It had been an ordinary work-day, and as usual, Paul Gilbert was now running down the familiar jogging trail in the park, his routine after -work activity. He wore his usual navy blue sweats and his favorite, old pair of well worn running shoes.

Everything was back to normal.

Paul smiled and took in a deep breath of crisp, fall air, again suddenly, sharply appreciative of the fact that he was alive. There was nothing like a brush with death, he mused, to make the small, everyday things seem precious, to make the boring, routine daily grind seem infinitely, keenly sweet.

He had recovered completely after his mugging in this very park two months ago, when he had been attacked, robbed, and left for dead, his body dragged under some bushes just off the path. He was not found for twenty-four hours after the attack.

Or, that's what he was told. Paul himself did not remember it that way at all. His memories were completely different than the version the authorities had given him. They consisted of a jumble of fantastical images, and a scenario that couldn't possibly be true. He was still trying to sort them out.

He wasn't sure he would ever know exactly where he had been, and what he had done, during that lost day after the attack. But he was positive it had been way more complicated than what he had been told.

Things were a blur, but sometimes he dreamed of a face exactly like his, except for the difference of green eyes instead of blue, and auburn curls instead of his own straight black. Those were the good dreams. Other times he woke up in sweat, having dreamt of the face of a beautiful, but cold-eyed, woman with an evil, chilling smile.

*God, she is one scary bitch* he thought.

He shook his head to clear her image from his mind, and, out of habit, moved his hand up to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes. He laughed at himself; the gesture had been completely unnecessary.

They had almost shaved his head at the hospital to treat his head injury, and the long, straight curtain of shiny black hair that he was used to was now gone; the longest hair on his head was now an inch and a half long at most, and not twenty inches, like before.

He gave a little shrug and continued his run down the path. Oh, well, he thought. It didn't matter. It would grow out, and, meanwhile, the fact that he had short hair didn't seem to bother Marie at all.

Paul smiled. Marie was the woman he was dating, a pretty nurse that had treated him at the hospital. Despite the scariness of it, his assault in the park had brought some good things with it. He would have never met Marie if the muggers hadn't attacked him.

Paul rounded a bend in the path, continuing his happy musings.

The attack was behind him now. It was over, he was recovered, and life was good. There was so much to hope for, so much to look forward to....

Those were his last thoughts before the tranq dart hit him and he stumbled on the path, falling into darkness.

Two men rushed from the bushes to retrieve their target. "We have him, Sir," one of them reported into a cell phone.

His commander on the other end of the line gave a hearty laugh. "Excellent, excellent...," he gloated.

His plan was going perfectly. He would bring down Section One.

The terrorist commander laughed again, and spoke another order into the phone.

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

"Bring Michael here to me," he said.

"You wanted to see me?" said a soft, French-accented voice from the office doorway.

Madeleine looked up from the computer screen she was studying and gave Section One's top operative a small smile. She leaned back in her chair behind the glass-topped desk and regarded him appreciatively.

He was handsome, with compelling green eyes, an aristocratic forehead, and strong jaw. The hard, starkly masculine planes of his face were balanced by the unexpected softness of his long hair that fell in soft waves to his shoulders, as well as the softness of his sensuous, full-lipped, almost feminine mouth.

But Madeleine knew there was nothing soft about Michael on the inside. He was a ruthless killer, one of Section's best. He was tough, and smart, and ambitious, and driven to achieve perfection. It was this inner hardness, the inner cold steel that was Michael's soul, that made him such a worthy opponent for her.

*Oh, yes* thought Madeleine. *He was a challenge, all right.*

"Come in, Michael," she invited, all business. "Something has come to our attention that I thought you might be interested in."

She waved him to a chair in front of her desk, but Michael declined the offered seat, and instead chose to remain as he was, hands clasped in front of him in a calm, but somehow defiant, stand.

"Yes?" he drawled, sounding a little bored.

Inwardly he was tense as he always was in his commander's presence, but he made great efforts not to show any sign of his apprehension to Madeleine. It was part of the game between them.

Every encounter was a contest, every conversation a battle, every move and counter-move just another strategy in the endless war of wills. If Michael was today hard and ruthless and clever, some of the credit for his finely-honed skills must be lain directly at Madeleine's door, and the never-ending conflict between them.

She began this particular sparring match with a full frontal attack.

"It's about your Doppelganger, Paul Gilbert," she told him serenely. "You remember him, don't you?" she said, lobbing her words at him like a weapon.

Michael paled, and something like pain flickered briefly in his eyes before he recovered. "What about him?" Michael asked in a monotone.

Madeline knew her blow had hit home and smiling, she went on with her attack.

"We recieved this im-peg just this morning," she continued, turning the monitor on her desk to face him. She tapped a key on the keyboard and an image sprang to life on the screen.

"We have one of your operatives," announced a bearded, 40ish, dark-haired man in camouflage fatigues. He stared triumphantly into the camera.

"You'll be glad to know we are taking good care of him.... for now," he added in a sinister tone.

The man stepped back to reveal the view of the room behind him. Seated in a chair, his hands bound behind his back, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, sat Michael's twin.

Paul's eyes were bright with pain, but he glared into the camera, brave and defiant. His lower lip, though bloody, did not tremble, but was angrily firm.

Paul's captor stepped back in front of the camera and went on with his rant.

"I think you realize what this means, that we have a Level 5 operative of yours?" the terrorist gloated on. He paused for emphasis, his brown eyes narrowing as he smiled.

"It means," the kidnapper said, answering his own rhetorical question, "that you will now do anything we want."

He smiled again and delivered his final salvo before the tape ended.

"We'll be contacting you soon with a list of our demands," he said gleefully.

"Have a nice day," the terrorist finished, and the screen went blank.

*Merde* thought Michael, shaken, and rubbed his suddenly damp palms down his pant legs. Paul was an innocent, a man who had risked himself to help Michael, a man who called him "Brother" even though there was no blood connection between them.

Michael cleared his throat that had suddenly gone dry and looked up from the darkened monitor to meet Madeleine's cold eyes.

"Do we have an I.D. on the kidnappers?" he asked tensely.

"Yes," Madeleine answered, nodding her head.

"The group that mistakenly thinks it has you is called Glass Dragon, a splinter group of Red Cell," she explained. "The man you saw just now on the video is General Hassan Ahmed Hassan, their leader."

She watched Michael carefully, noticing with satisfaction his white-lipped tension and the sudden stiffness in his back. Knowing he was personally targeted by terrorists must have rattled him, she thought.

Madeline knew that Michael's obvious stress about the situation couldn't be due to concern over the hapless Mr. Gilbert, who, after all, had slept with Nikita one night two months ago on the McKenzie mission.

She smiled at the memory. Michael had broken down right in front of her when she had forced him to watch the live video feed of his look-alike and Nikita in bed together. It had been to date her greatest triumph in her battle to crush Michael's proud spirit.

"What are our plans?" asked Michael, trying to stay focused as his heart leapt in panic in his chest. "Are we going to extract him?"

Madeline burst out in a high tinkling laugh. "Oh, no, no, no," she denied, shaking her head. "We wouldn't want to extract him when he's EXACTLY where we planned for him to be."

Michael's eyes widened. "What do you mean?" he gasped.

Madeliene smiled and stood up from her desk, and crossed the room toward him. She took a stance just a few feet from him, literally getting in his face. She wanted to observe his reactions even more closely.

"I told you, Michael, when we released Mr. Gilbert that we might want to use him later," Madeleine began. "We've known Glass Dragon was interested in pursuing you, and this was a way of getting to them."

"With your double in place inside their walls, now we can eliminate them entirely," she went on.

Michael stared at her blankly, his features carefully impassive, although Madeleine could tell by the flicker of pain in his eyes that she was getting to him.

"Why would their having Paul be to our advantage?" he asked, confused. An idea occurred to him, and he turned startled eyes to the woman in front of him.

"You had him implanted with a tracking device," Michael stated with bitter certainty. " And then you leaked his location to Hassan."

"Excellent, Michael!" Madeleine crowed. "That's exactly what was done. But there's something else you haven't guessed."

Michael blinked. "What else, then?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Madleine went merrily on. "The tracker wasn't the only device we implanted."

"You remember a certain attempt by Red Cell earlier this year to destroy Section? With a prison inmate named Jenna?" Madeleine said with a tilt of her head.

*Mon Dieu* thought Michael. *Oh, no. Please, God, no....*

"A human time bomb," he choked out stunned. "You turned Paul into a human time bomb....."

"That's right, Michael," said his adversary brightly. "Before he was released, we placed a small, but adequate, amount of plastique inside your look-alike's abdomen."

*This is a nightmare* thought Michael, feeling his stomach knot in cold dread.

"The bomb is completely stable where it is," Madeleine continued. "It won't go off until we activate it from here.'

Michael couldn't help letting out a small sigh of relief. "Then... you haven't detonated it yet?" he asked hopefully. "Paul's still alive?"

"Yes," Madeleine answered, nodding. "We're waiting for the perfect time."

Michael swallowed hard, his stomach knotting coldy again. "Perfect... time?" he whispered, anguished.

Madeleine's smile chilled him to his bones. She walked back to her desk and sat down, relaxed, in her chair. "General Hassan will not be likely to contact us again for a several days, perhaps a week. He'll want to give us time to worry about you..."

She smiled again. "By that time, Nikita will have returned from her mission in Athens and Paul should be deep inside Glass Dragon's headquarters.."

She nodded for emphasis. "That will be the perfect time to detonate the explosive."

Michael looked at her in horror and bewilderment. " I don't understand. What does Nikita have to do with this?" he asked fearfully.

Madeleine smiled and played her trump card. Her plan was a stroke of genius. She would kill two birds with one stone, as it were. At the same moment that she triumphed over Glass Dragon, she would triumph utterly over Michael as well.

It was so perfect. Crush Nikita, and you crushed Michael. It was that simple. And what better way for Michael to destroy her than by destroying her lover, Paul?

"I thought you would like to be the one to detonate the implant when the time comes," said Madeleine, her eyes gleaming.

"Quoi??" Michael gasped.

"They are your enemies, Michael. Glass Dragon targeted you personally. It's only fair that you should be allowed to personally pay them back, hmmm?" she elaborated.

Michael's mind went numb- it was staggering. Section wanted him to push the button on Paul himself. He took a deep, shaky breath and tried to focus again.

"I still don't understand what Nikita has to do with this," he whispered.

Madeleine smiled again. She paused a moment before delivering the death blow, savoring her victory.

"Why, Michael, I'm surprised you don't get it," she taunted him. "Surely you know the best way to keep reign over your material is to establish dominance."

"You shouldn't allow her to think she got away with anything on the McKenzie mission...." his tormentor went on.

*Oh, God* thought Michael, appalled. *The crazy bitch can't mean what I think she means...*

But she did. Michael listened in horror as Madeleine's next words fufilled his worst nightmares.

"I want Nikita to be there watching when you push the button," Madeleine said with a laugh.

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

Dr. Brian Whicker was spending the afternoon in his office, struggling to stay focused on the mound of stultifyingly boring reports in front of him. This was Section, the most powerful organization on the planet, but even here there was no escape from bureaucratic paper-work.

Throwing his pen down on the desk, Brian sighed and ran a hand through his collar-length wavy black hair. He had already done that at least five times in the last few hours, so the gesture did not dissarray the disordered curls anymore than they had already been. His hair stayed in a perpetual state of wildness from this habit.

"Jesus," he swore, closing his blue eyes and rubbing his stiff neck. "It'd be nice to have some real work for a change."

As if to prove the old addage "Be careful what you wish for", a babble of voices immediately erupted in the hallway outside his Medlab office. They were bringing a patient in.

With almost unseemly alacrity, Brian was up and out of his chair in a moment, and through the office door, his white lab-coat over green scrubs flaring out behind him.

*I don't care what kind of case it is* he thought stubbornly. *I'm taking it*

"What's up?" he asked Terry, his physician's assistant, who was bustling toward him at break neck speed.

"You're needed in Exam 4," Terry told him, somewhat breathlessy. "Right away."

Brian nodded and fell in step with his co-worker as both headed briskly down the hallway to the exam rooms. "Fill me in," Brian requested as they walked.

"Possible broken shoulder," Terry supplied the details. "Patient got thrown during a martial arts work-out."

"Really?" said Brian thoughtfully. The last time they had had an injury that serious during a workout was when Michael had, accidentally, of course, broken the leg of a new recruit during training.

"Did Michael happen to be part of this work-out?" Brian asked curiously.

"Yeah," said Terry in surprise. "How did you know?"

Brian was grateful to see they had reached Exam 4 and there was no time to answer. He knocked on the closed door sharply and then opened it part way. With his hand on the knob he spoke to his colleague in the hallway.

"I'll let you know if I need you," he told him. Terry nodded and left, and Brian turned then to enter the room and get a first look at his patient.

The man sat with his legs hanging over the side of the exam table, wearing black sweat pants and a sleeveless black t-shirt. The forelock piece of his long hair was pulled back into a small pony-tail, and his face and arms were sheened with perspiration.

He was breathing hard and clutching one shoulder, cradling one arm in the other for comfort as he rocked back and forth in pain. The patient turned his green eyes hopefully to the doctor in the doorway.

"Help me," he begged.

"Michael!" Brian gasped in shock, closing the door behind him and coming forward.

In two quick strides he was at his friend's side, gently touching him on the arm.

"It's O.K.," he said soothingly. "Let me just see what you've done here..."

When Brian went to gently pry the fingers of Michael's uninjured hand off the bad shoulder so he could examine it, he got another shock.

Before he could proceed further Brian found himself with his wrist gripped tightly in Michael's firm grasp. The patient was no longer breathing hard, or rocking in pain. With a jolt, Brian realized that the arm Michael was using to hold him immobile was the one which was supposed to be broken.

The injury was a pretense, Brian knew, but the green eyes that were locked with his were still filled with hope as they looked at him.

"What's going on?" Brian demanded softly. "How can I help?"

Michael let out a deep sigh and released Brian's wrist from his hold. He hopped down off the table and began pacing the small room.

"I need to get out of Section for a few days, perhaps a week," Michael said tensely. "They can't know where I'm going."

Brian did not protest, or ask any questions. Michael had saved Brian's life on the last mission they were on together, and had been his lover on the mission before that. To Brian, Michael was not a cold killer but a trusted friend. He was the man he loved.

However dangerous this new situation might be, Brian would help Michael without hesitation.

"You got it," Brian agreed with a sudden grin. "As of this moment, you're on medical leave. Will that work?"

Michael gave Brian a relieved smile crossed the room toward him. "Thank you," he said with heart-felt sincerity, clapping the tall doctor on the shoulder.

Brian blushed under the intensity of his gaze. "Good," he said stirring himself. He opened the door of a cabinet in the far wall and started taking out supplies.

"I'll bandage it up, make it look good," Brian went on, laying out scissors and gauze on the counter. "Then I'll conjure up a doozy of a report for you."

The doctor turned back to Michael with a grin. "I always wanted to try my hand at writing fiction," he joked.

"Brian," Michael said, coming to stand closer to his young friend.

The seriousness of his tone arrested Brian in mid-movement. He turned to meet the apologetic green eyes.

"There's more," said Michael, voice full of regret.

Brian closed his eyes and swore loudly. "Sh*t, don't tell me...."

"I'm sorry," Michael told him softly. "But I need you to come with me."

Brian stared at the handsome operative thoughtfully for a long minute. Michael held the gaze, his eyes silently pleading. Suddenly, the doctor broke out in a grin.

"Are we going to pull one over on that bitch Madeleine?" he asked eagerly.

Despite his worries, Michael's mouth turned up at the corners in wry amusement. "Yes, that is my intention," he answered.

Brian let out a whoop and slapped Michael on the back in turn. "Well, in that case," he said with a smile, "I'm all yours, Team Leader."

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

"Let's go over this again, shall we?" said General Hassan, stroking his beard thoughtfully as he circled the prisoner tied to the chair in the small room.

"What is your name?" the terrorist leader demanded.

His captive closed his blue-gray eyes and sighed. "I TOLD you a hundred times already," he said wearily. "My name is Paul Gilbert."

The General stopped his circling and stared down into the face of his prisoner, his brown eyes gleaming unpleasantly.

"We already know who you are, Michael Samuelle," he inquisitor said with vast patience. "Why don't you just admit it?"

"I don't know anything about this Michael you're talking about," his prisoner denied. "My name is Paul Gilbert," he repeated, his jaw clenching.

The interrogation had gone on for what seemed like hours, and it was always the same senseless questions.

Despite the bizarre situation, Paul was experiencing an overpowering sense of deja vu. Somehow, though he knew it was impossible, being tied in the chair and interrogated seemed familiar, like something he had been through before, and survived. Almost like a memory...

*But that's crazy* Paul told himself with a shake of his head. *Almost as crazy as this guy*

His captor gave a short laugh, and resumed his pacing. "Who do you work for?"

"U.S. Government Department of Transportation. Research." Paul answered with a sigh. "I told you that, too."

Hassan shook his head in wry amusement. "Department of Transportation, heh?" he sneered. "That's an interesting euphemism for Section One."

"I don't know anything about this Section One," Paul stated angrily. He tried to arch his back and shift in his chair to relieve the stiffness in his sore muscles.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," the prisoner insisted.

"They've trained you well, Michael," said the General, gazing at his captive in genuine admiration. This Section operative was indeed brave, he'd give him that. In all the hours of the interrogation, his captive had never once wavered from his cover story.

The blue-gray eyes looked up at him in disgust. There's nothing lower than a kidnapper, Paul thought, and this one was not only morally bankrupt, he was incredibly stupid as well.

His frustration with the moronic General was replacing all his fear; Now he was just angry.

"I'm NOT Michael," Paul said again in exasperation. "Obviously you've got me confused with some one else."

Hassan ignored his protests and went on in his admiration. "You are a a brave man, a strong man," his captor said with honest regret. "It's a pity we will have to kill you."

Paul's anger flared. "So just go ahead and kill me, then!" he shouted, frustrated beyond bearing. "At least that would put an end to this idiotic conversation!"

Hassan swiftly stepped to the prisoner and lifted his hand. Paul flinched back, thinking his captor meant to strike him. But to his surprise, the General's hand came down not in a blow, but in a friendly clap on the shoulder.

To Paul's amazement, his captor laughed heartily.

"It's a great pity we are enemies, my dear Michael," he said, patting Paul's shoulder again.

"If things were different, if we were not on opposite sides, I think.." Hassan continued, smiling, ".... I think we could have been friends, or brothers...."

Paul reacted in instant revulsion, his skin crawling at the thought. He didn't have a brother, but if he did, there was no way he would be anything like this pompous idiot of a General.

"FUCK YOU!" Paul yelled in loud disgust.

Inexplicably, the General did not take offense at the curse. Instead, he laughed, and motioned for the guards to come forward toward the prisoner.

Paul flinched back as they approached, eying the two guards apprehensively.

"Take him to a cell," Hassan ordered, his sense of comaraderie with Paul apparently unabated. "See that he has food and water, and is able to rest."

He smiled at Paul and went on. "Don't hurt him, understand?" the General instructed his men. "I want him in good condition for later."

The guards nodded and hauled the captive to his feet. Standing between the two men, Paul stared at his captor in bewilderment.

"I thought you said you were going to kill me?" he blurted out, surprised.

The General patted his prisoner's shoulder again. "All in due time, my dear Michael," he said heartily. "All in due time."

He waved his hand and the guards marched Paul out of the room and down the hallway.

Paul craned his neck to turn around for one last look at the General as he was taken away.

*Poor crazy Bastard* he thought.

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

Madeleine hurried down the hallway to Medlab, her heels clicking loudly on the cold tile floor. She felt like breaking into run, but she controlled the urge and forced herself to slow down to just a fast walk.

Things around the Glass Dragon mission were unraveling. First, she had got word earlier that day that Nikita's team was unavoidably delayed in Athens, and now this.

She could hardly believe it. Michael was in Medlab, incapacitated. Not that Michael didn't often end up there, but it was usually because of being shot or injured on a mission. Not because of some stupid work-out accident.

*How infuriating* she thought. She hated things to be out of her control, especially things having to do with Michael.

Finally she reached the entry doors to Medlab. The corridors inside were mostly deserted; the medical personnel had been alerted that she was coming, and were taking pains to stay out of her way.

The only person there to greet her was Dr. Brian Whicker. By the grim expression on his face, she could tell the news wasn't going to be good.

"Is it bad?" she asked curtly, dispensing with any greetings.

Brian nodded. "Bad enough," he answered vaguely.

Madeleine heaved a martyred sigh. "Where is he?" she asked.

The handsome doctor indicated a directon down the hallway. "This way," he told her, and led her to Exam 4, and held the door open for her.

Striding into the room, Madeleine was not prepared for what she saw.

Stretched out on the exam table was Michael, his shirt off, most of his bare chest and all of his right arm swathed in bandages. Over the bandages holding the arm tightly in place against his chest was a wide sling, which was in turn kept snugly in place by a strap that tied twice around his waist.

He was deathly pale, and sweat sheened on his forehead and upper lip. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.

Madeleine collected herself from her shock and crossed to the exam table. She put her hand gently on his good arm. "Michael?" she said softly.

"He's been sedated," said Brian from behind her. "He can't hear you."

This, of course, was a lie, but Madeleine didn't know that. Brian felt strangely like he was an actor on a stage, playing a role. As, indeed, he was. He only prayed he could pull this off.

So far, their charade was working.

Madeleine turned to face him, her eyes hard. "Is the shoulder broken?" she asked.

Brian shook his head. "No, but it's badly wrenched," he reported. "Torn to hell, in lay-man's terms. There's a lot of ligament damage."

"Damn," Madeleine swore. This was much more serious than she was expecting.

"It's a particularly painful kind of injury," Brian went on. "He's going to have to be on heavy pain medication for quite a while."

Madeline paled. "How long will it take to heal? How long before he's fit for duty?"

Brian sighed. "That depends," he prevaricated. "I'd say at least two weeks, maybe ten days, at the earliest."

"Ten days!" Madeleine's cried in alarm. "No, no, that's too long...."

Michael's accident would ruin all her plans. Something would have to be done. She couldn't miss this opportunity to triumph over her adversaries because of some stupid failure of her medical staff to heal Michael quickly enough.

She glanced appraisingly at the sleeping Michael, and then glared at Brian, her eyes flat and deadly.

"Listen to me carefully, Dr. Whicker," she said in her coldest tone, voice full of menance.

"You don't have ten days. You have four." She took a deep breath and delivered her threat.

"I don't care how you do it, or what resources you need, or how impossible it seems. But you WILL have Michael out of Medlab and able to function at the end of that time, is that clear?"

Brian stifled a smile. This was almost too easy. "Well, I don't know," he said, rubbing his chin and pretending to ponder the problem.

"I suppose, if I could stay with him round the clock, keep the shoulder iced, and then later do water therapy, and monitor his medication constantly, perhaps use steroids to reduce the swelling...." Brian thought outloud.

"Fine!" Madeline almost screeched. "Whatever it takes, just do it."

"Uh, Ma'am?" Brian protested meekly.

"What is it?" she demanded.

"You know how Michael hates Medlab," Brian began slyly. "And psychological factors like that can impede healing..."

"Yes, go on...." snapped Madeleine. "What ae you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting," said Brian, taking a deep breath, "that perhaps he would heal faster if I take him to my place. I could devote myself completely to his care, and Michael would heal faster in familiar surroundings."

The last was a lie: Michael had never been to Brian's apartment. But Madeleine didn't have to know that. They just needed a way to explain Brian's absence from Section along with Michael's.

Madeleine looked taken aback. Well, well, this was something she hadn't known about. She had assumed that Michael had focused all his romantic interests on Nikita alone, but perhaps that was not the case.

It seemed that Michael was still attracted to the handsome young doctor after all.

*More amunition* she thought gloatingly.

"And just how familiar IS Michael with your place, Doctor?" she probed. "Are you sleeping together? Are you screwing?"

Brian blushed furiously. He had not been expecting the direction of Madeleine's question, and was unprepared to have it put so bluntly. Especially with Michael lying a few feet away listening to every word.

*Shit* he thought. *This is so embarrassing. This bitch has no boundaries, no conscience. Was there no limit to the indignities she was capable of inflicting?*

"Uh.. uh.. yes, we are," Brian stammered out his lie.

Madeline nodded, and asked an even more invasive question. "Do you love him?" she said.

Brian was very attracted to Michael, and cared for him deeply. Even though he had let him go, had moved on emotionally, and had given up on the idea of a relationship between them, the fact of his deep attachment To Michael had not changed. Brian did love him.

"Yes. Yes, I do," Brian whispered, closing his eyes. This time his answer had not been a lie.

"That's lovely," said Madeleine, her good mood returning at this new intel that she could use in her war to control Michael and Nikita.

"It is?" asked Brian, a little bewildered by her inexplicable elation at this news.

Madeleine smiled warmly at him, her attitude no longer cold. The smile sent chills up and down Brian's back.

"Yes, very lovely," she declared.

"Please, Doctor, take Michael home now. Tend him, care for him, and see to his every need," she told him with a sly look. "Then we'll see you both back here in 4 days, all right?"

"Uh, right," Brian had answered uncertainly.

"Good," said Madeleine, giving him one last stern look. She threw a glance at Michael one more time, then turned on her heel and was gone.

Brian waited, holding his breath until he could no longer hear Madeleine's heels clicking down the hallway, then slumped with his back against the closed door.

He let out a sound that was half groan, half sigh. "I think we did it," announced the doctor in relief.

His "patient" opened luminous green eyes, sat up, and smiled. Michael looked at him gratefully.

"Thank you," he said softly.

Brian blushed again. "Oh, uh, sure thing, Babe. Anything for you, Lover," he joked to cover his embarrassment.

Michael smiled again and jumped down from the table. "Let's get out of here," he said, feeling the urgency of Paul's situation.

Brian nodded. "Hang on one second and I'll get a stretcher. Then we'll make a grand, dramatic exit, O.K.?"

"O.K." Michael agreed, and leaned wearily against the exam table as he watched Brian first check for traffic in the hallway, then slip out of the room.

Brian had been amazing, he thought. He had carried everything off perfectly, without even asking one question, without knowing anything about the reasons they needed to escape. Brian had trusted Michael completely.

*Merde* Michael thought to himself. *I hope he still trusts me after he finds out what I have planned.....*

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

"Here, drink this," said Brian, placing a steaming mug of coffee in front of Michael.

"Thank you," Michael answered absently, barely glancing up from his lap-top which was open before him on the coffee table in the living room in Brian's apartment. It seemed to Brian that Michael had not moved for hours from his seat on the couch.

As soon as they had arrived, Brian had deftly cut Michael free from his mummifying swath of bandages, and given him one of his own shirts to wear instead. Michael, now dressed in a blue polo shirt that was a little large for him, and with his hands free from the restraining bandages, had set immediately to work.

Michael had focused entirely on making some kind of mysterious arrangements, alternating between concentrating on the computer screen and making cryptic calls on his cell phone.

Brian, though bursting with curiousity, was doing his best not to disturb Michael with any questions. He puttered quietly around the apartment, made the coffee, paced a little, and finally settled in a chair across from the couch, watching Michael concentrate.

Brian fidgeted, becoming increasingly nervous and apprehensive as each minute went by. He didn't know what this was about, just that it had to do with beating Madeleine at her own game.

*No wonder I'm nervous,* he thought.*That bitch is scary.*

This waiting gave him an unwanted and uncomfortable opportunity to contemplate just how scary she could be, now that the whirlwind adrenaline rush of activity that morning was over.

They had made their successful and dramatic escape from Section One without a hitch. It had been another convincing performance. Michael, pale, bandaged, and seemingly unconscious, had been wheeled on a stretcher to van access and loaded into a state-of-art medical transport vehicle which Brian then drove home.

The vehicle, "a cross between an ambulance and a Winnebago", as the young doctor had jokingly called it, now sat parked on a side street near Brian's apartment building.

Madeleine had insisted that Brian keep the medical transport vehicle for his use during Michael's convalescence; it had more supplies and equipment than he would ever need in order to tend his patient's mangled shoulder.

*Talk about overkill* Brian thought. *This thing's like having our own little hospital.*

Brian heaved a sigh, and ran his hand through his hair. Thinking about their cumbersome transport was not proving enough distraction from his burning curiosity. He had a million unanswered questions in his head, and watching the taciturn Michael silently typing on the keyboard was getting none of them answered.

He couldn't take it any longer. He jumped up from his chair and went to sit on the couch next to Michael.

"Michael, please," he burst out. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I'm going crazy here..."

Michael looked up from the laptop and met the anxious blue eyes with his concerned green ones. "Yes?" he said softly.

He hated the fact that he had had to involve Brian in his plans, but he had no choice. He couldn't get Paul out on his own, and he needed the young doctor's skills.

"If you won't tell me what the hell we're doing," Brian pleaded, "can you at least give me something to do to help?"

"Like what?" asked Michael, tilting his head in curiosity.

Brian's eyes widened, and he groped for an answer. "I don't know," he protested, "something, anything...."

The previous topic of his thoughts came back to him. "Why don't you let me arrange for our transportation, maybe?" suggested Brian. "We'll probably need some faster wheels than that floating hospital we've got parked out there...."

Michael's expression darkened, and the light went out of his eyes. "No," he said grimly. "We won't need another vehicle."

Brian wasn't sure he had heard him right. He shook his head in disbelief.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" he asked, stunned. "You're taking the Med-van on this mission?"

Michael nodded. "Yes," he said simply.

Brian stared at him for a long moment, as the unsettling implications of that set in.

"Oh, Christ..." Brian swore softly, closing his eyes. "Holy shit... Jesus....." His recitation of expletives ran out, and he sat there, speechlessly staring at Michael, who sat silent in return, with his own look of pleading desperation on his face.

Brian took a deep shuddering breath and got control of himself. Despite his uneasiness and fear, he couldn't let Michael down. He was still firmly resolved to see it through.

"O.K., Michael," Brian said with calm resignation. "You'd better just tell me-- who is my patient going to be?"

Michael's green eyes suddenly grew more luminous as unbidden tears sprang up at the thought of Paul in the hands of Glass Dragon.

"My brother," Michael choked out in answer.

"Christ!" Brian swore again.

Then Michael told him the rest. "I need you to operate on him to remove explosives planted in his abdomen..."

Brian paled, and Michael went on, the words coming out in a rush. "He's being used as a human time bomb. Madeleine gave him to a terrorist group called Glass Dragon...."

Brian gasped, appalled at the utter ruthlessness of Madeleine's plan. "Then... then we have to get to him before Section sets the bomb off, right?"

He ran his hand nervously through his hair again, heaved another sigh, and looked up at Michael. "How much time do we have?"

Michael paused for a moment before answering, then said quietly, "Four days."

"Four days?" said Brian, confused. "But that's how much time Madeleine gave you for medical leave..."

He shook his head again. "I don't understand," the young doctor said, feeling an ominous chill of cold dread in anticipation of Michael's answer. "Why would Madeleine want to wait four days to detonate the bomb?"

"Because Madeline isn't the one who's going to detonate it," Michael answered, his voice trembling. "I am."

"WHAT?" Brian shouted, thoroughly alarmed. "What are you talking about?"

"It's the point of her whole scheme," whispered Michael tensely. "Madeleine wants me to be the one to push the button."

"My God...oh, my God.... Michael..." Brian groaned out, and instinctively reached for the other man to pull him into his embrace. Michael, still trembling, welcomed the comfort of his friend's strong arms around him.

"Brian, help me, please...." Michael said against the doctor's broad shoulder.

Brian broke the hug and then thumped Michael on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Michael," he said with a small laugh. "I wouldn't miss being in on this for the world.."

He stood up suddenly from the couch and grinned at his friend. "C'mon, Michael," the young doctor said, his eyes gleaming in anticipation.

"Let's go fuck with her plans," laughed Brian. "Let's go turn the tables on the crazy bitch...."

Cold, glaring, white light. His world was just white light, unrelieved in its harshness. Something equally as cold slithered out of the whiteness toward him.

Cold, lifeless brown eyes peered at him. The beautiful woman smiled and reached out to tangle her hand in his long hair.

"A pity," she whispered, but her eyes held no sorrow. "A pity.."

*Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Don't....*

He tried to flinch away from her, but he couldn't move. His hands were held down with cuffs of cold metal, as hard and as cold as the beautiful woman's eyes.

She looked alive, but she wasn't. There was no soul behind the cold, dead eyes. She was an obscenity, a walking corpse....

He couldn't move, couldn't get away from her.

The dead thing smiled again, and leaned closer.

*no. no. no. NO. NO. NO. NO...........*

Paul woke up from the nightmare, covered in sweat, gasping, on the narrow cot in his small prison cell in Glass Dragon's headquarters. It was a rambling, cubby-hole filled warren of a warehouse, and the room they had put him in was on the ground floor, and had probably been used a small storeroom.

The cot took up most of the space in the room, and the cramped narrowness of his prison would have been more than enough to set off his claustrophobia, if it hadn't been for the window. It was high, too high for him to see out, and there were bars across it, but it gave Paul a welcome glimpse of the sky. Right now, he could see some stars gleaming, and knew it was night.

He sighed, and welcomed the reality of the starlight, as the last vestiges of the nightmare dissipated.

It was almost a relief to wake up here- Paul found the reality of being a prisoner of Hassan Ahmed Hassan preferable to being a captive of the evil-eyed bitch in his nightmares.

*At least she isn't real* Paul consoled himself.

He sat up on the edge of the cot, and buried his face in his hands. Who was he kidding? Hassan, despite his professions of admiration and brotherly feeling toward him, was a much greater threat than some monster in a dream.

Paul knew it was only a matter to time before he was killed. They would kill him because they believed he was someone else- someone called Michael Samuelle.

Paul closed his eyes, and another dream image came unbidden to his mind. There was a man he dreamed about, a man with his own face. In the dream Paul knew this man was his brother, although in reality, that was impossible. He had no brother. There was no one who knew he was here, no one who could help him get out.....

He was trapped. He would die here.

Paul shuddered, and tried to school his thoughts to go elsewhere. He had already counted the bricks in the wall, the tiles on the floor, and the cracks in the ceiling, over and over, in order to distract himself.

*Maybe,* he thought to himself, *I should try counting stars- it'll take longer.*

He climbed onto the cot and stood up on it, steadying himself with one hand against the wall. He manouevered himself as close to the window as possible, trying to get the best view.

He almost fell over in shock when he looked up to see that, along with the sight of black sky and brilliant stars, there were two faces at the window- and one of them was his own.

"Mon Dieu!" Paul cried out in shock.

His Doppelganger behind the barred window put a finger to his lips and shushed him.

"Quiet!" his twin ordered. "Stand back."

Paul hastily staggered down from the cot and went to the far corner of the cell, his eyes never leaving the face in the window.

"Cover your eyes," came the next order. Paul obeyed, turning his face to the wall and burying his face in his hands.

There was a hissing sound and he smelled the acrid smell of something burning, then there was a flash of light that burst in his vision, even past his closed eyelids and his hands over them.

When the light behind his eyelids faded to black, Paul turned and looked up. The bars to the window were gone, and his twin was there, holding out one black clad arm to him in sweet salvation.

"Let's go," said Michael urgently.

Paul grinned, and climbed on the cot again. He reached up and grasped the dream image by the outstretched arm, and then felt himself pulled up, out of his prison, through the window, and into the safety and freedom of the sweet, dark night.

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

Through the night they ran, Michael leading, followed by Paul, then Brian bringing up the rear. They crossed the open area around the warehouse, over the broken concrete, and past the scruffy collection of delapidated out-buildings.

No one stopped them. Michael had done his job well. He had taken out the perimeter guards, and the ones inside had not yet noticed their absence. Their exit was timed perfectly.

Brian watched the two men in front of him in amazement. Except for the length of their hair, he could see no difference in them. He had expected Paul to resemble his brother, but not be a mirror-image like this.

The professional part of his mind noted with satisfaction that Paul seemed unhurt by his captivity, and was able to keep up with no trouble in their dash for safety. That would make his part of the mission easier.

Heart pounding, Brian was relieved when they finally reached the chain link fence on the edge of the terrorist compound. Michael had cut a section of it loose earlier when he and Brian had entered, and now he held it back as Paul and Brian ducked through.

It felt good to be out of the enemy's territory. The surrounding neighborhood consisted of more abandoned buildings and deteriorating warehouses. The Medvan was parked a few blocks away on vacant lot grown over with pine trees and a tangle of underbrush.

They reached it quickly; still no one followed them, and the only sounds in the night were the rustle of small nocturnal animals in the underbrush.

Michael shouldered his rifle and flung open the door of the large van. He turned to Paul and barked an order.

"Get in," he said.

Paul obeyed, mounting the high steps quickly, followed swiftly by Brian. A few seconds later, they were all inside, Michael closing the door behind them.

The interior was all white, lit brightly, and set up as an operating room. Paul seemed not to notice his surroundings, but stared dazedly at his twin.

The lights overhead glinted on the gold-red hightlights in Michael's hair, and reflected off the luminous green eyes. Except for those two features, Paul would have sworn he was looking in a mirror.

This was obviously the man who General Hassan had mistaken him for. But why did Paul feel like he had met him before today? Why had he dreamed of him?

He wasn't sure if he was dreaming now. This sudden freedom gave him a feeling of unreality. Like it was all too good to be true.

"Are you Michael?" he said hesitatingly.

Michael allowed himself a small smile. "Yes," he answered softly.

He hoped that Paul was remembering the time he had lost despite the memory modification he had undergone. But there was no time to make that assessment, and no time to explain. An explanation would have only served to panic his already bewildered and slightly uneasy twin.

The bomb was still inside Paul and would have to be removed, and the tracker along with it. When that was done, Michael planned to take both devices back to Glass Dragon headquarters and detonate them, along with a large charge of C-4 to make sure the job was done.

As far as Section would be concerned, they would believe that the plastique had somehow been detonated early, and that Paul was dead. Michael knew it was the only way for him to be safe. In a few days, after he had recovered from the surgery, Paul would board a plane and slip into a new identity, and Section would not even know to look for him.

But before all that could happen, the devices must come out first. Michael bit his lip and forced himself to look away from Paul's hopeful face. He turned to the young doctor at his side. Now it was Brian's show.

"Get ready," he told his friend.

Brian nodded, and crossed to a cabinet in the wall and started taking out supplies. He stripped out of his coat and put on a white lab-coat over his clothes and then donned a surgical cap over his dark hair.

Michael turned to Paul, who was eyeing him uneasily.

"What's going on?" Paul asked warily. "What are you doing?"

With deep regret, Michael took a step closer to his twin, and gripped him by the arm. "Get on the table, please," he said softly.

Paul saw that Michael meant for him to lie down on the white sheeted stretcher under the glaring lights; he panicked.

"No! Let me go!" he yelled, trying to pull out of Michael's grasp.

With a deft economy of movement, Michael expertly pinned Brian's arms and then lifted him onto the bed. Paul kicked and struggled, but was no match for Michael and his years of Section training.

Michael held him down with one hand, and swiftly attached the restraints with the other. In no time Paul was lying helpless on the operating table.

"Bastard!" Paul shouted angrily. "Dammit, let me go!"

Michael, grim-faced, said nothing, just started rolling up Paul's sleeve. Paul's panic sky-rocketed when he saw Brian walking toward the table with a syringe in his hand.

"Mon Dieu!" he begged, eyes wide, chest heaving. "Please... Please don't do this..."

"I'm sorry," said Michael with sincerity, as he held Paul's arm still while Brian slipped the needle into his vein.

"No....." Paul protested faintly. But already the sedative was seeping through his blood stream, making his whole body feel heavy. He could no longer hold his head up.

Paul's head fell back on the pillow, and he found himself staring into the white, white ceiling and the glaringly bright lights, almost sinister in their starkness. Recognition stabbed him.

*All white.* Brian thought dazedly. *Just like in my nightmare*

It was the last thought he had before his eyes closed and he slipped deeply into the darkness.

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

Paul came slowly up out of the darkness. It seemed to enshroud him like a soft, but heavy, blanket lying warm and comforting over him, and he fought to push it off and come up to the light.

He was only partially successful. He managed to flutter his eyelids open just barely, only to be assaulted by stabbing white light. He quickly closed his eyes again, and gave up the struggle to do more. He was too tired. He decided to rest for a while before trying again, here on this plateau he had reached, hovering somewhere in the limbo between the darkness and the light.

He became aware of voices, but he was unable to decipher what they were saying. Paul let the sounds just wash over him, and gradually, without him forcing it, the words coalesced into a meaningful conversation.

Still too tired to respond, Paul lay quiet and listened.

"Are you sure he's all right?" said a soft, anxious French voice.

The second voice, younger and slightly deeper, responded reassuringly. "Relax, Michael. I already told you, his vital signs are fine, right where they ought to be. He's not in any danger."

The French voice was not comforted. "Shouldn't he be awake by now?"

The younger one sighed. "He'll probably come around within the next hour," he said ruefully, "And then you might be sorry you wanted him to wake up so soon- our boy is going to be feelng like hell and he's probably going to be mighty pissed."

Michael laughed, and allowed himself to relax a little. The worst was over. They were back in Brian's apartment, after having returned that morning from completing a successful mission.

The surgery in the van last night had gone smoothly, and more quickly than he had expected.

From a corner of the Medvan Michael had watched in fascination as Brian had, with just a few deft movements, opened Paul's side and pulled back a layer of skin and muscle to reveal the devices that Madeleine had had implanted in his double's abdomen.

"It's stable, remember," Michael had reminded him again about the status of the bomb.

Brian had looked up and nodded, but hadn't seem to need the reassurance. His gloved hands were perfectly steady as he removed the devices from their resting place inside the cavity under Paul's ribs.

Brian, gently cradling the small mass in his hands, carefully placed the small box of plastique and the tracker welded to it in a metal bowl on a nearby tray.

"Congratulations, it's a bomb," Brian had quipped, looking up at Michael, then turned back to his patient to close up the incision.

Michael knew he should get moving, but he hesistated to leave with Paul lying there looking pale and still, almost lifeless, on the table, his middle covered in blood. Intellectually, he knew Paul was fine, but emotionally he needed to hear the words.

"Is he all right?" Michael blurted out, feeling foolish for asking.

He saw Brian's eyes smile above the surgical mask. "He will be now," the doctor answered. "He'll have a rough few days, but after that, it should heal quickly and he probably won't even have much of a scar."

Michael nodded, and gave a relieved sigh. He crossed to the tray and took out a small zippered pouch from one of his mission jacket pockets and then lifted the bowl over the pouch and slid the explosives inside it.

He replaced the pouch back inside his jacket, and then reached for his rifle.

He went to the door and opened it, ready to go back out into the night, back to Glass Dragon headquarters to detonate the device that would have killed his brother, according to Madeleine's plan.

Now, its detonation would not mean death to Paul, but life- In the smokescreen of its fiery incineration, Paul would slip away, escaping the cruel hand of Section's grasp, and eluding the evil-eyed gaze of Madeleine.

Michael hesitated in the doorway, giving his twin one last anxious glance.

Brian called out to Michael before he could slip out to finish Paul's rescue.

"Good Luck, Michael," the doctor said softly. "Be careful."

With a quick grin and a nod of his head, Michael stepped out into the night and was gone.

Brian turned back to his patient, and began to close up the wound. He tried to concentrate on his work, and forced himself not to think about what could go wrong with Michael out there, alone, headed back to the lair of the enemy.

He had barely finished making his last careful stitch when the van shook violently with the tremors of the blast. Brian was shaken by the noise as well, the deep rumbling sound vibrating through him, as if it had penetrated every cell, shuddering down to his bones.

Brian gripped the sides of the operating table to steady it, and leaned over the comatose Paul in a protective stance as the shaking went on.

"Christ," he breathed under his breath. This time it was not a curse, but a prayer. "Please, God," Brian begged, "please let Michael be all right."

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

The tremors stopped and the night grew quiet. There was nothing, no sound, not even the rustle of the night creatures in the underbrush.

Brian took a shaky breath, and pushed up from his bent posture over the table to check on his patient. The sutures had held despite the jostling, and looked fine. Brian checked Paul's vital signs on the mointors and was pleased with what he saw. Michael's twin was holding his own.

The doctor adjusted his patient's I.V. and then cleaned and bandaged the wound. His surgical tasks done, Brian stripped off his gloves, mask and cap, and tossed them aside on the tray. He opened a cupboard in the side wall and removed a soft, white blanket and spread it gently over the sleeping Paul.

He adjusted Paul's pillow for him, trying to see that he was as comfortable as possible. Brian was distressed to see that his own hands, so steady before, were now shaking.

He gripped his hands together to stop their trembling, and slumped heavily onto a bench set in one wall of the van.

"Michael, please be all right," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Jesus, please just let him be all right..."

A few more minutes passed, and Brian knew he unable to endure the waiting anymore. He had to do something. Knowing his patient could be left for a short time, he decided he would go look for Michael, who might, God forbid, need his aid more.

Brian shrugged out of the white lab coat that would make him too noticeable in the night, and pulled on his black parka. He grabbed his medical bag that was stashed handily in a compartment by the exit and yanked open the door to the van.

He had barely made it to the top step when he heard it. A subtle, almost delicate rustle, like silk on silk. The sound grew closer, and Brian paused on the step, peering into the darkness.

The figure in black was on him before he knew it. Brian didn't see him coming. The man gripped him by the arms and roughly manhandled him back into the van.

Before Brian could yell a protest, the figure released him, and stripped off his black mask. Auburn curls fell in dissarray around his shoulders, the glare of the white lights above catching the gold highlights in the shimmering thick waves.

"Holy shit!" Brian laughed in relief. "I think I'm going to have a heart attack..."

Michael looked at him, a glint of amusement in his eye. "Don't," he ordered wryly.

Brian laughed again, this time louder. "You're O.K, I'm glad to see."

Michael nodded, and allowed himself a small grin. " We need to get out of here. Do you want to drive the Winnebago or shall I?"

"I will, definitely," said Brian happily. "You sit here and watch the patient." He indicated the bench where he had sat earlier.

Michael looked worried. "How will I know if something's wrong?" he asked. "What do I look for?"

Brian grinned and flipped a switch on the I.V. console. Immediately the monitors started up a steady beeping.

"If anything goes wrong, trust me, you'll know," Brian told him. "You'll be deafened by the alarms."

Michael nodded, reassured.

Brian's face softened, and he clapped his friend on the back. "Try to rest, all right?"

"O.K." came the answer.

Brian moved to the front of the van, but before he entered the driving compartment, he looked back.

Instead of curling up to sleep on the bench, Michael was standing next to the stretcher, holding Paul's hand.

Brian grinned. *Fooled you,* he gloated. *Take that, you evil bitch*

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

Paul drifted, content to listen to the voices. One of them he knew from his dreams, as well as from his memories. Why was this voice so familiar? Through his drug-clouded brain, he tried to puzzle out the mystery.

The conversation went on. "Your brother here sure is an ugly cuss," Brian teased, trying to distract Michael from his worried mood.

Michael smiled only slightly, then went back to frowning and fretting over Paul.

Brian tried again. "Tell me about when you were kids," he asked. "It must have been fun growing up with a twin." He grinned. "Did you trade places in class? Did you fool your teachers, keep them guessing which was which?"

Inexplicably, the young doctor's words had the opposite effect than what he intended. Brian watched Michael's face fall further, his mouth tightening as he he turned his head away, obviously in emotional pain.

"Jesus, Michael," Brian apologized. "I'm sorry- what did I say to hurt you?"

Michael shook his head. "No, it's all right," he said softly. "I should have told you earlier."

"Told me what?"

The bright green eyes turned to look at him. "Paul and I- we're not brothers," he stated sadly. "We're not even related."

Brian let out a loud laugh. "Oh, come on, you're shittin' me, right?"

He gestured at the man on the bed and then at Michael himself. "Look at you two- of course you're brothers! How could you not be?"

"We're not," said Michael with a sigh. "I researched it carefully, I wanted to be sure. There's no way we are connected."

He rubbed his hand across his chin in a characteristic gesture of distress. "Paul is not my twin," Michael stated flatly. "He's my Doppleganger."

"Your WHAT?" gasped Brian, eyes widening.

"My look-alike. My counterpart. They say everyone in the world has one."

Brian laughed again. "That's cool!" He shook his head in amazement. "So how did you find each other?"

Michael looked away. "We didn't," he choked out. "Section found him."

Brian paled. Michael went on.

"They needed a double for me on the McKenzie mission, "Michael said grimly. "They found Paul, kidnapped him, used him, and then set him up to be taken by Glass Dragon.."

"And put the bomb in him... Christ," finished Brian.

On the bed, Paul frowned slightly at the pain in his side.* Bomb? Bomb?*

Michael folded his arms across his chest and gazed softly at the patient on the bed.

"Paul is an innocent who got caught in the cross-fire. An innocent who suffered because he... he looks like me...." Michael said, voice tight with anguish.

Brian detected a note of guilt in Michael's tone, and moved quickly to set his friend straight. "Hey, wait a minute. That's not your fault," Brian cajoled him.

"Let's remember the facts here..." Brian went on. "It was that crazy bitch, Madeleine, who engineered all this..."

*Bitch?* pondered Paul, coming more awake. *Could that be the bitch from my nightmares?*

*Madeleine?* She was real?* Not a dream?*

"YOU," continued Brian to Michael, "were the one who risked your life to get him out of the terrorist prison..' The doctor grinned. "I'd say that was pretty brotherly of you."

Michael gratified Brian with a smile. "You risked your life for him, too, remember," he said intently. Michael shook his head. "I still don't know why you would do that...."

Brian blushed, embarassed by the praise. As usual, he came back with a flippant remark to cover his feeings.

He got up and put his arm around Michael and leaned in, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "I don't know, Babe," he joked, "I guess I'm just a sucker for a pretty face..."

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

Michael laughed and Brian slapped him on the back. Grinning, he said, "I'm going to go make some tea and broth for our patient here. He should be waking up soon."

"All right," smiled Michael, and watched Brian wander into the kitchen.

When he turned back his gaze was met by open, luminous blue-gray eyes watching him calmly.

Michael, startled, stepped up to the bed. "Hi," he said softly.

He, like Brian, had fully expected Paul to be angry when he awoke, as well as confused and perhaps frightened. But his counterpart seemed to be none of these things.

Paul startled Michael again by smiling weakly at him. "Hi," he said, returning the greeting.

Michael looked down at the pale, pain-drawn face. "How are you feeling?" he asked gently, laying his hand lightly on Paul's arm.

The patient grinned. "I'm fine, Michael," he answered warmly.

"You remember?" asked Michael anxiously. "You remember me?"

"Oui," Paul answered, still smiling, nodding his head slightly on the pillow. "I remember everything."

It was true. As Paul had come slowly awake, the dream world memories that had until now had eluded him had come into focus, prompted by Brian and Michael's conversation around him.

He remembered being kidnapped by Section. He remembered the hard-eyed, but beautiful Madleine. He remembered meeting his twin and feeling an instant kinship between them, a deep bond that went beyond all ties of blood.

He knew Madeleine had planned for him to die a horrible death, and that Michael had saved him.

Michael's eyes widened. "You remember all of it?"

Paul reached for Michael's hand and gripped it, hard. "Oui, mon frere," he whispered. "Je reviens tout."

Michael laughed in happy relief, and gripped the hand in his in return. "Everything will be fine now, I promise you," he vowed to his twin.

Paul nodded. "I know," he said, in serene trust.

Brian, wiped a tear from his eye as he watched the brothers from his place in the open kitchen. He had remained there, puttering, holding back from interrupting their conversation and what was obviously, to him, a tender family reunion.

He almost dropped the tea tray, however, when he heard Paul's next comment, and then Michael's raucous laughter.

Paul smiled slyly up at Michael. "We really fooled that crazy bitch this time, didn't we?" he gloated.

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

Two days later, Brian opened the door to his apartment and shuffled wearily inside, tossing his keys on the counter and shutting the door behind him. Despite his overwhelming fatique, he felt good, a warm feeling of deep satisfaction glowing in his belly.

He had just returned from taking Paul to the airport and sending him out to his new life. Paul was still a little shaky after his surgery, but was eager and happy to start a new life.

Paul confided in Brian that, when he was settled, he planned to contact Marie, the woman he cared for and was planning to marry before Glass Dragon had kidnapped him.

Brian approved. "You go for it, man," he had advised, laughing.

A warm comaraderie had been established quickly between doctor and patient during the days of Paul's convalescence. Paul, still weak and in pain, was grateful for how Brian gently tended to him, rarely leaving his side the whole time, except when Paul talked to Michael.

Brian had seemed to have a sixth sense about when the brothers wanted to be together. He had a way of discreetly retreating to the background while the twins visited, giving the men their privacy.

Brian knew it was the last time they would see one another. Once Paul left for his new life and new identity, it would be safer for him to have no contact with Michael, to make sure his whereabouts stayed hidden from Section.

Brian had waited in the hallway for Paul while he and Michael said their good-byes. It was decided that Brian be the one to go to the airport with Paul, for security reasons. Paul and Brian would attract less attention than twins would, and after all, Michael was supposed to be laid up with a bad shoulder. It was best that he stay behind in the apartment.

As his plane was boarding, Brian stood awkwardly next to Paul to say his own good-byes.

"Have a good life," he told him, holding out his hand to shake Paul's.

His patient ignored the hand and embraced the young doctor, giving him a light kiss on both cheeks in a very French manner.

He smiled into Brian's face. "You too," he said, and added fervently, "Take care of my brother for me, will you?"

Brian nodded solemnly. "Yes, I will," he promised.

Then Brian had watched as Paul Gilbert boarded the plane, walking down the jetway and dissapearing into his new life. Brian stayed to watch the plane take off, following the tail-lights with his eyes until they were nothing but a pinpoint of silver in the night sky.

Now back at the apartment, the elation at their success that had buoyed him so far faded, and Brian's exhaustion hit him full force.

He had had hardly any sleep for the past three days, running on adrenaline and large quantities of coffee. The tension, fear, and stress of the last 36 hours had been overwhelming, and now that the mission was over, and Paul was safe, Brian's body clamored for rest.

It was late- about 2 a.m. Brian looked around for Michael, and realized he was not there.

*He's probably crashed in the guest-room.* Brian thought. *I need to get some sleep, too.*

He began moving slowly around the apartment, turning off all the lights except for one small lamp in the living room. He stretched and yawned, and with a last quick glance to make sure the door was locked, he walked down the hall to his bedroom.

The bedroom was dark, but Brian didn't bother turning on a light. He knew his way around the familiar room in the dark. Confidently he covered the few steps to the chair by the bed, and began to strip off his clothes.

Naked, he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and turned to slip into bed. He pulled the covers back and slid gratefully between the welcoming sheets.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a soft voice from the other side of the bed.

"Hello," said Michael.

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

Brian jumped in shock, his breath catching in fear. Then he recognized the voice and the glow of the green eyes reflecting in the dark.

"Michael!" Brian gasped. "Jesus, you scared me..."

"I'm sorry," said the voice in the dark. "I didn't mean to startle you.."

Brian paused. Something in the tone of Michael's voice worried him. He sounded almost... sad? Brian shook his head, too tired to figure it out.

"Look, it's O.K.," said the weary doctor, "You're settled in here- why don't you just stay put? I'll just go next door to the guest room and crash..."

He sat up, reaching for his clothes again, when Michael startled him even more than he had before.

"No, don't go," whispered Michael. "Stay here with me.."

Brian froze in shock, his fatigue vanishing, his mind becoming instantly alert. This was the last thing he expected. What the hell had gotten into Michael?

Before he could formulate a coherent reply, he felt the other man's arms come around him, pulling him back down on the bed.

In a second, Brian found himself lying on his back, with Michael's naked body covering his. Stunned, Brian lifted his head up to move away and instead found his lips captured by Michael's in a deep, insistent kiss.

Brian closed his eyes and submitted for a moment, but then began to struggle. A few months ago, this night, this kiss, would have everything that Brian had ever dreamed of, but they had both moved on beyond that point now- The only right lover for Michael would always be Nikita, and Brian had finally accepted that. Hadn't Michael accepted that, too?

"Michael, wait..." Brian managed to gasp when the older man finally released him from the kiss. He tried once more to sit up, but Michael pinned him by his wrists to the bed.

"No," came the breathless, and somehow desperate, voice above him. "I've waited long enough for you already..."

Michael bent his head to take Brian's lips again, and then moved one hand from Brian's wrist to caress his chest and stomach, moving lower over the trail of dark, soft hair on Brian's abdomen, then down between their bodies to grip Brian's manhood firmly in his hand.

Brian moaned, and arched his back, feeling his body responding instantly to Michael's touch, his cock hardening quicky under Michael's expert stroking fingers.

*It felt good.* So very, very good.*

But it didn't feel *right*

Michael's caresses were clouding Brian's ability to think clearly, but even in his passion drugged haze, he knew that what they were starting was deeply, intrinsically wrong.

Brian wrenched his mouth away from Michael's and used his free hand to give Michael's shoulder a hard push.

"No..." he protested, breathing hard. "I don't want this.."

Michael forced a laugh, and squeezed the thick, rigid staff of flesh in his hand. "Your body says you do....." He began kissing him again.

Brian began struggling in earnest then. "Dammit, Michael, please...." he groaned, pushing his hand against the hard wall of Michael's muscled chest.

"Please, what?" whispered Michael seductively, ignoring, or perhaps deliberately misreading, Brian's protest. "Tell me..."

He lowered his soft mouth to nuzzle Brian's neck, the thick auburn curls brushing like silk across Brian's shoulders. Brian felt Michael's tongue lashing across his collarbone, sending shivers of desire through him.

"Tell me what you want, Brian," Michael offered himself hoarsely. "Please, what?"

Brian grunted and squirmed underneath him, struggling to free himself from his own igniting passion as well as from Michael.

"Please what?" Michael breathed. "Please.... touch you?"

Still leisurely stroking Brian's manhood with one hand, Michael moved the other under the younger man's lean hips and gripped one firmly fleshed buttock in his hand. He began kneading the firm curves, fingers exploring lightly between the cleft of Brian's hard rear.

"Please..... suck you?" Michael whispered, stroking Brian's cock faster. "Please... fuck you?"

"Jesus, Michael, don't..." Brian moaned, becoming more anguished in his struggles. He was pinned by Michael's weight, and pushing against him was useless. He was becoming desperate enough to think about hitting Michael in the face, although that was something his gentle nature balked at doing.

Michael removed that option from him by pulling Brian's arms over his head and pinning both his wrists down to the bed with one hand. Michael then lowered his body onto Brian's, so that Michael's own hard, thickened shaft was pressed against Brian's abdomen, laying heavy and hot against his skin.

Brian, finding himself helpless and unable to move, began to panic. Things were moving faster than his ability to cope with them, and in a inevitable direction that he knew they were not meant to go.

He had to make him stop.

"Michael...." Brian gasped, sobbing. "Please.. Please don't...."

Relentless, Michael seemed not to hear him. He was bent on consummating the act which he had started, with almost grim determination.

Brian felt a chill of dread go through him when he felt Michael nudge his knees apart with one of his own and then push his legs, with knees bent, up against his body. Brian arched his back and tried to kick him, but his flailing only served to put him in a better positon to be taken by his relentless lover.

"No! No, don't... don't.. please...." Brian sobbed, tears on his face, chest heaving. His pleas were the only weapon he had to use to stop Michael, but the other man seemed blind to his distress.

"Michael, don't! Don't!" he yelled louder, when he felt the tip of Michael's long shaft bumping against the entrance of his inner depths.

In the darkness, Michael paused, Brian's anguished cries finally breaking through his focused trance. "You don't want me to make love to you?" he asked, bewildered.

"No, Brian sobbed, tears flowing. "I don't want you to rape me...."

Michael froze, his only movement now the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he took in harsher and harsher breaths. A cry built up inside him, and was released in an anguished, wracking sob....

"Oh, God, what have I done?" Michael cried. He was up and off the bed and off Brian instantly, scrambling blindly for the door.

Brian, freed at last, followed him. He caught up with him just inside the bedroom doorway. This time it was Brian who held Michael in a relentless grasp, his hands around the other man's upper arms.

"Michael!" Brian yelled angrily, then froze in shock at the sound of Michael's broken sobs.

"I'm sorry..." Michael gasped. "I'm sorry..."

***********

Both men were shaken, both tear-stained and trembling, both devastated by what had transpired.

Brian was still a little afraid, and a little angry. He felt lost, bewildered, stunned.

He was overwhelmed with the need to know why-Why had Michael, who was always so controlled, so reserved, gone so out of control tonight? Before now, Michael had never done anything sexual with Brian unless forced to do so during a mission-- why had he come on to him now?

"I'm sorry," said Michael again, and pulled out of Brian's grip. "I'll go now..." He moved toward the doorway, but Brian blocked his way.

"No," said Brian stubbornly. "No, you're not leaving."

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

He shut the bedroom door firmly and stood with his back against it. Michael backed off, making no effort to fight him to get out.

"What the hell is going on with you?" Brian demanded."What in God's name was this about?"

Michael was silent, the only sound he made was the harshness of his breathing in the dark room.

Brian's unease grew with each wordless second. Mchael had deceived him before about his feelings on the Alonzo mission. Michael had pretended to desire him then. It had been for Brian's own protection, but it had been a deception nevertheless.

"Is this some secondary mission of yours, besides the one to free Paul?" Brian blurted out, angrily. "Are you under orders to fuck with me? Is this some kind of goddamn Section test?"

Michael seemed distressed by the questions. "Brian, no," he said, voice anguished. "It wasn't a test. It wasn't a trick. This had nothing to do with Section, I promise you."

Brian sighed. Somehow, this did not make him feel better. He felt even more unsettled than he had before.

"I see. So, this was some personal agenda of yours," Brian said, feeling deeply hurt. "I... I thought you gave a damn about me. I thought we were friends.."

Michael stepped closer. "We ARE friends," he pleaded earnestly. "I DO care about you, Brian. That's why I did what I did..."

Brian felt the tears stinging his eyes, and he no longer felt strong enough to stand. He slid his back down the wall to sit in the floor, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking in pain.

"I don't understand," Brian said brokenly. "Why would you do this? Why?"

Abrubtly, Michael joined him on the floor, sitting down beside him and leaning his back against the wall next to Brian. Michael took deep, shaky breath and explained.

"I did it because I wanted to repay you for helping me save Paul," he said softly, his voice infinitely sad. "It was the only thing I could think of to give you- something you had wanted for a long time, something...." he paused, voice breaking. "....something you thought I was incapable of giving you..."

A kaleidoscope of emotions swirled through Brian's insides, wrenching his gut with first shock, then anger, then hurt, then a stab of guilt.

***********

Bian was suddenly awash in self-doubt. Had he inadvertently done something to lead Michael on? Had he not been plain enough about his feelings? Didn't Michael know he was more than content now to have him as a friend, that he had been honored by Michael's trust in him?

Had Michael misinterpreted his teasing, his jokes, the kiss on the cheek?

"Was it something I did? Something I said? To make you think I expected you to sleep with me?" whispered Brian, anguished."I'm sorry.."

Michael gasped in horror that Brian should be apologizing to him. He rushed on to explain. "No, No! You didn't do anything... And I know you didn't expect anything from me...."

"That was why I did it."

Brian blinked. "Because.. I didn't expect it?" he asked bewildered.

"Yes," said Michael in hoarse earnestness. "Brian, ever since we met, every encounter with me has been dangerous for you. You've been used and lied to, you've been hurt, by Section and by me..."

Brian shook his head. "No, Section used me. But you always tried to protect me..."

Michael sighed deeply. "Yes, but that doesn't change the facts. I did hurt you. I used your feelings for me to manipulate you."

"To manipulate me into staying alive, as I recall," Brian corrected him. "You saved my life, remember?"

"Maybe, but it was mostly selfish on my part..."

"SELFISH??? " Brian gasped. "what the hell are you talking about?"

Michael went on, as if the reasons should be obvious. "You are a fine person, Brian. Giving, unselfish, caring, gentle.. In every situation we've been in, you've given, and I've taken. I've asked you to do impossible things, scary things, and you did them without protest, without question. I've put you at risk on this mission, asked you to help me with something that had nothing to do with you, to put yourself in danger for me,for my needs, and you never asked for anything in return."

"Michael.. " Brian said then stopped. He wasn't sure what to say.

Michael went on. "You deserve better than that. You shouldn't be left with nothing, over and over again. I...I thought you should have something of value to you, and I realized I had nothing to give you. Nothing but ....'

"But a night with you..." Brian breathed. "Jesus, Michael...."

"I knew you were attracted to me, and I.. I rejected you. After all you've done for me, I owed you...."

Stop!" Brian yelled, suddenly understanding. "Just shut up..."

"What?" gasped Michael.

"Let's get a few things straight," he began, standing up and going to sit on the bed. "First off, you don't OWE me anything..."

"But..."

I said shut up," Brian said firmly. "Jesus, for a smart guy you can be really dense..."

Michael gave a laugh of surprised relief. He was filled with hope at Brian's affectionate dig; perhaps he didn't hate him after all.

"Number one," Brian began. "Section may expect you to sleep with people you don't want to, but *I* don't. I respect you far too much for that.."

Brian was in fact apalled that Michael thought so little of himself and his own feelings that he would esentially sacrifice himself to do something he thought would make Brian happy. Section had used him as a whore so many times, he didn't stop to think about how much he would be violating himself by sleeping with Brian.

Or maybe he did. Maybe that was why Michael had seemed so... disconnected, so focused, so trance-like, so ..... sad when he was in bed with Brian. He was trying not to feel anything while he was doing what he thought he should do..

"Number Two," Brian continued, "I don't know where you got the idea that I walk on water and am some god-like, perfect human being and you are some unworthy piece of scum...."

He fixed Michael with his stare. "But get over it. You're a fine, decent person, too."

"No, I..."

"I told you to shut up! Look, you idiot, if you were some uncaring heartless bastard, would you have given a damn whether Paul got blown to pieces? Or if I was left with Alonzo to be raped and then killed? Would you be risking your life everyday to protect Nikita, and me, and Jilly, and everyone else you've helped, from that bitch Madeleine?"

"Face it Michael," Brian went on, "If you were really that soulless person you think you are, would you even be here, trying to apologize?"

***********

"And number three," Brian asserted firmly, "you don't have anything to apologize for.."

"No! I do.." Michael protested.

"And I told you to shut up, right?" Brian said again, this time more seriously.

"Look, Michael, you weren't wrong about me wanting you, because I did. I do want a relationship with you; I guess it just took me a while to figure out what kind."

Brian gave a small laugh. "I suppose the fact that we made love the first day we met confused the issue for me quite a lot. But now I have it all straight in my mind."

"You see," Brian went on softly, "When I told you that day that I loved you, it was truth. I still love you.. I guess you know that."

"I want us to be close, but not close as lovers..." He took a deep breath. "I'd like to be close as your friend. I'd like to be.. to be... " He paused, his voice catching in his throat.

"Yes?" Michael encouraged him, daring to place his hand gently on the other man's shoulder. "Please, tell me. What would you like to be to me?"

Brian let out a trembling breath. "Your brother...." he whispered hoarsely.

"Oh.." Michael exhaled sharply, and pulled Brian into a fierce hug, pulling the younger man's head down to rest on his shoulder.

"Brian," he said, half laughing, half sobbing, against his friend's cheek, "I think you already are....."

Brian, overcome with deep joy, clutched him tightly, sobbing into Michael's broad shoulder.

Their tears mingling, the two brothers sat on the bed, heart pressed against heart, rocking each other for a long time in the deep comfort of each other's embrace.

***********

he next day, Madeleine sat in her office anxiously awaiting Michael's arrival. It was the fourth day of the deadline she had given him and Brian, the day she had demanded that the injured operative return to Section.

Madeleine fumed. It was not going as she had planned. Not at all.

Everything had fallen apart. Nikita was still delayed on her mission in Athens, and would not even be there to be devastated by watching her lover Paul's death at Michael's hands.

That was impossible now, anyway, because Paul was already dead. They had had intel that Glass Dragon headquarters was utterly destroyed in a bomb blast. And the signal froom Paul Gilbert's implanted tracker had ended just when the explosion had occurred.

There was no other explanation. Obviously, the plastique explosives in Paul's abdomen had not been as stable as they had thought.

"Damn," the hard-eyed brunette muttered under her breath. She would have Walter check all munitions much more carefully from now on.

Well, perhaps the day would not be a total loss. It wouldn't be as fun or as spectacular as what she had originally planned, but she still had a way to score a few points against Michael.

First off, she would probably be inflicting at least some physical pain on her rival by forcing him up out of his sick-bed to report to her before the shoulder was healed. That should provide her some satisfaction.

Secondly, she could watch his face when she told him Paul was dead. Madeline smiled. Michael had been looking forward to killing him himself, and would most likely be sorely dissapointed at the news that he had missed his chance to do the deed personally.

And last but not least, she could get her jollies by taunting Michael about his relationship with Brian. Making Michael discuss his sex life was always guaranteed to make him squirm.

*Oh, Goody* she thought.

With a huge smile, she paged Michael to her office.

When he arrived a few minutes later, Madeleine had worked herself into a fever of anticipation. This was going to be good.

The door slid open and Michael entered, wearing his usual black suit, with the addition of a discreet black sling over his right arm.

"Come in, come in," she urged him, indicating he should take a seat in front of her desk.

"Good morning," Michael greeted her, and sat down.

"How are you feeling?" she probed with false sympathy.

Michael smiled. "I'm fine," he answered.

Indeed, he did look fine. He was no longer pale and covered with sweat like the last time she had seen him, trembling with pain on the Medlab table. In fact, he looked disgustingly well and healthy.

Oh, well. So much for that angle. She should have remembered Michael's remarkable powers of recovery.

She shrugged, and went for her second plan of attack, the first an obvious failure.

This should get him, she thought.

"I'm sorry to tell you," she lied sweetly, "that your Doppelganger is dead. The implant exploded prematurely." She paused and then twisted the knife.

"I guess you won't be able to push the button after all." Madeleine smirked. "Pity."

Michael clenched his jaw tightly. *You hateful bitch* he thought.*Screw you.*

Then he relaxed and smiled sweetly in return. "Oh, well. As long as the terrorists were destroyed, it doesn't matter," he replied serenely.

Maddeline frowned. This was not the reaction she had expected. "You're not dissappointed?" she gasped.

Michael shook his head, and gave a gaullic shrug of his shoulders. "C'est la vie," he remarked indifferently.

Michael stood and headed for the door. "Is that all?" he said nonchalantly.

*DAMN* Madeline thought. That was two strikes out for her. She aimed her last and best weapon in the game and fired.

"Yes, that's everthing," she lied again. When he had just reached the door and was about to make his escape, she spoke again.

"Oh, by the way, Michael," she asked with false friendliness. "How are you and Brian getting along?"

Michael turned back to face her, the corners of his mouth curving in a gentle smile. "Fine," he answered.

His nemesis raised an eyebrow. "So," she probed, "did the two of you spend some time together in bed?"

Michael unsuccessfully stifled a laugh. "Oui," he replied truthfully. "We did."

Madeleine was a little thrown by his response. Instead of bristling with offense like she expected, there he was, happily responding to invasive questions about his intimate relations.

Well, she wouldn't give him a chance to rattle her further. She gathered herself and changed tactics, moving from the sexual to the emotional.

"Are you forming a bond?" Madeleine queried eagerly. "Are you getting close?"

Michael tilted his head and paused, as if pondering her question thoughtfully.

After a moment, he shook his head. "Not really," he answered with calm serenity. "We're no closer than we were before."

Which to Michael's mind, was not a lie. He had always felt close to Brian.

"Oh," said Madeleine, stunned and speechless at her utter defeat.

"Is that all?" Michael asked again.

Madeleine nodded and waved him away with her hand. When he had glided smoothly from the room and the door had closed behind him, Madeleine collapsed across her desk, devastated.

*Merde* she thought, shaken. *I'm really losing my touch*

She lifted her head, and her eyes fell on the innocent greenery on the shelves across the room.

Smiling, she crossed the floor to the plant display and lifted the scissors. She relieved her thwarted desire to torture some living thing by visciously snipping away at her helpless bonsai.

*That's better* she thought, cutting and clipping in a frenzy.

Standing outside the office door, Michael heard the snipping of the scissors and smiled to himself.

*Touche', bitch* he thought, and went whistling down the hallway.

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