"We're trying to leave you out of it, Nikita," Michael's wife said gently, her voice full of sympathy.

"And it's not a game we're involved in," she added softly. "It's a mission."

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

"A mission?!" Nikita gasped, her mind reeling. She staggered backwards and sat down hard on the bed, her legs giving out from under her. "I don't understand..."

Michael sighed impatiently, his nerves stretched taut to the breaking point. "We can talk about it on the way," he said tensely, his jaw clenching, feeling as if each moment they spent talking was a step closer to having Nikita drawn into Wilson's web. "We have to go, NOW. There's not much time...."

He pulled Nikita to her feet and headed again to the door. Again, Karen blocked his way.

Michael, we can't," she pleaded urgently, putting her hand on his arm. "We can't run away. They'll find us, and then they'll cancel us..."

Michael shook his head. "No, they won't," he insisted, "Not if we act quickly enough, before they find out..."

He shook off Karen's hand on his arm, and then grabbed her by the shoulder to move her out of the doorway. "I have an escape plan in place, but we have to go now, while there's still time..."

"NO!" Karen gripped him roughly by the collar, pulling him back into the room. "Michael, you're not thinking straight!" she hissed at him, alarmed. "There is no time! Section already knows...."

Michael paled. "What?" he demanded, his face registering his shock.

"The surveillance, Michael," Karen answered insistently. "You told me yourself that the surveillance in the house had been activated..."

"Oh, Christ," Michael swore. He closed his eyes, swaying on his feet, felled by this new blow. He had been so thrown by Wilson's frighteningly lascivious interest in Nikita, and his urgent need to save her from him, that he had forgotten all about the fact that Section had been watching.

Karen loosened her grip on Michael and looked sadly at Nikita, who was staring at the other two, still in shock at these revelations.

"Madeleine was no doubt listening to Wilson say he wanted Nikita to come with us to Markham's," Karen continued wearily, as discouraged as Michael was. "They've probably already been running sims to factor Nikita into the mission. Most likely, they'll be calling her in any minute now..."

As if to punctuate her words, the next moment Michael's cell phone rang. He flinched visibly, as if struck, then closed his eyes in despair. None of the three spoke as the phone trilled ominously twice more.

On the fourth ring, Michael jerked the instrument viciously out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. "Yes?" he barked angrily. "What is it?"

"Hello, Michael," Madeleine's melodious voice responded. "I see there's been some progress on your deep cover mission..." Her voice dripped with satisfaction. "We're working on the profile now, but we'd like your input..."

"Of course," Michael answered, almost choking on the words. He took a deep, shaky breath. "Do you want me to come in?" he asked tightly.

"That won't be necessary just yet," Madeleine answered in an amused tone. "Tomorrow will be soon enough."

She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was less pleasant, her tone harder than before. "There's a briefing at one o'clock," Madeleine ordered harshly. "Don't be late. And don't forget to bring Nikita with you."

Michael opened his mouth to protest, but the line had been disconnected before he got the chance.

Defeatedly, he slumped down on the bed, sitting in the same spot where Nikita had been a few moments before. He put his head in his hands, and in a low desperate voice he told them what Madeleine had said.

"Briefing tomorrow at one o'clock," he whispered tensely. "They want Nikita there..."

He looked up at the two blonde women disconsolately. "We could still run..." he suggested half-heartedly.

Karen shook her head, and went to sit beside him. She put one arm comfortingly around his shoulders. "No, Michael," she said soothingly. "It's too late for that. But maybe we can still work out a way to protect Nikita...."

Nikita, who had been holding in her curiosity during all these cryptic exchanges, finally lost her patience.

"Protect me from what?" she demanded, exasperated. "What is this mission? And who the hell is Markham?"

Michael looked up at her and wearily attempted to explain. "Markham is an arms dealer. He's our end game."

Nikita nodded, still not understanding. "And is he the one you're protecting me from?" she queried.

Michael looked away. "Yes," he said quietly, his face grim. "From him, and .... Wilson."

Nikita gasped. "Wilson?" She stared at Michael in shock. "But I thought Wilson was your lover, your friend...." she blurted out in a bewildered tone. "I thought you cared about him....."

At the mention of Wilson' name on Nikita's lips, Michael uttered a sharp groan, and was instantly off the bed, flinging wildly around the room, his eyes wide with distress. He reached past Karen and grabbed the lamp off the nightstand, and hurled it full force against the wall, where it crashed loudly, shattering into several pieces.

Nikita jumped in fright. Karen, looking resigned, did not seem surprised.

Then Michael's rage abated, giving into despair. The women watched him in horror as his face crumpled and he broke down into great heaving sobs, standing defeatedly in the center of the carpet.

Karen went to him, pulling his head down on her shoulder. He cried brokenly against her, as he had done so many times before in the past year. Karen understood his grief, and knew what pain he had endured.

She knew now that there was no way Michael could ever explain to Nikita the agony he had suffered at Wilson's hands.

"Shhh, Michael, it's all right," she soothed, cradling him and patting his back as if he were a small child. Karen looked past Michael's shoulder and met Nikita's frightened eyes.

Nikita had never seen Michael so anguished, so distraught, so... heart-broken. Despite the fact that Michael was in Karen's arms, she couldn't stop herself from going to him, placing her hand along his shaking back, as his sobs still wracked him.

"What's wrong, Michael?" she whispered. "What can I do to help?"

Karen fixed her with a look again, and gave a small shake of her head, warning Nikita not to press further.

She kissed Michael's cheek swiftly, and then brushed back a lock of tangled hair from his face. "You're exhausted, Michael," Karen said gently. She led him toward the bed and made him sit down.

Michael, spent, obeyed unresistingly, slumping down on the coverlet, his sobs subsiding to be replaced by a killing numbness.

"I want you to lie down and rest now," she ordered firmly. "I'll take Nikita into the other room and fill her in, all right?" Karen gave the other woman another sharp glance, her eyes again full of warning.

Nikita obeyed Karen's unspoken command. "She's right, Michael," Nikita soothed, as Michael turned tear-filled eyes up to hers. "You should get some sleep, okay?"

"You're sure?" he choked out hoarsely.

Nikita smiled reassuringly and pushed him gently back on the pillows. "I'm sure," she told him softly, and then pulled the edges of the coverlet over him, wrapping him in its warmth.

Exhausted, Michael lay still, let out a sigh, and closed his eyes.

At the doorway, Karen clicked out the light and then jerked her head at Nikita. "Come," she said, the word both an invitation and a command. "We've got a lot to talk about."

Swallowing hard, still bewildered, Nikita glanced one last time at Michael's still form on the bed, and then followed Karen out of the room.

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

When they reached the end of the hallway, Karen paused, and turned to look at Nikita behind her. "Which way is the kitchen?" she asked the other woman.

Nikita shrugged. "I don't know. I've never been here before."

Karen's eyes narrowed at this somewhat revealing statement. "I haven't either," she said softly. The women exchanged a look, and then preceded further into the apartment. The kitchen was not difficult to find, being across the hall from the living room, just beyond the formal dining space.

Karen began opening cupboards, while Nikita took a seat at the long counter. "What are you doing?" she asked, eyeing Karen speculatively.

She hadn't yet figured Karen out- was she enemy, or friend? A rival, or ally? Karen seemed at once angry at her and protective of her at the same time.

And Karen also seemed very devoted to Michael. And familiar with him, and- though Nikita did not like using the word- intimate. Karen knew his ways, she was comfortable with him. She, unlike Nikita, did not seem as disturbed or unsettled by Michael's unprecedented outburst. It was almost as if Karen had seen Michael cry before. How was that possible? Nikita thought. She herself, at the sight of Michael's tears, had never felt so shaken.

"I'm making coffee," Karen answered, rummaging in the refrigerator. "This being Michael's house, I'm guessing he'll have some coffee here somewhere..."

Frowning, she closed the fridge, and opened another cupboard she hadn't tried before. "Aha!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "I told you! Here we are, six different kinds of coffee..."

She looked over her shoulder at Nikita. "Which do you want?" she asked, rattling off the selections. "We've got Colombian, French Roast, Jamaican Blue Mountain..."

"Tea," interrupted Nikita stubbornly. "I like tea."

Karen sighed, closed the cupboard with a bang, and turned around to face the woman at the counter. "Of course, you do," Karen snapped. "You always have to make things difficult, don't you?"

Nikita sat up straighter, going on the defensive. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked warily.

Karen stared at her a moment, then rubbed her hand wearily over her eyes. "Nothing," she answered curtly, then let out another sigh.

"Look, I know it's not your fault, because Michael obviously didn't explain anything to you. But the fact remains, if you hadn't come looking for him, if you hadn't come to the house, everything wouldn't be nearly as screwed up as it is now..."

Nikita stiffened, but remained silent. Karen went on. "As it is, if we make it through this coming weekend without losing our lives, or our sanity, it'll be a miracle.."

Nikita lost her patience then, slamming her fist down on the counter. "Damn it, I'm totally in the dark here and you aren't making anything clearer," she yelled. "Why don't you stop with the jibes and just tell me what the hell is going on?"

Karen blinked, staring at her for a moment, then let out another sigh. "You're right," she capitulated. "I'm sorry." She sighed again. "Look, why don't I make you that tea, and you can ask me any questions you like. Deal?" Earnest blue eyes looked into blue.

Nikita held the look for a moment, then nodded. "Deal," she agreed.

Karen put the kettle on and put the tea-bags in the mugs while Nikita pondered her first question. She by-passed the mission questions, and went straight for what was bothering her.

"Who are you?" Nikita blurted out. "Are you really Michael's wife?" She bit her lip as soon as the words were out, wishing she could call them back, but it was too late.

Karen seemed jolted by the question. She stared at Nikita for a long moment, her body tense and stiff, and then something seemed to break in her, and the bitter words flowed, but all the bile was directed inward.

"Let me introduce myself," Karen began, her mouth twisted in self-loathing. "Karen Hopewell, Level Two, Valentine operative. Or in other words, a Section whore."

She whirled to face the stove again, not wanting to see Nikita's shocked face. Her back to the other woman, Karen continued her invective self-analysis.

"I was transferred in from the Eastern Sector just for this assignment. Madeleine arranged it. Michael didn't know I even existed until he was briefed on the mission." Karen sighed again. "A mission he hates as much as I do..."

Nikita watched silently as Karen paused to fuss with the tea things, noting that Karen's hands trembled as she poured the water from the kettle into the mugs on the counter. Nikita didn't want to do anything to stop Karen from continuing her narrative, so all she did was murmur a low "thank you" when Karen shoved one of the mugs of tea toward her.

Nikita held her breath, and Karen went on.

"Everything about us, everything you saw, was a lie," Karen said tensely, frowning down into her tea cup as she leaned back against the counter. "The house, the marriage, that party, the sex...." She gulped, and took in a shaky breath. "It was all for the mission."

She looked up at Nikita then, angrily wiping away a tear from one eye. "Surely, you must know that someone like Michael, so reserved, so private, so .... gentle, would never choose that kind of life-style for himself..."

She gestured around the apartment. "THIS place is Michael, not that fancy show-place of a house, and YOU..." Karen stopped, eyes welling with tears.

"What about me?" Nikita asked gently, in a sympathetic tone.

Karen's face crumpled into tears. "YOU, Nikita," she continued with a sob, "are who he would like to be married to, not me."

Nikita gasped, and then, in shock, denied the truth of this pronouncement. "No, Karen," she said softly, shaking her head. "I don't think so..." She let out a long sigh. "From what I've seen, I think Michael cares deeply about you...."

"NO, Nikita," Karen returned emphatically, taking a few steps forward and slamming her tea mug down next to Nikita's on the counter. "Let me make this as plain as I can," she stated, eyes glittering. "Michael and I are colleagues, maybe friends, but we're not lovers..."

Nikita blinked, and then interrupted her. "What do you mean?" she demanded angrily. "How can you say that? You and Michael must have made love countless times this past year....."

Karen shook her head. "No, we didn't," she continued angrily. "We performed together, we had sex, yes, with each other as well as the whole neighborhood, too. We let them screw us. But none of what we did could be called "love-making," she said bitterly. "We did what we had to for the mission."

Nikita flinched as the vivid images of Michael in bed with others that Karen's words evoked wounded her anew. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked tightly, her lower lip quivering tremulously.

Karen stared at her a moment, then sighed. "Because you wanted the truth, and I'm giving it to you." She put her hand on Nikita's arm and looked into her eyes, then continued insistently.

"Whatever you do, don't make the mistake of thinking Michael wanted it this way, or that he ENJOYED any of it, or that he DESIRED any of the partners, including me, that he was forced to be with. Trust me on this, Nikita," Karen finished sternly, recalling all the times Michael had unknowingly called Nikita's name at the point of climax with her, "The only person Michael wants in his bed is you."

Nikita struggled with this concept; from her point of view, Michael had only grown colder and colder toward her this past year, keeping his distance. Despite Karen's words, Nikita was not convinced that Michael's heart lay with her, and not elsewhere. And if it wasn't Karen that he desired, it must be someone else that had captured Michael's affections and had taken him away from her.

"What about Wilson?" she asked softly. "What does Michael feel about him?"

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

Karen reacted almost as violently to Wilson's name on Nikita's lips as Michael had before. She paled visibly, her body stiff and tense. She swayed on her feet, and then gripped the edge of the counter as if to support herself, her knuckles completely white.

"Wilson.." Karen whispered harshly. "You want to know what Michael feels about Wilson..."

"Yes," said Nikita uncertainly. She knew the mere mention of his name invoked strong emotions in both Michael and Karen- she just didn't know what those emotions were. Was it love or hate? She realized she was almost afraid to find out.

Anyone who could cause Michael to cry, and lose control, to respond so viscerally, must be someone who had effected Michael on a deep level, someone who had tunneled into his soul, and attached themselves there.

Whether that attachment was good or bad, Nikita was unsure. She was almost jealous of it, either way. Michael had at least noticed Wilson was alive. For Nikita, a woman whose own mother had rejected her, the drought of Michael's attention this past year had wounded her deeply, and fed into all her insecurities.

While her self-esteem was not ordinarily low, when it came to Michael, it was almost non-existent. There had been many times in the past when he had done things to make her feel sure that he loved her, and later, she had found out that some of those things had all been lies and deceptions. Michael kept her continually off-balance, blowing first hot, then cold. And lately, for months now, it had all been cold.

She heard Karen say that Michael loved her, desired her, but the words paled against the vivid image she had of Michael at the party, intimate with others, as he had not been with her for months. And Wilson himself, so confidently describing how much Michael enjoyed being with him, had shaken her further.

Nikita wasn't sure she was strong enough to receive what might be the final blow to her relationship with the man she loved. But she braced herself, and waited for Karen's answer.

"Please, Karen," Nikita begged, "Just tell me the truth."

Karen closed her eyes, and let out a long whooshing sigh. Then she laughed a laugh that had no mirth in it. "Really?" she drawled sarcastically. "You want the truth?"

"Yes," Nikita insisted in a firm voice, although Karen's bitter, on-the-edge attitude frightened her. "I do."

"Well then, I'll tell you the truth," Karen said tightly. She hadn't intended to reveal the ugliest aspects of their mission to Nikita. She had planned to describe things in vague terms, to cushion the hideousness in soft-focused language. But Nikita had irked her, with her inability to understand even the simplest basics of the situation's dynamics.

It was obvious to Karen that Nikita had not believed her when she had told her that Michael loved her. Nikita was not a stupid woman, in Karen's estimation- she never would have survived long in Section if she had been. But when it came to Michael, Nikita seemed incredibly slow to understand.

Stressed, anxious, annoyed, and more than a little jealous, Karen decided to set Nikita straight.

"You want to know how Michael feels about Wilson," she began with sneer, "Well here it is. Last night, after Wilson got through f*cking us, Michael went in the bathroom and threw up...."

Nikita let out a gasp, her eyes going wide.

Karen continued venting. "Then he brushed his teeth about eight times, and took a shower...' Karen grimaced. "Then he took another. And another."

Nikita closed her eyes and whimpered. "No..."

"Oh, YES!" Karen contradicted sharply, her eyes flashing fire. "That's how much Michael craves Wilson's touch. That's how much Michael loves to be screwed by him, how much he enjoys the humiliation and the abasement and.. and...." Karen broke into sobs, her voice choking on the last words, unable to go on.

"My God,' Nikita whispered. "Oh, my God.."

She slipped swiftly from her seat at the counter and went to her, taking Karen in her embrace. The other operative stiffened at first, then rested her head on Nikita's shoulder and cried brokenly.

Nikita held her and let her cry.

After a few minutes of being held and comforted, Karen recovered enough to go on. She slipped from the other woman's arms and stepped back, pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket. She scrubbed furiously at her eyes and wiped the tears from her face. Then she took a deep shaky breath and looked up at Nikita, whose eyes were tear-filled as well.

"Wilson rapes us; we submit," Karen stated badly. Her anger was gone, and the words came out not as hurled invective but in a tone of forlorn resignation. "Michael would like nothing better than to be able to kill the slime, but he- we- can't. Not yet. Wilson's our only way to get to our end game- Markham...."

She sighed, and Nikita remained silent, struggling to take it all in.

After a moment, Karen took another deep breath, and went on. "Last night's party was the last test," she explained. "We were finally accepted into the inner circle. Today, Wilson told us that Markham had invited us to party at his place this weekend."

"Markham is paranoid about security- he never leaves his house. All his arms-dealing operations are done by phone or on the internet, never in person. The only people he allows in are Wilson's little group of swingers..."

"So you and Michael had to become part of Wilson's group... "Nikita said softly.

Karen nodded. "Yes... " She closed her eyes. "Michael and I have been living in our own private hell.." She looked up at Nikita, an expression of deep pity on her face. "And now you're about to live there, too."

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

Nikita paled, standing still and stiff with shock. "No...."

Karen went to her, putting a steadying hand on her arm. "I'm sorry, Nikita," she said softly. "The last thing Michael wanted- the last thing anyone wanted- was to have you dragged into this. But when Wilson saw you at our house last night, he was instantly obsessed with you..." She licked her lips and continued nervously. "Wilson.... wants you..."

Nikita blinked, and turned her head to look at Karen. "He wants me at the weekend party at Markham's...." she gasped.

Karen closed her eyes and sighed. "Yes. Wilson made it clear that unless we brought you along, we wouldn't be allowed entry into the party..."

Nikita paled further, swaying on her feet. "I think I need to sit down," she said in a faint voice.

Karen nodded, and slipping her hand under Nikita's elbow, led her out of the kitchen and back into the living room, where the two women sank down side by side on the couch.

Nikita collapsed forward, her head in her hands. Images of last night's party and Wilson's evil smile kaleidoscoped in her head, along with pictures of the horrors Karen had described to her, interlaced with her memory of Michael screaming in his bedroom and crying, when she had mentioned Wilson's name.

Nikita took a shaky breath, and sat up straighter, turning stricken eyes to Karen. "This weekend at Markham's will be just like your party last night, won't it?" she choked out, tears flowing. "Markham, and Wilson, and the other guests, they'll all....rape us..."

Karen's eyes glistened as well. "We don't know exactly what Markham will want from us," she answered in quavering voice. "But we have to assume he's as sick and perverted as Wilson, or maybe worse..."

Nikita sobbed. "Oh, God.."

"That's why Michael wanted to run away with you tonight. And when he realized he couldn't, that's why he broke down..." Karen said softly.

She gripped Nikita's hand in hers. "You see now why he was so upset. And why he kept you in the dark about what was going on all these months..."

Karen sighed. "Michael wasn't pushing you away, Nikita," she whispered sadly. "He was trying to protect you..."

Nikita looked up at her sharply, a realization dawning. Something in Karen's wistful tone made it abundantly clear what the operative's real feelings were for her colleague.

"You love him, don't you?" Nikita asked wonderingly, eyes wide. "You're in love with Michael, too...."

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

Karen flinched and immediately released Nikita's hand from hers, backing into her corner of the couch. Eyes wide, she let out a gasp of shock.

"I... I.. don't know," she stammered painfully, then closed her eyes. "I don't know what love is anymore. I don't know if I ever did..." she shook her head, and opened tear-filled eyes to look at Nikita.

"You may be right," she admitted with a soft sigh. "Maybe what I feel for Michael IS love. But he doesn't feel the same for me... " She smiled tremulously through her tears. "Oh, he may care about me, as a friend. He may want to protect me, too. But his passion, his... ardor, his raison d'etre, all center around you..."

She looked away from Nikita then, staring unseeingly out into the room. "Michael doesn't love me," she stated flatly. "No one ever has."

Nikita was struck hard by the desperate pain behind these words. Her jealousy and her insecurities forgotten, she reached out her hand and touched Karen's shoulder, her natural compassion coming to the surface. Her words were meant to give reassurance and comfort, just as Karen had done for her.

"That can't be true," Nikita said tenderly. "Surely someone loved you..."

With a low cry, Karen jerked away from Nikita's touch, wounded further by this attempt at reassurance. "Don't patronize me!" she hissed, eyes flashing. "You don't know anything! You don't know anything about me, about my life, about what I've been through...."

Her face crumpled then, her anger dissolving into tears. She buried her face in her hands, shoulders heaving as she lapsed into broken sobs.

Unwilling to leave Karen in her pain, Nikita tentatively moved closer to her on the couch, and gently laid her hand on the weeping girl's trembling back.

"You're right," she apologized softly. "I don't know what you've been through." Nikita paused, and stroked Karen's shoulder tenderly. "Why don't you tell me?"

Karen halted in mid-sob, and sat up with a jolt, turning startled eyes to Nikita, searching her face carefully. "You really want to know?" she asked cautiously, as if she suspected Nikita's sympathy might be some kind of trick.

Nikita nodded, her face serious. "Yeah, I really want to know," she answered sincerely. "Tell me. Please."

Karen stared into the clear blue eyes and found herself unable to stay suspicious, unable not to trust. Nikita's compassion had softened her hard shell of protective defenses, and she knew here was someone to whom she could at last confide the truth.

"All right," Karen answered with a sigh, her heart easing already with the release of pain. "I'll tell you...."

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

Karen met Nikita's blue eyes, took a deep breath, and began.

"When I was kid," she said in an embarrassed whisper, "I was... ugly. Heavy. Overweight..." She sighed. "Fat. My parents were ashamed of me...."

Nikita wanted to utter a protest at this statement, but held her tongue as Karen went on.

"My family was wealthy, and very status conscious. Making a good impression in society was all-important to them, and I, being so unglamorous, was a major social disappointment, to say the least..."

Karen looked away, and gave a short laugh that did nothing to hide her pain. "But the rejection I got at home was nothing compared to what I received at school..." she went on in a low voice. "I tried to be as self-effacing as possible, but the kids hounded me, called me names, excluded me from everything..."

She swallowed hard, and fought back tears. "All I wanted was for them to leave me alone, but they didn't, they wouldn't. A gang of them, led by a kid named Greg, used to follow me home after class..." She paused to choke back a sob, lacerated by the pain of these old wounds.

"They threw rocks at me, sometimes they beat me up...." She heaved a deep sigh. "Sometimes they tried to .. touch me..."

Nikita remembered her own battles at school, when she had been attacked and beaten by her class-mates because she had no father and was poor, her ratty, hand-me-down clothes making her stand out as a target for the school bullies.

Nikita nodded. "Children can be very cruel," she said softly.

Karen threw her a grateful look at this understanding, and went on. "When I sixteen, during summer vacation from school, I decided I couldn't stand the taunting anymore. I starved myself; I exercised constantly, and the weight came off..."

She shook her head and gave a rueful laugh. "I went back to school after that summer almost skinny. And I was stupid enough to think that if I was thin, if I was NORMAL, I'd be acceptable to the other kids. I thought they would leave me alone, after I had lost the weight..."

Nikita's mouth pressed into a thin line. "But they didn't leave you alone..." she said grimly. "Did they?"

Again, Karen shook her head. "No, it was worse," she told her softly. "I was more of a target than ever...."

Nikita turned her head to observe the beautiful operative beside her. Now, in her late twenties, Karen was an incredibly stunning woman. Nikita could imagine how appealing and attractive she must have been at seventeen, a butterfly newly emerged from her heavy cocoon...

"The boys were interested in you," Nikita commented dryly.

Karen frowned. "Yes, they were. The boys who had called me derisive names fell over themselves to ask me out, and the girls who had snubbed me suddenly wanted to be my friends..."

Karen twisted her hands in her lap, and sighed. "But those kids and their phony interest in me wasn't the problem. It was Greg. He and his gang were still after me..."

Nikita blinked. "You mean, those bullies had the nerve to ask you out?"

Karen stiffened, and looked away. "They did more than that..." She answered tensely. " They didn't want dates, they wanted sex... " She swallowed hard an continued nervously. "When I refused to give into their demands, Greg told me he'd make me pay, that I'd be sorry...."

Nikita tensed. "What did they do to you?" she asked tightly.

Karen turned glistening blue eyes to hers. "They lied about me. They made up stories. They told everyone that I was a slut, that I had slept with all of them. The rumors got really out of control, but things got really bad when the principal found out...."

Karen's voice had grown softer and softer. Nikita strained to hear her.

"Our school was an exclusive, private one that my parents had chosen," Karen continued in a whisper. "It was supposed to cater to only the finest class of people. And I was considered a degenerate, morally bankrupt- a bad influence."

Karen swallowed hard, and met Nikita's eyes. "In short, they expelled me."

"That's terrible!" Nikita gasped, appalled at the unfairness of this story. "What did you do?"

Karen gave a short laugh. "I didn't have a chance to do anything," she replied with an ironic grimace. "A few days after I was expelled, Section kidnapped me."

"What? What do you mean, Section kidnapped you?" Nikita demanded, wide-eyed.

Karen sighed. "I mean, I was walking down my street and a big gray van pulled up beside me. Two men got out and grabbed me. The next thing I knew, I was in Section, where they told me I was going to be trained as a Valentine op...."

Nikita paled. "I thought Section only recruited from prison," she said tensely. "Not ...innocents...."

Karen laughed. "Well, officially, according to school records, I was anything but INNOCENT."

She paused, and continued thoughtfully. "Section didn't want me because I could kill, or steal," Karen said slowly. "They only wanted me because they thought I could .. seduce..."

Karen turned her head, and stared out into space, her voice sad, and faraway.

"I often wonder how many of those missing children you see on the back of milk cartons or hear about on the news weren't victims of serial killers, aren't dead at all, but are still alive," she mused forlornly, "Taken by Section, like me."

Nikita closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

Karen bit back tears, and tried to laugh. "Well, that's the warm, fuzzy part of my life story," she quipped, trying, and failing, to make her tone sound light. "I won't bore you with the rest of it..."

Karen stood up from the couch and began to walk off into the room. But Nikita swiftly shot out her hand and gripped Karen by the arm.

"Please," she begged, eyes searching Karen's face beseechingly, "Tell me the rest."

Karen's eyes widened. "You really want to know?" she asked, somewhat surprised.

Nikita nodded. "Yeah, I do," she said firmly.

Karen stared at her a moment, considering, then sank down into her seat on the couch. "Okay," she said with a sigh. "But from here on out the tale doesn't get any prettier."

Nikita smiled a sad, knowing smile, thinking of all the horrors Section was capable of.

"Of course not," she said wryly. "I didn't expect it to."

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

Karen smiled briefly at Nikita's quip, then gazed thoughtfully off into space again. She hadn't really meant to spill out her innermost secrets to the woman beside her. It was just that Nikita was so sympathetic, so easy to talk to, and somehow, after venting her despair about Wilson, it had seemed natural to vent older, deeper, agonies.

But despite the fact that Nikita already knew so much, Karen found herself unable to speak of the nightmare of her first months in Section, when she had been transformed from a bewildered virgin to one of Section's whores. The training had been effective, thorough, and brutal.

The timid, innocent school-girl that Karen had been was transfigured into a seductive beauty, a skilled Valentine operative. She had learned all the tricks, and learned them well. To do otherwise was to die.

"There's really not a lot to tell," Karen said dismissively, glossing over the worst of it. " They trained me for two years, and then they sent me out on missions." Karen shrugged. "You know what's it like...."

She gave Nikita an envious look. "Except maybe you had an easier time with your mentor than I did with mine.."

"Nikita eyed her warily. "Michael?" she gasped. "What do you know about my training with Michael?"

Karen eyed her speculatively. "Nothing, really," she answered thoughtfully. "Michael didn't tell me anything. I just know from the way he treated me on this mission that he wasn't a brutal bastard like my trainer was..."

Karen ran a hand through her short hair and laughed. "Michael's the kindest person I've encountered in Section," she confessed. "Isn't that.. sad?" She gave Nikita a brittle smile.

Nikita blinked back tears. "Yeah," she said softly. "Very sad."

The two women were silent for a long moment, then Nikita stirred from her reverie, and asked another question. "What did your trainer do to you?" she probed gently.

Karen laughed harshly again. "What DIDN'T he do to me?" she answered sarcastically, then let out a sigh. "Basically, Tom considered me his material, his personal property, and treated me as such."

She twisted her hands nervously in her lap, and went on. "Tom was a Class Five operative, like Michael. He chose me for mission after mission, all of them requiring that we have sex." She sighed again. "I swear, I think he designed the profiles just to humiliate me...."

Nikita stiffened, thinking about similar missions that Michael had chosen her for, missions where they had posed as husband and wife. In each case, she realized with a start, Michael could have demanded- could have ordered- so much more from her than he had.

Given his position of authority in Section, Michael could have used his power over her, to demand of her what Tom had demanded of Karen; but he hadn't.

The one time that they had had intercourse on a mission, it had been because Nikita had insisted. Michael had begun his tender love-making only after she had told him subtly, but unmistakably, that she wanted him.

"But the missions weren't the worst part of it," Karen went on. "It was the down-time that was really rough.." She paused, and licked her lips nervously. "Tom expected me to ....service him whenever he wanted it. I was his own personal plaything...."

She trembled, and then hugged her arms around herself, feeling suddenly cold. "That bastard..." she spat out. "I was really glad when he died..."

Nikita blinked. "Died?" she asked. Then her eyes narrowed. "Did you kill him?"

Karen shook her head. "No, but I wanted to." She shrugged. "Someone else beat me to it. Tom was killed when a bomb went off in his car outside his apartment. The blast was so strong, there was nothing left. The car incinerated completely..."

Nikita gave her a look, noting the tone of satisfaction in Karen's voice. "You sound real torn up about it," she drawled.

Karen smiled. "Well, let's just say I wasn't heart-broken." She shook her head. "Maybe I should have tried to pretend that I was, though. There were plenty of other people who hated Tom's guts, and who could have wanted to kill him. But Section seemed to think I was the most likely suspect."

She let out a shaky breath. "I had a real scary time of it for a while," Karen told her. "I almost thought that after Tom died that they would put me in abeyance." Karen shuddered. "But then, they transferred me out of the Eastern Sector to here, to be on this mission to get Markham."

She gave another almost envious glance at Nikita. "I didn't know what to expect when I first met Michael," she went on. "I was pretty intimidated by him, and Madeleine had made a definite point in her briefings that I was supposed to.. give him anything he wanted ..."

Nikita closed her eyes. "She ordered you to sleep with him," she stated with a sigh.

"Well, I would have to, of course, for the mission," Karen elaborated, thoughtfully. "But Madeleine made it plain that I was supposed to submit to him the rest of the time, as well."

Nikita did not really want to hear the rest, did not want to hear Karen speak about her love-making with Michael. But something compelled her to listen to the rest.

"What happened?" Nikita choked out. "What did Michael do?"

Tears sprouted in Karen's eyes. "The first night we met, I.. I was in the bedroom, and I offered myself to him, but Michael could tell I was scared, and he told me..." She bit back a sob, "... he told me I was a valued colleague and that he wouldn't use me like that... That the sex between us would only occur when it was required on the mission..."

Nikita flinched, at once both hurt and comforted by these words. Karen had had Michael in her arms for what must have been hundreds of times, and this knowledge stung. But the pain was soothed in some measure by knowing that Michael had only touched her under orders.

"Please don't be hurt by this, Nikita," Karen pleaded, seeing the pain flicker across the other woman's face. "I didn't tell you that to wound you. I was just trying to tell you that Michael sees me as a team-mate, someone he.. respects, and I value that respect highly, more than you know..."

She stopped to wipe the sudden tears that started in her eyes. "Michael's treated me with more tenderness and ..courtesy than anyone else in my life," Karen choked out hoarsely. "But I'm bright enough not to confuse that courtesy with love..." She shook her head. "The only one Michael really loves is you," she declared wistfully.

Nikita held her breath, but said nothing, her mind whirling. She struggled to process all the new information she had taken in, including this last, almost devastating, bit of truth.

Karen stood up suddenly, and placed her hand on Nikita's shoulder. "Thanks for the tea and the chat," she said softly, her mouth curving into a gentle smile. "I'll see you at the briefing tomorrow."

Nikita looked up at her startled. "You're leaving?" she asked in surprise.

"Yeah." Karen glanced down the hallway toward the bedroom where Michael lay sleeping, then turned back to look at Nikita. "If you don't believe me, if you don't believe that Michael loves you, why don't you ask him yourself?" she said, her voice soft with compassion.

Nikita blinked, shocked into silence.

"You have tonight, Nikita," Karen offered in a low voice. "Give Michael what he needs, what he deserves.." She patted Nikita's shoulder once more. "Give him your strength, and your comfort..."

Karen walked to the front door and opened it. She gave Nikita one last smile. "Give him your love, Nikita..." she whispered, and then was gone.

When the door had closed behind her, Nikita sat for several long moments frozen on the couch, silent.

She only stirred when the silence was broken by Michael's screams.

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

After his outburst of rage and tears, Michael had not thought he would be able to sleep when Karen had made him lie down, and Nikita had covered him with the blanket, the women treating him almost as if he were a child who needed tucking into bed.

Part of Michael felt he should feel patronized by this treatment, or embarrassed, or maybe touched by their tenderness. But he was too tired to feel anything. He was numb.

The events of that previous night, the stress of the long day, and the terror, rage, and helplessness had caught up with him. Physically and emotionally exhausted, his very soul drained, Michael let go, and slept.

For a short time the blessed darkness had taken him, blanking out the pain of the day, and all the horror it contained.

Until the dreams began.

**********

He was with Nikita, dancing. Music played gently in the background, and he noted absently that they were in a swank, elegant night-club. But the background details of their circumstances were only of peripheral interest to Michael. The whole of his attention was on the woman in his arms.

She wore a beautiful, white gown, her hair loose and flowing down her back, her eyes bright, her skin pink and glowing. She was radiant.

Michael eyed her appreciatively as he turned her expertly on the dance floor. "You're more relaxed than I've ever seen you..." he commented in a hoarse whisper, voice full of longing.

She modestly lowered her eyes. "Must be the full moon..." she parried, a smile curving her lips.

Michael leaned forward to kiss her, when the dream shifted, kaleidoscoping into another mission, on the day of another full moon.

Suddenly he was no longer standing with Nikita in his arms, but found himself sitting in the van, staring across the table at Walter.

*Oh, Christ* thought Michael, his stomach sinking. *Not the Shays mission....*

"Michael," the old man said in his concerned, rough-honey-toned voice. "We're running out of time..." The faded blue eyes widened. "How are we getting Nikita out of there?"

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get any words out, the scene shifted back to the night-club. This time the place was dingier than before, the lights darker, the music drearier. Only Nikita remained the same, a bright light, a warmth, in his arms.

With a terrible sense of anxiety in his gut, he gathered Nikita protectively to his chest, holding her close. At the same time, to his horror, he heard himself answering Walter's worried question in a cold, machine-like voice. "It's not the mission profile," Michael stated flatly.

Nikita clung to him, and continued dancing. Over her shoulder, Michael saw a figure approaching them from across the dance floor. Michael's blood ran cold.

"Wilson..." Michael gasped.

The lights in the club grew darker, the music turned funereal. Wilson's eyes gleamed in the low light. He stopped by the couple, and held out his hand, as if he were a suitor intent on cutting in.

"Give her to me, Michael," Wilson hissed with a smile. "She's mine now.."

Michael froze, finding himself unable to move, or make a sound.

Wilson's hand moved closer...

Overlaying the scene, came Walter's anguished protest. "Not the mission profile?" he cried out. "Michael, get her out of there, now! She'll be blown to pieces!"

Filled with agony, Michael again found himself doing just what he didn't want to do, his body taken over by the Section machine, while inside, his soul screamed in helpless terror.

Unable to stop himself, his actions no longer under his control, Michael loosened his grip on the woman in his arms, and stepped back, giving Nikita a shove in Wilson's direction.

Evily, Wilson smiled and licked his lips.

In his sleep, Michael began whimpering.

Walter's voice boomed out, reaching a crescendo of panic. "Michael! Dammit! Get her out of there!" he screamed inside Michael's head. "Nikita's in there! Nikita's in there!"

The next moments of the dream passed in agonizing slow motion. The music slowed further, and then stopped. The lights in the nightclub dimmed to black, and Nikita's inner radiance was the only illumination. Wilson's eyes glowed ominously in the darkness, and his hand moving by excruciatingly slow increments closer and closer to Nikita's pure, innocent light.

Something inside Michael's soul knew that if Wilson's hand touched Nikita, her light would go out. Still, he could do nothing to save her. He was helpless, his real self immobilized inside the prison of the cold, robotic, Section machine who controlled him.

The two scenes of the dream intertwined again, Michael experiencing being in both places at the same time. He was in the van, watching the timer tick away the last few seconds before the bomb went off, and simultaneously, he found himself in the night club, as Wilson's fingers closed the last few inches of space between him and Nikita.

Paralyzed, sobbing in agony, Michael watched the countdown, enduring the last terrible moments before Wilson's touch triggered the utter destruction of the woman he loved.

Five seconds. Hours crawled by. Fours seconds. Another lifetime. Three seconds. Aeons passed. Two seconds. One.....

Unable to move, unable to scream, Michael stood helpless as the last moments of the endless dream-time ran out. Wilson's fingertips brushed Nikita's brightness, and his touch did not dim her radiance, but sent it flaring into blazing, billowing light, consuming her.....

The bomb exploded in a shattering cacophony of rumbling noise and searing heat, and Michael felt the devastating flames burn through him, as they ripped away his life, his heart, his very soul- his Nikita.

He struggled once more, and at last, the dream paralysis lifted, and he found he could scream.

"Nikita!" Michael sobbed in anguish. "Nikita, no!"

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

Nikita flew down the hallway to Michael's room. Before she could get the door open, she heard him cry out again.

"Nikita!" he screamed. "Nikita, NO!"

Trembling, she turned the knob of the door and entered. The light from the hallway illuminated the dark room enough for her to see the figure on the bed. Michael had thrashed and twisted so much that the covers were completely off of him, lying in a tangled heap on the floor at the side of the bed.

He lay on his back, moaning, face pale, forehead gleaming with sweat. His head tossed from side to side, the auburn curls matted and clinging to his neck and face. The effect was that of a man tortured and tormented, his wails chilling Nikita down to her soul.

She ran to him, climbing on the bed beside him, and gripped him by the shoulders. "Michael! It's okay, Michael!" she soothed in a loud, insistent voice, struggling to make herself heard over his hoarse cries of distress.

He seemed oblivious to her, still lost in the nightmare, still tossing wildly, until she lay down beside him, and took his face in both her hands, trying to hold him still.

"Michael!" she shouted again. "Michael, easy! I'm here. I'm right here..."

He let out a long, shuddering breath and then opened his eyes, blinking dazedly in the dim light. "Nikita?" he asked uncertainly, holding still in her grasp.

He was disoriented and confused, unsure whether the woman who held him was real, or a phantom image from his nightmare.

"Nikita, is that you?" he whispered anxiously, still terrified. The nightmare clung to him; he was afraid that the warm female form touching him was a mirage, and that his Nikita was long dead.

She smiled gently at this response, and stroked back a lock of tangled hair from his face. "Yes, Michael, it's me. Shhhh..." she soothed, and then impulsively, kissed him on his soft, parted lips.

Michael's response was instantaneous. With a groan, he returned the kiss fervently, tasting her hungrily. At the same time his lips yielded, his body took command, arms coming up around her and turning her on the bed. His legs intertwined with hers, and he covered her with his length, hips pressing into hers. His hands moved to her wrists, holding her still, pinning her to the bed, as if he had at last found the precious possession he had lost, and never wanted to let her go.

He broke the kiss, gasping, long enough to moan against her lips, "I thought I'd lost you.." before he desperately plundered her mouth once more.

Nikita lay beneath him in a disoriented state of sudden desire that his kisses had ignited in her. She was still processing this swift change in Michael from terror to tenderness, from fear, to ardor. Her mind whirled, confused, but her heart was never more sure.

This was what she had wanted, she realized. For years. She wanted THIS Michael, the Michael who had dropped the mask of control, the Michael who had real emotions, the Michael who cried, who needed, who felt deeply, who craved and desired, the Michael who was afraid and trembling, but not afraid of showing her that she was his weakness.

This Michael was not Section's machine, Section's slick manipulator, but the real Michael, the genuine soul inside the robotic shell. This was the Michael who was fully human, and hers, hers alone.

This was the Michael she loved.

She returned his kiss, yielding her mouth to his insistent caresses; her body, her soul, she yielded to him as well. He felt her thighs go soft and relaxed against his, even as he felt himself grow taut and hard against hers.

He lifted his mouth from hers and groaned into her ear. "Nikita, please..." he begged, asking permission before things went too far.

Her answer was immediate, and as passionate. "Yes, Michael..." she moaned breathlessly, "Oh, please, yes..."

He gave a soft cry, as if all his prayers had been answered, all his dreams come true- for so they had.

Passionately, tenderly, the healing began. The pain of the past dissolved in their eager joining, both feeling complete, each receiving from the other what they needed.

Nikita received the salve for her heart-soreness, her loneliness, her emptiness filled by the beautiful lover that belonged to her alone.

Michael, at last in the arms of the one who completed him, felt the harsh touch of the other lovers wash away, as Nikita's surrender exorcised all his demons. The nightmare had gone, fading like a shadow in the light of dawn, and only a cherished dream remained.

Love. To love and be loved.

Now, through the long night, and into the bright, hopeful day, that was all they knew, that was all that mattered.

Only Michael, only Nikita, only ...Love.

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

The next day in Section, Michael and Nikita arrived several minutes early for the one o'clock briefing, but found that they were not the first ones there.

Sitting at the far end of the long conference table, blonde head bent forward, was Karen, having an earnest discussion with Madeleine, who sat calmly listening with her hands folded in her lap.

Nikita shot Michael an anxious look, and Michael's mouth tightened grimly. The scene was a disturbing one. The two women were engrossed in their private conversation, which seemed to consist of Karen pleading for something, and Madeleine sitting unresponsive, except for the enigmatic smile on her lips.

And a smile from Madeleine, Michael knew, was always a bad sign. He took Nikita by the arm and led her forward, hoping their arrival would interrupt the conversation going on at the table.

"I'll take that in to consideration," they over-heard the auburn-haired beauty answer as they came closer and took their seats at the table.

"Good afternoon," Michael greeted them politely as he pulled out a chair for Nikita and then took a seat beside her.

Karen looked up at them, startled. She had been so absorbed in her discussion that she hadn't noticed the arrival of her team-mates to the briefing. Michael tried to throw her a questioning look, but Karen refused to meet his eyes, then blushed, almost guiltily.

A shiver went down Michael's back, uncertainty roiling in stomach. What was going on?

Madeleine, on the other hand, showed no surprise or guilt at the couple's appearance, but swiveled in her chair to face them, her smile broadening. She gave Nikita a speculative look, turning her attention from Karen to the other blond operative at the table.

"Good afternoon," she returned the greeting, her voice rich, mellow, and falsely warm. "I'm sorry we had to drag you into this mission at the last minute, Nikita, but we appreciate your assistance in this matter..."

Nikita's eyes widened at this unsettling dig, thinly disguised as a compliment. She lifted her chin and gave Madeleine a defiant look, determined not to appear intimidated or afraid. "No problem," she answered, with a glibness she did not feel.

Madeleine seemed amused by this response, her brown eyes twinkling. The mellow voice probed further. "I trust Michael has spent some time with you explaining the parameters of this mission?" she asked sweetly.

Nikita nodded, blushing slightly at the memory of last night's intimate bonding. "Yes, he has," she said huskily, nodding.

Madeleine smiled again, this one almost a leer. "Good," she said gleefully. "This mission requires a rather high degree of skilled .... field mechanics, and I want you both to be ready...."

Michael shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and interrupted her. "We'll be ready," he answered grimly.

Karen paled, her eyes widening in distress. She leaned forward and opened her mouth as if to protest, but had no chance to speak as the rest of the team arrived for the briefing.

Walter and Birkoff walked together to the table, taking the two vacant chairs to Nikita's right. Neither spoke, Birkoff looking a little anxious and uncomfortable, Walter frowning in concern. Both old man and young boy each had their own qualms and problems with the mission.

A second later, Operations strode into the chamber, and took his place on the far side of the table, opposite from his operatives. He took a moment to glare briefly at each one, including Karen at the end of the table, then clicked on the view-screen and began.

"As you are all aware, the many months put in by Michael and Karen in deep cover are about to pay-off..." He inclined his silver head to the view-screen in the center of the table. "We are almost ready to capture our end-game, a notorious arms dealer known to us only as Markham..."

Walter leaned forward, peering at the scanty information in print on the screen, noting the glaring lack of the usual visual image.

"We've got no art-work on this guy?" the old man grumbled.

"No," answered Madeleine smoothly. "We know almost nothing about him. He is extremely cautious, as well as technologically savvy, about security. Markham has let almost no information out- not about his suppliers, or his sellers, or his background..."

"The only thing we do know for sure about him is his weakness for.. certain pleasures of the flesh..." Madeleine went on. She smiled wryly, then paused to glance pointedly first at Michael and Nikita across the table from her, then at Karen at her side. "Pleasures which are being supplied to him by his ..... associate, Avalon Wilson."

Karen flinched at this mention of her tormentor, and lowered her eyes to the table, her mouth twisted into a grimace of distress. Michael showed no emotion, presenting Madeleine with his best blank stare, while Nikita trembled slightly, her lower lip pushed out in stubborn disapproval.

Operations clicked the remote again, and Wilson's image filled the screen, replacing the scant intel on Markham. "Wilson is our way in," the Section leader continued with a smile. Unlike Madeleine, there was nothing subtle to this smile; Operations made no effort to hide his leer, or stifle the amused tone in his voice.

We are about to get a location on Markham soon," he continued with satisfaction. "Wilson has invited Michael and Karen to attend a little orgy with him at Markham's secret hideaway this weekend..."

Birkoff, the youngest among them, blushed, while the rest of the operatives paled.

"I hope you'll have a lot of back-up teams and redundancies on this one," Walter interjected gruffly. "This sounds tricky to me, having no location ahead of time. And Markham's bound to have a sh*t-load of fire power right there at his disposal, not to mention probably a small army..."

Birkoff nodded eagerly at the man beside him, relieved to shift the subject to less embarrassing topics. "You're right," he commented, brown eyes serious and sincere behind his glasses. "We're building a profile now, involving multiple teams that would be able to respond as soon as Michael gives the signal..."

"Hmmphh," grunted the Section's gadget specialist, rubbing his chin. "I'll see what kind of discreet com-units I can come up with, and just to be sure, Michael and Karen ought to be equipped with trackers, maybe even more than one variety..."

Walter gazed thoughtfully across the table at the lovely blond operative seated next to Madeleine. "We don't want to risk losing their signal..." he said in a kindly voice.

Karen threw him a grateful look, then went back to staring at the table top. Again, she was careful to avoid meeting Michael's eyes.

He was still unsettled at this behavior, wondering what she was hiding. Michael resolved to confront her on it as soon as the briefing was over, and find out what she had been discussing with Madeleine.

Operations smirked. "You might want to make that three sets of trackers, Walter," he drawled, glancing pointedly at Nikita.

Walter paled, looking around the grim faces at the table. Obviously he had not been told of this particular detail of the mission. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, alarmed. "What does my Sugar have to do with this?"

Madleine smiled at him and explained. "Wilson made it a condition that if Nikita did not come along, there would be no admission to the party." She glanced quickly at Karen beside her, then smiled more brightly. "Apparently Wilson has a weakness for tall blondes..."

"Has Wilson been told that we'll meet his condition?" Operations demanded. "I understood that this point was left somewhat up in the air with him, and I want this little rendezvous firmed up as soon as possible..."

He scowled and slammed his hand down on the table. "We've got too much at stake on this mission to fumble the ball now..." he growled, glaring across the table at Michael and Nikita.

Michael shifted in his chair and was about to respond to Operations' challenge, when Karen's soft voice interrupted him.

"It's already been done," she reported, voice quavering. "I saw Wilson last night, and assured him that we would fully co-operate...."

Michael bit his lip hard not to cry out in protest. *Karen, no...* he thought, anguished.

The soft voice went on; Karen still did not meet his eyes. "Wilson will meet the three of us this Saturday at noon at the house, and then from there, he'll take us to Markham's...."

The voice lowered further, disintegrating into an almost inaudible quaver, Karen's fear evident. "It's all been arranged...."

"Excellent," beamed Operations approvingly. "Then it's settled." He smile faded, and he gave the operatives another one of his sweeping glares, eyes resting just a bit longer on Nikita.

"We don't have much time til Saturday, and you each have a lot of work to do before then...." He ordered tersely. He dropped the remote for the view screen with a clatter on the table, and walked off. "You're dismissed," he tossed over his shoulder.

Madeleine got up and casually followed Operations back to his office. Birkoff threw the others a worried look, and scurried off to Systems, Walter trailing behind him at a slower gait.

The three left at the table sat tensely silent. Beside him, Nikita could hear Michael's sharp angry intake of breath as he stood up and walked around the table to stand next to Karen's chair. His team-mate shrank back from, keeping her eyes determinedly focused away from him, unable to meet those furious eyes.

"In my office," Michael ordered tersely. "Now."

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

Michael pivoted on his heel and walked off, presenting his stiff back to them, making it plain he expected Karen to follow. Nikita stared after him, then watched as Karen rose wearily from her chair, heading, albeit reluctantly, in the same direction, her shoulders slumped disconsolately.

Nikita reached a hand out to her as she went by. "Do you want me to come with you?" she offered softly. "Michael seems so.."

"P*ssed off?" Karen finished. "Yeah, well, he has a right to be, I guess," she said with a sigh. "I did kind of usurp his place as mission leader, and did things on my own, without consulting him, like going to see Wilson...."

"But I didn't see I had much choice," she continued in a wistful voice. Her lower lip trembled and she let go a small sob. "It's okay, Nikita," Karen told her in a shaky voice. "If Michael's going to bless me out, it'll probably be better to have him do it in private...."

She smiled tremulously through her tears and patted Nikita's arm. "Thanks anyway," Karen told her, "for the support."

"Sure," Nikita replied softly, and stepped back. Karen squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and continued down the hall to Michael's office.

He was standing in the hallway, grim-faced, just outside his office, waiting for her. Karen swallowed hard and scurried through the door he held open for her, her eyes downcast.

Without a word, Michael entered the room behind her and firmly shut the door. In two short strides he was standing in front of her, hands clenched at his sides, his face ravaged with stress.

Karen glanced briefly up into the glittering green eyes, and then as quickly glanced down again.

"I'm sorry, Michael," she began in a voice she had trouble controlling, the words coming out in breathless gasp. "I know I should have asked you first before I ...talked to Wilson, but I had to..." she swallowed hard. "I had to make sure he was ...distracted, and didn't go looking for Nikita..."

She licked her lips nervously and went on. "After I left your apartment, I went to the house and called Wilson. I told him you had gone to find Nikita to ..er.. persuade her to join the party, and that she had agreed, but wanted you to stay with her until the weekend..."

She swallowed hard, taking in another gasping breath. "Then I told him that I was ... lonely with you gone...."

Tears blurred her eyes, and she stared unseeingly at the floor. "Please don't be angry, Michael, please..."

To her shock, she heard him utter a low groan, and then she felt the warmth of Michael's hand on her face as he cupped her chin in his palm and tilted her head up to meet his eyes.

Mesmerized, she held her breath as Michael gently stroked the tears from her cheek. Karen noted in astonishment that Michael's eyes were as wet as her own, and that the emotion in his face that she thought was anger was something else entirely-

"Did he hurt you?" Michael choked out in anguished sorrow. "Was it ... bad?"

Karen let out her breath, and closed her eyes. She knew better than to lie to Michael, to pretend that what had happened last night with Wilson had not occurred. Michael knew that Wilson had slept with her.

"No, Michael," she said softly, with another sigh. "It wasn't ..bad..." She stepped away from him, and sank down into the chair in front of the desk. "No worse than usual, at any rate..." she added, trying hard to smile bravely, but failing to.

Actually, the encounter with Wilson last night, though definitely brutal, had been easier in some ways, Karen thought, than any previous ones. Because Michael had been absent, she had been spared the agony of witnessing Michael's pain and humiliation on top of her own.

She had derived no small amount of satisfaction during Wilson's usage of her from knowing Michael was safely sleeping in his apartment, where Wilson couldn't get to him,.. or to Nikita.

Michael took a step toward Karen, and put his hand gently on her shoulder. "You didn't have to...." he began softly.

Karen interrupted with a swift shake of her head. "No, Michael," she said emphatically. "You KNOW I had to... " She took another deep breath and ran her hand through her short hair. "The mission was in jeopardy, Nikita was still a target..."she sighed and looked up at him, her voice firm. "Someone had to reassure Wilson, and keep him from looking for Nikita..."

Michael let out a hard sigh. "That someone should have been me," he said angrily, but Karen knew his ire was directed not at her, but at himself.

"That's nonsense, Michael, and you know it," Karen returned, a bit angry now herself. "You just have to face the fact that you're human- you're not a machine..."

Michael tensed. "What does that mean?" he demanded tightly.

Karen sighed. "It means, that last night you had reached your emotional and physical limit, and..." she swallowed hard. "...And I ...hadn't."

She looked up into his stern face and went on. "Look, Michael, we're team-mates, right?" she said in what she hoped was a reasoning tone. "We look out for each other. When one of us.. falters, the other one picks up the slack.."

To her shock, Michael uttered a sharp expletive and gripped her by the arms, hauling her roughly to her feet. His eyes flashed, while his nostrils flared dangerously.

"Let me make this clear," he hissed into her face. "We are NOT team-mates. *I* am the mission leader, and *YOU* are..."

"What?" Karen interrupted angrily. "What am I, Michael? Your.. subordinate? Your material?" she spat out. "Your slave?"

He shocked her again by letting her go, and then gently stroking the back of his hand against her cheek. "You're my.... responsibility," he answered softly. "I don't want anything to happen to you.."

Karen gasped at this tenderness, then returned it with a tenderness of her own. She slipped her hand in his and squeezed hard. "And I don't want anything to happen to you," she whispered back.

"Can't you overlook my lapse of protocol last night and just accept it as the actions of a colleague, or of a .. friend?" Karen pleaded anxiously.

Michael stood still beside her for a long moment, so still she was barely sure he was even breathing. Then, suddenly, he squeezed her hand back, and then pulled her into his arms.

"Yes," he whispered hoarsely, pulling her head down onto his shoulder. "You are indeed a very good friend...."

Karen let out a laugh, perhaps her first genuine one since the mission began. Heavy heart lifting, she pulled her friend into her arms and hugged him back.

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

The time before Saturday passed quickly, Section becoming a flurry of activity in preparation for the mission. Although it was a busy time, and hectic, for the three operatives most closely involved in getting Markham - Michael, Nikita, and Karen- it was, somehow, a strangely happy time as well.

For Michael, the respite from torture at Wilson's hands that Karen's story that he was out of town had provided him, as well as the night of healing with Nikita, had rejuvenated and strengthened him. Inside, he was no longer tense and despairing, but full of hope.

The nightmare mission was at last drawing to a close; the end of the torment was near- Soon, Michael knew, he would get his life back. A life he wanted to share with Nikita.

Nikita felt a renewed happiness as well, at last understanding that Michael's distance and rejection of her this past year had not been from any coldness on his part, but had been done out of love, in an effort to protect her from the horrors of this ugly mission.

She went about her work basking in a happy glow, secure in the knowledge of Michael's love, and warmed by the memories of being in his arms on that magical night. She knew Karen loved Michael as well, but felt no stress or resentment of this fact, and no trace of jealousy toward her now.

She knew Karen was her friend, hers and Michael's, and the two women worked harmoniously together, through all the briefings, sims, and preparations for the mission.

As for Karen, the past few days had been an epiphany of healing as well. Her whole life she had been either dismissed or rejected, or been an object of lust and desire, judged on her looks alone. Few had ever cared to look past the outer packaging to seek the real woman inside.

She had been used by Section as an object, not a human being. Karen herself had been unaware of just how vast her loneliness had been until these past few days, when she had discovered that she was cared for as a cherished friend, regarded as a real person, with feelings, and a soul, by both Michael and Nikita.

Her lifetime of pain had been eased by their caring regard, and their respect. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Karen did not hate herself, but felt healed, basking, like Nikita and Michael, in the love she had received.

The almost palpable rapport between the three operatives did not go un-noticed in Section. The renewed warmth between Michael and Nikita would have been enough to keep the gossip wheels flying, but the added element of Karen, and her closeness to both members of Section's most talked about couple, added much fuel to the fire.

Everyone speculated about what the true nature of the trio's relationship might be.

Everyone. Including... Madeleine.

She had called Michael into her office late on Friday, during the frenzied last hours of preparation for the mission. He had arrived there, looking tired, but in unusually buoyant spirits.

To Michael, the past days of whirlwind activity, though grueling, had been a welcome change from the previous long months of passive endurance and suffering at Wilson's hands. It was a delight to finally be able to DO something for a change. And Michael, as mission leader, had reveled in opportunity to be in charge of taking down Markham, and his sadistic associate, Wilson.

"My teams are ready," he reported without pre-amble as he strode into Madeleine's lair. "Teams Two and Three will act as primaries, then there will four others acting as back-up after Team One- Karen, Nikita, and I- penetrate Markham's compound."

"Birkoff and Walter are co-ordinating the tracking and communication systems," he continued smoothly. "So far, all the sims show us with a very high POS..."

He gave Section's beautiful Chief Analyst a rare, totally genuine smile. "By tomorrow at this time," he told her happily, "Markham will be ours."

Madeleine, sitting in her chair behind her desk, regarded him thoughtfully. "That's excellent, Michael," she replied, returning his smile. "I see you have things well in hand.."

She tilted her head, brown eyes gleaming. "There are just a few things we need to go over before tomorrow."

Michael inclined his head. "Of course," he said calmly, standing before her desk with his hands folded, relaxed, in front of him, awaiting her instructions.

Madeleine paused for a moment, then at last took a breath and began. "I want to be sure you're straight about who exactly is on the collateral list," she drawled.

Michael stiffened, then let out a sigh. "Any other party-goers that might be there are expendable, but are not to be targeted unless necessary," Michael recited tightly. "All of Markham's people are to be taken out; only Markham himself is to be brought in, alive. And Wilson..."

Michael paused, his mouth twisting from a smile to a grimace. "Wilson is... MINE," he said tightly.

Madeleine leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers together, smiling at him again.

"That's quite correct, Michael," she said serenely. "But I wasn't talking about the collateral list of Markham's people..." She licked her lips. "I was talking about our own..."

Michael blinked, his shoulders again going stiff. "I'm aware that casualties are expected, and that some of the back-up teams, especially the first ones going in, are comprised of abeyance operatives," he replied.

His voice was cool and level, but had an undertone of resentment. His back was up a little at her remark, which seemed to him to be somewhat patronizing. He was, after all, a level Five operative, not a green recruit. Michael was well aware of the realities of life in Section.

"I accept the fact that we will have losses, Madeleine," he went on testily.

Madeleine, when she answered, did not seem offended by his tone. She smiled again. "I'm glad you feel that way, Michael," she said serenely. "Because it has come to my attention that you have formed a particular attachment to one of your team-mates.."

She paused, her eyes flickering over his handsome form. "A team-mate whom you know to be in abeyance..."

Michael paled, and let out a sharp gasp, almost staggering forward.

*Oh, God* he thought. How could he have forgotten? Madeleine had told him about her status a year ago, when the mission first began. He had heard her words then, but his mind had refused to register this horrid truth...

"Karen.." he choked out. "You're talking about Karen..." His body trembled, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Madeleine nodded, her posture still relaxed, but her eyes were keen and sharp upon him, searching and attentive to his most minute response. "You don't deny that you have grown to care for her, do you, Michael?" she probed, her voice at once sweet, but with an underlying tone of steel.

Michael closed his eyes and sighed. "No," he answered truthfully, trying to keep his voice from quavering, "I don't deny it."

He opened his eyes, and came toward her, leaning his arms on Madeleine's desk. "She's a good operative," Michael pleaded, his eyes anxiously focused on Madeleine's face. "One of the best I've ever worked with..."

Madleine held his gaze, but seemed indifferent, unmoved by his words on Karen's behalf.

He let out another sigh, and pressed his case further. "This mission with Markham would have failed without her," he went on urgently. "Anyone else would have broken from the strain, but she's strong...."

Madeleine gave a small shake of her head, a gesture which chilled him to his bones.

"Hmmm," she commented placidly. "Your defense of her is admirable, Michael," she said with a sad smile, "But that doesn't change the fact that Karen has been scheduled for termination for a long time now...." She paused again. "As you are well aware," she added firmly.

Michael straightened, and then stood rigidly in front of the desk, every muscle tensed, his mind and heart reeling.

He owed Karen so much. She had kept him sane during the months and months of what had amounted to torture at Wilson's hands. She had pulled him back from the edge that night when he had finally broken, unable to endure anymore. And most of all, she had protected Nikita, and made it possible for them to be together, closer than they had ever been before.

Karen was his friend. He would not give her up without a fight.

"May I ask why Section has made this.. unreasonable decision about her?" Michael demanded, green eyes flashing. "What has she done to merit cancellation?"

Madeleine lowered her eyes, shutting out the view of the angry and panicked operative before her. She sighed. "You can ask, Michael," she said in an almost sympathetic tone. "But you won't get an answer..."

The brown eyes flickered up to meet his again. "That information is classified, and comes down from the highest levels.."

She stood up and walked around her desk to stand in front of him. Michael flinched at her approach, then blinked in shock when she placed her hand gently on his arm. Her voice lowered further, full of empathy.

"I didn't call you in here to give you an explanation of our reasoning, or justify the decisions of Oversight," she told him gently. "I just wanted you to be prepared when you... lose her...."

Michael bit his lip hard, to keep from expelling the sob that had risen in his throat. "No.." he gasped, shaking his head. "You can't..."

Madeleine patted his arm again. "It's going to happen, Michael," she said softly. "Just accept it..."

At her words, Michael stiffened again, his eyes turning cold. With slow deliberateness, he lifted his hand and curled his fingers around her hand on his arm, lifting it off and away from his own. Then he stepped back, and glared at his superior, his eyes hard.

"So, you're going to kill her right after this mission is over, is that it?" he demanded harshly.

Madeleine looked at him, her eyes still sympathetic. "Not afterwards, Michael," she said very softly, as if trying to gentle this next blow.

she licked her lips, and then uttered the words that rocked him to his core. "We expect it to be sooner than that...."

Michael, stunned, let out an anguished gasp. "What?" he cried hoarsely. "You mean, you'll kill her before..?"

Madeleine shook her head. "Not afterwards, Michael. And not before.." she announced gently.

The voice was low and sympathetic again, as she slammed him forcefully with the devastating blow of her next soft word.

"During," said Madeleine.

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

Michael didn't remember leaving Madeleine's office. Stunned, in a daze, he had wandered blindly through Section and had found himself in Systems several minutes later, unable to recall how he got there. His mind was whirling, his heart numb with pain.

The pain increased to a sharp stab when he heard Karen's high laughter. He looked down into the high tech work area to see her with Nikita and Birkoff, going over a sim rep at the conference table.

Grimly, Michael stepped through the glass doors into Systems and approached them. Karen looked up at him from her chair and smiled. "Hi, Michael!" she greeted him happily. "Birkoff was just telling us a funny story about the time when...."

She noticed the look on his face and stopped in mid-sentence, her face falling. "Michael, what is it?" she asked him urgently, alarmed at his expression. "What's wrong?"

Michael stared at her, almost unable to speak. "N-Nothing.." he choked out.

Nikita took in the exchange, growing alarmed as well. Birkoff watched warily from his seat at the console, saying nothing. The tension level in the room increased a hundred fold.

Nikita stood and went to him, putting her hand on his arm. "Did Madeleine say something to upset you?" she asked perceptively, not believing his denial. Her eyes grew wide with fear. "Is something amiss with the mission?"

Michael struggled to get control of himself, and pretend that things were fine, and not let on that his world had just been torn apart. It hit him then, just how much he cared for Karen. The only loss that would have cut deeper would have been if it was his soul-mate, his Nikita, who was the one to be sacrificed.

"No, everything's fine," he answered tensely. "I'm just.... tired..."

Nikita relaxed slightly, only half accepting this explanation, eyeing him closely.

From behind her, Karen threw Michael a sympathetic look, standing from her chair and coming toward them.

"Of course you're tired," she said kindly. "You've only been working non-stop for the past few days..." She smiled at him. "Why don't you get some sleep before tomorrow? You'll feel better after you rest..."

Michael only stared at her, numbly silent.

Karen shook her head and came forward to give Michael's shoulder a shove toward the door. "Go on, you're dead on your feet," she coaxed him. Karen turned to Nikita. "Why don't you go with him, and make sure he doesn't collapse in the hallway on his way to his quarters?" she suggested, only half teasing. Michael's pallor alarmed her.

Nikita nodded, agreeing. She linked her arm with Michael's and began to pull him toward the door. She realized with a shock that he was leaning heavily on her, and would have fallen without her support.

"I'll take care of him," she assured the others as she led him to the doorway.

"Good night, Michael," Karen called to him as he left.

At the doorway, he turned, and looked back at her, stifling the urge to cry. "Good night, Karen," he whispered hoarsely, voice husky with tears.

She blinked at him, puzzled at his serious tone, then gave him a dazzling smile, and a nod, and turned back to her business with Birkoff.

Then, stumbling through the doorway, he found himself out in the corridor with Nikita.

Together, they walked silently through the corridors to Michael's quarters. Nikita had relinquished her hold on his arm, but stayed close behind him as they traversed the stone and steel hallways to the crew levels of Section One.

At last, they arrived at Michael's room. He punched in the key code automatically, still operating in a daze. The door whooshed open, and Nikita followed him in.

His quarters, like hers, were spartan and impersonal. It was another version of Michael's office, simple, utilitarian, a place for a soldier to rest before combat.

Only it seemed all the fight had gone out of Michael. He collapsed wearily on the small cot, and buried his face in his hands, and began to cry brokenly.

Nikita regarded him thoughtfully as several long moments went by, her concern mounting as he stayed shuddering on the bed, unable, or unwilling, to speak of what new horror had shaken him so badly. His sobs had torn at her heart.

With a shaky sigh, she sat down beside him, and slipped her arm around his heaving shoulders. "What happened, Michael?" she asked gently, trying to keep the underlying tone of alarm out of her voice. "What's wrong?"

At her words, Michael froze, his sobs ceasing abruptly. He lifted his face from his hands and looked at her, his eyes anguished and unsure. He shuddered, wondering whether it would serve any purpose to tell Nikita of this new disturbing intel. There was nothing she could do, and the knowledge would just upset her further, on the eve of an already stressful mission...

Nikita watched Michael's face carefully, and her own acquired a sudden, stubborn look. She could see him withdrawing from her, shutting her out, guarding his secrets, like he had done hundreds of times before. But this time, she would not allow it.

"Michael," she whispered, moving closer to him on the bed and taking his hand in hers. "Last night, you opened up to me, you let go..." she began softly. "I learned about.... everything, and I'm still here..."

She squeezed his hand, hard. "We made love, Michael. You let me see inside your heart, and your soul...."

"Please," she begged him urgently. "I love you. Don't shut me out. Not now, not after you let me get so close..."

"Please..." she pleaded, leaning toward him to plant a soft kiss on his jaw.

Michael groaned, no longer able to hold out against her fervent entreaties. It was his habit to protect her from pain, but now his own pain was too great not to be shared. He gathered her in his arms and held her tight, sobbing the words out against her shoulder.

"Karen.." he choked out brokenly. "Karen is in abeyance...."

Nikita gasped, clutching him tighter as she swayed in her seat on the bed, jolted by this news. "No, no.. Michael, that can't be right," she said breathlessly after a moment, sitting up away from him. "Karen told me she was under suspicion for a while, but then they cleared her..."

Michael froze, his face going deathly white. He stared at her a moment, in shock, then, lightning- quick, his hands shot out and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, fingers biting painfully into her flesh.

"You knew about this already?" he shouted, giving her a small, but forceful shake. "And you didn't tell me?"

Nikita shook her head, and then met his eyes. "No, Michael," she said urgently. "I'm as stunned as you are.."

He froze again, staring back at her, and let out a shuddering sigh, and then closed his eyes.

His hands still gripped her shoulders painfully. She wriggled in his grasp, and let out a low moan. "Let me go, Michael, please.."

Michael blinked, as it registered suddenly to him that he was hurting her. He let her go immediately, and shifted away from her on the bed. "I'm sorry...." he said in hoarse sincerity.

She gave him a tremulous smile. "It's okay..." she said, a little breathlessly, as the pain subsided.

Michael let out another deep sigh. "Tell me what you know," he beseeched her. "What did Karen tell you? What crime was she suspected of?"

Nikita nodded, and inched closer to him on the cot. "When she was in the Eastern Sector, Karen's trainer was killed in a car bombing," she stated softly. "They thought she might have been responsible.."

Michael's green eyes widened. "Why would they think that?"

Nikita looked grim, lips pressed together in distaste. "Because from what she told me," Nikita answered tightly, "He was worse than Wilson in the way he treated her...."

"He raped her, Michael..." Nikita went on in a hushed, sorrowful tone. "During missions, and on downtime, as well. She was basically his slave..."

Michael slumped in his spot on the bed, all the breath going out of him. Several things were becoming quite clear.

"I.. see..." he whispered softly, after a moment. This explained why Karen had been so afraid of him, the first night they met. Now he understood her terror. She was unsure if he would be as demandingly brutal as her trainer had been.

And, he realized suddenly, it explained why she had proved stronger than Michael himself, when it came to enduring the onslaught of Wilson's attacks- Karen had been through worse torture with her trainer.

Beside him Nikita went on. "Karen told me this guy, this Tom, was a real bastard, and she was glad when he died, but that she didn't kill him..." Nikita took a deep breath, meeting Michael's eyes. "I believe her."

Michael lowered his head. "I guess Section didn't.." he said forlornly.

Nikita sighed. "We can't leave it like this, Michael," she insisted. "We have to get this straightened out." She put her hand on his shoulder. "Can't you tell Madeleine what a good operative Karen is? How highly you value her?" she urged.

Michael let out a frustrated sigh. "I already did; but it doesn't matter to them. They don't care what I think," he told her grimly, shaking his head. "The orders for Karen's cancellation came from higher up than Madeleine..."

Nikita blinked. "You mean, this Tom... person was Oversight's fair-haired golden boy, or something?" she blurted out in astonishment. "And they want to avenge him, after all this time?"

"I don't know... " Michael replied with a shake of his head. He sat silent for a few moments, then his eyes strayed to the desk in the corner of the room.

"Maybe I can find out..." he said grimly, suddenly rising to his feet.

He crossed the room to the desk, and turned on the small laptop that sat there. Nikita rose and came to stand beside him, watching the monitor closely as he tapped in his access code and the information he wanted.

"Let's see...Eastern Sector, personnel files..." Michael muttered as he typed. "Karen Hopewell, Class Two operative, and her trainer, Tom..."

He lifted his eyes to meet Nikita's. "Did Karen tell you his last name?" he asked urgently. "Or anything else?"

Nikita shook her head. "Only that he was Class Five, like you..."

Michael entered this new information, and then tapped a key, waiting for the files to download.

They waited anxiously, watching the screen. A minute later, both jumped when the computer beeped loudly, and screen flashed its strident, unwelcome message- "ACCESS DENIED- CLASSIFIED", it read.

Michael uttered an oath and shoved the lap-top away from him angrily. "Damn it!" he cried, flinging back into the room, his eyes searching the walls frantically as if for answers. "I don't know what to do," he whispered disconsolately, coming to stand still in the center of the small space. He rubbed his chin agitatedly and sighed.

"There's no time to research this more, no time to plan anything..."

He turned to look at her with anguished green eyes. "We leave for Markham's in less than twelve hours...."

"I know," Nikita said tremulously. She went to him, taking him into her arms. Michael held her tightly, as they both trembled together in the embrace, dreading the mission, dreading the pain that lay ahead, dreading their helplessness to prevent the loss that would devastate them both.

Michael let himself sob against Nikita's shoulder as she rocked him. He clung to her, encircled in her love, drawing from her the strength he needed for the ordeal ahead.

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

The last hours before twelve noon, Saturday, arrived, rushed by, and were suddenly gone. Michael and Karen had taken Nikita back to the house ahead of time, assembling early before their scheduled rendezvous with Wilson.

The three stood nervously in the living room, dressed casually, bags beside them packed for their trip. Their outfits were accessorized with some unusual additions, the women wearing trackers in their earrings and under their brightly painted toenails. Michael had had a white-enamel covered tracker placed over a back tooth, as well as an additional one inserted inside the only item of jewelry he wore, a gold wrist watch.

All three had flesh-colored comm-units placed discreetly behind their ears. They were running through a final equipment test for Birkoff, who would be co-ordinating the mission from his station at Section.

"Team One in position," Michael reported softly. "Birkoff, do you read?"

"I read you fine, Michael," the young genius responded. Beside him, Walter checked the signals from the trackers and grinned, giving his young friend the thumbs up sign.

"We're tracking you," Birkoff announced firmly.

"Good," responded Michael, pacing the living room carpet nervously. "Check on the other teams- tell them to maintain position until I give the signal."

"Right," came the reply. Nikita and Karen stood anxiously side by side, listening through their comm-units as, one by one, the teams reported in. They were scattered discreetly around the area, covering all directions that Wilson might take the trio of operatives, ready to follow them to Markham's.

The voices of the Team leaders sounded tinny in their ears, their words edged with excitement, as the last check-ins were completed, and the time for action drew close.

The check-ins were routine, something they had all done dozens of times, but Karen was jittery and tense. This mission was anything but routine.

She flashed Nikita a quick smile and stepped closer. "I think I need you to hold my hand, Nikita," she quipped. "I'm jumping out of my skin here..."

To her surprise, Nikita did not respond to her joking remark with a laugh, but with a warm look. "Here," she said gently, holding out her fingers to the other woman. "Be my guest..."

Karen sighed, and clasped Nikita's strong hand in hers. "Thanks," she said gratefully, feeling a little better at the comfort of this contact.

Michael stopped his pacing and watched the two beautiful women thoughtfully. His eyes softened, and he walked up to them, and put his hand on Karen's shoulder.

"Try to relax," he said soothingly, his eyes searching her face. "We'll get through this, I promise," he vowed softly. Only he and Nikita knew just how slim the odds for keeping that promise were.

Karen broke into warm, affectionate smiles. "I love you guys!" she said with a laugh, and impulsively threw her arms around each of her friends, hugging them both at once.

From behind them, an unwelcome voice startled them from their warm comaraderie, chilling them to the core.

"Now, now, enough of that," drawled Wilson in an amused tone from the doorway. "There'll be plenty of time for menage a trois when we get to the party.."

Michael stiffened, then plastered on a fake smile, and turned to greet his visitor, pulling out of Karen's embrace. "Welcome!" he lied boldly, striding forward to shake Wilson's hand. "Good to see you..."

Wilson smiled back, grasped Michael's hand as if to shake it, then pulled the younger man in for an embrace and an unwelcome, invasive kiss on the mouth.

Michael submitted reluctantly, trying not to cringe in revulsion as Wilson's tongue flicked greedily over his own. After a long moment that seemed to last an eternity, Wilson finally broke the kiss, and then patted Michael on the cheek.

"I've missed you, my Boy," the sadist said huskily, then turned to look at the two women, his eyes riveting on Nikita.

His beady brown eyes flickered over her, lingering on her breasts and hips, his gaze never quite reaching her eyes. If it had, he would have seen the unmistakable expression of sharp disgust in her blue gaze.

"But there are.... compensations for your absence," Wilson continued, licking his lips hungrily as he eyed his latest prey. He bowed his head in her direction. "Nikita, my Dear, I'm so glad Michael persuaded you to join us..." he said in smarmy tones, coming closer.

Nikita gulped and backed away in revulsion, fearing Wilson's touch. "Uh.. er.. thank you.." she choked out, a nervous smile flitting over her face. "It was nice of you to invite me...."

Wilson noticed her nervousness, and laughed. "Relax, my Dear," he chuckled, raising his hands in a protestation of innocence. "I don't bite, honest.."

Karen inserted herself protectively between Nikita and Wilson, taking her tormentor by the arm and leading him a few steps away from his target. She wrapped her arms around Wilson's neck and bit him playfully on the jaw. "No, you don't... bite.." Karen said in a sultry growl, then she kissed him hard on the lips. Wilson responded greedily, plundering her mouth with his.

When they came up for air, she finished her sentence with her lips against his. "At least, not much...." she quipped throatily.

Wilson laughed, heartily, and then led her to the door, seemingly unaware of how she had maneuvered him away from Nikita. Keeping one arm around Karen's waist, he waved the other hand at two men in chauffeur uniforms who waited in the hallway.

"Lancet, Jones, get in here and take these bags to the car," Wilson ordered.

He smiled at the three operatives, who all stood stricken with dread at his next words.

"The limo's just outside," Wilson invited with a smile. "Let's go..."

The hand on Karen's waist slid lower, cupping her firm buttock in his palm. As he fondled her, Wilson smiled again. "We don't want to keep Mr. Markham waiting, do we?"

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

The ride in the limo to Markham's was one of the most grueling experiences that Nikita had ever faced in her entire career in Section- in her entire life, for that matter.

Lancet, one of Wilson's two security men, sat in the driver's seat, his cohort Jones beside him. Nikita was sure by the way their coats bulged that they were armed, and that they had not been hired just as chauffeur. A dark glass partition separated Wilson and his party guests from the guards, and the inside windows of the luxurious interior of the vehicle had been tinted so heavily that it was impossible to see out.

The end result was that inside the limo the effect was not one of being wrapped in cocooned luxury, but rather, Nikita thought, it felt more like being smothered in a claustrophobic trap.

Nikita slid in first, taking a seat on one of the wide banquettes, Michael seating himself beside her. Karen and Wilson took their places opposite them. As the car left the curb and took off, Michael slipped his arm around Nikita, bent his head, and nibbled on her neck. "Teams Two and Three, go," he whispered huskily in her ear.

Nikita giggled, pretending to be titillated by his murmuring. "Stop that," she said teasingly, swatting at him playfully with her hand. Michael removed his lips from her neck, but kept his arm protectively around her.

The operatives were all relieved as Birkoff's voice sounded suddenly in their comm-units. "You're headed north-east, Michael," he informed them. "We're tracking you fine."

Wilson watched the couple avariciously from his seat across from them. "Don't stop on my account," he suggested with a leer. "We have a long way to go before we get to Markham's," he drawled, then gave Michael a wink. "We might as well entertain ourselves..."

Michael felt Nikita stiffen beside him, and then tremble. Her eyes went wide, and as much as she wanted to utter a flippant reply, she found herself unable to speak.

Karen snuggled up to Wilson, attempting to distract him. She laughed again. "Those two wore me out so much last night, I bet all we really will be capable of doing on this trip is sleeping, right, Darling?" she asked, looking at Michael for confirmation.

He gave her a pretend grin, and then an equally fake yawn. "That's right," he agreed, putting his head on Nikita's shoulder. "I'm bushed."

Wilson shook his head. "No, no, dear Boy, that's not how it works," he said in a surfacely pleasant voice that was laced with warning. "No matter what state of fatigue your in, if you want to be part of our party group, you have to be able to perform..."

Nikita paled, then gasped in horror as Wilson went on.

"Anywhere. Any time. Any way I tell you...." he continued nastily. "Understand?"

Wilson leered evily at them. "Otherwise, we can still stop right now and turn the car around and take you all back home...."

Michael blanched, and Nikita let out a whimper.

Here it was, he thought, the horror of his nightmares. This was what they had dreaded, what they had hoped to avoid. If Wilson could have waited until they were inside Markham's compound to indulge hi lust, this degradation might have been avoided. But now, there was no way out.

Michael knew they had no choice, for the sake of the mission, but to submit, but he knew deep down he couldn't. He didn't think he would be able to stand it if Wilson touched Nikita. He couldn't bear the idea of her being subjected to the sadist's foul desires. Michael felt the blood pumping hotly in his veins, his heart pounding loudly. Every muscle in his body was taut and cramped with tension. He bit his lip hard to keep from screaming...

"By all means, let's play, then," laughed Karen, snuggling up to Wilson. She lowered her lashes coquettishly. "Let me.. perform for you first, all right?" she said huskily.

Slowly, she slid off the banquette to her knees on the floor in front of Wilson. Licking her lips teasingly, she placed her hands on Wilson's thighs and slowly stroked upward, her eyes riveted on his as her fingers encountered and fondled his crotch through the material of his pants.

Michael closed his eyes, knowing Karen was again trying to protect Nikita by sacrificing herself. He let out a low moan, hating his helplessness.

Beside him, Nikita burrowed closer into his embrace and buried her head in his shoulder.

Suddenly, Wilson startled them with a sharp laugh. He shoved Karen roughly away from him, hard enough to send her sprawling on the limo floor. He laughed heartily again, as if delighted by some private joke.

"I was just kidding," he chuckled mirthfully. "You should have seen your faces, though..." he chortled, shaking his head.

The trio stared at him, as he continued to laugh heartily, then finally regained control of himself. "That's enough fun for now," he beamed at them in amusement. "Go ahead and sleep, if you want to..." He dismissed them, shaking his head with another chuckle.

Karen clambered to her feet and Michael took her hand and pulled her down on the seat beside him. She, like Nikita, nestled her face into his other shoulder, and tried not to cry.

Michael met Wilson's gaze over the blond heads of the women. He threw his despised tormentor a defiant look, and then closed his eyes, pretending to sleep.

He knew that if he HAD been able to sleep, his dreams would have been all about killing the sick bastard across from him.

*Just you wait, you perverted m*ther-f--ker,* Michael thought viciously. *You'll get yours, soon.*

In his ear, Team Two reported in. "Still tracking you, Team One. All teams are following and are ready to begin assault at your command."

"Gooood," Michael murmured softly. "Very, very goood...."

From across the limo, Wilson noted with amusement that Michael talked in his sleep, and also smiled.

Wilson chuckled again. *The dear Boy must be having one hell of a nice dream* he thought to himself, and then settled in for a nap as the limo drove on.

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

Nikita found the strain of pretending to be asleep more wore tiring than she thought it would be. Wilson's soft snores filled the interior of the car, and she burrowed her head into Michael's strong shoulder, trying to shut out the noise, and at the same time, trying to shut off her anxious thoughts.

She was wound tight as a spring, her body tense, unable to relax, despite the shelter of Michael's warmth around her. She was, like Karen had been earlier, a bundle of nerves.

Somehow, despite her knowledge that the mission was going smoothly so far, the trackers working, the teams in place- it was all wrong. Nikita had a bad feeling in her gut that things would not go as neatly as they had in the sims. In fact, she was convinced that the mission was about to get very, very messy.....

Birkoff's voice in their comm-units made her jump. "Michael," he reported, "Looks like you're coming up on the compound now..."

"Mmmmm," Michael rumbled in a feigned drowsy tone.

Birkoff took that as an acknowledgement and went on. "Teams Two, Three, and Four will be infiltrating; the others are standing by. We'll penetrate on your signal."

"Uh-huh," Michael answered softly, as if sighing in his sleep.

Birkoff fell silent then, and at the same time Wilson's guard spoke up. "We're approaching the house, Sir," Lancet's voice sounded tinny over the limo's intercom.

Wilson stirred, opened his eyes, and sat up. He ran a hand over his balding head, smoothing his hair back, and then gave a satisfied sigh. "Good," he said loudly, voice echoing through the cabin of the limo.

Michael cracked one eyelid, pretending to stir. Karen lifted her head from Michael's shoulder and faked a yawn. "Are we there yet?" she asked with false little girl eagerness. She had spent the trip in tense dread just as Nikita had.

Wilson smiled at them. "Don't be anxious, my Dear," he chided her. "You'll get all the pleasure you can handle soon enough..." He chuckled evilly.

Nikita sat up, looking grim, Wilson's words reminding her of the purpose for the party. She hoped they could get to Markham swiftly, without having to go through a gauntlet of randy party-guests first. She forced a nervous smile and tried not to shudder.

"That sounds good to me," she lied, her voice falsely bright.

Wilson laughed again, his eyes twinkling merrily. Michael gave him a genuine smile, thinking that the only kind of pleasure he wanted to share with Wilson would be to wring the bastard's neck. And now, at last, he was finally going to get his chance.

Karen peered anxiously through the windows, but was still unable to see anything through the dark tinting. The car slowed to a halt, and then the operatives heard the hum of a gate opening, and a moment later the vehicle was in motion again as they entered Markham's compound.

They traveled several hundred yards further, the car weaving down what Michael could only surmise to be a winding driveway. At last they slowed again.

Before the limo was even fully stopped, the doors were flung suddenly and violently open, bright daylight streaming into the interior of the car. Nikita gasped as she saw two uniformed commandos standing in the doorway with machine guns aimed at the occupants of the car.

Michael made a move to respond, shifting forward in his seat, and shoving the women behind him. Wilson smiled calmly and pulled a gun out of his coat, holding it on his favorite male lover.

"That's enough, Michael," he said, no longer smiling. "Just co-operate and I won't have to shoot you or your Section bitches..."

His scowl deepened. "Get out of the car, now," he growled at the three of them.

Michael stared back at him, Nikita and Karen flanking him, tensed for action. Michael smiled and gave the signal.

"Teams, go," he ordered with terse satisfaction.

Then all hell broke loose.

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

From their seats, held at gun-point in the limo, the operatives heard the battle rather than saw it. As soon as Michael's order was spoken, the chatter of gunfire erupted from all directions around the compound, followed shortly by an explosion several hundred yards behind them.

This last assault Nikita could only surmise to be Teams Two and Three blowing open the gates that the limo had just passed through.

Now and then there was an occasional shouted order, or a scream as someone fell wounded, but for the most part what was heard was not men but weaponry.

Wilson still smiled, seemingly unperturbed by Section's attack. Karen wondered if he was stupid, or just overconfident. Surely, Section would overrun Markham's estate any moment now, and he and his cohorts would be either killed or taken prisoner...

Wilson caught her eye, and to her surprise, laughed.

"Don't worry, my Dear," he taunted her. "This will all be over in.. oh... say," he looked at his watch, and then grinned at her, "precisely 45 seconds..." He sighed, and leaned back in his seat, relaxed, acting as if the bullets flying around them were of no concern at all.

Michael blinked at him, wondering if he was truly insane. "What are you talking about?" he demanded. "You're completely surrounded..."

Wilson just smiled, and tapped his watch, grinning wider.

The next moment, the ground shook with a low rumble, and then the car was rocked with the shock waves from several large explosions that sounded to be inside the compound. Nikita was thrown against Michael from the force of the blasts, while Karen fell to the floor, toward Wilson's side of the car.

Michael was thrown forward as well, but quickly recovered his balance. Seeing his opportunity, he went to wrest the gun from Wilson, but then saw that he hadn't been quick enough.

Wilson had the muzzle of the gun pressed hard into Karen's neck. Michael froze, and Wilson smiled once more. "I wouldn't try anything if I were you, Michael," he said serenely.

Michael slowly raised his hands in the air, and settled back in his seat, his movements cautious and deliberate. His green eyes stared into Wilson's, holding an unspoken promise that if anything happened to Karen, Michael would see to it that Wilson was very, very sorry.

Their captor just smiled.

The reverberations of the explosions quieted, and the air was filled with only smoke and a deafening silence. Almost as swiftly as it had begun, the battle was over.

"I believe it's safe to say that your comrades have now been taken care of," he said with a satisfied grin, noting Nikita's worried expression. Wilson jerked his head toward the door of the limo. "Let's go," he ordered sharply.

Nikita scooted slowly out of the vehicle first, the machine-gunned guards backing up for her as she exited. Next Michael emerged, then Wilson, shoving Karen in front of him, still holding the gun on her.

It took a moment for the images of what they saw to sink in. Everywhere, was smoke, and fire, and rubble. What once had been a beautiful estate, a show-place, was now a smoldering ruin. It was a scene of utter destruction.

Under his breath, Michael tried frantically to hail the teams, but there was no answer. The silence echoed in Nikita and Karen's comm-units as well.

Overcome with the reality of the situation, Karen began sobbing. "It was a trap...." she cried, struggling in Wilson's grasp. "Markham's not here at all..." She wrenched her head around to meet Wilson's eyes.

"You blew up this entire place to get to Section!" she screamed in anguish.

A sudden sharp laugh came startlingly from behind them. A dark figure approached through the haze of smoke, striding nearer. "Wrong as usual, my Sweet Karen," the deep voice laughed. " 'Markham" is indeed here, after all," he taunted, coming closer.

Karen peered through the haze, and then blinked several times, and shook her head, not believing what she was seeing.

"T-Tom?" she stammered out a gasp. "T-Tom?" the world tilted; Karen sobbed again, as her knees buckled beneath her and she thought she might faint.

The figure came closer, features plain in the clearing smoke. It was HIM- her trainer, her tormentor, the man she hated, the man who was supposed to be dead.

"And I didn't destroy my compound to get to Section, dear Karen," Markham went on, eyes riveted on his prey. "I did it," he said, voice soft with menace, "to get to you...."

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

Karen staggered back against Wilson, reeling as if from a hard blow. Indeed, Tom's words had struck her to the quick, filling her with a cold terror.

"Me?" she sobbed raggedly. You did this... " she gestured to the death and destruction around her, "....to get to me?" Her eyes were streaming as she looked at her torturer. "Why?"

Tom smiled evilly and walked up close to her. "Of course, you," he drawled as he swaggered forward. "You're the cause of all the aggravation in my life..."

Both Michael and Nikita tensed at his approach, Nikita instinctively taking a small protective step toward him and Karen. Michael put a hand on her arm, pulling her back against him. His mind was whirling, but he knew that now was not the time to act. Tom wanted to talk, and that would buy them time to figure out their next move.

He hadn't bargained on Tom's next move being striking Karen in the face.

The slap sent her reeling, and she let out a sharp cry. Markham's lips curled with satisfaction at this signal of her pain. "F*cking BITCH!" he hissed out viciously.

Michael made to leap forward, but before he could rush to her defense, the guards were in front of him, shoving their guns into his chest. Anguished, helpless, Michael could only stand by and watch as Karen's nemesis raged on.

"I had it good there in Section, until you ruined everything," he reminisced angrily. "It was a real sweet deal-all the sex I wanted, all the money, all the control, all the power.." He laughed ruefully. "Hell, I even had power over Section, and they didn't suspect a thing...."

Michael blinked, suddenly understanding. "You were a double agent.." he speculated, eyes narrowing. "Weren't you?"

Tom turned to him and laughed. "Very good, Michael," he said with a sarcastic smile. "I always heard you were a bright boy...."

Nikita shuddered, watching Tom and Michael face each other. Both men were about the same age- both handsome, Tom with darker hair and eyes, both Section trained Class Five operatives, both dangerous men.. She shook her head, the similarities stopping there.

Michael, unlike his counterpart in the Eastern Sector, had a conscience. He cared, he loved, he was loyal to his ideals, he gave a damn about the innocents, he was... noble. Markham/Tom had none of these qualities. Nikita wondered if he even had a soul.

Markham lost interest in taunting Michael and turned back to continue his tirade against Karen again.

"Yes, everything was fine until all the complaints started about how I was treating you, Poor, Poor Little Karen," he sneered at her. "And then Section started digging deeper, and I had to get out..."

Karen shook her head. "I never complained to anyone about you!" she protested. "I never reported you to Section ...." she sobbed.

"No, but your little egghead friend did..." Tom went on. "That little weasel boyfriend of yours, Ellis.."

"Ellis?" Karen gasped in shock. Ellis was Birkoff's counterpart in the Eastern Sector, an incredibly shy and serious young man who barely spoke two words to her outside of missions. "I never told Ellis anything about what you did to me..."

Tom glared at her. "It doesn't matter if you told him or not. His bleeding heart stories about how cruel I was to you brought their attention down on me, so I decided, before things got too hot for me, it was time to move on...."

Nikita curled her lip in disgust. "So you faked your own death, got free of Section, and then Tom turned his harsh gaze on her. "You think it was fun, being out of Section?" he demanded. "Being free?" He laughed derisively. "I wasn't FREE," he snorted. "Hell, I couldn't go anywhere, couldn't be seen in public, not with Section still suspicious..."

He gestured to the smoldering ruins of his once beautiful estate. "So I holed up here. It was a fancy place as prisons go, but still a prison..."

With a wide leer, he looked past Karen to Wilson behind her. "That's where my dear friend Avalon Wilson came in..."

Wilson inclined his head and grinned. "I got Tom all the sex, power, and entertainment he wanted from my little group of Adventurers," he declared proudly, smacking his lips.

Michael's stomach roiled in revulsion, remembering just what degradation being in Wilson's inner circle had involved.

Tom laughed at Michael's stricken expression. "You should have seen those rich bitches fall all over themselves just for the privilege of f*cking me," he chortled, shaking his head. "Not to mention their husbands, groveling at my feet, begging for it..."

Michael closed his eyes, and turned away, sickened at the memory of how Section had forced him and Karen to grovel for Markham's attention as well, submitting to Wilson over and over in order to have the chance to get to their target. Beside him, Nikita let out a whimper at the intensity of his pain, and stepped closer, slipping her arm around him.

Karen began to cry softly again.

Tom went on with his tirade, enjoying the effect his words were having on his victims. "But you know, all that slavish adoration was getting pretty boring after a while," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I mean, where's the challenge in playing power games with sheep?"

He leered at Michael and Karen. "But then you two came along, and made it all so interesting again...."

Karen sobbed harder. "Oh, God, you knew..." she cried in anguish. "You knew all along about the mission, and you toyed with us...."

Tom laughed. "I knew from the beginning, from the first day you arrived in the neighborhood, Darling..." He grinned evilly. "I had surveillance cameras placed in all the houses, including yours, so I wouldn't miss out on the fun...."

He smirked. "Hearing you two discuss the mission to get me was almost as fun as watching Wilson f*ck you.."

Michael stiffened and felt the blood drain from his face. *This whole year, through all that torture,* he thought,* Markham knew, had watched them submit, had watched them suffer, and had enjoyed their suffering...*

"You sick Bastard..." Michael spat out, rigid with anger and disgust.