Maria Villone Gerard clutched her husband in her arms and held on tightly to his shoulders as he rode her violently for the third time that night. His breathing came in heavy gasps and moans in her ear, sometimes his cries almost sounded to her like he was sobbing, and she wondered if the wetness on his face was from tears, and not just sweat from his exertions.

But it couldn't be, could it? she thought. Her husband never cried. Only that one time.

She stroked his long hair, and whispered endearments in his ear, trying to soothe him, although she knew that tonight was one of those nights when Michael would not be soothed.

Something had happened, something dreadful, to make him want to lose himself in her, in their bed, in this frenzy.

Once, a year ago, he had been like this, like he was now. They had gone to bed, turned out the light, and then he had reached for her. He leapt upon her like an animal, an animal blind with need, a tortured animal, wounded, and desperate for surcease of pain. It was as if he could relieve some demon inside if he could only get enough- enough of her body, enough of physical release, enough... oblivion?

After that last time, months later, she had worked up the courage to ask him about it. About why he had been so needy. He had gone stone-faced on her, like he often did, and turned his face away as if ashamed.

"It's okay," she rushed to reassure him. "I'm not mad, or anything. I just want to know why," she asked timidly.

He had mumbled something about some of his team being killed in an explosion, and then he had gone deathly quiet, as if afraid he had said too much.

Maria had nodded then, and given him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Michael stayed frozen, and she had quietly left the room, leaving him to his grief.

It was the only time she remembered him ever talking about his work. Work was a taboo subject. She knew he did things for her father, and for others like him. She knew he was a mobster, like they were.

She had learned young, and learned early and well, that you did not ask any of the men in her family about what they did. It was the code her mother had taught her, the code she lived by.

You didn't bring it up, you didn't probe, pry, or hint. And you never questioned anything your husband did- where he was, who he saw, why he was gone, or what he had been doing. For the most part, it was probably better if you didn't know anything, given the undoubted ugliness of that part of their lives.

But now she felt the sudden need to ask again what had happened, given that Michael was again, like that time before, suddenly, frenziedly, in need of her.

But she thought better of it and bit her lip, keeping in the words. She wanted urgently to know what had caused this bout of desperate lust, but she quelled her curiosity. It would probably remain a secret, like so many other things in his life.

When they had met, it had been just the opposite. He had seemed so open then, so uncomplicated. He talked about himself freely, which appealed to her enormously after dealing with her close-mouthed, secretive father and brothers.

He had made her laugh. He was charming, and sweet, and was an incredibly gentle and eager lover. When he had asked her to marry him, she couldn't believe her luck. She had never thought she would find a man at all, let alone one as handsome and wonderful as this. Men, as a rule, were not attracted to her.

Maria was not an ugly girl, or even plain. She was actually quite beautiful in her own way. But it was beauty of an understated kind, not overt and striking. It was the kind of beauty that was easier to see if you really looked close- perfect, creamy skin, lovely hands, glittering eyes, and fine, silky hair. A beauty of subtleties, if you will.

To know her inside was the same- she was shy by nature, and uncomfortable in crowds and at parties. Social occassions in her boisterous family were hell for her. Her father despaired of ever mayyrying her off, given how introverted she was, and how unwilling she was to draw attention to herself, to do anything that might get her noticed by a man.

Until she caught Michael's eye. He was totally smitten by her from the first, courting her, calling her, charming her.

Within a few short months he had charmed her into his bed, and she had submitted willingly, her enthusiasm making up for her inexperience. She wasn't sure if Michael was delighted or upset to find that she was still a virgin at 25; she only knew that she had surprised him.

They had had their big wedding, her father introducing his new son-in-law to the family, and the family connections of power and influence. Michael was now one of them. He had, through Maria, cachet into their secret world.

The honeymoon was all that she had hoped it would be. Michael had been particularly ardent and tender. It was on the honeymoon that their first child was conceived.

The lovemaking had continued at the same level of tenderness for a time, then become more perfunctory. Sometimes it was Maria who faked a headache to spare Michael from having to do what had become, for some reason, a chore and an obligation.

It was never anything he said, really, or did. He never rebuffed her overtly. She just knew instinctively when he didn't want to be touched or held, or made love to.

Often, when he would come home after one of his frequent long and unexplained absences, looking like he had seen too much horror, and too much death, she would just tuck him into bed and let him sleep alone, knowing he needed the space.

Lately, to leave him alone was often the only way she knew how to show him she loved him. For she did love him, even if she didn't understand at all anymore what went on inside his head.

She had realized long ago that maybe she hadn't ever understood him at all. He was her husband, and she wore his ring, and bore his name, but he was in many ways a stranger. Michael was a closed book. He never let her in.

But now, in this moment of weakness, he obviously needed her. She reveled in his nearness and fervency. In spite of the roughness of his love-making, she was incredibly thrilled that he was here with her, that he had turned to her to assuage his pain.

His harsh sobs increased in frequency, each one louder than the one before. He pumped into her with fierce strokes that left her breathless and just a litle afraid. He had never hurt her physically, never beaten her like her father and brothers had. This was the only roughness he had shown her.

Other than these two exceptions, the time a year ago and now, he had always been gentle.

Finally, the punishment ended and with one last ramming stroke, Michael went rigid in her arms as he came.

He collapsed on top of her, still harshly sobbing.

She felt the wetness of his tears on her cheek, and could not deny any longer that he had been crying. She held him tightly and again, for the second time in their marriage, dared to ask a question.

"Baby, what is it?" she whispered softly, caressing his trembling shoulders. "What's wrong?"

Michael raised up off of her, his eyes clouded with tears as well as a growing caution. He wished he didn't have to lie to her; he wished he didn't have to use her like he did. Maria deserved better. She deserved to have a man who loved her, and cared for her, and could be open with her about his life and his feelings.

And that man was definitely not him. He did care for her, but he wasn't sure he knew what love was anymore. The closest thing in his life that came to genine love was how he felt about Nikita.

And he certainly couldn't tell Maria that, or tell her that the reason he had lost it tonight, had been swamped with emotions out of his control, was that he feared that the woman he loved, Nikita, would be cancelled by Section now that she had openly challenged its leader to defend Section's reason for existing.

The last time he had done this to Maria was the night he had watched a warehouse explode into bits and had tormented himself that Nikita had not escaped in time, that he had ordered her death. Tonight it was the same fear, that he would never see Nikita again.

He didn't know exactly why he had turned to Maria like this. Maybe he had spent so many years holding in his emotions, keeping a tight rein on his needs and feelings, and when the stress had finally become too much he had blown, and Maria had borne the brunt of the fall out.

Maybe he did love Maria, too. Maybe he trusted her enough to let go that much with her, exploding in need, and sorrow, and rage, knowing she would never complain or question. Knowing that she would always forgive.

The idea of her forgiving him so sweetly now made him want to weep again. Sometimes he wished she would just slap him, or scream at him, instead of being so docilely, submissively, understanding.

"Nothing's wrong," he lied. "Everything's fine."

His wife nodded slowly, recognizing the signs. He was withdrawing from her again behind the mask. She knew better not to push him, even though her heart screamed for an explanation.

She contented herself with pulling him back down on top of her and holding him close in her arms. She decided one of them should speak the truth that night.

"I love you, Michael," she whispered softly. "With all my heart."

He trembled in her arms, fresh tears stinging sharply in his eyes. He responded in turn, not knowing whether what he said was the truth or yet another lie.

"I love you, too," Michael choked out. "I love you, too."

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

A little while later, Michael disentangled himself from his sleeping wife's arms and slipped from the bed, careful not to wake her. He put on his robe and wandered out of the bedroom downstairs to the kitchen.

Mechanically, he took out the necessary items from the cupboard and began to make coffee. It was something he did often over the years- he seldom slept well, and he wished fervently that this had been one of those rare nights when he could lose himself in slumber, but it was not to be.

Wearily he leaned against the counter as he watched the coffee finish perking, then poured himself a cup, black, and sat down at the kitchen table.

He rested his head in his hands and sat thinking. About Maria. This mission. Section. Nikita. What a mess his life was.

How had it all started?

He thought his life had been complicated enough when he was first recruited in Section, learning to survive. But that had been simple compared to this. His life had expanded from the one-dimensional focus of just physical survival, blossoming and awakening all his emotions to life, when he fell in love with Simone.

She was his friend, and teammate, partner and lover. It seemed the most obvious thing in the world to get married. He loved her, and wanted the whole world to know that she was his. Simone had seen things the same way.

They were happy, as happy as they could be under the conditions they lived in. The immediacy of the danger they faced every day, the fact that they could be killed anytime, that one of them would be sent on a mission and not come back, only added to the intensity of their passion for each other. Simone completed him. She was part of him, his right arm. He should have known how much it would hurt the day the inevitable amputation came.

The mission to gather intel about Glass Curtain had gone horribly wrong. In an instant, she was lost to him. He returned from the mission alone, in shock, his soul bleeding.

Section didn't care about his pain. Their only concern was that he didn't function as the smooth, cofident operative as before. But how could he? He was shattered, half of his heart was gone. How was he supposed to survive this?

Madeleine acted quickly, not wanting to give Michael too much time, certainly not enough time to recover from the shock. He was still in a state of numbness when she presented her plan to him.

It started as just another briefing in her office. She had handed him a PDA with the details of the mission.

"Our target is Carlos Villone," she began. "He's head of a large crime family involved in the usual- gambling, extortion, prostitution...."

Michael, looking dazed, forced himself to focus. "Sounds like small potatoes. Why is Section worried about him?"

Madeleine gave him a little smile, pleased at his interest. "He's branching out. He's developing an interest in high-tech arms dealing, as well as grooming a small, elite mercenary force for hire."

"So the mission is to find his army and take them out?" asked Michael.

Madeliene shook her head. "Eventually, yes, but not yet. We hope to infiltrate Villone's inner circle, and from there, we will have access to his buyers, which, from what we have gathered, consist of half the terrorist organizations in the world."

Michael nodded. "Do you want me to take a team and infiltrate his army, posing as mercenaries?"

The brunette tilted her head, her eyes gleaming. Michael was going along fine with her plan. "No. You'll go alone. And you won't be just infiltrating his army...."

Michael raised one eyebrow in curiosity. "What else?" he asked.

"Villone trusts no one but family, and family connections. His sons help him run his organization; there are no outsiders allowed in the chain of command. The only way to get to him is through this one weakness...."

She took a glossy print from her desk drawer and handed it to him. A small, dark-eyed girl smiled shyly back at him from the photo.

Maria Villone," stated Madeleine. "His only daughter."

She leaned back in her chair, steepled her fingers together, and regarded Michael thoughtfully.

"Marry her," she ordered.

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

"M-Marry her?" asked Michael, stunned, not sure he had heard her right.

Madeleine nodded, and smiled serenely, just as if she had said something totally ordinary and routine, not this outrageous, incomprehensible suggestion.

"The marriage won't be real, of course," she went on in a conversational tone. "Not in a strictly legal sense. You'll use an assumed name, Michael Gerard. Your cover will be as an arms dealer and mercenary. This will explain your absences while you're on missions for Section."

She tapped the photo of Maria with her finger. "Villone's daughter shouldn't give you any problems. She's shy, rather drab, and very meek.."

Madeleine gave him an appraising smile, her gaze flickering over his shoulders and broad chest in his elegant black suit, then up again. "She'll be thrilled at your attention. Just use your natural charm. She'll be begging to be in your bed in no time...."

Michael gasped, suddenly coming out of his stupor, her words shocking him anew. He shook his head firmly. "But, Madeleine, I..."

"But, what, Michael?" Madeleine interrupted him, her warm tone suddenly turning cold. "You know that personal feelings should not be allowed to interfere with your duties in Section."

He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked away from her, his lips pressed together in a grim line.

She went on with her souless lecture. "Michael, you have lost your wife, and that is regrettable. But you are too valuable to us not to use on missions which you are suited perfectly for."

Michael turned back to stare at her stubornly. He was appalled at the idea. His wife was barely cold in her grave and they wanted him to woo and marry another woman....

"I... I don't think I can do this," he said honestly. "It's too soon..."

Madeleine returned his look, hers even more stubborn. "No, Michael," she soothed him firmly. "It's the perfect time to do this. You are lonely, and hurting, and this will provide a distraction for you, perhaps even some needed comfort...."

"Comfort?" he choked out. "What do you mean?"

She smiled at him gently. "This will be long-term mission. It may take years to access all of Villone's contacts. Meanwhile, you'll have an established home, companionship, someone to care for you, someone to provide for your .... physical needs..."

Michael went rigid in his chair, his jaw clenching tightly. Was this smart woman so clueless, that she thought one wife in his bed could be exchanged so easily for another? Did she really think his attachment to Simone had been purely a sexual one, and did not involve his heart?

*Soulless Bitch* he thought to himself.

"I see," he said with grim sarcasm. "Maria for Simone. One warm body substituted for another...."

She smiled, not catching his irony. "Exactly."

She crossed her arms across her chest and gave him another appraising look. "Use whatever mental gymnastics you have to to deal with it, but understand this- you WILL complete this mission."

Michael lowered his eyes and stared at the floor, too enraged to speak.

"Good, we understand each other," the cold-eyed brunette said after a moment, taking his silence for agreement. "Do you have any questions?" she asked sweetly, now that she had won the battle of wills.

A thought occurred to him, and with it a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "What happens if my new wife wants children?" he asked bitterly, recalling the sudden loss of his baby son, Paul, when the boy was just three months old. He and Simone had been devastated...

And suspicious. They wondered if Section had had something to do with their healthy baby's sudden, inexplicable death. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, SIDS, had seemed such a horribly convenient explanation.

Section had regarded Baby Paul as an ill-timed distraction from the couple's work. With his death, there was nothing left for Michael and Simone to do but focus on the mission....

"Not to worry, Michael," Madeleine told him with chilly reassurance. "There won't be any children...."

She smiled again. "We'll take care of it."

He blanched white, nauseated, and felt the room spinning around him.

"You can go now," she dismissed him.

Sick with fury, Michael rose blindly from his chair and staggered from the room, his emotions a turmoil of grief, rage, and despair.

Madeliene watched him go with a thoughtful look. She speculated that Michael might have some difficulty with this mission. It was best, as always, to have an alternate plan.

She lifted a folder from her desk and flipped it open, surveying the picture of the new recruit she had selected for Michael to train. The stunning blonde might prove to be a sufficient distraction for Michael, if Maria Villone failed to provide all the comfort he needed.

She gazed at the photgraph of the ethereal beauty. *She's perfect* thought Madeleine, smiling. *What was her name?*

She checked the file again. "Ahh, that's it," she said softly to herself. "Nikita...."

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

Madeleine's plan worked perfectly. The twin emotional snares of the docile, sweet Maria and the youthful, firery Nikita served to quickly take Michael's mind off of his grief for Simone. It also left him conflicted. He was constantly at war with himself. If there had been only Nikita in his life, Michael probably would have pursued her and married her and loved her with the same fervency and devotion he had Simone; he felt the connection between them- he recognized Nikita as a soul-mate, someone he could love deeply.

But he couldn't do what his heart dictated. He was already married. To pursue Nikita, to promise her anything, to make love to her- all things he desperately wanted to do- was foolish, imprudent, impossible. Because of Maria.

Even though the marriage wasn't technically "real", Michael still couldn't help but feel that to enter into a relationship with Nikita would be a betrayal of not just his "wife", Maria, but of Nikita as well.

He knew someday the mission would be over, and he would be able to be honest with Nikita about his feelings. But until then, what could they have? If he declared his love, and shared his body with Nikita, how would she feel when she found out that he went from her arms to another's, that after sleeping with her, he went home to bed with his wife?

He didn't think what relationship he and Nikita did have could survive such a lie, such a betrayal of trust. So he held back. He asked her to be patient.

His caution, he knew, frustrated and puzzled her. And hurt her as well. He did his best to shove her away, to be cold, to keep his distance. But given their passion for each other, and the intensity of their attraction, Michael couldn't always maintain that distance.

She was his weakness. He couldn't help himself the first time they had made love. He thought he had lost her; he thought she had died and he had been responsible for not saving her.

His control had broken as soon as he saw her. He reached for her, kissing her, shoving her down on the bed, making love to her over and over, to reassure himself she was still alive, still real.

In the six months she had been gone, he realized how much he needed Nikita. He had tried to deny it, but it was evident to everyone in Section. They all knew he loved Nikita.

So, he admitted to himself that he loved her. But it didn't change anything. The circumstances of his life were still the same. When he brought Nikita back into Section, for selfish reasons, it seemed to him, he had to be cold all over again. He had to push her away.

Nikita, of course, did not understand. She had come back, for him, for them to be together. She was hurt when he rebuffed her, refusing to even kiss her. "You can do anything, can't you?" she had taunted him, in her pain, "Except be with me!"

It was true. Being with her was impossible.

Yet still he had to have her near. He even caved in to his weakness for her once and selected Nikita for a mission where they would pose as a married couple, knowing that the possibilty of their making love was very real.

This time it was Nikita who resisted temptation, Nikita who rebuffed him. Until the fifth night, when she had offered to herself to him, warm and willing, open and vulnerable, and he could no longer find the strength to push her away.

Again, the love-making had been wonderful, magical; it had seemed so right. But afterwards, as Nikita slept peacefully in his arms, Michael lay awake in the dark, thinking. His anguish returned full force. It had been a mistake. What they had done, opening up the passion again, would only hurt her. How could she expect him to support that?

After the mission was over and they got back to Section, he tried to apologize to her. He asked her if the mission had been difficult for her, wanting to gauge her feelings, to make sure he had not wounded her further.

Nikita had given him an almost Maria-like smile of acceptance and had turned the question around on him. How did HE feel about it? she had asked.

Before he could stop himself, Michael spoke honestly. "Conflicted," he had told her. Then he had tried to tell her the rest, while still guarding his secret. "There are things I can't tell you yet," he said softly, "Things that must remain hidden..."

He tried to convey to her with his eyes all his regard for her, all his longing, and all his regret that things between them were not as he would have liked them to be.

"But it has nothing to do with how I feel about you..." he whispered. Then he left her, walking away before he weakened further and told her more.

Nikita could only stand there in shocked surprise. Michael had lied to her, and manipulated her so many times before, but these words had rung true. Maybe he did love her, she thought. A feeling of fierce tenderness for him rose in her breast, along with an equally fierce curiosity.

Someday, she vowed, she would find out what those hidden things were. Someday she would unravel the mystery of Michael.

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

Michael sipped the last dregs of his cold coffee and thought about going back to bed. He was so tired. So tired of the lies and the play-acting, of the pretending. He pretended with everyone.

In Section, he played the role of the super-op, the machine. To Nikita, he was the cold manipulator one moment, the caring lover the next.

To Maria's father, their target, Carlos Villone, he was the cocky young mercenary with an independant streak. He was not a "yes man". Michael Gerard chose his own causes and battles. To Villone, this non-subservience was an attractive virtue that he admired greatly. His son-in-law was not a wimp, but a man's man.

Eventually, Michael hoped that Villone would demonstrate his admiration in more concrete ways than just with his respect. Sooner or later, if all went well, Michael would be given access to Villone's true inner circle. Then the take-down could begin.

Then the mission would be over. He would leave Maria....Maria. Michael realized with a pang that part of him did not want to leave her. Perhaps it was because, of all the roles he played, the one with her was the least phony of all. With Maria, he could be himself.

She accepted him. His moods, his absences, his neglect, and even, like tonight, his violent attention. No matter how badly he behaved, she seemed to always forgive him. No, that wasn't quite right. Her acceptance went beyond that-- she never seemed offended by anything he did in the first place, as if he never did anything that he needed her forgiveness for.

Madeleine had been right. Maria did bring him comfort, provide him companionship, and take care of his needs, both physical and emotional. At times she was the one constant, stable thing in his life. Her love was always there, something he was coming to rely on as their years together went by. Their home had become a haven of comfort for him, a place of peace for the war-weary, heart-sore soldier that he was. They were close in some ways, but far apart in others. Michael's not being able to confide in her added greatly to the distance between them, although Maria did what she could to bridge the silence.

Her natural shyness and reserve added to the distance as well. Maria never pushed him to talk, either out of timidity or deference for him, he couldn't tell. She never talked much about her own feelings and needs either. Whereas Nikita would react to something he did with shouts or barbs or hurt tears, Maria kept her own counsel, always calm, seldom reacting with any show of emotion.

Except for that one time, when she had lost all control, and he had seen her bare anguished soul laid out before him in all its horrid agony.

The night they had lost their child.

"No," he moaned softly to himself, holding his head in his hands. "No..." He didn't want to remember that night.....But somehow, he couldn't stop the memories from coming. He had been sitting here, reviewing his life, all his pain, all the losses he had suffered, and the death of his second child had to be reckoned among them as perhaps the most searingly painful of all.

He leaned across the table, his head on his arms, quietly sobbing, and let the grief take him. He remembered...

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

The baby was already gone before Michael even learned of the child's existence. It had been a horrible moment- gaining a child, losing a child, and almost losing his wife.

It had been three months since their wedding, and Michael had been with Maria for most of that time, Section not sending him on any long term missions during the honeymoom period.

Michael was getting adjusted to life with his new wife. He was still wretchedly miserable when he thought of Simone, and horribly confused when he thought of Nikita.

At least, with Maria, things were refreshingly simple. It was obvious that he made her happy. She was delighted with his slightest smile or caress, ecstatic when he made love to her. Undemanding and self-effacing, she neither begged for his attention nor complained of his neglect.

She adored him, and though he did not love her the same way in return, he was fond of her and did what he could to be sensitive to her deeper feelings, taking care not to hurt her with words or actions, playing the role of adoring husband in return.

He was gaining his equilibrium in his new life, recovering as best he could from his grief, when once again the bottom was knocked out of his world.

It happened after he had been away for a few days on a mission, doing routine surveillance in Germany. When his team returned, it was late, and he was tired. He decided to stay in Section and crash in his stand-by quarters for what was left of the night, and go home to Maria the next morning.

Halfway down the hall to his personal quarters, Michael stopped in mid-stride, all the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He had a bad feeling, but he didn't know about what. His hands cold, his stomach in knots, all he knew was that he had to get home. Right then. Pivoting quickly on his heel, he sprinted down the hallway, heading for the exit. He raced to his car and broke all speed limits getting home.

Twenty minutes after his premonition of doom, he pulled into the driveway of his and Maria's house. There were no lights visible, every window dark. It was late, but Maria usually kept lights burning downstairs for him, knowing he kept odd hours. He knew immediately something was wrong.

He entered the house with his key, but was surprised to find the door was already unlocked. Cautiously, he looked through the downstairs, but she wasn't there. He called her name, but received no answer. He mounted the stairs to search for her upstairs, his panic escalating with each step.

"Maria!" he shouted for her. "Maria!"

He burst through the closed bedroom door and froze at the sight that greeted him. He had found her.

She was huddled on the bed, curled up in the fetal position, shuddering violently and crying. In her trembling hand she held a gun, its silver muzzle pressed tight to her temple.

"No!" Michael yelled. "Maria, no!"

He leapt on to the bed, and in seconds he had wrested the gun from her grasp and tossed it away, then pulled her up into a sitting position on the bed to face him, his hands gripping her arms roughly.

"What the hell were you doing?" he yelled at her, shaking her in his tight grip. His breath came in ragged gasps as he knelt beside her, alarmed beyond measure.

Maria stared at him blankly, as if not recognizing who he was. Then she let out a scream and began to struggle with him.

"No! No, I can't! Please..." she sobbed. "Please, no more..."

"Shhh, it's okay, it's okay..." Michael soothed her, gathering her into his arms and rocking her. She sobbed into his shoulder, clutching him frantically, and he held her for several minutes, letting her cry until finally her tears stopped and her sobs quieted.

"Maria," he said softly, stroking the hair back from her face with a gentle hand, "Talk to me. Tell me what happened."

She gave a sharp gasp and then pulled out of his arms, going to sit on the side of the bed, her back to him, as if she was unable to look him in the eye when she told him the truth.

She lowered her head on her chest and whispered the words so softly that Michael could barely hear her.

"Our baby..." she choked out. "I lost our baby...."

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

"Baby?" Michael gasped, feeling like he had just been punched in the stomach. "... baby?"

She began to cry again and Michael scrambled to his feet and went to kneel in front of her by the side of the bed. He tilted her head up with his hand under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"Maria," he said softly, trying to control his trembling. "Tell me about the baby...."

She took in a deep, shaky breath and then looked into his face, answering him in a voice filled with despair. "I had a miscarriage early this morning," she said despondently. "I was three months along."

Michael stared at her, dumbfoundedly, trying to take it in. He shook his head, and sat back on his heels. "I don't understand..." he said, still in shock. "You never told me you were pregnant, or even that you wanted a child...."

She interpreted his bewildered statement as an accusation, and shrank back from him. She let out a sob and then began her breathless explanation.

"I know we talked about waiting for a while before starting a family," she gasped out. "I know you didn't want children right away...."

Michael closed his eyes in pain. To have another child, another baby for Section to use and destroy, was the last thing he had wanted. The image of Baby Paul's face swam before him, wrenching him anew with fresh pain.

He almost didn't hear the next words that Maria spoke under her breath.

"Papa... Papa told me to...." she sobbed.

"What?" Michael gasped, gripping her by the shoulders again.

"Maria, what does your father have to do with this?" He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he waited for her answer.

She hung her head, not looking at him. "Papa said if I was smart I would get pregnant right away, give you something to come home to besides.. besides..."

She sobbed out the last words. "... besides my ugly carcass, he said..."

"Oh, God..." Michael breathed, appalled at her father's cruelty to his child. "Maria..."

She went on, tears streaming down her face. "He said a man like you- so attractive, so sharp- wouldn't stay around long, that you'd want someone prettier, someone... not as.... as homely...."

Michael's breath caught in his throat and he felt like the room was spinning around him. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

His wife's anguished voice went on. "He said if I gave you a child you wouldn't .... leave me...." She sobbed brokenly and Michael again gathered her in his arms.

"No, Maria, no...." he soothed her. "I won't leave you...."

The reality of what had happened started to sink in. There had been a baby, and now that baby was dead. Just like his first child. Just like Baby Paul....

*Oh, God* thought Michael, his mind racing. Another inconvenient child, now so neatly, so conveniently dead.

Madeleine's words came back to him- Don't worry about children, she had said. Section would take care of it.

"Maria!" he said sharply, lifting her head up to look at him again. "Tell me what happened. Tell me how you lost the baby..."

She hiccupped back a sob and wiped at her eyes. "I.. I don't know why it happened, Michael. I didn't do anything..." He stroked her hair and tried to stay calm. Miscarriages were not uncommon in the first trimester- maybe Section had had nothing to do with this baby's death. Maybe Section was innocent. But somehow, he didn't think so.

He had to be sure. "Maria," he probed further. "Was there anything different about your routine this morning? Did you do anything differently? Anything at all?"

She thought for a moment, and then shook her head. "No, nothing. Except..."

"Except what?" he demanded frantically.

"It's nothing," she said, shaking her head again. "I just took one of my new anti-nausea pills for the first time."

She looked up, wide-eyed, into his face. "The doctor prescribed them for me. He said they were safe.."

Michael choked back a curse. It was clear now. How easy it must have been, to substitute an abortion pill for her legitimate medicine. He longed to scream out his pain, and to assure Maria that it hadn't been her fault...

But he couldn't say anything. He couldn't let Maria know that he suspected their child had been murdered. He would have to carry that particular burden of knowledge alone. But he would see to it that the bastards who did this paid.

He leapt up from the bed, blindly wanting to find the doctor and rip him to shreds....

Maria clutched at him. "No, Michael, please.." she sobbed. "Please don't leave me..."

He gathered her in his arms again, tears welling. "Shhh, I'm here. It'll be okay.."

She held on to him tightly and began to cry harder. "No, I don't think it'll ever be okay again," she choked out. "That's why I tried to ... hurt myself. That's why I wanted to die. Nothing will ever be right.."

"Yes it will," Michael soothed her. "You'll see. Everything will be fine...."

She sobbed brokenly against his shoulder, shuddering in his arms. "No, you don't understand. It was my last chance for a family," she wailed. "OUR last chance...."

"The doctor said there was too much damage from losing the baby..." she explained, crying hard, fierce tears. "I can't ever have another baby, Michael..." she sobbed. "I... I failed you...."

Michael cried then, shattered by her pain, and her loss of hope, as well as his own wounding grief, shocked anew at the incomprehensible cruelty of Section One and the mounting toll of innocent lives destroyed in the name of the greater good.

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

Maria stood silently in the kitchen doorway, watching Michael weep. Something twisted harshly inside her, and she felt almost as much pain as she had that day the baby died, and most of her dreams along with it.

But not all of them. Michael had stayed with her, had been there for her, sharing their grief. He hadn't blamed her for anything, not like her father had.

When Carlos Villone had learned of the miscarriage, his only comment to his daughter was that he should have known that "a stupid bitch like you couldn't do anything right."

Maria had never told Michael about those hurtful words, that cut through her, down to her soul. But besides wounding her, the sharp words did something else.

They seemed to sever something inside her- her connection to her father. She had spent her whole life trying to please him, to make him proud of her, but no matter what she did, he always saw her as a failure.

What she had been through might have broken other women, but her tradgedies only served to make Maria stronger, and more determined to survive, and to triumph. *It's over, Papa,* she had declared in her mind. *I'm through with you.*

Her life long loyalty to him evaporated as if it had never been. On the surface, she went on as she had before, docile, sweet, meek, compliant. But underneath the quiet exterior a rebellion had been brewing.

She was no longer willing to sit back and turn a blind eye to what her father did. Maybe she could do something to stop him from hurting other people. Maybe she, his stupid, ugly failure of a daughter, could bring the mighty Carlos Villone to his knees.

It had been so easy. No one thought anything about her showing up at Villone's office, if they even noticed her presence at all. She was good at fading into the woodwork. Gradually, she had learned all she needed to know. She even copied his files and papers, a little bit at a time.

Now she had all she needed to bring him down. It was only a matter of delivering her evidence to the proper authorities. But she couldn't do that yet. She couldn't do that to Michael.

He was still involved in her Papa's organization. If she brought down her father, she brought down Michael, too. Her revenge would have to wait until Michael could be safe, out of harm's way.

Now seeing her proud, brave husband anguishedly crying, she wondered what it was that had hurt him so. Or who. Was it her Papa, or someone else? Whoever it was, she would make them pay.

She thought about just going up to Michael in the kitchen, taking him in her arms, and telling him everythng, and asking him to confide in her. She wanted to do that very badly.

But she stopped herself. Their habit of denial and secrecy was too strong. Michael would only tell her he was "fine" and that she shouldn't worry.

But she did worry. Someone had hurt her Michael, and she was going to make damn sure they never did it again. *I'll take care of you, Michael* she promised silently in her heart. Then she turned away from the doorway, heading purposefully back upstairs to get dressed.

It was time to find out a few things. Like where Michael went when he left the house.

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

The morning sun was streaming through the kitchen windows, and Michael looked up from where he lay slumped and crying on the table. He had spent the whole night mourning what he had lost- his life of freedom outside Section, Simone, Baby Paul, and the baby he had loved but who had had no name. He grieved for the dishonesty of his life with Maria, that he could not truly love her.

And, above all, he grieved for Nikita. There was no way Section would let her live, not now, not after she had challenged Operations to defend Section's existence. They would cancel her.

Maybe it had been cowardly of him, but he couldn't bear to linger in Section, knowing what was to come. He had to leave. In the back of his mind he was afraid that Madeleine, out of her twisted psyche, would order him to cancel Nikita himself, personally.

He would never have survived the pain of that. So he left, after kissing his beloved Nikita on the cheek, tears in his eyes, all his tenderness expressed to her in one last reverent, feather-light caress.

And now, it was morning, Nikita was dead, and he would have to return to Section.

Michael groaned and stood up, taking his coffee cup to the sink. The morning light caught in his silver-green eyes, and he stared outside at the new day, wondering if he would ever feel hope again.

After a few minutes' contemplation, he realized the last thing he wanted to do this morning was to go in to Section. He needed more time. Time to grieve.

He felt pulled to complete his mourning with a pilgrimage to a place where he and Nikita had shared, for a few moments at least, a brief happiness.

Lifting his chin in resolve, he turned and left the kitchen, heading upstairs to shower and dress.

Fifteen minutes later, he was in his car and on the way to Nikita's apartment.

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

Contrary to what Michael believed, Nikita was not dead. She only wished that she were.

Nikita sat huddled in her apartment on her couch, knees pulled up to her chest and her head in her hands. She, too, had been grieving all night. Grieving for a love that was irrevocably lost.

Grieving for Michael.

Last night, when he had kissed her good-bye in Section, it had seemed a fitting way for her life to end, with one beautiful moment of closure with the man she loved before they cancelled her.

Michael left, walking away quietly, giving her the dignity of a few hours solitude before the ignominious end.

"I'm not afraid," she had declared in the center of Section. And she wasn't. Nikita was prepared to die. She just wasn't prepared to live.

She had answered the summons to Madeleine's office that finally came, expecting that this was the end. With total astonishment, she learned from Madeleine that they would not cancel her after all, that she would live.

Stunned, the blonde took several moments to take this in, processing the shock of this reprieve. A surge of life-force went through her, her soul crying out in joy- Yes, she wanted this gift. She wanted to live.

Along with the sweet longing for life, her heart overflowed with another longing as deep as the first. Michael. More than anything in this world, she wanted to see Michael.

"Where is he, Madeleine?" Nikita asked the older woman eagerly, her eyes aglow. "Where can I find Michael?"

Madeleine shook her head, regarding Nikita thoughtfully. Even now, even here, when the girl must know it was wise to be cautious, Nikita still acted impulsively.

So very foolish, thought Madeleine. Ah, well- before long, Nikita would no doubt act equally as foolishly on a mission and that would be the end of her.

But, til then, it occurred to Madeliene, it just might teach Nikita a lesson if she gave her the information she wanted. Maybe learning the truth about Michael would sober her, quell her exuberance, and give her a much needed dash of cold, hard, reality.

"He's at home," Madeleine had answered her with a smile. "Why don't you go see him?"

She leaned over her desk and wrote something down on a pad of paper, then handed the sheet to Nikita. "This is his address."

Nikita smiled her thanks and hurried from the office, her hear singing. She had been so eager, so happy, in a state of euphoric anticipation all the way to Michael's house.

She located the correct road, and then the house number, and then found a place to park the car a little ways down the street. Hurrying breathlessly up the walk, she was just reaching out her hand to ring the doorbell when she heard it.

Voices. Sounds. Coming from the the upstairs bedroom window that was cracked a quarter of the way open on this balmy fall night.

She didn't want to believe what she was hearing, but the sounds were unmistakeable. She recognized Michael's moans, and his whispered passionate endearments, his cries of ecstacy... The unknown woman's softer moans underscored his, in a lovers' symphony, in an unmistakeable concerto of fervent love-making.

Stricken, Nikita stood frozen in front of the door, too stunned to move or do anything but let the sounds wash over her and seep painfully into her heart.

"I love you, Michael...." came the faint female voice, wafting out on the breeze.

Nikita held her breath, biting back a sob, and waited for Michael's answering reply.

Each one like a drop of acid on her soul, the words came. "I love you, too..."

"Oh, God...." Nikita moaned, and raced blindly down the walk to her car, fleeing the devastation of those words.

But the sounds and the words followed her, echoing in her mind all through the night. She huddled in her apartment, crying inconsolably, waiting for the dawn.

And now the dawn was here, but it brought her no surcease from pain. She buried her face in her hands and cried anew for the unexpected death toll of the previous night- Section had not killed her body, as she had anticipated. No, it was Michael who had killed her love, her trust, her very soul.

Lost in the despair of tears, she sobbed on, and did not hear the light tread of footsteps in the hall, or the soft turn of a key in the lock. The door was pushed open, and a silent figure in black stood watching her in shock until a harsh gasp was wrenched from his lips.

"Nikita!" Michael cried out. "Mon Dieu, Nikita!"

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

"My God, Nikita!" Michael cried as he rushed to her, an expression of fierce joy on his face. "I thought I'd lost you!"

In an instant he was next to her on the couch, gathering her into his arms, and burying his face in her hair, murmuring endearments against her neck.

Nikita, too shocked to move, sat frozen for several moments in the circle of his embrace. He held her close, his arms strong and warm around her, his heart beating loudly against hers. His hands stroked her back in a sensuous, gentle caress, while his rich voice washed over her uttering the words she had dreamed of hearing for years.

"Je t'aime, Nikita.. My Heart, je t'adore...."

But she knew it was all a lie. The words, the embrace, the caring, all of it. She felt him turn his head to kiss her and it was then that all the frozen fury inside her was released.

"Arrhhh!" she screamed at him, pushing him away from her and then flailing wildly at him, pummeling his shoulders with the force of her pain and rage.

She could hardly see, blinded as she was by the hot tears that stung her eyes and coursed down her face. She was almost deaf as well, the sound of the blood rushing in her ears almost drowning out all others. She fought him, like a wounded animal, cornered, and helpless to escape its tormentor. Michael endured her blows for a few moments in stunned surprise, and then caught her wrists in his hands and pinned her easily against the couch, holding her immobile in a sitting position next to him.

"Nikita," he pleaded, looking at her with hurt green eyes. "I've been out of my mind all night, thinking they had cancelled you. I don't understand... What happened? Why are you so angry with me?"

Nikita stared into the innocent face before her and then shook her head, as if she couldn't believe he had the nerve to speak the words he did.

"It's simple, Michael," she said with a bitter laugh. "They didn't cancel me. Section gave me another chance...."

Her voice broke, and she turned her head away as new tears came. "Too bad YOU didn't...."

"Nikita..?" said Michael, confused. He released his grip on her and put his hand under her chin to turn her face up to his. "What do you mean? You must know I want you more than anything in this world..."

Nikita let out a harsh moan and then pulled away from, as if she could no longer bear his touch. She stood up from the couch and walked rapidly a few steps away to the center of the apartment, wanting to put some distance between them.

"Really? You want me?" she asked in a bitter tone, her back to him.

Michael got up from the couch and stood next to her, but she would not look at him.

"Yes, you know that..." he whispered softly.

"And you were worried about me?" she demanded sarcastically.

"Yes," he answered simply, still bewildered by her questions.

"All night, you said?" She turned blazing eyes to his. "You worried about me all night?"

He nodded. "Oui..." he vowed sincerely. "All night..."

She held his gaze for a moment, and then slapped him full across the face. "Liar!" she screamed. "Liar!"

She turned her back to him and buried her face in her hands. "I KNOW, Michael. I know what you did...." she cried, sobbing brokenly. "I went to your house, and I stood under your window, and I heard you. I heard you making love with another woman..."

Michael swayed in shock, his head reeling. "Oh, no.." he gasped. "Oh God, no..."

She lifted her tear-ravaged face to his and pleaded for the truth. "Please, Michael. Please don't lie to me anymore...." she sobbed. "I heard you tell her you loved her..."

Michael closed his eyes, engulfed in pain and guilt. The secret that he had kept for so long was not a secret any longer. The hidden half of his life had been revealed, and that revelation had destroyed everything- his hope, her trust, their future, their love.

"Nikita, please..." he begged, going to her and again trying to gather her in his arms.

She resisted the embrace, holding him firmly away from her. She gripped him by the shoulders and looked into his anguished face, hers equally as anguished.

"Michael, I said, no more lies," Nikita stated, her voice low and intense. "Just tell me. Who is this woman?" she pleaded. "Who is she?"

Michael shuddered out a sigh, then squared his shoulders, looked Nikita in the eye, and told her the truth. "Her name is Maria," he said softly. "My wife."

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

Unseen by the lovers or Villone's spy, a small figure slipped from a parked car on a hidden side street and up the stairs of the apartment building. Moving soft-footed down the hall, the woman reached the door of apartment 412 shortly after Michael had used his key and gone inside.

The door had closed behind him, but not before the watcher had glimpsed the occupant inside. The view had been brief, but it was enough.

Long, blonde hair. Long legs. Tall, lithe, slender. And even with tear-swollen eyes, the woman was stunningly beautiful.

It was Maria's worst fear. The sight of Nikita had set off all her worst insecurities, and sent her father's cruel remarks of the past echoing through her head. About how drab she was. And how dull. About how Michael would no doubt tire of her soon and go looking for someone more attractive, someone more exciting.

And now her father's prediction had come true, she thought. It was all very clear. This blonde beauty was Michael's mistress. SHE was what had kept him away from her. SHE was what he had been distraught about last night. SHE was the secret he had kept from her.

Maria trembled, and bit back a sob, creeping closer to the door. She leaned her head against the door jam and listened. Heart-sick, she hated herself for eavesdropping, but she couldn't stop herself.

Humiliated and ashamed, she strained her ears to catch the low conversation inside the apartment and was surprised to hear Michael's voice saying her name.

"....Maria, my wife...."

Not knowing that there conversation was no longer private between just the two of them, the lovers went on.

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

"Y-your... wife?" Nikita stammered, the word impacting her like a hard punch to the gut. She blanched, all the color draining from her face, and she staggered over to the couch and sat down, hard, feeling that her legs could no longer support her.

Wife. Not girlfriend, not target, not assignment, not a contact, not a one-night stand. Wife.

And last night she had heard him say to this wife that he loved her, this Maria. Nikita felt sick. Michael had lied to her, had betrayed her. For how long?

"How long?" she choked out. "How long have you been married?"

Michael took a few steps toward her, then stopped. He wanted to hold her, but he knew she would just push him away again. He decided if he could give her nothing else, he would give her the truth. He owed her that much.

"Four years," he said quietly.

"Oh, God...." Nikita gasped out, begining to tremble as the meaning of the words sunk in. "The whole time, then....."

She stared at him, her eyes blazing. "The whole time you've known me, the whole time we've been together, you were married to someone else?!" she shouted.

She jumped up from the couch and stood before him, voice rising in anger. "You cad! You liar! You cheat! How could you do this? How could you do this to me? How could you do this to your wife?"

Michael looked into her face with pain-filled green eyes. Her words stung him, but he felt it was no less than he deserved.

"Nikita, I never meant to hurt you..." Michael began in a low, intense voice. "I never wanted to hurt Maria, either. It wasn't something I planned to do, or even wanted to do...."

Nikita cut him off, with a sharp shake of her head. "You never wanted to do WHAT, Michael?" she demanded, voice full of scorn. "Lie to me? Jerk me around? Play games with my head? Screw me? WHAT?"

She shoved him angrily away from her, pushing hard against his shoulder. "Go on, tell me!" she yelled. "Just what was it you never wanted to do?"

"I never meant to, but I did," Michael answered softly, stoic in the face of her punishment. "I couldn't help myself. I fell in love with you."

Outside the door, Maria turned her face to the wall and wept, as the foundation of all her dreams crumbled with Michael's words.

Her father, Carlos Villone, listening in his office, reacted just the opposite. He laughed heartily to himself and waited eagerly for the rest of this, so far, very entertaining conversation.

Nikita responded to Michael words just as Maria did. She began to cry softly again, and turned her face away from him.

"If you loved me, then why didn't you do the honorable thing?" she asked in a hoarse, tear-choked voice. "Why weren't you honest about it?"

She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, her anger returning and drying up her tears. "You should have had the decency to tell your wife that your feelings had changed. You should have broken up with her first, before you ever got involved with me..."

"Why didn't you, Michael?" Nikita demamded angrily, whirling to face him again. "Why didn't you just go to your wife and ask her for a divorce?"

Michael closed his eyes wearily, then looked at her with deep sadness. "Because I couldn't," he began softly. "I couldn't divorce her."

Nikita swallowed hard, almost afraid to ask her next question. "Why not?" she whispered. "Because you .... love her too much? Or because you have children?"

She watched him tensely, waiting breathlessly for an answer. Michael sighed, and told her the truth. "Because her father is Carlos Villone," he stated flatly.

"Carlos Villone!" gasped Nikita. She knew that name well. The leader of the most powerful crime syndicate in North America. He was someone Section had wanted to bring down for years, but his security had so far been impenetrable. There was no way to get to him. Until now.

The frown of confusion on Nikita's face cleared, her eyes widening with shocked understanding. "It's a mission, isn't it?" she gasped. "You're on a deep cover mission?"

Michael nodded. "Yes," he admitted softly. "Villone trusts no one but family. The only way to get close to him was through his daughter..."

"Maria," said Nikita with a sigh.

"Yes, Maria." Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor. "I didn't choose this assignment. Section ordered me to marry her and infiltrate Villone's organization from the inside."

Nikita caught her breath, as suddenly several truths struck her at once. This was why Michael was so torn, so conflicted. This was why he held back from her, why he never let her get too close.

What came between them now was the same thing that had always come between them. Section. It was never a matter of another woman between them- only women that Section used to divide them. Women, like Lisa Fanning and now Maria, who were inevitably hurt by Section's schemes and manipulations.

"Maria has nothing to do with Villone's dirty activities," Michael went on softly. "She's an innocent. She doesn't deserve the pain that will come when it's all over...."

Nikita stared at him thoughtfully, struck by the tenderness in Michael's voice when he spoke Maria's name. Four years of marriage, four years of being together with Maria, had obviously built a closeness between them, even if the marriage was based on a lie.

"You care about her, don't you, Michael?" Nikita asked softly, closing her eyes. "You care about Maria."

She swallowed hard and asked a frightening question, one she wasn't sure she wanted an answer to. "Do you ... love her?"

Before Michael could respond, the door was flung violently open, and a small, furious woman burst into the room. She rushed up to Michael, her face twisted in grief, eyes streaming angry tears.

"Maria!" Michael gasped.

Her face crumpling with her harsh sobs, Michael's wife fell against him, pounding her small fists against his chest. "Tell her, Michael!" Maria screamed. "Go on, answer the question!"

"What?" Michael asked, trying to soothe her by stroking his hand against her tear-stained cheek.

Maria, chest heaving, gave Nikita a quick hard glance, then turned back to Michael. "Tell her another lie," she choked out. "You're good at lying, aren't you?"

She stepped back from him, heaving a shaky sigh, her voice suddenly icy calm. "Go on, Michael. Tell her you love me."

Michael met her gaze, then looked away, his eyes full of torment and guilt. "Mon Dieu... Maria...." he breathed out in an anguished sigh.

Her voice caught on a sob. "You can't say it, can you?" she cried. "Because you never cared for me at all, did you? You never gave a damn about me..."

"DID YOU?" Maria screamed, infuriated with his silence. "ANSWER ME! Isn't that right? You never gave a damn at all...."

She slumped brokenly to her knees, crumpling to the floor. "You never loved me..."

Michael stepped forward to kneel beside her, but before he could reach her, his body jerked spasmodically and he fell hard to the floor, sprawling unconscious beside his wife.

Maria gasped, staring at his still form in in shock, and gasped again when a few seconds later the lovely blonde crumpled to the floor beside him.

A familiar laugh sounded behind her, and Maria whirled to see her father standing in the doorway of the apartment, a tranqulizer gun in his hand.

"Papa?" she said, wide-eyed.

"The answer to your question is what I suspected all along," Villone said, smiling smugly. "Of course, he never loved you."

Villone snapped his fingers and four of his men came into the apartment through the door behind them, standing attentively, waiting for his orders.

"Now it's my turn to ask your husband some questions," Villone told her with a smirk. He pointed at his unconscious son-in-law and nodded his head at his men.

"Take him," Villone ordered.

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

From the peaceful darkness that engulfed her, a faraway voice called her insistently. Nikita resisted, wanting nothing more than to linger in the soft, calm darkness. But the voice would not let her rest.

"Nikita! Nikita, please! Wake up!"

Nikita tried to ignore the interruption of her peace, but the voice went on, and then there was the added distraction of a hand, shaking her shoulder.

"WAKE UP, dammit! WAKE UP!"

Nikita let out a moan, but still did not awaken fully. Not until the small hand slapped her across the cheek and the voice was raised a few decibels to an urgent scream.

"Nikita! You have to wake up! You have to help me save Michael!" Nikita's eyes flew open, coming abruptly awake. "M-Michael?" she said groggily, trying to sit up.

A small, dark-haired woman with frightened eyes helped her to a sitting position on the apartment floor. Nikita stared at her blankly, then recognition returned.

"Maria?" she asked, shaking her head to clear it.

Michael's wife sighed, relieved that the other woman was finally coherent. "That's right," she said quickly. "I'm sorry about slapping you, but we don't have much time. We have to get to Michael."

Nikita groaned again, and then attempted to stand up. She managed to do so unaided, even though she swayed wobbily for a few seconds. Exhaling a breath, she turned to Maria for an explanation.

"Tell me what happened?" she demanded tersely, going into mission-mode. "Where's Michael?"

"My father took him to to one of his military compounds," Maria answered breathlessly. "He must have overheard Michael say he was on a mission to take him down..." She turned her head away, clenching her jaw to hold back new tears. "Just like I did.."

Nikita sighed. "Maria, I'm sorry," she told her sincerely.

Maria recovered quickly, turning back to face Nikita, her lower lip trembling only slightly.

"Yeah, me too," she answered quickly, "But we can sort out the personal stuff later. I'm angry as hell at Michael right now, but I don't want to see him hurt, or..." She choked on the word "dead", not able to say it.

The blonde nodded. "Same here," she said grimly. "Do you think you can figure out where he is?"

"Yeah," Maria answered. "I'm pretty sure it's the base closest to the town, just a little ways into the mountains. I can get us there, but I think it would be better if you called us in some help."

The brunette's eyes met Nikita's with a determined look. "I think it's time the mission was over. I think it's time your Section took my father down."

Nikita gave her a startled look. "You do?" she gasped in surprise.

Maria smiled ruefully. "He's hurt people long enough. I was planning on turning him in to the cops anyway, but I held back because I didn't want Michael to get caught in the cross-fire," she explained.

Her face crumpled into tears. "I just hope we're not too late..." she sobbed.

Nikita patted the other woman's shoulder, urging her toward the door. "I promise, we won't be," she said firmly, hoping her words would prove to be true.

Then, pausing only long enough to gather up her cell phone and coat, Nikita followed Michael's wife at a breathless run out the door.

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

Like Nikita, Michael also awakened to a slap in the face, but unlike the one that hit her, the hand that struck him was not small, gentle, or feminine.

"Wake up, Sonny," sneered the ham-fisted, brutal Villone. "I want to talk to you."

"Uhhh.." Michael groaned, and opened his eyes to see that he was in a drab, basement room in what looked to be an old barracks. His wrists were handcuffed together over his head to a large pipe that ran across the ceiling.

He blinked rapidly a few times, and then focused his eyes blearily on his father-in-law. With an effort, he managed to assume a good facsimilie of his usual blank stare, and remained quiet.

"So," began Villone conversationally, perching on the corner of a nearby desk and eyeing his son-in-law with amusement, "I guess you didn't have the hots for my daughter after all."

Michael just stared at him.

"Can't say as I blame you, Michael," Villone went on smoothly after a moment. "Maria's never been much in the looks department."

He shook his head, while Michael listened in silence. "I don't blame you for wanting a little diversion on the side, either, my Boy," the crime boss taunted him.

"That sure was a mighty fine little piece of a** you had for yourself," Villone said, chuckling. "I've always been partial to blondes, too, myself, just like you..."

Michael writhed where he stood, struggling against the cuffs. "What did you do to her?" he shouted in alarm, the idea of Villone touching Nikita making his stomach heave. "What did you do to Nikita?"

Villone laughed and then walked up to Michael, patting his face in mock sympathy. "There, there, don't worry about your little blonde bitch, Michael," he sneered. "I would have sampled her wares myself, but I just didn't have the time..."

He stepped back, his face hardening. "You see, I was just too eager to have a nice conversation with you first, Michael. Just the two of us."

He pulled his hand back and struck Michael full across the face again, the slap resounding loudly in Michael's ears, the blow making him see stars.

"You see, My Boy," Villone went on with calm grimness, watching with satisfaction as a thin line of blood trickled from one side of his prisoner's mouth. "It's like I said. I can forgive you your little foray into adultery, but the one thing I can't forgive is to have one of my own betray me."

Villone smiled then, and, while staring into Michael's eyes, he punched him sharply in the gut.

Michael grunted and doubled over in pain. The movement put a strain on his wrists in the cuffs aa well as his shoulders, his body's automatic reaction only adding to his torture.

"This is what's going to happen, Michael," Villone crooned sweetly, enjoying his captive's distress. "We're just going to continue having this nice conversation until you tell me everything I want to know about your pathetic little plan to bring me down."

Michael slumped in the cuffs, panting hard, but still did not speak.

"Then, after you've held up your part of the conversation," Villone said with an evil smile, taking a gun out of his desk drawer and aiming it at Michael, "I'll kill you."

Behind them, the door to the room opened suddenly and a soft voice interrupted them. "No, I'LL kill him, Papa. Let me do it."

Michael blinked, not believing his eyes. "Maria?" he gasped.

"That's right, Michael," she said haughtily, stalking forward into the room. "So nice of you to remember my name. Too bad you couldn't remember your marriage vows as well."

She turned on her heel and faced her astonished father, and held out her hand for the gun. "Give me that, Papa," she said with a voice hard as steel. "I'll take care of this traitor for you."

Villone stared at her for a few moments, his jaw dropping open in shock. Then he chuckled loudly again, and shook his head.

"Well, well, I guess you take after me more than I thought, Little one," he said in genuine amusement. "You're not so meek and mild, after all."

He offered the gun to her and she took it with a smile. "No, I'm not," she replied sweetly. She walked up to Michael and raised the gun to his neck, pressing the muzzle against the pounding pulse point at his throat. Their eyes met, hers hard and angrily blazing, his soft and repentant with sorrow.

"Maria, I'm sorry.." he whispered.

Tears started in her eyes, but she managed a haughty laugh. "Oh, yeah, you're sorry, all right," she sneered, sounding amazingly like her father. "And you'll be even sorrier when I get through with you..."

Villone settled back on the desk, eyes gleaming in anticipation. "Go on, Kiddo, let him have it," he said with a laugh. "This is going to be good..."

Never breaking the angry gaze locked with Michael's, Maria clicked the safety off of the gun and put her finger on the trigger, pressing the muzzle more firmly into her husband's flesh. Michael stiffened, and his eyes widened in alarm.

"If you don't mind, Papa, I'd like to talk to Michael alone," she said over her shoulder, her voice cold and firm with fury. "Just a little husband and wife chat."

Villone guffawed loudly, and stood up. "Whatever you want, my Girl," he agreed, moving toward the door. "Just don't make the end too merciful and quick, hmmm?"

She gave a macabre grin, her face an angry mask of pain. "No, Papa," she choked out. "I'll go nice and slow. Kill him by inches, like he did me...."

Villone laughed heartily again, and a moment later the couple heard the door clang loudly behind him as he left the room.

Maria's eyes still bored into his, as she stood rigidly furious before him, her jaw clenched, the hand holding the gun beginning to tremble uncontrollably.

Michael tensed, and looked pleadingly into her eyes. He didn't blame her for being angry. He knew he deserved her hate and her scorn. He didn't want to lie to her further, by telling her falsehoods now about how he didn't love Nikita, or how he didn't mean to betray her or her father. It was too late for lies. He could only tell her the truth.

"Maria..." he choked out. "Maria, I'm sorry..."

He closed his eyes, waiting for the gunshot he knew was coming.

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

Michael waited for the gunshot, but it never came. Instead, the muzzle of the gun was pulled away from his throat and he opened his eyes in shock as Maria reached up on tiptoe and put her arms around his neck. Then, with a soft moan in the back of her throat, she kissed him.

When her soft lips met his, he gasped in surprise, and the kiss deepened. Mchael closed his eyes again, losing himself in the sweet caress, lips clinging to hers. A moment later, she broke the kiss and pulled back from him.

On her face was a tremulous smile, and glistening tears on her cheeks. Michael realized with a jolt that his face,too, was wet like hers.

"Maria?" he asked, eyes wide.

She gave him a gentle caress on his cheek, and another smile. "Shhh, Baby, it's okay," she told him. "We're going to get you out of here.."

"WE?" gasped Michael. "Who do you mean?"

"Who do you think?" she asked, with a shake of her head and another smile. She put her hand to the back of her ear, tapped the spot twice with her finger, and spoke into her comm unit.

"Nikita, can you hear me?" she called out.

"Yeah, I hear you fine," came the immediate reply. "Do you have Michael?"

Maria nodded. "Yes, I have him." Her sympathetic gaze flickered over him, appraising his injuries.

"He's handcuffed and Papa beat him up pretty bad, but I think he'll be all right," she reported. "Are you coming now?"

Maria heard the very audible sigh of relief before Nikita answered her. "On our way. Stay put."

"Right." Maria looked up to smile at Michael again. "She says they're on their way."

Michael gave her a tender look. "Thank you," he said with deep sincerity.

Maria sighed and looked at him uncertainly. "For not shooting you, you mean?" she said shyly. "You must know I would never hurt you, Michael..."

"I know that," he answered softly, fresh tears in his eyes. "I meant, thank you for everything."

Her face crumpled into tears again, and she stepped back close to him again to kiss him fervently once more.

The door opened then and three Section operatives slipped inside, two men, Ken and Daniel, and one woman, Nikita.

She cleared her throat, embarrassed that she had interrupted the intimate scene before her.

"We don't have much time," she said apologetically. "This corridor's only going to stay clear for a little while."

Maria stepped back from Michael and then gave a little sigh. "Right, I gotcha."

While Ken and Daniel guarded the door, Nikita went to Michael, reaching up to his wrists to unlock the handcuffs with a key she took from her mission jacket.

Michael's hands and forearms had long ago gone numb, and as the cuffs came free, he groaned sharply and then slumped forward into her arms as the pain of the returning blood coming back into his limbs hit him hard. But in spite of the pain, his heart still leapt in happiness to be this close to Nikita again, to feel her body next to his, and to be surrounded in the comfort of her embrace.

He fought the pain and the happiness, and forced himself to focus on the mission. "We need to get to Villone's files.." he gasped out. "His computer should be around her somewhere..."

"It's already taken care of, Baby," Maria said softly. She pulled a small, shiny CD from her pocket and held it out to Nikita. "It's all there," she told them. "Just like I promised."

Michael turned questioning eyes to Nikita, who still supported him with her arm under his shoulder. "We had a deal," the blonde explained quickly. "If Section got you out, Maria would give us the disk."

Maria met Nikita's eyes and locked gazes with her. "And you'll keep your other part of the bargain, right?" she demanded sternly. "Just like you promised?"

Nikita nodded solemnly. "I promise."

Maria sighed, and wiped her hands nervously on her jeans. "Okay, then," she said with a nod. "Let's get this part of it over with."

She walked up to Nikita and took the handcuffs from her, clicking one cuff around her own wrist, then sat in the chair next to the desk and handcuffed herself to it. She looked up expectantly at Nikita.

The blonde operative grimaced and took a step away from Michael, then pulled a gun from her flack jacket and aimed it at Maria.

"Nikita, no!" Michael yelled, stepping between her and the woman tied to the chair. "What are you doing?" he cried, eyes wide with alarm.

"It's okay, Baby," Maria's voice came calmly from behind him. " Let her shoot me. It's a tranq gun. I want to make sure Papa doesn't suspect that I helped you. Til later, anyway."

Michael stepped reluctantly out of Nikita's way, and turned to look at his wife with sorrowful eyes. She, in turn, tried to smile bravely at him, but her eyes were also sad. They both knew they would never see each other again. "Maria..." he choked out. "Goodbye, ma Cher..."

She smiled once more and then jerked in the chair as the silenced tranq dart hit her in the shoulder. Michael went to her, kneeling by the chair as the drug took effect, Maria still conscious, but fading rapidly into blackness.

"I want to answer your question for you," Michael whispered to her urgently.

"Question?" she said woozily, trying to focus on his face which floated hazily before her vision.

Michael leaned closer, his eyes devouring her face, as if trying to memorize her features to last him for a lifetime. "The answer is yes," he declared fervently. "Yes, Maria. I really did love you...."

She gave him one last dazzling smile and then her eyes closed, and she slumped, senseless, in the chair.

Michael kissed her with great tenderness on her cheek, and then stood, squaring his shoulders. He looked at his team,one at a time, his gaze coming to rest last on Nikita, and lingered there.

"Let's go," he ordered.

Nikita, tears in her eyes, went to him, and he leaned on her once more as the operatives slipped silently from the room and out into the night, headed toward Section One.

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

Nikita rubbed her eyes and yawned, and shifted uncomfortably in the hard Medlab chair. She was tired, so very tired, but in a good way. Her heart was calm, and filled with a sweet, sharp happiness.

Michael was safe. The missions, both personal and professional, were over. Now all there was to do was to give Michael time to heal. She lifted her eyes to the still figure on the bed, beside whom she had been keeping vigil through the night since her team had brought him in.

The Section doctors had told her that he had no serious internal injuries from the beatings, just some broken ribs and lots of bruises. With rest, they assured her, he would be fine.

But that was just his physical wounds. Nikita knew the emotional ones went deeper, and would most likely take much longer to heal. She was determined to help him get through, to give Michael what Section had never given him- all the time he needed to grieve.

A groan escaped him and he stirred on the bed, his eyes coming open.

Nikita stood quickly, and went to him, gently pressing him back down on the pillows. "It's okay, Michael. It's over. You're in Medlab," she soothed him.

Groggy and confused from the sedative the doctors had forced on him, Michael tossed agitatedly on the bed. "I have to know..." he moaned. "Nikita, I have to know..."

"Shhh," she soothed him. "There's nothing you need to know. Just rest..."

"No.." he moaned again. "You have to tell me, please..."

"All right, Michael," she soothed him, giving in. She decided to humor him in his delirium. "If I tell you, then do you promise to rest?"

"Oui," he agreed quickly. "I promise."

She smiled at him, and settled next to him on the bed. "What do you want to know?"

"Maria..." he said urgently, trying to lift his head up again. "Maria..."

Nikita looked at him with an indulgent smile, her heart softening. "Maria's all right, Michael," she told him gently. "I checked on her. She's going to be fine. Her father's been taken out. He can't hurt her anymore."

Michael sighed, and closed his eyes. "Bien. Tres bien..." he murmured with a relieved breath. But I need to know the other thing, too.."

"What other thing, Michael?" Niktia asked, feeling as confused as she knew he was.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, his expression amazingly lucid. "What did you promise her, Nikita?" he asked succinctly. "What was your part of the bargain?"

Nikita sighed, debating whether or not to tell him the truth. But she had promised to tell him, so she did.

"Maria made me promise that I would look after you, and keep you safe, and take care of you for her," Nikita said, blushing. "And...."

"And?" Michael asked, eyebrow raised in a question.

She blushed again and then blurted out the rest. "And to ... love you," she finished shyly.

Michael smiled a sweet, dazzling, but sleepy, smile. "Ah, bien," he whispered, his eyelids drifting closed. "Tres, tres bien...." And then, obediently, just as he had agreed, Michael slept.

Nikita lifted his hand to her lips, kissed the back of it tenderly, then placed it back in her lap. She sat like that far into the night, holding his hand and watching over him as he slept, devotedly keeping her promise.

The End.

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