Dr. Brian Whicker burst into his office, slammed the door shut behind him, and let out a ragged sigh at finally having reached this haven of quiet retreat after a brutally traumatic day. He collapsed wearily into the chair behind his desk, and buried his face in his hands, shuddering. His mind replayed the images of the past six hours, and broke on the horror he was unable to get past. It had begun early that morning when the mission to Greece had gone sour, and his Medlab team had been notified to stand by for heavy casualties. Expertly, working in silence, their faces grim, Brian’s team set up the triage unit in the large bay closest to van access, and waited.

After a tension-filled hour, long enough to get everyone thoroughly, jumpily, on edge from their confined helplessness, the teams of operatives at last arrived back in Section. Even though the seasoned Med teams had seen similar scenes before, they were nevertheless unprepared for the sheer volume of carnage that poured through the bay doors.

The operatives spilled out of the vans in a seemingly never-ending stream of torn and damaged bodies covered in blood. The still quiet of the dead brought to them on the stretchers juxtaposed with the anguished screams of the wounded. Brian wasn’t sure which one of these sounds had disturbed him the most. The ravaged faces of the survivors haunted him, as he recalled now how many times that night he had to tell the teammates who hovered close, waiting for news, the same horrid words---

"He’s gone. There’s nothing I can do." The words echoed in his head, and would not leave. It seemed all night he had just kept saying those words over and over and over…..

Brian shivered in his chair and laid his head on his arms on the desk, letting himself succumb to the grief that surged up inside him. He let out a sob as he calculated the damage.

Thirty-five dead. Fifty-two wounded, some of them mercifully not seriously, but the majority were critical. Brian didn’t expect half of them to survive through the night. The terrorist bombing that Section had been too late to prevent had caught the rescue teams as well as the innocent targets in the blast. The explosion had shredded through all the living things in the park, decimating untrained civilians and experienced anti-terrorists, alike. Semtex and C-4 made no distinction between its victims.

"There’s nothing I can do." The words reverberated in his mind, his gut, tormenting him. They had lost so many tonight, and would lose more, despite the Med-Teams heroic efforts to prepare for any contingency, to do everything they could…

They had failed, Brian realized, sitting up straight in his chair and letting out a sigh, heavy with grief. Medical had failed to save even a quarter of the total injured on the mission, and to Brian, that was unacceptable. They should have done more, he thought. They should have saved more lives. But how?

Angrily, Brian dashed the tears from his blue eyes with a swipe of his hand, and then ran his hand through the dark curls of his hair, trying to think.

"There’s nothing I can do," his own thoughts mocked him. But was that true? What else could they have done? They had followed all of Section procedures….. He closed his eyes wearily, and leaned back in his chair, going over everything again, each detail…

Suddenly, Brian stood up with a gasp, almost knocking over his chair. The flash of an idea came to him, stunning in its simple brilliance. A solution was there, full-blown in his mind. It was not the doctors, or the patients, that were at fault. It was Section procedure that needed to be changed.

"Jesus.." Brian breathed hoarsely, the word more of a prayer than a curse. "Why didn’t I see this before?" he moaned. A stubborn look came over his handsome face. Any one who knew him would have recognized what that meant. When Brian got that look, nothing could stop him. Nothing.

With as much speed as he had entered it, the young doctor flew out of his office, not bothering to close the door behind him, or to change out of his blood-splattered lab-coat and carnage- soiled green scrubs. If anything, he knew his attire would only help get his point across.

"Let the Bastard smell the Death on me," Brian thought grimly, striding down the hallway as he headed for Operation’s office.

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

With quick strides of his long legs, Brian reached the steps to the Section leader’s glass aerie, and began to climb. The two security men posted at the top of the stairs blocked his way for a moment, but then gave way at his grim expression. They knew the doctor meant business. The men stepped aside, and Brian entered the hawk’s lair.

Another victim was there before him. Michael stood, back stiff, head held high, still as a statue, in front of Operations as the older man paced agitatedly in front of him, venting his rage, his voice dripping with anger and bitter contempt.

"Could you be any more incompetent, Michael?" the Section leader spewed invective at his subordinate, his blue eyes flashing. "Not only did you not find and deactivate the bomb in time to prevent the deaths of hundreds of innocents, you managed to get most of your team killed in the process…."

Michael flinched at these words, a look of pure pain in his green eyes. He was still in his mission garb of pants, turtleneck, and jacket, all of these garments stained with the blood of his dead and dying teammates that he had help carry from the van when the mission returned, his clothes almost as stained as Brian’s.

Michael had only just now been called in to debrief- before this Operations had been occupied by being reamed out by George, the head of Oversight, for the blatant failure in Athens. In fact, the Section leader had spent the last six hours being flayed alive by one higher up Agency head after another, and now Operations was anxious to pass that whipping boy status along to the first subordinate within his reach- Michael.

Michael sighed, and opened his mouth to reply to Operations, but before he could speak, Brian strode forward and interrupted them.

"It’s not his fault," the young doctor declared stubbornly, taking a stance shoulder to shoulder next to Michael.

The Class 5 operative’s wary gaze flickered over his friend, the green eyes flashing a warning. He said nothing, but gave Brian a small but definite shake of the head, advising the young doctor wordlessly to back off from tangling with Operations at that moment.

Brian ignored the warning, and swiveled his steady blue eyes to meet Operations’ gaze. The older man glared at him, then shook his head in annoyed disgust. "Dr. Whicker," he drawled in a scathing, sarcastic tone, "If I wanted an emotional display from some little fairy like you, I would have asked for it…" His eyes bored into Brian’s, and then he looked away, as if the doctor was beneath his notice. "Your defense of your…. boyfriend is very touching, but, frankly, you’re in the way…"

Brian’s jaw tightened at this reference to the one encounter of love-making that he and Michael had shared months ago, an encounter forced on them by Section for a mission. The words hurt, but did not distract the young doctor from his mission. He set his mouth in a grim line, and met Operation’s eyes, his expression becoming, if possible, even more stubborn than before.

The Section leader glared at Brian again, his gaze as cold as ice. "Get out," he ordered sharply.

"No," said Brian, undeterred. "I need to talk to you." The voice was a firmly stubborn as his look.

The older man closed his eyes, and sighed impatiently. "I’m not interested in listening to anything you have to say, Doctor," he spat out in acid tones. "So unless you have a solution to share about how to save this totally f*cked-up mission, you can leave…."

Brian stood his ground, despite Michael’s alarmed and overtly pleading look, and Operations’ contemptuous and intimidating glare. Brian was committed to seeing his plan through. There was no turning back now.

"That’s just what I do have," Brian declared stubbornly. "A solution."

Operations froze in his tracks, and then his mouth twisted in a sarcastic smile. "Really?" he said, in caustic tones.

The doctor nodded, and took an eager step forward. "I have an idea that might help, if you would just listen to me…" he pleaded. "Please…"

Operations froze for a minute, one eyebrow raised, as he looked appraisingly at the earnest young doctor before him. *What did he have to lose?* he thought to himself slyly. He might as well listen. There was a chance the sentimental, tender-heated, but not un-intelligent, young physician would have a solution to his problem after all. And if not, it would give him another target upon which he could vent his frustration and blame.

He took a deep breath, and then, to the men's astonishment, actually smiled at Brian. "Go on then, Doctor," he said slyly. "I'm all ears."

Brian blinked in shock for a few seconds, and then told him.

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

When the meeting with Operations was over, Brian headed down the steps and onto the lower level of Section, intending to go back to Medlab to check on his patients. Michael followed close behind.

The green-eyed operative was reeling, seething at what he had heard. Brian had proposed his plan - a dangerous, foolish plan, in Michael's opinion- and, amazingly, Operations had instantly agreed. Michael had held his tongue, knowing it was not the moment to protest this decision, with Operations in such a foul mood. But Michael was already formulating contingency plans in his head, to prevent total disaster.

Now that he and Brian were outside the glassed- in aerie and out of Operation's hearing, he was determined to straighten this out with Brian right THEN, right NOW.

Behind him on he last step of the stairs, Brian felt Michael's urgent grip on his shoulder. He turned to look questioningly up into his friend's face.

Michael scowled at him. "In my office," he ordered in anything but a friendly voice. "NOW."

Brian blinked, and then, after a moment, the stubborn look returned again and settled over his handsome features. "Michael, I don't intend to argue this with you. I've made up my mind, I know I'm doing the right thing, and Operations approved my idea." He let out a sigh, and his mouth set in a grim line. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my patients.."

Brian turned to leave, managing to take only a few steps before Michael grabbed him by the arm and turned Brian to face him again. The black-clad operative had gone deathly pale, his eyes glittering dangerously. The grip on Brian's arm tightened painfully. "I SAID," Michael hissed, "in my office, NOW."

Brian closed his eyes, and swayed on his feet. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically, his heart wounded and sore from all the loss he had seen that day, all the Death. It had been such a waste, and he was determined that such a scene would never happen again, not if he could do anything to stop it.

Wearily, he opened his eyes, and looked at his friend with sorrowful eyes. "There's no point, Michael," Brian said softly. "You won't change my mind, no matter how much you talk to me…" Brian looked pointedly down at the hand still gripping his arm. "I'm going to do what I have to do…."

The angry light in Michael's eyes flared, and he lost what little hold he had on his patience. The hand on Brian's arm was joined by another, and before he knew it, Brian found himself being turned, grabbed by the biceps, and slammed up against the nearest cold stone Section wall, Michael glaring into his eyes, his face just inches from his.

"Now listen to me," Michael hissed intensely. "What you are planning is going to get you killed…"

Brian said nothing, only stood calmly in Michael's grasp and gave him the stubborn look again, which infuriated and alarmed Michael more. "I can't protect you out there…." The auburn-haired operative choked out in a hoarse, frantic whisper.

Brian's eyes softened, and he let out a sigh, realizing that Michael's anger was fueled by his fear for Brian's safety.

"Michael, look," he answered gently, giving him the same argument he had given Operations just minutes before. "All I'm asking is for Section to reinstate a very old military tradition- that of medics being in the field, where they are needed…"

Michael let out a grunt of disgust. "You're crazy…." He responded in rough voice, husky with alarm. "It'll be a logistical nightmare…"

Brian shook his head. "I can't go through again what I went through today, Michael," he said in quiet protest, his own voice husky with grief. "I can't watch teammate after teammate die on the table because we didn't get to them in time..."

He closed his eyes wearily again, and shuddered in Michael's grip. "Do you know how many of them just bled to death, because there was no medical support for them until it was hours too late?"

His voice choked on a sob, as he lifted his eyes to Michael's. "We could have saved so many if we could have been on site…"

Michael shook his head. "The situation was too volatile," he explained gruffly. "We didn't even know how many bombs there would be, or even how many Red Cell splinter groups were involved…" He let out a sigh, and released Brian from his vise-like grip, standing back to look into his friend's eyes. "We couldn't risk getting innocents involved…"

Brian froze for a moment, and then let out a sharp sigh of frustration. "Damn it, Michael," the doctor spat out angrily, "In case you haven't NOTICED, *I* am not an INNOCENT!" The blue eyes flared with indignation, and a sharp sorrow. "I'm a convicted murderer, remember? I'm a jail- bird, a criminal, just like the rest of you, just like all of us here…"

Michael stood stunned. He hardly put Brian in the same category as himself. He, Michael, in his fervent, foolish, misguided youth, had planted a bomb in a building. People had been killed. Michael knew he belonged in prison, knew that he deserved to do his penance of a life sentence in this prison called Section. But Brian was a whole different case altogether.

He had been only trying to ease the suffering of another human being, to end the unendurable, intractable pain of his lover, John, who was slowly dying of incurable stomach cancer, hours from death anyway. The overdose of morphine that Brian had given his beloved was not a murder, but, in Michael's eyes, an act of mercy. Brian was the kindest, gentlest person he knew. Brian was, in spite of his protest, just like Birkoff and Nikita, an innocent in Section.

"I'm a part of Section, Michael," Brian went on insistently. "I'm a part of the team, whether you like it or not…" He lowered his voice to a pleading whisper, no longer angry. "Please," he begged softly, "Please, don't stand in my way. Let me help you. Let me do my job…"

Michael stood looking at him sorrowfully for a moment, and then let out a sigh of defeat. There was no arguing with Brian when he was in his stubborn mood. He knew now he would never be able to persuade Brian from his foolish, and daring course of action. Michael knew he would have to figure out some other way of protecting his friend from his own misguided sense of loyalty to others. Brian was still too much of an innocent to realize that the first rule of Section was to survive at all costs. Michael wondered if he would ever be able to teach the compassionate young doctor that basic rule of self-preservation.

"All right," Michael relented with a sigh, placing his hand on Brian's shoulder again. "But just…. Watch yourself, okay?" he pleaded. "Promise me you'll be careful, and not take any foolish risks…"

Brian grinned suddenly, the smile lighting his bright blue eyes. "Look who's talking," he quipped drolly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "The Section daredevil hero himself…" He shook his head, and then sobered, looking with a now intently serious expression on his face into Michael's worried green eyes.

"You do the same, My Friend," Brian said gently, his voice full of tender caring. "You do the same…"

Michael sighed out a deep shaky breath, and then pulled Brian into a fiercely tender embrace. Brian hugged him back, the two men wordlessly communicating all their concerns, fears, and warm affection for each other in that moment in each other's arms, brothers not by blood, but by love.

When the two friends broke apart and went their separate ways, Brian to Medlab, Michael to his office, they did not notice that they had been watched, nor did they realize that one of them was being followed….

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

Michael strode wearily toward his office, still unsettled by the meeting with Operations and his subsequent conversation with Brian. Michael sighed, and ran a hand over his eyes. The whole idea of medical personnel on missions made his head ache, especially medical personnel like Brian.

Although he was strong, and his reflexes were good, the young doctor was completely untrained in covert ops. Brian would be totally out of his depth in the field. Michael doubted whether Brian had even ever touched a gun, let alone know how to use one. Valuable resources would have to be used to protect him- having an innocent like Brian along would be a distraction, a drain. God knew how much Michael agonized over Nikita’s safety when they went out, and she, at least, had the skills to protect herself. Having Brian along on a mission was going to be a nightmare. Michael knew he wouldn’t have a moment’s peace of mind, worrying about him…

With an angry grunt, he reached his office door and pushed it open, then stomped inside, slamming the door behind him. He went to sit behind his desk, and then realized that he was still wearing his mission gear, and that he was still covered in blood. His teammates’ blood.

He let out a soft sob as the memory of his teammates being blown to bits came back to him. They were the lucky ones, Michael realized. Their deaths had been quick. The agony of the surviving wounded they had brought back to Section was far more horrific that the swift annihilation of the operatives lost in the initial blast. The wretched wounded would die by inches, slowly….

With a hurt cry, Michael began stripping off the blood soaked garments that served as a reminder of his loss. The gloves came off first, then his jacket, then the turtle neck. He reached down to unlace his boots, and slipped out of them, followed by his socks, which were blood-soaked as well. He always kept a spare set of clothes in his office locker, and he intended to change into them now, and then shower later. He couldn’t stand to be in the offending clothes one more minute.

He had just slipped his thumbs in the waist-band of his tight-fitting mission pants, preparing to jerk them off, when there was a knock at the door.

Michael jumped, not expecting company right then. He speculated that it might be Nikita, who was supposed to be in Belgium doing surveillance, but might have come home early if she had heard about the debacle in Athens and the carnage that followed. Eagerly, Michael strode barefoot, naked to the waist, to the door, and flung it open.

"Yes?" he called out eagerly to the woman in the hallway as he yanked open the door. "Come in!"

To his shock, however, it was not Nikita.

The woman who stood there was slight of build, her figure lithe and graceful, her carriage that of a ballerina. Long, warm-honey-colored hair skimmed past her delicate shoulders and fell in a silky mass past her waist, ending just above her narrow hips. The hair glimmered with copper highlights, as well as flashes of red and gold.

Michael pulled his fascinated gaze from his admiration of this crowning glory to look into the woman’s face. Pale blue eyes glittered with tears in her delicately featured face. The lower lip of the soft mouth trembled.

"What’s wrong, Michael?" she demanded in a hoarse, but nonetheless, musical, voice. "What’s going on?" She stepped forward into the room, since he had, after all, invited her to do so, and shut the door behind her, then stood looking at him expectantly for an answer.

Michael blinked, struggling to place her, and then the name came to him. LaDean. Ann LaDean, Field operative, Level Two. She had been on a few missions with him, usually on a peripheral team doing back-up. He remembered that she was good at her work, and had a gift as well for mission-profiling. Seeing things from every angle, every perspective, was her forte’.

"Ann?" he said bewildered, crossing his arms across his bare, muscular chest. "What are doing here?"

She looked away, somewhat embarrassed, and then stared at the floor. He words came out in a soft, rushed whisper of concern. "I saw you," she confessed, the voice still choked with tears. "I saw you and Brian in Operations’ office…" she licked her lips nervously and then went on. "Operations seemed very angry with Brian- I saw them yelling at each other…."

Ann gulped hard, and then lifted her eyes to Michael’s. A single tear fell unheeded down her cheek. "Then, when you and Brian came out of the office, you were upset, too, you yelled at him, then you… hugged him…." Her voice broke then, and she let out an voluntary sob of anguished fear.

"Is he all right?" she demanded, stepping closer, and putting her hand on Michael’s bare arm. "Brian’s not.. not in abeyance, is he?" she choked out, her eyes wide with terror.

Michael’s eyes softened as he looked at her, and then he suddenly took her by the arm and guided her to a seat in the chair if front of his desk. "Sit down," he invited softly, then settled himself on the edge of the desk, one lean hip perched on its corner. "No," he assured her gently. "Brian’s not in abeyance."

Ann exhaled all the breath in her lungs with a sharp sigh of relief. "Thank God," she breathed fervently, closing her eyes and relaxing in her chair. "I thought something terrible had happened…"

It was Michael’s turn to let out a sigh. "But it has," he contradicted her in a tense and sorrowful voice.

Ann jerked up in her chair, her eyes coming up to meet his. " What?" she begged, starting to shake. "W-What happened?"

Michael rubbed his hand across his chin and then sighed again. "Brian demanded that he be allowed to go along on the next mission to get the bombers," he explained tensely. "To provide medical support in the field." He sighed again, his voice quivering anew as a wave of apprehension and terror hit him as he visualized everything that could go wrong with this scenario. "And Operations agreed," he concluded in a hoarse whisper.

Ann closed her eyes and shuddered. "Oh, God…" she choked out. "No…"

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

Ann was silent for a long moment, processing this news. Then she shook her head, the silky hair shimmering in the light, and jumped up from her chair to pace nervously in front of the desk.

"Operations has never approved of having medical personnel on missions before," she said, frowning deep in thought. "The policy has always been for us to make do with first aid on site, and then bring the wounded back to Section to be dealt with here…"

She stopped pacing and looked up into Michael’s eyes. "Why would he change that policy now?" she asked with sharp wariness, combined with her fear.

Michael tilted his head and regarded her thoughtfully. He debated whether or not to tell her his suspicions, but then decided that this woman, no matter how delicate-looking she was, was strong. Even though he didn’t know her well, he sensed she would be able to handle the truth.

"I suspect Operations did it because he had a specific agenda involving Brian," Michael began softly.

Ann cocked her head to the side, listening intently. Her blue eyes widened. "What kind of agenda?" she whispered.

Michael sighed, and closed his eyes. "Operations gave permission for just Brian alone to go on the next mission. Not medical teams in general." He rubbed his chin again, a sign that he was agitated. "I think Operations is hoping that things will go down wrong, and that Brian will be…uh…" he stopped, unable to say the next words.

Ann quickly comprehended his meaning, and finished his statement for him. "You think Operations wants him dead?" she gasped, her eyes widening in horror. "And that this mission will be his chance to get rid of him?"

Michael nodded, then bit his lip. "Yes…" he choked out, his eyes also afraid.

Ann blinked several times, then sat down heavily in her chair again. She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, hands under her chin, and gazed earnestly at Michael with a determined expression in her eyes. "What do we do to stop that from happening?" she asked quietly. "How do we help Brian?"

Michael almost smiled, thinking how accurate his assessment of Ann’s character had been. She was indeed strong- and apparently clear-headed under pressure. Michael leaned toward her, glad to have an ally in his corner. Somehow he trusted this woman on an almost instinctive level. He gave her the hard truth once more.

"I don’t know what we can do," he confessed with a shake of his head. "I’m still trying to sort that out."

Ann remained calm, and only nodded. "I see," she said thoughtfully. She was focused solely on the problem, her own emotional concerns forgotten in her pursuit of a solution to save Brian. Michael found himself waiting expectantly, without doubts, knowing with some inner confidence that this strong woman would have an answer that he didn’t.

Ann did not disappoint him.

"Two things," she said after a minute or two of respectful silence had passed. "One: we may have a little time before the mission to get in some basic training……."

"Training?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ann nodded. "Yeah," she elaborated, "You know- teach Brian how to defend himself- martial arts, weapons….." She grinned at him suddenly. "Street fighting rules, of course…."

Michael let himself smile at this comment. "Mmm," he answered dryly, eyes twinkling with amusement, "Somehow I have trouble picturing our noble Brian learning how to fight dirty…"

Ann let out a short laugh. "He won’t like it, that’s for sure," she acknowledged. "But he’ll do it if YOU order him to."

Michael nodded slowly, recognizing the wisdom of this statement. "Done," he agreed, then looked at her appraisingly again. "And the second thing?" he prodded gently.

Ann blushed slightly, and looked away. "Uh, the second thing I had in mind was to give Brian a.. a protector, a guardian angel, as it were, to watch over him…" She turned her head then, and faced Michael squarely. "Me."

Michael watched her quietly for a moment, then smiled again. "You want me to assign you to Brian on the mission, unofficially, of course, as his…"

"Baby-sitter, Buddy, watch-dog, whatever term you prefer," she supplied him earnestly. "Just let me be there for him, okay?" Ann pleaded, her tone no longer light with amusement, but intently serious. "Please…" she begged.

"Fine," Michael acknowledged with another gentle smile. His green eyed gaze softened as he looked at her, appreciating all her tender protectiveness and devotion for their young doctor friend. "How long have you and Brian been in love?" he asked very gently.

Ann’s pale skin turned bright pink as she flushed to the roots of her glorious hair. She lowered her eyes to her hands in her lap, disconcerted and thrown off balance, Michael noted, for the first time since she had entered the office. She blinked back tears, and her soft lips parted to let out a gasp- Michael’s question had shaken her to her soul.

"I- I’ve loved Brian for a long time," she confessed quietly after a long silence. She let out a trembling sigh, and then raised her eyes to look firmly into Michael’s as she told him the absolute, painful truth. "Brian, however, doesn’t know I’m even alive."

"Oh!" Michael gasped in astonishment, finding it hard to believe this piece of surprising intel. Impulsively, he reached forward and took Ann’s hand in his, gripping her fingers tightly in a gesture of friendly support. "Well then," he said encouragingly, returning the favor she had bestowed upon him, that of her trust and friendship, "Why don’t we just see about changing that?" he said gently.

Ann‘s eyes widened at these words, and then she squeezed Michael’s fingers back, and gave him a tremulous, but dazzlingly intense, smile. "Okay," she agreed, happy and terrified at the same time.

"Good," Michael responded with another smile of his own. And then the two protectors who loved him put their heads together for the rest for the afternoon, planning how to save their beloved Brian.

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

Ann’s prediction had been right. Brian did not like the new training procedures that Michael ordered for him. He didn’t like them the least little bit.

"Sh*t!" the young doctor swore vehemently as Michael threw him one more to the mat in the Section’s main workout area and pinned him there. "Dammit, Michael, get off of me!" Brian yelled, bucking against the knee pressed into his lower back.

Michael, sweating and frustrated, did not release his student, who struggled futilely in his grasp. In fact, he was seriously contemplating deliberately injuring Brian, just enough to disable him so that he would be unfit for the coming mission. But then, Michael dismissed the idea, knowing that Operations would know it was no accident if the young doctor was so conveniently taken out of play just before he was due to go out with the teams.

"All right," Michael relented finally, releasing Brian from his hold and collapsing beside him on the mat, panting hard. "I guess we’re done for the day," he told his friend wearily.

It had been totally frustrating "fighting" with Brian. Unlike most in Section, he did not have the "killer instinct", in fact, he had few, if any, aggressive inclinations at all. Getting the compassionate young doctor to throw punches or attack him, even in practice, was like pulling teeth. Brian was just too damn gentle for his own good.

Brian sat up on the mat beside Michael, getting his breath back before he tried to stand up. He had spent the last hour being asked to do impossible things by his friend. Over and over, Michael had given him impossible commands it was just not in him to obey. "Hit me," Michael had ordered. "Knock me down." "Go for the kidneys." Each order had made Brian cringe inside. It had been an afternoon out of some nightmare.

Michael gave another frustrated sigh, and pushed back a stray sweat-dampened curl of hair from his eyes. His bare arms in his sleeveless black t-shirt were sheened with sweat as well. The work-out had gone the least smoothly of any he could remember. He turned his head to look at Brian sitting beside him. "Meet me back here first thing in the morning," he ordered the doctor in a grim voice. "We’ll try again then."

Brian uttered another harsh expletive, and then glared at his would-be trainer. "No," he retorted stubbornly. "I’m done." Brian stood up then, and Michael saw that despite the concealing baggy gray sweat pants and loose t-shirt that the doctor wore, it was evident that he had recently lost weight. His broad shoulders sagged in a weary line, and even the boyishly handsome face was lined with fatigue and stress. He turned haunted blue eyes to Michael, and ran a hand through the tousled mass of dark curls.

"I don’t know why you’re torturing me like this, Michael, but please- just stop," Brian told him in a tense plea. "It’s no use. I’m not combat material- I never have been…."

Michael stood up swiftly, his eyes widening in alarm. "We still have some time before the mission goes live," he urged his friend, putting a hand on his arm. "Maybe, after a good night’s rest, you can come at it fresh tomorrow…"

Brian shook his head, and gave a short, painful laugh. "I can’t REST, Michael," he whispered intensely, his eyes vast pools of sorrow. "Do you know how many more operatives we lost since last night?" He turned away, and bit his lip hard, fighting tears. "Five more, that’s how many. Five more people died, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to help them…."

"Brian…" Michael uttered his friend’s name gently, and placed his hand just as gently on Brian’s shoulder. "You can’t…."

Brian whirled, eyes flaming fire, and finished Michael’s sentence. "Can’t what?" he spat out, all his ire directed inward. "Blame myself?"

Soft green eyes met blazing blue. "Brian, it’s not your fault. The mission…."

"The mission went sour, I know," interrupted Brian again. "But you did your jobs, you did all you could." The young doctor shook his head emphatically. "It was Medical- it was MY team- that dropped the ball…" His voice choked on a sob, and he looked away blindly, as hot tears started in his eyes. "If we had done this sooner, if we had been out in the field with you, some of them might still be alive…"

Michael said nothing, knowing Brian in this mood could not be argued with on this point. The tender-hearted doctor would feel responsible no matter what the circumstances. But Michael was not about to let him off the hook about the training. It was too important.

"Fine," he hissed, deliberately acting more annoyed than he was really feeling, "Feel responsible, that’s fine…" Michael told him with forced sarcasm. He hoped the digs would spur Brian on to have the anger he needed for the fight training yet to come.

"But the situation we’re facing in a few days will not be a practice session with an old friend," he went on, glaring fiercely into Brian’s widening eyes. "This is a war we’re in. You’ll be facing real combat then, and you won’t be able to just quit when you feel like it," Michael finished stubbornly. "You still have to be ready for this mission, otherwise…"

Brian stood tensely, enduring the diatribe, his jaw clenched. At last a flare of anger sparked in his eyes and he lifted his chin defiantly. "Otherwise, WHAT?" he demanded harshly.

Michael almost smiled at this response, but managed to keep his expression stern and unforgiving. "Otherwise, you’re not an asset to the team, you’re a liability…" Michael didn’t say what he really meant, which was "Otherwise, you might get killed and I wouldn’t be able to stand the loss of such a treasured friend…."

Brian heard the harshness, but not the underlying message of concern. The words stung him, and he responded with some sarcasm of his own, to hide the hurt he felt at Michael’s contemptuous tone.

"Well, Gee, Michael," he drawled defiantly, "I’m sorry you think having medical support in a combat situation constitutes a LIABILITY.." He looked away, so Michael would not see the look of genuine hurt in his eyes. "I didn’t know you considered me a total f*ck-up, but now I know…"

He took a shaky breath, then turned back to glare at Michael, his arms crossed across his chest. The traumatic events of this week had worn away his reserves of emotional control, and he was close to the edge of losing it, of breaking down into tears right then. He wanted to scream, to yell, to shout out his pain. His rage at the situation, and at Michael, warred with the intense misery he felt at what he considered his failures and now Michael’s cold rejection.

Swallowing hard, he forced back a sob, and let the rage win.

"Maybe you ought to schedule me for TWICE as many training sessions," Brian spat out, " Just to make sure I don’t screw up your mission profile.."

Michael closed his eyes, flinching at the pain in Brian’s voice. He didn’t want to hurt his friend further, but the opening that Brian’s words gave him were an opportunity too good to miss. He knew he could use the pain to motivate Brian to fight for his own life, not just for others.

"Maybe I should," Michael answered him coolly, to Brian’s swift chagrin. "Why don’t you go see Walter now, and then meet me back here when you’re done?" Michael suggested in a serious tone, that left no doubt that he was definitely NOT kidding.

Brian stared at him in stunned disbelief. "Christ!" he swore forcefully, voice full of disgust. "Holy sh*t, Michael! You can’t be serious…"

"I am." The soft voice brooked no argument. "Very serious," Michael said in a cold, clipped tone. He gave Brian another harsh glare of his icy green eyes. "See Walter for weapons training. NOW."

Brian gasped, then closed his eyes. He swayed on his feet, as another wave of exhausted misery hit him. Then the blue eyes flickered open, and he met Michael’s hard, unrelenting gaze once more. "Fine," he agreed wearily, all the fight having gone out of him, and only the pain now left. "Just fine…" he sighed, in resigned defeat.

"Good," Michael answered in the same cold tone, resisting the urge to gather his friend in his arms and give him a badly needed hug at that moment. Brian looked so intensely miserable, but Michael knew he could do nothing to comfort him right then. He had to play the game out.

As he watched Brian walk wearily away toward Walter’s station, Michael let out a sigh of his own, and then frowned uncertainly. He wondered if he had perhaps pushed Brian too far…..

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

Walter watched appraisingly as the weary young doctor trudged toward him, fatigue in every line of his body. It had to have been a hell of a week for him, Walter thought, just like for all of them in Section. The old man shuddered. He didn’t like to think about just how many people they had lost, how many young faces he would never see again. He was feeling every bit his age today, as ancient as they come.

Wearily, he slid off his stool at his workbench and greeted Brian in a kindly tone. "Hey, Doc," he said in his deep, warm honey-toned voice. "Michael told me you were coming." He gave Brian a swift smile. "Ready for a little .. banging away?" he quipped, giving Brian a knowing leer.

Brian gave him a wan smile in return at this joke. "Sure," he answered unenthusiastically. "Whatever…."

Walter gave him an encouraging slap on the shoulder. "All right, then," he said, leading Brian toward the firing range. "Let’s get started…"

A few minutes later, they were set up in the booth, side by side, both equipped with ear protection, safety goggles, and what looked like to Brian to be a year’s supply of ammo as well as an array of guns enough to supply a small army.

"We’ll start with the 9mm first," Walter decided, handing Brian one of the weapons on the counter. "You do remember which end to point at the target, don’t you?"

Brian’s well shaped mouth tilted up a little at the corners. "Vaguely," he answered drolly, taking the gun from his teacher. He hated guns, but liked the old man immensely. He was beginning to feel more at ease, realizing that that was Walter’s intention, with his stream of jokes and gentle teasing.

"Okay, just relax," Walter instructed, as Brian took position in front of the target and raised his weapon uncertainly. "Take a deep breath, and just cup the butt of the gun with both hands gently, but firmly, just like you would a lover…." The old man said in a caressing tone.

Brian had to laugh then, and shook his head. "I’ll try," he said with a sigh.

"What’s the matter, Kid," Walter quipped with a grin, "You do remember HOW, right?"

To Walter’s surprise, this last comment did not put Brian at ease as he had hoped, but seemed to make the nervous young doctor even more stressed than he already was.

The younger man’s blue eyes clouded over, and his handsome face contorted in a grimace of pain. "Oh, yes, I remember," Brian said forlornly, in a surprisingly un-bitter tone, as if he deserved his loneliness.

The young doctor clenched the gun tighter and took aim. "Memories are all I do have now," he said softly, and fired his gun at the target. The bullet went high, whizzing past the paper bad-guy’s shoulder, and leaving no mark at all.

Walter blinked at these words, and then caught himself before he let out a gasp of pure visceral pain. What Brian had said was exactly the way he, Walter, felt about Belinda, and his own situation. For all the old man’s ribald talk, he was in truth a very traditional, very old-fashioned man when it came to romance. He had loved Belinda with all his heart; she was the soul-mate he had been looking for, and now she was gone. They had only been married for less than a day, but she would live on eternally as the wife of his heart. He missed her horribly.

Brian fired the gun a few more times, each shot just marginally better than the first. Walter stayed silent, too choked up to offer criticism or advice on the younger man’s marksmanship. When at last he could speak, his words were not about guns, but about the woman he guessed was in Brian’s memories.

"You’re talking about Jilly," the old man said gruffly. "Aren’t you?"

Brian squeezed off three more rounds in quick succession, until the clip was empty, then placed his gun on the counter. He leaned his tall frame back against the wall and looked at his teacher thoughtfully, a faraway look in his eyes. "Yeah," he answered softly. "I am."

Walter let out a sigh of sympathy. "You ever talk to her anymore?" he asked gently.

Brian flushed red, and lowered his eyes. "No," he choked out. "She asked me not to."

Walter put a hand on Brian’s arm and patted him gently. "You kids seemed so in love last spring, and then all of a sudden, Jilly upped and asked for a transfer to the Asian Sector," the old man said with a shake of his head, the movement set his earrings dancing. "What happened?"

Brian let out a long, shaky sigh, and then straightened from his slouch against the wall, and took up the gun again, fidgeting with a new clip. He kept his face carefully turned away from the old man, so that Walter would not see the stinging tears that sprouted unbidden in his eyes.

"I… spooked her, I guess," Brian said at last, after a silence that had gone on so long Walter wasn’t sure he was going to receive any kind of answer to his question. "I asked her to marry me, and I guess it was too much too soon…"

Walter stayed quiet, not wanting to disturb the flow of the young man’s unburdening of his pain onto Walter’s shoulders. He was in fact honored at receiving Brian’s trust.

"I know how short life can be here, how precious….." Brian went on.

"Yeah, I know," whispered Walter.

The doctor lifted his head and smiled through his tears at his companion. "I guess you do," he responded gently.

The held the look in silence, compassion flowing back and forth from blue eyes to blue. "Go on," Walter encouraged him softly after a moment. "Tell me the rest."

Brian closed his eyes, and leaned forward on the counter, his head lowered to his chest. "I was in love with her," he said in hushed tones, his voice full of pain. "And she seemed happy with me. I saw no reason to wait, not here, not when it was a field operative I was in love with…."

Walter nodded. "So you popped the question," he said in his warm old voice.

"Yeah," Brian said, with a rueful shake of his head. "I’m such an idiot," he commented with a mirthless laugh. "I think Jilly could have handled the idea of us living together, or just being exclusive lovers within Section, but marriage brought up all sorts of issues about how limited our choices really were….."

Walter nodded, feeling a definite sense of deja vu. "She started thinking about all the stuff she couldn’t have, " the old man speculated thoughtfully. "Like a normal life, a real home, kids…."

Brian let out a sharp groan. "I would have given her a real home, a real life, as real as love could make it," he choked out hoarsely. "But Jilly was too afraid to try…"

"Maybe she wasn’t afraid, Kid," Walter suggested gently. "Some of the folks here survive by just focusing on the moment, not thinking too much about the future…" He patted Brian’s shoulder again. "You made her think about the future with the marriage question. Maybe she couldn’t deal with that…"

Brian shook his head, his mouth tightened in a grim line. No," he said with a grimace of pain. "Don’t try to make it sound nicer than it is." The bright blue eyes were haunted by an even older pain. "Jilly wasn’t just rejecting a lifestyle, Walter," he said gruffly. "She was rejecting ME…."

The forlorn young doctor took up his weapon again, and aimed it blindly at the hanging target once more. "I should be so God-damned used to that by now…." He choked out.

A second later, the sobbing young man fired the entire clip at the target, emptying the chamber within the space of a few seconds. He kept on firing, even after the bullets were gone, the trigger clicking impotently, over and over…

Walter stopped him with a hand on his arm, holding him firmly still. "That’s enough for today, Kid," he whispered gently, pulling the pistol from Brian’s hands.

The young doctor offered no resistance, but let Walter take the gun from him without protest. He slumped limply forward, and pulled off his safety gear, angrily wiping tears from his eyes. "I’m such an IDIOT," he said again, his anger all directed inward.

Walter tightened his grip on Brian’s shoulder, squeezing hard enough to get the young man’s attention. "You’re not an idiot, Kid," he insisted emphatically. "You just got a big, tender heart, that’s all," he told him, giving him a sudden broad smile. "Like me…"

Brian blinked, and then smiled back, tentatively. "Like you?" he echoed softly.

Walter’s smile widened further. "Yeah, you see the secret to living with a tender heart is never to harden it," he said with a shake of his head. "No, that never works…." The old man let out a sigh. "You have to stay open, keep loving, keep giving, and just know to expect a few bruises along the way….."

Brian blinked, realizing the old man had given him a new insight, and a new strength, to go on. If Walter could keep his heart open after losing his wife, Brian felt he could at least try to do the same after suffering his own losses. Maybe, he thought, there was hope. Maybe, just maybe, he would find a new love again, if he didn’t close himself up, if he stayed open…

Brian’s eyes filled with new tears, and he reached to hug the old man. "Thanks, Walter," he said, thumping the wise old weapons master on the back. "I’ll try to remember that…."

Walter collected himself, and pulled back from the embrace. His eyes were wet with sentimental tears.

"Yeah, well," he said gruffly, trying to cover his emotional out-pouring with a macho stance. "Be sure to come back tomorrow, Kid," he ordered, his voice still kind under the mock sternness of his tone. "You REALLY need the practice," he said, grinning widely. "You shoot like CRAP!"

Brian laughed merrily, and walked off, his step lighter than before, and his heart lighter as well. He headed back to the gym, where, unbeknownst to him, a new love already waited…..

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

Brian entered the work-out area, his eyes scanning across the crowd of busy students and trainers, looking for Michael. He was taken aback when he at last located him, leaning against a wall in the far corner of the room.

Michael was there, waiting, but he was no longer dressed in his sleeveless black t-shirt and black sweat pants. Now Section’s top operative was neatly attired in one of his elegant black suits, and the unruly mane of short curls was now smooth and controlled, brushed straight back off his noble forehead. He stood very still, as only Michael could do, like a panther in repose, but Brian could sense the tension in him, even from this far across the room.

Brian froze, a frisson of apprehension going through him. Obviously, Michael was not there to work out with him. Something had changed, something must have happened in just the last hour to make Michael cancel the workout he was so determined to have with Brian. Letting out a gasp of panic, Brian broke into a run, racing across the room to his friend. In seconds, he had reached him, loping up to him on his long legs. "What is it?" Brian demanded breathlessly, wasting no time on formal greetings. "Are you okay?" he asked anxiously. Michael gave him a composed blank stare, his stoic gaze covering the affection in his eyes. "I’m fine," he answered coolly. "Why wouldn’t I be?" Brian put his hands on his hips and cocked his head appraisingly, looking Michael up and down. "Well, for starters, you’re not exactly dressed to kick my ass all over the mat again, so what gives?" His blue eyes narrowed warily. "What’s going on?" Michael gave him the slightest of amused smiles, and then his features relapsed into their usual blank mask again. "I have a meeting with Operations in ten minutes," Michael told him in his soft, French-accented voice. "About the upcoming mission." Michael’s tone was cold and unemotional, but Brian sensed something else was going on past the cool exterior that Michael presented. The doctor scowled, struggling to figure out just what it was. He knew Michael well, and his instincts told him that the operative was both elated and excited about something, and at the same time apprehensive and nervous. But why? Brian bit his lip nervously. "He’s not going to change his mind about letting me go out with the teams, is he?" he asked tensely.

Michael shook his head. "No," he answered, his small sigh indicating he would have no regrets if this were the case. "But we will be discussing your role in the operation, I’m sure." A worried look flickered in Michael’s eyes again. Brian returned the look with a stubborn stare of his own. "Tell him I’ll be ready, okay?" the dedicated young doctor said with a determined and defiant glare. The blue eyes bored into Michael’s, holding a definite challenge. Brian’s look conveyed the message in no certain terms that nothing would stop him from being there for his teammates. He was going on the mission, and that was it.

Michael nodded his head, a gesture of acknowledgement, conceding this battle. "Of course," he replied softly, his voice just a little bit sad, but then the elation flared in his eyes again. "In the mean-time, I have assigned you a new trainer, until the mission goes out," Michael told him, an expression of barely-repressed glee flickering over his face.

Brian blinked. "New trainer?" he gasped in surprise, not expecting this twist of events. "Sh*t, Michael," the doctor groaned, running both hands back through his tousled dark curls. "I know you’re kinda pissed off at me and all, but, CHRIST…." He shook his head, and looked at Michael apprehensively, only half-joking with his next remark.

"What did you do, find some big ugly scary guy to beat the crap out of me all week?" he moaned in complaint.

To his surprise, Michael laughed out loud. "Not exactly," he chuckled with amusement. He reached out and took Brian by the arm, and turned him to face the person standing directly behind him.

"Brian," Michael spoke into the doctor’s ear, his voice full of unconcealed delight. "I’d like you to meet your new trainer…" he said, laughing again. "This is Ann….."

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

Brian stood stunned, mouth open, taking in the beauty that stood before him. She was wondrous, she was perfection, she was his ultimate dream, a fantasy woman come true.

The glorious honey hair was piled on top of her head, a few copper-gold strands escaping to curl in tempting waves around her face. Brian’s hands ached to touch the silky strands of spun gold.

The hair framed an even more glorious face, clear-skinned and serene, with wise blue eyes, like some Medieval painting of an angel. The soft, pink lips of her mouth framed small, perfect teeth as she smiled shyly at him, her gaze kind.

"Hello, Brian," Ann said in her musical voice, her tone warm, and so very sweet.

"Uh… uh… Hi…" Brian managed to choke out after another moment of gaping and staring. He blushed, and lowered his eyes, flooded with embarrassment as he remembered his words about the "big, ugly, and scary" trainer he expected. Flustered and miserable with the thought that he had ruined everything already before it even got started, Brian rushed to apologize.

"I’m sorry…." He stammered. "I’m really an IDIOT. I mean, uh.. I DIDN’T mean…. I… uh….."

The angel came to his rescue. Ann smiled wider, and blushed herself, in a very becoming shade of pink. "It’s quite all right," she said kindly, her tone warm and gentle. "I’m not offended."

Brian smiled shyly back, his heart leaping inside his chest in cautious joy. He tried not to feel the surge of anticipation and hope that her smile gave him, but he couldn’t help himself. Something in his soul responded to this woman; his heart knew with unqualified certainty she was to be the source of great happiness for him in the future, although his mind did not know how he knew that.

"I’m glad!" he said happily, and stuck out his hand.

Ann took it in her own, and the two soul-mates touched for the first time. She clasped his fingers firmly, shook hands, and then let it drop, but the connection was still there, even after the contact was broken. Their twined fates were sealed in that moment.

Michael broke the spell, interrupting the entranced couple, who stood staring in fascination at each other. "I have to go now," he announced baldly.

Brian tore his gaze away reluctantly from Ann’s beauty, and turned to Michael with a smile. He had almost forgotten the other man’s existence for a moment. "Okay, sure," he agreed. "Thanks, Michael," he added in a tone of extreme warm gratitude, and clapped Michael on the shoulder.

It took all Michael’s self-control to suppress his smile and adapt a stern expression. "I expect you to work hard and follow Ann’s every order, as if it were my own, is that clear?" he said with forced gruffness.

Brian nodded, his gaze drifting inexorably from Michael’s face back to Ann’s. "Yes, very clear," he said in a tone as eager as a puppy.

Michael turned to Ann. "He’s your material now," he told her, almost unnecessarily at this point. "You own him." He sighed, as if he knew he was relinquishing a pearl of great price to her care, and regretted its loss.

Ann nodded gravely, as if receiving a solemn trust, for that was how she considered this situation to be. She was responsible for Brian now, and his survival on the mission. She was determined not to fail in that endeavor. Her heart, as well, had a mission of its own, and she hoped not to fail at that, either.

"I understand," she answered softly. "Thank you, Michael." Her gratitude and hope shone deep in her eyes.

The older man nodded, and without a backward glance, walked away, his own heart curiously heavy, but at the same time light, almost soaring. He loved Brian, and was reluctant to let go. Not the bond of their friendship, but his ties to Brian as a former lover. This was still a tender, intimate, if unspoken, connection between them, even though the actual physical expression of it had only happened one time. But Michael knew the romantic tie between them must be loosened, in order for a new, and better bond to form- a bond between Ann and Brian. She could offer Brian so much more, she could give him the relationship, the commitment, that Michael couldn’t, even though Michael cherished Brian’s love, and always would.

Conflicted with his sorrow and joy, Michael walked alone to face the silver hawk in his glass-walled lair. Behind him, Brian turned to the new owner of his heart and put himself in her hands.

"What do you want me to do?" the young doctor asked, stepping onto the mat, signaling he was ready for whatever training she wished to give.

Ann smiled, and placed her hands on his shoulders, and looked into the innocent wide blue eyes. "I want you to learn to fight, learn to survive," she said in a reverent whisper. "I want you to LIVE…"

Then, with one swift, fluid movement, she deftly kicked Brian’s feet out from under him and flipped him hard to land on the mat.

Brian let out a yelp of surprise, and lay blinking up at her, lying on his back, all the wind knocked out of his lungs, but with a sweet exhilaration in his heart. "I will…" he promised her in a breathless voice, realizing that she was the person who could give him the reason to do just that.

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

Unlike the agonizing session in the gym with Michael, the training time with Ann flew by. She had a way of giving Brian her confidence, her total trust, so that the exercises they did together were less an antagonistic battle, but rather more like a dance between partners.

Unlike Michael, who had ordered Brian to hit and attack him, and had demanded that Brian behave uncharacteristically aggressively, and subsequently had left Brian feeling uncertain and confused, Ann chose a different tactic.

Her approach was to explain everything to him, BEFORE they attempted any moves on the mat. She would then demonstrate it for him, and then ask Brian to copy the maneuver himself. The shy young doctor took to this approach much better than when he was trying to fight with Michael, when he was more and more apprehensive, not knowing what was coming. Ann’s methods, on the other hand, soothed him, put him at ease.

Her initial tossing of him on the mat gave him proof that she could defend herself, and he had no fears that he would injure her, even though she seemed so small and delicate, so fragile, next to his six-foot plus muscular frame.

The fact that she was beautiful, and kind, and that Brian felt he might be falling in love with her, helped the lesson along as well. Brian was concentrating so hard on making sure that Ann did not notice how he trembled when she touched him, that he was unaware that she trembled as well.

She had allowed him to take turns being first the aggressor, then the defender, in the lessons, so that now first one, then other of them was either held down, or holding the other down, on the mat. Lying across Ann’s body, his length stretched across hers, Brian tried vainly to control his excitement and the thrill of electricity that went through him at her touch. He was breathing hard, not from the exertion, but from the pure emotional joy of having her near. When he held her down, his grip on her wrists was gentle, tentative- more that of a lover than an attacker.

"You can do it more firmly than that," Ann had ordered, looking up into his eyes. She, in turn, was a little breathless at the contact as well.

She was here, with Brian, in his arms, as she had always dreamed of. She had admired him, respected him, carried a torch for him, for over a year. But he had been involved with first Michael, then Jilly, and Ann had not wanted to intrude into Brian’s life then, to interject herself into those complex and painful relationships.

She had basically given up, resigning herself to watching him from afar, too shy to initiate contact, even after Brian and Jilly had broken up. At that time, when he was mourning this loss, Ann felt it presumptuous to intrude on his grief. It felt too much like she would have been taking predatory advantage of Brian in his vulnerability, and she respected him too much to do that.

It was a simple thing to stay withdrawn. Ann was on the periphery of Brian’s circle, anyway, her position as a profiler and usually a member of the back-up team meant she was seldom injured, or on the teams with those who were. Her encounters with Medlab personnel were few, and of those few times all had been consistently brief. What scrapes, strains, and bruises she had incurred on the missions had been taken care of quickly by various nurses, never a doctor, and never Brian. It was not surprising that he had not known of Ann’s existence up to this point, although she had been acutely, painfully, intensely, aware of him.

Now, lying on the mat, with her beloved’s body pressed against her own, his handsome face just inches above hers, it took all of Ann’s self-control not to pull Brian down into her arms and kiss him with all the passion she felt in her heart. But she resisted this impulse. As much as she wanted to, she didn’t want to spook him, to push too fast, too soon. Letting out a breathless sigh, she knew if she didn’t do something, and do it NOW, she would succumb to this almost unbearably irresistible temptation.

Ann tensed ,and then with a swift, deft movement, bucked underneath Brian, twisting so that she was now on top of him, and he beneath. She straddled the stunned doctor and held him firmly down by his wrists, pinning him to the mat.

"See," she explained in a firm teacher’s voice, "That’s what can happen if you don’t keep your grip tight on your opponent." She smiled down into Brian’s sweet blue eyes, and was instantly lost, her breath catching in her throat.

Brian trembled, hoping Ann didn’t notice. He blushed, then swallowed hard.

"Okay," her student agreed, his voice ragged and breathless. "I’ll try to remember that," he promised. He wasn’t sure it was a promise he could keep. Brian wasn’t sure he could remember anything, when he couldn’t even THINK now, with this lovely woman near.

He had only just met her, but somehow he felt he had known her for a long time, as if they were not strangers at all, but old, old friends that had just not seen each other for a long while. It was as if his heart knew her, and recognized her, as belonging to him.

Her warm weight on top of him now, her lithe delicate form, so tiny, but so strong, felt so right, so destined. A lock of her spun-gold hair had escaped from its confines, and hung down to caress his face, tickling his cheek. He longed to lift his head up and move to caress his cheek against hers, to capture the golden strand between their faces, to share the feel of that silky hair rubbing against their skin at the same time….

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, letting out a sharp, frustrated groan. They had just met, and it though he wanted to touch her, so badly, it would not do to push things too fast. He was terrified of spooking Ann, as he had spooked Jilly. Brian knew he must be very careful, or he would blunder as he had before, and ruin everything. The magic would be destroyed, and deep down, he knew his heart would not be able to endure that.

At his groan, Ann stiffened in fear above him. "Brian!" she gasped anxiously. "I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?"

He opened the blue eyes and Ann felt him relax beneath her. He gave her a dazzling smile, a soft light of elated affection in his eyes.

"No, I’m fine," he told her, his heart leaping in his chest at the thought that she was worried about him. It felt good to know that someone cared about him, even in this small way. Brian was usually the one worried and concerned for the pain of others, and to have that concern and caring reflected back to him by this beautiful woman touched him, restored him, in a deep way he was unable to articulate. It was such a small thing, but incredibly healing somehow.

"I’m really fine now," he breathed gratefully.

Ann smiled back, unaware that her words had moved Brian in any way, or that he was feeling the same deep connection between them that she did. "Good," she answered, and then blushed herself, unable to account for why she suddenly felt this overwhelming rush of warmth and tenderness coming her way, or why she was flooded with the glow of knowing she was somehow cherished.

She was too flustered to figure it out, and instead of trying further, she let out a deep sigh, and then released her student, and stood up. She smoothed her hands down her black sweat-suit clad thighs, noting with embarrassment just how sweaty her palms were.

"Uh, that’s probably enough class for today," she told him, her tone relieved and regretful at the same time. "Is tomorrow morning okay with you?"

"Sure," Brian agreed eagerly with another smile. "Whatever you say." He was sitting up on the mat now, and Ann automatically reached out her hand to help him stand.

Fingers met, gripped, and merged. The next instant, Brian was right there, next to her, looking down into her eyes, still holding her hand.

"Uh… would like to go to dinner with me?" he asked breathlessly, his words eager, his face open ands vulnerable. He had tried to hold back, tried not to say or do anything too soon, but his heart had protested vigorously when his head told him to slow down. Now that he had found her, he didn’t want her to leave his sight. He needed more, he needed to be with her.

Ann felt the same way. Unconsciously, she held his hand tighter. "That would be lovely," she said, proud that her voice only quavered a little and grateful that Brian seemed not to hear the loud pounding of her heart, or her knees knocking together. She blushed, bit her lip to stop the delighted laugh from bubbling out of her throat, and lowered her eyes.

"What time?" she whispered, suddenly shy.

Brian smiled, and let his entwined fingers brush over hers in a warm caress. "Is nine o’clock too late?" he asked apologetically, "I have to shower and change, and then go to Medlab to check on my patients…." He frowned slightly in worry, hoping she would not be put off by this timetable.

"Nine o’clock is fine," Ann answered quickly. Hell, three a.m. would fine, she thought. Six o’clock, midnight, whatever. Anytime, anywhere, would be fine with her.

Brian beamed in relief, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. "Great!" he said with a grin. "I’ll meet you in Systems, is that okay?"

Ann nodded, smiling back. "Very okay," she said warmly, looking into his eyes.

Brian resisted the urge to yell at the top of his lungs and click his heels together. He wanted to shout, he wanted to dance. Instead, he forced himself to say good-bye.

"Later then," he said, in an attempt to be casual, and started to walk off. He had forgotten that he still held her hand.

Ann giggled, as the flustered doctor pulled her along to stagger beside him for a few steps. Brian blushed furiously, feeling stupid.

"Sh*t, I’m sorry," he choked out, but still did not let go of her hand. "Are you okay?" He reached out to put his free hand on her shoulder, his fingers catching in a loose strand of the beautiful hair.

They stood now even closer together than before, Ann almost in Brian’s arms. It was no use, Ann realized. She couldn’t resist any longer.

"I’m fine," she answered breathlessly, then she closed her eyes, let out a deep sigh, and kissed him.

Ann had barely come up on her tiptoes, her lips had just brushed Brian’s, when the couple was jarred out of their magic interlude, the sweet connection broken.

"Ann!" Birkoff said from behind them. "Michael wants to see you in his office. NOW."

Brian let a groan escape his parted lips, and closed his eyes, resisting the impulse to try some of his newly learned fighting techniques on Birkoff.

Ann smiled up apologetically at her student. "I have to go," she said softly.

Brian nodded, and squeezed her hand, holding it in his for another urgent second before he let her go. "Nine o’clock, remember?" he said breathlessly, his eyes pleading with hers.

Ann gave him another dazzling smile. "Nine o’clock," she whispered, and then pulled her eyes away from him, and went to follow Birkoff out of the gym.

Dazed, Brian stood with his hand, the one that had held Ann’s, pressed to his lips, as a slow, warm smile took over his features, and his heart leapt with the happiness within, almost feeling like it would burst out of his chest.

"I’ll be waiting, my Love…" he whispered back, and then, his step light, still smiling, he turned and headed out the door to Medlab.

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

Three hours later, Brian paced outside of Systems across the cold stone floor of Section’s main staging area, and looked at his watch one more time. Ten after nine.

He sighed, and a ran a hand through his newly washed and combed hair, destroying the order he had so recently attempted to put it in. He had showered right after leaving the gym, changed to his green scrubs and lab coat, and then spent the next few hours checking on his patients. Most of the bomb victims had stabilized, and there had been no more deaths. For that, Brian was truly grateful. He also was pleased that of these survivors of the blast, all would recover, and eventually be able to return to duty. The crisis was over; all that was left to do was try to recover from their stunning losses and go on.

After his rounds, Brian had showered again in his quarters before going to meeting Ann, and had rummaged through the small supply of civilian clothes, i.e., not scrubs or sweats- that he kept there. His choices had been few, but he settled for a cross between formal and casual, opting to wear a favorite pair of worn, but not too shabby, blue jeans topped with a dark blue sweater and a matching navy blazer.

The blazer set off his broad shoulders and the soft material of his jeans molded the long length of his muscularly lean thighs and hips. The colors brought out the blue in his eyes, and underlying glint of blue in his blue-black hair. He looked devastatingly handsome, but was, typically, totally unaware of that fact. Brian was not used to paying much attention to his appearance, mostly because, besides the factors of his shyness and basic lack of vanity, there had been no one in his life for a long time that he wished to impress.

But there was now. Brian paced back and forth, nervous as schoolboy at his first dance. He felt awkward and shy, and so very excited. He licked his lips nervously, sighed again, and looked at his watch once more. Nine-thirty. Where was she? Brian was starting to get worried. He frowned, wondering if he had offended Ann somehow, and that she had changed her mind about seeing him.

"No, you idiot," he told himself sternly. "She likes you. She tried to kiss you, remember?" He went over their encounter that afternoon in his mind again, replaying all the scenes in his head, from her first hello, to the almost-kiss goodbye. No, he thought to himself. She HAD liked him, all right. The signs had been unmistakable. Unless…

Brian stiffened, trying to quell his sudden overwhelming sense of paranoia. This was Section, after all. Nothing was ever quite what it seemed.

Had Michael ordered Ann to be friendly with him, to pretend to be interested, just to keep him in line? No, he didn’t want to believe that. But he had been duped before, more than once. Michael had kept him in the dark about various agendas of his, for the purpose of succeeding on the missions, and keeping Brian safe. And Michael had been concerned about Brian’s performance on THIS mission….

What if Michael was using Ann as a distraction? What if she was toying with him, just pretending to care…..

Brian scowled as his stomach gave a sharp lurch inside him at this thought. He couldn’t bear it, he thought. He had only known Ann for a few hours, but already she was someone incredibly important to him. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if her regard for him had all been a lie…

He couldn’t stand it anymore. One more look at his watch. Ten o’clock. Taking a deep breath, he strode forward into Systems on his long legs, and interrupted the conference going on there between Birkoff and his crew of underlings, all working furiously on their computers while Birkoff barked orders at them.

The young computer genius stopped Brian before he could even speak. "Not now, Doc," Birkoff told him, waving him off with an impatient gesture of his hand. "I’m really busy. The mission is going out soon, and I don’t have time to…."

"What?" Brian interrupted, eyes going wide in shock. "We’re going out?"

Birkoff nodded impatiently, looking even more annoyed. "Yeah. Tomorrow. We’re going out tomorrow," he said distractedly, then rolled his chair toward a nearby console, and reached over to type in a correction on an underling’s keyboard. "Run the sim again," he barked to the hapless computer tech. "Those numbers don’t look right…" Birkoff was absorbed in his work again, and had forgotten Brian’s existence.

But Brian refused to be ignored. He gripped the back of Birkoff’s chair and spun him around to face him. "Where’s Ann?" the young doctor demanded. "Where’s Michael?"

Birkoff blinked, as if these were very stupid questions with very obvious answers. "They’re still in his office, I guess," he told him with a note of martyred disgust. "They’ve been there for hours, planning the mission..…"

Brian released Birkoff’s chair and stood up with another sharp gasp of shock. "Thanks, Birkoff.." he managed to utter quickly, before he set off at a run for Michael’s office.

"Sure, yeah, whatever…" Birkoff muttered cynically, and then put Brian completely out of his mind as he went back to yelling at his minions again.

Brian reached Michael’s office door in less than a minute, racing along on his long legs. He could see the two of them inside through the open slats of the window blinds, Michael’s dark brooding form hovering over Ann’s delicate lightness as he stood behind her as she sat staring intently into Michael’s computer screen. Both operatives looked tense and worried.

Brian bit his lip, caught his breath, and without knocking, angrily pushed open the door. He strode into the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

"What the HELL is going on?" he demanded, his blue eyes flashing.

Ann jumped at the intrusion, and looked up at him with startled eyes. "Brian!" she gasped. "What are you doing here?" Michael did not act surprised to see him, only straightened from leaning over the desk, and gave Brian a cool blank stare, which only infuriated Brian more.

The doctor scowled, and walked up to the desk. "It’s ten o’clock," he said, his jaw jutting out defiantly. His glance flickered from the composed Michael to the disconcerted Ann and back again. "I hear the mission goes out tomorrow." His blue eyes glittered dangerously with anger, as well as a deep hurt. "Were either one of you ever planning on letting me in on that fact?" he asked in a bitter tone.

Ann blushed, and looked stricken with guilt. "I’m sorry, Brian," she apologized breathlessly. "I didn’t realize the time," she said in a flustered voice. Her blue eyes looked pleadingly into his. "I can explain. We…"

Michael interrupted her. "We got a location on the bombers," he told his friend, his voice still cool. " It’s a father and son team, a splinter group of Red Cell," he explained in a level voice. "They’re in a remote farmhouse in the north woods." His gaze flickered softly over Ann, and then back up to Brian. "We’re profiling our approach now…"

"I see," said Brian, somewhat mollified, but still angry. He attempted to keep his voice as cool and as level as Michael’s. "I’m still part of your team," he stated tensely, crossing his arms across his chest. "Or were you planning to get around that?" he asked suspiciously, staring at Ann with a wounded look in his eyes.

Ann blushed again, and said nothing. Michael’s blank stare turned into a scowling glare, the green eyes flashing impatiently. "We don’t have time for this, Brian…." He huffed out in disgust. "Why don’t you go and…."

Brian interrupted whatever dismissive suggestion Michael was about to make. He was not about to be brushed off this way, with no explanation. He stepped forward, as close to the desk as possible, forcing Michael to look up at him because of his superior height. Brian was going to use any advantage he could to intimidate or coerce an answer out of his team leader. The stubborn look that Michael knew so well, and dreaded, was back.

"Why don’t you make the time," Brian said tightly.

Michael tensed, then stared at him, their eyes locked in a stand-off. Ann held her breath.

To her shock, Michael blinked first. "All right," the handsome operative capitulated with a sigh. He reached across Ann to retrieve the disk from its slot in the computer, and handed it to her. "Take this to Birkoff," he ordered her gruffly.

She opened her mouth to protest. "But, Michael…" she began.

"NOW." Michael cut her off in a sharp tone. Cowed, Ann desisted in her argument, and obeyed, taking the disk from his hand and standing from the desk. She glanced pleadingly at Brian before leaving the room, but said nothing.

Brian watched her go with a sad look in his eyes, then turned back to Michael. "Give it to me straight, Michael," he began in a harsh voice. "And no bullsh*t this time, like you pulled before…."

The blue eyes glittered with pain. "You’ve lied to me before, kept me in the dark, tried to protect me, to shield me from the harsh realities of Section…." The young doctor spat out. He bent forward, placing his hands on the edge of the desk and leaning his weight on them, his eyes level with Michael’s now, his eyes boring into his.

"Well I KNOW what those harsh realities are. I’ve spent this past week with my arms up to the elbows inside the mangled guts of my friends, trying to save them," Brian choked out. "I’ve spent hours in the OR, up to my ankles in their blood…." He shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line. "I live with the stench of death on me…" He swallowed hard, and continued, his tone even more stubborn than before. "I KNOW what Section is about, Michael," he whispered quietly.

"I’m not a naïve child, and I’m not stupid," he insisted sharply. "Don’t treat me like I am either of those things." Brian’s look softened then, and he closed his eyes, and let out a sigh. "Please," he begged. "Just tell me the truth this time…"

Michael nodded, and let out a sigh of his own. "Sit down," he invited his friend softly, indicating the chair in front of the desk. "I’ll tell you what’s going on."

Mollified, Brian relaxed his angry stance and settled into the chair, raising his eyes expectantly to Michael.

His friend rubbed his hand over his chin in an agitated gesture, and then paced over to the window, staring out blindly at the hallway beyond, his back to Brian.

"You’re right, I tried to get you off this mission," Michael confessed in a harsh whisper. "But not because I think you’re incompetent…"

He turned to face his young friend, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I wanted to make sure you were safe," he went on tensely, "because I don’t think this mission has a snowball’s chance in Hell of being successful…." He shook his head and then stared at the floor. "It’s going to be another massacre, like the last one….."

Brian swallowed hard, his stomach lurching violently inside him with a sick feeling of apprehension. "What happened?" he choked out.

Michael lifted his head and met Brian’s eyes. "Operations got chewed out by Oversight about this last debacle, and he was told that failure was not an option this time. They want the problem solved, and they want it done NOW." Michael closed his eyes and wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if his head ached from thinking about it. "Operations is consequently rushing things, sending us out before we’re prepared, and bypassing normal procedures….."

Brian felt a chill go up his back. "Go on," he encouraged him, even though he wasn’t sure he really wanted to hear what Michael was going to say.

Michael sighed, and leaned his back against the window. "He said we had too many personnel in the field last time, too many teams…"

Brian’s eyes blazed with anger again. "But you have to have back-up, dammit!" he protested in alarm.

Michael gave another weary sigh. "We won’t have this time," he said flatly. "We’ve been ordered to use just a small surgical strike force, twelve people only…." He looked up at Brian then, his green eyes full of pain. "And you’re one of the twelve."

Brian let out a gasp, as the implications of this hit him. "You mean, I’m not just there as medical support, but as an operative?" he choked out. "That’s crazy!"

*It’s suicide* Michael corrected him in his mind, but could not bring himself to say the words out-loud. Michael’s face contorted in an anguished grimace. "I think he did it to punish you for demanding to be on the team, and because…. because…." Michael stammered to a halt, unable to go on.

Brian’s mouth firmed into a grim line. "Because what?" he demanded tersely.

Michael let out a gasp, and went on, the words forced from his throat. "Because he considers the whole team expendable, and he doesn’t expect any of them to come back." He took in a long, shaky breath. "He wants you dead."

Brian blinked, not comprehending at first, and then, in his typically unselfish manner, when comprehension came, he thought of others first.

"But.. you, Michael!" he choked out, leaping from his chair to go stand at the window beside his friend. "He wants you dead, too…"

Michael’s jaw quivered, and his eyes glittered with angry tears. "I’m not on First Team," he confessed in an anguished tone. "Operations wants me to coordinate the attack from the rear, in a remote location van with Birkoff…"

Brian let the breath he had been holding in a soft whoosh of air, relieved beyond measure at these words. "Good," he said, meaning it heartfeltly. The prospect of his own danger was easier for him to handle than facing the possibility of losing the ones he loved.

"That’s good," he said with a satisfied nod. "Then you’ll be safe, along with Ann, who’ll be profiling things from here, right?" he asked quickly, eager for this assurance.

Michael said nothing, only turned his face away, as more tears silently fell.

Alarmed, Brian grabbed Michael roughly by the arms and turned him to face him. "Look at me!" he yelled, his anxiety growing by the second. "Ann IS going to be safe, RIGHT?"

Michael stared at him silently for a long moment, as if gathering courage to speak. At last, he managed to choke out his reply. "No," he breathed softly in anguished tones. "She’s leading the team," Michael told him, as appalled by this idea as Brian was. "Operations figures if she helped plan the mission, and leads it, then she can take all the blame when it fails…."

Brian paled and swayed on his feet. "Oh, sh*t," he gasped, releasing Michael and slumping back against the wall. "No…"

The young doctor trembled, his blue eyes widening with horror. "Does she know that’s how it’s going down?" he whispered tensely.

Michael shook his head. "She hasn’t been told all of it, " he answered with a sigh. "Just that she will be profiling and leading the mission, but, like you, she’s not stupid, either…" Michael went on gruffly, his lower lip quivering. "She’s smart enough to figure it out…."

Brian let out a low moan, and tried to control his rising panic. He swallowed hard and then turned trusting eyes to his friend. "But you have a plan to get us out of this, don’t you?" the young doctor said, looking at Michael with complete and utter confidence.

To his relief, Michael gave him a quick, tentative nod. "I’m working on something…." He said quietly.

Brian grinned. "That’s my MAN!" he crowed, reaching out to slap Michael on the shoulder. He let out a sigh and felt his whole body relax at this news. "I knew you were a match for that silver-haired son-of-a-bitch any day…."

Michael gave him the slightest of smiles, his eyes still worried. "It’s just an idea I had," he explained softly. "There are no guarantees that it will work…" He gripped Brian’s shoulder hard, and stared into his friend’s eyes.

"You can’t rely on me to save you, Brian," he told him in a tense whisper. "The situation is still dangerous as hell- you could die, you and Ann, and there might be nothing I can do to stop that…."

Michael’s control broke, and he uttered a groan and pulled Brian into his arms, hugging him tight. "Promise me you’ll be careful…" he choked out against Brian’s hair. "Promise me, no heroics…."

Brian stood stunned in the circle of Michael’s embrace, realizing that their roles had been reversed, and now it was Michael who would watch from behind the lines as Brian went out to risk his life on a mission, instead of the other way around. Brian understood Michael’s anguish completely. He had been there himself so many times. He let out a sigh, and moved to quickly assure Michael that all would be fine.

For the young doctor had a sudden premonition that it would be. In fact, he was suddenly very sure, deep down in his soul, that everything would be all right, but how he knew, he couldn’t say. He only knew the conviction was there in his heart, a concrete and irrefutable as the fact that the sun rose in the east every morning.

Brian laughed, and hugged Michael back. "I’ll be fine, man, I’ll be fine," he said, chuckling, pounding his friend on the back. He then pulled out of the embrace, and squeezed Michael’s shoulder.

"I’m not worried, Michael," he assured his startled friend, who was staring at him in shocked surprise, not expecting the doctor’s easy laughter as a reaction to the horrid situation they were in.

Michael let out a gasp, and then turned his face up to meet Brian’s merry blue eyes. "Why not?" he asked quietly, genuinely curious.

Brian smiled, and headed to the door. At the threshold, he turned back to face Michael, struggling for a reply. He tilted his head, looking thoughtful for a moment, contemplating his answer, then gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

"I don’t know, exactly," the young doctor mused, still smiling. "I just get this feeling for some reason that I have a guardian angel or two watching out for me…." He said, in all seriousness, and then he grinned at Michael one more time, and was gone.

Michael let out a harsh sigh and slumped wearily into the chair behind his desk.

"Yes, you do have angels, Brian," he spoke out loud to the empty room. He lifted his hands and bowed his head over them, almost in an attitude of prayer. "You have Ann, and you have me…." He let out a shuddering sigh, his words whispered softly as a plea to all the gods who might hear.

"Please let it be enough…."

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

"Here," Brian said to Ann, twenty-four hours later, holding out an open can of beans to her that he had warmed up over the camp-fire. He crouched down beside her and offered her a spoon as well. "This is not exactly what I had in mind when I said I would take you to dinner," he quipped with a rueful smile.

Ann smiled back and took his offering, grateful for the can’s warmth in her hands against the coldness of the night, and for the warmth of Brian’s company as well. A cold shudder went through her, and she shivered in her mission blacks, chilled as much by the terror of what lay ahead as by the temperature in the frosty woods where she and her team were staking out the Red Cell terrorist hide-out before the assault.

"Thank you," Ann answered, and patted the spot next to her on the ground, under the tree she was sheltering against. "Care to join me?"

The doctor smiled wider, and nodded, quickly folding up his long legs under him and settling down beside her. His gaze swung around full circle, surveying the darkness, where the other operatives on their small team lay scattered here and there under the trees, resting, but alert, as they waited for the appointed hour of the attack on the compound less than a half-mile away from their position. The green laser beams of the security devices that guarded the perimeter of their encampment cast an eerie glow over the scene, invoking a sense of unreality in Brian yet again.

It hardly seemed real, any of it, he thought to himself. The short few hours since he had left Section with the First Team that morning had seemed like a movie, or a fantasy, from someone’s life, not his. He leaned his head back against the tree trunk, remembering. He could still hardly believe the moment in Section when he had entered the van, taking his place among the operatives going out, instead of staying behind in Medlab. The trip and its preparations gave him a whole new perspective on , and even more respect for, what operatives go through.

Brian had been given his supplies-guns, ammo, bullet proof vest- just like the rest of the team, and like them, he now sported the same gear-black mission pants, boots, and heavy coat, accessorized with a black watch cap and assault rifle. The only difference between Brian and his teammates was the extra gear he carried in a pack on his back, and tucked into every spare pocket of jacket and coat- the medical supplies that were the tools of his true calling. These life-saving items were juxtaposed ironically next to the weapons of death he carried, making Brian feel slightly schizophrenic in his goals, to say the least.

He settled into his seat on the van, and let out a sigh, trying to ignore the disturbing dichotomy of his position as both medic and operative, healer and killer, and concentrate on just getting through the mission.

Since then, he had spent several boring, but still somehow tense, hours in an airplane, then several more grueling hours in a van again At last, they had arrived late that evening at the edge of the woods, and then the trip got hairier from there. Leaving the solid comfort and safety of the van, and Michael and Birkoff’s protective presence as well, the band of twelve had set off in the wilderness, scouting for the terrorists encampment.

Brian had felt more afraid than almost anytime in his life, more afraid than he could remember. He felt immediately out of his depth, out of his element. His training fighting the enemies of death and disease in the confines of an operating room had not prepared him for the open vulnerability he felt here in the dark woods, the naked fear that shot through him as he contemplated the team’s exposure under the open, starless sky. He tried to move as stealthily forward as the rest of the team, tried to keep up with them, and not lose them in the darkness. The rest of the operatives seemed to move like wispy shadows, deadly and silent, while Brian felt he was loud and lumbering, moving clumsily, and noisily through the underbrush. All he could hear was the panicked rush of blood in his ears and his own harsh, shallow breathing….

Ann had rescued him then, before his panic escalated further. She appeared by his side and stayed there, not hovering, but staying comfortingly near. Following her lithe, sure-footed form through the woods, he had almost begun to relax a little, and forget why he was there. He tried to enjoy the experience of being outside, breathing in the sharp frosty air, and having the beautiful Ann beside him in the dark….

He wondered idly what her hair would look like if he could pull it from the confines of her black cap, and let it flow in a golden tumble over her shoulders….

He was slammed abruptly out of his romantic musings when the harsh reality of the mission jarringly reasserted itself. Ann halted suddenly in front of him, crouched to her knees, and gave everyone on the team the signal to get down. They had reached the edge of a clearing in the woods, and through the thinning trees the lights of a large house, surrounded by a even larger fence, could be seen glimmering in the blackness.

"Birkoff," the beautiful team leader hissed into her comm unit. "We have visual of the target."

Michael’s voice crackled next in her ear. "Is that confirmed?" he said in clipped, anxious tones.

Ann nodded, and Brian could see Ann lick her lips nervously in the darkness. "Confirmed," she responded, lifting her head up slightly to look over the slight ridge that protected the team from Red Cell’s sight. "A big house, a fence, and…" she paused, peering intently into the shadows surrounding the building, "…I count six guards so far…."