Madeleine looked up from studying her computer screen at the glass-topped desk in her sterile office as the door slid open and an agitated, silver-haired man burst in.

"We have a problem," Operations barked, striding into the room. He began pacing back and forth in front of her.

"Yes, I know," Madeleine answered calmly. A small frown creased her brow as she looked back at her computer monitor. "The McKenzie mission. I was just reading the report."

Operations stopped pacing and took off his glasses to rub his eyes wearily. "He's the biggest arms dealer in this Sector and there's no way to get to him."

He heaved a sigh and stared up at the ceiling. "The profilers have been working on it for days, and we still have no way in. McKenzie has no weak links in his security. He scrupulously tracks everyone he has dealings with.."

"And I mean EVERYONE," Operations went on with his tirade, needing to vent, even though he knew Madeleine knew the details of the situation as well as, if not better, than he.

"McKenzie keeps a paranoid eye on them all, from the big buyers and sellers to the guy who shines his shoes and everyone in-between. With tails, phone taps, video surveillance of their every move...."

Madeleine gave the exasperated man before her a small nod of her head. "I agree, it does look difficult. But not impossible..."

She swiveled in her chair and looked up at him. A flicker of hope crossed his face. He gave her a sudden, dazzling smile.

"You have something?" he asked, his admiration evident. He could always rely on Madleine to turn an impossible situation into a triumph of success. He had never seen a mind more devious than hers. The attractive brunette tilted her head and gave him the slightest of encouraging smiles. "Perhaps. I have an idea. It's just a speculation at this point, but it may lead to something."

"Oh?" said Operations, his smile growing wider. "Tell me about it."

She stood up and crossed over to him, her arms folded across her chest. Her expression was serious again as she stated her request. "I'll need Birkoff to be dedicated to this and this alone. Pull him off all other projects..."

Operations paused for a moment, then said, "Go on."

"This will not be easy. It will take time and resources. If it fails, we'll be like we are now- with nothing..."

And if we succeed....?" Operations coaxed with a question. "What then?"

Madeleine shook her head. "If we succeed, we might bring down McKenzie, but it may give us some internal security problems of our own."

She stared at her companion thoughtfully for a long moment. "What do you want to do?"

Operations beamed at her, and stroked her cheek gently in a brief caress. "Go with your plan, what else?" he said happily. "I have every confidence in you."

Madeleine nodded, but did not smile in return. This was still a very serious step she was taking. She wondered if she was being foolish to even try. She wondered if it would blow up in her face.

She walked back to her desk and took her seat in front of the computer again. Pushing a button on her desk, she spoke into the intercom.

"Birkoff, could I see you in my office please?"

"Yes, coming." answered the young, disembodied voice of Section's top computer expert.

Operations put his glasses back on and strode confidently to the door. "I'll leave this in your very capable hands," he told her, pausing on the top step before he exited. "Keep me informed?"

Madleine nodded thoughtfully. "Of course," she said.

Operations gave her one last broad smile and left. When he had gone, Madleine leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes wearily, and sighed.

*Merde* she thought to herself. *It's exhausting being a miracle worker*

Madeleine looked up from studying her computer screen at the glass-topped desk in her sterile office as the door slid open and an agitated, silver-haired man burst in.

"We have a problem," Operations barked, striding into the room. He began pacing back and forth in front of her.

"Yes, I know," Madeleine answered calmly. A small frown creased her brow as she looked back at her computer monitor. "The McKenzie mission. I was just reading the report."

Operations stopped pacing and took off his glasses to rub his eyes wearily. "He's the biggest arms dealer in this Sector and there's no way to get to him."

He heaved a sigh and stared up at the ceiling. "The profilers have been working on it for days, and we still have no way in. McKenzie has no weak links in his security. He scrupulously tracks everyone he has dealings with.."

"And I mean EVERYONE," Operations went on with his tirade, needing to vent, even though he knew Madeleine knew the details of the situation as well as, if not better, than he.

"McKenzie keeps a paranoid eye on them all, from the big buyers and sellers to the guy who shines his shoes and everyone in-between. With tails, phone taps, video surveillance of their every move...."

Madeleine gave the exasperated man before her a small nod of her head. "I agree, it does look difficult. But not impossible..."

She swiveled in her chair and looked up at him. A flicker of hope crossed his face. He gave her a sudden, dazzling smile.

"You have something?" he asked, his admiration evident. He could always rely on Madleine to turn an impossible situation into a triumph of success. He had never seen a mind more devious than hers.

The attractive brunette tilted her head and gave him the slightest of encouraging smiles. "Perhaps. I have an idea. It's just a speculation at this point, but it may lead to something."

"Oh?" said Operations, his smile growing wider. "Tell me about it."

She stood up and crossed over to him, her arms folded across her chest. Her expression was serious again as she stated her request. "I'll need Birkoff to be dedicated to this and this alone. Pull him off all other projects..."

Operations paused for a moment, then said, "Go on."

"This will not be easy. It will take time and resources. If it fails, we'll be like we are now- with nothing..."

And if we succeed....?" Operations coaxed with a question. "What then?"

Madeleine shook her head. "If we succeed, we might bring down McKenzie, but it may give us some internal security problems of our own."

She stared at her companion thoughtfully for a long moment. "What do you want to do?"

Operations beamed at her, and stroked her cheek gently in a brief caress. "Go with your plan, what else?" he said happily. "I have every confidence in you."

Madeleine nodded, but did not smile in return. This was still a very serious step she was taking. She wondered if she was being foolish to even try. She wondered if it would blow up in her face.

She walked back to her desk and took her seat in front of the computer again. Pushing a button on her desk, she spoke into the intercom.

"Birkoff, could I see you in my office please?"

"Yes, coming." answered the young, disembodied voice of Section's top computer expert.

Operations put his glasses back on and strode confidently to the door. "I'll leave this in your very capable hands," he told her, pausing on the top step before he exited. "Keep me informed?"

Madleine nodded thoughtfully. "Of course," she said.

Operations gave her one last broad smile and left. When he had gone, Madleine leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes wearily, and sighed.

*Merde* she thought to herself. *It's exhausting being a miracle worker*

**********

"You wanted to see me?" asked Birkoff at the office door, his eyes looking a little frightened behind his round glasses. He hoped this wasn't about his personal life with Gail, like the last time he had been called in.

"Yes, come in," Madeleine invited, smiling. "I need your help with the McKenzie mission."

Immediately relieved, Birkoff sighed and took his seat in front of her desk.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, almost eagerly.

"This is Priority One," she began. "You are to work on no other project but this. Delegate everything else to your team and concentrate only on this assignment. Is that clear?"

Birkoff's eyes widened. This was something big, something really big. "Fine," he answered, nodding assent.

"Use every resource, every data-base, every non-committed operative if you have to," Madleleine ordered sternly. "But find this man."

She shoved a PDA panel toward him across the desk, and Birkoff reached for it, examining it curiously.

His mouth fell open in shock as he saw the immediately recognizable image on the display.

"But, but, Madeleine.." he spluttered, indicating the picture of the familiarly handsome face on the PDA. "I don't understand. this is a picture of Michael...."

Birkoff shook his head, dazed. "We already know where Michael is. He's on a mission in the North Atlantic. I just spoke with him an hour ago. I..."

Madeleine cut him off. "Of course, I know that," she said with asperity. "It's not Michael you'll be looking for."

The young genius stared at her, mouth gaping. "I don't get it. Who am I looking for, then?"

"Some one who looks like Michael," she explained patiently. "His Doppelganger."

"What?" Birkoff could only gasp. "How likely is that?" He shook his head in amazement. "That's... that's impossible..." he protested.

Madeleine nodded. "Yes, it might be impossible," she conceded. "But I want you to try."

She swiveled in her chair and stared unseeingly at her plant display on the far wall of the office, lost in thought.

"They say everyone has a double somewhere," she mused. "Granted, with the infinite diversity and combinations of the gene pool, there are no two people exactly alike, but there are people who come close...

"I'm not holding out for a clone, an exact duplicate," she went on, turning back to look at Birkoff. "Just try to find someone as close to Michael's parameters as possible. Age, weight, body build, and especially facial features."

"What about plastic surgery?" Birkoff queried, still trying to process his amazement.

"We're under time constraints," Madeleine explained. "Surgery and healing time would take too long. I need someone that can be mistaken for Michael with only superficial cosmetic alterations."

"Sure, O.K.," the young man nodded, rising from his chair and picking up the PDA from the desk. "I'll get right on it."

He started for the door, but Madeleine called him back.

"Birkoff..." she said in a serious tone. "There's something else."

He turned in the doorway and looked at her. "Yes?"

"Needless to say, you are the only person with the intel on this mission," she told him.

Birkoff nodded, instantly understanding. "Don't worry. Michael won't know anything about it."

Madeleine smiled. "No, Birkoff, you've got it wrong. Michael will be told in due time. He's not the one that needs to be kept in the dark."

Birkoff's eyes grew big. "Who, then?" he asked, although he immediately realized what Madeleine's answer would be. He was not surprised when she spoke the name he knew he would hear.

"It's Nikita, of course," she said.

**********

Near a small bridge at the entrance to the city park, Paul Gilbert, thirty-four, his long dark hair tied back in a pony-tail, stopped to lace up his running shoes tighter and do some warm-up stretches before setting out on the jogging trail.

It was late afternoon, almost dusk. It was his favorite time to run. Since his wife and child had died in a violent car crash two years ago, he found it easier to run after work instead of going home to the horrible empty quiet of the house at dinner-time.

Before the accident, early evenings had been noisy, hectic, exhausting, but joyous times, catching up with the news of the day with his wife Janelle and playing with their lively two-year old son, Robert. Now, however, it was still the hardest thing he did everyday- go home to the empty house to be greeted by the sharp sting of their absence.

So he ran instead. He was now in the best shape he'd ever been in. Tall and lithe, his body was leanly, but not bulkily, muscled. He wore his favorite, slightly faded navy blue sweat pants and navy tee shirt, the matching jacket wrapped around his lean waist.

He had a dull government job doing statistical research for the Department of Transportation, cooped up all day in the office. It felt good to get out and run free in the cool evening air.

He was a reserved man, quiet and shy. His gold-wire rimmed glasses over his pale blue-gray eyes gave him an intellectual look, which suited him. His co-workers teased him about the radical length of his thick, straight hair, the abundance of which didn't seem to go with their dull, conservative surroundings. But he ignored their teasing and refused to cut the long locks.

His wife Janelle had loved his hair long, and he kept it that way out of a sense of loyalty to her, even though sometimes he thought it would be easier to just cut it all off.

Rounding a bend on the path, Paul jogged on, trying not to think about his loneliness and how much he missed his family. Janelle and the baby had been the only close family he had; his parents were dead, he was an only child, and the few distant relations he had were back in France, his native country.

He had come to the States after college just for a visit, had met Janelle and stayed to marry her and start a new life. America was his homeland now, even though he still retained the instantly recognized giveaway of a lilting French accent he had never shed, despite the twelve years he had been here.

Women found the accent charming, along with the other attractions of strong jaw, deep-set eyes, and full, sensuous lips. He had had several offers of companionship since his wife's death, but he hadn't felt ready to date anyone. In his heart, it was still too soon.

On the path ahead he saw a another jogger coming toward him. It was an atrractive young woman with curly dark hair, not unlike Janelle's had been. She was pushing a chubby baby in a racing stroller in front of her. Both baby and mother were smiling and seeming to have a good time out in the fresh air.

Paul's heart wrenched at the sight of them, they were so much like his family had been. He couldn't take his eyes off them as they approached, and when he jogged past them, he overcame his shyness enough to greet them with a soft, "Hi."

The attractive brunette smiled brilliantly at him and said "Hi" back. Then she jogged on. Paul continued his run, feeling suddenly bereft at the briefness of their encounter. He wished there was a way to stay in their presence a little longer, but he didn't have the courage to turn back and join them.

Not until he saw it on the path. A, small, fuzzy stuffed animal that had seen hard use- a scruffy-looking no-longer-white lamb with one well-chewed ear. A smile creased his face and his heart leapt in his chest.

Snatching up the raggedy toy, he pivoted on the path and went the opposite direction in a dead run. Mother and baby were ahead of him on the path, and he quickly caught up with them. No longer shy because of his good excuse for accosting them, Paul greeted them again with a shout.

"Hey, excuse me," he called, a little breathless. "I think you dropped this.." he said, holding up the lamb.

The woman turned and gave him another dazzling smile. "Oh, thank you!" she cried. "Jimmy would never be able to get to sleep without his Fluffy. It's his favorite."

She held out her hand for the toy, and Paul found himself blushing as her hand accidentally brushed his. "I'm glad I could help," he said shyly.

She stood smiling at him, saying nothing, and Paul began feeling awkward as the silence stretched on. He was just about to say good-bye and jog reluctantly away from them, when the pretty brunette held out her hand.

"I'm Judy, by the way," she introduced herself. "And that's Jimmy, of course," she added indicating the baby.

"Nice to meet you," said Paul, shaking her hand nervously and smiling. "I'm Paul." He knelt down to look at the baby, who happily gurgled at him, giving him a charming one-toothed smile.

"He's a beautiful boy," said Paul, suddenly choking back tears. "You're very lucky."

"Yeah, he's pretty special," answered Judy. Paul stood up and she gave him a questioning look.

"I'm taking Jimmy out for some ice-cream - well, frozen yogurt, really- after the jog. Would you like to join us?" she invited.

Paul's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't believe how happy he felt. "Id love to," he said softly.

"Great!" Judy said, and took his arm. Paul pushed Jimmy in the stroller and the three of them walked in happy accord back down the path toward the entrance of the park.

Smiling into Judy's friendly brown eyes, Paul never saw the men coming up behind him until it was too late. He was grabbed roughly from behind, his arms pinned behind his back.

"No!" he shouted, struggling furiously. He was afraid the men would hurt Judy and the baby, and he looked over at them, anxious for their safety.

"Judy, run! Run!" he yelled at her.

Amazingly, Judy showed no anxiety at this turn of events. She still stood her ground, her smile still in place. Paul, held immobile in their grasp, stared at her as she reached into the pocket of her shorts and took out a small black device. A stun-gun.

"Please come with us," she invited, still smiling.

Paul gasped and twisted his head, but was unable to elude her as Judy reached up and pressed the weapon to his neck. He jerked in the arms of the men for a moment, then slumped forward, limp and still.

A dark gray van parked under some near-by trees pulled closer. The doors opened and Judy, baby and stroller, the two Section operatives and their captive all entered the vehicle.

Once inside, Judy patted the baby on the head and then pulled out her cell-phone. She dialed a number.

"Sequence complete," she reported, still smiling. "Target acquired."

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

Madeleine walked quickly toward the white room, a lightness in her step. She was pleased and amazed that Birkoff had found a match so quickly. It had only been two days since she had given him his assignment to find Michael's double. If such a man even existed.

But apparently he did. It was a stroke of incredible luck that Paul Gilbert worked for the government and was already in their files. It was even luckier that he resembled Michael in every way that counted- face and body, and even background and personality.

The two features where the resemblance ended- his hair and eye-color- could easily be remedied with hair-coloring and green-tinted contacts.

Madeleine hurried down the hallway. She was anxious to see him in person. From his pictures in Birkoff's data-base, Paul Gilbert seemed a perfect match. Close enough, anyway, to fool McKenzie.

Madeleine smiled. *This just might work,* she thought.

Michael could pose as a fellow arms dealer and make a deal to sell weapons to McKenzie. When McKenzie set up surveillance on his new associate, it would be Paul who would be substituted; Paul, not Michael, who would be watched and followed, leaving Michael free to bring McKenzie down.

It was brilliant. It was going to work. IF Paul Gilbert and Michael were similar enough....

Swallowing her anxiety, Madeleine paused in front of the white room door and smoothed her hands down the skirt of her dark gray suit. Then, head held high, she pushed open the door and entered.

She almost gasped when she saw him. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn it was Michael sitting there in front of her, strapped in the metal chair and flanked by two guards.

Michael, that is, with blue eyes and straight black hair.

She broke out in a huge smile. "Good morning, Mr. Gilbert," she greeted him.

Paul turned bewildered, pain-glazed eyes to hers. His head ached and he was beginning to be truly frightened. He pulled futilely at the wrist restraints and twisted in his chair.

"Who are you people?" he asked hoarsely. "What do you want with me?"

Madleine almost laughed in delight at the sound of the soft, French-accented voice. He was perfect. He was even more like Michael than she had ever hoped.

"Don't worry," she said, smiling at him and stepping closer. "We have no intention of harming you."

Paul looked up at her warily. She was beautiful, and her warm brown eyes looked into his as she smiled. Just like Judy had done earlier right before she had helped kidnap him.

"Then why don't you just let me go?" he asked, puzzled. He was having trouble fathoming why on earth anyone would want to snatch him off the street. It made no sense.

"Because," Madeleine answered, "We need your help with a project. When it's finished, we'll release you."

Paul only stared at her, more confused than ever. "Project?" he asked, bewildered.

"That's right," she answered, stepping forward. She couldn't resist getting a closer look.

Madeleine tilted his face up with one hand under his chin, noting with satisfaction the small cleft there, just like Michael's. She turned his head this way, then the other, amazed to see the profile was just the same as well.

"You're perfect," she told him. "You're just what we need."

Anger flared in the blue-gray eyes. "Perfect for WHAT?" he demanded. "Needed for WHAT?"

Madeleine ignored his outburst and went on with her fascinated examination. She moved her hand to the back of his neck and pulled the thick hair free of its restraining pony-tail. It spilled down past his shoulders in a straight, glossy black curtain.

Paul flinched away from her touch as she gripped a handful of the silky hair in her fist. "This will have to be cut, of course," she mused, almost to herself. "A pity."

For a moment, Paul wondered if she was insane. Why had she taken him prisoner, to play some weird game of hair-dresser with him?

He stared at her, frightened, as the examination went on. Madeleine touched the red mark on his neck where the stun gun had burned him. Paul jumped nervously at her touch.

"Is this the only injury?" Madeleine inquired, turning to one of the guards.

The operative nodded. "That's right," he answered. "You said to be careful not to rough him up."

His superior nodded. "Good," she said, stepping back from the prisoner. "Remove his shirt," she ordered curtly to the men.

Paul struggled as one of the men stepped behind him to hold his shoulders still and the other guard stood before him and flicked out a switchblade.

"No!" he protested, as the knife was inserted under the top of his t-shirt and with a swift, downward stroke, was sliced away from his body.

Madeleine motioned the guards back and stepped forward again. She ran her hand down the smooth, virtually hairless chest exposed to her view.

"Excellent, excellent," she crooned approvingly. He was just like Michael, smooth skin over taut muscles. She felt the broad chest heaving under her hand as Paul took in deep gasping breaths, his fear escalating.

She really was crazy, he thought.

He stared at her, open-mouthed, when she asked her next inexplicable, insane question.

"Tell me, Mr. Gilbert," she said in a conversational tone, "Are you circumcised?"

"WHAT?" he gasped.

His captor trailed the hand on his chest down his stomach and over his taut abdomen and then lower, until it rested lightly on his manhood, covered in the soft cotton sweat pants.

Paul tensed and tried to pull away. Madeleine's grip tightened. "You heard me. Answer the question, please," she demanded, still in a friendly tone.

Paul only looked up at her in shock.

"I can have you stripped and check for myself if you don't answer," she said calmly.

Her captive closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "No," he whispered, defeated. "No, I'm not ...... circumcised."

Madeleine smiled and released him. "That's wonderful," she said in delight.

This went along with the second part of her plans. She could pair Nikita with Paul when they were under McKenzie's surveillance. Nikita would pose as his wife. And then, along with their goal of bringing McKenzie down, she could also test the limits of Nikita and Michael's attraction for each other by ordering Nikita to make love with her "husband" as she had done on the Armel mission.

Only, unknown to Nikita, she would not be intimately physical with Michael, but with his double, Paul. The fact that the two men were, from what Madeliene could judge by her brief examination of Paul through his clothes, equally endowed, and both uncircumcised, made pairing Nikita and Paul as lovers even less problematic.

Nikita would never suspect a thing.

Madeliene gave her captive one last, parting caress on his cheek. She was pleased with him. More than pleased. He was fulfilling one of her many convoluted mind-game fantasies perfectly.

This was going to be fun.

"No!" Paul protested, flinching away from her hand as she patted his cheek. "Leave me alone!" he hissed.

Madeleine was not offended, but still smiled at him. "All right," she agreed merrily. " I will. For now."

She motioned for the guards to precede her out of the room. She followed behind them, and then paused in the doorway before leaving.

"I'll be back," she promised, and left, the heavy cold-steel door clanging ominously shut behind her.

Paul, left alone in the room, slumped in the chair and let out a shaky sigh. A shiver of dread went through him.

Mon Dieu, he thought. Mon Dieu, that bitch IS crazy....

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

Later that day, Paul paced restlessly in his new quarters. The room was like the first one he had been taken to, all bright lights and white tile. But this time he was not restrained in metal cuffs to a chair, just locked in.

He walked the length of the room and back, counting paces. Six long strides one way, six back. Only the height of the ceiling kept him from feeling claustrophobic in the small, windowless space.

He looked around the plain room again.

There was a hard cot, an equally uncomfortable-looking hard-backed chair, and a bare wood table in front of it. That was the extent of the furnishings. Besides the door to the outside, there was a smaller door that led to a bathroom.

A bathroom with a mirror in it.

Paul took a breath, and steeled himself to look in the mirror again. He sqaured his shoulders and opened the door to the small room. The mirror was directly opposite the doorway, and he gazed one more time in disbelief at his reflection.

He didn't look like himself. He looked like somebody else. WHO?

As he had feared, Madeleine had sent someone to the room where he was strapped down in the chair to play hairdresser with him after all.

A small, gray-haired man in a smock had entered, pushing a cart full of beauty supplies in front of him.

The man said nothing, just went to work. Paul, strapped down at wrists and ankles, had had no choice but to submit to his ministrations.

With a sense of growing unreality, Paul sat numbly while the man combed and cut his long hair, the silky black strands falling around him on the floor.

Next color had been applied, and then his hair had been lightly permed into soft curls.

During the long time-span it took, Paul had spoken only once. "Why are you doing this?" he asked in bewilderment.

The man had answered in one word. "Orders," he said curtly, and had gone on with his work. When he had finished, he fluffed the now reddish-brown curls with his fingers and stood back to look apparaisingly at his handiwork. The man nodded, and left without another word, pushing the cart before him as he left.

The door closed behind him, and Paul was left alone to wonder what would come next.

A short time later, the door opened again, this time to a small gray-haired woman in a lab-coat. She also pushed a cart, this one containing an array of small vials, and what looked like medical equipment.

She approached him and in a business-like way, removed his gold wire-rimmed glasses and examined them. Paul, now unable to see her clearly, flinched back as she shone a light in his eyes.

"Hold still," she ordered. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Paul still flinched when she opened a vial, and held his eyelashes back with one finger, pulled down his lower lid with another finger of the same hand, and dropped in a contact lens with the other.

It stung, and Paul squinted hard and then blinked rapidly. "No, don't do that," the woman admonished him, forcing his head up with her hand. It'll come out."

She barely gave him time to adjust to the one lens in his eye when she deftly inserted its mate in the other. Eyes watering, Paul blinked to clear the tears, and found the room and the woman had come into sharp focus again. He could see after all.

The woman nodded in satisfaction, and like her hairdresser counter-part before her, silently left the room.

Less than ten minutes later, the guards that had been there earlier returned. Paul stiffened in fear as they silently approached him. They removed his bonds and hauled him to his feet, pulling him roughly toward the door.

"Where are you taking me?" he had asked, but they had not answered.

Arms twisted again behind his back, the men marched him down a long hallway and shoved him into this new room, the claustrophobic quarters he paced in now. On the bed lay a set of clothes, all black.

"Put those on," one of the men ordered tersely. The men exited the room and locked the door behind them, and again he found himself alone, and more bewildered than before.

After a minute of looking around at the spartan quarters, he crossed to the cot and picked up the clothes. He usually didn't wear black, preferring his suits to be in shades of gray or blue. Black suits he associated painfully with funerals, paricularly the most recent ones for his wife and child.

Still, the suit was preferable to wearing what he had on now, his jogging suit with the t-shirt hanging in shreds off his shoulders.

Quickly he stripped and put on the dark clothes- pants, turtle-neck, and coat, all black. There were socks and boots for him as well.

After he had dressed, out of curiousity he had opened the door to the bathroom. He was not prepared for what he saw. In the mirror, a green-eyed man in black with curly chestnut hair stared back at him.

There was a certain style to this combination of green and black and red. A definite gestalt of personality in the careful arrangement of color and details.

It was coming together now. There was some sense to the mad-woman's rantings after all. Why she had been so happy with his appearance.

They wanted him because he resembled this someone else. They wanted him to impersonate him. Why? Who was he?

Who were they f*cking with, besides himself? Paul wondered.

He was still pondering this question when he was startled by the sound of the door opening. He was even more startled when another mirror image of himself walked into the room, followed by the crazy bitch again.

Both men stared at each other, wide green eyes meeting wide green eyes.

"I told you he was perfect," Madeleine said to her companion.

Paul's twin nodded slowly. "Oui, c'est vrai....." he acknowledged softly.

Paul finally found his voice, and demanded answers about this bizarre situation.

"Who ARE you?" he shouted at his Doppelganger. "WHO?"

His mirror image stepped closer. "You can call me Michael," he said.

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

While Paul and Michael stood staring at each other in fascinated amazement, Madeleine beamed at them and walked in a circle around the pair, her hands behind her back, regarding them in a fever of speculation.

Her heart raced. This was exciting- the possibilities were endless. She wished she had thought of this before.

Besides the very real tactical edge it gave them to outsmart McKenzie, there was an added personal advantage for Madeliene as well to this scenario. It gave her something she didn't have before - More power, more control, over her most powerful and most controlled operative. It gave her a way to rattle Michael.

Madeleine looked at Michael thoughtfully. He was strong. He had deep inner reserves, and vast self-control. Nothing got to him.

Nothing, that is, but Nikita. And now this man, Paul Gilbert. Watching Michael's face minutely, Madeleine could tell that seeing his double like this had hit a nerve with him.

She could tell here was an instant connection between the two men. A brotherhood? A sympathy? A loyalty, or trust, perhaps? It puzzled her for a moment, then she knew what it was.

Something flickered in Michael's eyes, and it was instantly plain. To Michael, Paul represented the self he could have been, the ordinary life he could have led, if he had not been caught up in and drawn into the inescapable snare of Section One.

Paul- his presence, his life, the very fact of his existence- made Michael's gut twist with a deep wrenching regret for the man he could have been, had he not been so foolishly passionate, so headstrong, in his youth.

It was why he so adamantly, so ruthlessly, tried to clamp down on his passions now. Michael knew they were his weakness. His passion for Nikita was the hardest one stamp out. He tried, but failed to over and over again. He couldn't stop his feeings for her.

Madeleine smiled. First Nikita, and now Paul. She now had two avenues of attack to use against Michael's formidable defenses. And what if she could arrange to use these two weapons against him at the same time?

Madeleine almost laughed out-loud at the power rush that engulfed her. Paul and Nikita would be an effective combination, a double-edged sword with which to slice deep into Michael's well-defended psyche, to again scar his soul.

She would be able to play him like a puppet. She could at last dominate the until- now -undominatable Michael. She would control and conquer his very soul. Madeleine could hardly contain her glee at the thought of it.

With a merry laugh she went to the door of Paul's cell and opened it. She looked back at the identical, handsome men in the center of the room, watching her with identical expressions of wariness and fear.

She laughed again. What joy, what fun. A double dose of fun.

She fixed each man in turn with a delighted stare. "I'll leave you two alone to get acquainted, hmmm?" she said, and with one last laugh, left the room.

Paul watched with relief as the door closed behind the scary bitch, and then turned back, wide-eyed, to look at Michael.

He hesitated a moment, then took a step closer, placing one hand on Michael's shoulder. He stared into the green eyes, his expression softening.

"You're my brother, aren't you?" he whispered hopefully.

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

"You're my brother, aren't you?" Paul whispered hopefully.

Michael took in a sharp breath and closed his eyes against the pain. He did not want to look into those trusting eyes, that innocent face. His face.

"No," he said gently, trying to soften the blow. "I don't think so."

*You're not someone I should get attached to* Michael thought furiously to himself. *You're a collateral. You're material. You're expendable. You were targeted to be used and then disposed of. An incidental loss.*

*You can't be my brother. You can't be anyone to me*

*I need to keep my distance* Michael lectured himself.

Still, despite the warning bells ringing in his head, Michael did not step away from Paul. Instead, he moved closer and placed his hand on his twin's shoulder.

"It's a fluke of nature," Michael went on. "It's pure accident we look so much alike."

Paul bit his lip and lowered his eyes. "No," he insisted, equally as adamant. "It's no accident. I don't believe that."

Paul stepped back from Michael and began pacing again. Michael stood silently watching him, letting his double work off some of his obvious agitation by this activity.

After a minute, Paul heaved a sigh and stopped in mid-stride. "Where were you born?" he demanded.

Michael shook his head. "It doesn't matter..." he said wearily.

Paul, frustrated, made his demand again. "It does to me," he insisted. "Where were you born?"

"Marseilles," Michael answered, giving in.

"What year?"

"1965."

"What date?"

"April the twenty-first."

Paul sighed, even more frustrated. " I'm a few months younger. Not fraternal twins, then." He paced again, rubbing a hand across his chin in a terrifyingly familiar gesture. He opened his mouth to resume his interrogation, but Michael stopped him.

"This is getting us nowhere," Michael said, still gently. "I have your file. I looked at that possibility, that you might be a relation...."

"And?" Paul looked up eagerly. "What did you find?"

Michael shook his head. "We're not family. Besides the proof of the irrefutable documention of our separate births, there is physical proof as well."

"Physical proof?" Paul asked, confused. It seemed to him the physical proof of their connection was overwhelmingly clear- they only had to look at each other to know that. They were DOUBLES, dammit....

"Our blood types are incompatible with our having the same parentage..." Michael explained quietly.

Paul sighed, but was not yet ready to give it up. " What if we share just one parent?" he persisted. "We could be half-brothers, couldn't we?"

"No," Michael told him with deep regret. "It's not possible."

Paul finally ceded the point. "Merde," he swore sincerely. "That's too bad...."

He looked up at Michael and gave him a sweet, sudden smile. "I was an only child, you know? I always wanted a brother...."

Michael found himself smiling back. "Me, too," he said. "I just had a sister."

They held a warm look for a moment, both still staring, fascinated, at the other.

Paul recovered from the trance first.

"All right," he said abruptly, settling on the edge of the hard cot and crossing his arms across his chest. "The fact that we look like twins is an accident. But my being here isn't...."

He looked up at Michael again. "Why was I brought here? What is this place?" Paul demanded. "What does that crazy bitch want with us?"

Michael almost laughed as he was struck anew by another similarity between them. Paul didn't like things to be out of his control anymore than Michael did. And, like Michael, he also had a healthy fear of Madeleine.

"Her name is Madeleine," Michael stated with amusement.

"Whatever," Paul said dimissively with a wave of his hand. "What does she WANT?"

Michael seated himself at the table and steepled his fingers together. He composed his words very carefully, and then told Paul the truth.

"You're five hundred feet underground in a secret government facility known as Section One," he told him. "We are a covert, anti-terrorist organization. We take down the criminals no one else can get..."

Paul only gulped, and stared at Michael, speechless with shock.

"You're here," Michael went on, "because we need your help to get to one of the terrorists. His name is McKenzie, and he's responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent people."

"We have no way to reach him,' Michael finished, "unless you help us."

Paul uttered an incoherent grunt of shock and leapt up from his place on the bed. He strode to the door, his back to Michael, and stood there for a moment, trying to control his trembling. The implications of Michael's words were staggering. He was even more frightened than before.

"Mon Dieu," he choked out. "Mon Dieu..."

He turned back to Michael, eyes wide and terrified. "I can't do that," he gasped. "I can't kill anyone..."

Michael, with deep pity stabbing him, got up from his chair and laid his hand on Paul's arm in a gesture of comfort. "You won't have to kill him," he soothed his counterpart.

He almost envied Paul his shocked innocence and fear, his abbhorrence at the idea of shedding blood. Michael realized just how far he himself had come from such an untainted state, jaded as he was by the now countless deaths at his hands.

He almost wanted to weep at the purity of soul he had lost. He was glad that wouldn't happen to Paul.

"You won't even meet McKenzie," Michael went on reassuringly. "I'll do that. Your part will come afterwards."

Paul shook his head. "I don't understand," he said, bewildered. "What exactly am I supposed to do?"

"I'll meet with McKenzie, posing as another arms dealer," Michael explained further. "From our intel, we know he'll put me under surveillance. That's where you come in..."

"Yes?" Paul encouraged, feeling slightly calmer.

"You'll act as decoy, a distraction," Michael told him. "While he's keeping an eye on you, I can access his files. From there, we can determine a future location of his and figure out the best place to take him him down."

"I see," said Paul. He gave a sudden, sharp laugh. "So, all I have to do is... be YOU for a while, right?"

Michael smiled and patted his arm. "Right," he agreed.

Paul grinned, and looked down at himself and the black clothes that fit him perfectly. He tossed his newly-curled hair and his green eyes twinkled.

"No problem, Brother," he teased, relaxed now that Michael's explanation had given him the confidence to joke in relief. "How hard is that going to be?"

Michael smiled back, but the smile did not reach his eyes. That was indeed the question- this was Section One. Things were never easy here.

He was afraid it would be very hard. He feared for this innocent alter- ego before him, for his mirror-image that reflected his soul back to him, the pure, open soul that had once been Michael's in the past. But now that soul was almost lost to him, worn down and battered, shrunken and scarred by all his years in this underground Hell.

Michael swallowed hard and forced another smile. "Not very hard at all," he lied.

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

Michael sat at the end of the briefing table, listening with only half an ear to Operations as he went over some old business, reviewing last week's North Atlantic mission. Michael knew he should be paying more attention, but he was distracted by Nikita, sitting directly in his line of sight at the other end of the table.

She was lovely, as usual, wearing her hair in his favorite style, loose and lightly curled, flowing in soft, golden waves down her shoulders. She had on her white leather pants and matching jacket, also another of his favorites. But it wasn't this combination of allures that distracted him. It was the way she was looking at him. With the most welcoming smile on her face, with her eyes gleaming in appreciation..

Normally, Nikita avoided looking at him at briefings. He might get a quick stare from her, or a brief side-long glance, but that was all. She never looked at him like this... Like she couldn't take her eyes off him. Like he was the most desirable thing she had ever seen...

Like he was a delectable piece of fruit that she wanted to nibble on slowly, savoring and tasting him thoroughly....

Michael watched, fascinated, as Nikita's mouth parted and her delicate pink tongue darted over her exqusitely shaped lips.

No, he was wrong. She didn't want to nibble on him. It was stronger than that. She wanted to gobble him whole....

Michael squirmed in his seat, chagrined to find himself suddenly, uncomfortably hard as the delightful implications of Nikita's fond gaze stirred his manhood to life.

*Merde*, he thought to himself. *Why is she doing this to me?*

"Michael?" Operations said, jarring Michael from his heated reverie.

"Yes?" he said, struggling to focus.

Operations gave him an exasperated look of impatience. "We're waiting to hear your update on the McKenzie mission."

Michael sat up straighter in his seat and cleared his throat.

"We're getting closer," he announced. "The mission profile is still being set, but due to a certain breakthrough in our intel, we'll probably be able to move against him within the next couple of days."

The breakthrough was, of course, Paul Gilbert, but he wasn't allowed to tell them that.

Michael looked around the table at the operatives, but couldn't help letting his gaze settle back on Nikita. "All teams should stay ready," he added.

Nikita smiled at him. "We'll be ready," she assured him in a throaty voice.

Michael gulped and the fit of his pants tightened further.

"Excellent," declared Operations happily, and dismissed them. "That will be all."

Michael closed his eyes and waited a few moments before he stood up, hoping to give his erection time to fade.

When he opened his eyes, however, it was to see that all the other operatives had left, and Nikita still remained. They were alone.

She got up out of her chair and crossed to his end of the table, takiing a seat next to him. Scooting her chair closer to his, she put her hand on his knee.

Michael jumped at the contact. She was still smiling.

"What is it, Nikita?" he choked out. "Was there something you wanted?"

She giggled, and lowered her voice to a whisper. "It's O.K., Michael. You don't have to pretend," she said. "I KNOW."

"Know what?" Michael asked, having no idea at all what she could be referring to.

She moved her hand higher up his leg, from knee to thigh, and squeezed. "You know what," she answered, eyes gleaming. "The mission. Madeleine told me."

Michael wondered suddenly if she knew about Paul. But why should that make her so happy?

"I wanted to thank you for arranging it," she went on.

"Arranging it?" Michael blurted out, finding it hard to concentrate while her hand massaged his thigh.

Nikita laughed. "All right, be that way. Play coy if you want," she teased. "But I know what you did and I want you to know I'm so happy about it."

Michael stared at her, bewildered. She leaned in closer and gave him a quick, but tantalizing kiss on the mouth. At the same time her hand moved higher and brushed thrillingly against the stiff rod in his pants. It hardened further at her touch.

"I promise you, Michael, you won't be sorry for using me on the McKenzie mission," she whispered seductively. "I'll make it worth your while."

She gave his fully awakened manhood a final caress and then pushed back in her seat. He watched her hips sway delightfully as she walked away.

Michael sat still for a long minute. As the happy, anticipatory glow in his crotch faded, the glow in his heart did as well. It was gradually replaced by a cold feeling of dread.

What in hell was going on? Then, it hit him what the source of his anxiety must be. It was obvious.

Madeleine. Madeleine was up to something.

She had been altogether too happy lately, too high, watching him and Paul together. And now Nikita was part of her scheme, too. She must have told Nikita something about the mission that had gotten her into a misguidedly happy mood.

It was a trap. A set-up. He knew it.

Michael's stomach churned as he asked himself the question Paul had put to him earlier.

*What does that crazy bitch want with us?* he thought.

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

Later that afternoon, when Michael visited Paul again in his quarters to go over details of the mission, he found that his double's mood had definitely changed. Instead of a warm feeling of brotherhood toward him, Paul now exuded an attitude of disgust.

Paul sat tight-lipped at the table, scowling at him. He responded in words of one syllable to Michael's continued attempts to get him to talk.

Finally, exasperated, Michael gave up his pretense of trying to be polite.

"What is the problem?" Michael asked him straight out.

The question seemed to increase Paul's disgust with him even more. He shook his head in amazement. "You're really a piece of work, you know that?" he said sarcastically.

"What?" Michael asked, puzzled.

Paul jumped up from the chair and crossed the room, putting as much space between them as possible, as if he couldn't bear to be near his double.

"You know, I'm really glad you're not my brother," Paul sneered.

Michael stared at him, the words wounding him beyond anything he thought possible. He was also angry.

He crossed the room in a few quick strides and gripped Paul by both arms, shaking him by the shoulders and putting his face close to the other man's.

"I SAID," Michael hissed, "what IS the problem?"

Paul jerked out of Michael's grasp, breathing hard in his anger. The eyes behind the green contacts blazed.

"If you want her screwed," said Paul through clenched teeth, "you'll have to do it yourself."

Michael blanched, and his eyes widened in shock. "I don't understand," he gasped. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about THIS," answered Paul, pulling a PDA out of his coat and tossing it on the table where it clattered loudly.

Michael made no move to pick it up, just looked from the Paul to the device on the table, and back again.

Paul began pacing, agitatedly shoving a lock of curly hair behind his ear. "How can you do this to a woman you love?" he demanded. "Are you really that callous?"

Michael stared at him, numbly. "Nikita.." he breathed.

Paul pursed his lips. "Yes, Nikita."

"Madeleine gave me this tape to study," Paul went on. "She said you had arranged for Nikita to pose as your- my- our- wife on the mission. That you didn't mind if we made the pose convincing to McKenzie by... how did she put it? oh, yes, I remember now- SCREWING like rabbits."

Paul reached for the PDA, scooping it off the table. He held it like it was something that would contaminate him.

"Look, Michael," he went on, as Michael still stood unmoving before him. "I'll wear your clothes, and the contacts, I'll learn to talk like you, walk like you, tie my shoes the same as you, whatever you want.."

He made a choking sound in his throat. "But this....."

"This is too much to ask," he finished, and pushed the button on the PDA.

On the small screen he held up to Michael, images of Michael and Nikita in the bedroom during the Armel mission began to play. Bodies twined together, wrthing under the coverlet, soft moans escaping their lips.....

"Shut it off!" Michael cried out, anguished.

Paul obliged, pressing the button immediately, the images fading into black screen again.

"Madeleine said you wanted me to study your technique," Paul continued, voice still full of loathing. "Make sure Nikita didn't know the difference.."

Michael felt faint. That was why Nikita had been so happy that morning. Madeleine must have told her that he had requested her to pose as his wife again, had arranged for them to be together, have another night like the one they had on the Armel mission. When all the time Madeleine was planning on using Paul as his stand-in...

Nikita would never get over such a betrayal. It would shatter every shred of trust between them.

"I'll help you take down a terrorist, Michael," Paul went on. "But I won't take part in whatever sick mind-game you're playing with this girl.."

He threw the device angrily onto the cot. "Leave me out of it, do you hear?" Paul yelled. "You twisted bastard...."

Michael slumped heavily into the chair, a sob wrenched from him. Paul stared in shock as he registered the tears on his twin's face.

He stood silently for a long minute, listening to Michael cry.

"You didn't know about this, did you?" Paul said quietly. "This is all that sick bitch's idea...."

He put his hand on Michael's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Brother," he whispered. "I should have known."

Michael took a deep breath and managed to regain control of himself. He couldn't remember feeling so shaken before. Madeleine had indeed skewered him with the double-edged sword of his two weaknesses.

She had arranged for everyone he cared about, Paul and Nikita, to hate and despise him. If her plan had worked, he would have been completely, utterly alone. He still didn't see a way out of it.

Michael turned his tear-stained face up to Paul. "I don't know what to do," he confessed.

To his amazement, Paul leaned over and ruffled his hair playfully. "That's why two heads are better than one, mon ami..." He smiled. "I have an idea..."

"What are you talking about?" Michael asked hopefully.

Paul grinned at him. "We're TWINS, right? Interchangeable?"

Michael nodded, a smile slowly dawning on his face. He had an inkling of where this was going.

"So we trade places...." the innocent Paul went on, sounding more like a clever, experienced operative than Michael did. "Fool the crazy bitch at her own game...."

Michael considered the idea for a moment, and then voiced a reservation. "It might be dangerous for you..." he cautioned.

Paul wouldn't let him back out. "Hell, Michael, you said you weren't planning to kill McKenzie on this mission," Paul reminded him. "Just break into his computer files."

"Yes but..."

Paul shushed him. "But nothing," he insisted. " It's settled. I'll take care of the computer....."

He grinned, and clapped Michael on the shoulder. "While YOU will...."

Michael laughed and thumped his new brother roughly on the back in return.

"I'll take care of Nikita," Michael finished, eyes gleaming.

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

Michael paced agitatedly in his office, and now and again nervously rubbed at the stubble on his chin. It was early morning, and he had spent the greater part of the night with Paul, going over details of what he must do in order for their plan of switching themselves to succeed.

Michael sighed, worried. Paul would have to get into McKenzie's computer files- that was the easy part. The hard part would be making sure no one in Section, particularly Madeleine, found out that it was Paul, and not Michael, who completed this part of the mission.

Paul had been infuriatingly confident about the whole thing throughout.

"Relax, Brother," Paul had said more than once during the night. "I can handle it."

But Michael had not relaxed. There were so many factors that could go wrong, so many variables. Besides just the complication of the mission against McKenzie itself, there was the added convolution of Madeleine's plot to deceive Nikita with Paul, and Michael and Paul's plan to, in turn, deceive Madeleine about which one of them was really with Nikita.

Nikita. Despite his worries, a smile lit Michael's face as he thought about her. About how they would be together tonight, just the two of them.

Michael sighed again, and closed his eyes. No, that was wrong. It wouldn't be just the two of them.

Posing as an arms dealer and his wife, he and Nikita would be video-taped by the paranoid McKenzie's surveillance people, and monitored by God knew how many others in Section. Their every word, every glance, every touch, would be scrutinized and recorded, their love-making anything but private.

But still, he wanted this. It was the only way they had to be together. He wished being with her, loving her, was not so complicated. But nothing in Section was ever simple.

It was a testimony of the strength of Nikita's love for him that she, too, had been happy at this opportunity for contact, even under these difficult conditions. Michael felt a sudden joyous surge of his heart, thinking about how much she must want to be with him, how much she must desire him, in order to be willing to endure the less than perfect circumstances under which they would meet.

Along with his warm feelings for Nikita, Michael felt once more a powerful sense of gratitude toward Paul. Paul, who had refused to betray him or Nikita, who had refused to be a pawn in Madeliene's game. Paul, who had found a way to prevent the utter devastation of Nikita and Michael's relationship if Madeleine's deception had succeeded.

Deception. Michael frowned again, and slumped into his office chair behind the plain, functional desk. He closed his eyes wearily, and went over everything again in his mind. He couldn't help thinking he was forgetting something.

What could it be? What had he overlooked? Paul's part had been rehearsed and practiced enough to the point where Michael, though still anxious, was confident his double would be able to pull it off. Michael knew his own part was simple. Meet with McKenzie, then switch with Paul and be with Nikita.

Madeleine was the wild card. Sooner or later, she would choose her time to present Nikita with the fact of Paul's existence. Michael speculated that she would wait until the debriefing afterwards to reveal him.

What better moment to crush Nikita's trust in him, than when she had returned to Section, warm and glowing after a night of love-making with a man she thought was Michael, and then be told Michael had chosen not to be with her, but had given her to Paul instead?

Michael didn't know how to prepare for that scene that he knew was coming. He had done all he could do, hadn't he? After all, it wasn't going to be Paul in Nikita's arms tonight, but himself. There would be no deception, no betrayal. Nikita would not be hurt, or devastated when she found out that they had concealed the fact that there were two "Michael's" on the mission.

Or would she?

Surely, Michael thought, no matter what Madeleine said or did, Nikita would know she had been with him, and not Paul? His uneasiness flaring into doubt and escalating toward panic, Michael leapt from his chair and began agitatedly pacing again.

Surely Nikita would know him, would believe him, would trust him not to hurt her like that....

"Merde," he swore outloud. He had lied to her so many times before, deceived her over and over, had hurt her again and again. How would she know this time that it hadn't been more of the same? How would Nikita know for sure that it was Madeliene who was playing mind-games with her, and not Michael?

How could Nikita be really sure it was not an imposter, but the real Michael in her bed?

Maybe he should talk to her? Maybe he should tell her about Paul now, before the mission started. Warn her.....

Michael jumped at the intercom on his desk squawked to life.

"Briefing in 5 minutes," the disembodied voice announced.

"Okay," Michael responded automatically.

It was too late to warn Nikita. The mission, and all the subplots that went along with it, was already underway. He would just have to have faith that Nikita would trust him.

He hurried out of his office, buttoning his suit jacket as he went. He arrived at the briefing table to see that, along with all the other operatives, Nikita was already there. She smiled at him, and he took a seat next to her.

Across the table, Operations and Madeliene sat ready to start the briefing. Madleleine gave Michael a smile that chilled him to his soul. There was a decided gleam in her eye when she looked at him, and at Nikita by his side.

*What is the crazy bitch up to?* Michael thought to himself, experiencing a sinking feeling in his stomach.

He did not have to wait long to get his answer.

"I have an announcement to make," began Madleiene, he smile widening. "I'm sure you're all curious how we will be able to pull off this mission, to circumvent McKenzie's tight security measures."

"The reason is simple," she went on. "We have found someone to take Michael's place under the surveillance cameras while Michael himself completes the mission."

*Oh, God, no * thought Michael. *Oh, no....*

Michael heard Nikita's sharp gasp of shock as she sat in the seat beside him. He turned to her, but she would not look at him.

"Who?" Nikita choked out, staring at Madeleine. "Who is it?" she demanded.

Madeleine raised her hand and gestured to two guards standing in the hallway, flanking a tall, familiar figure in black. The guards brought their prisoner forward to stand in the harsh glare of the lights over the briefing table, where they glinted off the red-gold highlights in the man's hair and shone down on the handsome features and green eyes.

Michael could only watch helplessly as Nikita gazed in shock across the table at his double.

Madeliene smiled again. "This is the man you'll be with tonight, Nikita," she said brightly.

Michael bit his lip hard to keep from crying out.

Madeliene finished the introduction. " Nikita, I'd like you to meet Paul," she said, smiling.

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

When Michael's team returned from their mission of retrieving McKenzie's files from his computer, Madeleine was waiting. She stood at the end of the van access corridor, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes gleaming in anticipation.

*This is going to be good* she thought. One corner of her mouth twitched up in a small, irrepressable smile. The timimg couldn't be any more perfect.

While Michael had been downloading McKenzie's files, Paul and Nikita had been getting very well acquainted.

Alone together, except for the cameras, of course, in the apartment that Section had set up for them to pose as a married couple, the two had rushed through the dinner that Nikita had prepared, and, after a brief conversation, were now kissing and touching in the living room as they danced together to a song playing softly in the background.

Madeleine sighed happily. She had not wanted to pull herself away from viewing the escalating passion between Nikita and Michael's double, but the chance to greet the van and inform Michael of these facts was something she just couldn't pass up.

Jaded by the violence of Section life and inured to the constant pressures of one crisis after another, Madeleine derived little joy anymore in life. Her job, however outwardly exciting, was becoming ... old.

She needed- she craved- more power. It was the only way to have fun anymore. That was why playing with Michael and Nikita was such a kick. Michael was a challenge- throughout the years Madeleine had had him under her authority, she had never been really able to dominate him, to establish complete control. Michael had always held his own against her.

Until now. She licked her lips in anticipation- she could almost taste it. Today would be the day of her triumph over her most worthy opponent.

Today would be the day of victory. She would force Michael to watch every detail of the woman he loved being taken in passion by another man. He would be completely helpless, powerless- there was nothing Michael could do to stop it.

Madeliene laughed. It would break him.

The sound of the van arriving made her laugh again. She gazed down the long corridor, watching closely as the operatives exited the van. Michael was the last to come out. He moved slowly, without his usual confident stride, his steps almost hesitant.

Madeleine waited as the rest of the team filed past her, and then she stepped forward, blocking Michael's way.

"How did it go?" she queried.

He held up a CD in a jewel case between two black-gloved fingers. "Well," he answered laconically, giving her a blank stare.

Madeleine accepted the disk from him and tilted her head. "Any problems?" she asked.

"None." He shook his head. "McKenzie didn't even have a password in place to guard his files. He was too busy watching the competition to keep an eye out on his own affairs."

Madeleine grinned. "Speaking of affairs," she said, gloating, "would you like to know how Paul and Nikita are doing?"

Michael stiffened and his mouth tightened in a grim line. "I'm sure they're fine," he said curtly.

He stepped around her and into the corridor. "Excuse me, I have some paperwork to do in my office," he told her, and began to walk away.

"Michael," Madeleine called out sharply to him.

He stopped and turned with obvious reluctance to face her. "Yes?" he asked.

Madeleine smirked. "You ARE the mission leader, remember. I think you should monitor Paul and Nikita's progress."

The green eyes widened and he paled visibly. He stood frozen in the hallway, saying nothing.

Madeline laughed again, and gave him an order. "Come with me to Systems," she said, naming one of the most public, open places in Section that would afford Michael the least privacy.

"We'll watch their... performance in real time," Madeliene added. "All night."

"I.. I don't think such close monitoring will be necessary," he choked out hoarsely.

"Ah, but is," Madeleine insisted gleefully. She took Michael's arm and began leading him, unresisting, down the hallway. He walked beside her, obviously numb.

"I'll want your full report later," she said, twisting the knife, "critiquing, in detail, Nikita's skills in .... field mechanics."

"Is that understood?" Madeleine pressed, making sure he knew who was in power.

"Uh.. yes, understood..." her victim gasped out in reply.

As they continued down the hallway to Systems, Madeleine had to bite her lip hard to keep from laughing out loud in triumph as she heard Michael choke back a sob beside her.

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

When Madeleine and Michael had both settled, she eagerly, he reluctantly, in front of the large screen in Systems, Madeleine realized things had progressed even more perfectly than she had hoped.

On the monitor, Paul and Nikita had moved from a slow, sensual dance in the living room to a faster, but even more sensual dance in the bedroom.

Both had removed their clothes and were twined together on the large bed, Paul lying over Nikita, his hands holding hers down to the coverlet, his hair falling carressingly against her shoulders as he nuzzled his lips against her pure white breasts.

"Hmmmm, interesting," Madeleine commented, casting a sidelong look at Michael out of the corner of her eye. She was thrilled when she saw his reaction.

He was no longer pale, but decidedly red-faced and angry, his hand at his mouth in his characteristic gesture of distress. "What's interesting?" he barked out, avoiding looking at the screen.

Madeleine smiled. "Why, Paul, of course," she explained with relish.

"See?" she said, pointing at the screen. "His technique is very close to yours, almost identical, in fact."

She squinted at the monitor in satisfaction. "He must have done a thorough study of the tapes of the Armel mission that I gave him to review," Madeliene said slyly, casting another sidelong glance at Michael to gauge his reaction to this dig.

Michael became redder and he choked again, turning his face away from her.

"Nikita is performing well, too," Madeleine went on. "Quite an enthusiastic performance."

The brunette was perched on the edge of the desk, and lifted the remote for the screen that was lying nearby. She pushed the volume button and the area filled with the sound of Paul's groans and Nikita's soft sighs.

"Paul is doing an excellent job as your surrogate, Michael," Madeleine went on tormenting him. "Nikita seems to be enjoying herself, I think," she gloated.

She knew that despite his not looking at the screen, the fact must have registered to Michael that the couple in the bed were past foreplay and were now joined together in the throes of full, eager and ecstatic intercourse.

"Yes, it looks Nikita is enjoying herself just as much, if not more, than the last time she was with you," Madeleine finished, delivering the coup de gras.

The blow hit home. Madeliene watched in triumph as Michael buried his face in his hands, and slumped in his chair, shoulders shaking.

"Stop! Please," he begged, gasping out the words. "Please, I can't take anymore...." he sobbed.

*I've done it,* thought Madeleine, almost drunk with her victory. *I've broken him.*

"All right, Michael," she agreed, willing to be a little merciful now that she had achieved her goal of his complete destruction. "I suppose we've monitored them long enough."

She pushed the button on the remote and the sounds of the couple's delirious love-making stopped.

She stood to leave, but couldn't resist one last dig. She patted him in mock sympathy on his shoulders, which still shook with his sobs. He turned tear-filled green eyes to hers.

"It's OK, Michael," she soothed gleefully. "Maybe when you debrief them tomorrow Nikita can give you some advice on how to be more like Paul before the next mission, hmmm?"

Madeleine walked away then, her victory complete.

Behind her, Michael gasped again and collapsed across the table, his head buried in his arms, as another wave of sobs hit him. She noted with keen satisfaction that the sobs had escalated in tone and intensity to hysterical levels.

The sounds comimg from Michael were now the sounds of uncontrollable laughter.

*Yes, indeed *I've broken him completely* she thought, smiling all the way to her office.

When she had gone, the sobbing man gradually got control of himself and sat up, rubbing the tears off his cheeks. He wiped roughly at the wetness at the corner of one eye, almost dislodging the green-tinted contact from the blue-gray iris underneath.

"Merde," gasped Paul, shaking his head. "That was funny..."

He grinned impishly and leaned back in his chair. His sides hurt from trying to hold in his earlier laughter, and now he couldn't help letting another guffaw escape him.

"Mon Dieu," Paul giggled. "What a scream..." he groaned, collapsing helplessly against the table again in a fit of laughter.

He snorted in delight. "That sure was fun fooling that crazy bitch..."

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

The next morning, Michael was sitting at his desk, struggling to concentrate on a report he was supposed to be writing, but he was failing miserably. His thoughts were definitely, determinedly, bent on being elsewhere.

His mind kept drifting back to the night before, when he had been with Nikita- and how they had been warmly, deeply, abandonedly, intimately, passionately, together. How she had given herself to him without hesitation.

Somehow, Nikita had known immediately that it was HIM, and not Paul, who was with her in the apartment on the mission.

Despite the smoothness of their switch that had fooled all the other Section operatives on the team and Madeleine as well, Nikita had not been fooled by the interchange for a second.

"Are you sure?" he had whispered to her as they had danced in the living room. Nikita had been kissing him fervently and caressing her hands down his back, letting him know she wanted to take their dance further.

"Are you sure I'm the man you want to be with tonight?" he said against her neck. "Are you sure I'm the one?" he asked, tense with anxiety.

Nikita had only laughed, and the hands on his back had moved lower to possessively caress the firm curves of his rear. Her blue eyes gleamed as she answered.

"You Big Dummy," she had said affectionately. "Of course you're the one."

She leaned in to kiss him again, but Michael pulled back, once again wanting to hear her reassurance. If there was the slightest doubt, if there was any chance at all that she might suspect he was Paul, their whole relationship would be ruined, and Madeleine would have triumphed.

For their sake, and for his own peace of mind, he had to ask her again.

"You're really, really, sure?" Michael demanded. "I mean, positive beyond a doubt, absolu..."

She cut him off by pulling his face down to hers and pressing her mouth to his in a kiss that left absolutely no doubt.

"Michael," she had whispered when, breathless, they at last broke the kiss. "You Darling Idiot...."

She gave him a breath-taking smile. "Just SHUT UP and f&ck me," she ordered saucily.

Uttering a loud cry, Michael had lifted her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, where he had obediently, eagerly, and thoroughly obeyed....

Michael sighed and turned off his computer. He wouldn't be able to get any work done today, that was for sure. He gave up his half-hearted struggle to concentrate on work.

Leaning back in his chair, he let his mind wander where it would, down happy trails, lingering on sensuous memories, flowing over the depths of satisfaction, savoring their success....

Everything had gone so well. It had been easy, just like Paul said it would.

The whole thing had been a total victory- Michael and his twin had traded places on the mission without being detected; McKenzie and his terrorist plans were no longer a threat; Michael and Nikita had grown closer; Madeleine had been fooled, and Paul.....

Michael sat up straighter, a sudden chill of apprehension shooting through him. What did Madeleine plan to do with Paul?

Would she have him killed, now that the mission was over? Or would Madeleine use him as a pawn to come between him and Nikita again, to prolong her entertainment? Or....

Michael paled, his stomach sinking. Perhaps Paul had been too good at pretending to be Michael. Perhaps he had played his role too well. What if Madeleine wanted to recruit him?

*Oh, God* he thought, *not that...*

He jumped nervously as the intercom box on his desk squawked to life.

"Michael, could I see you in my office, please?" Madeleine's voice asked sweetly.

"Of course," Michael choked out. "On my way."

*Merde* thought Michael, as he stood and headed toward the door.

*What does that crazy bitch want with us now?*

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

"Come in, Michael," Madeleine invited gleefully as he entered her office a few minutes later.

The striking brunette was seated behind her glass-topped desk, eyes gleaming. Her happy mood of yesterday had apparently not abated; in fact, she seemed even more delighted than before. Michael knew this ecstatic mood of hers did not bode well for him.

Warily, Michael stepped forward to descend the short stairway, and then froze on the top step as he realized he was not the only other person in Madeliene's office. In the chair in front of the desk sat the woman he loved, the woman in whose arms he had lain all night...

"Nikita!" he gasped.

His beautiful blond lover blushed. "Hello, Michael," she said a little nervously, then lowered her eyes.

Madeleine smiled at them knowingly. *How perfect,* she thought.

Here was Michael, looking with hungry longing at Nikita, and at the same time looking alarmed. And there was Nikita, face red with embarrassment and perhaps shame? because she had been with Paul all night, and had obviously enjoyed herself. The girl positively glowed with sexual fufillment.

Madeleine bit her lip to keep from laughing. And the games weren't over yet- she still had plans to toy with her two favorite puppets/and/or/ operatives.

*This was going to be so much fun,* she thought.

"Sit down, please, Michael," she ordered pleasantly.

Michael cautiously came forward, descending the steps and taking a seat next to Nikita in front of Madleine's desk. He schooled his features to reveal nothing, adopting his usual blank stare, although underneath his mind raced in circles of anxiety.

"What is this about?" he asked softly, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

He wondered if Madeleine had found out about the switch? There was no telling what she would do if that happened. Whatever it was, she was definitely planning something for them.

Madeleine tilted her head. "It's about the McKenzie mission," she told him.

Michael swallowed hard and twisted his hands uneasily in his lap. "Is there a problem?" he asked in a faint voice.

"Oh, no, no, no," Madeleine denied with a little laugh. She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "The mission was a complete success..."

Her eyes twinkled as she looked slyly from one operative to the other. "There are just a few loose ends to clear up, that's all," she said. "That's why you two are here."

Nikita looked frightened. "Loose ends?" she asked, her eyes wide. "You mean... Paul?"

Madeleine swiveled in her chair, incredibly pleased at the question. This was even better than she thought.

Obviously Nikita had formed an attachment to her skilled lover of the night before, Michael's twin. The girl probably wanted to be with him again. And this connection she had with Paul would make things even more painful for Michael..

*Oh, goody* Madeleine thought.

"No, there's no reason to concern yourself about Paul," Madeleine answered with a smile. "He's already been taken care of."

Michael made a choking sound in his throat. "Taken... care of?" he forced out, eyes wide with horror. "Did you cancel him?" he demanded hoarsely.

Madeleine laughed, again misinterpreting her victims' reactions. She thought Michael was concerned that his rival would not be eliminated after his usefulness to Section was over. But cancelling Paul would have made things too easy for Michael, eliminating his competition for him.

What Madeliene had in mind was much more unsettling for her puppets.

"No, we didn't cancel him," she answered serenely.

She noted with satisfaction Nikita's huge, relieved sigh at this announcement.

"We might want to use him again later," their commander went on. "So, we're going to modify his memory and let him go."

Madeliene swiveled happily in her chair and elaborated on her theme. "Yes, tomorrow our Mr. Gilbert will wake up in the hospital with a small head injury, having been the unfortunate victim of a mugging in the park while he was jogging..."

The brunette smiled. "He won't remember a thing about his time with us," she added pointedly, aiming her dig at Nikita. "He won't remember being with YOU at all."

"Fine," sighed Michael, letting out the anguished breath he was holding and rising from his chair. "Is that all?"

Madeleine noted that Michael was tense with apprehension and looked ready to bolt out of there. But she couldn't let him escape just yet. There was still one more game to play.

"No, that is NOT all," she answered with another sly smile.

Michael paled and his body stiffened further. "Yes?" he asked in clipped tones.

"Surely you haven't forgotten, have you, Michael?" Madeliene taunted, leaning back in her chair.

The green eyes flickered over Nikita for a moment, who was sitting tensely in her chair, then turned back to gaze steadily at Madeleine. "Forgotten what?" Michael asked softly.

"Your report, of course," Madeleine answered in a gleeful tone. "I wanted your opinion on Nikita's ..... performance last night."

Nikita let out a sharp gasp and turned her face away from Michael. He, in turn, stared at the beautiful girl in the chair beside him, his eyes filled with sudden tears of distress and humiliation.

After a long silent pause, Michael replied.

"All right. I'll have the report for you later today," Michael said through tight lips, capitulating to the demand.

He didn't know what else to do to appease his brown-eyed tormentor. Maybe when the crazy bitch got his report she would leave them alone, he thought.

"No, I've changed my mind," said Madeleine, her smile widening. "I don't want a report from you after all."

Michael and Nikita exchanged a look of fear; both knew Madeleine too well to be relieved at this statement.

Michael lifted his chin bravely and asked a question. "What DO you want, then?"

His superior laughed. "I think you should do more research first," she replied, looking gloatingly from one to the other. "

"Hands on" research, if you get my meaning..."

Michael paled. "Comment?" he asked, reverting to his native tongue in his shock.

Madeliene grinned and delivered her coup de gras. "I think you understand me perfectly well," she gloated. "I want you and Nikita to sleep together. Tonight."

The younger woman's head snapped up and her jaw dropped open. "WHAT?" she gasped.

"This is as much a test for you, Michael, as it is for Nikita," Madeleine went on sternly. "It will give you both a chance to practice your.... field mechanics."

"You are a little rusty, Michael, now, aren't you?" she said to him, delivering her final dig.

The older woman watched in delight as both Michael and Nikita turned bright red and made hysterical choking sounds, their shoulders shaking.

*Good* she thought. This will break them. Nikita will compare Michael to Paul and Michael will feel jealous and inadequate. Both young people will be extremely uncomfortable with each other; the tension of the situation will rip them apart.

*God, I am so good at this* Madeleine praised herself. *I have really crushed them now.*

"That will be all," she dismissed them sweetly, regal in her triumph.

Nikita, still making choking sounds, rose swiftly from her chair and a red-faced Michael followed her out of the room, moving just as quickly. He didn't know if he could keep from bursting out laughing before they got out the door.

It slid closed behind them just in time, as the couple collapsed against each other in the hallway in helpless giggles.

"Oh, Michael," Nikita gasped, thumping him on the chest with each guffaw. "God, that was funny...."

She looked up at him and noticed that he had stopped laughing and was looking at her intensely, his green eyes glittering.

"Michael?" she asked, growing serious. "What is it?"

He put his arms on her shoulders and pulled her closer, looking intently into her eyes.

"We have our orders, Nikita," he said softly, bringing his lips closer to hers.

Her eyes grew big. "Oh..." she sighed. "you mean..."

"Yes," he breathed. "I want you to .... focus on the mission..."

She laughed again, and pulled him closer into her arms. And she was still laughing a moment later when Michael's strong lips came down on hers.

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

They couldn't drive fast enough to Nikita's apartment. She had her hand on Michael's knee the whole trip, making it difficult for him to concentrate on his driving. He stole quick glances at her, from time to time looking away from the road.

The desire that flamed in his eyes when he looked at her made Nikita go first hot, then cold, as shivers of anticipation went up and down her back.

"Hurry," she urged him.

Michael laughed. "Almost there, my Sweet," he said breathlessly.

Nikita groaned. "You, too?" she joked.

Michael laughed happily again, then returned to giving her his intense, burning looks.

By the time they reached the apartment, Nikita was breathing hard and flushed with anticipation. They got out of the car and clung together, holding each other all the way to her front door, stopping twice on the stairs to exchange a deep, sweet kiss.

He kissed her again while she turned the key in the lock, and they tumbled inside, Michael shoving the door closed behind them with a kick of his boot.

"Mmmmm," he groaned, tugging on her coat. "Take this off..."

Nikita laughed throatily and returned the favor. "You, too," she ordered, unbuttoning his jacket with eager fingers.

Michael let out a deep sigh and stepped back from her, kicking off his shoes and stripping out of first his jacket, then his shirt, and finally his trousers. He unzipped them hastily and then tossed them aside, then quickly bent to take off his socks.

In less than a minute he was standing in front of her, naked, except for his black silk boxers.

"Done," he said, panting. "Now you."

Nikita had already shed her coat and shoes, and was struggling with the buttons of her blouse. She couldn't keep her eyes off him. He came to her and took over the task, fingers brushing agianst her hot skin as he finished undoing the buttons.

She wasn't wearing a bra underneath, and Michael eagerly pulled her against him to feel her skin against his, her nipples hardening instantly at the contact.

"Oh, God, Nikita..." he groaned, and began nuzzling the tender skin of her throat. His hands roamed over her bare back and down to her skirt, searching for the fastening.

Nikita chuckled warmly and stepped back away from him. She held his gaze with hers, as, fascinated, he watched her undo the zipper of the skirt and let it fall. It pooled around her feet on the hardwood floor, and she kicked it away to lie next to her discarded blouse and shoes.

Except for a skimpy pair of bikini panties, she was completely nude.

She gave a little running jump toward him, and leapt into his arms. Michael caught her with a deep laugh and began kissing her again. In a few short steps he had carried her up the stairs and to the bedroom.

He lay her gently down on the bed, then crawled in beside her.

Michael moved to lie on top of her, but Nikita playfully pushed him over on his back and straddled him. Michael, eyes wondrous with joy, did not fight her in her love-play, but lay obediently under her, letting her hold him down by his wrists to the bed in mock dominance.

She leaned down and claimed a kiss again. Michael closed his eyes and submitted willingly. She broke the kiss and moved to his neck, biting him playfully.

"Mmmmm," she groaned in delight. "I want to taste you all over...."

She moved her mouth lower to capture one of his flat nipples lightly in her teeth. Michael jumped and arched his back, gasping out loudly at the thrill of sensuous elctricity that shot through him at the caress.

Eyes closed, he threw his head back in ecstatic anticipation as her mouth moved lower over his stomach, tongue flicking back and forth over his smooth skin.

"Oui.." he moaned. "Ahh, oui.... oui..."

Nikita laughed again and put her hand on the hard bulge between his thighs, covered only in the thin silk.

"Ooooh, Michael," she teased. "Let me see if you really are as good as Paul was last night....."

Michael flinched as if struck and his eyes flew open. Before she knew what was happening, he had turned her onto her side and had wriggled out from under her embrace.

In a flash, he was up and off the bed, headed for the living room and his clothes.

Nikita sat stunned for a moment, then followed him quickly, racing down the stairs and reaching him in seconds.

"Michael!" she yelled, alarmed, pulling him around by his shoudlers to face her. "What's wrong?"

His eyes were two green pools of pain. "Why did you say that?" he whispered in anguish.

"Say what?" Nikita was puzzled for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant. "Oh, you mean, what I said about Paul?" she asked uncertainly.

"Oui," he said, voice shaking. "Why did you mention him? Why now? Why... just then?"

Nikita shook her head and gripped his shoulders tighter. "Michael, I was just teasing," she explained. "It was just a joke..."

Michael did not relax at her assurances, still standing before her, chest heaving, with tormented eyes. She realized she had struck a nerve, had hurt him somehow by mentioning the name of his look-a-like.

"You do know it was me who was with you last night?" he pleaded, eyes glittering with pain. "You know that, don't you?"

Nikita's heart wrenched with sudden understanding. Michael was still afraid that Madeliene's plan to destroy them had worked, afraid that Nikita somehow still doubted the identity of her passionate lover of the previous night.

She caressed his cheek gently. "Michael," she reassured him, "OF COURSE I knew it was you. I knew the moment you entered the apartment that it was you."

He turned his head away, still not comforted. "But .. HOW did you know?" he whispered. "We look the same, talk the same..."

He turned the agonized green gaze back to her. "How could you know it wasn't Paul?"

Nikita took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I.. I don't know, exactly. I just did...."

She opened her eyes and slipped her arms around his waist and lay her head against his shoulder. Michael's arms came up around her and held her ently, returning the embrace.

"It wasn't any one feature, I guess," she went on, face pressed against his chest. "It was everything, a whole package.... The whole picture..."

She turned her face up to his. "The way you looked at me, the way you moved..." Nikita continued, groping for the words. "The way you smell...."

He smiled tentatively at her and gave a little laugh. "My smell?" he asked.

Nikita smiled back, pleased at his lightening mood. She didn't want to see him hurt by anything she had done, even inadvertently.

"Yeah," she teased. "It's how animals recognize each other, isn't it?"

She nuzzled her face into his neck and inhaled deeply. "Mmmm," she moaned. "You smell like Heaven to me..."

His arms tightened around her. "You're sure there's not another reason you knew it was me?" he murmured.

She lifted her head up and looked into his eyes. A deep truth welled up inside her and demanded to be spoken.

"You're right," she told him. "There's another reason."

"What?" he breathed, tensing in her arms.

She moved her face closer, lips almost touching his. "I knew it was you, because I.. I love you."

There. The words were out. Nikita rushed on. "I knew it was you because I love you. You're MINE. You belong to me..."

She put her hand against his chest and pressed her fingers against his wildly beating heart. "I know you, because your heart belongs to me, just as mine belongs to you...."

Michael stood, mesmerized as she went on. She took his hand in hers and placed it against her own heart that beat strong and rapid under his touch.

"Your name is written HERE," she said, pressing his hand more firmly against her heart. "Just as mine is carved into yours..."

She kissed him lightly, with the smallest, softest, gentlest of kisses. "You've marked me, Michael as your own. Just as I've marked you...."

Nikita could feel him relax under her touch, and he laughed a laugh that was at once relief, joy, and awe.

"Marked... me?" he asked smiling, voice lilting up in a question.

Nikita blushed. "You know, like animals do..." Her eyes grew wide. "Cats mark their territory with their scent glands in their cheeks, like this.."

She leaned toward him and grazed her cheek along his jaw in one slow, sensuous cat-like movement.

Michael moaned. "Mark me again," he begged. "Make me your own..."

She laughed, her breath catching in her throat. "You mean, tattoo my name on your chest or something?" she teased, and tweaked one of his nipples playfully.

Michael only groaned. She nipped lightly at his neck again with her teeth. "I could leave my mark on your skin, like this.." she breathed, sucking his skin into her mouth.

Michael threw his head back and moaned loudly.

She wrapped her hands around his back, fingertips trailing lightly.

"Maybe I should mark you with my nails scratching down your back..." she whispered, her nails grazing gently over his shoulder blades.

She felt him quivering in her arms, and his manhood hardened further against her. She reached for him, and caressed him again through the soft silk.

"Tell me your mine, Michael.... " she whispered.

He opened his eyes and pulled her hard against him, burying his face in her neck. "Oui...." he moaned. "Oui... I'm yours.. yours.... Je t'aime, Nikita...."

He swept her up in his arms and carried her back to the bed. When he had lain her down again, he bent his head and took her hardened nipple in his mouth, biting gently.

Nikita jumped. "What are you doing?" she gasped in shock.

Michael's green eyes gleamed. "I'm marking you," he said innocently.

Nikit laughed and shook her head. "You Darling Idiot," she scolded him playfully. "Can't you tell it's me?"

He laughed and nipped at her skin again, suckling firmly on the rosy, hard tip.

"Oui, he laughed. "I just want to be sure..." He took her nipple in his teeth again.

She sucked in a breath. "Michael.." she demanded, pulling his head up to look into his eyes.

"Yes, ma cher?" he breathed.

She gazed lovingly into the handsome face, tender in his adoration.

"Shut up and f&ck me," she ordered, and kissed him.

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

Across town in a small, local hospital, a pretty, dark-haired nurse pushed open the door to Room 407 and bustled inside to check on her new patient.

He had been brought in last night, the victim of a mugging in the park; he had been robbed and hit over the head, then left, bleeding and unconscious, to lie hidden in some bushes for over twenty-four hours. He had not been found until the next day after the attack.

The nurse shook her head in disgust. It was certainly a callous, violent world they lived in, that was for sure.

She approached the hospital bed, noting that the patient was still unconscious. She checked the bandage on his forehead that covered his wound. It looked like it was healing nicely- it probably wouldn't even leave a scar.

Too bad they'd had to cut his pretty hair to treat him, she mused to herself. When he'd been brought in he'd had a headful of auburn curls; now there was only a scant half-inch of dark hair covering his scalp.

Still, despite the haircut and the bandage, the man before her was a handsome one. Those lips were certainly temptingly full and sensuous... Wonder if he tastes as good as he looks.....

She shook her head again to clear it of her unprofessional thoughts, and, business-like, lifted his wrist in her hand to take his pulse. He was already hooked up to a monitor that kept track of of his vital signs, but she had never quite trusted readings on a machine. She preferred to do things the old-fashioned way.

As she watched the second hand on her watch and counted the beats, she noted the patient's pulse had become faster. She turned up startled brown eyes to see that he had awakened, and was looking at her with confused blue-gray eyes.

"Wha.. What.... happened?" he asked in a bewildered tone. "Where.. am I?"

He tried to sit up but the nurse gently pushed him back down on the pillows.

"Shhh, Mr. Gilbert, it's all right," she soothed him. "You're in the hospital. You're going to be just fine..."

Paul lay back and closed his eyes, his mind whirling with jumbled images. He tried to latch on to some of them as they kaleidoscoped, phantom-like, through his brain, tantalizingly just out of reach.

He sighed opened his eyes. "Is she here?" he asked the nurse in fear.

"Who?" said the pretty, wide-eyed girl beside him.

"There was this crazy bitch," he explained. "She had me kidnapped in the park and took me deep underground to the headquarters of a secret goverment agency..."

The nurse only nodded calmly. Head injuries often produced delusions in patients. This was not unexpected, she thought.

Paul went on, although even to him it sounded insane. "I met my twin there, a spy who looked just like me..."

"Just like you?" said the nurse, her eyes twinkling. That sounded like a nice fantasy to her....

"Yeah," nodded Paul. "We changed places and I got to do his job..." He gave her a shy, but proud glance. "I took down the biggest terrorist on the continent," he announced modestly.

"I see," said the nurse. That was some doozy of a hit on the head, she thought.

"Mr. Gilbert," she explained gently, "You were attacked in the park the day before yesterday. You've been unconscious since then with a concussion."

"Oh..." he said, eyes still wide and confused. "But it seemed so ... real. I was so sure....."

She patted his hand comfortingly. "Don't feel bad. The mind is a curious thing. It often creates scenarios like yours, finds ways to protect us...."

"You'll get it all sorted out in due time," she soothed him.

"Thank you," he whispered, eyes roaming over her face.

She was being so gentle with him, so caring, so .... nice. She was pretty, too, with dark hair and eyes like Janelle, his wife, had had. Her short hair curled in soft tendrils on her neck, so tempting.... He wanted to touch those curls, see if they were as soft and silky as they looked....

The nurse felt herself blushing under his warm gaze, and she tried to pull her hand from his, but he held onto it.

"What's your name?" he asked urgently.

"Marie," she told him shyly, blushing becomingly and lowering her eyes.

"That's a very pretty name," he said softly. "I'm Paul."

He took a deep breath and blurted out his request. "Would you go out with me sometime?" he asked breathlessly.

Marie shook her head and stepped back from him. "I can't," she told him softly.

"Oh," Paul said, his dissapointment evident. "Are you married?"

Marie looked up at him shyly, and gave him a slight smile. "No," she said, shaking her head. "It's not that...."

"It's just hospital policy," she explained. "We're not allowed to date our patients..."

Paul broke out in a wide grin. "What about after I get out of the hospital and I'm no longer your patient? Would it be allowed then?" he asked eagerly.

His nurse laughed. She walked toward him again and stood by the bed, taking a small card out of her uniform pocket. She tucked the small piece of stationary in his hand and blushed again.

"After you get home, why don't you just call me and find out?" she offered boldy.

Paul took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing her fingers lightly. "Merci, mon ange," he said with deep sincerity. "Merci.."

Although his head hurt abominably, his heart was soaring. He hadn't felt this happy in a long time.

Marie removed her hand from his reluctantly and stepped back. She returned to her nurse-mode. "Get some rest," she told him sternly. "I'll be back to check on you soon."

"Ahh, bon!" Paul said with a happy smile, trying to sit up further. "Tres bon.."

"I SAID," she scolded him from the doorway, "get some rest."

Paul nodded and obediently lay back down on the pillows, and closed his eyes. He heard Marie give a satisfied laugh as she left, shutting the door behind her.

He sighed, and settled in under his covers. His thoughts still whirled crazily in his head, but now the world seemed to have come right again; everything was spinning in the right direction at last.

*Thank God* he said silently to himself in vast relief. *That crazy bitch was just a dream*

It was the last thought he had before he fell deeply, serenely asleep.

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