It couldn't have happened. It couldn't have happened. It couldn't have happened.

Mark Elliot said this to himself over and over like a mantra, hoping it would change something, that perhaps his shock and disbelief would make this impossible thing somehow not true. But he knew deep down his denials were useless.

He was the wealthiest, most influential, most powerful flesh-broker on three continents. He controlled the bodies of thousands, moved his living cargo all over the world, providing temptations for every possible appetite, no matter how twisted or bizaare.

He controlled the "product", as he called it, and thus controlled his elite clientele as well. The buyers were a diverse group, ranging from anything from drug lords and terrorists, to diplomats and presidents. All had just two things in common- the ability to pay, and a jaded physical appetite that craved something new, different, something freshly dark....

Elliot sobbed and rested his head on the desk. He was in his office in his mansion, where he both lived and worked. It was the house he and his wife, now dead, had picked out together, in those long-ago days when life was good, and untainted by the business he was in now.

The house had always contained the entirety of his life, both personal and professional. Up until now he thought he could keep those two parts rigidly separate. He lived with his fifteen-year-old daughter, Claire, in one wing of the house, becoming the doting father and good citizen, the role model of propriety whenever he was with her, transforming from flesh peddler to caring parent each time he crossed the threshold into their private quarters.

Elsewhere in the house, he was a diferent person- ruthless, cold, unfeeling. He listened, unmoved and indifferent, to the screams of terror of the young girls from all over the world brought before him, each of them, if he thought about it, as innocent and helpless and deserving of respect as his own child. But he never thought about it that way.

Until now.

Elliot thought the two separate worlds would never intersect. But they had, brutally, the afternoon before. Two of his clients, Western arms dealers, had been visiting the mansion, rowdily intent on buying, and sampling, the wares. Elliot had tired of their crudity, and decided not to accompany them on their tour through the house and the products it contained.

Foolishly, he had told them to wander through the house and take whatever morsels caught their eye. After all, he had the best security team in the world, he thought, and the men were certainly paying well for their pleasure.

It had been arrogant of him to think this never could have happened, Elliot realized that now. But it was too late. The damage had been done. His regrets changed nothing.

Somehow the two clients had found their way to the private wing. Rampaging through the house like kids in a candy store, it might have been assumed that their appetites would have been sated by the time they reached there. But, in fact, it was the opposite. Their desire for something different, something more, had reached a fever pitch.

When they had found Claire, reading quietly in their private garden, the men had assumed that she was exactly the rare prize they were looking for. A virgin.

They had attacked her like two ravenous beasts. Her screams excited them more, her struggles escalating their frenzy to even higher levels of brutaliy and cruelty.

Elliot's security team had stopped the men, but their efforts had come several critical moments too late. Claire no longer screamed, but lay shivering, stunned and silent on the ground, eyes faraway and unseeing, lost in some inner landscape of Hell in her own mind.

When Elliot finally arrived on the scene, he too, like his daughter, was at first stunned and shocked into immobility. He stood staring at his precious one on the ground, unable to comprehend at first what had happened.

When he turned blank eyes to the rapists, held by the guards, the impact of what had occurred hit him. Then one of the guards made the mistake of trying to apologize to him, and that triggered Elliot into action, snapping his tenuous hold on his self-control.

The enraged father snatched one of the guard's guns away from him and then, in quick succession, he dispatched his daughter's attackers with point-blank effieciency and swiftness, each defiler receiving a bullet to the heart.

Before the bodies of the clients had even reached the ground, Elliot had finished his business by turning the gun on the guards and killing them as well.

Throwing the gun to the ground beside the four crumpled bodies, Elliot turned to his daughter and swept her up in his arms. She reacted then, coming out of her trance to flail and fight against him, terrified by even his fatherly touch. She screamed all the way to the house, and kept on screaming until the doctor he called for her arrived and sedated her. Now, the next day, Elliot sat in his office, still stunned and unbelieving, but finally facing what he would have to do.

This house where once love lived, this house where he had brought his bride, no longer held any goodness- it was tainted for him, and for Claire, despite all the good memories there.

It was decided. He would take his daughter and move on, make a new start, for them both. A turning point, horrid and unexpected, had come, transforming everything in a blink of an eye. Nothing would ever be the same. A new phase had begun.

With a deep sigh, Mark Elliot wiped the tears from his cheek and lifted the phone.

When he did so, a signal beeped in a deep underground cavern known as Section One.

Birkoff checked the information on his screen, the transcription of Elliot's phone call, and a wide smile spread across his face.

"Gotcha," he said happily. "At last."

***********

Operations flicked on the holographic view screen above the briefing table, tossed the remote control on the table, and then stuffed his hands in his pockets. He rocked back and forth on his heels, smiling, obviously very pleased about something.

Nikita stopped her surreptitious study of Michael's profile out of the corner of her eye and turned her gaze to the face on the screen. She saw a well-groomed, dark-haired man in his late forties, with a boyishly innocent face, his expression warm and friendly. A very nice guy, in fact.

Or so he appeared. If Nikita had learned anything here in Section, it was that looks could be deceiving.

"Mark Elliot," announced Operations with a gloating tone in his voice. "The biggest trader in human flesh in the world." He paused to grin at the assembled operatives. "We finally have him."

Michael betrayed his surprise by a slight flicker of shock in his green eyes. "I thought his security was air-tight, that we couldn't reach him?"

He glanced up to meet Operations' silver-gray eyes. "What happened?" Michael asked.

"According to the intel intercepted by Mr. Birkoff," Operations replied with satisfaction, nodding at the young computer genius to Nikita's right, "Elliot suffered a blow that can only be described as his own sins coming back to bite him on the butt."

He clicked the remote again and the image hovering above the table wavered and dissolved, reforming itself into another young, innocent face- that of Elliot's daughter.

"Claire Elliot," Operations went on, sobering quickly, his smile fading.

"Mark Elliot's only child." He tossed the remote on the table again, where it clattered hollowly. "Five days ago she was raped by two of Elliot's 'clients', right in her own home."

Nikita bit back a gasp and lowered her eyes to her lap, feeling sudden tears stinging her eyes. "How horrible," she whispered, almost to herself. "She's just a kid...."

Michael swiveled in his chair to study her intently, concern in his gray-green eyes.

Nikita had never told him the details of the abrupt end to her own childhood when Nikita's mother had kicked her out to live on the streets, but he suspected there had been much more to it than just that her mother's new boyfriend didn't like her. He suspected she had endured something equally as devastating and as brutal as Claire Elliot had.

Michael watched Nikita's lower lip start to tremble and he felt the sudden aching need to comfort her by placing his hand on her shoulder, but stifled the urge, remembering where he was. Perhaps the time to touch her would come later.

"This unfortunate incident, however, we will use to our advantage," Operations went on. "Elliot plans on making some radical life changes in the very near future, which will leave him exposed."

Operations nodded at Birkoff, who, grim-faced, took up the narrative.

"Elliot is so guilt-ridden that he wants nothing more to do with any of his old businesses," the young genius began. "He's announced he's closing down his whole operation, selling everything, including his multi-million dollar house."

Claire's blue-lit image reflected eerily off of Birkoff's glasses as he turned to look at Nikita and Michael. "He plans on moving his daughter to a new place, probably out of the country, within the next week."

"Good," said Nikita, thinking that Claire's parent, even though he was a slime ball, at least gave a damn about what had happened to his child.

"So he closes down. So let him. Less hassle for us."

Operations gave her an exasperated look, and shook his head as if amazed at her obtuseness.

"It's not Elliot's organization we care about," the silver-haired man explained carefully. "It's his contacts. He has clients and connections in all parts of the world, especially in rather delicate, highly placed political circles, that could be invaluable to us, not to mention that he probably is aquainted with most of the personnel of every large terrorist group on the planet..."

Nikita returned Operations withering look with a mulishly stubborn expression of her own.The glint in her eye left no doubt as to how distasteful she found this assignment, exploiting a young girl's pain. Michael decided it was a judicious time to distract their boss's attention from her with a comment of his own.

"What mode will we use?" asked the class 5 operative in machine mode. "I assume his computer files are the target?"

"That's right," interjected Birkoff, taking a PDA out of his pocket. He shoved the device along the table toward Michael. "Your profiles are in there."

"You'll work it covertly," Operations continued, addressing Michael's question. "Elliot is in need of some new bodyguards for his daughter since he---- hmm, how shall I put it?" Operations paused, a wry smile quirking up one corner of his mouth. "Since he made the old guards pay the ultimate price for their failure."

Operations focused cold, hawk-like gray eyes on Nikita. "We understand Elliot is looking for a female for his security team, since Claire is now, understandably, a bit skittish around men."

Michael looked up, startled, from reading the profile on his PDA. "You want Nikita and I to pose as a married couple?" he asked, eyes wide.

The silver- haired leader nodded. "We think a married couple will appear less threatening, and seem more.... conventional and comfortable than two singles, or any other configuration, for both the girl and her father."

He fixed Nikita with a challenging look, as if daring her to object. He knew very well that she wouldn't. Being on a mission with Michael, on intimate terms or not, always seemed to bring out the best performance in Nikita. He didn't like it, but he had to admit, they made a formidable team.

Michael's heart raced, but he kept his eyes carefully blank, his face betraying none of his sudden excitement. His stomach knotted, and he felt his manhood tighten in instant response at the thought of being with Nikita again.

"Of course," he said, nodding coolly in answer to Operations.

The older man grinned smugly. "All right. To make things clear- Nikita, you will be babysitting the daughter while Michael accesses Elliot's computer files. Birkoff will co-ordinate from here. Any questions?"

The three operatives shook their heads. Operations ended the briefing.

"Dismissed," he said curtly. "Your plane leaves in three hours."

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

The house was beautiful, thought Nikita. There was no doubt about that. Even if what had happened there was ugly beyond comparison.

The one-story stucco structure rambled over several acres of beautiful grounds, each room opening onto some element of the tropical outdoors, be it an open porch, a lavish flower garden, a fountained courtyard, or one of several lushly landscaped swimming pools.

The effect was one of comfort and ease. The private wing of the mansion had that lived in look, the furniture and appointments obviously picked for liveability, not trendiness. This part of the house was designed to be a real home, a private retreat, not a showcase of Elliot's wealth to impress the public.

Michael found it refreshingly unpretentious. Now, standing with Nikita beside him in Mark Elliot's office, Michael stifled the sudden surge of sympathy for his new employer. Just because the man had an eye for beauty that Michael admired meant nothing.

Elliot had obviously used that same eye for beauty to select the human merchandise that he enslaved and procured for his clients, and there was nothing beautiful about any of that.

Now the powerful whore-monger turned tear-ravaged eyes to his new employees. Elliot looked like he hadn't slept in the last five days since his daughter was attacked. The boyish, smiling face of the picture from the briefing was gone; this man was someone decades older, someone who had suffered life-times of grief, someone completely, devastatingly, broken.

"Please, sit down," Elliot invited them, waving the guard away who had escorted Michael and Nikita to his office. The operatives took seats in the two wing back chairs that flanked Elliot's wide desk.

The flesh peddler forced a weary smile and looked at each of them appraisingly.

"I've heard good things about you," Elliot began. "Senator Collins recommended you highly, as well as several others, including Sheik El Abal."

Elliot took a deep, shaky breath and tried to smile again. "You're the best in the business, I hear, for private protection. And that's what I want for my daughter- the best."

Michael gave a slight nod of his head in acknowledgement of Elliot's compliments, but remained silent.

Elliot went on. "Well, then, if you have no objections, you can start right away. I've had the servants take your bags to your private quarters. It is a suite of rooms with its own swimming pool; I believe you'll be comfortable there...."

Michael gave him a cool blank stare.

His new employer swallowed nervously and looked down at his hands in his lap. "You understand my daughter is.. is..." Elliot stammered out, then choked to a halt as fresh tears started in his eyes. He cleared his throat and began again.

"My daughter is a sensitive child who has been traumatized by.. what has occurred," Elliot went on, unable to say the word "rape". "When you are on duty, you will treat her as gently and respectfully as possible."

He looked up to meet first Michael's hard green eyes and then Nikita's soft blue. "I won't have her traumatized further, do you understand?" Elliot demanded grimly.

Nikita gave him a sympathetic smile and a brief nod. "Of course," she answered gently. "We just want to help."

With a relieved sigh, Elliot stood and walked around the desk toward the couple, extending his hand to Michael. "Welcome aboard, then," he said, with his first genuine smile.

Michael's gaze flickered down to Elliot's outstretched hand and then up to the meet the other man's eyes. He sat back in his chair, declining to shake hands.

"There's something I'd like to make clear," Michael said in his deceptively soft voice. "Before we come to any agreements."

Elliot's eyes widened, and he leaned back against his desk, and gave Michael a slow nod. "Of course," he acquiesed politely. "If you have some concerns, I'd like to hear them."

Michael stood up crossed the short distance to Nikita's chair. He stood beside her, and placed a protective hand on her shoulder. Again, he stared defiantly into Elliot's eyes.

"I have complete sympathy for your daughter, Mr. Elliot, and respect as well," Michael began. "But I can't say the same for you."

Michael's full lips curled in distaste. "Frankly, what you do disgusts me. I was reluctant to come here and expose my wife to such a degrading environment...."

He moved his hand from Nikita's shoulder to brush his fingers caressingly against her cheek, giving her a fiercely tender look. Nikita took in a sharp breath at the onslaught of emotions that his look and his touch aroused in her. A thrill of answering tenderness assailed her at Michael's words- "my wife" sounded so incredibly sweet coming from his lips.

Michael turned back to Elliot. "But Nikita is tender-hearted and insisted that we take this job, to help a child. So I agreed..."

He stepped in front of Nikita as if to shield her, his body between her and the flesh-seller's gaze. Michael's face was now only inches from Elliot's own. He leaned even closer, and whispered the rest of his demands in a soft, level voice that held no less of a threat for its softness.

"My wife will be accorded all the regard and respect due her as a woman, and as a professional." The green eyes flickered dangerously. "She is a lady. MY lady. And she will be treated as such. Do I make myself clear?" Michael finished with quiet intensity.

Michael's words only served to increase Elliot's already enormous burden of guilt and shame. It came sharply home to him again that his sordid business dealings had been the cause of his daughter's difilement, and of his own emotional ruin. He did not resent Michael's wariness and disgust, knowing it was utterly justified, that the other man's revulsion for him was completey deserved.

Elliot reacted to Michael's belligerence with no belligerence of his own. Instead, he sighed again and meekly acknowledged the truth of Michael's statement.

"You're right," he said with soft humility. "What I do IS degrading and disgusting. That's why I don't do it anymore."

"I need you to help and protect my daughter until I can get her to a new home, where she'll be safe from every evil thing that has ever happened in this house. Your wife, of course, will be shown every respect...." The guilt-ridden father choked back a fresh set of tears. "I'd like you to stay. Please."

He held out his hand to Michael once more.

This time Michael took it, shaking hands firmly with his new employer. Elliot smiled, blinking back relieved tears, and, with another sigh, gestured toward the door.

"This way," he invited eagerly, walking past them. "I think it's time you met Claire."

Michael and Nikita exchanged a look, and then, hand in hand, they followed their target out of the room.

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

Claire Elliot sat shivering on the far corner of her bed. She had just emerged from her third scalding hot shower of the day, and was now wrapped in a long flannel nightgown and thick matching robe.

She dragged a comb viciously through her snarled wet hair, and tried not to give in to despair. She wondered if she would ever feel clean again. Or warm. Despite her layers of clothes and the summer heat and all the showers, nothing seemed to help. Deep inside she was horribly, intensely cold, down to her bones.

Some part of her knew that the coldness had nothing to do with the outside temperature, but was rather due to an inner chill. It was her fear that froze her insides, it was her icy terror that refused to thaw in her soul.

"Stupid, stupid girl," she berated herself, yanking the comb violently through the long wet strands. Why was she afraid? It was over, she told herself. The men were dead. She was safe. Why was she still so idiotically, irrationally terrified? Intellectually, it made no sense to be afraid, she knew that. But her intellect did not seem to be in charge just now.

Her guts were. And they would not be quiet. They screamed of their visceral rage, and their terror, and their overwhelming sorrow for something that had been lost, and would never return.

The warmth was gone. The feeling of safety. The child-like innocence that had been ripped from her. All happiness and trust-- irrevocably, devastatingly, gone.

Would she spend the rest of her life like this, she wondered, in this cold torment? Afraid of everything? Suspicious of everyone, cringing at every male voice? Would she ever trust anyone again? Including her own father, who had promised to keep her safe?

"Daddy..." she whispered, burying her face in her hands. She knew he loved her, knew he was as upset as she was by what had happened. But somehow the coldness had captured him, too.

He hadn't touched her. Not since....

Calire sobbed and wiped her eyes, trying to get control. He father had always been physically affectionate with her, hugging her, ruffling her hair, kissing her cheek. Now, that was gone. He stayed nearby, always within earshot, always checking on her, but he kept his distance.

Was he afraid he would scare her, she wondered, if he enveloped her in his arms and just held her? She wanted that more than anything. Or was everything different now? Did he consider her tainted and unclean by what the men had done to her? For how long would she remain soiled like this? Would she ever be again what she once was, his little girl?

The memories of the assault were mercifully jumbled, and she had no desire to go over the details in her mind. She didn't recall fighting her father when he picked her up right after the attack, didn't remember screaming when he touched her. And she was unaware of his tremendous guilt, didn't know that he blamed himself for what had happened.

She only knew she was cold, so very cold, and that she desperately needed the comfort of warm, human touch. Her mother was dead, she wasn't close to any if the staff. Before, she had had her father's affection, and that had always been enough.

Now she had nothing.

Nothing but the cold inside her, and the terror.

She bit back another sob and got up off the bed, and headed toward the bathroom. Maybe another shower would help.....

Before she was halfway across the room, she jumped violently at the soft knock on the door.

"Claire, Honey?" called her father's voice. "Can I come in?"

Scrubbing her hand across her eyes to wipe away the last of her tears, the young girl took a shaky breath and flew eagerly to the door, pulling it open.

She flung the door back and spread her arms wide, ready to envelop her father in a hug, a smile breaking out on her face.

" Daddy..." she cried joyously, then stepped back in sudden alarm. The arms she had almost leapt into were not her father's. They belonged to an auburn-haired stranger with solemn green eyes.

She gasped and staggered back into the room, clutching her robe tightly around her, eyes wide.

The stranger carefully entered the room, stopping just inside the door, approaching no further. Another stranger, as beautiful as the first, stepped in to stand beside him.

From the doorway, her father smiled and introduced them. "Honey, I want you to meet your new security team," he announced gently. "Michael and Nikita."

Claire's gaze flickered up to shyly observe the newcomers and met Nikita's soft blue eyes.

Riveted, Claire stared into the crystal depths. These eyes were special. They held many things- an offering of friendship, a deep understanding and sympathy, almost kinship.

And there was something more. A promise of healing, a hope of an end to the terror and the pain.

Claire looked into the fiery blue depths and knew she had found exactly what she needed. Suddenly, for the first time since her world had been destroyed five days ago, Claire felt light, she felt hope, she felt...Warm.

With a small sigh that was half laugh, half relieved sob, she did a little skip forward, and rushed breathlessy toward the blonde girl. Nikita silently held out her arms and Claire went into them, suddenly feeling that her world had come right again.

And somewhere deep inside her heart, the cold lump of fear began to thaw....

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

When Michael had first entered the young girl's room, and watched her flinch back from him in alarm, a feeling of dread had gone through him. On a professional level, he knew it was critical that they gain Claire's trust, and thus her father's as well. If she had rejected them as her bodyguards, there was no hope of staying long enough to access Elliot's computer files.

So when Claire had taken one look at Nikita and had, with coltish grace, launched herself into the operative's arms, the Section half of him was very pleased.

But his other half, his heart side, was even more pleased. Along with the satisfaction of Claire's instant acceptance, Michael felt for Nikita an intense, sudden surge of pride. She was a good operative, of that there was no doubt. But beyond that, she was a good human being; she was someone this wounded child could immediately trust.

Michael knew Nikita would not do things half way. She would give her entire being to sheltering this child, this battered innocent. A jolt of fear stabbed through him- He was afraid for Nikita. She would be hurt by this, if not now, then certainly when the mission was over. It was inevitable.

If Nikita let Claire open up to her, it might open up old wounds of her own. And even if that didn't happen, the outcome would be the same. At the end of the mission, when Section got what they wanted, they would leave, and Claire and Nikita would both be devastated by the coming betrayal when the younger girl found out the truth, that they had been using her.

He watched the two intently, Claire's dark head nestled against Nikita's bright blonde, and felt a harsh twinge of sadness. Both women deserved better than this.

While Michael struggled with his conflicting emotions, Elliot felt only one- a relieved joy. Not since her mother was alive had he seen Claire respond to anyone like this, like she was doing now with Nikita.

Maybe it was the gods way of blessing him for turning over a new leaf, for repenting, Elliot thought. Claire might someday be whole again, after all. Hopeful tears sprang into his eyes, and he cast a grateful look at Michael.

"You stay and get acquainted," he said softly, wanting to give the new guards more opportunity to continue the healing that he knew had already begun. "I'm going back to my office."

"Fine," replied Michael with a polite nod of his head. The fact that Elliot would be in his office meant that Michael would have no chance to access his computer, but he knew the opportunity would come, sooner or later.

At his words Claire broke the embrace with Nikita and turned a questioning face to her father. "Daddy?" she asked uncertainly.

Elliot smiled lovingly at her. "It's O.K., Honey," he said soothingly. "I'll be nearby if you need me."

He paused and then made his brave suggestion. "Why don't you show Michael and Nikita to their quarters in the guest suite?"

Elliot held his breath, waiting for her answer. He knew she had not been out of her room since the attack, afraid to enter the gardens where the devastating violation had taken place. If she decided to end her period of withdrawal now, with her new friends, it could only be a good sign.

Claire hesitated a moment, thinking, then broke out in a tremulous smile. "Okay," she said decisively, then headed toward the door, pulling Nikita by the hand. "It's this way," she said, then stopped abruptly, looked down at herself and, to her father's amazement, laughed.

"I guess I should change first, huh?" Claire said with a happy giggle, blushing prettily. She looked up eagerly at her new friends. "You'll wait for me?"

Nikita smiled. "Of course," she answered with a laugh.

"Take all the time you need, Mademoiselle," replied Michael with a courtly bow.

Claire smiled back, and disappeared into the bath-dressing room, her step light.

She would have been unable to consciously explain just why she felt suddenly so free, so unburdened. But deep down, a part of her knew that it was because the burden she carried was shared by Nikita, a woman who was strong, and brave, and loving. A woman who had been through the same dark valley of terror as she had, and had survived it. A woman who could show her the way out of the cold, and into the light.

When the dor to the dressing room closed behind her, Claire's father no longer bothered to hide his tears. He turned glistening eyes to Nikita, then to Michael.

"Thank you," he whispered brokenly. Then, with a tearful smile of gratitude, he was gone, closing the door softly behind him.

Alone at last together, if just for a moment, Nikita turned instinctively to Michael for the support she needed. Without a word, he gathered her into his arms, and she rested her head against his firm shoulder, drawing strength from the warm heart that beat steadily next to hers.

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

"Do you like it?" asked Claire shyly, standing in the living-room of the guest quarters.

"It's magnificent," said Michael sincerely, gazing through the open french doors to the glittering, lushly landscaped pool beyond.

This part of the house had been decorated with the same good taste as the rest, the rooms a study in simple, comfortable luxury. Beyond the living room was a well equipped kitchen, and beyond that, a bedroom, with French doors that opened onto yet another exquisite small garden.

"There's a bar over here, Nikita," Claire went on with her tour, opening a cupboard next to the fireplace to reveal a small refrigerator and a variety of bottles and glasses.

"Cool," responded Nikita with a laugh. "You've thought of everything." The young girl blushed again. "The kitchen has everything, too," she explained, gesturing to the gleaming oak cupboards behind her. "The pantry and the fridge are fully stocked, but if there's anything missing, you can always use the kitchen in the main part of the house."

"This will be fine," said Michael. With a purposeful stride, he entered the kitchen and began opening cupboards, taking out various items, including cups and saucers.

"I'll make us some coffee, hmmm?" he said with a bright smile at his young hostess.

Claire smiled back, feeling relaxed with the domestic normalcy of the scene. She realized suddenly that she felt no uneasiness around Michael, and no fear. She found herself trusting him almost as much as she did Nikita. Despite his unmistakeable masculinity, she felt something she thought she would never feel again around another male besides her father- comfortable.

It might have been because Claire felt so en rapport with Nikita, and Nikita obviously felt safe with Michael. Or it might have been that the couple, with their understated but strong connection, reminded her of that long ago time when her mother was still alive, and her parents were so very much in love.

Whatever the reason, Claire felt another burden being lifted. Michael's gentle friendliness and unspoken regard for her had healed something, too.

"You're nice," Claire blurted out spontaneously to him.

Michael's head snapped up and his eyes widened. He had been called many things in his years as a trained killer and covert anti-terrorist specialist, but "nice" was not one of them.

Before he could respond, Nikita was there beside him, slippping her arm around his waist and giving him a quick kiss on his cheek. She looked up at him with adoring blue eyes.

"Yes, he is," Nikita answered for him. "Very nice."

The moment was brief, but Michael felt his own rush of warmth from her words and her kiss. Nikita never failed to get past his armor and under his defenses, no matter how much he tried to keep his emotional distance.

Spontaneously, feeling overcome with love for her, he pulled her closer and lowered his mouth to hers in a slow, gentle, but fervent, kiss. The lovers were for a time only aware of each other, the world fading away around them, until an abrupt sound brought them back.

They heard Claire's sudden harsh sob behind them, and lookd up to see her running blindly out of the suite into the garden beyond.

"Merde.." Michael swore vehemently, and started to run after her. But Nikita stopped him with a firm grip on his wrist.

"No, Michael," she told him softly. "Let me talk to her."

He nodded, acknowledging the sense of her words. "Go," he said grimly, hating the fact that his kiss had upset the sensitve young girl.

Nikita raced out the French doors and dissapeared into the garden.

Michael paced silently in the house for only a few minutes, waiting, but his worry or the women overcame him and he gave in to his impatience. With another muttered expletive, he strode through the doors and followed behind them.

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

Michael did not have far to go to find them. Claire had fled to a small courtyard just beyond their guest quarters. She sat huddled on a bench near a tinkling fountain, her head on her knees, sobbing brokenly.

Nikita stood a few paces away on the garden path, distressed as well, but trying to stay calm and not upset the young girl further, speaking soothing words in a voice too soft for Michael to hear. Neither woman noticed his arrival, and he shrank back among the lush foliage, hiding himself, not wanting to alarm Claire with his presence.

He watched from his observation point as Nikita carefully sat down on the bench next to Claire and apolgized to the weeping girl.

"I'm sorry," he heard her say. "Michael and I shouldn't have kissed like that in front of you. We didn't mean to offend you...."

Claire abruptly stopped crying and looked up at Nikita, startled. "No, no," she said emphatically, shaking her head. "You don't understand...."

She swallowed hard and took in a deep breath, and began to explain. "The kiss didn't offend me. Not at all. It was beautiful. So beautiful. And.. and...."

She stammered to a halt, fresh tears stopping her words.

Nikita put a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder and encouraged her to go on. "And what, Sweetie?" she urged softly. "What upset you?"

Claire rubbed at her eyes and then stared down at the ground, twisting her hands in her lap. Her words came tumbling out in a fervent whisper, which Michael struggled to hear.

"It was so beautiful," she said again. "You and Michael, so tender, so loving. He's so gentle, and.. and you feel so safe with him, right? You know he loves you and would never hurt you...."

"Isn't that how it is for you?" Claire asked, looking up into Nikita's eyes.

The blonde closed her eyes for a moment, remembering, and then smiled gently at the young girl beside her. "That's exactly how it is," she answered softly.

Michael, in his hiding place, bit his lip hard to keep from crying out at this lie. No one had hurt Nikita more than him. After all he had done to her, no one was less deserving of her trust, and her love.

But part of him knew it was not a lie. Nikita did love him, and he, as broken as he was, loved her to the limits his soul was capable of. They loved each other so much that Claire had sensed the deep connection between them. Their pose as a married couple in love was no act, but a reality. Even a child could see it.

Nikita took the young girl's hand in hers and leaned toward her, and asked another gentle question. "Claire, if it wasn't our kiss that upset you, then what was it? Tell me what made you cry?"

Claire pulled her hand from Nikita's and jumped up from the bench, another harsh sob wrenched from her. "Don't you get it?" she choked out, her voice rising on a note if hysteria. "I'll never have that now. A love like you and Michael have..."

"It can never be that way for me. Everything's ruined," Claire sobbed wretchedly. "I can't dream anymore about having a husband, or living happily ever after. Not now... Not after what happened...."

The young girl hung her head, her shoulders shaking, hot tears falling unheeded down her cheeks. "Not after those men...raped me...." she choked out in anguish.

Nikita froze for a second at such pain, then was quickly on her feet, wrapping the sobbing girl into her embrace.

"Shhh, Claire, little one," she whispered soothingly, stroking the trembling girl's hair. "It'll be all right, I promise...."

"You'll have everything I have, and more," Nikita went on and Claire cried quietly against her shoulder. "You'll have a husband who loves you, and a home, and children. You'll have a beautiful, full, happy life.."

"Give yourself time," Nikita continued in a whisper. "It doesn't seem possible now, but I promise you, in time, you'll heal from this. Someday, it won't hurt so much. It'll just seem like a bad dream...."

Claire gulped and lifted her head up to look into Nikita's eyes. She was startled to see that the blue eyes were as tear-filled as her own.

"How do you know that?" Claire asked, doubt and hope mixed equally in her voice. "How can you be so sure I can get past this?"

Nikita sighed and stroked her hand gently across the tears on the young girl's cheek. "I know because I've been there," she confessed softly. "I know because... because it happened to me, too."

In his hiding place a few feet away off the path, Michael trembled, and buried his face in his hands, wracked with the pain of what Nikita has suffered.

It was what he had always suspected, but to have that ugliness dissolve from suspicion to reality rocked him to the core.

*Oh, God* he screamed in his mind. *Oh, God....* And then his own tears flowed as the women's voices went on.

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

Claire's first reaction was disbelief. How could it be possible that this beautiful, lively woman, with her bright smile and open charm, and her obviously happy marriage and perfect life, how could such a person ever have been touched by such an ugly, life-shattering experience as rape?

"No...." the young girl whispered, shaking her head. She didn't want it to be true. She didn't want something so horrible to have happened to her new friend.

But she looked into Nikita's tear-filled blue eyes and knew that it was true. It had happened, and Nikita obviously still felt the pain of it.

"Oh, Nikita..." Claire gasped in swift sympathy, fresh tears welling in her eyes. She gripped the older woman by both hands and pulled her down to sit beside her on the bench. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry...."

"It's okay," Nikita soothed her again, feeling comforted by this young child's empathy and tenderness. She was surprised at how good it felt to tell someone.

She had never told anyone before. Not the social workers or the other street people when she was learning to survive on her own, not the police, or her lawyers when she was arrested. And, of course, she confided to no one during her brief stay in prison.

And later, she still kept silent. She never told anyone in Section, particulary not Madeleine, who would have loved to have that particular piece of intel to use against her.

Michael was the only one she had considered confiding in, but the opportunity for such an intimate and private confession had not presented itself, given the harsh conditions under which they lived in Section, where love and trust were of the lowest priority.

"Tell me," urged Claire, squeezing Nikita's hand and looking up at her with openly tender eyes. "What happened?"

Nikita's breath caught in her throat. She knew suddenly that she couldn't just give Claire a bare statement of fact, a brutal one-sentence explanation and be done with it. Claire deserved more than that. She deserved to have the whole story, in context, to see how it related to her life, and to learn from it.

Perhaps if she told Claire more about how she survived it, it would help the young girl survive it, too.

Nikita took a deep breath, and found herself telling Claire everything, the words tumbling out, almost eagerly, as if the horrible details of the worst moment in her life were a gift she was anxious to give to this wounded child beside her.

"It all started when my father died," she began.

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

"Your father?" Claire asked.

"Yes," Nikita answered, an involuntary smile crossing her face at the memory. "My father was a wonderful man, very lively, very fun. He was always telling jokes and making us laugh..."

She sobered, the smile fading. "He was my mother's whole life.

Everything in her universe revolved around him..." Nikita took another deep breath and went on, her face grim.

"When he was killed in a car accident when I was ten," Nikita explained in a rush, "my mother was devastated. She... she sort of went crazy. She was like a different person...."

Claire nodded in instant understanding. "That's just how Daddy was after Mama died...." she said in a hushed whisper. "He changed..."

Nikita, still holding Claire's hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze, and went on. "I didn't understand it then, but I see why it happened now..."

She paused, her eyes getting a faraway look as the memories flooded her, evoking the pain of the still vivid past.

"My mother couldn't handle the grief. She was destroyed by it. She couldn't handle anything, really. She didn't know how to cope with him not being there..." Nikita continued softly.

"She started drinking. very heavily. It was like she couldn't get enough. But it didn't stop the pain for her. It only made things worse..."

"And then.. and then.. it started..." Nikita whispered, her voice catching on a sob. "That's when she started bringing home all the men...."

In his hiding place on the path, Michael lowered his head and closed his eyes, steeling himself for what was to come next. Part of him wanted to flee, wanted to avoid hearing the words of Nikita's degradation and pain. But he knew he had to stay, to be there for her, if only in this secret, silent way.

Claire remained silently supportive as well, and went on attentively listening as Nikita continued her tale.

"They weren't anything like my father," Nikita whispered. "But she kept thinking one of them would be. Or maybe, she wasn't really looking for a substitute for him... I think the sex was like the drinking-- another way to numb the pain..."

Claire bit her lip and let the grim tears flow down her face. It was like her Daddy had been. Elliot thought he had hidden his world from his daughter, but he hadn't. Despite his efforts to shelter her from his activities, Claire was well aware of what he did.

It was like he wanted to drown out the pain of his wife's loss in pure physical sensations. But no amount of assuagement of sexual needs could soothe the emotional ones. But after a time of procuring more and more prostitutes, Elliot began to see the game of hunting for sex as a challenge. He decided to dabble in the business end of it himself, just to see if he could.

It surprised even him at how successful he was at it. He built his new empire and ran it expertly. He devoted almost all of his waking hours to selling flesh. It made him very wealthy, it occupied his time, but it still did not ease his pain.

Claire realized that her father had done the same thing that Nikita's mother had, only on a slightly grander scale. And both daughters had paid the same price because of it. They had both been victims of their parents' inconsolable, rampaging pain.

"It was one of them, wasn't it?" Claire asked gently, tears still flowing. "It was one of your mother's lovers that raped you...."

Nikita trembled and looked into the girl's lovingly tender eyes. With a sob she collapsed against Claire's shoulder and pulled the girl's small body against hers, crying brokenly.

Claire hugged her, murmuring soothing words and stroking the long blonde hair on Nikita's heaving shoulders. This time the younger girl was the one to rock another weeping child in her arms; this time Claire was the one to give Nikita the comfort of her healing embrace.

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

Nikita lifted her head from Claire's shoulder and wiped at her eyes. She took in a shaky breath and struggled to get control. She hadn't expected the memories to overwhelm her so.

The younger girl gave her a concerned look. "You don't have to tell me more if you don't want to," she said gently.

Nikita's eyes widened. She paused for a moment, then shook her head firmly. "No, it's okay," she said decisively. "I want you to know the rest."

She took another deep breath and began again in a low voice. "I was a skinny, gawky kid, and most of my mother's boyfriends that she brought to the house were indifferent to me, or just thought my presence was an inconvenience. So," she said, her voice going even lower, "They left me alone. And so did my mother."

Michael's heart twisted in pain at the sheer loneliness of this statement. Nikita had been abandoned by her mother long before the day she was thrown out to fend for herself on the streets. He could only admire her strength, and her tenacious will to survive. His Nikita was very brave.

"But then, there was one boyfriend who was different," Nikita went on, her eyes focused grimly on her hands in her lap. "He was... more charming than the others. Sweeter..."

She let out a little gasp, swallowed hard, and continued. "He used to buy my mother little gifts, and bring her flowers, and say nice things about her. Compliments, you know..."

"And I think my mother saw in him, at last, a replacement for my father. I think she really loved him...." The blonde heaved a heavy sigh.

"Then.. then he started buying me little gifts, too. And when he brought her flowers, he'd bring me a bouquet, too..."

"And then, he'd tell me how pretty I looked...." Nikita began to tremble, and she felt chilled, even in the tropical heat. Her lips felt so stiff with cold she could hardly get the words out.

"I was sixteen, and I was finally developing a figure. I was beginning to think I never would, but that spring I turned sixteen it seemed I changed overnight from a girl to a woman. And boys began to notice me...."

"And I liked it that they noticed," Nikita continued with a self-deprecating laugh. "And I liked it when my mother's boyfriend said I was pretty, although my mother didn't like it. She didn't like it at all..."

"It wasn't your fault he noticed you," Claire protested indignantly, coming to Nikita's defense. "Your mother shouldn't have blamed you..."

Nikita smiled bravely at her young friend. "But she did....."

She leaned her head in her hands, thrusting her fingers through her blonde hair, and stared unseeing down at the ground. Her voice became even lower, almost a whisper, and she began to tremble again.

"I was so stupid, and so trusting..." Nikita choked out. "I didn't even see it coming. My mother had gone out, grocery shopping, I think, and he.. he and I were alone in the apartment..."

Nikita's voice broke on a sob as she went on. "He asked me to come into my mother's bedroom with him. He said he had a present he wanted to give me...."

Claire trembled in sympathy for her friend and slipped her hand into hers and gripped it tightly.

Michael closed his eyes and felt his stomach clench in a tight, sick knot, dreading what he knew he would hear next.

"That's when it happened," Nikita sobbed out. "Before I knew it, he threw me on the bed... and then...he was on top of me, and.... and then...."

Claire pulled Nikita into her arms again and Nikita clutched her gratefully, crying quietly for a time against the younger girl's shoulder.

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

Again, Nikita felt comforted by the sympathy of this wounded child. Claire was strong, too. Strong enough to survive her own ordeal as Nikita had survived hers. Strong enough to be able to comfort another sufferer even when her own wounds were so fresh.

"It's OK," Nikita said, smiling bravely. "It's in the past. It's over now."

Looking into that brave, smiling face, Claire began to see a glimpse into her own future, and felt moved by hope. She realized that the pain and devastation of the rape would always be with her, would always be a hurtful wound in her heart.

But she knew, as well, that that wound would heal, that her life would go on, and that the worst wound she could receive would be the one she would inflict on herself if she gave in to despair. Nikita had taught her that.

"You're right. It's over," Claire said soothingly to Nikita, and to herself. "You came through it, and you've won...."

Nikita raised her head up and met Claire's shining eyes. "Won?" she asked.

The young girl smiled. "Yes," she answered, nodding her head vigourously. "You won, and he lost. Your attacker wanted to destroy you, but he didn't. He wanted to crush your spirit, and ruin everything, but you beat him...."

Claire gave a happy laugh. "The fact that you love Michael, and he loves you, proves that you defeated your enemy, doesn't it?"

Nikita wiped her eyes and smiled a slow, tremulous smile. "Yes, I suppose it does..." she said with a little laugh. She hadn't thought of it exactly that way, but it was true. All in all, together and separately, she and Michael had beaten many enemies, not the least of which was Section One.

Despite everything that had been done to separate them, she thought they had never been closer. They seemed to be in total synch on this mission, as well as on a private level. They were in tune with each other.

"Michael's the one that got you through it, wasn't he?" Claire continued with certainty. "He's the one who.... healed you...."

Nikita's smile widened. "Yes," she said softly. "That's right..."

Michael could barely contain himself in his hiding place. He wanted to burst out onto the path and yell that it wasn't true. Why was Nikita lying to Claire now, after she had been so frank about everything else? She couldn't mean what she had said, could she?

He tried to control his guilty anguish, making himself take deep breaths to calm down. Michael listened intently as Nikita explained further.

"Michael made me believe in myself," she went on. "He showed me that I didn't have to be a victim, that I could still be true to myself even under the worst of circumstances..."

"Michael's saved my life many times," Nikita continued fervently. "He's risked himself for me more times than I can count. He's always looking after me..."

"You mean, in your security work?" asked Claire, wide-eyed. "I guess what you do is very dangerous..."

The blonde nodded. "Yes it is. Extremely so. But I'm not afraid. I know I can survive anything, with Michael's support."

Claire gave her a look of admiration. "You're so brave, and so strong..." the girl added wistfully. "I wish I could be like you..."

Nikita took Claire's hand in hers and squeezed it encouragingly. "You know what I think?" she said, smiling warmly into the young girl's face. "I think you are very strong, and very, very brave. And I know you will get through this, Sweetie. I KNOW you will."

Claire reached for her and puled her into an impulsive, heartfelt hug. The women clung to each other for a time, tears welling, but this time they cried not from sorrow or pain, but because of their shared hope, rejoicing in the renewed strength they had given each other.

Finally, Claire pulled back from the embrace and wiped her streaming eyes. She smiled brightly at the other girl and stood up. "If it's okay, I think I want to go back to talk to my father now."

Nikita nodded, and rose to stand beside her. "Sure," she answered. "I'll escort you..." Nikita knew Claire was uneasy about walking through the grounds herself, past the site where the rape had taken place.

Claire held up her hand. "No, I want to do this alone. I want to prove to myself that I'm not afraid.."

Nikita nodded in understanding. "I'm proud of you," she said softly. Claire gave her a dazzling smile and then turned to walk swiftly down the path, her step light and carefree.

Nikita watched her go, still smiling, then startled when she heard a noise behind her. She whirled around swiftly and found herself face to face with Michael, who had stepped from his cover of leaves onto the path.

Their eyes met, telling each other everything. No words were necessary. With a little sigh, Nikita went into his arms, slipping her hands around his broad shoulders.

With a groan, Michael lowered his mouth to hers and took her lips in a fervent, searing kiss. He trembled in her embrace, and Nikita knew that Michael also drew strength from her, as she did from him, and that somehow her touch healed his wounded soul as much as his kisses healed hers.

Still silently, perfectly, communicating, they broke the kiss, and of one accord, turned to walk eagerly, arms around each other, toward their quarters and the bed of sweet healing that awaited them.

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

While they had been in the garden, absorbed in finding closure for the past, the present time had advanced, unnoticed. Now the two lovers were startled to see that the day was done, and the magic of twilight was upon them.

Deep streaks of peach and lavender painted the background canvas of pale turquoise sky, and the whole garden was bathed in a ethereal gold light that caught and reflected in the lovers' eyes and turned their hair to fire, hers burnished gold and his deep, fiery red.

Stars winked gayly at them, teasing and playful in the newborn tropical night. A soft euphoria took them, and both felt born anew as well, transformed into new creatures as the old day, with all its pain and torment of the past, dissolved into the breathtaking freshness of sweet primordial night.

It was as if the world was born anew. It was as if it was the first night, in the first Garden. And they, like Adam and Eve, were on the brink of a new and precious discovery.

They ran, hand in hand, through the paths, their hearts lighter with each step they took toward the beautiful guest house and the magic that awaited them there.

Laughing and breathless, like giggling children, they arrived at their rooms and were rendered breathless again by the sight of what the garden held for them.

Set like a jewel in the dark green grass, the pool glittered with starlight as well as the last rays of the departing sun. The molten colors of the sunset were caught in its liquid depths. They had timed their arrival perfectly to be here at this fleeting, breath-taking moment, and knew that this display of captured light was a gift just for them.

Michael smiled at Nikita and began eagerly stripping off his clothes, then pulling on hers, anxious for them to immerse themselves in the combined magic light of rainbow day and velvet night that intermingled like twining lovers in the water's depths.

Michael's breath caught again as he took in Nikita's lovely nakedness, her white skin gleaming in the birthing moonlight, her body silvered in the starlight and her hair burnished, glittering, and gold as the sun. "Here," Michael whispered in awe. "I want to love you here...."

Nikita answered him with a kiss. She wrapped her warm loveliness around him and he lifted her in his arms. In a few short steps, their lips still joined, Michael reached the pool's edge.

He lowered himself to the ledge, legs in the water, and then gently pushed off the side. Together they sank over their heads into the magical, molten light.

The water was refreshingly chill, but did nothing to cool their growing heat. The deightful feel of the water against their bodies was like another sensuous caress that added to their own.

They danced, intertwined, weightless, twirling in the buoyant rainbow light, nothing under their feet. It was if they were dancing inside a star, floating majestically in space.

Giddy, disoriented, breathless, they broke the surface, gasping and laughing together. Michael, hair streaming past his powerful shoulders, eyes alight with passion and reflecting the thousand stars caught in the water, looked like he belonged to it, an ocean god, a son of Poseidon, emerging from the sea.

And she was Venus, pure and lovely. She was a sea-goddess, a Siren, a mermaid that called to him, and now that he had caught her, now that he held this elusive, magical goddess in his arms, he never wanted to let her go.

They kissed again, and their bodies pressed closer still, cool wet skin against cool wet skin. Nikita shivered, not from cold, but from flaming passion.

She felt herself being lifted again, and looked up to see that Michael was swimming with her to the shallow end. He reached the steps there and emerged from the pool, carrying her in his arms. He crossed to the skirt of velvet grass that framed the pool and laid her down gently on the soft green lawn that would serve as their Eden-bed.

With a soft cry, Michael covered her body with his and submerged himself in her, wrapping his velvet darkness in her gleaming light. They merged and danced together on the soft grass, hearts, souls, bodies intermingling just as the light of the stars, the sun, and the moon had intermingled and danced together in the soft depths of the pool.

Lost in each other, they never noticed the moment when the last of the day faded, the sun passing the reins of the sky to the rule of moon and stars. They went on obliviously celebrating the glory of their new-found light long into sweet and velvet dark night.

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

Nuch later, Michael reluctantly left the warmth of Nikita's arms to complete th rest of his mission.

Michael moved silently through the gardens, now dark and still at three a.m. in the morning, stealthily making his way toward Elliot's office. The lush foliage of the grounds provided him perfect cover. He had no trouble avoiding detection from the other security teams on patrol. Dressed in black mission gear and black mask, he blended perfectly into the shadows of the tropical night.

He reached Elliot's private domain without incident. Luck stayed with him, providing the gift of an unlocked door into the main house. He entered quietly, and then moved quickly down the hallway until he found himself in front of Elliot's office door. This, too, was unlocked. So far, so good.

He slipped inside the dark room, closing the door softly behind him, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the almost total absence of light. He unhooked a small flashlight from his belt and used it illuminate his way to the large desk.

Seating himself in the chair, he booted up the computer, cringing a little at how loud the humming sound it made was in the stillness. He flipped up his mask and pulled off his gloves, and began to type on the keyboard.

His luck held. The password Birkoff had given him was accepted, allowing him entry into all of Elliot's personal and business records. In just a few minutes he had accessed the pertinent files, inserted a disk in the drive, and copied everything he needed.

Then his luck changed.

The office door opened and for a moment a figure stood silhouetted against the bright hallway light outside before the door closed again behind them.

Michael drew his gun and got to his feet, slipping back against the far wall, making his way toward the unexpected visitor. He sensed rather than saw, where the figure was. When he was within a few feet, he made his move.

He pounced, swift as a panther, pulling the intruder up against him with a firm grip around the figure's throat. He raised the gun and pressed it against his prisoner's temple.

"Don't move," he whispered.

His captive trembled in his grip and let out a soft whimper. "Please," the quivering young voice begged with a sob. "Please don't hurt me..." Michael froze. He knew that voice.

Christ, he thought to himself. The intruder was not one of Elliot's security guards as he had assumed. The intruder was Elliot's daughter. She began to cry in earnest now, shuddering against him, terrified. He didn't have the heart to continue her torment, to leave her shaking in fear for one more second.

Michael released her, holstering his gun and patting her soothingly on the shoulder. "Shhh, Claire, it's all right," he whispered. "Don't be afraid..."

"Michael?" she gasped in the darkness. "Is that you?"

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, his voice a mixture of anxiety and annoyance. She couldn't have picked a worse moment to discover him.

"I came to see Daddy," she whispered back, keeping her voice low just as he did. "I thought he'd be here. He spends all his time on the computer lately- he hardly sleeps at all."

"He's not here," said Michael, stating the obvious. "You need to go back to bed. Now," he urged her, moving them both toward the door, his hands on her arms.

"But Michael!" she protested, still whispering. "What's going on? What are you doing here?"

Just then the door was flung open in front of them, and the overhead light was flicked on, bathing them in a sudden flood of glaring light. Michael blinked, then tensed, when he saw the figures in the doorway illuminated by the bright light.

Mark Elliot stood glaring at him angrily. He was flanked by two of his guards. Both had grim expressions on their faces, both had their weapons drawn and pointed directly at Michael.

"Yes, that is the question, isn't it?" drawled Elliot, staring fixedly at Michael. "What ARE you doing here, Michael?"

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

Michael was silent, simply returning Elliot's gaze with a blank stare of his own. His hand still rested on Claire's arm, who stood wide-eyed in front of him.

"Claire, Honey," her father said tensely. "Step away from him. Come here to me."

Michael knew he could have used the young girl as a hostage, could use the threat of harm to her to make good his escape. But he was loath to make of her a human shield. It was too dangerous. The last thing he wanted was for this innocent child to be hurt.

With firearms present, there was the chance she might get caught in the crossfire; he couldn't take that risk. He released her, dropping his hand from her arm, and took a step back away from her.

Claire stood frozen, moving neither toward her father or away from Michael. She merely gazed into her father's angry face, and then turned her head to look into Michael's eyes, her expression a mixture of bewilderment, fear, and trust.

Michael gave her the slightest smile and a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Then he shoved her firmly forward towards Elliot and his men. "Go," he told her softly. "Do what your father says."

Claire staggered towards the door with a frightened gasp, then shrank back against the far wall of the study, tring to make herself small and invisible.

Michael faced the guards and lifted his hands slowly in the air. His green eyes sought and held Elliot's, once again fixing his captor with his blank stare.

Elliot stared back, then broke the gaze first, his eyes flickering to the glowing light of the computer screen. He crossed the room to the desk, glancing quickly at the open files displayed there.

He looked up again contemptuously at Michael. "I thought you were someone who could be trusted," he sneered. "But I see I was wrong."

He straightened slowly from the desk, eyes still locked with Michael's. "You're nothing but a common thief."

Elliot jerked his head at the guards. "Take him to the other wing. The bondage room. He won't escape from there."

Elliot smiled evily. "Do whatever it takes to make him talk." The guards moved forward, each gripping Michael roughly by his arms. Elliot turned to go out the door. But all of the men had forgotten Claire's presence.

"No, Daddy!" the young girl cried out, rushing toward her father, clutching his arm. "Don't hurt him! He's not a bad man! I'm sure there's a good reason Michael is here. He wasn't stealing from you..." she pleaded.

"Honey," Elliot said impatiently, gripping her by the arms and holding her firmly away from him. "He's not who you think he is. He came here to break into my computer files. But don't you worry," he promised her, glancing sharply up at the stoic Michael. "I'll take care of him.."

"NO!" Claire sobbed out, anguished. "No, Daddy, please! Please don't hurt him!"

She tried to pull out of her father's grip, but he held her fast against him as the men dragged Michael past them out the door. Michael whispered something to the struggling, weeping girl as he went by.

"Go to Nikita..." he pleaded, voice low and urgent. "Tell her to run..."

Elliot overheard him and laughed. "No need to worry about your wife, Michael. You'll see her soon enough," the flesh-peddler taunted him.

"When you get to the bondage room, you'll find her already there..."

Enraged and alarmed, Michael struggled to break free from the guards' hold. He managed to escape the grip of one of the men, only to be felled by the other. The guard brought the butt of his gun down sharply on Michael's temple, and he went sprawling on the hallway floor.

The last thing he heard before he fell into darkness was Elliot's gloating laugh and the little girl's anguished scream.

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

Michael awoke, disoriented and with a splitting headache, to find himself standing upright in a windowless room. He felt the rough textured concrete of the cold wall on his bare back, and realized he was hanging by handcuffs attached to a spike in the wall above his head.

He groaned, the pain in his shoulders almost as intense as the throbbing in his temple. He blinked several times to clear his blurred vision and then turned his head, trying to get his bearings.

What he saw made the breath catch in his throat. A few feet away from him on the same wall, chained in the same way, was Nikita. She was hanging, slumped and unconscious, her head lolling to one side resting on her shoulder.

Her shirt had been removed and she was clothed only in a thin, sleeveless t-shirt and panties. Alarmed, Michael yelled out her name. "Nikita!" he called to her. "Nikita, please! Are you all right? What did they do to you? Nikita!"

She did not stir or answer him, remaining quiet and still, and as unresponsive as before. Michael grimaced and pulled against the cuffs, struggling futilely, desperately, to free himself.

The door opened then, and a smiling Elliot strolled in. He was completely in his element, having had vast experience before in breaking in recalcitrant victims, most of them in this very room.

The majority of the "products" broke within a few short hours, often begging to have the chance to obediently work at whatever sexual task he assigned them, if only they could be freed from this room.

Elliot expected these two thieves to respond the same way. In fact, the interrogation would probably go very quickly, Elliot surmised, since he doubted the fiercely protective Michael would allow his wife to suffer very long at the hands of his men before he talked.

Michael glared at his captor and yelled out again. "What did you do to her?"

Elliot smiled. "Don't worry, Michael. She's just drugged, not dead."

He walked over to the unconscious operative and threw Michael a taunting glance. He placed one hand on the curve of Nikita's lean hip and smiled again.

"Tell me, Michael," Elliot asked in a conversational tone, running his hand caressingly down the blonde's sleek thigh, "Who do you work for?" Michael choked, tasting bile, his stomach heaving, feeling sickened and violated by Elliot's touch on Nikita.

"Don't hurt her, please..." he begged.

"I won't," Elliot answered, dropping his hand from Nikita and walking to stand in front of Michael. He smiled into Michael's ashen face, one side of which was streaked with dark, half-clotted blood.

"As long as you tell me what I want to know," Elliot finished. "I asked you a question. Who do you work for?"

Michael turned his face away. "I can't tell you," he said in an anguished whisper.

"What a pity," said Elliot with a laugh."Then I guess you'll just have to watch while my men enjoy themselves with your wife."

He went to the door and opened it, gesturing for his guards to come in. The men entered and went to stand on either side of Nikita.

Michael struggled and thrashed wildly, but he couldn't get free. The only thing he managed to accomplish was to scrape his wrists raw against the cuffs.

" You said what you did was disgusting and degrading," Michael yelled out a challenge. "I thought you said you had decided to turn over a new leaf...."

"You said you were going to stop..." Michael reminded him defiantly. "You said you weren't going to do it anymore..."

Elliot stared at him, unblinking. It was true, right after the rape, when he thought Claire would not recover from her ordeal, he had bargained with the gods, had been willing to make a deal with fate-- his obsessions for his daughter's sanity. But now that Claire seemed to be on her way back to normal, the urgency of his bargain faded.

He realized what he liked about it was not the sex, but the feeling of power his position gave him. He was addicted. He got his kicks on the thrill of controlling people.

He smiled, and gave Michael his answer. "Yes, I did say that. And I WILL stop." He gestured for the guards to come closer. "As soon as you tell me everything I want to know."

Michael watched in horror as the men approached Nikita and began touching her, one of them snaking his hand under her shirt, while the other slipped his fingers down the waistband of her panties.

To his even greater dismay, Nikita finally came awake. She would be spared nothing, Michael thought despairingly, wishing fervently that she were again mercifully unconscious.

He groaned loudly as she opened her eyes and instantly panicked, twisting and flinching away from the touch of the men. She screamed.

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

Elliot smiled. "Very good, Michael," he gloated. "Very, very, good."

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

Michael closed his eyes, not wanting to see Elliot's smiling face anymore, gloating over Michael's utter defeat. He knew now he would have to tell this monster about Section One, and about their plans for Elliot's clientele.

It was the ultimate betrayal of all that he worked for for the past fourteen years. To break like this, to reveal the existence of Section to an outsider was something he was trained never to do. He had endured torture many times, and so far had always found a way to get through it.

He had never once given the enemy anything.

Until now.

This was different. He could have withstood any amount of physical pain inflicted on himself, but he was totally unprepared to watch Nikita suffer. Especially not in this way. Not after he had heard her pour out her pain to Claire and sob in the young girl's arms. Not after he knew her childhood had been devastated by the trauma of rape.

He couldn't put her through that trauma again. Not when he had the power to stop it. He would do anything to spare her that, even if it meant betraying Section, or his own sense of honor, or himself.

She was his weakness.

Elliot had gestured to the guards to back off from Nikita when Michael had capitualated. Michael had met Nikita's terrified eyes and then looked away, relief for her and self-loathing for his own weakness warring within him.

Now Elliot demanded his price for his "kindness". "C'mon, Michael," Elloit taunted him smugly. "Let's hear it. Tell me everything I want to know..."

Defeated, Michael licked his lips, took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak.

But before any words could come out, the door of the room was suddenly wrenched opened and flung back on it's hinges, clanging loudly as it hit the inside concrete wall.

"What the....?" Elliot swore, turning angrily to face whichever of his unlucky subordinates who had had the audacity to interrupt him. "Whoever you are, I'm busy," he shouted. "Just go the f*ck away...."

The intruder stepped slowly from the hallway into the room, calmly holding her head high. She had long dark hair, flashing eyes, and a stubborn set to her mouth.

She crossed her arms across her chest and used her foot to kick the door closed behind her. She took a defiant stance in front of the torturer and his shocked victims, who, along with the guards, had all gone silent at her approach.

"No, Daddy," stated Claire in a mulish tone. "I'm not going anywhere."

***********

Elliot stared in stunned disbelief at his daughter, his mouth gaping open. She had never been in this part of the house before, had never witnessed anything of the sordid side of his life. He had always presented himself to her as a respectable businessman and devoted father.

Now, to have her standing here, in the room where he did the dirtiest of his business, filled him with a sudden rush of shame. His embarrassment caused his voice to be high and thin as he asked her to leave again, this time in a pleading tone.

"Honey, this is no place for you," he wheedled. "Why don't you go back to your room now and I'll come talk to you later, all right?"

Claire did not respond obediently as he had hoped. With a defiant lift of her chin, she stepped further into the room. "No, Daddy," she said, her eyes glittering dangerously. "We'll talk right here. Right now."

Michael shifted uneasily in his bonds and clenched his jaw tensely. For once, he agreed totally with Elliot. This was no place for a young girl. He wanted her out of there- he wanted her safe, not in the middle of this ugly business.

He locked eyes with Nikita, whom he could tell was having the same reaction to the child's presence as he was. The blonde trembled, and the exquisite blue eyes were filled with dismay.

Michael turned to meet the child's eyes and gave her a silent shake of the head, and a pleading look, urging her to leave as well.

Elliot was growing impatient with his recalcitrant daughter, and a little angry. "Listen here, young lady," he scolded her. "You go back to your room right now, or I'll...."

"Or you'll WHAT?" Claire cut him off sharply. "What will you do to me, Daddy?" she demanded, the anger in her voice barely controlled.

Her gaze flickered over to the two armed guards at the far side of the room and then back to her father.

"What are you going to do? Shoot me?" she asked, her voice dripping sarcasm.

She crossed the room to Michael, walking past her stunned father to draw close to the captive operative. Her eyes softened as she looked at his blood- streaked face and the angry red marks on his wrists. She placed one hand very gently on his sweat-soaked, heaving chest.

"Or will you just have me bludgeoned unconscious like you did Michael?" she went on in a low, tense voice. "And handcuffed to the wall?"

"Claire!" Elliot protested, finally finding his voice.

His daughter shot him a furious look and stalked the few feet from Michael to stand in front of Nikita. She gently stroked a lock of Nikita's disheveled blonde hair back from her face. Nikita let out a small, soft sob at her touch, hot tears falling on the younger girl's fingers.

Claire's eyes welled with answering tears and her lower lip trembled, but her voice was still firm as she went on. "Or will you drug me like you did Nikita?" demanded Claire harshly.

She whirled to face her father, and her voice broke on her next bitter words. "Or will you let them .. rape me... like you were going to let them rape Nikita?" she sobbed in hoarse anguish.

"Baby, no...." gasped Elliot, again stabbed with guilt. He went to envelop his weeping child in his arms, but she flinched back away from him, as she were burned by his touch.

"I'm sorry, Honey," Elliot pleaded. "I'm so sorry those men hurt you..."

"Oh, really? You're sorry?" Claire asked, mocking surprise. Her lip curled in contempt.

"And I suppose you're sorry, too, for what you did to all those other girls as well?"

Elliot looked confused. She couldn't know the extent of what he did, could she? As usual, Elliot took refuge in denial.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, feigning innocence.

Claire laughed bitterly and pulled something shiny and round from the pocket of her sweater. It was a computer disk.

She held it up for him to see. "I'm talking about all the girls, some younger than me, that you sold into slavery, Daddy," she went on, now intensely calm. "I'm talking about all the girls--- all the CHILDREN--- that you sent to market, like so much meat...."

"No! I..." Elliot protested lamely again.

"Don't bother to deny it," Claire told him softly."I've seen all the evidence." She tapped one finger against the disk. "It's all right here....."

Michael's eyes widened and he felt his mouth go dry. He realized at that moment, along with Nikita and Elliot, exactly what it was that Claire was holding.

It was the disk he had downloaded from Elliot's computer. It was what Section had sent him and Nikita in to retrieve at all costs- to retrieve or die trying.

"Oh, God..." he heard Nikita whisper beside him. "Oh, dear God...."

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

Elliot realized what his daughter was holding at the same time the two operatives did. In her hand was the sum total of his entire sordid life- all the records of his dealings in human flesh, every transaction, every greedy buyer and their weaknesses, every child he had sold to further his empire of wealth and power.

It was all there, all the foulness of his life in one neat package. His victims had been reduced to "products". On the disk, and in Elliot's mind, the people he had sold and enslaved were not listed as human beings deserving of dignity, but as dollar signs followed by numbers on an accounting sheet.

Without the disk, he had nothing.

Nervously, he licked his lips and inched closer to his angry child. "Honey, just give that to me now..." he said gently, and reached out his hand to take the disk from her.

The girl flinched back away from him, cradling the disk to her chest. "No, Daddy!" she said vehemently, shaking her head. Then she wavered, looking into her father's pleading eyes. "No, not... yet..."

Nikita, alarmed, called out to her young friend. "Claire! Listen to me, please!"

The girl pivoted and turned to look at Nikita, her face showing her bewilderment and confusion.

Nikita knew only too well the conflict of loyalties that the child must be feeling. She knew the girl had become close to her and Michael, in a very short time, and had formed an emotional bond with them that was strong and deep. But she also remembered what it was like to be a child wanting to please and trust a parent, even one who had proven themselves beyond a doubt to be unworthy of that trust.

She had to reach Claire before she weakened further and gave in to her father's wishes.

"I know he's your father, Sweetie," she began, voice low and rapid. "But you can't let him just go on with business as usual..."

Claire's eyes never left Nikita's face. She stood listening intently, and, encouraged, Nikita went on. "He pretends to be a good person, but he's not. You know that. And it's because of his lies and his pretence that you were hurt..."

Tears welled in Claire's eyes and she broke out in a sob. She clutched the disk even more tightly to her chest and hung her head, crying brokenly.

Elliot roused himself, no longer feeling guilty and ashamed, but suddenly indignant.

"Oh, come ON, now!" he sneered at Nikita, glancing from her to Michael and back again. "Please! Give me a break! If you want to talk about lies and deception, what about what you two did to her, huh?"

He turned to Claire, eyes wide and sincere. "They used you, Honey," he said in a persuasive soft voice. "They lied to you about everything. They never gave a damn about you at all- they only pretended to care about you so that they could get into our home and steal from us...."

He flung his arm out, gesturing at the two prisoners behind him. "They're not heros, Baby," he pleaded urgently, pointing his finger at Michael and Nikita. "They're selfish, heartless bastards who just wanted to rip you off...."

He straightened, and turned accusatory eyes to the captives. "Isn't that right, Michael?" Elliot spat out scathingly. "Go on. Admit it. A thief and a liar- isn't that what you are?"

Claire lifted her head, eyes glistening with tears. She took in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, then walked with great dignity to stand in front of Michael. His pain-filled green eyes met hers, silently conveying his remorse and his sympathy to the young girl. She sighed again and held the look, regarding him thoughtfully.

"Is that true, Michael?" she asked softly. "Is that who you really are?"

A hushed silence filled the room, as all of them waited tensely for his answer.

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

They listened, but no words came. The silence stretched out, the tension grew thicker, as Claire waited for an answer. Still Michael did not speak.

"Please, Michael.." Claire begged. "Just tell me who you are..."

Michael closed his eyes and turned his head away. His options were few, and none of them appealed to him.

What could he tell her? he thought. Right now, as long as she knew nothing of Section, she was safe. He couldn't explain that he and Nikita worked for the most covert anti-terrorist organization on the planet. If he told her the truth, it would be a death-sentence.

He could weave some kind of tale for her, paint himself as a hero on a white horse, but the truth was his life wasn't all purity and light. He WAS a killer, and a thief, and he HAD lied to Claire, had deceived her about his reasons for being there.

He wanted her to trust him now, but he didn't see that feeding her more lies was the way to do that. He had lied glibly thousands of times to targets over the years. He had manipulated people with ease; he was a master at it. But now, for some reason, the words that should have flowed so easily would not come.

For some reason, he could not bear to heap upon this child another falsehood, another betrayal of her trust. Maybe he respected her too much to do that. Or maybe he sensed that another betrayal now, coming on the heels of so many others, would shatter the girl's soul beyond repair.

"I can't tell you who I am," Michael finally choked out. "Or why I'm here..."

He heard Nikita gasp audibly at his side. Elliot snorted triumphantly and interrupted, shaking his head at Michael. "Christ, you are lame," he taunted the other man disdainfully, then turned to address his daughter. "You see, Honey, I told you that he was a liar..."

Claire held up her hand. "Let him finish," she said quietly, then again looked into the tormented green eyes. "Go on, Michael," she encouraged him. "I'm listening."

"Your father's right," Michael went on in a soft, barely audible voice. "We did deceive you about why we came here..."

Elliot grinned and rolled his eyes, while Claire bit her lip to hold back a sob. The eyes that held Michael's gaze were filled with pain.

"But, I swear to you, it wasn't all a lie.." Michael went on. "I could make up some pretty story for you, but that would only confuse things and make your decision that much harder for you to make..."

"You have two choices," Michael continued, after pausing to take a deep breath. "You can believe your father, or you can believe us. You'll give the disk to whoever you trust the most."

"And I can't make you trust me, or Nikita. I could tell you that it was never our intention to hurt you, and that we did what we did not for reasons of personal gain, but for a higher purpose- to protect the innocent....."

"Oh, PLEASE.." interjected Elliot with a sneer. "Spare me your sickening nobility, for God's sake.."

Claire turned her head and fixed her father with a look of such dignified intensity that his next taunt died on his lips, and he subsided into embarrassed silence.

The young girl turned back to Michael, and gave him a nod. "Go on," she said again. "Please."

"I could tell you that Nikita and I do care for you, that we care what happens to you, and it would be the truth," Michael continued in the same calm, soft voice, as if Elliot had never interrupted him.

"But words are cheap. In the end, you'll have to base your decision on your own best judgement," Michael finished. "That's all I can tell you."

Claire stood quietly for a few moments, regarding him solemnly. Then she closed her eyes as if in pain and swayed where she stood. When she opened her eyes again, they were filled with anguished tears.

"Just tell me one thing," she sobbed, looking pleadingly from one prisoner to the other. "Were you either of you ever really my friend?"

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

Nikita's lower lip trembled and tears welled in her blue eyes. "Yes, Darling, yes," she answered emphatically. "You know we are..."

Claire gave her a tremulous smile through her tears but then shook her head, still bewildered and confused. "But how do I KNOW?" she asked helplessly. "How can I tell for sure?"

Nikita opened her mouth to again reaffirm their affection for the girl, but then stopped herself. She was used to dealing with things on an emotional level, and her first instinct was to soothe Claire with endearments and reassurances. But then she realized that Michael was right.

Sentimentality could be feigned. Words were no proof. Anything she said, no matter how tender and heartfelt, could always be interpreted as just another manipulation. She floundered for what to say that could possibly help, and the words of advice that had helped her in a moment of need came back to her.

"Claire, think it through," Nikita told her, echoing Michael's words. "What have you seen with your own eyes?"

The girl's head came up at Nikita's words, her eyes wide and startled. That was it. That was her solution. "Yes.." she whispered to herself, her mind working furiously. "My own eyes..."

Elliot harumphed impatiently. "Good point, Kiddo," he commented sarcastically. "You saw Michael stealing the computer files right in front of you. You caught him red-handed."

He held out his hand, palm up, toward his daughter. "It's over. C'mon, hand over the disk," he ordered.

Claire disobeyed, making no motion to move the disk from where it was, nestled against the bosom of her sweater.

"I also saw Michael give himself up," she continued in a dreamy tone, her mind drifting back over the details. "With my own eyes. I think he didn't put up a fight because I was there, and he didn't want me to get hurt...."

Elliot snorted derisively. "It could also mean he's a coward, too..." Claire turned thoughtful eyes to her father. "He had a gun, Daddy. He could have shot me if he wanted to, and then escaped...."

"So he didn't shoot you," Elliot sneered. "That was big of him.."

"He was so gentle with me," Claire went on dreamily. "Just as gentle as he was with Nikita..." She shook her head. "I don't think he faked that. I think he really cares about me..."

Elliot rolled his eyes, but remained silent. He was beginning to feel uneasy. The possibility of Claire actually choosing the phony security team over him was suddenly very real.

The girl looked up at Nikita. "Michael tried to save my life, didn't he?"

Nikita, her throat choked with tears, could only answer with a nod. "But you tried to save me, too," the young girl went on, staring into the azure blue eyes. "I was dying inside, and.. and.. you pulled back from the edge..."

Her face crumpled in tears. "You showed me how to go on, after I thought everything was destroyed...."

Michael's breath caught in his lungs. Whatever the outcome of this day, whether they lived or died, he knew he had never been more proud of Nikita than he was at this moment. She had indeed saved this child, with her strength, and with her unending tender compassion.

Claire struggled for control, then managed to give Michael and Nikita each a small, tremulous smile.

"Baby, c'mon now..." Elliot interrupted warily, alarmed at the growing comeraderie bewtween his daughter and his rivals. "Don't forget all I've done for you..."

The smile faded instantly when she turned next to face her father. "I haven't forgotten, Daddy," she said in a deceptively soft voice that concealed the hard anger underneath.

"Let's see," she began quietly. Her gaze fixed on Michael's bloody face and then moved to Nikita's thigh, where a large dark bruise from the guard's rough handling was just beginning to show.

"I've seen you torture people with my own eyes," she stated calmly. Elliot swallowed hard, but was silent, not able to think of a proper denial for this obvious truth.

Claire next held up the disk, staring at it in fascination. "I've seen THIS with my own eyes, too." she went on. "You stole their lives, Daddy," she said, turning the disk over and over in her hand, letting it catch the light, staring, mesmerized, at its shining surface.

"You cheated all those women out of their futures," she went on softly, beginning to cry again. "You took their dignity, and their sense of self-worth, and you killed it...."

"Baby, please, I'm sorry..." Elliot choked out, fear and shame again, for the moment, overwhelming his endless confidence.

"Because of what you did, because of your dirty business..." Claire continued, her voice rising, growing louder with each word until she was almost shouting, "....Because you are the callous, cruel man that you are, you almost killed me too..."

"Honey..." sobbed Elliot, crying in earnest. "Honey, I..."

"Shut up!" his daughter screamed. "Just SHUT UP!"

Chest heaving, eyes flashing, Claire raged on. "Then afterwards, you lied to me. You said things would be different, that YOU would be different...."

"But that was another deception, wasn't it?" she yelled. "Wasn't it?"

"Baby, no..." Eliot blubbered. "Honey, I promise, I'll change. "I'll make it up to you. Just give me a chance..."

Claire watched him crying brokenly, and her face grew calm and her breathing quieted. For a moment it seemed to Michael that she had made up her mind to give in to her father's entreaties for mercy.

He held his breath until she began to speak again, this time in a steady, low voice.

"No, Daddy, I'm sorry. I don't believe you. And I don't trust you. And I think I know now who has been lying to me, and who has been telling the truth...." she finished, smiling steadily at her friends.

Elliot sobbed harder, burying his face in his hands. Michael closed his eyes and sighed in relief while Nikita let out an involuntary gasp of surprise.

Claire walked to her weeping parent and put her hand gently on his shoulder. "But I will give you another chance," she said softly.

He looked up at her with hopeful eyes. "You will?" he asked eagerly. Claire nodded and held out her hand. "Give me the key to the handcuffs and let them go," she whispered.

Elliot hung his head and nodded. Slowly, he reached in his pocket and handed her her a small shiny piece of metal.

The girl sighed and moved back to the prisoners. In a moment, Michael and Nikita were both free, and holding each other in a fierce embrace.

Claire slipped the disk into the pocket of her cardigan, then took off the sweater and wrapped it around Nikita's shoulders. She was immediately enveloped in a hug, Michael and Nikita's arms around her for one brief, but intense, last moment.

She stepped back from them to again stand at her father's side. "Good-bye," she said softly.

Elliot wiped his eyes and gestured to the guards. They went to the door and stood on either side, holding it open for the operatives to exit to their freedom.

Michael, his arm around Nikita, led her outof the room, but they both turned in the doorway for one last glance at Claire. She did not see them, her face buried in her father's shoulder, clutching him as if she never wanted to let go.

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

The sun was just coming up, golden pink light filtering through all the windows, as Michael and Nikita made their way through the house, both grateful to be out of the horrid, windowless torture room and finally, wonderfully, free.

Michael kept his arm around Nikita, wanting to feel the comfort of her closeness and to reassure himself that she was indeed all right. She did not show it, but he knew that she must have been deeply shaken by almost being raped by Elliot's men. Michael was shaken by it as well, the memory of their touch on her was an almost visceral pain in his insides.

The knot of uneasiness in his gut did not diminish as they moved closer to escaping the house- in fact, it seemed to grow in intensity, until it was a screaming presence that would not be ignored.

His footsteps slowed as they approached the exit, and he came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the hallway. He turned to Nikita and saw that she was looking as uneasy as he felt.

"Michael," she said in an urgent whisper, "we're free and clear, but Claire isn't." She looked back down the corridor to the room from which they had escaped. "Elliot says that he'll turn over a new leaf, but how do we know for sure he'll really do that?"

She shook her head and pushed out her lower lip stubbornly. "Claire may trust him to change, but I don't...."

Her eyes took on a faraway look, as she stood remembering a hard lesson from the past. "He's contrite again now, but after we're gone, what happens if he goes back to his old ways? Claire could be in danger again...."

She clutched eagerly at Michael's arm, gripping it firmly, and then looked pleadingly up into his eyes. "What happens if Elliot decides it's Claire's fault that he lost all his power and his wealth? What happens if Elliot blames Claire for everything?"

*Likie your mother blamed you* Michael thought, but did not say the words, his face softening as he looked at her. "That won't happen," he reasurred her gently, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. "Elliot will never hurt her again."

She looked into his eyes, startled. "How can you be so sure of that?" she asked with a shocked gasp.

He smiled sweetly at her and took her arm to pull her back down the hallway the way they had come. When he did so, the uneasy knot in his stomach dissolved into a feeling of warm peace.

"Because we're not leaving her here," he told her, rushing down the hallway, relief flooding him as he made his decision. "She's coming with us."

Nikita gave a happy laugh and, holding onto Michael's arm, began walking faster and faster, breaking into a run as she urged him through the house back to Claire.

Breathless, holding each other, they hurried on.

They did not have to go all the way back to the torture room to get to Claire. As they rounded a corner, they saw her, running at break-neck speed toward them. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and her voice quavered with fear as she yelled out a warning to them.

"Michael! Nikita! Run! He's coming!" the girl screamed.

"Claire?!" Michael said, gripping her by the arms and holding the panicked young girl by his side. "What is it? What's going on?"

"It's Daddy," she gasped out, struggling to get her breath. "He said he wasn't going to let you take everything from him..." She started to cry. "Oh, Michael," she sobbed. "It was a trick! He just pretended to give in! He pretended to be sorry..."

She tugged on Michael's arm and took Nikita by the hand, pulling them both back around the corner. "You have to get out of here!" she cried in panic. "He's sending his men to get the disk back... He told them to kill you..."

As if to underscore her words, rushing footsteps were heard in the corridor behind them, and then a bullet whizzed past their heads.

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

They ran. Pushing themselves to the limit, they managed to stay just ahead of the guards. Weaving through the maze of corridors, they finally reached the end of the hallway and crashed through the doors leading to the outside.

They were in another one of the ubiquitous garden rooms. Disoriented, Michael whirled around, trying to get his bearings. Nikita stood gasping beside him, unsure as well of which way to go.

"This way!" Claire urged them, gripping Michael's hand.

They operatives followed the swiftly running girl, staying right on her heels as she led them past fountains and pools, weaving through a maze of flowerbeds and charming garden rooms, that would have enticed them to linger under any other conditions but these.

Now, unarmed and fleeing for their lives, they ignored the beauty all around them and focused on only one thing- escape.

Hearing the rustling of foliage several feet behind them as the guard continued their pursuit, Michael picked up his pace, almost pushing Claire in front of him. Nikita was doing a good job keeping up at his side.

It seemed they were going in circles, trees following trees, one fountain after the other, through one garden and on to the next, each one blending into the rest. He was just beginning to doubt whether Claire knew what she was doing when they burst out from the trees onto a paved area that held just the means of escape they needed.

They stood on a wide driveway that edged a large building that was obviously a garage. Through the open doors they could see an array of expensive, sleek sport-cars parked inside, some with dust covers over them.

But Claire did not lead them into the garage, but around the building to a small concrete pad at its side, where a rusty pick-up truck was parked.

"It belongs to the gardener," Claire explained breathlessly. "He always leaves the keys in it..."

Nikita was the first one to reach the driver's side of the battered vehicle, pulling open the door. She slid behind th wheel and cranked the engine, grining widely when it roared to life at the first turn of the key.

While she started the truck, Michael led Claire around to the passenger side, pulling the door open and urging her inside.

Before either of them could clamber into the truck cab, another bullet whizzed past them, pinging loudly on the vehicle's roof.

"Hold it right there!" one the burly guards who were pursuing them shouted out, emerging from the trees and crossing to them across the driveway. His companion followed him a few steps behind, both men aiming their weapons steadily on a point on Michael's bare back.

Michael closed his eyes, shuddered and then lifted his head, his expression grim. He didn't want to surrender, but he saw no other way out of it. Like the scenario in the office the night before, Claire, an innocent, again stood in the line of fire.

"Okay! Don't shoot!" he called out to the men, who were holding their position several feet away. He shoved Claire in front of him, pushing her away from the target zone of his body. He faced the men and raised his hands slowly in the air.

"Michael..." Nikita hissed at him through the open passenger door. She was still sitting behind the wheel reving the engine. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, Nikita," he responded in a low voice as the men slowly approached, cautiously moving closer. "I cant' risk Claire getting hurt..."

The girl, who had staggered a few feet away, heard him and let out a soft gasp of shock in the back of her throat. She saw the men closing in on her friends and made her move.

She leapt in front of Michael, pressing her back to him, her arms spread wide to shield him. Michael gripped her shoulders, and tried to push her away. "Claire, no!" he yelled at her.

The red laser dot of the guard's rifle no longer glowed in the center of Michael's chest, but on Claire's white blouse.

"Stand back!" yelled one of Elliot's men. "We just want them, and the disk.." He held his ground, his aim never wavering. "You can stay out of it..."

Claire stood her ground. "Get in the truck, Michael," she whispered to him. "Take Nikita and go. "I'll be fine..."

She turned her head and raised her voice to address her father's henchmen. "I'm not going anywhere," she shouted at them. "Go ahead and shoot me..." she taunted, confident that the men would back off.

"Sh*t," swore one of the men. To the their amazement, he did not lower his gun but raised it to shoulder level, sighting along the barrel of his weapon. "I'm sorry, Kid," he said. "But the Boss said if we had no other choice, we could take you out, too...."

The child staggered back against Michael as if hit by a heavy blow. It was the ultimate betrayal. Her father had made his cruel choice- he preferred his old life and his old ways over a new life with her.

Michael, standing behind a stricken Claire, watched in horror as the guard started to pull the trigger.

***********

Everything happened at once, in the space of a few seconds. But to Michael, those seconds seemed to last an eternity. As he watched the guard's finger slowly squeeze the trigger, time slowed for him, as if someone had hit the pause button on the video of his life and then advanced it forward, frame by deliberate frame.

His mind was clear. His heart was serene. He knew what he must do. "Nikita, drive!" he ordered over his shoulder, in a loud but calm voice. She obeyed. The blonde shifted the truck into gear and the vehicle started rolling. The forward movement of the truck forced the passenger door to swing partially closed against the man and the child, and it was the metal of the door, not human flesh, that caught the guard's bullet.

The only harm done was to the old truck's paint as the bullet scraped and pinged against the door's rusty surface.

Elliot's other henchman, however, had a better angle from which to aim. A few seconds after his companion fired, he, too, shot at the fleeing couple and child, aiming at the center of Claire's chest.

Still innerly calm, his world still moving in slow motion, Michael slipped his arms around the girl's slender waist and lifted her bodliy off her feet, twisting backwards with his small burden to fling both of them into the cab of the moving truck.

Claire screamed as the bullet meant for her whizzed harmlessy past the spot where she had been standing seconds before and imbedded itself in the truck's upholstery.

Michael leapt after the bullet into the passenger seat, shoving Claire ahead of him, then sprawled across her, pushing her down until she was half on the floor, half on the seat, his body covering hers. The truck was moving faster now, careening down the driveway, lurching wildy.

Michael braced himself against the dash, one arm still draped protectively around the young girl beneath him. He looked up at Nikita, noting with approval that she was sitting low in her seat, presenting as small a target as possible, and that her face held no fear, but only a look of intense concentration. He wondered fleetingly if she was in machine-mode as he was, and if time was crawling by as slowly for her as it still was for him.

His musings ended abruptly when another bullet shattered the passenger window next to him, showering everything inside the cab with flying bits of glass.

Claire screamed again as she twisted her head to look behind her at Michael and saw his shoulder and arm covered with blood.

"They shot him!" she yelled, sobbing. "Oh, God, they shot Michael!"

Nikita, trying to concentrate on manoeuvering the wobbling truck down the driveway, swerving past the guards, did not take her eyes off the road. Her face took on a grim expression and she called out to him.

"Michael, how bad is it?" she shouted, over the sound of gunfire.

Bullets pinged off the back of the truck, all of which fortunately struck harmlessly on the hard fenders and bumper, none hitting the vulnerable softness of the tires.

"I'm okay," came his shouted reply. "I think it just grazed me." In fact, he had hardly felt the bullet scrape its burning trail across his flesh. The pain would come later, he knew, when mission and the calmness of his time-slowed state came to an end.

"Hold on!" Nikita yelled a warning, as they approached the gate to the estate. The two armed guards had been left behind, but others were stationed by the front exit, blocking their way.

She stomped on the accelerator and floored the old truck, which surged forward with a powerful roar, bearing down on Elliot's men.

None of them had time to take shots at them, opting instead to leap to safety, out of the path of the large, barrelling vehicle.

Michael clutched Claire tightly with his good arm and the child screamed again as the truck impacted, then broke through, the gate, shattering its fancy wrought-iron grill-work with ease, leaving it teetering on its hinges in twisted shreds of black metal.

After crashing past this last barrier, the truck took the turn onto the highway on two wheels, then settled back with a jolt to the pavement, not seeming to lose any speed. They went careening to safety down the road.

They were free.

Michael let out a breath and sat up. It was then that the regular clock-speed of the universe returned, as if the pause button was stopped and overridden by the the button marked "play".

He pulled Claire up to sit on the seat beside him, then groaned harshly as the pain in his shoulder hit him.

Nikita turned concerned blue eyes to him, alarm flickering in their azure depths. "Michael?" she said, her voice rising in panic. "Are you all right?"

He grimaced, then tried to smile, succeeding only half way. "I'm fine," he gasped out, then closed his eyes, slumping back against the seat.

Along with the pain, he felt a sharp, sweet gladness at the intense look of love in her eyes.

"Here..." whispered Claire softly, pressing her handkerchief firmly, but gently to the oozing wound. "Lean on me..."

She shifted herself behind him so that he could rest his head on her shoulder. Michael was too weak to protest; he allowed the child to cradle him against her, letting himself relax in her slender arms.

The last thing he remembered before he passed out was the feel of Claire's soft lips kissing his cheek and her trembling fingers slipping into his to hold his hand.

The two women watched over him in silent vigil as the truck traveled on, carrying them back to Section.

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

Nikita staggered out of the truck into the hallway of the van access corridor and gave a relieved sigh as she saw the medical team rushing toward her with a stretcher.

"It's Michael," she said, gesturing back at the truck where the operative still lay unconconsious and cradled in Claire's arms. Weariness overcame her and she leaned against the cold metal wall, almost too tired to stand up.

Despite her fatigue, she watched alertly as the med-team carefully extricated the wounded amn from the truck and laid him gently on the gurney. Claire slipped out of the cab of the truck and went to stand next to Nikita, who automatically slipped her arm reassuringly around the young girl's shoulders.

Claire stared at the pale form on the stretcher, then looked up into Nikita's blue eyes, her expression distraught. "Will Michael be okay?" she whispered.

Nikita patted the girl's shoulder and forced a smile. "He'll be fine," she said firmly. And you will be, too."

"Claire..." Nikita went on in an intense whisper, "Things might get scary for a while, but everything will be all right, I promise you..."

She felt the girl tremble beside her, and gripped Claire's shoulder tighter. "They'll probably separate us for a while, but I'll come see you. Just hang on and be brave--- can you do that for me?"

Claire nodded and swallowed hard, and shifted closer to the tall blonde, seeking comfort in her friend's nearness.

They watched the med-team bustle around the stretcher, then rush the gurnery with its precious cargo down the hallway and around the corner, out of sight.

A second later a silver-haired man with cold blue eyes emerged from around the corner and came toward them, an expression of stern dissaproval and annoyance on his face.

His eyes flickered over the disheveled women, Nikita in only underwear and the long sweater, and Claire in her crumpled white blouse, stained with Michael's blood.

"Well?" he demanded, glaring at his least favorite operative. "What is the meaning of this?" he said, jerking his head toward the frightened girl. "What happened?"

To soothe him, Nikita reached into her pocket and presented him with the disk. "Michael retrieved all of Elliot's files," she reported softly. "It's all there."

Operations looked a little mollified at this, and took the disk from her with a nod. "And?" he went on gruffly, but looking much more relaxed than he had the moment before.

"We were intercepted during egress," Nikita summarized, knowing how much Operations hated long stories. "Michael was shot when we made our escape."

The older man nodded, then turned his intense pale-eyed gaze on the child. "And what is she doing here? Why the hell did you bring Elliot's daughter along?"

Claire bit her lip and shrank back from his fierce glare. Frightened even further, she huddled even more tightly against Nikita, saying nothing.

Nikita straightened and lifted her chin, giving Operations a defiant, firm reply. "Claire saved our lives and helped us escape," she stated firmly. "Her father resented that and ordered her to be shot. We couldn't leave her there."

Her eyes dared him to deny the logic of her actions.

He held her look for a moment, glaring back, then gave in. "Very well," he acquiesed with a sigh. "Get cleaned up and then debrief. Young Miss Elliot can go to Level 5 until we decide what to do with her."

Nikita let out a breath, sighing in relief, and nodded. "Thank you," she said softly, knowing that Claire now had a chance.

Claire, eyes wide, bravely stepped away from the shelter of Nikita's arm around her and looked trustingly up into the older man's face. She gave him a tremulous smile. "Will you take me?" she asked, feeling suddenly comfortable with this intimidating man, now that Nikita had relaxed in his presence.

To Nikita's total shock, Operations smiled back and took the girl's hand in his. "All right," he agreed, leading her down the hallway. "It's this way..."

Nikita shook her head in disbelief and blinked, but the figures were still there, still real- the innocent young girl and the jaded, gray-haired man, hand in hand, smiling at each other in Section.

She stood, leaning agianst the wall for support for a moment until the pair dissapeared form her sight down the hallway. Then she smiled suddenly to herself.

Given Claire's charm and bravery,and her strength and courage, maybe the words Nikita had told the young girl hadn't all been a lie.

Maybe everything would be all right, after all, she thought.

And then, with another sigh, she turned and walked the other way through Section.

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

Nikita, after having showered, changed and gotten through her debrief, practically flew down the hall to Medlab. She was fairly certain Michael was in no danger of dying, but a blow to the head and a bullet wound were separately enough cause for concern; the combination of the two had her more than worried.

And even if it had only been a scratch, she still wanted to see him, to assure herself that he was all right.

She was relieved beyond measure when the first person she met when she entered Med-Lab was Brian, and he had smile on his face.

"He's this way, Nikita," said the handsome doctor, putting his hand under her elbow and leading her down the corridor to the med-bay where Michael was being treated.

Nikita hurried along by his side, grateful for his comforting presence. "How is he?" she asked with a worried glance at her friend.

"Mild concussion, some loss of blood, but the wound where the bullet grazed him wasn't too deep- superficial, only," Brian reported in doctor-mode. "Not life-threatening, but certainly painful."

He switched his tone from professional warmth to that of friendly chiding. "He needs to rest, and he's fighting me every step of the way." Brian grinned. "That's always a good sign, you know?"

Nikita grinned back, feeling relieved. "Yeah, I know," she said, giving Brian's hand a quick squeeze. "Thank you," she whispered to him, her eyes conveying her gratitude.

Brian nodded, and stopped, indicating that they had reached the med-bay. She turned her head and looked into the small room, her heart stopping for a moment as she took in the sight of Michael lying pale and still on the bed, his forehead and one arm and shoulder bandaged.

"Michael?" she said softly, and approached him, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. He turned hazy green eyes to her and tried to lift his head off the pillow.

She pushed him back down with a gentle hand on his chest, and scolded him softly. "Easy, Michael, just lie still. Brian says you need to rest..." she soothed.

"I've already given him a sedative," Brian said from behind her. "But he won't relax enough to let it take effect." The young doctor shook his head. "Maybe YOU can get him calmed down enough to rest, huh?"

Nikita turned to smile at him. "I'll try," she promised, and turned back to look at the agitated man on the bed.

Brian sighed. "Thanks, Nikita. I'll leave him in your capable hands." He strode forward and patted Michael gently on his uninjured shoulder. "See you later, buddy, okay?"

Michael gave him a small nod and a begrudgingly grateful look. "Okay," he answered softly. He didn't mean to be difficult and give Brian trouble, but there was no way he could rest now, worried as he was about Claire. He felt he should be up, doing something.

"Where is she?" he asked Nikita, tossing his head on the pillow. "What did they do to her?"

Nikita knew exactly who he was talking about, and was swift to answer him and soothe his worries. "She's okay. They took her to Level 5."

"I want to see her..." Michael said groggily, and tried to sit up.

Nikita knew the sedative must be effecting his powers of reason, but not his stubborness.

"Shhh, Michael. I'll go see her," Nikita promised. "And I'll make damn sure nothing happens to her," she assured him, taking his hand in hers. His fingers slipped around hers and gripped hard. "Thank you.." he said faintly, fighting his weariness.

"You promise you'll rest now and let me take care of Claire?" she said softly.

The green eyes focused on her for a long moment, their expression suddenly clear. Nikita knew that despite his injuries and the drugs, he knew exactly who and where he was, and what he was saying.

He sighed deeply and she felt his whole body relax as he closed his eyes and sank back into the pillows on the bed. All the tension was gone from his face, and his hand still gripped hers. It was as if he had been waiting for her assurances before he would give up his struggle to remain conscious and allow himself the comfort and surcease of pain that the sedative would bring.

"Oui," he said softly just before he drifted off to sleep. "I trust you...." he said on a sigh, then was quiet, his breaths coming slow and deep.

Tears stung her eyes at his words. She was touched to her soul that he had spoken such an obvious truth outloud, although for years she had known that it was true. She only hoped she did not fail his trust this time.

With Michael incapacitated in Medlab, it was up to her to see that Section did not add to the harm already done to the young girl, to see that she was safe. And Nikita was determined to do just that.

She sat holding his hand for a moment longer until his grip slackened as he relaxed into sleep and she slipped her fingers gently from his. Feeling all her deep love for him, she leaned forward and kissed him, light, soft, and sweet, on the mouth.

Michael smiled in his sleep.

Nikita collected herself and stood up, and with one last look at her lover and friend, went out to fufill her promise.

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

Deep in the lower levels of Section One, behind a door locked from the outside, another wounded denizen of Section slept.

There were no physical wounds visible, but the injuries went deep, nevertheless. Inside the sleeping child, her soul was torn and bleeding, her dignity shredded to bits, and her heart broken.

The rape had been brutal enough, ripping not just her flesh but her sense of herself and her trust in people. Especially her trust in her father.

His love had been the center of her whole world. Since her mother died, he was the one source of affection and meaning in her universe. He made her feel anchored, he made her feel important, and needed.

Claire moaned in her sleep. She may have been important to him once, but not anymore. When it came down to the choice between losing his sordid empire or losing his daughter, Claire had found out just how little she was worth.

Nothing. Her life meant nothing to him. And that was how she was beginning to see herself. As a person who had no value at all.

The gray-haired man had led her here to this room, and she had trusted him initially, because.... she didn't know why.

Maybe it was because he reminded her of her father a little, with his supreme confidence and air of assurance. He had seemed so familiar, somehow.

But when he had locked her in the room and then strode away, Claire had somehow felt abandoned all over again. To this man, just like to her father, she was an inconvenient problem to be gotten out of the way.

She felt totally alone. Her mother was dead, her father had deserted her. Michael would keep her safe, but the last time she had seen him he was unconscious on a stretcher. Nikita was the only one left, and she was under the thumb of the abrupt gray-haired man.

Feeling violated and bereft, and too emotionally exhausted to stand up any longer, Claire had collapsed on the bed in her cell as soon as the door had closed behind her. She was tired. Too tired to even cry.

Still in her bloody shirt and torn jeans, she lay down on the coverlet and fell quickly into a restless, dream-filled sleep.

She lived it all over again in her nightmares. Her mother's death. The rape. Her father's betrayal. The gun aimed at her chest. The bullets hitting the truck, one of them ripping through Michael.

She moaned again, and tossed on the bed, her body twisted across the blanket.

"Mama..." she cried out in her sleep. "Mama...."

The door opened then, and Nikita entered the room, her golden hair silhouetted against the light from the door. She ran to the girl on the bed and scooped the weeping child into her arms.

"Shhh, Baby, shhhh," Nikita murmured, rocking her gently. "It's all right. I'm here..."

Claire clutched at her fiercely, and, eyes closed tight, pressed her face into her friend's shoulder. She found the strength to cry then, sobbing brokenly against the soft golden hair.

Nikita went on rocking her, and holding her, until the child's sobs subsided and she relaxed in Nikita's arms.

It was the second time in an hour that someone had fallen asleep because of their complete trust in her. Nikita set her mouth in a firm line, and vowed silently that she would do whatever it took to not betray the trust Claire and Michael had placed in her.

Gently, she laid the girl down on the bed, her body now limp and relaxed in slumber. She covered the child with the blanket and kissed her softly on the forehead.

"I'll take care of you," Nikita whispered. "You can trust me."

Somehow, she would make things all right again for Claire. Somehow, she would keep her promise.

Straightening from the bed, she squared her shoulders and went out of the room, headed for Madleleine's office.

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

"Come in, Nikita," Madeleine greeted her calmly when the blonde stalked into her office. She seemed unperturbed by the state of agitation that her operative so obviously displayed.

"I want to talk to you abut Claire Elliot," Nikita demanded curtly, eyes blazing. "What are you planning to do with her?"

Madeleine calmly gestured to the chair in front of her desk. "Please sit down," she invited politely, then gave Nikita a small smile.

"Nothing's been decided yet. We're still considering our options," the older woman answered serenely.

Nikita let out a long breath, and plopped into the chair, but did not relax, staring hard at the beautiful brunette. "And those options are..?"

Madeleine swiveled in her chair to face the blonde, and gave a small sigh. "We could kill her, of course," she began bluntly.

Nikita nodded, her face grim. She had expected this answer, but was not prepared for just how horrific it felt to hear the words spoken out-loud.

"And?" Nikita prompted, lifting her chin defiantly. "What else?"

Madeleine steepled her fingers together and leaned back in her chair. "We could do some testing. See if she's Section material..."

"Recruit her, you mean?" interjected Nikita in a mulish tone. This option was scarcely better than the first. Or maybe it was worse.

"That's right," Madeleine answered. "She's young, but she may have potential.."

Nikita shook her head. "Any other alternatives?" she asked sarcastically, wanting Madeleine to know that the first two choices were unacceptable to her.

"A few," replied Madeleine with a small smile. "I'm wondering if she can still be used by us to keep her father in line...."

Nikita shook her head again. She didn't want to, but she had to be honest about it. "It won't work," she said, rubbing her hand across her chin thoughtfully. "He's proven he doesn't have any regard for her life..."

This option seemed worse than the others. This way, Claire would be a prisoner indefinitely, perhaps threatened, perhaps even tortured, to keep Elliot in check. Death would be preferable.

"Then that leaves us just one choice, doesn't it?" smiled Madeleine. "Memory modification."

Nikita blinked, needing a moment for the idea to sink in. Then an echoing smile spread across her face, lighting up her eyes. "She won't remember being here in Section, right?" she asked eagerly. "And you'd let her go?"

"Yes, that's right," nodded Madeleine, then qualified her statement.

"Actually, we could make the memory loss more inclusive than that..."

Nikita threw her a curious glance. "Meaning what?" she asked.

Madeleine tilted her head and gave Nikita an appraising look. "I think it would be more merciful to erase her memories of her most recent traumas," she explained gently. "Her father's betrayal. And the rape..."

Nikita's eyes widened. "You could do that?" she gasped. "She wouldn't remember any of it?"

Madleine nodded. "No, she wouldn't," she replied with an almost wistful smile. "She would have memories, of course, but only of what we choose to program into her psyche. We would replace the ugly memories with ones of a more ... pleasant nature..."

Nikita sighed and looked gratefully at Madeleine. "You'd leave her whole, then," the blonde said with a thoughtful, dreamy expression, as if she were somewhere else, far removed in space and time, lost in a memory of her own.

"You'd leave her believing her father loved her, and that she had never been betrayed, or violated?" asked Nikita hopefully. "She'd be healed..."

"Exactly," replied Madeleine softly. Then she paused a moment and added, "Sometimes not everything we do here, Nikita, is ugly and cruel..." She fixed Nikita with her warm brown eyes. "I'd like you to remember that."

Nikita returned her look, the expression in her eyes just as warm. "I will, Madleliene," she promised with a tremulous smile. "Thank you.."

Madeleine seemed to collect her self then, and pulled herself out of her gentle mood. "Is that all?" she asked in a business-like tone, signalling that her guard was back up and she had reverted to her usual cold, analytical state.

Nikita jumped up from her chair. "Yes, that's all," she said with alacrity, eager to leave now to tell Michael that all would be well.

She gave Madeliene one more grateful nod, and then walked from the room, her step light.

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

Two weeks later, a little girl was talking to her classmates in her new boarding school. She had long dark hair, sparkling eyes, and a happy, serene expression on her face.

"Yes, that's right," she said, explaining her background to her new friends. "I'm an orphan. My Mama and Daddy were killed in a car wreck when I was twelve. But it's like they're still here with me, you know?"

One of the girls nodded. Several of them had lost parents, too. "What were they like?" her new friend asked eagerly. They loved to hear stories of the "old days".

"They were very much in love, the girl called Claire went on. "Totally crazy about each other. And my Mama had the most beautiful blond hair and blue eyes. But Daddy's eyes were the softest gray-green...."

The girls moved in closer, listening raptly, as the tale of happy memories went on.

In a car parked a discreet distance away, a man with soft gray-green eyes lowered his binoculars and sighed. "Let's go," he said, turning to his blonde companion. She smiled at him, giving him and affectionate glance with her warm blue eyes, and then drove away.

The End

Send suggestions and comments to ranma.
OR
If you would like to send a comment to Lorraine, click HERE!!