Michael arrived at the briefing table just ahead of an irate Operations. As he took his seat beside Nikita, who gave him a nervous look, Operations scowled at them both , then glared at the rest of the team aligned on the opposite side of the table. His subordinates knew immediately that their leader's day was not going well, at all.

"Where are we on the satellite trace to Racer's headquarters?" he demanded with a growl, fixing his cold blue-eyed glare on the youngest operative among them.

Birkoff slumped down in his seat, trying to make himself smaller. "Nowhere," he reported apologetically. "Racer's security system is airtight..." The young computer genius shook his head. "We lost the signal twenty minutes into it..." He sighed. "We have no idea where he is..."

The leader's thin lips pressed together tightly, the cold eyes glaring more fiercely bright. "This is unacceptable," he barked angrily. "This man has developed the most deadly biological weapons known to man, and he plans to use them. SOON." He let out a frustrated sigh. "We have to find him, before that happens..."

He rubbed his forehead disconsolately, then raised his head and scanned the faces of the team arrayed across from him. "Well?" he demanded contemptuously. "Do any of the rest of you have any more good news to report?"

Michael shifted forward in his chair and folded his hands calmly in front of him on the table-top. "We've been trying an oblique approach," he reported in his soft, French-accented voice. "Looking for any possible peripheral weaknesses..."

The gray-haired leader raised an eyebrow, his scowl fading. "And?" he asked hopefully.

"So far, nothing concrete, but we did find a birth record for one Andrea Lenore Racer, born in 1977....."

The cold blue eyes gleamed. "A granddaughter?" Operations grinned.

Michael nodded slowly, glancing around at the others, who all had their attention riveted on the handsome Frenchman. "Yes," Michael answered succinctly. "Her father is listed on the birth certificate as William George Racer, Junior. ....."

Walter , seated to Michael's left, broke out into a wide smile. "That's our man, then," he drawled happily. "Do we have a location on the grand-daughter?"

Michael lowered his gaze to the table-top. "She's enrolled in school, a private women's college in the East...." He glanced up at Nikita briefly, meeting her worried blue eyes. He knew how much she hated bringing innocents into their world, but in this case, he knew it couldn't be helped. They had no choice but to use Andrea if they could.

Operations beamed. "Excellent!" he crowed delightedly, ignoring Nikita's mulish look, and her small sigh of disgust. He nodded to her and Michael.

"Don't just sit there," he ordered happily. "Bring her in."

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

Andrea Racer, or Andie, as her friends called her, was at that moment walking back to her dorm room after her last class of the day. She was in her final year at college, majoring in social work, with an emphasis on medical support. The sun was just beginning to set, softening the already warm brick buildings of the school to glowing burgundy red.

He pace slowed, and she trudged to a stop, looking around her at the stately and beautiful ancient oak trees that lined the avenues of the small, private campus. Andie knew she would miss it here, when she graduated and left. The school had been a haven of peaceful serenity for her, almost a retreat of sorts, after her parents had died in her senior year of high school in a car accident.

Andie frowned, remembering. The drunk driver had come out of nowhere. She had been in the back seat, with her seat belt on, listening to her walkman while her parents sat in the front, arguing as usual. About money, like always. Or the lack of it. Her mother had been pleading once again for her father to contact his wealthy relatives, and ask for financial help. Andie's Daddy, like he always did, bristled at the suggestion, and swore he would never speak to "that sick bastard" again, referring to Andrea's grandfather, Bill Racer, Senior.

Andie, uncomfortably a captive audience to their discord, had closed her eyes and turned the volume up on her radio, hoping to drown them out. She never saw the car that swerved into their lane, and hit them head-on. There was a blinding flash of light, then an even more blinding flash of pain, and then... nothing. Nothing at all until she woke up in the hospital several days later, to be told she was an orphan.

And, to her surprise, a very RICH orphan.

Andie shook her head, watching as the lights winked on all over campus as the sun faded further into night. She had never understood it- Her father had cut himself off from his wealthy family a long time ago, after some argument the reasons of which Andie had never been privy to. Since then, her father had financially been only a moderately successful man. They were always struggling to get by. But in the hospital, after her parents' death, a well-dressed young lawyer had visited her, and told her that due to a family trust, Andie need never worry about money again.

She found it odd that her grandfather- for that is who she assumed had arranged it all- whom she had never met, or even talked to, would now suddenly want to take care of her. Odder still, was that even after the accident, she had no contact with him. Other than receiving the large checks deposited in her account each month, Andie was no closer to knowing her father's side of the family than she had ever been.

She floundered, adrift, for a time, unsure what to do with herself as she recuperated from the accident. A medical social worker at the hospital befriended her in her grief and bewildered loneliness, and urged her to attend college, as she had always dreamed of. Andie had chosen this quiet place, and had somehow found her niche here, making friends, being happy, and, almost unconsciously, deciding to major in the same field as the woman who had guided her here.

A light breeze blew through her hair, and Andie shivered, feeling suddenly cold, although it had been a warm Spring day on campus. She shook off her pensive mood, and hurried along the sidewalk, reminding herself that even though it was Friday night and she was a senior, that her dorm mother still expected the residents to check in before heading out for other pursuits on campus. The school administration here was very protective of the students. Due to their strict curfew policy, there hadn't been a rape or abduction for years ...

Andie shivered again. *Why am I thinking like this?* she admonished herself sternly. She was not particularly timid, and she never worried about her own personal safety, not like some people at school who were paranoid about it. *I'm beginning to think like Mrs. Henderson, the dorm mother,* Andie thought wryly to herself, *seeing bogey-men around every corner. * She let out a little laugh, that sounded hollow even to her own ears.

In spite of her dismissal of her fears, something had triggered Andie's sense of wariness; she was instantly on alert, the hair on the back of her neck rising. She quickened her pace again, eager to get home to the safety of her room. She swiveled her head around, all senses strained to the fullest, but she could neither see nor hear anything out of the ordinary. She only felt that, somewhere, out there in the darkness, something, or someone, was watching her.

"Michael," Mentz reported through his com link. "Target approaching, headed east..."

In the large gray van, Michael rubbed his chin thoughtfully., his gaze flickering up to Birkoff seated beside him. "Do we have confirmed identity on the target?" he asked tightly.

The young computer genius hesitated. "Well, no," he answered truthfully. "But it has to be her. It's dark and all, but she's headed for the right building, and it's the time of day her class lets out..."

Michael sighed. "Okay," he ordered, hoping that the girl outside was indeed Andrea Racer, and not some other innocent student about to be caught in Section's web. He rose from his seat and pulled his black knit mask down over his face, heading out the van door. "We intercept. Blue Team, go..."

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

Andie screamed when the sinister shadows between the trees detached themselves from the darkness and emerged right in front of her. She cringed backwards, then whirled, noting with horror that she was surrounded by four bogey-men out of a nightmare- the men were all large, all dressed in sinister black, with black masks hiding their faces. They stared at her intently, and took all took a step forward, ominously encircling her more closely.

"No!" Andie sobbed raggedly, her breath hitching with fear in her throat. "No, please....." she begged in wide-eyed panic, trembling violently as she cowered in front of them.

A soft voice behind her made her freeze where she stood. "We're not going to hurt you," the man told her improbably, his words warm and rich with a soft French accent. "Please come with us....."

Andie's head swiveled around sharply to meet the eyes of her polite attacker. In fact, it was only his eyes that she could see, his face being covered in a all-concealing black mask. The eyes were silver-green and glittered sympathetically in the faint light. Despite the horror of the situation, Andie found herself for a brief moment fleetingly wanting to trust that soft voice, and those lustrous eyes, to entrust herself to this stranger's care...

But the feeling only lasted for a moment. Then some other, more deeply primal, instinct kicked in. Andie took in a determined deep breath, gathered her courage, and aimed herself at the opening between the two assailants nearest to her. She lowered her head, and ran.

Her desperate dive for freedom failed, Mentz and his companion, Foster, catching her easily by the arms and wrestling her back into the circle. Andie screamed again, sobbing in panic. Foster put his gloved hand over her mouth, quieting her cries for help as she squirmed against him.

"Get her to the van, now," the green-eyed leader ordered them. The men obeyed, hustling their struggling prey forward, as she kicked and twisted futilely between them. Michael and the third team member, Robbins, followed behind, keeping an eye out for witnesses.

The large gray vehicle pulled close to the curb, and seconds later, Andie felt herself hauled off her feet and lifted up the steps into its ominous interior. The men deposited her roughly on the banquette cushion inside, and she scrambled back into the corner of the seat, panting hard, cringing away from them.

Their teammates followed, The green-eyed leader climbing in last, shutting the door behind him. He took a few steps toward the prisoner, looking thoughtfully down at her for a few moments as she cowered in her seat, sobbing in fright.

Birkoff glanced at the others from the opposite side of the van, looking up from the laptop in front of him. "Shouldn't we go?" he suggested impatiently. "We have what we came for..."

Michael's gaze flickered up and met Birkoff's eyes calmly. "Do we?" he asked curtly, then turned back to look at Andie again.

He pulled his mask off, revealing the handsomely somber face. Michael reached out, placing his hand gently under Andie's chin, lifting her tear-filled eyes to his. "What is your name, please?" he asked gently.

Andie gulped, her fear dissolving into bewilderment. "W-What?" she stammered out, confused. "Why do you want to know my name?" she demanded.

Michael gave her a slight, almost imperceptible, wry smile. "Is your grandfather William George Racer?" he asked tightly, his tone a little less gentle.

Andie blinked, her anger flaring. "What's it to you, you bastard?" she yelled defiantly, her blue eyes blazing. "Since when do you need to know my pedigree before you rape and kill me?" she shouted in disgust, lunging for his face.

Michael caught her flailing wrists in his firm grip before her blows could land on him. The strength of his grasp made Andie whimper sharply in pain. The green eyes bored intensely into hers for a moment, the look leaving her breathless. Then, suddenly, Michael released her.

He stepped back and nodded to Foster and Robbins. "Search her," he ordered curtly.

Andie cringed back, and began sobbing in panic again as the men pulled her down on the seat and began running their hands over her, patting her down thoroughly and groping in her pockets. After a moment, Robbins straightened, and let out a sigh. "No identification," he reported tensely, looking at Michael.

Michael sighed, and turned to the operative running tactical. "Birkoff...." He barked out tensely. "Anything?"

The last thing Michael wanted to do now was bring in the wrong coed at this stage of the game. Getting Racer was too important, and to make that kind of blundering mistake would not only delay the mission, but could also get him and his entire team cancelled.

Birkoff nodded in understanding, then bent his head over his keyboard, typing furiously. After a moment, he looked up. "Says here that Andrea Racer was in a car accident four years ago," he reported in a low voice. "She should have a long scar on her right shoulder...."

"Good," Michael acknowledged succinctly, then turned back to face the prisoner. Andie was again in the corner of the seat, back pressed up against the wall, her legs drawn up in front of her, gasping in fright.

Michael nodded at his men. "Hold her still," he ordered in a level tone.

"Nooo!" Andie screamed as Mentz and Foster came toward her. "No! No, please...." She sobbed. The men held her by the arms, one on each side of her, pulling her to her feet in front of Michael. With her arms twisted painfully behind her back, Andie couldn't move.

As Michael stepped closer and reached for the top button of her sweater, she found she could no longer scream, either. Her strength, her very breath, were gone, as, gripped by fear, she could only close her eyes and weep silently as her green-eyed captor unfastened her blouse and slipped his hand inside, fingers roaming across the creamy skin of her shoulder, searching...

"Please...." She begged in a soft whimper, quivering desperately, as the tears rolled down her cheeks. "Oh, please..." she sobbed. "Don't! Don't hurt me..."

Michael's fingers encountered what he was looking for- a long, narrow raised ridge of flesh, marring the perfection of the surrounding smoothness he had caressed. The scar slashed downward from the hollow of her shoulder in a diagonal line, ending at the top of her right breast.

Andie sobbed in shock again, as she felt Michael's hand lift from inside her blouse to caress the tears off her face. "Shhh," the soft French voice soothed gently. "I won't," he assured her softly. "I won't hurt you....."

She opened her eyes to stare into his numbly. Once more, she found herself mesmerized, wanting to trust herself to those tender green eyes. Her breath caught in her throat again as Michael buttoned her clothes for her and then nodded to his men.

"Let her go," he ordered quietly. The men stepped back from her, and Andie, too shaky to stand, collapsed back onto the bench behind her. Michael gave another nod to Birkoff, and uttered one more command. "Go," he said sharply. Then he sat down beside the prisoner, watching her sadly.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, his words clearly sincere.

Andie eyed him warily, her mind whirling in confusion. "Who ARE you?" she choked out, swaying as the van started up, taking her to places unknown and frightening.

The green eyes met hers unblinkingly. "You can call me Michael," he told her gently.

Andie nodded, then turned her face to the wall, remaining grimly silent for the rest of the trip to Section One.

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

At last the long ride was over, the gray van pulling to a stop at some unknown destination. The team-members flung open the van doors and clambered out, and Michael rose and held out his hand to the trembling prisoner.

Andie shrank back from him at first, then swallowed hard, and put her hand in his.

Somehow his touch, his guiding presence made her feel less afraid, even though logically she knew he was the leader of these mysterious kidnappers, and she should trust him least of all.

But she DID trust him. She gripped his hand, hard, as he helped her down the van steps and led her out into the glaring light of an endlessly long steel hallway. Eyes wide, body trembling nervously, Andie instinctively moved closer to her captor, as if the sheltering warmth of his shoulder against hers was the only source of protection from the vast coldness of this harsh place she found herself in.

Michael put his hand on her neck and shoved her gently forward in front of him. "This way," he murmured softly from behind her.

At his urgings, Andie took a few more steps forward. In a moment, they rounded a corner and the prisoner came abruptly face to face with a silver-haired man, whose smile was even colder than the hallways around them.

The chilly blue-eyes looked past her as if she were an object, not a person, and without acknowledging Andie’s presence, he addressed his remarks to Michael standing behind her.

Operations grinned. "I see you were successful in acquiring the target," he drawled, rocking back and forth on his heels in satisfaction.

Michael’s hand slid down Andie’s arm in a reassuring gesture, as if her were gentling a horse, or a frightened animal. Somehow, she was not offended by this touch, but profoundly grateful for it. This cold-eyed man with the authoritative air terrified her. "Yes," Michael acknowledged simply.

"Good," said Operations, turning on his heel and heading further down the corridor. "Madeleine is waiting to interrogate her in the white room," he tossed the words casually over his shoulder.

Andie froze in her tracks. "I-Interrogate….me?" she squeaked out. "No…." she gasped breathlessly, trying to pull away from Michael. He stopped her attempt to escape, gripping her by the arms and forcing her to look up at him.

Again, the green eyes looked softly into hers, melting her fears. "We just want to ask you some questions," Michael told her in the warm French voice. "We’re not going to hurt you…." He soothed her again.

Andie blinked, then nodded, feeling foolish for falling for this line yet again, although she did feel vastly calmer, less panicked, than she had a moment before. "Okay…." She choked out, feeling able to breathe once more.

Michael smiled at her, a smile genuinely sweet and warm. "Good girl," he told her approvingly, and then took her hand in his and led her further down the corridors.

They wandered, seemingly aimlessly, through the long maze of hallways, until at last Michael halted in front of a large metal door and pushed it open, indicating Andie should precede him inside.

She swallowed hard, and went in. The light here was even more cold and glaring than the rest of this horrid place, she observed fearfully. She stared nervously at the large metal chair in the center of the room, ominously equipped with metal cuffs and straps, which was the room’s only furniture. A voice behind her made her jump in fright.

"Please sit down, Miss Racer," invited Madeleine warmly. "And we’ll have a little talk."

This politeness, unlike Michael’s, chilled her to her soul. Instinctively, Andie knew this sweet invitation boded her no good.

Andie let out a whimper of terror, panicked, and turned to bury her face in the shelter of Michael’s shoulder, clutching him tightly. "Michael," she begged him with a desperate sob. "Please.. Please don’t leave me here…"

Michael held her, feeling her trembling in his arms. He lifted his gaze to Madeleine, meeting her dark brown eyes over Andie’s head.

"Perhaps it would be best if I questioned her," Michael suggested softly. "I think she’ll talk to me…"

Madeleine held his gaze for a moment, eyeing him, and the prisoner, appraisingly. "Hmmm," she commented after a long minute. "Perhaps you’re right.."

She gave Michael a brief nod and walked to the doorway, heels clicking on the hard tile floor. "Report to me as soon as you’re done," she ordered quietly from the threshold, and then left, closing the door behind her.

After Madeleine had gone, Michael went on holding Andie, letting her quietly sob against him, as she gradually got control of herself. After a few moments, she was calm enough to lift her head from his shoulder, step back from him, and look into his eyes.

"Okay," she said, taking in a deep, shuddering breath and giving him a tremulously brave smile. "What do you want to know?"

Michael gave her another genuinely warm smile, admiring her bravery. "Your grandfather," he began gently. "William George Racer…" Michael tilted his head, watching her thoughtfully. "Tell me about him ."

Andie blinked, then let out a sigh. "There’s nothing to tell," she said, shaking her head. "I don’t know anything about him…."

Michael frowned, his eyes narrowing, but then continued in the gentle voice. "You must know something," he countered, shoving his hands in his pockets. "After all, he supports you, doesn’t he?"

Andie sighed again, shoved back a lock of dark hair from her forehead, and slumped wearily against the cold tile wall. She studiously avoided taking a seat in, or even glancing toward, the horrid metal chair.

"Yes, he does," Andie acknowledged. "But that’s the only contact I have with him -the money that appears in the bank…"

She looked up again to meet Michael’s eyes. "I don’t know anything about him, I swear," she confessed sincerely. "I’ve never met him, never talked to him…." She shrugged her shoulders, and went on. "After my parents died, the lawyer showed up at the hospital and told me about the trust fund, and that was that…"

Andie frowned down at the floor and continued in a soft voice. "I took the money, and went to school…."

She looked up suddenly, meeting Michael’s green eyes. "I suppose that’s sounds callous and greedy of me," she mused sorrowfully. "But I did TRY. I tried to contact my grandfather, to thank him for helping me, to establish a connection with him- he is, after all, the only family I have left….."

She sighed again, and looked away. "But he didn’t want anything to do with me…." She said sadly. "I suppose the rift between him and my Dad was too strong, so strong it even lasted after my Dad was dead…."

Michael lifted his chin, his eyes widening. "Rift?" he asked curiously.

Andie nodded. "They had an argument years ago, I think it was just before I was born…" she told him with a bitter grimace. "My Dad broke off all contact with my grandfather, and they never spoke again…."

Andie sighed and closed her eyes. "But it was just like they were still arguing," she said forlornly. "The feud went on, only this time, between my Dad and my Mother…"

"How so?" prompted Michael gently, not wanting to disrupt the flow of her story.

The prisoner looked up at him again. "I don’t really know what the original argument was about exactly, but I gather there was some project my grandfather wanted my Dad to join him in, a project that would bring in lots of money…"

She rubbed a hand over her eyes wearily. "My mother kept nagging my Dad to reconsider, to contact my grandfather and do what he wanted, to be in on the deal…" She smiled apologetically at her captor. "We didn’t have much money, you see, and Mama always wanted to be wealthy…."

Michael regarded her thoughtfully. It occurred to him that the "project" Andie’s father had refused to be a part of was the development of biological weapons of terror. The time-line fit. It had been about twenty years ago that the first really virulent strains of diseases had appeared in terrorists arsenals, and had proliferated ever since.

His mouth twisted grimly. Andie’s grandfather’s "project" had certainly been successful. He only hoped Section could find a way to stop him now.

"My Dad always got upset whenever my Mom mentioned it," Andie went on sadly. "He called my grandfather a monster, a sick, perverted bastard…" She sighed heavily, then smiled wryly., and shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe I should be grateful I never met the old guy, you think?"

Michael nodded, and smiled back. "Maybe.." he agreed cautiously.

Andie’s eyes narrowed, looking at Michael appraisingly. "That’s why you want to find him, isn’t it?" she queried shrewdly. "My grandfather’s involved with something really bad, criminal maybe, and you people want to be in on it…"

Michael stepped closer, and looked into her eyes once more. "No," he said, shaking his head. "We don’t want to be in on it," he told her softly, his voice edged with steel. "We want to stop him, if we can…"

Andie blanched, then stared at him tensely, taking a moment to process the implications of his words.

"You’re the good guys, then…." She blurted out in shock. "This place…." She said, gesturing around the room, "Your organization.. you’re some kind of Feds, aren’t you?" she guessed breathlessly. "You take down the criminals no one else can get…"

Michael flinched at the accuracy of her assessment. "Yes," he acknowledged with a nod of his head. The soft green eyes looked intently into hers. "Will you help us?" he pleaded urgently. "Please?"

Again, Andie found herself unable to resist the supplication of those alluring green eyes. She let out a long, slow breath and gave in.

"All right," she sighed in complete, simple confidence, smiling at him and putting her hand, and her life, trustingly in his. "What do you want me to do?"

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

The hours flew by after that, as Andie found herself in the whirlwind center of activity as the mission to bring down Racer was profiled and prepped.

She gave Section the only contact point she had with her grandfather- the telephone number of the mysterious lawyer who took care of all her banking affairs. A message was sent- a not so politely worded ransom note that Andie never saw, in essence, a threat to kill Racer’s granddaughter if he did not deliver a large amount of money to the meeting place designated.

To Michael’s surprise, Racer replied promptly to this missive Within an hour of sending their threat, Racer had responded, agreeing meekly to all of Section’s demands, saying he would be at the swap point- an abandoned warehouse in a run-down, deserted part of town- the next day at precisely the designated hour.

Operations and Madeleine were pleased with the alacrity of Racer’s capitulation, but Michael had a frisson of apprehension.

Somehow, he thought worriedly, it had all been too easy.

He was in his office later that night, going over some last minute details of the mission profile on his computer, when there was a knock on his door.

He looked up to see Nikita standing at the threshold, poking her head in, and looking at him pleadingly.

"Can I talk to you a minute?" she asked tensely.

Michael nodded. "Come in," he invited, reaching for the keypad at the side of his desk to disable the surveillance. "What is it?"

Nikita, in mission blacks, her hair scraped up in a messy ponytail at the top of her head, took a seat in the chair in front of his desk, sprawling her long legs casually in front of her. Michael’s breath caught at how, even this way, in manly garb, she was still stunningly, femininely, beautiful.

Her cerulean blue eyes flashed up at him, challenging him with their boldness. "It’s about the girl, Andrea," Nikita began in defiant stubbornness.

Michael tilted his head, his eyes softening. He should have expected this topic, he thought to himself. Nikita was always on the warpath when it came to any innocents that might be in harm’s way- or Section’s. Her compassion was one of the things he secretly cherished about her.

"What about Andrea?" Michael asked gently.

Nikita sighed, slouching further down in her chair, and closing her eyes. "Will she be all right?" she asked wearily. "After Section gets what they want from her?"

Michel nodded, and smiled gently, glad to be able to tell her the happy truth. "Yes," he answered quickly. "They plan on releasing her when it’s all over, and we have Racer.." He leaned forward, his voice reassuring. "She’ll be fine…"

Nikita looked up at him, frowning, not a bit reassured. "Really," she drawled sarcastically. "She’ll be fine?" she asked in disbelief.

Michael blinked, but said nothing. He didn’t know what else to say to convince Nikita of the sincerity of his answer.

The lovely blonde leaned forward, her voice becoming hard. "As fine as Lisa Fanning was after you got through with her?" Nikita demanded harshly.

Michael stiffened at the implications of her words, that he had seduced and manipulated Andrea into helping Section capture her grandfather.

"The cases are totally dissimilar," he answered tightly, wounded and hurt by her accusation. "Andrea is nothing like Lisa…"

Nikita sighed, and leaned back in her chair. "Isn’t she?" Nikita said wearily, her voice infinitely sad. "I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Michael," Nikita went on. "The way she clings to you, trusts you… " She paused, took a breath, and went on in a hurt tone. "The way she seems so willing and eager to do anything to please you, even betray her only family…"

Michael uttered and angry groan and stood up abruptly from his desk, almost tipping his chair over in his haste to put distance between himself and Nikita, and her hurtful words. He stalked to the window, gazing out unseeingly, his back to the blonde operative who still sat defiantly in her chair.

"Isn’t Andrea just like all the others, just another woman you’ve manipulated emotionally to get what Section wants?" Nikita went on in an anguished whisper. "Won’t she be just as devastated as all the others, when it’s all over, and she finds out you never ….cared for her at all?" Nikita choked out.

Michael turned sharply to look at her, noting the tears in her blue eyes and the look of strain on her face. He realized suddenly that Nikita included herself in that category, that she considered herself to be one of the women he had duped and manipulated in order to carry out Section’s agendas.

Could it be that Nikita believed he didn’t love her at all?

He felt the need to explain himself thoroughly, to make it all clear. He realized he had never done that before, that he had only expressed himself in actions, expecting Nikita to understand his unspoken words, to interpret his meanings.

He knew now that those actions had been open to interpretation, his meaning murky and obscure, anything but clear. Unaccustomed as he was to verbally expressing his feelings, he knew the time had come for talking, for some very plain speaking.

He walked toward Nikita, faced her, and took her hand in his. "It’s this way, Nikita," he began softly. "I’ve always cared about what happens to the innocents here…."

He closed his eyes, and lowered his head, his voice coming out in a bare whisper. "I cared about Rudy, and Lisa, and I care about Andrea…" he went on, caressing Nikita’s fingers in his. "I haven’t always been able to help them, to do as much as I’d like to protect them, but I’ve always given a damn about what happened to them…"

Nikita watched him, wide-eyed and silent, as he sat down heavily on the edge of the desk behind him, and went on. "I didn’t enjoy lying to Lisa, pretending to fall in love with her, but that was the profile I was given…" He looked away, sorrowfully, his jaw tightening. "I never wanted to hurt her…" he choked out painfully.

The memory of that deception gnawed at him still. It had taken all his strength to look into Lisa’s trusting, adoring face after he had made love to her, and lie baldly that he wanted to run away with her, and vow that he would love her forever….

He shook his head, as if to clear that particular memory. "Don’t you see," he said pleadingly, looking into Nikita’s eyes, "I didn’t have a choice about deceiving her…"

A tear rolled down Nikita’s cheek, and she wiped it angrily away. "But you DID, Michael," she said hoarsely, choking back a sob. "You lied to Lisa. And you lied to Andrea…"

Michael looked up, hearing the rest of the sentence she did not finish.--"And you lied to me, too," – The unspoken phrase echoed loudly between them, even though Nikita had not said the words out-loud.

"I didn’t lie to Andrea," Michael began gently, knowing he was avoiding the real question, but wanting to clear up this other issue first. "She knows her grandfather has done some bad things, and she wanted to help us…"

Nikita’s eyes widened. "You told her he’s a terrorist?" she asked in amazement. "You told her what he does?"

Michael shook his head. "No," he said softly. "She’s an intelligent woman," he explained with a gentle sigh. "She realizes Racer is into some seriously heinous activities, or an organization like Section wouldn’t be after him…"

"You told her about SECTION?" Nikita gasped again.

"Of course not," Michael assured her quickly. "But like I said, Andrea is intelligent.. and brave...." He paused to let out a sigh. "She guessed on her own that we were a government agency…." He fixed her with a sincere look. "And just to make things clear, I didn’t coerce her to give up her grandfather, Nikita…"

"She volunteered on her own to help us. In fact, she is making a sacrifice, giving up her only source of income by doing so…" Michael went on softly.

"Why?" Nikita blurted out. "Why would she do that?"

"Because she’s like you," Michael answered, his eyes soft on her face. "Because Andrea cares about what happens to the innocents…."

He leaned toward her again, taking her hand in his once more. "Nikita," he said softly. "Please believe me. I didn’t woo Andrea, or seduce her, or promise to be her lover….."

"Oh…" Nikita gasped. "Michael, I…." She choked out, then stopped, unsure how to go on. She had never expected him to be this open, this frank with her.

"Andrea was scared when she was brought in- totally terrified…," Michael went on. "Of course, she would be…." He said with a dry laugh. "I tried to reassure her, to calm her down, and she ..trusted me…." He let out a deep sigh. "As a friend…"

"Do you believe me?" he asked sincerely, his eyes glittering with soft pleading.

Nikita nodded, numbly, feeling somewhat ashamed and uncomfortable about her outburst.

"Yes," she answered quickly, embarrassed. She got to her feet. "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything…" she blurted out apologetically, averting her eyes from him, and heading toward the door.

Michael let out a soft groan and caught her arm before she could escape, pulling her close up against him. Nikita looked up into his face, now just inches from her own, and put her hands on his chest. "M-Michael?" she stammered, eyes wide with alarm, and fear, and perhaps something else…

She felt the tender excitement growing in her, the feeling she always had when he was near her like this. Despite herself, in spite of all the efforts she made to resist him, his charisma, and his persuasive ways, Nikita found herself softening, lost in the depths of those beautiful green eyes.

"Michael…." She breathed out; this time the word was like a whispered caress, or an invitation to touch…

He groaned loudly again, and kissed her. His mouth plundered hers hungrily, as if he was a starving man, and her lips offered him some beauteous nectar, a feast for the gods….

Her hands came up to tangle in his long hair, pulling him close. She drank in his warmth and strength, enjoying the sweet satisfaction of his firm lips surrendering to hers. He tasted of promises, and fulfillment of dreams, of the surcease of loneliness, of all sweet, beautiful things…

At last he broke the kiss, and Nikita swayed into him, holding him close. "Michael…" she moaned softly, closing her eyes, and laying her head on his shoulder. "Michael…."

His hand was under her chin, then, and he lifted her face to his. The green eyes smoldered into hers.

"I do what I have to do for the missions, Nikita," he whispered huskily. "But it has nothing to do with how I feel about you…." He kissed her cheek once more, then lowered his head to nip lightly at her jaw. "Understand?" he choked out hoarsely.

Nikita gripped him firmly by the collar with both hands, pulling his mouth back to hers. "Yes," she growled hungrily against his lips. "I understand…." Then she kissed him again, very, very thoroughly, making sure their was no doubt in his mind just how deep was her understanding, or her love….

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

At last the hour of the appointed exchange arrived. The teams set out for the rendezvous point at the abandoned warehouse, in a specific, designated formation, Team One- consisting of Michael and the prisoner, Andie- in the lead, far ahead, the rest of the teams following at a careful distance behind.

Racer had requested that the money drop/ kidnap exchange be done as privately and discreetly as possible, and Section was willing to give him that scenario, or at least, the illusion of it.

The back-up teams would be present, but would hold way back until needed. To the casual eye, the only vehicle going in was a medium-sized white van, with only two occupants- Michael and Andie. As soon as the exchange with Racer was completed, Michael would give the signal, and the secondary teams would move in from their far fall back positions and capture the terrorist who had been Section’s nemesis for so long.

Or, at least, that was the plan.

Michael couldn’t help feeling incredibly apprehensive as he drove the van smoothly into the warehouse parking lot and pulled to a stop just inside the broken-down chain-linked gate. The bad vibes he had had earlier were still with him. Everything was going just too damned smoothly.

Sitting beside her erstwhile captor in the passenger seat, Andie glanced up at him nervously and licked her dry lips. "I’m scared," she said quietly.

Michael turned admiring eyes to her, impressed with the bravery of this admission. He didn’t want to tell her he was having the same feelings as well. The fact that they were sitting her in the van, alone in the warehouse yard, isolated from their team-mates, almost a sitting duck target, made him jittery, to say the least. But he didn’t want to convey any of that nervousness to the already frightened young girl beside him.

Coolly, Michael answered her in his level, calm voice, forcing himself to sound more confident than he really was. "It’ll be over soon," he assured her, flashing her a quick smile.

Andie sighed, unable to manage a smile back. Her gaze swept the dingy, empty court-yard, searching for signs of her grandfather’s arrival. "They’re late," she commented anxiously.

She just wanted this to be over. Michael had told her that her grandfather would be taken alive, so she didn’t feel like a killer, exactly. A Judas, maybe. She couldn’t help feeling like a traitor of sorts, sitting here, preparing to betray her only remaining family. But then she remembered how her father had wanted nothing to do with her grand-father, and how far Michael’s organization was willing to go to stop him, and her resolve hardened.

She WAS doing the right thing, she told herself. She just wished she didn’t feel so much anguish about doing it.

She glanced at Michael again, wondering if this is how he felt every-time he went out on a mission to take out a heinous criminal- scared out of his mind. But, no, she amended to herself, taking in his still tranquil demeanor. Michael it seemed, was cool, unruffled, and unaffected. Andie thought he must have nerves of steel.

"We’re early," he countered, giving her another warm, reassuring smile. "They’ll be here," he told her confidently.

If there was one thing Michael was sure of, it was that William Racer had been definitely determined to retrieve his grand-daughter. The man had been incredibly anxious about her well-being in all their communications with him, acting genuinely relieved when Michael told him that Andie was indeed alive and in one piece.

Michael grimaced. It was the one thing that redeemed Racer in his eyes, that he had been concerned about Andie’s welfare, before and after she had been kidnapped. Apparently the ruthless killer, capable of the casual slaughter of thousands of innocents, had a soft spot for this particular innocent, the child of his own flesh and blood. It relieved Michael of one anxiety about this part of the mission- he knew that Racer would not do anything foolishly daring to endanger his granddaughter during the swap.

The two waited tensely for a few more long minutes, Michael listening to the terse chatter of the final checklists of the back-up teams through his com unit as they took positions several hundred yards away. Then the teams quieted, and the only sound that could be heard was the wind whooshing forlornly through the desolate and bleakly empty warehouse courtyard.

Mouth dry, muscles tight, Michael almost jumped out of skin when at last they heard their target arriving. Andie let out a gasp and swiveled her head to watch as a large, shiny black van entered the gate behind them, drove past their vehicle, and pulled to a stop in front of them.

Then the silence returned. There was no movement from the van in front of them, the sleek back doors of the vehicle that faced them staying tightly shut and ominously quiet and still.

Then a mega-phoned voice shattered the stillness. "Do you have the girl?" a distorted male voice demanded harshly from the truck.

Michael swallowed hard, cracked his door and slipped out of the van onto the pavement. "Yes," he called back loudly. "Do you have the money?"

The electronically enhanced male voice laughed cacophonously. "Got it right here," the voice assured them, reverberating through the court-yard. "Come out and get it.."

The doors of the van ahead opened slowly, and Michael watched with narrowed eyes as the legs of two men emerged, one of them carrying a thick silver suitcase. In a flash, Michael knew something was not right. The men were dressed in thick, white enviro-suits, helmets and face-shields obscuring their identities.

Michael knew instinctively that what they carried in the case was not money, but Racer's specialty, deadly biological weapons.

"They’re in bio-hazard gear," Michael shouted into his com-link. "All teams, off perimeter! Abort! Abort!"

He turned to clamber back into the van to drive away as fast as he could, when he looked up in horror to see that the passenger side of the van was empty. Andie was not there.

She had slipped quietly out of the truck when the other vehicle had arrived, and was now standing on the side of the white van. Racer’s men were coming straight toward her.

"Andrea! No!" Michael yelled, and raced to the front of the truck, putting himself between the young girl and her attackers.

Everything was over in a flash, the time swirling and rushing by, even though Michael wished he could hold it in his hands, and stop it, wished he could somehow reshape the outcome of the next few fleetingly critical moments. But that was not in his power.

All he could do was what he had been trained to do- protect the innocent.

Michael sensed, rather than saw the gun come up in the enemy’s hand. One of the white-suited foes had aimed his weapon directly at Andie’s heart. In a split second, Michael leapt forward, pulling his own gun out of his jacket at the same time he arrived in front of the young girl in time to take the bullet for her.

He felt a sharp stab of pain in his shoulder, the impact of the blast sending him forward. He remained in control enough to pull Andie down underneath him as he fell, so that she lay on the ground beneath him, his body protectively covering hers.

In his ear, Andie screamed, but to Michael, the sound of her cries was far away. He felt himself fading, his consciousness dimming rapidly, but he held on for a few seconds more.

With a valiant effort not to pass out, he twisted to look back at his assailants, bringing his gun up as he did so. Blinking rapidly, his hand shaking, Michael managed to shoot the white-suited man with the gun before he could get off another round.

The other assailant ignored the gun-play, and was calmly kneeling by the silver metal case, undoing its fastenings. He reached inside with a white-gloved hand and took out a small glass vial, then carefully unstopped its seal.

Although he could not see the man’s expression through the shielding hood he wore, Michael knew somehow the man was smiling evilly, just before he flung the contents of the test-tube toward Michael, dousing him and Andie with the deadly contents.

Michael had no time to wonder frantically which horrid disease viruses the vial had contained. Gasping, his vision blurring, he used his last ounce of strength to bring his gun up again and shoot at this remaining inhuman attacker. Even in his injured, woozy state, Michael’s aim held true. The assailant crumpled where he stood, falling across the silver suitcase, and lay still, sprawled next to his dead companion on the ground.

Michael collapsed onto Andie again. He brought his arm around her protectively, his hand brushing briefly across the soft brown waves of her hair.

Her frantic sobs as she called out his name were the last thing he heard before the world went black.

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

Michael floated, suspended, in the warm darkness for a long while, until a greater warmth roused him. Dimly, as if from a great distance, he sensed a woman’s soft touch on his skin, gentle hands skimming between his thighs, and then even more gently, fondling his nakedness.

Something even softer and warmer than flesh, a wet heat, wrapped itself around his hardening penis for a brief moment, then brushed downwards, the warmth soothing him as the gentle touch continued down his legs, under his knees, over calves and ankles, between toes, not missing an inch of his relaxed flesh.

"Nikita.." he moaned softly, eyes still closed. Michael’s whole body felt heavy, and deliciously tired, too exhausted to move. He sighed, and stayed still, feeling too lazily peaceful to try to stir from his groggy Paradise. He supposed he was dreaming, a delicious erotic dream about Nikita, about being naked, about her touching him…

The dream went on, the warm, wet, impossibly smooth, touch continuing, relaxing him further. He gave into the dream, letting the fantasy woman have her way with him. The hands moved upwards, and he felt the soft warmth stream through his hair, fingers first tangling in his curls, then pulling them straight. The woman stroked his forehead and temples, fingers massaging the warmth through his scalp. The touch was caring, gentle, and…. Erotic.

Michael cracked one eyelid, getting a tantalizing one-second glimpse of white skin, bare arms, and one perfectly shaped bare breast before he closed his eyes again, his eyelids too heavy for more than this brief effort.

The hands finished with his hair and moved downward, the warmth brushing across his face and throat in their continued gentle thoroughness. When the wetness reached his chest, and the woman’s touch grazed his nipples, Michael groaned again, and writhed as he felt himself grow hard with longing.

"Yes…" he whimpered hoarsely. "Nikita…."

The hands moved lower, the wetness washing down his chest, over his quivering abdomen and hips, headed for his thighs once more. Michael’s languidness dissipated, and, fully excited and aroused, he awakened, determined to become an active participant in the dream. He opened his eyes and lunged upward, to reach for Nikita…..

And found he couldn’t move. He let out a sharp gasp of frustration, and blinked rapidly, as reality crashed in and several things became clear. The naked female beauty beside him was not blonde, but had a cloud of rich, wavy brown hair, topping sensitive features and a willowy slender form. Her skin was rich cream ivory, and achingly perfect, except for the scars on her right side. The blue eyes went wide with alarm, and the white skin of her face flushed suddenly bright red.

"Andrea..?" Michael gasped in shock, confused and disoriented. "What….?"

She gave him an embarrassed smile, and gently pushed him down by his shoulder. "Shhh, Michael, take it easy…." She soothed. "Everything’s all right.."

He struggled to sit up again, failed, and then glanced over to see what was holding his wrists down. They were tied with what looked like soft towels to the bars of a cot he was lying on. He blinked again, seeing with stunned realization that they were in the back of the white van they had arrived in for the mission.

The mission. It all came back to him now. Section had not brought down Racer. Instead, Racer had bested them.

He uttered a groan and tried to sit up again. "Damn it, what are you doing to me?" Michael growled in frustration. "Let me UP..."

Shyly, Andie covered her breasts with one arm, and used the other hand to brush the wet hair off Michael’s forehead. She looked into his bewildered green eyes.

"I’ll let you up, Michael, I promise," Andie told him in a pleading voice. " But will you please just relax for a minute and let me explain things first?"

Michael met her eyes, deep blue and sincere, and then let his head fall back on the mattress, letting out a deep breath. "All right," he sighed in surrender. "What’s going on?"

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

Andie bit her lip and settled next to Michael on the cot. Her eyes softened and she touched one finger to his left shoulder, and the small, but angry red mark there. "You saved my life," she began in a quaveringly soft voice. "You jumped in front of the gun for me…"

Michael sluiced his eyes sideways, trying to see the injury. Beside a twinge of slight soreness, his shoulder did not hurt at all. "Was I shot?" he asked hoarsely, more bewildered than ever. He was sure a bullet had hit him..

Andie nodded, then gave him a sweet smile. "Yes, you were shot, but it was with a tranquilizer dart," she told him. Her fingers caressed the small wound, and she looked down at his shoulder pensively. "You’ll be fine," she said softly, then gazed up at him, her eyes suspiciously bright. "I don’t even think it’ll leave you with a ..sc-scar..." she stammered out brokenly.

Michael blinked, touched that she would care about such a minor, fleeting mark the dart might leave on him, when she had endured the deep permanent marring of her flesh, the ugly reminder of the accident that had caused so much loss in her life.

Michael smiled at her, then frowned suddenly, as another ugly memory returned. "The men…" he gasped angrily. " The vial…What did they use on us?"

Andie shook her head. "They don’t know yet," she went on gently. "An unknown viral agent I suppose," she explained in a serious tone. "Section is analyzing it now…."

Michael gasped again. "Section?" he demanded, eyes wide with shock. "Since when do you know about… Section?"

Michael had been very careful not to mention the name of his employers, or any details about their activities, that might contaminate Andie further. He wanted to make sure she would be released after all this was over, and her ignorance of what she was truly dealing with was a necessary prerequisite to her freedom. Knowing too much could be dangerous.

"Since I grabbed your com unit out of your ear and screamed for help, that’s when," she replied with a small, nervous smile. "I was really scared- you were unconscious on top of me, the two bad guys were d-dead…"

Her breath hitched in her throat for a moment, as she relived the horror, then went on. "There was this sticky blue stuff all over you, and I didn’t know how badly you were hurt, or even if you were .. alive…"

Andie brushed her hand across his cheek gently, tears welling in her eyes. "I talked to Birkoff, and then some biological hazards guy, a doctor, in Medlab…" she continued softly. "He told me what to do…."

Michael blinked again, beginning to understand. "The doctor told you to set up a quarantine zone?" he asked, wide eyed. "That’s why we’re still here?"

Andie nodded. "The back-up teams are safe- they were too far away to have been affected by the virus, or whatever it is," she continued gently. "They were ordered to stay away. Then Section airlifted some medical supplies to me, and the doctor told me what to do…"

She looked away, turning her back to him, unable to face him just then when she told him the rest. "The doctor said I had to take off all our clothes—yours and m-mine… " she stammered nervously, "and put them in a bio-hazard container outside, and then I was supposed to wash you down three times with this disinfectant stuff, making sure I didn’t miss any…p-part of your skin…"

She let out a little sob, shivering in embarrassment. "I wasn’t trying to take advantage of you, or anything, Michael, honest…"

Michael smiled, amused a little at her embarrassment, and a little ashamed at his eager response to her touch, which had embarrassed them both further.

"Andrea," he said softly, his voice gentle. "Look at me…"

She hesitated a moment, then lifted her head, and turned to look at him over her shoulder, arms still huddled around herself for cover. "Y-Yes?" she said apprehensively. "What is it, Michael?"

His eyes looked gratefully into hers. "Thank you," he said sincerely, his voice warm and rich as before.

The nervous young girl broke into smiles. "You’re welcome!" she beamed happily.

Michael smiled back, and then tilted his head and gave her a quizzical glance. "Would you untie me now, please?" he begged gently.

Andie blushed, a hand going to her lips. She laughed nervously. "Of course, I’m sorry…" she apologized. She hesitated just a moment and blushed again, before unfolding her arms from her breasts to reach for his bonds, plucking the cloths free from his wrists.

Michael, freed, sat up, and to his surprise, she handed him one of the towels she had bound him with. "Here," she said, shoving the long piece of cloth toward him. "This is your hospital gown…"

She turned her back to him, and hastily unfolded her own white piece of material in her hands, pulling it eagerly over her head, and down her body, relieved to have her nakedness shielded from his gaze.

Michael let the cloth drape across his lap, but made no effort to put the garment on. When she turned back to face him, Michael pulled her by the arm to sit down on the bed beside him.

"Andrea," Michael demanded in a sultry voice. "Just why did you restrain me?"

Andie looked at him with innocent eyes. "To keep you in bed, of course," she said simply.

Michael smiled teasingly, and his voice was again rich with desire. "You wouldn’t have to tie me up to do that…" he whispered huskily, caressing the back of his hand down her bare arm.

Andie shivered, and then blushed furiously. "We’re supposed to stay in the van, and not go out," she said tightly, her voice quivering with hurt. She turned her face from him, lowering her voice to a whisper. "So we won’t be contaminated again," she explained breathlessly. "The doctor said you might be … confused and disoriented when you woke up, and try to leave…"

She looked up at him, tears filling her eyes. "I only did it to help you, Michael," she said, voice hitching on sob. "It’s not f-fair of you to t-tease me, when I know a man like you would never be interested in a sc-scarred monstrosity like me, anyway…"

Michael blinked in shock, stunned. He realized that Andie had misinterpreted his genuinely meant words of flirtation as a cruel taunt.

"Andrea.." he groaned, reaching for her. He placed his hands on either side of her face, and gently turned her head to look at him. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her eyes brimming brightly. Impulsively, wanting to soothe her hurt, and at the same time feeling his body tense with sudden desire, he lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her.

She sobbed at first against his lips, and struggled. Then, as the kiss went on, she relaxed into the intimate caress, her arms coming up around him to embrace him, pulling him close. Tentatively at first, then more boldly, she responded to the kiss, eagerly surrendering her mouth to be plundered by his.

Michael’s hand stole upwards to cup her breast in his palm, the breast he knew was slashed with scars. She flinched, and started to cry again; Michael pulled her head down on his chest, letting her sob into his shoulder, still caressing her.

"Don’t ever say that about yourself again," he admonished her in soft, husky tones. "You’re beautiful…"

Andie struggled against him. "No…." she moaned, sobbing brokenly.

Impatiently, Michael turned her in his arms to lie under him on the bed. His towel slipped to the floor, and there was nothing between his hard arousal and her softness but the insubstantially thin barrier of her flimsy gown.

Andie gasped, and lay panting beneath him, her eyes wide. Michael’s eyes met hers in a smoldering glance.

"Every part of you is beautiful…." He declared huskily. Without taking his gaze from her, he pulled the covering aside from her breast, revealing the vivid scars.

Andie turned her head away in shame. "Don’t…." she gasped, sobbing. "Don’t look…."

Michael nipped at her neck. "But I’ve already seen you…." He moaned hoarsely. "I’ve already touched you…."

His mouth trailed lower, and he kissed the hard ridge of scar on her shoulder, sliding his mouth sensuously over it, and then went lower, capturing her nipple in his teeth.

"Mmmm," he groaned, "You even taste … beautiful…." He murmured hoarsely against her breast.

Something broke in Andie’s soul, the harsh, cold chains of self-hatred that had bound her for so long. A new warmth flooded her, a sweet healing confidence, and a burgeoning acceptance and love, for herself, and for Michael. He had pushed past her defenses, uncovered the hard scabs covering her soul wounds, and had revealed the true purity and perfection underneath. Her sorrow lifted, cleansed away by Michael’s fervent touch. She was healed, she was renewed, she was….. free.

To Michael’s surprise, Andie started to laugh, a warm, mirthful joy bubbling up in her that could not be suppressed. Michael lifted his head up and met her shining eyes.

"Andrea?" he asked quietly, in the rich voice she loved, rolling the rr’s off his tongue like a sensuous caress. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," she whispered happily, smiling through her tears. "I’m fine, I’m…. beautiful…." She giggled, pulling him close, lifting one slender leg to wrap around his body, molding it to hers.

She looked into his eyes, smoldering with promise. "As beautiful as you…." She breathed, and then kissed him.

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

Much later, naked together on the small cot, Andie and Michael lay snuggled spoon-fashioned, basking in the after-glow of their passionate, tender love-making. Andie’s smaller body fit perfectly against his, her head resting back in the firm shelter of his broad shoulder, her slender hips wedged snugly against his.

Eyes closed, feeling blissfully peaceful, Andie drowsed while Michael lazily caressed her, his hand trailing lightly up and down over her body- hips, stomach, breasts…

"Mmmm……" she moaned softly. "Feels good…."

Michael laughed gently at her enjoyment of his teasing touch. He brushed his fingers deliberately over her stiffening nipple and caressed the underside of her breast, then moved lower…

Andie tensed suddenly, not from apprehension that he might be about to touch her more intimately, but because his fingers had encountered the second set of scars, a raised scoring of ridged flesh that cross-hatched for several inches across her ribs.

Michael sensed her discomfort and his hand stopped its travels, fingers splayed gently across the network of scars. "Did I hurt you?" he whispered hoarsely against her hair.

"No…." she whispered back, letting out a sigh.

Michael relaxed, and kissed the sensitive spot at the juncture of her shoulder and neck, a spot that he had discovered earlier was particularly responsive to his touch. He laughed warmly again. "Then I must have tickled you then, to get you to jump like that…." He murmured caressingly.

Andie tensed again, and turned to bury her face deeper in the crook of his shoulder. "No…." she whimpered, feeling embarrassed and exposed with Michael’s palm resting directly over the scarred flesh, her source of shame. She felt unable suddenly to bear this touch any longer, and made a lunge to rise from the cot, struggling frantically to get up.

Michael, comprehending at once, stopped her. Holding her gently, he quickly turned her in one deft movement to lie under him. She tried to sit up again, but he held her down, his hands pinning her wrists to the bed.

"Please, don’t leave me yet.." he begged, kissing her mouth lightly, but hungrily. "I want to love you again…."

Andie closed her eyes, a single tear squeezing out from under her thick eyelashes. Her breath hitched on a sob as she moaned out his name. "Michael…." The word was both a plea and a rejection, as confused, Andie felt extremely emotionally vulnerable at that moment. She knew that whatever Michael did next might heal her further, or deepen the already painfully deep wounds on her psyche, that cut deeper than any of the surface scarring.

"Lie still," Michael commanded her gently, his eyes looking tenderly into hers.

Andie’s breath caught again, then she relaxed, letting herself go limp on the cot, feeling a sudden complete trust in him. Michael, she knew, just as he promised her with the first words when they had met, would never hurt her.

"Okay…" she said meekly, letting out a sigh.

He smiled into her eyes, kissed her lightly, and then his gaze flickered lower to the scar below her breast. Unlike the one on her shoulder above, which was a jagged and irregular slash mark, this one was a patterned, regular, scoring of flesh- almost….. deliberate.

He released her hands and used both of his to trace the cross-hatched grid of flesh on her ribs. Andie held her breath, but remained still and trusting under his exploring fingers.

"Is this one from the car accident, too?" he asked gently, just before he lowered his head and kissed the red marks that his fingers had caressed seconds earlier.

Andie let out a high whimper, anticipating pain, but then relaxed again as she realized how good it felt to have this vulnerable place on her body touched, and to be able to at last talk to someone about it, someone caring and accepting….

"No, it’s older…" she told him, amazed at how free she suddenly felt, how calm. Here in the safety of Michael’s intimate embrace, she discovered it was okay to let go, to discuss a touchy subject she had tried to suppress and ignore all her life. "I’ve had that one since I was a baby…"

Michael frowned slightly, and kissed the grid of scars again, very lightly. "What happened?" he asked intensely, looking tenderly into her eyes once more.

"I got sick," she began, words flowing suddenly free and easily. "I had some kind of rampant flu- a high fever. The doctors tried everything, but couldn’t get it under control…"

Michael blinked. "You’re saying the scar is from some TREATMENT they gave you?" he gasped, appalled that such barbaric methods had been inflicted on a child.

Andie nodded, and lifted her hand to caress his cheek, touched by the concern and anger in his voice. "I don’t know the details," she went on softly. "My father always got upset whenever I asked him about it…" She smiled shyly into Michael’s eyes. "I don’t know for sure, but I got the impression that the treatment was.. well, experimental, and I suspect that my father didn’t approve of what they did to me…."

Michael touched the marred skin caressingly once more. "I wouldn’t have approved of it either…" he growled, angry on her behalf.

"Hey," she said with quick laugh, feeling suddenly light-hearted. "It’s all right…" Andie brushed her hand across his hair. "I lived, I got well, and I wasn’t sick anymore after that," she told him, feeling happy. "In fact, I am so disgustingly healthy, you wouldn’t believe it…." She continued with a giggle. "I’ve never even had a cold since, not once…"

Michael smiled at her. "Good…" he whispered huskily. "Because I don’t think I could stand it if you suffered anymore, Ma Cher…" Letting out a loud moan, he gathered her close, crushing her to his chest, and fervently kissed her until she was breathless.

Andie kissed him back, happily, then became at first puzzled, then alarmed, at the intensity of his embrace, and the almost desperate way he was holding her. It struck her suddenly that Michael was afraid.

She placed her hands on both sides of his firm jaw and tilted his head up to look into his face. The green eyes glittered with worry. "What’s wrong?" she asked breathlessly. Then, trying to keep her tone light, she added flippantly, "You don’t think I can handle getting a cold?"

The green eyes looked sorrowfully into hers, and his hand strayed upward to caress one wayward, dark curl of hair from her cheek. "Not a cold," he said tensely. "I meant, whatever horrid viral disease you were exposed to…." He went on with a sigh, his jaw clenched tightly. "I should have protected you……"

Andie moaned, and reached up to hold him close once more. "Shhh, you DID protect me, Michael.." she protested, lips pressed to his ear. She shivered, suddenly engulfed in fear. "You were the one who was exposed to it, more than I was…"

She clutched him fiercely to her breast, feeling her own desperation grow, along with his. "I’d die if anything happened to you, Michael…." She sobbed.

"Shhh," he assured her with a swift kiss. "We’ll be fine…."

"Promise?" she whispered back, trembling.

Michael’s firm lips brushed gently over hers. "Oui, I promise…" he moaned against her mouth, and then kissed her again, this time the kiss was not light, but tender and deep. His muscular length covered hers, and he groaned again, as he felt his body quickening urgently in response to her nearness, ready to be joined with hers.

Before he could slip his hand down to part her silken thighs, and prepare her quivering depths to receive him, the sweet moment of rapture was interrupted by a shrill beeping sound.

Michael gasped loudly, and flinched, his head jerking upwards. "What was that?" he demanded with a frustrated sigh.

Andie sighed just as loudly, and pointed to a small black box on the floor nearby. "It’s the doctor from Medlab," she explained in a sorrowful tone. "I think he wants to talk to you."

Michael sat up with an angry groan, and slapped the switch on the communication device. "Yes?" he demanded harshly.

"I have good news," the elderly male voice reported cheerily, oblivious of the aggravation his interruption had caused his patients. "Our telemetry shows that the last blood test we ran on you both was negative for infectious agents…"

"It’s been eight hours since your exposure," the doctor went on. "That’s not a lot of time, but given that we must assume the agents used are fast-acting, we can be reasonably sure that neither one of you has been infected." They could almost hear the doctor smile through the com link. "Quarantine is over," he told them happily. "We’re sending a team to bring you home."

Michael sighed, closed his eyes, conflicted. He was both elated and depressed at this news. He was relieved, and at the same time sorrowful that his time with Andie had been cut short. "ETA of retrieval team?" Michael barked, more harshly than he intended.

The doctor did not seem offended, dismissing Michael’s rude tone as just due to the stress of waiting. He was glad to be able to tell him more good news.

"You should be able to hear the chopper arriving now," the doctor informed him gleefully.

Michael met Andie’s wide blue eyes, as the roar of a helicopter engine sounded loudly outside, and the van rocked and shook around them, as the vehicle was buffeted by the high winds created by the chopper’s blades.

There was no time, he realized. No time for more love-making, more touching, more ….. healing. This time alone had been as precious and important to him as it had been for her, and now, all too soon, it was over.

Michael took the last few seconds that were left to gather her in his arms and kiss her once again. "I’m sorry," he whispered hoarsely against her throat, clutching her tightly, his face buried in her soft hair. "I’m sorry…"

Andie was unable to stop the tears from filling her eyes as she hugged him back. She allowed herself one last sweet, frantic caress, desperately pulling his head down to hers and capturing his lips hungrily as her tears fell unheeded down her cheeks to her mouth, the wetness mingling in the kiss.

Tasting the salt of her tears on his lips was the last sensation Michael had before the van doors were opened as the medical retrieval team arrived.

It was over.

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

The Med-Team had arrived in bio-hazard gear, suited up for protection against what might await them at the warehouse site. Mendez, the newest member of the team, jumped with his comrades out of the helicopter as soon as it touched down, and raced toward the van. He was prepared to deal with virulent, incurable virus-borne diseases, as well as the operatives who might have succumbed to said diseases after their exposure. When the doors of the van were flung open, Mendez was prepared to treat the patients that needed his help. He was not prepared for the sight of Section’s top Class Five operative, naked, aroused, and entwined intimately with an equally naked and aroused female.

"Holy sh*t!" he blurted out, unable to stop his automatic response of surprise. The other two members of his team just eyed him sternly through their face masks in silent warning. If he knew what was good for him, their glances seemed to say, he’d be smart not to do anything to p*ss Michael off.

Mendez gulped hard and turned to look at the patients again. Michael had disentangled himself from his young companion, and had positioned himself on the bed in front of her, his body shielding hers from their view. The young lady seemed quite shy and embarrassed, cowering behind him and hiding her head against the back of Michael’s shoulder. Mendez thought she might even have been crying.

Even in a situation like this one where he should have been at a disadvantage, or at the very least, uncomfortable, Michael still kept his air of cool command. Amazingly, Mendez thought, Michael seemed unfazed by being stark naked in front of three strangers after experiencing a rude coitus interruptus, sitting there coolly composed while his crying girlfriend clung to him.

Michael didn’t move from the bed, only began barking orders. He fixed his gaze on Mendez, the hard green glare making the MedTech shake in his environmentally sealed boots.

"Get us some clothes, and some blankets," Michael demanded. "Then I want an update on the mission status. After that, you may proceed with any tests you are required to do…."

"Yes, Sir," Mendez squeaked out, and fled for the helicopter to obey his orders. When he had returned with a com-unit linked to Birkoff, two blankets, and two sets of baggy green scrubs, he found the door to the van firmly closed, and his team-mates outside, awaiting his return.

"Man, you really screwed up," one of his team-mates told him in a rough whisper. "Michael doesn’t appreciate anyone commenting about his women…"

"But I didn’t DO anything!" Mendez protested. " I was just a little surprised, that’s all…. " he said defensively, shaking his head. "Jesus, how the hell was I supposed to know he’d be in there with some chick in a compromising position…."

His teammates just looked at each other knowingly. One of them rolled his eyes, and then drawled, "You always expect it, man," he informed him dryly. "This is MICHAEL we’re talking about…."

His other companion slapped Mendez on the back, and laughed. "Don’t worry, Kid," he teased him. "We’ll send flowers to your funeral if Michael cancels you…."

"Gee, thanks," Mendez answered in a surly tone. Then he sighed deeply, and knocked discreetly on the van door before opening it, averting his gaze, and handed the items Michael had requested inside. As soon as this was done, the door closed abruptly and the three medtechs waited nervously outside.

After a few short minutes, the van doors opened and Michael emerged, dressed in the wrinkled, baggy pajama-like scrubs, a blanket draped casually over his shoulders. Mendez noted that somehow Michael managed to carry himself with as much dignity as if he had been wearing an elegant tuxedo topped with an evening cape. Mendez had to admit it, this guy Michael had STYLE.

Michael turned to lean back inside the van and held out his hand to help the shy young lady down to the concrete. She looked frail and tiny, swamped in the oversized clothes, clutching the blanket tightly around her. Michael pulled her close and wrapped one arm around her, letting her shelter once more against his shoulder. The girl seemed to relax at his touch, and even smiled bravely up at him.

The couple brushed past Mendez on their way to the helicopter, Michael giving him one more hard glance with the steely gray- green eyes.

Mendez felt his stomach do a back-flip.

"Oh, sh*t," he thought again, and then turned, his knees shaking, to follow the team to the chopper.

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

It wasn’t until two days later, that a frantic and seething Nikita was finally allowed to see Michael. Upon the arrival of the rescue team, he and Andie had been whisked immediately to the isolation ward of Medlab, and had been held there, incommunicado, while the doctors ran tests, poked and prodded, and, in Andie’s opinion, took enough blood from them to create a good case of anemia.

Nikita had been frustrated that she had been unable to talk to Michael. When the news came in that the mission had failed, and that Michael had been doused with killer microbes by Racer’s men, Nikita had been alarmed to the point of frenzy. She had haunted the Medlab halls until at last the doctor heading the project had told her that Michael and Andie showed no signs of infection, and would likely be fine, but he wanted to run more tests to be sure. Relieved beyond belief, Nikita was about to thank him warmly for this news when the doctor, annoyed at her hounding of him, told her in exasperated tones to get out of his Medlab, and not come back until invited.

Banned from Medlab, Nikita continued to haunt the hallways, looking for any scrap of information about Michael. When she saw one of the Medteam members emerging through the Medlab doors, her eyes lit up, and she pounced on her prey.

"Hi!" she said brightly, putting on a beaming, phony smile. "Aren’t you one of the guys who rescued Team One after the Racer mission went sour?" she said, in hushed awe, batting her lashes.

"Yeah, that was me," the young man said, preening. He stuck his chest out a little in pride. "It’s a dangerous job, but someone has to do it…." He told her self-importantly, enjoying the admiration in this beautiful girl’s eyes.

"What’s your name?" she asked eagerly, linking her arm with his as he walked down the hallway.

The Medtech smiled warmly at her, delighted to be seen with such a fine-looking woman on his arm. "Mendez," he answered, just as eagerly. "I’m new."

Nikita smiled wider. "That must be why I hadn’t noticed you before," she told him huskily, laying on the charm. "I’m sure I would have… paid attention to some one like you.."

Mendez blushed, not believing his luck. "What’s your name?" he asked her, almost salivating.

"Nikita," she told him, with a flirtatious tilt of her head. "I’d LOVE to talk to you about your work…"

"Sure!" Mendez responded enthusiastically. He seldom found anyone who was interested in listening to him discuss microbes, bacteria, viral agents, and the damage they could do to the human body. One of his old girlfriends had dumped him when he had mentioned oozing pustules one time too often…..

"Tell me about this last mission," Nikita interjected swiftly, seeing the light in his eyes, and not wanting her target to go off on a tangent. "How were the victims holding up?" she asked innocently, eyes wide.

To her surprise, the Medtech snickered, then broke out into a laugh.

Nikita blinked. "What’s so funny?" she asked, alarmed.

Mendez shook his head, trying to get control of his mirth. "Nothing," he gasped, still chuckling, "It’s just that UP was the operative word…." He broke out into giggles again.

Nikita stiffened. "What do you mean?" she demanded, frowning.

Mendez gave another chuckle, and then assumed a worldly expression. "Well, you know," he answered suavely, "This is MICHAEL we’re talking about here.." He nodded his head sagely. "Finding him naked with a nice looking babe is just par for the course, I suppose…"

Nikita almost choked. "N-Naked??" she gasped, going pale. "With Andrea?"

Mendez beamed, delighted to be able to impart this juicy bit of gossip. Nikita seemed very impressed by him so far. He spun out his tale further, elaborating the details.

"It’s true," he nodded wisely. "Saw it myself, with my own eyes…." He declared in a tone of deep satisfaction, smacking his lips. "We opened the doors of the van, and there they were, Michael and that cute little brunette, all cuddled up together…."

Nikita gripped his arm to steady herself. "But you could have mistaken what they were doing," she said, grasping at straws in her efforts to deny the hurtful vision his words had created in her head. "Maybe they were just trying to keep warm…."

Mendez let out a loud guffaw. "Keep WARM?" he crowed, chuckling madly. "That’s a good one…"

He wiped a tear from his eye, after laughing hard, and went on. "These two weren’t WARM, Nikita, they were HOT…." He nodded his head and smiled. "Hot and HEAVY…" he chuckled at his own joke. "Man , that Michael was hard as a rock, ready to slip it to her…."

Nikita let out a strangled cry, but Mendez was too caught up in his tale to notice. Oblivious, he continued his crude narrative.

"I think they were just about to have a second or third go- round, too…" he said, nudging her with his elbow, and winking at her. "That van smelled like hot, raunchy sex…" He laughed again. "I bet you anything they had done it at least two times already…."

Nikita sobbed brokenly, pulled her arm from Mendez’s side, and stumbled blindly away from him, running. Confused by her reaction, the young medtech stared after her. "Was it something I said?" he asked, bewildered.

From behind him, a caustic male voice boomed. "That was really BRILLIANT, you idiot," the voice sneered.

Mendez whirled to see one of his Medtech teammates behind him. " What? WHAT?" he demanded impatiently. "Just what the hell did I do?"

His companion rolled his eyes. "I told you not to mess with Michael’s women, Dumb Ass," he said in disgust.

Mendez blinked, and looked down the hall way where Nikita had fled, and then back at his teammate. "Nikita?" he choked out in a small voice. "Nikita is Michael’s woman?"

His friend nodded, and then slapped him sharply on the back. "Been nice knowing you, Kid," he told him, only half jokingly. "Sorry you have to die so young…."

He shook his head once more and then strode off back to Medlab, leaving Mendez gaping after him in the hallway.

Mendez swallowed convulsively, and swayed on his feet, and then saw his life flash before his eyes.

"Oh, sh*t," he said again. "Ohhh, sh*t….."

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

Instead of leaving Section to find some private place to lick her wounds, Nikita found herself in the corridors of Medlab, heading to Michael’s room, becoming more blazingly angry with each step. She was furious. Furious with him, that he had lied to her about his real feelings for Andie, furious with herself, that she had believed him when he had told that he and Andie were just friends.

Furious that she had let him hurt her once again.

She stomped through the hallways, until she reached the exam room where Michael was being tested once again. Bursting through the doors, she stalked up to her tormentor, her betrayer, her one true love, lying on the bed.

He was dressed in white sweatpants and a white tank top. He lay half-reclined against the pillows, holding out one finely muscled arm as a lab-tech stood at his bedside, drawing yet another tube of blood. Michael straightened at her approach, and sat up, his green eyes alight with joy at seeing her, until he caught the ravaged expression on her face.

Nikita stood glaring at him, hands clenched into fists at her side. She spared one angry glance at the hapless lab tech at Michael’s bedside. "Get out," she ordered tightly.

The technician’s eyes widened for a moment, but he made no protest at her request. Taking the tray of blood samples with him, he scurried hurriedly out of the room.

Michael looked up at her, the green eyes tender and bright. "Nikita…" he said softly. "I…"

Before he could say anything further, Nikita lost control. "Shut up!" she screamed at him. "How could you?" she sobbed harshly. "How COULD you?" She took a step forward and raised her hand to strike him.

Her palm connected with his cheek in a resounding blow, that Michael did nothing to prevent. His head snapped back from the force of the slap, and then he turned back to look at her, his eyes liquid with sorrow.

Nikita froze, all her anger vented with this one blow, her fury deserting her, to be replaced by a painful sorrow as great as his.

"Michael, why?" she cried. "Why?"

She collapsed, sobbing on the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands. Michael took her into his arms, pulling her head down on his shoulder. Nikita resisted at first, and then leaned into him, crying softly.

"I didn’t do it to hurt you," Michael whispered gently, not bothering to pretend he didn’t know why she was upset. He knew sooner or later she would have found out about Andie. He just wished he had been able to break it to her himself first.

Nikita stiffened, and raised her head up, staring into his eyes. Some of her cold fury returned. "Really?" she said in acid tones. "Then why?" she demanded. "What was the point?"

Michael looked away, staying silent, as she went on.

"You told me yourself you thought of Andrea as a friend, a friend you RESPECTED," Nikita uttered harshly. "You told me you had feelings for m-me…."

Michael lifted his hand to caress her cheek, then stopped, thinking better of it. Right then, he knew she did want the comfort of his touch. "I do.." he told her sincerely. "I always have, I always will.."

With an angry groan, she flinched away from him, and shifted on the bed, so that her back was turned to him. She couldn’t stand to see those hurt green eyes.

"Then why sleep with her, Michael?" Nikita demanded. "That’s all I want to know…"

Her voice lowered to harsh whisper. "The mission profile didn’t change," she continued tensely. "You weren’t required to…"

"No, " he agreed softly. "I wasn’t…"

Her head snapped up to glare at him again. "Then you CHOSE to sleep with her…"

"Yes…" came the soft reply.

Nikita closed her eyes against the pain. "Because she was a challenge?" Nikita choked out. "Because you needed to see if you could?" She opened her eyes and stared at him again. "Was she like me…" she sobbed brokenly. "Just another notch on your belt?"

Michael did touch her then, reaching out to grab her by both arms and pull her toward him. "I know you won’t believe me," he said in an urgent voice. "But I love you, Nikita…"

The blonde stared up at him, holding his gaze for a long moment, then shook her head. "You love me," she said, voice rich in irony and pain. "That’s a good one, Michael…." She let out a long sigh, and then her pressed her lips in a grim line. "Where does that leave Andrea?" she demanded.

Michael lowered his head, and let out a shaky breath. When he spoke at last, his voice was suffused with pain. "It leaves her hurt, like you…." He answered forlornly. "Although I did it to spare her from being hurt, at the time…"

Nikita blinked. "You didn’t want to REJECT her, is that it?" she demanded, a little stunned. "What, you didn’t think she could handle it if you turned her down?"

Michael stiffened, uncomfortable with discussing his intimate sharing with Andie with Nikita. Still, he knew he had to tell her the truth.

"Yes," he answered softly. "To reject her would have been… cruel….."

Nikita let out an angry moan and then stood up from the bed. "Jesus, Michael, give me a BREAK!" she growled harshly. "You’re saying you f*cked her out of …… KINDNESS??" Her voice rose higher, the vitriolic words flowing with years of pent-up ire and hurt. "Or was it PITY?" Nikita raged on, eyes blazing.

" I think it’s even worse than that," she continued scathingly. "I bet you are so ARROGANT that you probably consider ALL your little romps in the sack as mercy-f*cks, just like it was your God-given mission in life to grant all us lowly, pathetic women the great honor of your esteemed company…."

Michael, stung, closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists beside him on the bed. Her words hurt him deeply, cutting him to the quick. They would have been insulting coming from anyone, but hearing them on Nikita’s lips stabbed him to his very soul. He knew she screamed at him out of hurt, and his guilt was part of the pain he was feeling, as well as his sorrow at her pain. But at the same time, overwhelming the guilt and the sorrow, Michael was becoming very angry in his own right. Nikita was twisting the knife in his wounded animal soul, and as everyone knows, there is nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal, taunted beyond bearing.

"Stop," he said quietly, his voice tense with warning. "Please…"

But Nikita did not stop.

"I can’t believe how CONCEITED you are, Michael… " she spat at him, curling her lip in disgust. "You are nothing but an enormous EGO on two legs….."

Her words dissolved the last thread of Michael’s tenuous hold on his patience and restraint. Wounded and enraged, Michael’s control snapped, and he leapt from the bed, lunging toward her.

Before she knew what was happening, Michael had caught her by the wrists, spun her around, and shoved her up against the wall. Panting hard, Michael pressed his body into hers, immobilizing any attempts she might make to escape.

Nikita stared into the ravaged face just inches from hers, and quivered at what she saw there. This was a Michael she had never seen, his mask ripped away, his cool exterior gone, revealing the raw, anguished, raging animal underneath…

She was suddenly afraid.

"Michael…. No….." she whimpered, trying to squirm free of the hard muscular body that imprisoned her.

Her protest angered him further, and she quivered as the dangerous light in Michael’s eyes flared higher, igniting into a flaming ice-green inferno.

"Shut up!" he groaned hoarsely, then whispered the words again, with an intensity of need and longing that left Nikita breathless, the words echoing from the bottomless abyss of his hurt and pathos and … desire.

"Shut up…." He breathed passionately.

And then, he kissed her.

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

The kiss was more of an assault than a caress; Nikita, helpless, found herself reeling under this attack of his firm lips on hers, his tongue forcing her lips apart, plunging inside her sweet depths, devouring her hungrily… Although his mouth was forceful, insistent, unrelenting, Nikita realized suddenly that, even though she had accused him of this quality just moments before, nothing about the kiss was ….. cruel. This desperate plundering of her lips had nothing to do with hurting her, she realized with a jolt. No, this Blitz-Krieg on her senses was not about exacting revenge, or inflicting pain, but something else entirely. But what?

Michael began moaning against her mouth, the kiss going ever deeper, his manner almost frantic in its intensity. It was as if he were trying to draw from her lips the air he needed to survive…. Then she knew with a swift bolt of clarity that what had prompted the kiss was not anger, but…. need.

*Oh, God* she thought. *Oh, God….*

It was suddenly, brilliantly clear. It was not so much that Michael wanted to punish her, but rather that he had given in to some inner need to take what she had not given.

Her surrender. Her tenderness. Maybe her respect. Most definitely, she thought in shock….. her love.

As Nikita struggled to breathe under the onslaught on his hard mouth on hers, she found herself responding to the kiss in spite of herself. Her own anger dissipated as she felt Michael begin to tremble against her, and she grew alarmed when he broke the kiss with a gasping sob and rested his head despondently against her shoulder.

"M-Michael?" she asked tremulously.

She felt his warm breath on her neck as he groaned harshly once more, then, as suddenly as the attack had begun, he released her, striding away several steps, to stand near the bed, his back to her. "I’m sorry…." He gasped out brokenly. "I’m sorry…."

Nikita slumped shakily against the wall for support, feeling suddenly cold and bereft, now that he had removed his warm length from hers. She shivered, and found herself wishing for his strong arms to be around her again, wishing that he would continue that fervent kiss….

"I had no right to do that," Michael choked out roughly, his back still turned to her. "I shouldn’t have…"

Nikita swallowed hard, and took a few tentative steps toward him, instantly forgiving. "And I shouldn’t have said what I did…" she whispered in apology, reaching out one hand to touch his shoulder. "It wasn’t true…."

To her shock, Michael whirled to face her, eyes blazing, and bright with tears. She stopped in her tracks, eyes wide, her breath caught in her throat.

"Wasn’t it?" he gasped out harshly, chest heaving with his labored breaths. "Maybe it’s more true than you know…." He choked out in a bitter tone.

Nikita blinked, still frozen in silence, unsure what to make of this Michael, seemingly lost in guilt and bent on self-castigation. She shook her head, and uttered a gentle protest. "No, Michael, you aren’t…."

"Aren’t what?" he interrupted her forcefully. "An ego-maniac?" He let out a sharp, mirthless laugh. "You’re wrong," he insisted, ignoring her denials. "That’s exactly what I am…."

Nikita held her breath. Wanting to reassure him again, but knowing her protests would only agitate him further, she lapsed into silence, letting him tirade on.

"I try very hard to turn my feelings off during missions, to just do the job, even if my own actions disgust me…" he went on in a tense whisper. "I try to ignore the emotions that come up when I’m whoring, manipulating, killing….."

"Oh, God, Michael….." Nikita thought to herself again, closing her eyes and letting Michael’s harsh words wash over her.

"Usually I succeed in controlling my own personal desires and needs, to subsume them all under the greater needs of the mission, or of Section…." He choked out, his voice tense and distraught. "But sometimes I fail……"

The soft French voice lowered to a bare whisper. "I failed to control my feelings for you, and I failed this time with Andrea…." Michael sobbed out. "I gave in to what my ego needed…"

Nikita dared to take another step forward. She tilted her head, watching him intently with troubled blue eyes. "Your…. ego?" she asked, confused.

Michael closed his eyes, and went on, his voice quivering. "Yes.." he groaned. "I suppose it’s a weakness of mine, to not want to be seen as a monster by the … innocents…"

Nikita gasped, realizing that Michael considered herself, as well as Andrea, to be included in this category… that that was how he saw her, as pure innocence….

"I suppose I need sometimes to feel admired, to be seen as someone strong, and noble, and…. good…." Michael let the words out on a sigh. "Not as a debased killer, but a hero- a knight, perhaps…"

He laughed bitterly again, and ran his hand through the tangled auburn curls. "That’s why I succumbed so easily to Andrea," he said with a sharp shake of his head, his voice full of self-loathing. "There she was, looking up to me like I was some kind of Superman, a Prince, a Saviour.."

"I could do no wrong in her eyes," he went on tensely. "Even though I was the one who brought her into Section, she looked up to me. She…. trusted me…"

Nikita trembled, and began to cry silently, her heart wrenched by the painful revelations of Michael’s bare soul. This was the inner man she was seeing, not the cold impenetrable machine that Section had built, but the very human man underneath, the frail human who needed to be reassured of his value, his worthiness, who craved succor and approval, and desired to be accepted unconditionally, in spite of all his sins…

A man who needed to feel….. loved.

"Andrea thought so highly of me that she didn’t consider herself worthy to make love with me.." Michael went on, unconsciously being discreet about the existence of the emotionally wounding scars that Andie had trustingly revealed to him in confidence, a secret he would not divulge to anyone, even Nikita. "And I felt the same way about her…." He choked out. "But I was too weak to resist when we tried to prove each other wrong….."

"Oh God….." Nikita groaned. "Oh, Michael….."

Somehow, unreasonably, she felt a surge of an unexpected , overwhelming emotion grip her insides- a burning guilt in her stomach. Guilt? HE was the one who had cheated and betrayed, not HER. But hadn’t her attitude contributed to Michael’s pain, she thought? Hadn’t her expectations of him to be perfect, to never fail, driven him into the adoring arms of another woman, a woman who accepted him, trusted him..

A woman who was less critical, less suspicious, a woman who , unlike her, did not construe his every act to be motivated by cunning and deceit. A woman who saw the good side of him, and could overlook the bad…..

Maybe Michael had been vulnerable to Andrea just because she had accepted him, just as he was. Maybe Michael had enjoyed being just accepted, and not judged, for once. Or, if Andie HAD judged him, it was as a person who met with her overwhelming approval.

Approval. Nikita shook her head, stunned at the idea that Michael, the loner, the man who seemed to need no one, Section’s almost inhuman machine, could crave this simple human contact. She thought back to all their encounters, all their conversations, over the past four years, and cringed when she realized how little positive reinforcement she had actually given him in all that time.

As a rebellious recruit, she had questioned his motivations, chafed under his commands. Every calculated, cold-blooded, ruthless thing that Section had done in the name of the greater good, she had lain to his door. The manipulations and tricks he had been forced to inflict upon her by Section had eroded that trust more.

No, she had to be honest. She didn’t trust Michael. She couldn’t. Not in the sweet, devoted, almost child-like way Andie had. But perhaps her trust went levels deeper than that. She trusted Michael with her life, just as she knew he trusted her with his. And she would defend him, fight for him, sacrifice for him, even die for him., just like he would- and did- for her.

They loved each other. But it had never been a love that expressed itself in words. With a jolt, Nikita realized that within the last week, Michael had told her twice that he loved her. Had she ever said the same to him? Had she ever really let him know just how deeply she cared for him, appreciated him, and, yes, admired him? Had she ever once, without qualification, just let him bask in the glow of her esteem?

Nikita realized she had been wrong about Michael’s motivations for being with Andrea. It was not a purely physical need, but an emotional one, that had driven the two of them together. And she had certainly been wrong to call Michael arrogant. There was no one less self-important, or self-seeking, than Michael, she knew now. His tryst with Andie had nothing to do with vanity, or a large ego- In fact, it may have happened just because he lacked those very qualities. The problem was not that he thought too much of himself, but too little.

Michael startled her from her reverie by letting out a sharp groan. He had interpreted her long silence as an indication of her hurt, anger, and disapproval. Or, even worse, her vast contempt. He shuddered, let out his gasp of pain, and uttered the words that revealed his greatest fear.

"You must hate me now…" he moaned.

With a sharp cry of her own, Nikita went to him then, closing the distance between them in a few short steps. She slipped her arms under his and wrapped herself around him, pressing close. Startled, Michael tentatively held her, and allowed himself to be held, tensing for her next words, as if preparing for a blow.

A blow which never came.

Instead of the rejection he expected, or the cursing he thought he deserved, Nikita’s lips parted and the most beautiful words he had ever heard came tumbling form her lips- bright words, holy words, words that erupted like a fountain of healing waters in the desert of his parched and wounded soul.

"I love you, Michael…." Nikita whispered softly, and then she kissed him back.

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

This kiss, unlike its predecessor, was not a forceful attack, but the sweetest of tender caresses. It was as if they exchanged souls, their love mingling in the soft interchange of breath, the delicate tangling of tongues and lips. Michael slid his mouth across her sweetly offered lips, claiming them as his own. Nikita, in turn, drank in the warm depths of Paradise that he had surrendered to her alone.

Unconscious that she did so, Nikita moaned for more, and pulled him closer. Her hands found and knotted in the soft tangle of hair at the back of his neck, holding his head still so his mouth would stay firmly on hers.

Michael responded with a gentle cry of his own, a soft sigh in the back of his throat, as if the kiss, and her claiming of it, had satisfied a deep thirsting emptiness in him, that had raged for years. As, indeed, it had. The longing of his heart, his soul, was at last requited. The hunger for her words, her touch, sated and fulfilled.

Replete with joy, Michael broke the kiss, and pulled back to look at her, his love for her shining in his green eyes.

Along with something else.

Nikita watched in alarm as the light of love in his eyes darkened, the pupils dilating, the irises glassing over. Suddenly, Michael shuddered against her, and she saw the gooseflesh rise in waves over the skin of his bare arms. Still shivering, he swayed all at once on his feet, his eyes closing, his head thrown back, as he slipped into unconsciousness….

"Michael!" Nikita screamed, and caught him in her arms before he could fall to the floor.

Frantically, she managed to lay him on the cot as his weight slumped full on her shoulders. He was out cold. As soon as she had arranged him on the bed, she checked his pulse at his carotid artery, and found it erratically racing and pounding in his neck. He was deathly pale, and unresponsive to her repeated calls of his name, and finally, to her desperate, sharp slap to his cheek. Nothing roused him.

Panicking, she ran to the door and flung it open, to the shock of the young med-tech who happened to be bustling by through the hallway. "I need help, NOW!" she screamed at him, and grabbed him by the coat-sleeve, hauling him bodily into the room.

The tech staggered forward toward the cot, after Nikita shoved him with a hard push between the shoulder blades toward the patient on the bed.

"DO SOMETHING!" she screamed.

She gasped in horror at her Beloved. In the short time it took for her to go in the hallway and return with help, Michael had gone into convulsions.

The med-tech took a breath, and went to work. He held Michael down, strapped him to the cot, and tilted his head back to keep the air passageways clear. He checked the patient’s breathing, and was alarmed by what he heard. Or didn’t hear. Michael’s chest was not rising and falling like it should, but was ominously still.

"Holy SH*T!" the technician swore. "He’s not breathing!"

Nikita stared coldly at the nurse, a man she did not recognize until just now as Mendez, the tactless newbie who had so crudely described Michael and Andie’s tryst to her. Once more, she grasped the man by his lab coat, taking two big fistfuls of white cotton in her grip.

In a tone that would have made Madeleine proud, she uttered her tightly worded ultimatum. "If he dies, I’ll kill you," she spat out succinctly.

Mendez blinked twice, and nodded meekly. "Of course…" he squeaked out. He had only been in Section a week, and had received two death threats, once by Michael, once by Michael’s woman. Again, his life flashed before his eyes.

The next moment Nikita released him, and Mendez turned to the patient on the bed, bent on saving all their lives- his own, Michael’s, and a third that he didn’t realize would be lost if Michael did not survive- Nikita’s.

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

Fourteen hours later, a small, chastenedly pale group met at the Section briefing table, which seem conspicuously large and empty due to the glaring absence of the team leader, Section head, and Weapons specialist. All three were in Medlab, stabilized, for now, but on ventilators, not breathing on their own.

Along with Michael, Operations, and Walter, at least five percent of Section had succumbed to the disease, including a significant number of Medlab personnel, and the numbers were climbing by the hour. There had been four deaths, due to attacks that occurred in isolation, when the victims had not been able to get to help in time. The disease acted quickly, as it was designed to do.

Racer had had his revenge.

Madeleine sat, grim-faced, at the head of the table, leading the briefing. She eyed the equally grim-faced operatives across the table- Nikita, Taylor, Birkoff, and Mendez, who was one of the few remaining bio-hazard specialists who had stayed disease-free.

Madeleine nodded to the hapless Med-tech, who cowered before her, slumping low in his chair. His third death-threat of the week had come just a few hours earlier from La Belle Dame herself, when Operations has succumbed to the disease. Mendez supposed to himself that he ought to be getting used to it by now.

"Let’s hear your report, Doctor," Madeleine requested testily, granting him the title he did not want at the moment, the word implying more responsibility than he cared to handle.

The Med-tech cleared his throat nervously. " Nothing’s changed since my last report," he stated mulishly. "The casualty list is growing, and we still have no idea how the disease is spread, or if any of our attempts at prevention are worth a damn…."

He shook his head in disgust. "Nastiest designer virus I’ve ever seen- fast acting, deadly, and, worst of all, undetectable…" he said with a frustrated sigh. "We followed all the usual quarantine protocols, but this stuff seems to defy all the rules…" He looked up and met Nikita’s worried blue eyes. "We didn’t it see it coming," he told her, almost apologetically.

"But you will find a cure, right?" Taylor asked hopefully. His girlfriend, a fellow operative, was in Medlab on a respirator as well.

Mendez looked at him kindly. Taylor was one of the few people present that hadn’t threatened his life so far this week. "We’re trying," he replied with another sigh. "But it’s going to take a dedicated team to crack this puzzle, and it would help if we could access the creator’s files, so we at least had a clue where to start…"

The Med-tech’s words did nothing to cheer the already glum group.

"I see," said Madeleine in a depressed tone. She nodded her head at Nikita and Taylor. "I want you two, as well as any other available operative, on this. Help Mendez find an antidote, and do it quickly, before we are forced to take the alternate solution to our problem…"

"Alternate…. solution?" Nikita gasped, warily.

Madeleine nodded, and then inclined her head toward Section’s resident computer genius. "Birkoff," she said quietly.

The bespectacled young man nodded, and flicked on the holographic screen. "We received this message less than an hour ago," he announced with a grimace.

The face on the screen was an aged one, a white-haired, ruddy-cheeked, portly gentleman with a merry glint in his eye. The surface resemblance to a benevolent Santa Claus ended there. This man’s mouth was not kindly and sweet, but twisted into a cruel grin.

"Racer?" Nikita asked, her eyes going wide.

"Right," Birkoff acknowledged with a nod, and then pushed play on his remote. The malevolent Kris Kringle sprang to life.

"I’m sure by now you are enjoying the results of my little experiment," Racer’s image cackled gleefully. He gave the camera lens a wide grin, and shrugged his shoulders. "Or maybe, not…."

"Bastard…." Nikita muttered under her breath. She couldn’t get the image of Michael as she had last seen him out of her mind- lying still and pale on the bed, a tube down his throat as a machine breathed for him……

"You won’t find the cure in time," Racer continued happily. "Not before most of your people are dead….."

He spread his arms wide and gave his audience an innocent look. "I’m prepared to help you, however," the evil old elf went on. "I’ll give you the antidote, but for a price……."

Racer’s smile faded, and his eyed lost their merry gleam. "I want my granddaughter back," he intoned seriously. "And I want her returned in one piece, unharmed, is that clear?" His voice rose on the last words to an almost hysterical pitch. "Because if you don’t return her to me, I will destroy ALL the antidote serum for the virus," he continued in a threatening tone, "…. and you will spend the last few remaining hours of your miserable lives watching everyone you know die…."

Nikita flinched, and closed her eyes. "Michael.." she whispered softly, anguished.

"You have twenty-four hours," Racer finished, his evil smile returning. "Have a nice day."

The mpeg ended, and the briefing subsided into a grim silence.

Taylor looked at the blank screen and uttered a grunt of disgust. "How do we know the bastard even HAS an antidote?" he queried pessimistically.

Mendez rolled his eyes. "Jesus, we have to hope to God that he does, or we’re all…" he gulped hard, realizing what he was saying. "..dead meat," he finished in alarmed tone.

"Quite," said Madeleine, fixing him with her steely gaze. "But if you do your job, and find a cure, we may all live to see next week," she told him sweetly. "Even you…"

Mendez paled, and slumped further down in his chair. His life passed before his eyes once again.

"What about Andrea?" Nikita asked, turning to Madeleine.

"So far, she has remained disease free," came the calm reply. She fixed Nikita with her deadly chocolate-brown gaze. "I suggest you and Mendez use her to help you find a cure," she ordered tightly. "Before any other lives besides hers are sacrificed."

She stood up, and perhaps only Nikita noticed how she swayed slightly under the burden of her grief. "Dismissed," she told them tartly. "You have work to do."

Nikita pushed back her chair and swiveled it toward Mendez. She stood up and again gripped the Med-Tech by the sleeve. "Let’s go, Bozo," she hissed at him, quick marching him toward Medlab. "Remember what I said about what I’ll do to you if you don’t save Michael…."

Mendez closed his eyes. It seemed all of Section was lining up, waiting their turn to kill him. If he lived long enough to be killed, that is, if the virus didn’t get him first.

"Oh, sh*t…." he moaned feebly, and meekly followed Nikita back to Medlab.

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

Mendez led his two helpers, Taylor and Nikita, into a Medlab laboratory where he had set up a command center of sorts at a table in one corner, flanked by a bank of computers. Print-outs, books, disks, and scribbled notes littered the table top, as well as a collection of empty soda pop cans and candy bar wrappers.

"I need the sugar to keep going," Mendez explained defensively, seeing Nikita’s disapproving look. "Glucose IS what fuels the brain cells, you know…."

Nikita rolled her eyes, and handed him a candy bar from the box stacked on a nearby counter. "In that case, Genius, have a Snickers," she told him dryly.

"Hey!" Mendez protested. "Look, it’s not my fault this virus is wickedly tricky," he told her, slumping in a chair in front of a computer and pulling up a file. He ran a weary hand through his short, dark hair. "We’ve been killing ourselves here trying to figure out the etiology of this thing…."

"Etiology?" Taylor asked, perching carefully on the edge of a nearby desk. He eyed the laboratory surroundings warily, and shuddered when his glance fell on some glass specimen jars with some unidentifiable and stomach-turning contents. Hastily, he focused his attention back on Mendez.

"Yeah, etiology," Mendez continued, going into lecture mode. "How the disease starts. How it spreads…" He shook his head wearily and sighed, and automatically started unwrapping his Snickers bar. "If we could find that out, we’d be a long way ahead to stopping the disease from spreading, and finding a cure.."

He bit into the candy voraciously, chewed, swallowed and went on. "This thing has us stumped," he told them. "There’s no discernable pattern of contamination, no clear starting point of contagion….." He sighed again. "The victims just suddenly stop breathing and die…"

"What do you want us to do?" Nikita interrupted him quickly, cringing at the image his words evoked. "How do we help?"

Mendez pointed to the huge, teetering stack of computer print-outs on the edge of the table. "There’s all out data so far," Mendez said with another sigh. "Patient notes, test results….." He took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. "You can help me sort through those, and see if anything jumps out at you, because, frankly, we’re at a dead end…."

Taylor frowned, flinching a little at the scientist’s use of the word "dead". "Didn’t the victims’ blood tests show anything?"

Mendez groaned. "That’s the kicker, see," he explained. There’s no discernible difference between the blood chemistry of the healthy people and the dying ones…"

He bit into his candy bar again. "Give me good ol’ oozing pustules any day…" he mumbled through a mouthful of Snickers.

Taylor gagged. "Give you WHAT?" he gasped.

Mendez swallowed, smiled, and went on. "Oozing pustules," he said enthusiastically. "Like small pox. Then you’ve got a disease spread point, you see. Or if the victims’ blood vessels all burst, like in the Black Death, or some other cool plague…"

Taylor eyed the med-tech in cold disgust. "Mendez," he said tightly. "If you say the word "death" one more time, or mention oozing pustules again.." the operative promised grimly, "I’ll kill you…."

Mendez gulped. "Jeez Louise!" he protested in a squeaky voice. "I was just trying to explain what a difficult disease this is to work with…" he defended himself. "It’s not like a disease at all, really…."

Nikita stood up straighter, all her senses on alert. "Not like a disease?" she said tensely. "Then, what IS it like?"

Mendez shrugged, and swiveled in his chair. "I don’t know," he said absently. "More like an extreme allergic reaction, you know, like when some one has a bad bee-sting, or a snake bite, and goes into anaphylactic shock…."

The scientist blinked, his mouth gaping open. "That’s IT!" he cried, jumping up from his chair. He trembled with excitement. "Holy sh*t, we’ve been looking at blood chemistries all along, and it has nothing to do with that….."

Taylor eyed him hopefully. "Then you have a way to cure it?" he asked eagerly.

Mendez nodded happily. "Not yet, but now that I have a starting point, we may be able to develop an anti-venom…."

Nikita trembled with relief. "Mendez," she said softly.

The scientist blinked, and looked dazedly up at her, struggling to drag his attention away from his whirling thoughts. "WHAT?" he asked, almost rudely.

She walked toward him, an intense look in her eyes. Mendez flinched back. This was, after all, the woman who had threatened his life.

She gripped him by his lab-coat again, and pulled him close. Mendez quivered in fear.

"I think I could kiss you," Nikita said with husky gratitude, and then did just that.

When she broke the kiss, Mendez looked even more dazed than before. A dizzy grin spread over his face. Maybe, he thought, just maybe, he might not get himself killed after all.

"Holy sh*t!" he exclaimed in satisfaction, and then turned back to his desk to get to work on the cure.

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

Nikita left Mendez to do his work, and slipped out into the Medlab corridor. She turned right, heading down the hallway to the isolation ward to see Michael. As she passed by one of the exam rooms on the way there, she stopped in her tracks when she heard a familiar voice cry out from behind the closed door.

"Stop it!" the young female voice screamed. "Please, I can’t take anymore…" the girl sobbed.

"Andrea?" Nikita gasped. With an angry cry, she turned the door handle and charged into the room. What she saw there made her gasp again.

Andie was lying on an exam table, helpless, strapped down by wrists and ankles. She was surrounded by a team of white-coated technicians, all wearing face-masks, and all doing the same thing- taking blood and tissue samples from various parts of her body. The inside of the girl’s arms were a parade of black and blue, and her legs bore angry, raw patches where the skin had been taken off.

"Get away from her, NOW!" Nikita bellowed, enraged. "What do you think you’re doing?"

The Med-techs scattered, skittering away in her wake. They knew better than to tangle with a Class Two operative, particularly one trained by Michael. Only one of the doctors remained, a dour-faced older man who eyed her stubbornly.

"We’re trying to find a cure, that’s what," he answered glumly. "Don’t interfere…" He turned back to what he was doing, ready to slip a needle in Andie’s arm to draw another vial of blood.

Before he could touch the trembling girl again, Nikita grabbed him by the arm, wrenched the needle away from him, and threw it to the floor. Then she gripped the doctor by the lapels and hauled him up on his tip toes, her eyes blazing inches from his.