Michael took a deep breath, brushed back the stray curl of silky hair that had fallen across his ear, and entered his code into the keypad outside Madeleine’s office. A second later, the thick metal security door whooshed open for him, and he stepped inside.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked softly, just inside the door.

"Yes, come in, Michael," Madeleine’s musical voice invited him.

Michael stepped down the short flight of stairs, and then took a few strides to cross the room toward the glass-topped desk, where Madeleine sat, her soft brown eyes riveted on her computer.

As he approached her, his keen senses detected an almost imperceptible movement behind him and to his right. Michael whirled instinctively, his body tensed, his hands coming up automatically in a defensive stance of protection and threat.

"Glad to see you’re back to your old form, Michael," chuckled Operations from the far corner of the office. He took a casual puff of his dark brown cigarette, and crossed the room to stand beside Madeleine, his two bosses presenting Michael, literally, with a united front.

Michael lowered his hands, relaxed his shoulders, and stood at attention before them. *More tests* he thought grimly. *More games….*

"The way you behaved after the Vacek mission was over," Operations went on, "We were worried we’d have to cancel you…." The older man smiled, his light blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "But now you seem recovered enough to handle another… shall we say?… delicate assignment…"

Michael blinked, and turned wary green eyes to Madeleine. "You have a mission for me?" he asked tensely.

A frisson of dread slithered up his spine, making him shudder involuntarily. Were they going to ask him to betray another woman and child, like he had done with Elena and Adam? Were they going to demand that he seduce, or God forbid, marry, another innocent…….

"Yes," Madeleine answered, interrupting Michael’s panicked train of thought. She swiveled the computer on its stand so that he could see the images on the monitor. "Here’s your new assignment."

Michael shifted his gaze from the blankly calm brown eyes of his superior to the computer screen. It displayed what seemed to be taped reconnaissance video of a young woman, dark-haired, petite, wearing blue jeans and carrying books, walking across a college campus. The girl turned her head to face the camera, which zoomed in on her features, and Michael caught his breath.

She was beautiful. The cloud of almost blue-black hair framed a heart-shaped face, her skin startling milk-white and perfect, almost too perfectly creamy and soft to be real. Michael clenched his hand in a fist by his side, to keep his fingers from instinctively reaching out to touch that creamy textured smoothness.

Her delicately shaped mouth was a rich, soft red in shocking contrast to that perfect white skin, and completing the array of improbably desirable colors, the eyes that glittered, jewel-like, behind long dark lashes were not brown, or blue, but true amethyst. The girl on the video laughed, her smile lighting up the stunning combination of features into one compelling attractive package.

"Pretty, isn’t she?" Madeleine said dryly, noting with amusement Michael’s disguised, but evident to her, interest.

Michael pulled his gaze from the screen, and gave Madeleine his best blank stare. "Who is she?" he asked tonelessly.

"Lucinda O’Neill," Operations answered with a smile. He inhaled another drag of his cigarette, and then blew out smoke through his nostrils, exhaling with satisfaction. " Twenty years old, a senior in college, majoring in art, with a specialty in computer graphics…."

Michael’s senses went on alert at the mention of the word "computer". "She’s a hacker, then?" he asked grimly.

Madeleine shook her head. "No," she told him with a smile. "Her skills are quite good, almost as good as Birkoff’s. But she’s never attempted to break into any secured system, to our knowledge…"

Operations laughed, and rocked back on his heels. "She’s never done anything wrong, as far as we can tell," he went on, his voice light with amusement. "She’s a real Girl Scout. An A-student, volunteers at a home for orphaned and abandoned children…."

Michael flinched, as the newly healing wound of the loss of his son was ripped open at these words. Adam, his life, his precious child, had been orphaned by the power plays of Section.

Michael’s soul screamed as the guilt washed over him anew, tortured by the memory of having been forced to abandon his beautiful child…

"She’s an innocent, then," he stated with a sigh, his jaw tightening.

The Section leader nodded his silver-haired head. "That’s right, Michael," he answered, tapping the ashes from his cigarette into an ashtray on Madeleine’s desk. "She’s yours now,"

Operations told him with a quick, gloating smile. "We want you to get complete, total control of her."

Michael’s head snapped up and he took in a sharp breath. "Control?" he gasped harshly. "Control , how?" His eyes went dark with apprehension. "You mean, like… Elena?"

Operations laughed again, seeming to enjoy Michael’s fear. He shook his head. "Don’t worry, Michael," he taunted. "You won’t have to marry the girl," he teased, his eyes twinkling merrily, "..that is, not unless you want to…"

Bewildered, Michael turned to Madeleine. "Is she related to our target?" he queried, groping for answers. He wondered what Section’s interest in a total innocent could be.

The lovely brunette behind the desk smiled. "No," she answered smoothly. "She’s not the target, nor is she related to one. She’s not the target at all, she’s…."

Operations interrupted, unable to contain his eagerness to deliver this bit of news to Michael. "….she’s your new material," he finished with a sly grin.

Michael blanched. "Material?" he repeated, aghast, anger flickering in his eyes. "Since when does Section recruit innocents for operatives?" he demanded testily.

Operations’ smile widened. "Since three years ago, Michael," he replied in a taunting voice. "I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out by now…"

Michael blinked, and then began trembling. *Oh, God* he thought. *It couldn’t be…..*

"Nikita?" he blurted out, appalled. "Section deliberately arranged for her to end up in jail, so that we could recruit her?" Michael fought the urge to gag, the idea making him physically sick.

At least, when he and other prisoners were recruited, Section saved them from wasting their lives rotting in their cells in jail, gave them a purpose, offered them more of a life than they ordinarily would have, maybe even offered them a chance to make amends. But for the innocents, like Nikita, and this girl Lucinda, Section did not offer new life, but took it away, giving nothing back but pain.

Operations nodded, and then casually took another puff of cigarette. "At the time, our numbers were down, and we needed new people. And, to be honest, the quality of the recruits we were getting from prisons was, with a few notable exceptions.." Here Operation nodded his head toward Michael, indicating that he included the green -eyed Class Five operative among the exceptional group, "…. Not as high as we would like."

Michael stood in stunned silence, and after a moment, Madeleine took up the tale. "We began a new recruitment strategy, culling operatives from different walks of life, those with the talents and qualities we needed, and brought them into Section." She smiled gently. "Nikita was one of the first."

Operations stuffed one hand in his pocket and puffed contentedly. "Nikita has her draw-backs as an operative, as we knew she would, but all in all, she has adapted to her training quite well, and we believe the new program to be successful." He gave Michael another smug smile. "So successful, in fact, that we’re going on with Phase Two."

"Phase Two?" Michael asked tightly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "What is that?"

"We’re stepping up recruitment by bypassing a few procedures we have found to be unnecessary," explained Madeleine serenely. "We no longer feel the need to set up a crime, frame the recruit, await a trial, and then snatch them from prison." She tilted head, steepled her fingers together, and gave Michael a sweet smile. "We’ve decided take a more direct approach, starting with Miss O’Neill," she said softly.

Michael’s back stiffened, and he raised his chin defiantly. Everything in him screamed that this was wrong. Section was supposed to be about saving innocent lives, not ruining them. Taking a deep breath, he made his stand, coming down on the side of the innocents, the ones he had been trained to protect.

"If you’re going to order me to snatch Lucinda from her school, the answer is no," he said quietly. "I won’t do it."

Operations’ wide smile faded slightly, but still held. His lips quirked up in amusement, his eyes glinting like steel. "No need for heroics, Michael," the Section leader said in a cold voice. "We’re not asking you to do that…."

Michael closed his eyes in relief, and then jerked them open in shock when Operations went on.

"There’s no need for you to get her at her school, because she’s already here," taunted the older man. "In the white room."

Involuntarily, Michael let out a loud groan. Was there no end to the depravity of Section, using up lives of innocents for their own ends- Elena’s, Adam’s, Nikita’s, and now this harmless, sweet girl, Lucinda? His anger flared in his vivid green eyes, and Madeleine stepped in to clamp down on the rebelliousness she saw brewing there in the emerald depths.

"You WILL train her, Michael," she ordered in a firm voice. "And you will make no attempt to help her escape, as you have so many times with the other innocent you trained, Nikita…"

Michael gave her a stubborn look, his full sensuous mouth tightening to a grim line. "I said "no"," he repeated softly. "I will not."

For the first time in the meeting, Operations frowned. "I’d re-think that if I were you, Michael," he said in a warning tone. "There might be serious consequences if you refuse this assignment……"

Michael froze, fear gripping his insides. "No…." he gasped. "You wouldn’t…." he choked out, "… you wouldn’t hurt my son…."

Operations smiled once more. "We would. Believe it."

Michael closed his eyes as the sledgehammer of horror and pain hit him at these words. Anguished, he let out a low moan. "No…. please…" he begged.

Madeleine stood from her seat, and gestured toward the door. "There’s nothing to worry about, Michael, as long as you do your job," she said tartly. "I suggest you go now and do it."

Numbly, defeated, Michael stared at his bosses for a long pause, hoping his eyes conveyed all the contempt for them that he was feeling in that moment. At last, he turned on his heel and left to follow his orders, his head held high. It was only when the doors had whooshed closed behind him that he allowed himself to slump disconsolately against the cold steel walls of the hallway and sob out a broken cry.

"I’m sorry," he moaned, addressing all the innocents, past and future, that he had, or had yet to, harm. "I’m sorry…"

The words echoed vainly off the cold walls, reverberating back to him all his intense despair. He bit back another sob, and then straightened, heading down the hall to the white room, to meet yet another victim of Section One.

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

Michael swallowed hard, steeling himself for the cruel task ahead. He squared his shoulders and pushed open the door to the white room.

His prisoner lay strapped, wrists and ankles, to the gurney in the middle of the starkly barren room.

She wore the Section issue uniform of white sweat pants and thin white tank top; her feet were bare. The outfit revealed the perfect curve of svelte hips, long legs and firm breasts, and she was as lovely in this simple garb just as if her charms had been accented by a designer gown.

Michael marveled at her beauty, the kind that needed no adornment or artifice. Her face was turned to the wall, the blue-black hair flowing down her shoulders and breasts to her waist. Michael’s breath caught as he realized that her hair in the video he had seen must have been tucked into her coat, but now it lay here before his eyes in all its shining glory.

She moaned softly and stirred, turning her face to him. Michael felt his breath catch again in his throat. She was even more beautiful in person than she had been on the video. The white skin was flawless, the full red mouth just as soft, and her eyes were glittering stars of rich violet fire.

She was also very, very afraid.

Lucinda strained against her bonds, and cowered back from him, the amethyst eyes going wide with fear, her skin paling to an even more impossibly pure shade of white. "I’m not going to hurt you," Michael told her softly.

Lucinda blinked long lashes, and the full red lips parted. "Who are you?" she gasped. "What is this place?"

Michael took another step forward. "My name is Michael," he answered her gently. "And this place is Section One."

"S-Section One?" she asked tremulously, watching him warily. "W-What’s that?"

The tormented green eyes looked away. "A secret government organization," he explained in sympathetic tones. "We take down the criminals and terrorists no one else can get."

Lucinda let out a sharp gasp. "I’m here because you think I’m some kind of… criminal?" she asked in shock.

Michael turned to look at her again. "No," he said gently. "We know you’re not a criminal." He almost choked on the last word, knowing how innocent this girl really was, and how little she deserved to be here.

The girl blinked and then shook her head in bewilderment. "Then why am I here?" she demanded angrily. "What do you want from me?" she cried.

Michael’s lips tightened grimly. "You’re here to work for us," he told her hoarsely, hating himself.

He flashed back on another time, in this same room, when he had delivered this same speech to another beautiful innocent. His heart tore for his Nikita, and now for this exquisite young woman, this sweet Lucinda. He felt helpless, powerless to aid these women who so richly deserved their freedom, not this hellish prison they were now entrapped in. But Section had his son. He would do what he had to do.

"This is where you’ll train," he went on bitterly. "This is where you’ll learn…"

Lucinda shifted on the cot, straining against the bonds. "What if I don’t want to work for you?" she yelled at him, panicked. The violet eyes filled with tears. "Please," she begged softly, letting out a sob, "Please, can’t you just let me go home?"

Michael met her gaze, the green eyes full of empathy and regret. "I wish I could let you go, but I can’t," he told her sadly. "I’m sorry."

He took a key from his pocket and stepped forward to release her from her restraints. Before he did, though, he could not resist touching that pure white skin. Gently, he stroked the back of his hand down her cheek, reveling in the feel of its warm softness.

Lucinda allowed the caress, holding very still, sensing that this man, whatever else he might be capable of doing to others, did not intend to hurt her. Her eyes met his, silently pleading. "I’m sorry," he said again, answering her unspoken plea for her freedom. "So very sorry."

With sigh, Michael bent and turned the key in the lock of her cuffs. In a moment she was free, or at least, as free as she would ever be, now that she was here in Section.

Lucinda sat up, rubbing her wrists. Michael turned to go, walking with slow melancholy steps to the door.

"Wait!" she called him back.

Michael turned back to look at her, his hand on the door latch. "Yes?" he asked quietly.

Lucinda licked her lips. "Will I see you again, Michael?" she asked tremulously, her voice full of a newly-budding trust.

Michael smiled, and Lucinda blinked in shock, thinking that she had never before seen such an anguished look on a human face.

"Yes," he answered, his voice full of self-loathing. "You’ll see me every day," he told her wretchedly. "I’ll be your trainer. We start tomorrow- six a.m."

Before she could respond to this news, Michael was gone, locking the door behind him.Lucinda stared after him, feeling as lost and bewildered as before. Sighing, she curled up in a ball on the cot, hugging herself, her soul in a tumult of dread and hope and fear, and grimly awaited the new dawn.

************ A week went by, and then two. Then a month. Michael and his new trainee fell into an uneasy, tense routine, as each made adjustments to the other and the new situation.Lucinda struggled to cope with the entirely new world she had been thrown into, and Michael did his best to help her survive, to keep her head above water, because he knew that to save her from drowning here meant saving himself- and Adam. Michael had no illusions that Section would not fail to hurt his son if he failed to deliver them a functioning operative in the person of Lucinda.

And so, grimly, he began her training, with an intensity and focus that surpassed any assignment he had undertaken before. To say that he hovered over Lucinda would have been an understatement. To say that he was obsessed with her training would not have been going to far. The stakes this time were far too high. Failure was not only NOT an option, it was utterly unthinkable.

Each day started and ended the same. Michael would have Lucinda report to his office, where he would talk to her, usually going over some lesson in survival that he wanted her to learn, grilling her until she had it right.

His sense of responsibility for her, and for Adam, weighed heavily on him. He knew he could not be there for every moment of her training, but he tried to stop in on her classes- weapons, computers, deportment, martial arts- from time to time, keeping an eagle eye on her progress. At the end of the day, he would summon her to his office again, to hear her concerns and her report on how the day had gone, and to go over her lessons again.

Lucinda endured these sessions meekly at first, then with a growing resentment. She had a naturally easy-going and gentle personality, but even her good nature was wearing thin under Michael’s relentlessly stern treatment. He never told her anything, or answered her questions. When she broached the subject of how long she would be in Section, or what would happen to her if she failed her training, Michael only went white, and returned her questions with grim silence, and then grilled her on her lessons again.

Lucinda knew he cared for her- his obsessive ways told her that- but she was puzzled by the nature of that caring. She knew he found her attractive, but his manner toward her was more that of an over-protective father with a pretty daughter than that of a potential lover. He made her nervous, as hawk-like, he watched her every move, and quizzed her about every encounter. Who had she spoken to? Who had looked at her? Who might have touched her, or been too friendly, expressed too much interest?

He also grilled her on her own feeling toward the others, trainers and fellow trainees alike. Who did she like? Who did she hate? Who did she feel uneasy around? Michael was determined to protect her, for her own sake, and Adam’s, from anything or anyone that potentially might threaten to interfere with the success of her training.

To Lucinda, Michael remained a frustrating mystery, as did Section. Along with her fear and despair of ever being free, her frustration grew everyday. By the end of the month she had reached her limit. She was tired of being kept in the dark, tired of being ordered around, tired of being watched every second, having her every thought scrutinized and picked apart. She was tired of Michael’s grim silences, and his blank stare. She had reached the end of her patience, and was ready to rebel.

Once more, she knocked on his office door at the end of the day, and went in. Her nerves were on edge, and she seethed with fury. If he asked one more time how she was doing, she thought, she was going to scream…

"Come in," Michael invited her calmly, as he always did, standing up politely and gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. Lucinda, dressed in baggy black sweats, her hair in a messy top-knot, but still utterly beautiful, stepped inside, twitching with impatience. She wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Sit down," he told her, as usual. Then he said the words that set her off. "Review the day, starting at 6 am. I want an hour by hour report."

This precise demand triggered her temper, her control snapping.

Instead of taking her seat as ordered, she slammed the door shut with a bang behind her and then stood, her arms crossed across her chest, staring at him defiantly. "Just what the hell do you want from me, anyway?" she yelled at him.

Michael gave her the blank stare, his face going white. "Sit down," he ordered again, his voice sharp and tense.

Lucinda glared at him. "No," she yelled, her cheeks flushing red with anger. "I’m sick of your invasive questions about every little detail of my life!" she told his sharply. "I’m sick of you picking my insides apart, day after day, like some damned vulture…." She paused to take in a gasping breath. "I’m expected to spill my guts to you daily, but you never tell me anything in return…"

Michael lifted his chin, regarding her thoughtfully. She had always been so docile, so compliant. This angry tirade surprised him. He wondered if something had happened to frighten or upset her, triggering this very un-typical response……..

She took a step closer, the violet eyes flashing, and continued her rant. It felt good to finally let go and let it all out.

"What do you want from me, Michael?" she demanded again. "At least with the others, I have a clue, but you’re a total mystery…"

All Michael’s senses went on alert at this word. He raised one eyebrow, and leaned closer. "Others?" he asked tensely. "What others?"

Lucinda shook her head, and gestured wildly toward the closed door of his office, indicating the Section world outside their private enclave.

"The OTHERS," she spat out in disgust. "They all want something…." She took another shaky breath. "Sensei wants me to be a fighter; Birkoff wants me to be a computer expert; Walter wants me to be a marksman…" she ranted, naming her teachers and the roles she played. "And Madeleine wants me to be a..a.." she stammered to a halt, choking on the last words, her face going white.

All the fight had gone out of her, her anger spent, to be replaced by a crushing despair. She lifted tear filled eyes to Michael’s.

"Never mind," she said, embarrassed, ashamed of her outburst. "I’m sorry.." Lucinda sobbed, and turned to go, fleeing blindly toward the door.

Michael felt more alarmed by this reversal of mood that he had been by her angry outburst. A chill went through him. Something was very wrong, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. Before she could reach the door, he had crossed the room to block her path, not allowing her to escape. His green eyes bored into hers.

"Finish your sentence," he said tightly. "Madeleine wants you to be .. what?"

Lucinda backed away from him, suddenly afraid. She had seen Michael in a determined mood before, but it was nothing compared to this.

"Nothing," she said, swallowing hard. She shook her head. "Please, just let me go now…" She attempted to brush past him, but Michael had no intention of letting her leave it there. He was going to find out what had upset her if it was the last thing he ever did.

He gripped her by the arms and pushed her backwards, pinning her to the cold concrete wall.

To his shock, Lucinda let out a sharp yelp of pain, and slumped forward, whimpering, in his arms. She began to struggle, panicked. "Don’t!" she cried. "Please, oh please, don’t…"

Immediately, Michael released her, his face grim, his eyes riveted on her face. Lucinda let out gasp of relief when the steely grip on her upper arms was removed. She stood, frightened, breathing hard, her arms wrapped around herself, rubbing the soft flesh that his hands had just touched.

Michael's eyes narrowed, and his mouth tightened in a grim line. "Let me see," he demanded, and stepped toward her, his hands reaching for the jacket of her jogging suit to tug it down past her shoulders.

"No.." Lucinda whimpered, trying to pull away from him. He held her still, with one hand capturing both of hers, while with the other he pulled her jacket past her sleeveless t-shirt, revealing her bare upper arms to his gaze.

The perfect white skin blossomed with a rainbow of deep, angry bruises, at least several hours old.

Michael bit back a harsh curse and released her. The green eyes that met hers were filled with fury, and pity. "What happened?" he demanded roughly. He reached out to gently touch Lucinda’s hand in a gesture of sympathy.

This last tender caress undid the girl’s control, and she began crying softly. Michael put his arm around her and led her to the chair in front of his desk. He handed her his handkerchief from his pocket and then perched one hip on the desk, leaning toward her. "What happened?" he said again, very softly.

Lucinda looked up at him, then wiped her eyes, and took a deep breath, collecting herself. After a moment, she took another shaky breath and answered him. "I was in Madeleine’s office, talking to her…" she began timidly.

"Talking about what?" Michael encouraged her gently.

Lucinda blushed, and turned her head away. "Personal stuff," she choked out. "About whether I .. liked men, or girls…." The violet eyes fluttered closed. "She asked me how…. how experienced I was…." The girl stammered out, distraught.

*Christ* thought Michael. He knew Madeleine had intended to eventually use Lucinda as a Valentine operative, but he hadn’t expected it to happen this soon. Damn her, he cursed silently to himself. Damn her to Hell..

"Go on," he nudged in a soothing voice. "What happened after that?"

Lucinda licked her lips nervously, her eyes still wide and frightened. "Madeleine said I didn’t have enough experience," the girl blurted out. "She said I would have to.. have to…." She paused to take a deep breath, and then finished her tale in a rush. "She said I would have to learn, and …p-practice…."

Michael clenched his hands into fists, the knuckles going white. He was too angry to speak, his throat choked with fury at Madeleine’s callous cruelty.

Lucinda went on. "Then Madeleine summoned a man to come to the office, I think his name was Russell…"

Michael let out an angry grunt of disgust. Russell was Section’s premier male Valentine operative, a vain popinjay, totally enamored of himself. Michael had surmised long ago that Russell, despite whatever technical prowess he might have in bed, was incapable of any true sensitivity or genuine tenderness when it came to handling women. Michael wanted to gag at the thought of him and Lucinda together….

"I didn’t like him much," Lucinda went on innocently. "I told Madeleine that…" she sighed tremulously. "He wasn’t very attractive, not really. Not like you are…." Lucinda blushed bright red, kicking herself for this unwitting confession. "I mean.. uh…."

Michael rescued her from her conversational morass of embarrassment, focusing on the question that tore at his soul. "Russell forced you, then?" he choked out hoarsely. "Is that what happened?"

To his shock, Lucinda glanced sideways at him and gave him a crooked, half-smile. "No," she told him, in a tone of grim satisfaction. "When he tried, I used that self-defense move on him that you taught me…"

Michael smiled back, as relieved as he was amused by his pupil’s answer. "Which one?" he asked, although he was pretty sure of the answer.

Lucinda grinned. "I kneed him in the groin," she reported demurely. "Hard." Her smile grew wider. "He didn’t bother me after that…."

Michael laughed. "Good girl," he praised her approvingly.

Lucinda’s smile faded, and she dropped her exquisite violet gaze to her lap. "I’m sorry about yelling at you, Michael," she apologized softly. I was… upset, and I took it out on you…"

Michael blanched, acutely uncomfortable with the idea of this sweet girl apologizing to him, when she had been the victim of one of Section’s games.

He suspected that the whole scenario with Russell had been another test, Madeleine using Lucinda’s near-rape to judge Michael’s resolve to keep the girl in Section, and to torment him further by driving home the point of just how helpless he was to protect the innocents in his life, including Adam.

"No apology necessary," he told her, a trifle curtly. He stood, and helped her rise from her chair. "I want you to go to your room now, and rest," he ordered gruffly. "You must be exhausted…"

The girl closed her eyes, and nodded. "Okay," she agreed, docile again. She gave him a tremulous smile. "Thank you…"

Michael stayed numbly silent. Of all people, he was the last one Lucinda had anything to thank him for, he thought miserably.

She walked slowly to the door, and then turned to give him one last brilliant trusting smile before she was gone.

Michael closed his eyes for a moment, and then took a deep breath. When he opened them, their green depths were bright with stubborn resolve. A second later, he was out the door, striding, quickly and determinedly, straight to Madeleine’s office.

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

Michael stalked into Madeleine’s office, almost blind with fury. He strode toward her desk, eyes blazing green fire.

"I thought you said Lucinda was MY material," he hissed. "What do you think you were doing, forcing Russell on her on her like that?"

Infuriatingly, Madeleine only looked up at him calmly from her seat behind her desk, and smiled. "So you’ve heard about Miss O’Neill’s training session?" she said wryly.

A muscle in Michael’s jaw worked. "Yes," he spat out. "Why did you…."

Madeleine cut him off, raising her hand, her expression turning stern. "Why do you THINK, Michael?" she returned with asperity. " Why do you think Section targeted her to bring in in the first place? You’ve seen her. She’s stunning, intensely attractive…." The brown eyes flashed warningly. "She’s inexperienced, but with the proper training, she’ll be what Section wants her to be- the perfect Valentine operative." Madeleine explained tightly. "The sooner she begins training, the better."

Michael glared silently at her, his mouth pressed in a grim line. He was too enraged and horrified to speak.

"Would you care to know how Russell is doing, after your recruit injured him?" Madeleine asked casually.

Michael blinked, and was unable to stop a small smile from coming over his face. "No," he said softly, his tone blatantly insolent. "I wouldn’t."

Madeleine returned his smile, hers most definitely forced. "Russell will be incapacitated for several days," she went on in a calm, controlled tone, although it was evident to Michael that she was angry. "Perhaps weeks."

Michael did nothing to keep his genuine pleasure at this news a secret. "Good," he said, in a proud tone. "That means I trained her well."

Madeline smiled again, this time it was unforced. "I’m glad you brought up that point, Michael," she drawled, swiveling in her chair at her desk. "Seeing as how one of my best Valentine instructors is now incapable of performing his duties, I am forced to choose for her a different trainer…." She met Michael’s eyes, hers gleaming with amusement. "You."

Michael blanched, horrified. It was his role to protect Lucinda, not violate her. "No…." he choked out, appalled. "No…"

Madeleine sat up straighter in her chair, her eyes going hard. "Refusal is not an option, Michael," she said tightly. "Remember what is at stake here……"

Michael flinched at this thinly veiled threat to his son’s life. He stared defeatedly back at Madeleine, his whole body trembling. "I.. remember.." he choked out.

His cruel task-mistress smiled again. "Good," she said in a happy tone. "Then you can start your duties right away," she told him, glancing at him slyly out of the corner of her eye. "Tonight."

"T-Tonight?" Michael gasped. "But…"

"No ‘buts’, Michael," she interrupted him curtly. "Just do the job, and do it now, or else I’ll be forced to take measures that neither one of us will find… pleasant…"

Michael closed his eyes, too numb to speak.

"It’s shouldn’t be a difficult assignment for you, Michael," Madeleine said sweetly, twisting the knife. "You’ve seduced and deceived innocents before, and from what I’ve seen of your interactions with your material, there is already a certain…. shall we say…. rapport.. between you.."

The brunette pressed a button on her desk and the large screen on the wall behind her flared to life. It was the surveillance video from Michael’s office less than an hour before. "He’s not really attractive," murmured Lucinda on the tape. "Not like YOU are…"

Michael flinched again, and the let out an angry moan as he saw himself smile warmly at Lucinda on the tape, his eyes lighting up with tenderness….

Wrenchingly, he cursed himself silently. The tape forced himself to see things clearly. Yes, he desired Lucinda, he admitted to himself. Not just for her beauty, but because of her sweetness, the purity of her soul, that his lacked. He was attracted to that beauty of soul, wanting to draw it into himself, to warm the coldness of his life with her bright, inner fire. *Bastard* he swore again in his mind. *You Bastard. You’re just like Lucinda said you were- a vulture, a predator, picking her insides to shreds..*

Wretched, the tortured operative moaned again. He saw no way out. He would have to defile that sweetness, taint Lucinda’s innocence, manipulate her, betray her trust, even though doing so would destroy him, take what was left of his tattered soul. Section had left him no choice.

He would do what he had to do.

"Go, Michael," Madeleine ordered, interrupting his tortured thoughts. "The night is waning. There’s not much time."

Michael glared at her once more, but her image blurred before him, tears clouding his vision. Silently, stiffly, he walked to the door, heading for Lucinda’s quarters to carry out his mission.

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

Not much time, Madeleine had said. But not much time was needed, thought Michael, anguished, standing outside Lucinda’s door, to cause her a lifetime of pain.

Hating himself, and loathing the idea of what he was about to do, Michael took a deep breath, tapped on the door softly, and then used his key to open the lock. "May I come in?" he called out, pushing the door half open.

Lucinda was up off her cot and had pulled the door open the rest of the way for him, smiling warmly. "Michael!" she greeted him happily. "Come in!"

Her eager delight to see him tore at his heart anew. He was about to grope for some excuse for his presence there in her room, when she took the need for an explanation right out of his mouth.

"It’s really nice of you to come check on me, Michael," she said shyly, " but I’m fine, really.." She gestured to the room behind her. "But, of course, you can come in and stay and visit if you want to…." She pleaded awkwardly.

Michael stepped inside, feeling as low as he ever had. He didn’t know how he was going to live with himself after this night was over. "Thank you," he told her solemnly.

Lucinda beamed and shut the door closed behind him. "Coffee?" she offered, crossing to a small table in the corner of her quarters that was set up with small kitchen items. "I’ve just made some, with the coffee maker you got me last week…"

Michael nodded. "Please," he agreed, although he wondered how he was going to choke down a drop of liquid past the huge lump in his throat.

Lucinda smiled again, and poured him a mug, then offered it to him. She got a cup for herself and then looked around at the small space. "Sit down," she invited, gesturing to the cot.

Silently, Michael crossed to the narrow bed and perched on one end of it. Lucinda’s choice of seats were now few- she could sit on the bed next to Michael or on the lone hard chair, piled high with pens and sketch book, also presents from Michael to keep the art student occupied in her limited spare time.

To his relief, she opted for the chair, pulling the sketch- book into her lap, and automatically taking up the pen. She began scribbling idly on the top blank page, glancing up at him shyly.

"You know I’m really sorry about calling you a vulture, Michael…." She said in a small voice.

Michael flinched, staring down into his coffee. "It’s all right," he said softly.

Lucinda looked relieved. "It’s just that I was confused and upset, and you make me so angry sometimes when you don’t tell me anything…" she blurted out. Then she blushed, looking embarrassed. "I-I m-mean…" she stammered, then faltered to a stop, wide-eyed and scared.

Michael looked at her, his eyes soft. "Is there anything you’d like to ask me now?" he offered gently.

The amethyst eyes widened in surprise. Lucinda leaned forward eagerly. "You mean it?" she asked intently. "You’ll talk to me?"

"Yes, he agreed solemnly. It was the least he could do, to give her what she asked, considering what he planned to do to her later that night.

"Great!" the girl said enthusiastically, almost bouncing in her seat. Then she sobered, and looked up at him shyly again. "Tell me, then, when I’m done with all this training, just how long will I have to work for Section One before they let me go?"

Michael closed his eyes, feeling wretched. He had tried to shield Lucinda from the hard truths of life in Section One, by keeping silent. Now he knew he could keep the harsh reality of her situation from her no longer. He sighed. This would be just the beginning of a night full of harsh truths for her, he thought sadly.

"They won’t let you go," he answered roughly. "Not ever."

Lucinda’s milk white skin paled to an even whiter shade. The hand holding her coffee cup trembled. "Not… ever?" she gasped. She stared at him in shock, her mind reeling, needing time to process this stunning news.

"Then, everyone here… they’re stuck here, until…" she asked, choking out the words, "until they… die?"

"Yes." Came the starkly forlorn reply. Michael found himself unable to look at her. He put the coffee cup down on the floor and then buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

Lucinda stared at him, a stubborn look coming over her face. "But, Michael," she protested, "can’t you run away? Escape?" she asked in a bewildered tone. "I mean, you’re not locked in, like I am…" she said gesturing around the small, cell-like room. "You must have resources on the outside, contacts, people who could help you…." She shook her head. "Why don’t you just leave one night and not come back?"

"I …. can’t.." Michael choked out, suddenly realizing that he owed this girl the truth. The words tumbled out, wrenching Michael with anguished pain as he said them, and at the same time flooding him with relief at the chance to express that pain, that truth.

He looked up to meet the sympathetic, jewel-like eyes, his own bright with tears. "Section has my son," he told her in despair.

Lucinda gasped. "My God! My God… Michael…."

She put her coffee cup down on the floor and stood up, heedlessly letting the sketch pad fall from her lap to the floor in her haste to get to him. In seconds, she was beside him on the bed, her arms encircling him in the comfort of her embrace. Michael, although he felt he didn’t deserve her comfort, could not help but melt into that sweetly offered warmth, resting his head on her shoulder, and holding her tight. A harsh sob escaped him.

"Your son is here?" she asked in horror, stroking his back gently. "Locked up in a cell like this, too?"

Michael got control of himself again, and pulled back from the embrace, sitting up straight on the bed. "No," he answered, his face ravaged with grief. "He’s on the outside," he told her, his voice trembling. "He lives with his mother." Michael took another shuddering breath. "They both think I’m… dead…." He confessed brokenly.

Lucinda reached for his hand, her eyes still filled with empathy, and a growing horror. "So Madeleine..- Section- has threatened to hurt your family if you don’t do what they want?"

Michael gripped her slender fingers hard in his, drawing strength from her touch. "Yes…."

He choked out, anguished, his eyes riveted on hers. How he hated himself for what he was about to do….

As if it was planned, Lucinda reacted with more sympathy, playing right into his- or Section’s- hands. She let out a little cry and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close. "My God, Michael," she moaned against his shoulder, her tender heart breaking for him. "What can I do to help you?"

Instinctively, as if their movements had been choreographed, their faces turned at the same time, hers tilting up and his coming down; Lucinda’s soft red lips brushed his, and in that moment, he was lost.

With an anguished groan of need- need for her comfort, and need to save Adam- Michael gave in. Crushing her to him, tears flowing down his face, his lips claimed hers in a fervent, tormented kiss....

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

Their lips melded together for a timeless moment, both offering and taking each other’s sweet solace in this desperate, frantically tender caress. Lucinda sighed against his eagerly searching mouth, and Michael felt her body relax against him, yielding into his. He knew then that he could have taken the comfort that she had just wordlessly, innocently, offered, and he might have done just that, lost as he was in the mindless pull of the deeply pleasurable sensations of her soft lips, and the feel of her body against his….

But he did not. As his hands slid up Lucinda’s arms to pull her down on the bed, she flinched as his fingers pressed the tender bruises there, letting out a small cry of pain.

Moaning, Michael broke the kiss, and flung himself off the bed and away from her, finding himself unable to inflict more pain and damage on this innocent that had already suffered enough at Section’s hands.

He strode to the far end of the room, facing the wall, his back to her. "I’m sorry…" he choked out, feeling torn, and totally miserable, horrified at himself for almost raping this trusting young girl, and terrified about what would happen to Adam if he didn’t. "I shouldn’t have…." He moaned.

Lucinda sat up, gasping, on the bed, her hand going to her mouth, caressing the spot he had just kissed. She struggled to regain her composure, feeling at once disappointed, and at the same time relieved, that Michael had gone no further. Her head whirled, her thoughts as chaotic as the emotions in her heart. She cared for Michael, desired him, but it had all happened too fast, too soon. She needed time to get her bearings, she needed space to think…..

She didn’t know if she was glad that Michael had left her bed, or crushed that he did not now return to it. But whatever her mixed-up feelings were, she knew she couldn’t bear to watch Michael standing there, alone, wracked with pain, sobbing…

She rose from the cot, and slowly crossed the room to him. Tentatively, she touched one black-clad, heaving shoulder. "It’s okay, Michael," she soothed. "It’s okay…"

Blindly, Michael turned to her, staring into the jewel-like eyes. He wanted to reach for her, to draw comfort from being in her arms again, but he could not- WOULD NOT- defile her purity with his touch. He wanted to run from the room, but then he froze, knowing what would happen if he left now, leaving his mission undone.

Lucinda, seeing his tortured eyes, reached for him again, her heart wrenching. "Michael.." she breathed, holding out her arms to him.

With a cry, he staggered away from her toward the door, not trusting himself not to take her offered sweetness if she touched him again. But before he could leave, his eyes, roaming wildly around the room, looking anywhere but at the target of his mission, lighted on one of the drawings that had slipped out of Lucinda’s sketch book, lying scattered on the floor.

Michael froze, and drew in a sharp breath.

He knelt and picked up the picture, clutching the drawing tight, his hands clenching into fists around the paper. There, held in his shaking hands, depicted perfectly in soft, smooth lines, was an image that tore at his heart. A child’s smiling face stared back at him from the paper. Six years old, dark eyes, dark hair. It was the face he loved, the face of the child he adored and cherished, a face he knew he would never see again-Adam……

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

"This child…?" Michael choked out, trembling, raising tear-filled eyes to meet Lucinda’s concerned amethyst gaze. "Who… ?"

Lucinda took the paper gently from his grasp, and smiled at him. "He’s my baby," she said sweetly, tenderly caressing the child’s face on the page with one finger. "Or one of them, anyway….."

Michael’s eyes widened in shock. "B-baby?" he choked out. "What do you mean?"

With a sigh, Lucinda settled on the cot, and began her explanation. Her eyes were soft as she looked at Michael, and she was not surprised by his interest in the picture of the small boy. The child probably reminded him of his own son, she thought sadly.

"My babies," she told him softly. "That’s what I call the kids at the Center where I volunteer." Lucinda smiled down at the picture of Adam. "This one was my favorite.." She shook her head and went on shyly. "We’re not really supposed to have favorites at the Center, but I couldn’t help it. This little guy just captured my heart, you know?"

Michael blinked, confused, and then felt a chill go through him. He remembered what Madeleine had said about Lucinda’s volunteer work. It was with abandoned children. Abandoned, and orphaned….

*Oh, God, no* Michael thought, anguished. Had something happened to Elena? Was his precious child left alone, with no one, shut away in some horrid institution, some sterile orphanage?

"Both of his parents are dead?" Michael whispered brokenly, gripped with fear.

To his relief, Lucinda shook her head. "No," she answered softly. "He lives with his mother…." Her amethyst eyes filled with tears. "His father was killed in one of those random shootings, along with the boy’s grandfather, not very long ago…."

Michael closed his eyes, anguished, reliving that moment in the hospital over again in his mind, the image of Elena screaming as sharp and as vivid as the pain tearing through his soul….

"Not an orphan, then?" Michael asked again, just to make sure.

Lucinda shook her head, the silky dark hair swaying against her shoulders. "No," she answered again. "He was one of the children in my art therapy class at the Grief Counseling Center," she explained. "His mother brought him in once a week." She sighed, remembering.

"You shouldn’t worry about him, Michael," she said very gently. "He’s one of the lucky ones…."

Michael blanched in shock. "L-Lucky ones?" he gasped. " What are you talking about? How can a child whose father has been killed be considered LUCKY?"

Lucinda’s gentle smile held. "Because he’s one of the ones who will heal," she said softly. "I’ve seen too many others who won’t…." she finished, her eyes infinitely sad.

"I don’t understand," Michael begged her, collapsing unsteadily into the hard-backed chair. "How do you know who will heal and who won’t?"

His eyes pleaded with hers, desperate for answers, and for reassurance that his son would be all right. Amazingly, Michael felt a surge of hope that this might even be possible. He had spent the last months since the end of the Vacek mission not only mourning the loss of his family, but feeling guilty that his abrupt, violent departure out of Adam’s life would permanently damage the boy, scar him, wound him, emotionally, for life. But now here was Lucinda, who had seen and treated Adam herself, telling him Adam was lucky…

Lucinda leaned forward across the small space that separated them, and handed Michael the picture. He took it from her, holding it reverently, and Lucinda went on.

"It’s hard to explain, exactly," she began. "After working with the kids for a while, you sort of just KNOW who will survive and cope with their grief, and who won’t, and this boy is one of the ones who will definitely be all right…" She let out a sigh. "But there are certain factors that indicate success, and he has all of those in his favor, too…."

"What factors?" Michael demanded, his voice tense and eager. "What are they?"

"Well, a big one in this case is that his father didn’t leave- he DIED," Lucinda told him gently.

Michael blinked. "You’re saying a child is better off with a dead parent than a living one?" he gasped out. "How can that be?"

She gave him a small, tenderly sad smile. "Because death is so much easier than desertion, you see," she said, sighing once more. "When a parent dies, hard as it is, there’s CLOSURE," she explained. "The child isn’t left in torment, wondering where the parent is, or if the parent will ever come back….."

Michael’s eyes widened, realizing the truth of this statement. He remembered how, horribly painful though it was, he had eventually begun to heal from the loss of Simone after several months, when he believed her to be dead. In contrast, when Nikita had been lost, missing in the explosion of the Shays mission, he had spent every moment, waking and sleeping, in unrelenting torment, wondering about her, worried about her welfare, not knowing if she were dead or alive. He had never known such agony as those six months, until he saw he again in Lyons…

"I… see," Michael acknowledged, nodding his head. "What else?" he demanded. "What else is in the little one’s favor?"

"Well, love is a big factor, too," Lucinda told him.

"Love?"

She nodded. "Yeah. See, if the child is absolutely sure that he was loved by the parent who died, the healing process goes so much easier, compared to a child whose parent was capricious and cruel, and then abandoned them…." She continued gently. "Children naturally blame themselves for everything that happens, so if the parent rejects them, they see that as their fault, as something being wrong with THEM…" She shook her head sadly. "They internalize the guilt. Rejection- lack of love- is one of the hardest things to get over. It’s what does the most damage…"

Michael flinched, thinking of Nikita, and her mother. He knew Nikita’s wounds went deep, despite her denials, and her brave statement that she was never sorry that her mother threw her out on the streets, Michael knew how horribly scarred Nikita was by this callous rejection from her own flesh and blood, from the very person who had given her life… . Michael held up Adam’ s picture. His voice trembled again. "And this child," he choked out, "he knows his father loved him?"

Lucinda’s next words were like a balm to Michael’s wounded soul. "Oh, yes," the girl assured him, nodding her head. "He talked about his Daddy all the time, and about how wonderful he was…."

Michael choked back tears, too overcome to speak.

"He drew pictures of his Daddy, and the things they did together- playing ball, planting a tree, giving him a bath, soothing him when he had a nightmare…" Lucinda went on. "We put the pictures in book, and I told him that all the love was still there, that his Daddy still cared about him, and missed him, even though they couldn’t be together…."

"I told him that he should always remember his Daddy’s love, and FEEL it, know that it was always there…"

Michael uttered a groan and came toward her. "Thank you…" he choked out, pulling Lucinda into his arms, overcome with grateful tears. Burying his face in her shoulder, he sobbed out his grief, his tears of release, and her words of comfort, bringing him the healing that he needed, his torture at last relieved. Painful as the separation from Adam had been, and would continue to be, Michael knew now that he could go on, knowing that his son would be all right.

Lucinda held him tight, rocking him in her arms on the bed, holding him as if he were a grieving child, just like Adam and the others she had helped. "Shhh, Michael," she soothed him. "Everything’s all right now," she whispered. "Everything’s all right…."

Michael cried harder, his heart breaking open in relief, knowing in that broken heart that she had spoken the truth.

He and Adam and Elena would someday be healed. Today, Lucinda had set his feet on the path in the right direction toward that healing. And now, everything - EVERYTHING- was- finally, blessedly, beautifully- perfectly- all right.

Exhausted with joy, tears spent, Michael rested his head against the shoulder of the angel who held him, and fell asleep in her arms, dreaming contented dreams of his baby son all night, until the sweet morning.

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

Michael awoke the next morning, feeling lighter than he had in a very long time. The crushing heaviness of his grief had lifted, his heart-ache over losing his son, though still there, was no longer at an excruciating level, but was now a burden he could somehow stand to bear.

Lucinda had shown him that, even though he would mourn, and suffer from the cruel parting from his family, for the days and years to come, that mourning had become for him at last not a bitter, hopeless, endless abyss, but a passage-way, a dark tunnel that had a promise of light at the end if he could just have the strength to keep going.

Lucinda, in her wise and gentle way, had given him that hope, and that strength. She had made him see that Adam ‘s broken heart would someday heal, and that his child would be okay, and with that knowledge, Michael was empowered to let go, to release the anguish that had tortured him. He was now free in his soul and in his heart, to go on, to live, and to help the other souls in his care that needed him.

Souls of the innocents, like Nikita, and.. Lucinda.

"Lucinda?" he moaned softly, stirring from his reverie. He opened his eyes and sat up, reaching for her.

She was not there. The small bed on which he lay was empty.

"LUCINDA!" he called out, leaping from the bed. The room was empty, too. Not just of her presence, but of every trace of her. The table where her kitchen things had been last night was now bare, her sketchbook and drawings were no longer scattered on the floor. He checked the closet for her clothes, and, that, too, was starkly barren of her as well. There was no sign that she had ever been there.

Panicked, fear clutching his insides, Michael stalked to the bathroom door, and flung it open without knocking. "LUCINDA!" he screamed loudly, but she was not there to hear, her name echoing hollowly in the empty room.

Michael froze, then slumped to his knees on the bathroom floor. *Oh, God* he thought in anguish. *What had they done to her?*

He had not carried out the mission he had been given- Although he had, literally, slept with Lucinda, their time in bed together had not been what Madeline had ordered. Michael shuddered uncontrollably. Had Lucinda been punished for his failure? Was Section making Lucinda pay for his inability to be the cold machine they wanted him to be?

And Adam? Michael realized in shock. Adam was in danger, too. What had they done to Adam? Had Section made his precious little boy pay for his mistakes, too? "No!" he cried, anguished. "No…"

Michael staggered to his feet and slammed out of the room, racing toward Madeleine’s office.

Blinded with panic, his hands shaking, it took Michael three tries to get the correct code into the keypad that secured Madeleine’s office door. At last he succeeded in unlocking it, and burst, gasping, into the room.

Madeleine, serene and unsurprised to see him, looked up from her chair behind the desk and smiled. "Glad you could join us," she greeted him sweetly.

*Us?* Michael thought. He whirled, and his eyes met the cold blue gaze of Operations, who was lurking in a corner of the office. The older man grinned at him, and came forward to stand beside Madeleine.

"Good morning, Michael," the Section leader taunted, his mouth quirking up at one corner in a cruel smile. "Sleep well?"

Michael let out a sharp breath. "Where is she?" he demanded. "What have you done with her? What have you done with Adam?" he choked out in a distraught whisper.

"Your son is fine, Michael," Madeleine assured him gently, her tone still serene.

Michael let out a harsh groan of relief, and then realized suddenly that he was trembling. He ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"And Lucinda?" he begged, green eyes wide and glittering with fear. "What about her?"

"I’m sorry, Michael," Madeleine went on softly. "We shouldn’t have put you in the position we did, having charge of training her…" She shook her head and let out a sigh. "Phase Two of our recruitment plan just wasn’t working. It’s not your fault, Michael…"

Michael blinked, too shocked and horrified by this statement to speak. He felt a part of his soul wither and die inside him.

Operations shoved his hands in his pockets and went on, elaborating on Madeleine’s coolly delivered announcement. "Phase Two was a short-cut to recruitment that we realize now we shouldn’t have taken. We should have known it would be difficult to train innocents, to bring them in to Section, without the proper indoctrination first…" The silver-haired leader shook his head, and gave Michael a rueful smile. "We see now that an operative’s time in prison isn’t a waste of resources, after all," he explained in a self-deprecating tone. "Jail time makes them more.. malleable, more docile…" He smiled his half smile once more. "More grateful to have the future we give them…"

The older man met Michael’s eyes with his cold blue ones. "We’re scrubbing Phase Two," he declared firmly. "As of today, the mission is aborted…"

Michael closed his eyes, flinching at this blow. "Lucinda?" he gasped. "She’s…. gone?" he choked hoarsely.

"Yes, Michael," Madeleine answered softly. "A pity, really. She might have made a good operative, but her compassion- her humanity- would have gotten in the way. She would have never adapted to life in Section…"

Michael felt his knees shaking, his legs no longer able to support him. He staggered forward and collapsed into the chair in front of Madeleine’s desk.

"Oh, God, she’s dead…." He moaned in agony. "Oh, God….." he cried, not caring if Madeleine or Operations witnessed his grief. He was only aware of the pain that stabbed him at the thought of the loss to the world if that shining pure light that had been Lucinda were snuffed out.

"She’s not dead," Madeleine’s voice interrupted his tormented thoughts.

Michael lifted his head, his tear-filled eyes meeting Madeleine’s in shock. "Not… dead?" he gasped, his soul jolted with a stab of hope..

The lovely brunette smiled. No, not dead," she informed him serenely. "A memory modification procedure is in progress," she said, her smile widening. "When that’s done, Miss O’Neill will be inserted back into her old life, none the wiser about where she has been…."

Michael sobbed in relief, and staggered to his feet. "Thank you.." he choked out sincerely. "Thank you…"

He was indeed grateful for Section’s mercy in not destroying the innocent that had shown such mercy to him, and had mended his brokenness, and made him whole, with her wisdom, and her love. His heart soared, knowing that the sweet innocent who had healed his imprisoned soul would herself be free.

"You can go now, Michael," Madeleine told him softly.

To her shock, Michael gave her a brilliant smile, brighter than any she had seen since the day his child was born. "Thank you," he told her again, and went striding out of the office, his gait confident and steady once more, his shoulders unbent, relieved of their burdens, his head high.

When the door had closed behind him, Operations turned his gaze to Madeleine and grinned. "Well done, My Dear," he congratulated her. "We have our old Michael back," he gloated.

Madeleine swiveled in her chair and gave him a contented smile. "Yes, we do," she commented serenely. "Our ploy with Miss O’Neill paid off…"

Operations nodded and reached into his pocket, taking out a folded sheet of paper, on which a drawing in pencil had been made. He tossed the page casually onto Madeleine’s desk, where the paper fell open, revealing the sensitive, gentle face of a small boy.

"That was quite a stroke of brilliance, Madeleine," he praised her, "bringing in the same person to counsel the bereaved father that had counseled the grieving son…"

The beautiful brunette let out a sigh, gazing thoughtfully down at Adam’s picture. "Yes, it worked out well, didn’t it?" she said modestly, and then stood from her desk, smoothing her skirt down with her hands.

"All this success has given me an appetite," she quipped, giving Operations a warm smile. "Would you care to join me for lunch?" she invited in a light tone.

Her companion in conspiracy smiled back, and offered her his arm. "By all means," he agreed. "Let’s go see what Christopher has for us today…"

The couple laughed, and exited the room.

On the desk, for just a moment, although it could have been an illusion of light, or because of Lucinda’s magical touch, or perhaps a brush of an angel’s wing- who knows?- the penciled smile of the small boy in the picture grew wider, and his softly sketched eyes glowed bright with his father’s eternal love……

The End

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