would feel comfortable for you both."

Nikita tried not to smirk as she went on. "Butterfly wanted to share the moment of revenge with you. As a gesture of respect to a .... friend and colleague..."

Becky nodded gratefully at Nikita. "Yes, that's it!"

Becky was so relieved. She had almost blurted out the truth before Nikita interrupted her. She had almost told them that when she had seen Birkoff's picture in his file she had thought he was the cutest boy she had ever seen. And meeting at the Mensa gathering would sort of be like a date, maybe...

To cover her embarrassment, Butterfly rushed on. "Later, I had time to read the Directory more carefully and I realized my mistake."

She turned to look admiringly at Michael. He was the hero who had saved her. "I would never do anything to hurt you, Michael," she told him.

The green eyes looked tenderly back at her.

"I was expecting to meet Birkoff here, but I'm so happy I got to see you again," Becky continued. She took something small out of a pocket in her overalls and handed it to him.

"I was going to give Birkoff this, but I'll give it to you. A gift."

Michael looked at the small, wrinkled yellow envelope in his hand. "What's this?"

"The Directories," she answered, smiling.

Nikita gasped again. "Directories?" she choked out. "Plural?"

"Yes," said Becky, stunning them again. "One is the Directory for Section One, of course, and the other is one is something I worked on that I thought you might like...."

The three looked at her expectantly.

"The second one is the Directory for Red Cell," she said smiling.

**********

Nikita froze in shock, and stared at Michael. She saw him do something she had never seen him do before-he had allowed his jaw to slacken and he now sat there with his mouth hanging open.

Nikita was sure her own expression was just as stunned.

Out of the corner of her eye, on the computer screen, she caught the image of Birkoff, who had been standing, collapsing heavily into the chair behind him with an "oof".

Michael recovered first. "Becky," he said in a faint voice. "Becky.."

The girl beamed expectantly at Michael. "Yes? You like my gift, don't you?" she said eagerly.

Nikita was reminded somewhat of a puppy who had just fetched a stick looking eagerly at his master for approval. And that was one hell of a stick.

"Yes. Yes, I love it. Thank you..." Michael managed to choke out. He exchanged a look with Nikita, sending her an urgent request to help.

She nodded, and cleared her throat. "Becky, would you mind terribly if the three of us had a little privacy to discuss things?" She smiled at the younger woman. "Just business stuff, you understand.."

The girl smiled back. "Sure, no problem."

Michael moved over on the bed so that Becky had room to clamber off of it and stand up. She fished into her book-bag on the table nearby and took out a Walkman, headphones dangling.

"Take your time. I'll just wait in here." Butterfly gave them another dazzling smile and went into the bathroom and shut the door.

Michael and Nikita settled themselves on the bed in front of the laptop, staring thoughtfully at Birkoff on the screen.

"Holy shit," the young genius said. "Operations is going to have a fit when he hears this.."

Birkoff ran his hand agitatedly across his short hair. He was getting a tremendous headache. Butterfly had almost created more problems than she had solved. For herself, especially. What would they do to her? Would Section recruit her or kill her?

"We won't tell him," said Michael in a level tone.

Nikita stared at him. He was back in mission mode; she could tell the mind behind those lustrous green eyes was thinking furiously.

"How are we going to avoid it?" she demanded. "All of Section's on red alert, waiting for Red Cell to take us down. We can't just say nothing, that the problem just.. went away...."

Nikita gestured angrily. "They'll want some kind of plausible explanation..."

Michael got up and began pacing, one hand rubbing his chin. "So we'll give them a plausible explanation," he said after a minute. "Much more plausible than the real truth, anyway."

"You're right, Michael," Nikita mused. "It IS pretty incredible. Will they really believe a sixteen year-old girl in pig-tails brought them to their knees?"

Birkoff sighed heavily. "As much as we'd like to, we can't leave her out of it. Section already knows Butterfly hacked the Directory, or knows someone who did..."

"But they don't know who -or what- Butterfly is," said Michael. He had stopped pacing and his eyes had a gleam of hope in them.

"Birkoff," Michael said suddenly, settling on the bed in front of the computer again. "How difficult would it be for you to leave a false trail?"

"False trail?" said the young man, puzzled.

"What if Butterfly is really a Systems Security agent working for Oversight?" said Michael, warming to his subject. "What if it was just a test by the higher-ups to see if Section files could be breached?"

Birkoff grinned. "I think I could handle that," he said happily.

"If you have any problems with it, I'm sure Becky could help you," quipped Nikita with a relieved grin.

Birkoff nodded. "Actually, it's not a bad idea. She should be a Security consultant for us...."

"I'm sure that can be worked out between the two of you later," said Michael. "Right now, we need to solve the immediate problem. How long will it take for you to set it up?"

Birkoff thought for a minute. "Let me see.... six, seven hours, maybe. Maybe less."

Michael frowned. "No. No, that's no good."

"That's the best I can do, Michael," Birkoff protested. "There are a lot of factors to cover.."

Michael looked into the screen with his impassive, unreadable expression. "It's fine. Take your time and be thorough. I'll need time to tie up things here."

He turned to look at Nikita, his eyes glittering. He focused his gaze on her soft mouth again, like he had earlier in the day. Nikita felt herself grow warm under his gaze, and she tried vainly not to blush.

Without taking his eyes from her, Michael spoke to Birkoff. "Just to be sure, why don't you wait until tomorrow to talk to Operations? That will give us time to .... explore all the scenarios....."

Nikita blushed again. Michael had lowered his voice seductively on th last three words, making them sound like a lover's whispered endearment. Nikita stared back at Michael, mesmerized, and felt herself shiver.

"Good idea," agreed Birkoff, oblivious to the implications. He was already formulating the outline of his plan in his head, making a list of what to do. "You want me to get back to you when I'm done?"

"No," Michael answered unexpectantly. "Don't contact us tonight. Just let us act surprised with the rest of them when you announce it tomorrow."

"Fine," said Birkoff, nodding. "Til tomorrow, then," he said, and signed off.

Michael reached out to turn off the laptop and then leaned slowly forward until his lips were bare inches from Nikita's. She quivered at his nearness. With their eyes locked, Michael gently pressed his mouth to hers, soft lips merging with soft lips.

Nikita succumbed to the magic of the kiss. She lay back on the bed and Michael followed, lips and arms intertwined, lying on top of her.

The kiss deepened, and they held each other tighter, as the rest of the world receded from their awareness and they became lost in each other. There was nothing real other than this; there was no time other than now, that moment.

Just then, the bathroom door opened and Butterfly flitted gaily out into the room.

"Are you done yet?" she asked with loud innocence.

Then she stared at them in total bewilderment when both operatives suddenly and inexplicably burst out laughing.

**********

Brenda Ferguson looked up from her post at the Mensa Registration table to see the beautiful couple coming toward her again. Both the handsome Frenchman and the lovely blonde were smiling. Brenda was pleased; it looked they were having fun at the gathering, just like she had said they would.

They also seemed to have acquired a small companion. A small teen-aged girl with pig-tails walked between the couple, holding a back-pack in one hand and clutching Michael's hand with the other. The girl was smiling as well.

"Hello again," Brenda greeted them warmly as they came up to her table.

"Bon soir, ma cher Mademoiselle," said Michael, with as much charm as the last time they had met. And, like the last time, Michael took Brenda's hand in his, bowed over it, and kissed her fingers lightly, all the time looking at her with the luminous green eyes. Brenda found herself blushing.

She cleared her throat to compose herself and then asked, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Ah, oui," Michael answered. He leaned over the table and lowered his voice to a soft, conspiratorial whisper.

"My niece has come to join us," he said, indicating Becky behind him with a slight tilt of his head.

"How nice," Brenda whispered back.

"Yes, it is," responded Michael. "But she is very young, very innocent, tu comprends?"

He fixed her with concerned green eyes. "There are some activities Nikita and I would like to attend, but they would not be suitable for my precious Petite..."

Brenda nodded, understanding completely. "You mean the Fishbowl," she whispered back.

"Oui." Michael smiled sweetly at her. "But I do not feel comfortable leaving the little one on her own..."

He paused, letting the soulful green eyes pleading with hers have their effect. Brenda stared at him, transfixed.

"And I trust you," he whispered. "Otherwise I would not ask...."

Brenda felt a thrill go through her at the intimacy of his tone. She answered with total capitulation.

"Ask me anything-- it's O.K...." she found herself saying.

"Could you keep an eye on her, just for tonight?" Michael pleaded. "Just make sure she gets to her room safely, and goes to bed at a reasonable hour?"

"Of course!" Brenda agreed, smiling at him and glancing at Becky, who looked like an adorable, sweet-natured child. "I'd be delighted!"

Oh, hell, Brenda thought to herself. Who am I kidding? Even if the girl had looked like an axe-murderer, I couldn't have said no to this man...

Michael gave her a dazzling smile and walked around to her side of the table and held out his arms.

"Ahh, merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle. Merci beaucoup.." Michael exclaimed as he enveloped the older woman in a huge hug.

Nikita, standing off to the side next to Becky, watched Michael, shaking her head. Michael had a way with women, that was for sure. He could get them to do anything he wanted. She smiled ruefully. *And I'm no exception* she thought to herself.

She also had a burning curiousity to know what the hell Fishbowl was.

After a most enjoyable minute in his embrace, Brenda reluctantly released Michael stepped away from him, blushing prettily. she patted her hair and straightened her glasses, then smiled welcomingly at Becky and walked over to the girl.

"Don't worry," Brenda reassured them. "I'll take good care of her. You two run along and have fun."

"Thank you, Mademoiselle," Michael told her sincerely.

Michael turned to give Butterfly a kiss on the cheek and a tender look. "Behave yourself," he told her sternly.

Butterfly smiled at him. "I will, I promise," she said. Then she paused and added, giggling, ".... Uncle Mike!"

Michael laughed, then gave Brenda and Becky one last nod, and turned to Nikita. He took her arm and started leading her down the hotel hallway, a huge smile on his face.

"Mission completed," he said happily.

Nikita looked up at him, smiling back. "Now what, Michael?" she asked a little breathlessly.

Michael stopped in the hallway and looked into her eyes. He lifted his hand and softly brushed the back of it against her cheek in a tender caress.

Nikita stood entranced at his touch and the way he was looking at her, feeling her knees go weak.

She felt them go even weaker, and she became almost dizzy when she heard his soft answer. He leaned close to her, their lips almost touching, and spoke, voice husky with passion.

"Now," he whispered, "There's just .... us."

**********

"Mmmmm, this is nice," murmured Nikita, resting her head on Michael's shoulder. They were dancing together among the other Mensa couples in the ballroom at the hotel.

Michael smiled and turned her expertly in time to the music. "I hope it's all right that we had dinner in the restaurant here. The perimeter teams would have noticed if we had left the area."

Nikita lifted up her head and looked at him. "It was just fine," she told him. They had had wine and with their leisurely meal which, to Nikita's great relief, did not, for once, consist of oreos, gummi bears, or chip and dip.

She gave a satisfied laugh. "I feel good," she said happily. "You saved Butterfly from Section, and we have the Directories."

She shook her head in amazement. "That is one special little girl. I'm glad she'll be all right."

Michael nodded. "She has a bright soul. She's intelligent, and strong, and generous. She's experienced much suffering in her life- she deserves a chance to live and to be happy."

Michael looked into Nikita's eyes and lowered his voice. "She reminds me of you," he said softly.

Nikita stared back at him, a little stunned at his words. He rarely expressed himself so freely, and almost never talked about his feelings for anyone, let alone his feelings for her.

"Oh..." she said with a gasp of astonishment, eyes wide.

Michael held her in his arms a little tighter, his voice still low and soft. "Why are you surprised, Nikita? I told you- I live my life split in two. My feelings, my emotions, aren't easy to see, but underneath, they're there...."

He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek very softly. "For you, they're ALWAYS there. Always..."

Nikita closed her eyes, the emotions of elation and frustration battling within her. She was elated that he had opened up this much to her; and she was frustrated that it happened so seldomly.

She sighed. "I wish you could trust me like this more often, Michael," she said with a touch of sadness.

Michael brushed a lock of hair back from her face. "But I DO trust you, Nikita. I always have."

She nestled her head on his shoulder again, and pulled him closer.

"You trust me with your life as a team-mate on missions," she whispered. "And you've trusted me with your body, when we've made love..."

She took a deep breath, and plunged on. "But you rarely trust me like this- with your feelings, with your.. heart...."

She rested her cheek against his and held him tightly. "That other half of you, Michael--- I'd like to get to know it. I'd like to know the whole man."

She kissed his cheek, and them murmured the words in his ear. "Please, Michael. I want you to let me in."

For a moment, she wondered if she had gone to far, asked for too much. She almost expected to feel Michael stiffen in her arms and pull away from her. But he didn't.

Instead, Michael tightened his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. She felt his lips move softly over her neck, then nuzzle her under her jaw. Then she closed her eyes as his mouth came down on hers.

His kiss was at first tentative, and soft, lips exploring gently. With incredible tenderness, he teased her lips apart to taste her inner sweetness with a manner that was almost reverent.

It was like being kissed by an angel, she thought, his caress a combination of gossamer lightness and passionate strength. They went on sharing this holy moment.

At last, Michael broke the kiss and murmured into her hair. "All right, Nikita," he whispered.

"Michael?" she said, startled, afraid she was imagining this. It couldn't be Michael saying these words..

"All right," he said again, still holding her close. "I'll let you in. You can ask me anything you want, and I'll answer you..."

"Oh!" Nikita gasped.

He caressed her cheek again, and looked into her eyes, his expression tender and serious. "And you will do the same for me. All right?"

Nikita nodded, barely able to speak for the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. She had never dreamed that they could ever be this close, this open with each other.

"Oh, Michael, yes.." she said huskily.

"Then that is what we'll do," Michael said, leading her off the dance floor. "Tonight, it will be you and I, just the two of us...."

He paused, and brought her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers lightly. "Tonight, you and I will...."

"Yes, Michael?" Nikita asked breathlessly.

The beautiful green eyes looked sincerely into hers. "Tonight," he said softly, "we'll play Fishbowl."

**********

Nikita stiffened and felt herself grow cold. Was Michael toying with her? Was this whole evening some kind of joke?

"Fishbowl?" she choked out. "What's that?"

Michael's expression was still intensely serious, and there was no hint of teasing or joking in his tone as he explained.

"Some call it a game, but it's not a game, really," he told her. "It's more a tool, a structure, for honest discussion.."

"Go on," she said, still not quite reassured. "What are the rules to this game that's not a game?"

Michael linked his fingers with hers as they exited the ballroom and entered the hotel hallway. He squeezed her hand in a gesture of comfort and reassurance.

"The participants divide up by gender, men on one side, women on the other," he continued. "Each group gets to ask the other any question they want, about anything at all.'

"And the other side has to answer as completely and as honestly as they can," Michael went on as they reached the lobby.

Nikita relaxed a little, trusting him again. "How do you keep score?" she asked in a light tone. "How do you win?"

Michael smiled. "No one keeps score, Nikita." He squeezed her hand again. They just talk. And no one loses."

"I see," she said, nodding. "Sounds civilized enough." She looked questioningly into his face. "How come you wouldn't let Butterfly be part of this game?"

Michael looked at her, and the green eyes glittering with amusement and passion. "Because the participants can ask anything they want, and a lot of times the questions get very explicit...."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers again. "Sexually explicit," he clarified.

"Oh!" was all Nikita managed to say.

Michael went on, elaborating with gestures as well as words. "Questions like, how does a woman like to be touched?" He ran his hand slowly up Nikita's arm, fingernails scratching lightly.

Nikita closed her eyes, swaying from the sensations the caress caused in her. She was grateful they were standing alone in the deserted hotel corridor.

"Like this?" he whispered, his hand trailing from her shoulder down her back in firm strokes. Nikita whimpered.

"Or.. like this?" His fingers glided over her buttocks lightly and then found their way to the front of her skirt. His hand grazed her hip, caressing tantalizingly near the core of her womanhood.

Then, with only his fingertips, he made light circles on the outer part of her thigh down to her knee, and then very slowly worked his way up again, his touches igniting a trail of fire in their wake.

"Michael, please..." Nikita begged, eyes still closed, knees quivering.

"Yes?" he whispered, still caressing her.

"Let's go play Fishbowl in our room," she said breathlessly.

"Whatever you want," he agreed hoarsely, and kissed her again.

***********

In the hallway, Nikita smiled and waited as Michael opened the hotel room door. He pushed it open and then turned back to her, taking her by the hand and pulling her inside. He returned her smile with a tremulous one of his own, and it occurred to her that he was as nervous as she was.

Once inside, Michael surprised Nikita by leading her not to the bed, but to one of the chairs flanking the small table at the end of the room. He pulled out the chair for her and then sat down opposite. Nikita felt confused and uncertain. She looked across the table to see Michael looking at her expectantly, hands folded in front of him.

"Would you like to ask the first question or shall I?" he said softly.

Nikita's eyes widened. "We're playing Fishbowl?" she said, shocked.

Studying his face closely, Nikita saw that the expression in his eyes was serious; he looked astonishly vunerable.

"I thought you wanted to," he said.

"I do, I do," she said quickly. She was beginning to realize that Michael sincerely wanted what she wanted-- an intimate and honest communication and connection between them. But it was not his nature to to discuss his feelings freely and openly. He had suppressed that side of himself for too long.

Maybe this game was one of the few forms of open communication that Michael felt comfortable with. Fishbowl had a definite structure, a framework, a set of rules. Maybe within the safety of this structured setting, Michael felt free enough to let go.

Nikita smiled at him. Such an unusual, complicated man. He always surprised her. She decided to let him go ahead; he seemed eager to ask her a question.

"You go first," she offered.

Michael sighed and lowered his eyes, pausing for a long moment. Nikita waited silently; she almost thought he wasn't going to say anything.

Finally, he spoke. "On the Armel mission, why..." He paused and licked his lips. "...... why did you make love to me?"

Nikita stared at him, stunned.

"I thought you didn't want anything to do with me," he went on in a low voice. "We hadn't really talked or seen each other outside Section for a long time before the mission..."

He sighed and shifted nervously in his chair. "All that week, in the house, every night you turned me down, when I started something.."

"I told myself it was because you didn't want to put on a show for the cameras. I was hoping that was the reason, and not that you had decided that you never wanted to be with me again... And I wouldn't have blamed you if you had."

Nikita sat silent, afraid to speak and break the spell. She was entranced by this new Michael. He had never discussed their relationship so openly before.

He took a deep breath and stared down at his hands which he twisted nervously together on the table-top. "But then, that night, you...."

He looked up at her, gazing into her eyes. "... you offered yourself to me and I couldn't believe it. I kept asking you, in as many different ways as I could, if you were sure.."

He shook his head in wonderment. "I was so surprised. And so happy.."

He reached for her hand on the table and gripped it, hard. "It was... it was so beautiful..."

The green eyes looked pleadingly into hers. "I just want you to tell me why," he said, voice low and intense.

Nikita gulped and lowered her eyes. "Michael, really, I don't know..." she said, shaking her head. "I ..."

The grip on her hand tightened. "No, Nikita," Michael insisted. You have to answer. You have to be honest. That's the rule."

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Then she looked up at him and nodded. "All right, Michael. I'll tell you."

"When Madeleine called me into the office the afternoon before.. that night, she ordered me to do it," Nikita began. "To conform to the mission profile of our being a married couple. Then.. "

Michael tensed and squeezed her hand, hard. "I see..." he said brokenly, and then released her hand and leaned back in his chair, slumping defeatedly.

"Michael!" Nikita said sharply. "That's not the reason I did it." She reached for his hand again, and he let her take it. "Michael, please. Let me explain..'

He nodded, and agreed. "I'm sorry. Go ahead, I'm listening."

She looked warily up at him and thought he almost looked as scared to hear the truth as she was to tell it. Being this open felt very frightening, but she had promised to be honest, and she would be. There was no stopping the game now.

She swallowed nervously and plunged on. "All that week, I enjoyed being near you. Being able to talk to you, to touch you. To speak endearments. To lie next to you...."

She blushed. "I wanted you," she whispered. "Very much. You know I always have...'

"Madeleine's order just gave me an excuse to do what I really wanted to do." Nikita gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I guess the answer is, because I couldn't resist you any longer."

She smiled up at him. "I wish we had had more than that one night together. Cameras or no cameras."

Michael gazed at her, eyes soft. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. Nikita sensed that somehow a great burden had been lifted from him.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Nikita smiled tenderly at him and they for a long time, not speaking, just holding hands.

Then, looking at her admiringly, Michael broke the silence.

"Your turn," he said.

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

Nikita held Michael's hand for a moment longer, then pulled her hand away, withdrawing further back into her chair. She crossed her arms across her chest in a protective gesture, as if to shield her heart from some upcoming pain.

"All right," she said, not looking at him. She didn't have to think long about what question to ask. It had burned in her mind for weeks, haunting her.

"That night, when we made love," she began. "You seemed so happy. But the next day..."

She took in a sharp breath, steeling herself to say the words. "I could tell you hadn't slept. You were upset, agitated. And when I asked you what was wrong, you said... you said....."

Nikita finished, her voice shaking. "You said it was a mistake."

"Why?" she asked, anguished, looking up into his eyes again. "That's my question. Why did you say it was a mistake?"

Michael looked stricken, and frightened again. He heaved a deep sigh and shook his head.

"It's hard to explain," he said in a low voice. "I wouldn't know where to begin..."

"Try, Michael," she said gently. "We have time. I'm listening."

Michael nodded and rubbed a hand over his chin. "You know what I am, Nikita," he began, words coming out in a rush. "You know the kind of asignments Section makes me do sometimes...."

"You mean, seducing women," Nikita said flatly.

"Yes," he answered quietly. "Like Lisa Fanning. I do it, but I'm not proud of it."

He couldn't find the words to tell her how repulsed he was by these assignments. How degraded he felt by them. How much he hated himself afterwards.

He sighed again and went on. "In order to ... perform, I have to shove down my feelings, turn off my emotions..."

He groped for the words. "I have to... build a wall around myself..."

"You split yourself in two," Nikita said softly.

"Oui," he said hoarsely. "That's how I deal with it. But with you.. it was hard to be with you, to be... real, and on a mission at the same time."

He searched for the words again. "I was conflicted....."

"Why?" Nikita cried out in distress. "Why was it so hard for you to be with me? I thought the mission would be easier, because we had made love before..."

"Nikita...' Michael whispered, anguished. His eyes glistened with unshed tears and he leaned forward and took her hand in his again.

"Nikita, I'm trying to tell you. With you, it's real. You're in the half of my life that's the real me. My heart, my soul, my feelings..."

He put his other hand on top of hers and caressed her fingers, holding her hand between both of his. Nikita quivered at his touch and his words, her breath catching in her throat.

"I opened up to you that night," he went on urgently. "YOU opened my heart. And once I started letting my feelings out, once I started touching you, holding you, kissing you...."

He sighed deeply, and looked into her eyes. "I didn't want to stop. I didn't want it to ever end."

He shook his head, and his mouth twisted in a grim line. "But I had no choice. I had to clamp down on my feelings. It was a mission, and I had to shut myself off again. And that was too hard...."

"It was like being torn in two..." he finished in an anguished whisper.

Nikita looked at him tenderly, her eyes filling with tears. "Michael.."

Their eyes locked for a moment, then suddenly she was up from her chair and at his side. She knelt in front of of his chair and slipped her arms around him, pulling him close.

Michael clutched her fiercely and pulled her head down on to his shoulder, then buried his face in her hair.

"You're the one beautiful thing in my life, Nikita," he told her. "When I'm with you, I'm alive..."

"When I'm with you, I want to hold you, kiss you..." He turned his head and kissed her cheek lightly. Nikita felt his hot tears mingle with her own.

"I want to touch you and never stop," he groaned hoarsely.

Nikita gave a little cry and pulled his face down to hers, tangling her fingers in his hair. Michael gripped her shoulders and pulled her toward him, their mouths meeting in a forceful, desperate kiss.

Nikita felt the fire igniting within her, and her hands moved lower, almost of their own accord, down his back. She tugged fiercely on the material of his shirt, freeing it from the waistband of his slacks.

In mutual need, they stood up, still clingling together, hands roaming in urgency.

The kiss deepened, and Michael pressed his hips hard against hers, the feel of the hard length of his arousal inflaming her. She pulled him closer, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Each could feel the outline of the other's need pressed against their own.

Bodies still intertwined, they fell together on the bed.

"Nikita," Michael groaned. "Nikita.." He turned to lie on his back and pulled her over on top of him.

She shivered as Michael began unbuttoning her blouse, his fingers hot on her skin.

"Michael," she begged. "Touch me.." She took his face in her hands and kissed him again.

Even as she tasted the nectar of his surrendered lips, she knew that she also drank from the deep well of his heart.

"Touch me," she moaned. "Touch me and don't stop..."

**********

Michael moaned and gave himself over to the joyous moment. He had despaired of there ever being anything like this between them again. He had thought it almost impossible that she would offer herself to him as she had before, so openly, so completely.

But here she was, his lovely Nikita, straddling him, her blouse open, eyes glazed with passion-- entirely, wantonly, his.

He lifted his head from the pillow and placed a soft, almost reverent kiss on the top of one breast, just above her lacy bra. At the same time, he caressed the hardening peak of the other breast through the material, feeling her response instantly against his fingers.

Nikita threw her head back and let out a low moan. "Oh, Michael, yes..." she gasped.

She held perfectly still, entranced by the feel of Michael's lips on her skin. Eagerly he moved lower, taking her breast in his mouth and suckling her nipple hard through the thin material of her bra, while his hand relentlessly continued to tease the other hard peak, stroking firmly.

But it was not enough. He wanted to feel her bare skin against his. He wanted to taste her, see her... and their clothes were in the way.

"Take it off," Michael whispered urgently.

Nikita obliged. She raised up from him and sat back, letting the blouse fall off her shoulders and drop to the bed. The movement removed her breasts from his reach, but brought her hips more fully in contact with his as she sat astride him. She gave a little laugh of delight as she felt Michael's c--- jump against her at the added pressure and stimulation.

Michael watched her, eyes riveted, as she reached behind her to undo the clasp of the bra and let it fall forward from her body onto his taut stomach. Hastily, he reached for the lacy scrap of material and tossed it aside as he drank in the sight of the creamy perfection revealed to his gaze.

His hands went next to her hips, fumbling eagerly at the zipper of her skirt. Her breasts were exquisitely beautiful, but he wanted to see all of her. He wanted to see her naked underneath him.

"Take off everything," he ordered huskily.

Nikita's eyes met his. "You, too," she told him breathlessly.

She was eager to see him as well. She wanted to let her eyes memorize the muscled, perfect lines of his body, wanted to feel the weight of him stretched out on top of her, wanted to feel that body joined with hers, throbbing inside her...

In mutual accord, they moved away from each other off the bed, reluctant to be apart, but anxious to be free of the hindrance of clothes. Their eyes never left each other as they hurriedly removed everything that would interfere with their love-making, fingers fumbling on clasps and buttons, made awkward and clumsy by desire.

Nikita watched, almost dazed, as Michael kicked off the last item of clothing, a pair of black silk boxers, and stood naked before her.

He was breathing heavily, soft lips parted, broad chest heaving. There was a slight sheen of sweat on the taut muscles of his ridged abdomen, and the sight of this evidence of his vunerability aroused her more, touching her somehow.

She stared in raw need at the long, upright shaft of his manhood, captivated by its size. It rose from between the muscular thighs, thick and wide as well as long, the head of it reaching nearly to his navel.

She couldn't control the shudder of desire that shook her whole body, of the gasp that escaped her lips. "Oh, Michael..."

He stared back at her, eyes dark with passion, as he took in her naked beauty as well. She looked like something out of a dream, or a fairy-tale, her golden hair streaming down over beautiful curves of golden skin. The rosy tips of her breasts thrust up as if reaching toward him, and the soft triangle of slightly darker golden hair called him to explore it mysteries.

He uttered a groan and went to her, closing the short distance between them in a few quick steps.

His arms came around her, fingers running up and down her back. He pressed his lips to her neck, nipping her sensitive skin, nuzzling the tender spots, biting lightly, sending shivers of delight up and down her spine.

Nikita wanted him closer. Putting her arms around him, she placed her hands on the firm, round curves of his rear and pulled him against her. She thrust her hips against his, moving side to side. They both moaned at the pleasure this friction of their bodies gave them.

Michael gave her another hard kiss and then put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back on the bed, then lay down beside her. He paused to reach out for the light-switch of the lamp near the bed, intending to plunge the room into intimate darkness.

Nikita stopped him with a hand on his forearm. "Don't," she pleaded.

Michael looked down into her face, a question in his eyes.

"I want to see you," she told him in a husky voice. She moved her hand down between their bodies to caress him, feeling his hard length hot and pulsing in her fingers.

Michael took in a sharp breath, and his eyes widened.

"I want to watch you while you make love to me..." she whispered.

Michael studied her face intently, holding still, enthralled by her words and her touch.

"I want to watch your face when you come for me," she added boldly.

With these words, Nikita allowed herself to give in completely to the commands of her passion.

It was as if here, in this atmosphere of freedom, honesty, and trust they had established between them, she felt safe enough to let loose her fantasies, express her needs, act out her desires.

"Lie back," she whispered.

Speechless, Michael nodded and stretched out beside her on his back, allowing her total access to his body. He was thrilled at the depth of desire he saw in her eyes. She leaned toward him, and he reached up to push back the curtain of shimmering hair that fell across her face, hand caressing her cheek.

"You're sure?" he whispered.

"Shhhh," she murmured, and then bent forward to kiss him. Michael sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

"That's it, Michael," she encouraged him. "Just relax and let me ... explore you...."

His eyes remained closed, and he leaned his head back as his breathing became more rapid and harsh. He rested one hand lightly on her arm, wanting to keep in constant contact with her as she moved over him.

He thought he was prepared for her touch, but he wasn't. He gasped loudly and arched his back as he felt the shock of passion shoot through him as Nikita suddenly engulfed the head of his penis in her mouth.

"Ahh..." He cried out at the unexpected jolt of pleasure the intimate caress gave him.

Nikita tasted him, licked him, slid her lips up and down his length. She nipped lightly at the side of his shaft, pretending to bite him, then playfully kissed the spot better.

She reveled in the taste and feel of him, enjoying herself, deriving as much pleasure from this game as she knew he was getting from her. She bent her head and sucked him deeply again, tongue swirling around the sensitive tip.

Michael writhed, thrusting his hips upward, ecstatic at her touch, as she indulged herself in the love-play. His breath came in short gasps, and Nikita shuddered in delight as as he moaned loudly and threw his head back, face contorted in passion, responding so completely to her caress.

His need building relentlessly with her every touch, Michael opened his eyes and lifted his head up, reaching for her.

"Nikita..." he begged, eyes glittering.

Nikita did not want to torment him any longer. Her need for him was becoming almost painful; she ached for him to be inside her.

Quickly, she moved up to kiss him, and his tongue plunged forcefully into her mouth. He tasted the faint salty trace of himself on her lips. He wrapped one arm around her to pull her against him, and then brought up the other hand to lay against her breast, tweaking her nipple urgently.

Nikita kissed him back, and he felt her thrust her hips against him in an ancient gesture of need. Michael obliged by lowering his hand from her breast, fingers trailing lightly over her belly and downward, until they found the soft triangle of curls between her legs.

He caressed and stroked her, parting the tender petals of her womanhood and finding the sensitive bud inside. Making small circles, he rubbed her firmly. Nikita moaned in pleasure.

Michael felt the hot wetness of her core beneath his finger-tips, and knew that she was as aroused and ready for him as he was for her.

***********

Nikita reached for him, encircling his hard shaft in her hand. She began stroking him in a rhythm that matched the one he was using to arouse her.

The pace of their caresses quickened, each of them writhing with ever-escalating pleasure under the transportive touch of the other, their passion rising higher and higher.

"Michael, please, now," Nikita moaned against his mouth as she could bear it no longer. She had to have him inside her.

With a loud cry, Michael turned her to lie under him, and climbed on top of her. Their eyes locked, and, just as she had fantasized, she put her arms around his neck and watched his face as he entered her. She had no idea that the look of bliss on his face mirrored her own.

She cried out softly as he slowly eased the entire length of himself all the way in. Despite her being fully aroused and ready, his size made their initial coupling slightly uncomfortable for her.

"All right?" he asked huskily against her shoulder when the last hard inch of him disappeared inside her, their hip bones touching, lower bodies pressed tightly together.

"Oh, yes..." she answered with a laugh. Any slight pain she had felt was entirely forgotten as he began moving inside her, the sensations of pleasure overwhelming her.

"Ahh, oui..." Michael moaned, as, eyes closed, he quickened and varied his pace. He used full, long strokes, then short, then long again. He moved his hips in a circle, thrusts fast and shallow alternating with ones slow and deep. It was as if he didn't want to miss caressing any part of her from the inside.

Lying under him, Nikita lost all power to think, react, or even move, the feel of his body moving over hers swamping her senses. She could only lie quivering helplessy beneath him, mindlessy clutching his shoulders as he pleasured her.

The sensations were building in Michael, too, as he felt himself building ever closer to a climactic release.

"Nikita," he gasped, lips nuzzling her neck. Gooseflesh covered her as she felt his breath hot against her ear. "Get ready," he warned as his thrusts became more rapid and deep.

He lifted his head up from her shoulder so she could look into his eyes.

"Watch me," he whispered.

Nikita looked up at him tenderly. His face was flushed and his hair hung in wild dissarray about his face. Sweat lay beaded on his forehead and glistened on his shoulders and chest. The soft, full lips were parted as he took in rapid, audible breaths, and the compelling green eyes shone brightly with his love for her.

To Nikita, he was breath-takingly beautiful. He was magnificent.

"Watch me come for you," he said hoarsely.

Nikita breath caught, and she gasped loudly. She knew instinctively that Michael intended to bring them to fulfillment together, to take her over the edge with him. She felt herself close to losing control, thrilled that he was pushing them toward the moment of magic in just the way she had requested.

He shifted his position slightly so that he could enter her more deeply, riding her body higher so all her most sensitive places would have more contact with the powerful, thrusting pressure of his c--- as it glided in her.

Her eyes widened as the pleasure became even more intense than before. She hadn't imagined it was possible for it to feel any more wonderful, but it did.

Michael went on, straining and groaning above her, leading her higher, moving faster and faster, over and over his lean hips parting and meeting hers.

Their eyes were still locked, and Nikita felt his gaze like a caress, sending her spiralling into ever-increasing heights and intensities of passion.

"Michael, now," she urged him.

"Oui, ma cher," he answered. They were completely in accord -- bodies, hearts, spirits.

He pulled back, almost moving all the way out of her, and paused. Nikita whimpered. Then with fierce, powerful thrusts he plunged back into her again and again, strokes faster than any that had come before.

She watched as his jaw clenched and his face contorted in passion as his orgasm took him. His body arched in a tense bow and she felt his manhood swell and throb inside her as he called out her name and collapsed against her shoulder.

His shudders of ecstacy had not ceased when she felt her own begin. Her whole body convulsed violently as she came; She cried out. Michael held her as they trembled together, the waves of pleasure engulfing them both.

They clung together, bodies still joined, as they floated down from the heights. Nikita sighed, feeling Michael's breathing slow and his body relax against her.

She felt a great peace, and a vast sense of completion overtake her, and she knew Michael shared this moment of deep satisfaction with her.

She watched as the green eyes drifted closed, and she knew for certain that no anguished thoughts would awaken Michael this night, and no conflicted feelings would haunt him in the morning.

This time, there had been no mistake.

Contentedly, she kissed his sweat-dampened cheek softly, and slept.

***********

Unlike the last time, Nikita woke the next morning after they had made love to to find Michael sleeping beside her. The sun had crept in through a chink in the curtains and had found Michael's hair, igniting the colors of red and gold in the brown depths of silky curls.

He was lying on his side above the covers, naked, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed his only movement. The usual lines of stress on his face had dissappeared; he looked surprisingly young to her, and touchingly vunerable.

Nikita could not resist wriggling over the few inches that separated them to snuggle against him, carefully positioning herself to once again lie in his arms. Michael did not stir at her touch; he only sighed in his sleep, his body deeply relaxed and warm against hers.

Nikita smiled, savoring the moment. She had been right- there had been no mistake this time.

She closed her eyes and thought about all that had happened in the last few days since they had started this mission to get Butterfly. Everything had worked out, after some very shocking twists and turns, the import of which she was still trying to process.

One of the most shocking things was Michael's behavior. By all rights, if Michael had been following Section procedure, young Becky Gordon would have been brought in, interrogated, then kept alive if found useful, or exterminated if not.

But instead of giving her up, Michael had protected her. And, even more atonishing, he had kept the truth from Section about one of their most dangerous scenarios- the theft of the Directory.

Nikita sighed and very lightly kissed Michael's shoulder. This time, the cold, machine-like operative had not been very cold at all. Yesterday, he had gone out of his way to shield an innocent young girl, essentially trusting her with the whole fate of Section. And beyond that, he had trusted Nikita with this secret as well.

And, Nikita mused, he had more than trusted her. He had put her first. By ordering Birkoff to delay revealing the planted scenario until the next day, Michael had essentially left Section hanging in order that he and Nikita could have the opportunity to share this time together.

She looked at Michael sleeping quietly beside her and her blue eyes softened as she remembered. Their night together had been about more than just great sex, although that was certainly part of it. No, last night had been about much, much more.

Their incredible physical intimacy had been the direct result of the emotional intimacy that had gone before. In the years she had known him, she had had glimpses of the hidden emotional side of Michael -- his other half. There had been a few conversations between them here and there, a few facts she had learned, some history revealed. But Michael had always kept close guard on his feelings; he had remained a mystery to her.

There had never been this outpouring, this total openess between them. They had never communicated so completely before. Last night they had shared not just their bodies, but their hearts and their souls. Michael had found a way to give them the time and the space to do that.

Time. Nikita sighed deeply. Today they would have to go back to Section. They would have to resume their old roles in just a few hours. Time was something they did not have.

With sudden, wrenching poignancy, Nikita hugged Michael closer, wondering how long it would be, if ever, before she would have another chance to hold him like this again. Impulsively, she raised her head and kissed him.

The soft lips under hers lay quiescent for a moment, then parted for her, and began moving over hers as Michael awakened and responded instantly and tenderly to her kiss.

His arms tightened around her and he opened sleepy green eyes with the beginnings of awakening passion glinting in their depths. "Nikita..." he greeted her hoarsely, his voice deep and roughened with need.

"Good morning," she responded, unable to stop a happy giggle from escaping her lips.

Michael gifted her with a breath-taking smile. He looked into her eyes and raised one hand to reverently caress one tangled lock of blonde hair back from her cheek.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" he said, voice soft and intense.

Nikita's breath caught in her throat, his words and the way he was looking at her making her pause with wonder.

"Not today," she found herself saying boldly. She kissed him briefly, but deeply, again, then murmured an invitation. "Why don't you show me?"

Michael gave a happy laugh and pulled her against him, bending his head to nuzzle her neck, lips moving softly over her skin. Nikita felt a thrill of electricity at his touch.

She groaned and pressed herself closer, raising one knee to wrap a long shapely leg around him. Michael bit her shoulder playfully, and she felt the already half-turgid length of his manhood stiffen further in response.

"Michael," she whispered into his ear, "You're the one who's beautiful..."

He pulled back from her to look at her, joyous desire glittering in his eyes. It meant so much to him that she had said that, knowing that the meaning of her words went beyond the mere physical to include his inner self as well.

He was awed that after opening up to her, after having let her see deeper inside him than he had allowed anyone else, she had embraced that other half of him, had accepted him with such total warmth and tenderness....

He knew without a doubt in that moment that she loved him.

"Nikita..." he groaned, and began kissing her furiously. He took one hand of hers in his and guided it slowly down his body, leading her fingers past hard chest and flat stomach until they brushed against his fully aroused maleness.

Nikita sighed deeply and curved her fingers around him, and began to caress him in slow, gentle strokes....

Just then, the phone rang.

Michael groaned loudly again, this time in frustration. He rolled away from Nikita, reaching for the phone, as she gave an equally frustrated sigh and collapsed back on the bed.

"Yes?" Michael said impatiently into the phone, his passion-drugged eyes still soft and unfocused as he struggled to shift his concentration away from the naked woman on the bed beside him.

A bubbly, girlish voice responded to him over the line. "Hi, Michael! It's me," Becky announced perkily. "Are you up yet?"

Nikita gasped, then snorted sharply, and collapsed helplessly on the bed in a fit of giggles. Michael chuckled once, then guffawed, falling beside her as spasms of laughter shook him so hard his sides hurt.

Becky listened to them for a minute, then pulled the receiver away from her ear and shook her head, puzzled. She couldn't figure it out.

What was so funny? she wondered.

***********

Brenda Ferguson smiled happily as she watched the trio of man, woman, and girl talking together in the center of the lobby. She could see them clearly from her post at the Mensa Registration table and she took a moment to look up from her paperwork to admire them.

Such a beautiful couple, the older woman thought to herself as she gazed at Michael and Nikita. Both of them were smiling and relaxed; it looked like they had thoroughly enjoyed their evening of Fishbowl last night.

Brenda shook her head. Such stamina these young people had, she thought. She herself had attended many sessions of Fishbowl in the past, since it was a traditional Mensa event. Usually the group ended up staying up until 3 in the morning talking, and Brenda always felt tired and haggard the next day. Certainly she had never awakened the morning after with such a GLOW like those two had...

She shook her head, and let this mystery pass from her mind as she turned to gaze fondly at Michael's pretty, young niece. Such a sweet, obedient girl. She hadn't given her a bit of trouble last night. The little dear had even asked if she could go to bed early, of all things.

This had puzzled Brenda until she had figured out that the girl was just eager to get on her computer and chat with her friends. That seemed harmless enough. Brenda had told her good-night at the door of her room after making her promise she wouldn't stay up too late.

Brenda smiled again. Little Becky looked happy this morning, too. She hoped they all came back for next year's RG. This one had obviously been a great success.

Across the lobby, Butterfly was nodding at Michael. "Seymour and I got everything worked out last night," she told him. "I'm now an official systems security consultant for Oversight. Pretty cool, huh?" she giggled.

She and Birkoff had had a great time together. The arrangements for her new identity hadn't taken long, and they had had time to guiltily explore more of the Directory, wandering into various twisted paths of plots and secrets. It had been fascinating.

"Nikita...." Becky whispered, pulling the tall blonde aside with a conspiratorial look.

"Yes?" Nikita asked, smiling, stepping away from Michael to talk to the young girl.

Becky looked from the blonde to Michael, and frowned at him slightly. "This is PRIVATE," she told him in a serious tone.

Michael nodded at her and turned his back to them, staring across the lobby while he pretended not to listen. A small, indulgent smile curved his lips. He supposed Becky wanted to ask Nikita about some girl topic, like make-up or clothes or boys.

But he soon found out he was wrong. VERY wrong. He was not at all prepared for what he heard.

"This is for you," Becky said, solemnly handing Nikita a small computer disk.

"Thank you," Nikita had responded, puzzled. "What's this?"

Becky lowered her voice but Michael still heard her. "It's a copy of Michael's personal files," the young girl had replied. "All of them."

Nikita uttered a choking sound and she saw Michael's back stiffen as he flinched at Butterfly's words.

"W-What?" Nikita demanded, eyes wide with shock.

Butterfly held out the disk again. "Here. Take it," she insisted. "I thought you'd like to have it. You know, so you can get to know him better...."

Becky had floundered around for hours last night, wondering what kind of gift she could give Nikita, and she had finally hit on the perfect thing. The blonde was obviously sweet on Michael, and Becky thought she would enjoy knowing more about him.

Becky thought it would make her happy.

Instead, she watched as sudden tears sprang up in Nikita's eyes. "Becky," she said, "I know you meant well, but I can't accept this..."

The girl's eyes grew round. "Why not?"

Nikita patted the girl's shoulder and gave her a tremulous smile. "Because, you see, the things I want to know about Michael won't be in any file...."

She turned her head and looked at the strong, mysterious man standing a few feet from her. "The things that are worth knowing- his feelings, his heart, his soul- "

Nikita paused and let out a long sigh. "Those things he alone can show me, when he's ready."

Michael turned around then, and looked at her. Their eyes locked and they were unaware of anyone around them. They were only aware of the passion flaming in each other's eyes.

Michael held out his arms, and Nikita went flying into them. Locked in the embrace, Nikita felt Michael's cheek brush against her own, and then shuddered as his mouth came down on hers. The kiss was long and deep, and conveyed to her vast amounts of knowledge infinitely greater than anything she could have discovered in the entirety of his files.

Brenda watched, blushing, from a distance. Whew! She thought. That was some HUG!

She smiled to herself. Ah, now I get it! So THAT's what that second green dot on their name-tags was for....

***********

Three days later, Operations stood at the head of the large conference table, smiled widely, and started the briefing.

His good mood was overwhelmingly evident; he no longer paced like before, his stance was relaxed, his forehead unfurrowed, and no cigarette burned in his nervous fingers. The twitch that had plagued him since the crisis began had dissappeared, to be replaced by an irrepressible tendency to smirk.

Disaster had been averted. Section was saved. Oversight was happy. Operations was almost delirious with relief.

He glanced around the table almost fondly at the assembled team that had saved them - Michael, Nikita, and Birkoff. Madeleine was also present, sitting glumly off to one side, a frown on her face.

She was still feeling decidedly put out by the whole thing. She was so so seldom wrong in her evaluations, and the knowledge that she had been so far off in her assessment in this case rattled her. She had been so sure that Butterfly was an immature child, not the sophisticated, brilliant security expert that he had turned out to be.

She did so hate to be wrong.

"As you know," Operations began, "the situation that had concerned us for the last few days has come to a very successful conclusion."

He smiled again. "You are all to be commended. Oversight is very pleased at how quickly we were able to see through their little test..."

He gazed at Birkoff proudly. "Congratulations," he told the young computer genius.

Birkoff blushed. "It was nothing," he mumbled.

He was embarrassed by the older man's praise, particularly since he had been as clueless as the rest of Section on this one. It was Butterfly that had known how to crack all the codes and hack all the files he had been unable to access. The girl was amazing.

After the initial scare of the situation, Birkoff had found it incredibly exciting to talk to someone who understood computers as well as he did. Better, even. Butterfly impressed him, and he found that very, very attractive in a friend. Or a girlfriend, he added to himself.

Operations ignored Birkoff's embarrassment and went on in an expansive mood. "It was Mr. Birkoff who, besides discovering that the supposed theft of the Directory was a ruse, also discovered a way to tunnel in and access the greatest intel coup of our history..."

He beamed at them. "We now have Red Cell's Directory," he announced proudly. The gray-haired man looked vastly pleased with himself; if he had been a peacock, he would have spread his feathers and strutted.

"Oh!" said Nikita, widening her eyes in pretended shock.

"Their Directory?" gasped Michael, in an effort to convey the appearance of surprise at this news.

"Oh, yes," said Operations, nodding smugly. "He and Butterfly co-ordinated it together. They make a good team. They're probably going to be working very closely together from now on."

"When is your next meeting with Butterfly?" asked Madeleine, still glum.

Birkoff blushed again. "Actually, we're planning on seeing each other this weekend outside Section at a neutral location," he stammered quickly. "I thought it would be helpful to meet face to face."

Nikita nodded her head knowingly and bit her lip to hide her smile. Translation: Birkoff had asked Becky out on a date.

"Good," said Madeleine, nodding sagely. "Sometimes a bond between agents is not always a bad thing."

Nikita looked quickly at Michael; he had on his blank stare, but something hot and bright flickered in his eyes.

"I'll start planning the attacks on Red Cell targets," said Michael, voice all business. He was glad to know no one could see his palms sweating as he held his hands in his lap under the table. This briefing was going just as they had planned. So far, so good.

"No, Michael," Operations told him. "Mowen and Henderson will handle it. You and Nikita will be needed elsewhere."

Michael did not have to pretend surprise this time. "Yes?" he croaked out, giving Nikita an uncertain glance and seeing that she was as clueless as he was as to what this mission could be.

Operations continued effusively, still in his good mood. "It has been brought to our attention that a small remnant of Glass Curtain has become active again, and are recruiting new members from Mensa..."

"Specifically, they are recruiting at the RG's." He told Michael and Nikita. "Since you two have experience dealing with Mensans and have been accepted as official members, you two are the most logical choice to be sent in."

Michael paled, and sat silently frozen in his chair, his mind whirling.

"We won't be able to provide you with much back-up," their leader said apologetically."You're to go in alone, just the two of you, and attend as many of the regional Mensa conventions that you can."

"Gathering this intel will be a long process," Operations added. "It could take weeks, or months, before you find something."

Michael finally found his voice. "I understand," he lied.

Nikita, who had been holding her breath, let it out in a rush and asked a question. "When do we go in?"

"Your plane leaves tonight," Operations answered. "Co-ordinate with Birkoff."

He gave them all one last smile. "That will be all."

As soon as Madeleine and Operations had walked away in different directions to return to their respective offices, Michael and Nikita pounced on Birkoff.

"What the hell is going on?" the blonde demanded.

"Glass Curtain was destroyed," hissed Michael. "How can they be recruiting?"

Birkoff shook his head and looked uncomfortable. "You're right. The mission is bogus. There is no threat from Glass Curtain. They don't exist..." he whispered.

"I'm sorry," he said, throwing up his hands in frustration. "I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't listen. You know how stubborn she is..."

"You mean Butterfly?" asked Michael in surprise. "This was her idea?"

Birkoff blushed again. "Michael, she told me to tell you that she was very sorry about accessing your files, and wants you to forgive her."

He shook his head again, bewildered by the workings of the female mind. "She seemed to think that arranging for this mission for you would somehow make it up to you."

He looked at them with anxious brown eyes. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"It's O.K.," answered Michael, a slow smile spreading across his face. He turned to look at Nikita, who was smiling back. "We'll handle it."

"Not a problem," agreed Nikita, gazing softly at Michael. "We'll go."

"You're sure?" said Birkoff, amazed at their response. He would think for two people so used to excitement and action, that the idea of attending convention after convention would be excrutiatingly boring, not to mention a waste of their time.

"You know you'll have to attend all the activities, just to keep up appearances," Birkoff went on, relieved at how well they were taking this.

"They have some pretty lame programs, sometimes," he elaborated in sympathy.

"Like the joke-telling contest, and the Scrabble tournament, and... oh, yeah,... that other group discussion thing. What was it called?" Birkoff said, scratching his head.

Michael and Nikita looked at each other, eyes gleaming. "Fishbowl," they answered at the same time.

"Yeah, that's it." smiled Birkoff.

"Birkoff," said Michael, his eyes not leaving Nikita. "Will you give Butterfly a message for me?"

"Sure," Birkoff responded. "What do you want me to tell her?"

Michael's green eyes glittered. "Tell her I said 'thank you'."

"Right," the younger man agreed, a little confused, and walked back to his station, leaving Michael and Nikita alone at the conference table.

Without taking his eyes off of her, Michael reached in his jacket and took out a small item from his inside pocket. It was his RG name tag with the two bright green stickers plastered across it.

Nikita stared back at him, riveted