Michael keyed his code into the pad in front of the metal door and waited a moment as the panel obediently slid open for him, allowing him entrance into Madeleine’s office. He didn’t want to be there. He had just been on his way out of Section after a long day, with his friend and lover and colleague Nikita by his side, when Madeleine had paged him to come to her office.

He and Nikita had been heading out for a cozy evening of dinner, dancing, and possibly a renewal of their intimate relationship as well. It had been four months since he had lost Adam and Elena, four months since his world had exploded in his face, four months since he had felt himself literally disintegrate, dissolving into a million broken pieces, and he was just now putting himself back together, because of Nikita. She was the glue in that held his tattered soul together She was the reason he hadn’t killed himself. He wanted to live, because of her. He felt himself slowly coming back to life, bit by bit. And tonight, he thought he wanted to share that newfound pulse of life with her, in her arms, in his bed.

But Madeleine had had other plans.

"You wanted to see me?" Michael asked warily, stepping down the small flight of steps at the entry.

The lovely brunette swiveled her chair away from her monitor and looked up at him, a warm smile on her face. "Yes, Michael," she purred with a throaty laugh. "I’m sorry to delay your evening with Nikita, but we just received a report that I thought you might be interested in."

She waved him to a chair, and Michael cautiously sat down, automatically unbuttoning his suit jacket before he did so. He tilted his head, his light green eyes glittering with wary curiosity. "What kind of report?" he asked, trying not to sound alarmed.

Madeleine paused, and folded her hands together demurely in her lap. She knew she had to be careful with her presentation of this news, but she was looking forward to it. Her eyes danced gaily as she opened her mouth to speak.

"I know you told us that you did not want to be updated on Elena and Adam’s progress," she said in a prim tone, slyly gauging the effect of her words on her victim with avid attention, "But in this case, I thought you would like to know…"

Michael was immediately up out of his chair, on his feet, his eyes wide with fear. "My son!" he choked out. "Has something happened to my son?" He felt his world dissolving again, shattering into a million pieces. He could endure anything, survive any torture, but he couldn’t endure that, no not that. He knew he would die if his precious child came to harm.

Madeleine shook her head, and let out a tinkling laugh. "Yes, something has happened, Michael, but it’s nothing bad, I assure you."

Michael blinked for a moment, registering these words, then collapsed back into his chair. He knew then it was yet another game, that Section was using his son, his family, to jerk his chain once more. They were toying with him, making sure he knew who controlled him, who held the reins to his leash.

"What happened?" he whispered hoarsely, trying to return his guarded blank mask back to his face, but not succeeding. He had been shaken by Madeleine’s announcement, shaken badly, and they both knew it.

The crafty brunette smiled again, and then delivered her blow. "Adam is going to get a new father," she told him sweetly. "Isn’t that good news?"

Michael blinked, uncomprehending. "What?" he blurted out, his mind struggling to process this intel.

Madeleine laughed once more. "Elena is getting married again," she told him, twisting the knife. "She’s found someone to take your place, someone to love her and to… help her raise her … fatherless son."

Michael sat stunned, disbelieving. He had realized that Elena, so young, so beautiful, would eventually re-marry. It was inevitable that she would someday heal enough from her grief to seek another love, but he hadn’t expected that it would happen so soon. Elena was basically a shy woman, warm with her family, but reserved with strangers. When he was wooing her, it had taken all his considerable charm, and some help from an even more charming dog named Winston, to break down her barriers, that natural reserve. Elena had been a virgin on their wedding night. She was a properly brought up young lady, and even after almost seven years of marriage to him, she was still reserved and shy in bed, even though he knew she adored him with all her heart. Michael found it hard to believe that Elena, HIS Elena, would turn to another so soon after Michael’s "death".

A flash of pure jealously burned through him, a flaming resentment for this man who had replaced him in Elena’s life, her heart, her… bed. How dare he? Michael thought. How dare he touch HIS wife, how dare he get close to HIS son? And then a harsh shame followed immediately on these thoughts. Hadn’t Michael done the same thing himself? Hadn’t he turned to another for comfort, just as Elena had done? Wasn’t he about to spend the night making love to another, to seek the warmth and healing he needed in Nikita’s arms? Who the hell was he to pass judgement?

Madeleine watched the emotions play over Michael’s face- the shock, the anger, the jealousy and guilt. She smiled again, and before he could respond, she turned the monitor on her desk to face him and pressed a button on the computer.

The screen immediately flared to life with the sound of a child’s laughter. Adam’s laughter. The little boy was on a playground in a park, accompanied by two doting adults, his mother, and a tall blonde man in his thirties, with a ruggedly handsome face and a warm smile.

The man clapped his hands together and positioned himself at the end of the long slide. "Okay," he encouraged the boy warmly, who had clambered giggling up the ladder to the top. "Come do that again! I’ll catch you!" The man held out his arms and Adam let out a squeal of delight and propelled himself down the slide into the man’s waiting arms.

Elena’s lover gathered the small boy to his chest and whirled him around, then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I love you, Buddy," he told the child warmly. Adam laughed and threw his arms around the man’s neck, obviously as fond of his new companion as he was of him. Elena’s laughter joined theirs, as the blonde man slipped his free arm around her shoulders, and he bent to kiss her softly on the mouth. The look the lover’s exchanged was brief, but unmistakably clear- they loved each other. The three of them, a new family, walked out of the park together, the child still held in his new father’s embrace.

"Turn it off," Michael choked out, immersed in a new pain, his heart breaking anew.

Madeleine complied, exiting the program and ejecting the disk from the computer. The screen went mercifully blank and Michael let out a relieved sigh. He struggled to gather the tattered shreds of his dignity around him and stood up. The blank mask settled on his features, but his eyes, tear-filled and tormented, gave him away. "Is that all?" he said tonelessly.

Mission accomplished, Madeleine thought. She smiled once more. "Yes, that’s it," she answered softly. "I just wanted you to know that your…. family was all right."

Michael nodded, regarding her silently, his whole body stiff with rage. If she expected a thank you from him, she would be disappointed. Michael’s anguish, and his anger at the cruel brunette was beyond words at this point.

Madeleine waited for a response, but there was none. She stood suddenly and walked to him, and then pressed the disk into his hand. "Here," she told him, as if she were giving him a wanted gift and not plunging a knife into his heart. "You can keep this."

She stepped back from him and smiled brightly. "Would you like to be informed when the wedding…….."

"NO!" Michael cut her off sharply. "I don’t want any more…. updates on their progress," he spat out tensely. "Not now, not ever."

Madeleine nodded kindly and folded her hands in front of her. "As you wish," she murmured sweetly. Her voice was warm, but her eyes held a cold triumphant gleam. "You can go now, Michael," she told him gently.

She watched the broken man flee blindly from her office, and then she let out a short laugh. She pressed a button on her desk and activated the intercom to Operation’s office.

"It’s done," she reported in a satisfied tone.

She could almost hear Operations’ gloating smile through the com link. "Good. How did he take it?"

"Just like we hoped," she answered, and let out a happy laugh. "Just like we hoped……"

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

When Michael strode out of Madeleine’s office and returned to his own, Nikita was waiting for him. "Hi!" she greeted him eagerly, rising from her chair in front of his desk and gathering up her coat. "That didn’t take long," she said with a smile. "Ready to go?"

Michael, his face grim and pale, walked past her without a word to collapse in his chair behind his desk. He dropped the disk that Madeleine had given him with a clatter on the desk and then buried his face in his hands. "I.. can’t…." he choked out hoarsely.

Nikita blanched and swallowed hard. "What happened?" she asked in alarm. "Is Madeleine sending you out on a mission?"

Michael lifted his head from his hands and looked at her, his eyes tormented. "No," he answered softly, feeling wretched. "There’s no mission."

"Oh…" Nikita stared at him, her alarm unabated at these words. Michael looked horrible. He looked like whatever Madeleine had said to him had shaken him badly, destroying what little peace Michael had been able to find in the past few months. *Damn that bitch* Nikita cursed to herself.

"What did she say to you?" Nikita asked angrily. She didn’t expect an answer, but she had to try. Michael had been more forthcoming lately, had opened up to her about his feelings. In the last few months, he had grown to trust her more, he had begun to tell her things, to explain his motivations, rather than just meet her questions with silence. But she knew this time he was not going to open up to her. All the signs were there- Michael had withdrawn again, had closed himself up tight in his protective shell.

"It’s not important," he said quietly. They both knew it was a lie. Nikita dared to push further, not wanting to give up just yet. She leaned her arms on the desk and looked into his eyes. "Michael, it’s plain Madeleine told you something that upset you." She licked her lips nervously and issued a warm invitation. "Would it help to talk about it?" she pleaded softly.

Michael stared into her eyes for a moment and then turned his head, looking unseeingly out of his office window. He felt horrible, he felt guilty, but he just couldn’t bring himself to tell her that all he could think about right now was his wife. He had caused Nikita enough pain already.

"No," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "It wouldn’t."

Nikita straightened, and gave him a brave smile. "Well, then," she said bracingly. "We won’t talk about it." She sighed softly and shrugged into her coat, then pulled her long silky hair out of her collar, shook her head, and started to pull on her gloves. "We won’t talk at all, if you don’t want to," she said huskily. "We’ll just eat, and drink, and dance, and enjoy ourselves, and forget all about this place, okay?"

Michael let out a soft groan, and rose abruptly from his chair, as if he was too agitated to sit there any longer. He walked toward her then, and stood tensely in front of her, a muscle in his jaw working furiously. "I’m sorry, Nikita," he told her miserably. "I can’t. I…"

His breath snagged in his lungs, and he fought back tears. "I need to be alone for a while…." He confessed hoarsely. The tortured green eyes met her bright blue. "Please," he choked out.

Nikita nodded, trying to hide her concern and her disappointment behind a calm smile. "Of course," she told him gently, wondering if she had pushed him too fast, too hard. She sighed, telling herself that Michael’s grieving would take as long as it takes, and there was nothing she could do to rush it. She only hoped he would feel better soon, not only for his sake, but for hers- she was going crazy with desire for him. She wanted very badly to be in his arms again, to love him in every way it was possible for a woman to love a man, to give him all the passion she had, the passion she held only for him.

She dared to brush one gloved hand gently across his cheek. "We’ll do dinner some other time then?" she pleaded, her heart in her eyes.

Michael stiffened at her touch, almost, but not quite, flinching back at her caress. He didn’t deserve her, he thought wretchedly. He didn’t deserve her love…

Nikita paled, sensing his rejection, and quickly withdrew her hand. Michael felt even more miserable for having hurt her this way, but he was at a loss to explain his tumultuous emotions to her, when he didn’t have any of them sorted out himself. He had to get away, had to think….

"Good-bye," he said abruptly, and fled the room, rushing out the door before she could see him break down completely.

Nikita stood stunned after he had gone, and then felt herself tremble, her knees going weak. She collapsed into the chair behind the desk, cursing softly. "Damn him!" she hissed to the empty room, hurt and frustrated and profoundly sad. " And damn that bitch Madeleine…" She slammed her fist on the desk with a loud thump, hoping the blow would relieve her feelings. The heel of her hand met something flat and hard on the surface, sending it careening to the floor.

Nikita bent and picked it up. A disk. The disk Michael had brought in from Madeleine’s office…

Nikita paused thoughtfully, then made her decision. She stood up straight and slipped the disk into her pocket, a determined look on her face. If she was going to protect Michael from all of Section’s dirty games, she might have to play dirty herself. She needed to know what was going on, and damn it all, she was going to find out what twisted mind games they were playing with Michael now, even if she had to steal something off his desk to do it.

Decision made, she smiled a cat-like smile, and strode out of the room, headed for Systems….

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

Nikita looked around warily, making sure she would have some relative privacy for the viewing she wished to do. Fortunately, the main work area was relatively empty, even Birkoff had gone off to dinner by now. She had the place to herself. With a relieved sigh, she slipped into a vacant computer station in Systems and loaded the disk in the drive.

Twenty minutes later, after having viewed the tape four times, Nikita found herself more and more angry. She was enraged that Madeleine had shown Michael this tape, now, tonight of all nights. She rubbed at her lower lip, scowling furiously. Had Madeleine known that she and Michael were getting close, and had wanted to stop any further intimacy between them by sending Michael into an emotional tailspin? Or was she just being paranoid? Perhaps it had nothing to do with splitting her and Michael apart, and everything to do with punishing Michael for his disobedience of late, on Nikita and Elena’s behalf. Or maybe it was a bit of both. Whatever the motivation, Nikita was furious.

With a ragged sigh, she exhaled a huff of breath and then yanked the offending disk out of its slot. She stood up and exited the glassed in room, restless and not sure where to go next.

She was torn between storming into Madeleine’s office and venting her rage on the cruel task-mistress of Section, or rushing to Michael’s side to comfort him. After she had stalked down the corridor a little ways, she realized that neither one of those choices was really a good option.

"Sh*t," she swore loudly, pausing in the middle of Section to rub a weary hand over her eyes.

A voice behind her startled her, as did a set of straying fingers along her lower back. "What’s shakin’, Sugar?" Walter asked in a deep honey-toned rumble. "Going home?"

Nikita jumped, her hand going to her throat. "Walter!" she exclaimed. "You scared me…"

The old man smiled and gave her an affectionate leer. "At least I can get SOME reaction from you, even at my age," he said with a grin. "But if you want me to make your heart race for another reason, I’ll be glad to oblige…." He flirted boldly, giving her a broad wink.

Nikita smiled weakly at him. "Shove it, Walter," she said half-heartedly. "Looks like I’m going to spend another evening alone, AGAIN."

Th old man tilted his head, his gold earrings bobbing at the movement. "I thought you and Michael….?" He said in a puzzled tone, leaving his sentence unfinished, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

The beautiful blonde shook her head. "Naw," she answered disconsolately. "Michael got some disturbing news, and he left here a while ago, sort of upset…"

The ancient hippie nodded sagely. "Ahh, you mean he went home to brood, right?"

Nikita nodded again. "Yeah," she answered softly. "I guess so…"

He looked at her speculatively, his piercing blue eyes narrowing shrewdly. "What kind of bad news was it?" he asked pointedly.

Nikita stared at him a moment, debating about whether to confide in the old man, or keep silent. She sighed, making her decision. Walter already knew everything there was to know about Michael and Elena. He might as well know about this. She took the old man by the arm and led him toward the Weapon’s station, out of the way of prying eyes and listening ears.

"Well?" Walter asked, waiting til they were settled on the work bench side by side to ask her again. "What was it?"

Nikita leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Elena has a new boyfriend," she told him softly. "It’s serious. I think they’re going to get married…"

Walter sat blinking at her for a few moments, and then shook his head violently. "That’s bullsh*t!" he exclaimed firmly. "You know how devoted she was to Michael, how much she loved him…" The old man let out a grunt of disgust. "There’s no way she’d be involved this early with someone else…"

Nikita shrugged. She agreed with him, but she had seen the evidence with her own eyes. "I know, Walter, but it’s true. Elena’s over Michael- she’s fallen in love again, amazing as that is…."

The old man shook his head again. "How can you be so sure, Sugar?" he asked gruffly. "It’s probably all just a rumor, anyway…."

Nikita sighed. "No, Walter, it’s not." She held up the disk between two fingers. "It’s all here," she said wearily. "Madeleine gave this to Michael as proof…"

The old man paled visibly. "Madeleine?" he choked out. "MADELEINE gave him that?"

The young woman nodded. "Yeah, she did," Nikita answered sadly.

Walter’s blue eyes flashed angrily. "Then I KNOW it’s bullsh*t," he spat out, enraged. "It’s a dummied-up tape, for sure," he went on in disgust. "Just like the one she gave me about Belinda…." He looked away, tears sparkling in his eyes.

Nikita leaned forward, and put her hand on her friend’s arm. "Walter, what do you mean?" she demanded in alarm. "What tape of Belinda?"

He turned back to her, meeting her gaze grimly. "Section needed me to lie to Oversight about the Winchester protocol last year," he explained in a tear choked voice. "I wasn’t inclined to help them much, since they had just killed my wife…."

Nikita let out a small sob. "I remember…." She said softly. "Go on…"

"Madeleine called me to come to the white room, where she showed me a 3-D holographic projection of Belinda, saying she … loved me…." The old man angrily dashed the tears from his cheeks, and went on in a gruff voice. "Madeleine thought I’d appreciate "visiting" with some made up phony image, and she even offered to make more for me…."

Nikita cringed. "That’s… that’s…. just….." she stammered in shock. Words failed her.

"Sick, isn’t it?" Walter supplied, nodding. "Just like something that heartless bitch would do," he said gruffly. "Twisting the knife in someone’s grief is exactly what she would do to Michael, too…"

He reached for her, giving arm a squeeze. "I’d bet my last dollar- hell, my last bandana, even- that that disk you got there is a phony," he told her, nodding emphatically. "Just something she contrived to mess with Michael’s head. Elena’s no more planning to get re-married than I am…"

Nikita’s eyes widened, and then she let out a gasp of shock. "You’re right," she said, seeing that it all made sense now. The surprisingly happy and serene Elena on the tape had to be a fantasy. A fantasy created by Madeleine…

But why?

Nikita rubbed her forehead, and frowned. "But what IS happening to Elena, then?" she blurted out in frustration. "What’s really going on with her that they want to hide from Michael?" she demanded, looking straight into Walter’s blue eyes.

The old man looked straight back. "I don’t know, Sugar, but if I were you, I’d sure as hell try to find out."

Nikita nodded slowly, a stubborn look igniting in her eyes. She slid off her stool and picked up the disk from the table, then gave the old man a swift kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Walter," she told him huskily. "I’ll think I’ll go do just that."

As he watched her rush back to Systems, Walter closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh. "Be careful, Sugar," he whispered under his breath. "Be careful…."

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

Almost automatically, Nikita’s feet took her to the stairway that led to level 4. She considered for a moment that what she was about to do was foolish and impulsive, but she kept on anyway. For some reason, she had the feeling that time was of the essence- that whatever was going on with Elena was bad, and would get worse if she delayed, doing nothing.

Looking around cautiously, she slipped through the door to the chamber that housed Section’s most top secret records. She knew that here she would find any intel about Elena, if there was anything to find. Adrian’s training held her in good stead- almost effortlessly, she accessed the code and entered the room.

It only took her a brief moment to locate the panel she wanted. She had been there before and knew exactly where to look. Personnel. Her fingers carefully typed in the file name she needed- Michael Samuelle- and the panel lit up with the file, the screen scrolling information.

As much as Nikita would have liked to read all the details of Michael’s past, his childhood, youth, his early years in Section, she forced herself to skip forward until she found the heading she sought- "Contacts and Acquaintances". Grimly, she noted her own name on the list, but resisted opening that particular file. She didn’t think she wanted to know just how Section had defined her and Michael’s relationship.

She finally found the line marked "Elena Vacek Samuelle" and pulled up the file. There was the usual background information, surprisingly detailed, portraying the life of the innocent woman whose only crime had been to be born to a terrorist father. Nikita skimmed down to the entry marked "current status", and then gasped with disbelief at what she read.

Walter had been right. So very right. The happy new family portrayed on the disk was all a lie. There was no happiness in Elena’s future. None at all.

"No.." Nikita moaned in anguish. "Oh, God, no….." She swayed on her feet, almost crumpling to the floor. "Not Adam…." She sobbed, her hot tears blinding her. "Oh God, not Adam…."

The sound of the door whooshing open behind her made her whirl in defense, pressing her back to the panel. Her heart pounded wildly in her breast, her throat gone dry. She had entered the chamber without any gun or weapon of any kind, and she knew she would be at the complete mercy of whoever it was who stood just outside the door.

The sharp click of high heels tapped on the cold tile floor, and Madeleine entered the room, her face a mask of calm serenity.

Nikita, overcome with rage and resentment, as well as a sharp grief, instantly forgot her fear for her own safety, thinking only of her horror and fury on Michael’s behalf. She stormed up to the calm brunette and shouted into her face. "You bitch!" Nikita screamed. "Michael’s son is dying and you didn’t have the decency to tell him?" she ranted. "How could you! How could you lie to him like that?"

Spent, she finished her tirade, and stood panting angrily, waiting for Madeleine’s response.

The older woman sighed wearily, and for a moment she looked every bit her age. "How could I NOT lie to him, Nikita?" she said softly, her brown eyes dark with pain. "Do you really think there would be any benefit in Michael knowing the truth, when there’s absolutely nothing he can do?"

Nikita gulped in a sharp breath, startled at these words, and rubbed her hand over her eyes. "I… don’t know…" she sobbed, hurting and confused. "I don’t know…"

Madeleine stepped forward and gently took the weeping girl by the arm. "Come," she invited softly. "Let’s discuss this further in my office."

Unresisting, Nikita leaned on the arm of the woman who had become her new mother, and let herself be led from the room.

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

"Here, drink this," Madeleine said kindly, shoving the steaming cup of tea into Nikita’s hand. "You’ll need it."

Nikita accepted the offering numbly, still feeling stunned by what she had read in Elena’s file. She closed her eyes and let out a slow sigh. "How much time….?" she choked out, not sure she wanted to know.

Madeleine waited until she had settled herself behind her desk with her own cup of tea before she began. "Six months or so, maybe less," she answered softly. "The type of leukemia Adam has is quite rare. There isn’t much known about the progression of the disease…."

"God…" Nikita groaned. "My God…" she set her tea, untouched, on Madeleine’s desk and then buried her face in her hands. "He’s just a baby…." She choked out. She lifted her head, her eyes streaming tears. "You don’t know how wonderful he is, how sweet.." she sobbed brokenly. "You don’t know what a loving, precious child he is…."

Madeleine tensed, and her lower lip trembled. "But I do know, Nikita," she said grimly. "I know…"

The lovely brunette rose from her chair and crossed the room to her display of bonsai plants, staring at them unseeingly. Her back to Nikita, she went on in a low voice while the blonde watched her in tense silence.

"I may not have held him in my arms, and read him bedtime stories as you have, Nikita," the older woman continued, her voice calm but there was an obvious effort made for control. "But I care about Adam just as much as you do…" She turned to face the distraught blonde. "Maybe more…"

"I’ve watched Adam since he was an infant," she said gently. "I’ve watched Michael fight to stay detached from his son, watched him struggle not to care too much, not to fall in love with that tiny little person with such charm…" She shook her head and gave Nikita a rueful smile. "Michael failed," she said with a sigh, her voice full of pain. "And so did I."

Nikita grimaced, and crossed her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing in distrust. "So you .. LOVE… Adam," she said in a challenging tone, her voice full of disbelief. "You sure have a funny way of showing it…"

Madeleine let out a sharp laugh, and shook her head. "You mean by that, of course, our using him and his mother to bring down Vacek…" She walked back to he desk and sat down in her chair once more. "Believe or not, Nikita, I was opposed from the first to the whole idea of creating a blood cover for Michael," she said, her tone bitter, " But I was overruled…."

Nikita sat forward in her chair, eyes wide. "By Operations?" she asked tensely.

The brunette shook her head, the half smile twisting her beautiful mouth. "No," she answered in an ironic tone. "By Adrian."

Nikita blinked in astonishment, but before she could process this startling bit of intel, Madeleine waved away the subject as if it was unimportant, and went on. "But that’s all in the past," she said dismissively. "What we need to do now is concentrate on the future…"

Nikita let out a sharp grunt of protest. "Adam doesn’t HAVE a future, Madeleine," she stated baldly. "He’s dying, remember?" She shook her head, her mouth pursing in disapproval. "And you’re keeping Michael from knowing about it…." She accused acidly.

Madeleine gasped sharply in frustration, and glared at the woman across from her. "Don’t be stupid, Nikita," she hissed. "It doesn’t become you. If you take even the least little bit of time to think about it, you would see that Michael finding out about this is the worst thing that could happen, for him, for Elena, and for Adam…"

She rose from her chair and began agitatedly pacing, the brown eyes flashing fire. "If Michael knew about Adam’s condition, one of two things would happen," she went on tartly. "Either he would stay away from the boy, and watch from afar as his child slowly suffers, weakens, and dies, and then he would want to die himself…" Madeleine grimaced. "OR, what is even worse, he would not be able to resist going to see his son once last time, and in that case, he would be compromised…"

The brunette’s mouth twisted grimly. "Then he would have to be cancelled. Along with Elena and Adam as well…."

Nikita gasped, realizing the truth to this statement. She had been blinded by her sense of the unfairness of it, enraged on Michael’s behalf about all the lies, all manipulations. She felt somehow it was wrong that Michael did not know the true status of his own child. Appalled, she begged for a better alternative.

"You’re right," she choked out her apology. "That’s what would happen, but…" She shook her head, anguished. "Won’t Michael find out the truth eventually?" she argued. "You’ve diverted him, for now, from looking into Adam and Elena’s status, but he won’t stay away long. Sooner or later, he’ll want to know how they are doing, and then how devastated and destroyed, how angry and reckless will he be when he finds out his son died and that Section…" she choked on the words, "That *I* kept it from him?"

Madeleine nodded. "Of course," she replied serenely. "Michael is a very intelligent, very resourceful man. He’ll figure it out eventually." To Nikita’s astonishment, the Section strategist smiled. "But by the time that happens, it won’t matter anyway," she said cheerfully. "Michael will be diverted long enough for us to do what we have to do."

Nikita blinked. "Do?" she asked, puzzled and confused. The situation was hopeless- they would have to stand by impotently and watch a small child die- there was no other choice. "Madeleine," she demanded angrily, "What do you mean? Just what the hell can we possibly do?"

Madeleine smiled wider. "Why, save Adam’s life, of course," she said serenely. "That’s what we can do."

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

Nikita was glad she was sitting down, otherwise she knew she would have fallen to her knees in astonishment. "Save… him?" she gasped finally after struggling to catch her breath that had momentarily deserted her. "How?" she choked out, her eyes riveting on Madeleine’s face.

Hope warred with suspicion in her breast. Was this all just another Section mind-game? If Madeleine’s goal was to jerk her around emotionally and keep her off-balance, this newest piece of information certainly was succeeding.

Nikita’s eyes narrowed. "I thought you said there was no cure," she said warily. "What could we possibly do that would change that fact?"

Madeleine sighed. "I said it was a rare form of leukemia that no one knew much about," she corrected gently. The brunette returned to her desk and flipped on her computer, turning her monitor so that Nikita could see the screen, where a picture of a smiling blond man was displayed.

"This man, Doctor Herbert Green, is the leading expert on this strain of the disease," she told Nikita with a tilt of her head. "He’s developed a treatment strategy that has been successful in a gratifying number of cases," she went on quietly. "He is Adam’s best hope- his ONLY hope- of a cure…."

Nikita nodded, and then turned her gaze from Madeleine’s face to study the picture on the screen more carefully. She peered at the image, knowing it was disturbingly familiar somehow. She knew she had seen that face before….. Her memory clicked in and she gasped in shock once more. "But that’s.. that’s the man on the disk!" she sputtered. "The one who is supposed to be Elena’s new boyfriend!" She shook her head, confused. "Do Elena and Dr. Green really know each other, then?" she asked in bewilderment.

Madeleine folded her hands in her lap primly and explained. "No, " she answered patiently. "Those two have never met, although we hope they will soon. The Doctor’s image was just a convenient one for us to use when we were constructing the imaginary scenario on the tape."

Nikita nodded, then leaned forward eagerly in her chair, her hands gripping each other tightly, almost as if in prayer. "So what is this treatment, then?" she demanded excitedly. "And how soon can we get Adam to this Doctor Green?"

Madeleine took a sip of her tea, and then returned the cup to its saucer before speaking. "To answer your second question, the sooner the better, but there have to be some… arrangements made first."

Nikita nodded. "Go on," she encouraged. "What does the treatment consist of?"

Madeleine cleared her throat and lowered her eyes modestly. "It involves using donor genetic material, which is harvested and then combined to essentially create new life," she explained delicately. "Only a few cells are needed, but if the pattern is close enough, if the genetic codes are similar enough to the victim’s own DNA, when the cells are injected into the victim’s bone marrow, they stimulate the body to regenerate healthy blood cells instead of diseased ones. It gives the victim’s body a healthy pattern to follow, a DNA template as it were, jumpstarting the bone marrow to function normally…"

Nikita blinked, and her mouth fell open, processing this information. "Genetic… material?" she choked out. "You mean…?"

Madeleine nodded. "Sperm," she said succinctly. "Or eggs.." She sipped her tea calmly. "In this case, we’ll need both."

Nikita was silent, too stunned to say anything further. She was definitely disturbed by where this was going.

"According to Doctor Green’s research, occasionally an unrelated donor has been found that matched the victim closely enough, but Adam’s blood type is rare, and since he has no siblings, no family at all, there is no alternative but to harvest the material needed directly from the only sources available- from his parents themselves."

Madeleine gave Nikita an enigmatic smile. "Getting Elena to donate an egg should be no problem," she went on gently. "That can be done right at Dr. Green’s clinic." She paused delicately. "Harvesting what we need from Michael will be the difficulty," Madeleine smiled pointedly at the lovely blonde before her. "That’s where you come in."

Nikita flushed red, and trembled in her seat. She felt her stomach knot painfully as if she had just received a sharp blow to the gut. She let out a ragged gasp of shock and dread, but also found herself awash with a sudden and sweet physical excitement, a wrenching stirring of desire as her body responded on its own to what Madeleine’s words implied.

"Then you… You want me to… to…" the blonde stuttered helplessly, unable to finish her sentence.

The devious Section strategist smiled. "Yes," she answered in the same infuriatingly calm tone. "I want you to go to Michael and obtain what we need." She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming bright. "We don’t have much time," she said softly. "It’s best that you go soon."

Nikita gaped at her, too stunned to speak.

Madeleine took another sip of tea, and smiled her Mona Lisa smile, and then gave her order in a soft, but relentless voice. "Go to Michael now, Nikita," she said firmly. "F*ck him tonight."

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

Nikita swallowed hard and smoothed her damp palms nervously down her tight skirt. She had dressed for the part she was about to play, that of a seductress. Her hair was done up attractively and her blouse was cut low, her heels impossibly high, her lips painted a deep, glistening red. The mission was an urgent one, and there had been no room for subtlety in her approach. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, screwing up the courage to ring Michael’s door bell. It was late, and the street around his loft apartment was deserted. A light still shone through his window, however, and she could hear the deep melancholy strains of a cello being played… Michael was definitely home, and awake.

Everything was a ready as it was going to be. Still, she hesitated, trembling on his doorstep in the darkness. It felt wrong somehow to be here, planning on using Michael this way, manipulating him, toying with his emotions, playing on his vulnerabilities. Even if it was in a good cause, a cause Michael himself would be the first to agree was a worthy one- to save his own son’s life. But still, she hesitated- Nikita remembered how it felt when Michael had done the same thing to her- manipulated her for a good cause, to keep her alive. And now she was going to do the same thing to him. It was funny how little taste she had for this game.

Nikita sighed, remembering as well her protest of Madeleine’s order just a few hours ago in her office. Nikita had demanded to know why, if Section needed a sample of Michael’s sperm, why they just didn’t order Michael to give one in Medlab, as part of a routine physical. Madeleine had dismissed that method immediately, explaining that it would raise too many questions, and that it would rouse Michael’s curiosity about why Section was suddenly so interested in his virility. I wouldn’t do to alert Michael that any underlying games were going on.

Nikita had finally acquiesced, realizing that Madeleine was right. There was no other way to do this, other than telling Michael the truth, and that was, unfortunately, not an option. Nikita would have to play the game, like it or not. Adam’s life depended on it. Why then, she thought bitterly, why did she not feel noble or heroic about what she was about to do? Why did she feel like such a whore? She had wanted their first time together since the Armel mission to be a beautiful and passionate one, a sharing of joyous intimacy. But how could there be any intimacy, she wondered, when everything she did- every kiss, every touch- was motivated by a lie?

She checked her purse carefully one more time for the small insulated case Madeleine had supplied her with. The case that the sample was to be deposited in for safe-keeping as soon as possible after Nikita had acquired it. The blonde made a moue of distaste. She disliked the calculated feel that having the case implied, she resented this clinical intrusion into her and Michael’s relationship, even though she knew it was to save Adam.

Abruptly the cello playing stopped, and Nikita realized if she was going to make a move, it had to be now. She couldn’t stand out here on the doorstep all night. Just as she raised her hand to knock on the door, it opened, and Michael was standing there, gaping at her in surprise. He was dressed in pajama bottoms and an open robe, his feet and chest bare. His green eyes widened when he saw her. "Nikita?" he said softly, his voice eager and questioning. "What are you doing here?" he gasped. "I was just about to go to bed when I saw someone outside…" He shook his head. "I had no idea it would be you…"

Nikita flushed pink with embarrassment, feeling more awkward than ever before in her life. "I… I was worried about you, Michael," she stammered out quickly, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I know you said you needed time alone, but you seemed so upset when I saw you in your office earlier, and I wanted to come by and check on you.. to see if you were okay…."

Michael stood staring at her for a long moment, his eyes suddenly shuttered and carefully blank. The silence stretched on.

Damn, thought Nikita in despair. He’ closing up on me and I haven’t even gotten in the door yet. At last Nikita broke the tense quiet between them with a desperate plea. "Can I at least come in for just a minute, Michael?" she begged hoarsely. "Please?"

Michael seemed to stir from his trance then, giving her an embarrassed smile and shaking his head. "Uh, sorry," he said softly, stepping back to allow her to enter the apartment. "Please, come in…"

She stepped past him gratefully, and looked around his new place. He had acquired some furniture since she had last been there- LOTS of furniture, in fact. What had been an endless expanse of wood floor was now covered in attractive thick colorful Persian rugs, leather couches, and deep, comfortable chairs. He had installed a freestanding fireplace in the center of the living area, the glow from the fire gleamed attractively on the warm wood floor and on the even warmer wood of his cello, which he had laid hastily against one support post when he had gone to answer the door. Michael had also installed a modern kitchen space in one corner under the wide windows, and on the opposite end of the room, on a dais set at an angle to the wall, was a very large, very comfortable-looking ..bed.

Nikita tore her eyes away from this particular piece of furniture, and looked back at Michael. "Your place looks great," she said lamely, with false brightness, almost choking on the words. Her throat had almost closed up from nervousness.

Michael lowered his eyes to the floor, and thrust his hand in his robe pockets, pulling the garment more tightly closed around him. The movement made him seem very vulnerable somehow, Nikita thought, more like the prey that he was….

"You don’t have to check up on me, Nikita," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’m okay now…" He looked up to meet her eyes, his gaze now open and honest. "I wasn’t planning on doing anything …. foolish…."

The words lingered in the air between them- they both knew what they implied. Nikita blinked at this blatant reference to what had always been unspoken between them- that of Michael’s previous flirtations with suicide after the loss of his son. Nikita’s resolve hardened, her shame gone. It hit her now with sharp clarity just how much more suicidal Michael would be if his son was lost to him, not just through separation, but by Death. She had to save Adam, and in doing so, save Michael as well. She had to.

Her eyes filled with sudden tears. "I don’t want to lose you, Michael…" she choked out, telling the truth of what was in her heart.

Michael uttered a sharp groan, and the next thing she knew, she was enveloped in his arms. The embrace was fierce, but at the same time incredibly tender and gentle. Michael‘s hands stroked her back and he buried his face in her hair. . Her arms automatically came up to hold him tight around his waist, and she closed her eyes tight and pressed her face in the hollow of his throat, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Shhh," he soothed her as she trembled in his arms. "Don’t…"

"I’m so afraid…" Nikita cried, grateful that at least every word she had said to him was the truth.

"Shhh," he said again into her ear. "I got some … disturbing news earlier, and I was upset…" he explained gently. "It gave me a lot to think about, and that’s why I broke our date…" He pulled back from her, and wiped the tears from her cheeks with a feather-soft stroke of his hand. His green eyes met hers and locked, his gaze sweet and intense on her face. "I needed time to sort things out, to be alone, but it has nothing to do with how I feel about you.." he whispered softly. "Or how I feel now about ….staying alive…"

He smiled a heartbreakingly beautiful smile and Nikita’s breath caught in her throat. "How DO you feel?" she asked in a rough whisper as she trembled in his arms.

Michael let out a soft laugh, and suddenly kissed her, briefly, but with unmistakable warmth. "I want to live now, Nikita," he said breathlessly. "You told me to find a reason to live, and I did…" He lowered his mouth to hers once more, his lips barely brushing against hers. "My reason is you…" he moaned, and then he kissed her again.

She melted into his arms, opening to the kiss, surrendering her mouth to his. His lips just tasted hers at first, and then drank deeper, his tongue exploring at first tentatively, then boldly. He began thrusting his wet pink organ into her depths in an act of utter possession. She moaned against his lips and tangled her hands in his hair, pulling him closer. An inexorable heat flared to life in her center… she wanted him, wanted him badly. Her nipples sprang to taut attention under the thin material of her blouse, and she thrust the aching points forward, grazing them against his bare chest.

Michael moaned in return ,and the next thing she knew, he had lifted her off her feet and was carrying her in his arms. To the bed, she thought, her eyes closing in bliss. Yes, Michael, she sighed in her mind, to the bed, please…

To her surprise, the ride in his arms ended abruptly, and she found herself upright, and not lying down. She opened her eyes to find herself in one of the large wing-backed chairs in front of the fire, alone. Michael was kneeling in front of her, his eyes warm upon hers.

"We need to talk," Michael said softly, his tone pleading. "I want to explain some things…"

Nikita almost groaned aloud in frustration, her loins aching for him, her nipples taut with desire. She needed him, she needed him right THEN. What was he doing, torturing her like this?

Michael saw her hesitation, and put his hand gently on hers. "Please," he said gruffly.

Nikita suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to laugh at herself. Here was Michael, her stoical, blank-wall, tight-lipped Michael, behaving just as she had always dreamed of, wanting to talk to her, willing to open up at last, to bare all his secrets, and all she could think of right now was how much she DIDN’T want to talk, how much she wanted to just communicate skin to skin…

"Okay," she agreed with a sigh, leaning back in her chair. She managed a tremulous smile. "Tell me…."

Michael smiled back, his face lighting up. "Thank you.." he whispered gently, and then rose to his feet and crossed to the kitchen. He was back a moment later with two glasses of wine for them. Nikita accepted the glass he offered, somewhat ungraciously. Her mouth twisted wryly as she recalled a phrase he had spoken to her on the Armel mission, when she had rebuffed his advances in bed. Now it fit her situation too well. "I should report you for such cruelty, Michael," she thought to herself.

Nikita took a large gulp of her wine, as Michael settled in a chair opposite the fire to hers, as if he didn’t trust himself to be within touching distance of her. Nikita thought ruefully that he was right. Being able to touch him would be a distraction indeed, if all he wanted to do was talk. She was sure she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on a word he was saying if he was any nearer.

"Today Madeleine told me how Adam and Elena were doing," Michael began in a low tone, staring down into his wine.

"Oh?" Nikita responded, feigning surprise. "How are they?" she asked, trying to sound curious.

Michael looked up at her, his face again carefully blank. "Over me," he said succinctly, and then took in a sharp breath. "Elena has found someone she wants to marry," he said with a sigh. "And Adam… cares for him as his new father…"

A tender rush of joy filled Nikita’s breast at these words, because this way brought less pain. And after all this man had been through, the last thing he needed was more pain. "Good," she thought to herself. "He believes the lie Madeleine told him. Very good…"

"I.. I’m sorry, Michael," she lied softly.

He shook his head and then took a healthy sip of his wine. "Don’t be," he said with a self-deprecating smile. "I’m not."

She blinked in genuine shock, and did not have to feign any surprise then. "You’re … not?" she gasped out.

He shook his head again. "No," he said with a rueful smile. "I was upset when I first heard the news," he explained. "I was angry, and…"

"You were hurt," she said softly, in empathy.

To her shock, Michael let out a short laugh. "No, not hurt," he said emphatically. "I was… jealous….."

Nikita blinked again. "Jealous?" she blurted out. "Of Elena? Or of her new lover?"

"Both," Michael answered, gesturing with his wine glass at the fire. "They both had what I wanted, what has been denied me for years…" His green eyes met hers. "The chance to be with the one I love, the one of my own choosing…."

Nikita’s breath caught in her throat, and she stared silently into his eyes, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

Michael licked his lips and went on in an urgent tone. "Don’t you see, I had it all backwards, all this time…"

"Backwards?" she gasped out, not understanding. "What do you mean?"

He sighed, and then looked up at her with a pleading look. "I’m explaining this badly, I know, but I realized tonight I had it all confused, and now it’s very clear…" He leaned forward in his chair and continued eagerly. "Section made me marry Elena while I was still married to Simone," he went on softly. "It tore me apart—" he choked out. "When I was with one of them, I thought about the other, I felt guilty…"

"Oh, Michael…" Nikita sobbed. "I’m sorry…"

He looked up at her, his eyes glittering in pain. "No matter who I was with, when I was .. loving one of them, it was an act of betrayal to the other…"

He took in a shaky sigh. "Section wouldn’t leave it just at that," he went on in trembling voice. "There were still Valentine missions, which made me feel even worse…"

Nikita closed her eyes. They had used Michael like a whore, like a slave….

"After Simone died, the Valentine missions got more frequent," he choked out. "It got to the point where, for years, the only time I was intimate with anyone, was out of duty, because of some damn mission…" he sighed again. "I was never with the person I really wanted to be with, never with the one of my own choosing…."

He looked up at her, his eyes soft with desire. "Except for two times in my life…" he choked out hoarsely. "Just those two times…"

Nikita gasped, her heart leaping in her breast. She knew he meant the two nights he had had with her..

"That’s what was so stupid of me, so backward…." He said, shaking his head. "I…I felt guilty about both those times," he told her urgently. "I was so used to feeling bad about enjoying myself, about loving someone, that when I felt so happy with you, I tortured myself with guilt even more…" He leaned toward her, whispering earnestly. "Because being with you felt so right, so good, I tried to push you away, to not let you near me, to pretend I didn’t care, because the guilt hurt so much…."

He laughed again. "And today, I realized I had it all turned around…." He put his wine glass down on the table and knelt in front of her chair, at her feet. "You’re the TRUE love, the REAL one," he choked out, taking her hand in his. Nikita’s throat went dry, and she trembled in her seat. Soft tears ran down her cheeks, falling on their clasped hands, as if sealing them together.

"I should never have felt guilty about being with you," he confessed breathlessly. "All the others, but not you…." He leaned forward and kissed her gently. "You’re the only one I want, the only one I’ve ever wanted…" he moaned.

Nikita stiffened in his arms, and gasped out the name of the woman she knew was the only rival for Michael’s heart. "But… Simone…" she sobbed. "You loved Simone…."

Michael pulled back from her, sitting back on his heels and looking directly into her eyes. "Section picked Simone for me," Michael told her hoarsely. "She was a.. diversion, a distraction that Operations planned, because he thought I was too close to Madeleine…"

Nikita gasped in shock, her head whirling. "Madeleine?" she choked out. "You.. you slept with Madeleine?" she asked, appalled.

Michael shook his head. "No, I never did," he answered softly. "But she made it plain she wanted me to…" He looked away, his lip quivering. "She did just about everything but order me to screw her," he said tensely. "After a while, she backed off, but only because Operations made sure we never got a chance to be alone together, for which I was grateful…"

"Oh.." Nikita responded in relief, processing this new information. She recalled Madeleine’s almost wistful look when talking about Michael and Elena and Adam. She wondered if the cold brunette had wished for that life, that family to be her own. She understood that longing perfectly, having experienced it herself.

"But Simone," she continued, going back to the subject that bothered her most. "You loved her. I saw how much you missed her, mourned for her.."

Michael’s eyes darkened with pain. "I cared for her, yes," he confessed gruffly. "I did love her, but not like I love you…"

Nikita’s breath caught in her lungs. He loved her. Michael had just said he loved her….

He LOVED her…..

While the words still echoed in her head, and in her heart, Michael continued in his soft voice. "I felt guilty again because after she died I found myself not missing her much, not.. wanting her back.." he confessed. "I thought I should have felt more than I did. I found it easy to forget her, and that made me feel guilty even more…"

His eyes met hers once more. "When you were gone, when I thought you were dead, I couldn’t think of anything else, I wanted to die myself…" he choked out. "I would have died, I think, if you hadn’t come back…"

"Michael…" she groaned, and pulled him into her arms. "Oh, Michael…"

They kissed hungrily for a few moments, but when Nikita reached her hands inside Michael’s robe, he pulled back, holding her wrists still with both hands. "Nikita, not yet…" he admonished her softly.

The tormented blonde groaned. "Why NOT?" she pleaded in frustration. "God, Michael, I need you…."

He cupped her hands together in both of his and then kissed her fingers, and looked into her eyes. Nikita shivered with desire.

"And I need you," he said roughly. "But I don’t want to screw up everything this time," he said earnestly. "There have been so many times I’ve hurt you, so many times I’ve lied to you, and I want to change that. I want there to be complete honesty between us, no lies, no secrets…."

Nikita flushed guiltily. She was the one being dishonest tonight, the one with the hidden agenda, the one with the secret, the one who was living a lie.

"That’s why I told you what I did," Michael continued softly. "I want you to know everything- everything, Nikita…." He said, pulling her to her feet. "So you can think about how you really feel about me, and decide if I’m the one you really want…."

She clutched him to her by the lapels of his robe, and pressed her lips to his firm jaw. "I already know, Michael…" she groaned. "I know I want you…."

To her shock, he pushed her away. "No…" he said hoarsely, straining for control. She could tell he wanted her as badly as she wanted him, but for some reason he would not let her near. The purpose of her visit tonight came back to her as well, the plight of Michael’s small helpless son hitting her full force. "Michael, please…" she moaned, struggling to kiss him again. "Please…."

"No," he said firmly, and led her to the door. "Nikita, just go home and think about it, please…"

"But why, Michael?" she whimpered, almost panicking. "Why can’t I be with you tonight?"

He looked into her eyes longingly. "Because if we make love now, I can never be sure it wasn’t out of … pity," he said hoarsely, "because you felt sorry for me that Elena found another…"

"No, Michael, no…" Nikita insisted, shaking her head.

He gripped her hands tighter. "Or maybe you would be doing it out of fear, because you think I’m too unstable and might hurt myself…"

"God, no…" she moaned. "Michael, I…."

"Shhh," he told her gently, pulling open the door for her. "Nikita, please, go home, and think about what I said. .." He kissed her very gently, almost chastely, on the cheek. "I don’t want your love out of obligation, or duty, or even friendship," he said softly. "I want it only if you’re sure I’m the one for you, and God knows, you have reason enough not to love me, or trust me at all…"

"Michael!" she protested, as he pushed her over the threshold.

He eyed her sternly. "Two months," he said gruffly. "Give it that much, then you’ll be sure to have time to make a well-thought out decision. You’ll know your own mind, then…"

He began to shut the door on her, but she pushed it open in desperation. "Two months?" she gasped. "You don’t want to see me for TWO MONTHS?" Adam could be dead by then, she thought…

He nodded. "Yes, two months…"

It was the last thing he said before Nikita pulled the small drug coated pin from her hair and plunged it into his neck. Michael’s eyelids fluttered closed and then he slumped unconscious into her arms.

Nikita grimaced, and dragged him over to the bed. She lay him down gently on his back, and then with a sigh, she kissed his cheek softly in apology. "I’m sorry, Michael," she whispered. "Now we have to go with plan B…."

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

Nikita sighed and straightened from the bed, her eyes never leaving Michel’s still form. He looked so vulnerable, so helpless, and for a fleeting moment the memory of being in Chernov’s lab, being dragged away screaming, and then being strapped down and drugged before her egg was taken from her resurfaced in all its clarity. She shuddered. Didn’t what they were doing to Michael tonight amount to the same thing? Wasn’t what she was about to do a form of….rape?

"No," she said out loud, shaking her head. She loved Michael, and Michael loved her. When she touched him tonight, it would be with only the most loving hands, and with the most loving intentions. She wanted to save his son- what could be more loving than that? She told herself her motivations were so much different than Chernov’s- she wasn’t taking something from Michael out of meglo-maniacal greed, but because she wanted to spare Michael pain and loss. Still, she felt a cold heaviness in her stomach, as if her very insides, her very soul, cringed at the thought of taking advantage of Michael this way. God, how she hated this.

"I’m sorry, Michael," she whispered again, and wiped a tear from her eye. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "Madeleine," she spoke out loud, activating her com unit for the first time. "I’m going to need B team."

There was a brief pause before Madeleine answered. Nikita could almost sense the surprise in the Section strategist before she even spoke. "You couldn’t get him to make love?" Madeleine’s voice responded in an amazed tone.

"No," Nikita said dryly, with great asperity. "He wasn’t …. in the mood."

"I see," came the throaty voice in return, lilting with amusement. "What is your situation now?"

Nikita glanced back to the bed, where Michael lay limply, eyes closed, head turned to the side. She sighed again. "I had to drug him," she reported grimly. "He’s out cold on the bed."

"Do nothing until the secondary team arrives," Madeleine ordered. "They should be there soon. Then let me know as soon as you’re ready."

"Right," Nikita acknowledged, and turned off her com unit. She sighed softly and sat down on the edge of the bed. Tentatively, she carefully took Michael’s hand in hers. He did not stir, but his fingers automatically curled around hers, warm and trusting. He was so beautiful, she thought, gazing at his face, now so peaceful in his deep sleep. Michael had been used all his life, first by Rene Dion, and then by Section. He had been manipulated and abused even more than Nikita had, much, much more. No wonder he had told her once that he "didn’t know what love was anymore." How could he? Almost every act of affection and love he had ever known, Simone, Elena, even conceiving and then later caring for his son, had some ulterior Section motive behind it. There was never anything straightforward, never anything simple.

And now, she too, was going to use him, going to touch him, not out of simple need, or pure affection, but because of a hidden agenda of her own. She leaned forward, and rested her head on Michael’s shoulder, as if seeking his forgiveness. He had trusted her tonight, had opened up, had been totally honest, and she had used that openness, that trust, to take advantage of him, like all the others. A sudden rush of warm resolve burst through the coldness in her chest, and she realized that she didn’t have to make this a cold, clinical experience. She, too, could be as open and honest, as warm and cherishing, as Michael had been with her. She could show him, even here , even now, how much she really loved him in return.

She snuggled closer, and lifted her hand to stroke his cheek.

"No, Michael," she vowed softly, raising he head to look into his sleeping face. "I won’t use you. I won’t …. rape you…." She leaned forward and pressed her lips softly to his cheek. "I’m going to make love to you tonight," she whispered. "I’m going to give you all the love you ever wanted, I’m going to give you everything- my body, my heart, my soul.."

"I promise…" she groaned, and then kissed him on his softly parted lips.

A sound from the doorway made her jump back from Michael, pulling her mouth reluctantly away from his clinging lips. She looked with startled eyes at the two people who had just entered the apartment, carrying orange suitcases. Like twins, they both wore black suits, and had identical humorless expressions. One was a tall man with a prim goatee, the other a petite, frumpish woman- Madeleine’s assistants, the ones who did the dirty work that even Madeleine was too squeamish to do.

Nikita nodded at them in acknowledgement. She had a healthy respect for these two, if no liking. In fact, they repulsed her. Of all the cold, mechanical, machine-like operatives in Section, these two were the most machine-like of all.

The newcomers came forward and in a symbiotic synchronized movement, put their suitcases down on a table by the bed. They straightened, standing at attention, and then both eyed Nikita owlishly from behind identical pairs of thick spectacles. Nikita wondered briefly if they were really human, or just robots programmed to do Section’s bidding.

Nikita activated her com unit again. "Madeleine," she announced, keeping her eyes warily on the others, "Team Two is here."

"Excellent," came the voice in her ear. "Tell them to begin. We don’t have much time…"

Nikita relayed the message, and then stood watchfully by the side of Michael’s bed as the "twins" went to work. Silently, with swift efficient movements, they set up the equipment by the bed. Inside the mysterious orange suitcases was an array of sophisticated electronic monitoring equipment. Side by side, the two robots tweaked, dialed, and adjusted the machines until they were at the proper settings for their task. A loud humming noise filled the room, setting Nikita’s teeth on edge.

The woman twin nodded, and then rummaged in the back of the suitcase, pulling out a collection of carefully coiled wires. Her face totally void of expression, wires in hand, she approached the unconscious man on the bed. Nikita tensed, and despite herself, found herself blurting out a protest. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

The woman paused, staring blankly at the protective blonde. "His brain wave patterns must be synchronized to alpha levels, which will mimic the dream state," she explained in a monotone. "Right now he is in delta, deep sleep." She held up the wires that all had small silver disks attached at the ends- electrode pads. "These go on each quadrant of his face…"

Nikita swallowed hard and held out her hand. "I’ll do it," she said sternly. She had an intense aversion to the idea of this robot woman touching Michael. He had had enough of Section’s cold touch, and Nikita was determined to spare him further indignities at their hands, if at all possible. The woman shrugged, and handed over the equipment, seemingly indifferent to who placed the devices, as long as it was done. She joined her twin at the table again, becoming absorbed in her equipment and dials once more.

Nikita perched on the bed by Michael’s head and carefully began her task, pressing the electrode sensors to his warm skin. She brushed the hair softly back off his face and applied one device high on each temple in turn, and then one by one did the same on each cheekbone. Michael stirred slightly, a small frown creasing his brow as the cold metal discs contacted his skin. One softly grunted word escaped his lips. "No…"

Startled, Nikita looked up at B Team to gauge their reaction, wondering if Michael should be this alert, this aware of what was going on around him. She realized he was no longer totally out cold as before, but seemed much more responsive now.

Torture Twin #1 gave her a satisfied nod. "He’s reached alpha," the petite robot informed her flatly. "He’s ready."

She signaled her companion and the taller twin came toward the bed, unfolding a flexible wire stand to place over Michael’s face. Reluctantly, Nikita stepped back and gave him room to do his work. A moment later, the large transparent rectangular grid of light was in place, suspended just inches from Michael’s face. It was a holographic receiver, with a direct link to Section. To Madeleine.

"We’re ready for you, Ma’am," the female twin announced primly.

Even though she expected it, Nikita still jumped when the screen over Michael’s head jumped to life with a three-D image. A beautiful, disembodied face appeared in the air just above Michael’s own. The white skin glowed eerily, and the deep brown eyes glittered with a chillingly cold light in their depths. The soft red lips seemed to almost brush Michael’s as she spoke.

"Michael," Madeleine’s projected image said softly. "Can you hear me?"

The sleeping man frowned again, and tossed his head, but did not open his eyes. "No," he grunted softly. "Don’t want to…" he groaned in gruff stubbornness.

Nikita’s lips twitched up into a brief smile, amused at Michael’s seeming resentment of Madeleine’s presence. Then she quickly sobered, remembering the reason they were all here, doing this. Adam. Suddenly, she found herself praying that Michael would co-operate and not fight the coming programming Madeleine was attempting to instill. If he resisted this, their options would be few.

Madeleine paused after this answer, and then tried again. "Open your eyes, Michael," the hologram ordered sternly. "Look at me…"

Their subject twisted his mouth in a grimace, and then frowned again. He fought the voice, but when she repeated the command a second time, the green eyes fluttered reluctantly open. Michael blinked groggily at the image above him. "Yes?" he asked begrudgingly, as if he were a small boy about to hear his mother’s list of chores for him, or a Class Five operative with an aversion to taking anymore distasteful orders from his superiors.

"Michael, listen carefully," Madeleine went on. "Do you know where you are?"

The green eyes fluttered again, and then slowly opened all the way. "At home," he answered in a weary tone, his face blank and tired. "In my bed."

His interrogator smiled. "That’s right, Michael. Very good," Madeleine praised him. "Now let me explain what is happening to you, all right?"

The man on the bed nodded. "All right….." Michael whispered sleepily, his eye lids half-closing.

The image let out a sigh and went on. "You’re safe, Michael. You’re asleep in your own bed, having a dream. You came home from Section alone, and you went to bed alone," Madeleine told him firmly. "You had no visitors tonight, do you understand?"

Michael’s face clouded in confusion, and then he tossed his head, as if trying to escape Madeleine’s image, and her words. "No," he groaned softly. "Nikita…"

Madeleine’s voice interrupted his protest sharply. "Nikita was never here. Only in your dreams, you understand?"

Michael’s face crumpled into a mask of pain. "No.." he moaned, a lonely, anguished cry. "I… need her…."

Nikita almost sobbed aloud at this heartfelt cry, but bit her lip instead, struggling to stay composed. This was going to be much harder than she thought.

To her shock, the image on the screen turned, the disembodied face staring directly at her. "Tell him, Nikita…" Madeleine ordered urgently.

Nikita licked her dry lips and then stepped closer to the bed. "I’m here, Michael…" she said softly, reaching for his hand. Her fingertips just barely brushed his, but she felt him tremble head to toe in response. "You’re dreaming about me, and I’m going to be with you all night," she promised huskily, in a seductive tone, "Doing everything you want me to do…."

Michael gasped, and his eyes widened. He struggled to sit up, but only managed to lift his head a few inches from the pillow. "Nikita.." he pleaded, agitated, his voice full of longing. He moaned again in frustration when he tried to lift his hand to reach for her, but could only twitch his fingers.

"Easy," Madeleine soothed him. "Just rest for a moment, and the dream with Nikita will begin, all right?"

Michael’s chest heaved with his rapid intake of breaths, his head tossing restlessly. "Yes…" he moaned. "Please, yes…"

Madeleine smiled, pleased at his eagerness. She noted through the holographic medium that Nikita was blushing bright red. Good, she thought. Things were at last going well. She turned back to Michael, reiterating her orders.

"You’re dreaming, Michael, and in your dream you are going to lie still, very still on your bed…" she went on insistently. "Nikita will come to you, and you will not resist, you will let her do anything she wants to you…."

Michael closed his eyes and groaned in the back of his throat.

"The dream will be very pleasurable for you," the Section strategist continued relentlessly. "You will enjoy yourself, and in the morning you will wake up feeling very…. relaxed, and you will remember only that you had a nice dream, do you understand?"

"Mmmm," Michael sighed softly, eyes still closed. "Dream…" he murmured, a small smile curving his lips.

Madeleine’s hologram smiled triumphantly and then the brown eyes flickered sharply to Nikita. "Begin as soon as B-Team has gone," she ordered in a whisper. "Let me know when you’re done."

The image flickered and then was gone, the eerie light of the hologram winking out as the screen faded into darkness.

Nikita sighed. Madeleine had been successful in her part of the mission, and now Nikita needed to do the same in hers. Now Adam’s life would be saved, and Michael would never know what had taken place here, what measured that had taken on his behalf. He would be safe, believing only that it was all a fantasy, a dream, the wish fulfillment of his unconscious mind. Nikita prayed he would never know the reason that had driven them to these lengths, or that the brief interlude of passion had been real, and not a fantasy of the night.

She stepped back from the bed, retreating to a darkened corner of the room, watching closely while the twins quickly dismantled the equipment and efficiently packed up to leave. The now darkened screen was removed from the bed, and the male twin, with surprising gentleness, disentangled Michael from the wires. The sleeping man stirred on the bed, but did not open his eyes, awaiting his dream lover patiently.

The twins closed the suitcases with a final snap, and quietly left the room.

When the door had closed behind them, Nikita let out a trembling sigh, gathering her courage.

They were alone. He was hers. The dream could now begin.

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

Nikita did not immediately join Michael on the bed. There were things she had to do first. With a small sigh of resentment, she leaned down to snatch her purse off the floor, removing the insulated case in which she would later place the substance that would give a dying child new life. Her resentment was not toward Adam, his sickness, or even toward Section- Madeleine, after all, THIS time, was only trying to help save Michael’s son. No, she knew the bitter feeling she had now was because, once again, a mission, even one this humane, was interfering in her and Michael’s relationship. Could it ever be just simple between them? Did every encounter they had have to be so convoluted, so complex?

The two other times she and Michael had made love had been no less straightforward than this. The first time, after she had escaped the explosion that Section had arranged to get rid of her, their joy at being together had been overshadowed by the anxiety each felt at the tense situation. Section thought she was dead. Michael was not free to be with her; he was still enslaved in their service. They had both been tortured by the fact that they might not ever see each other again, until Michael later found a way to bring her back -almost literally- from the dead. Back to Section.

On her return, the relationship she had hoped to have with him never materialized. Nikita had been frustrated, confused, hurt by his inexplicable withdrawal from her. But she hadn’t known about Elena and Adam then. The next time they made love had been for a mission, again, not just for the two of them, for their own pleasure, but for others’ motives. Under the intrusive eyes of both Section and Armel’s surveillance cameras, she and Michael had made love in the phony marriage bed set up to fool their target. The love had been real, but the setting had been staged, the situation forced, and the circumstances not what either of them would have wanted if given a choice.

And now, tonight, they were given no choice either. She sighed again, watching the man she loved lying helpless and quiet on the bed. When, she wondered angrily, WHEN would they ever be given just a brief time to themselves? Was an hour or two alone too much to ask? Was one night of freedom in Michael’s arms, the only thing she really wanted in this whole world, such a difficult wish to be granted? Would she ever be free to have her heart’s desire?

Nikita sighed again, and pushed away these angry thoughts. She needed to concentrate on the task ahead, and put away her own selfish desires. Hopefully, there would be a chance for them to enjoy each other openly in the future, but for now, this was a mission, and she needed to get down to business.

She approached the bed and set the insulated case with it’s waiting glass vial inside on the night stand, and then she clambered onto the bed. She had to get Michael ready, and the first thing she had to do was to remove his clothes. She caressed his cheek briefly before she began, and Michael murmured her name sleepily, but did not open his eyes. He lay still as before.

She sighed again, this time in relief that he was co-operating, and not fighting her. She pushed the dark robe down off his shoulders, trying to ignore the thrill of pleasure that went through her at the sight of his magnificently muscled chest that this movement revealed. She tried to reign in her desire, because she knew this night there would be no fulfillment for her, but only for Michael, and that only because Adam needed him.

It was easy for her to turn him on his side and pull the robe’s sleeves all the way off his arms, first one, then the other. She couldn’t resist brushing her hands down his back as she did so, reveling in the feel of his warm skin. She felt the muscles jump in response to her touch, and Michael let out a soft groan, and tried to lift his head to turn toward her.

"Shhh," she said gently, tossing the robe aside and soothing her hand down his bare arm. "Relax. Just lie still, and let me do everything, okay?"

Michael groaned again, but no longer struggled, and Nikita carefully pushed him to lie on his back on the bed. His head lolled limply to the side, as he obediently obeyed her orders to do nothing. She tenderly adjusted the pillows under his head, lifting his shoulders up to rest them more comfortably than before. When she laid him back down, his eyes were open, the green orbs watching her dazedly.

"Nikita?" he asked, obviously confused.

Her heart melting, she leaned forward to kiss and soothe him. "Shhh," she whispered, when she had lifted her mouth from his after the briefest of caresses. "Yes, Michael, it’s me." She gave him a trembling smile and went on. "You’re dreaming that I’m here, okay? Everything’s all right……"

He blinked at her and turned his head to see her better. He breathed her name again, and then gave her a tender smile in return. "Yes.." he moaned softly. "Nikita…."

Nikita locked eyes with his, and continued in her task. She ran her hand down his bare chest and over the smoothly sculpted muscles of his abdomen until she reached the waistband of his pajama bottoms. She didn’t realize she was shaking until it took her three tries to unfasten the first button. She swallowed hard, and then with a quick movement, pulled the garment open, revealing the top of his slender hip-bones and the start of a nest of thick cinnamon-colored hair.

Michael took in a sharp breath at her touch, and his hips writhed on the bed, thrusting upwards.

Nikita let out a small moan herself when she slipped her palms inside the garment on each side, skimming his hips, and pushed the pajamas down to his thighs. She slipped one arm underneath him, supporting his back, and lifted him off the bed just enough so that she could pull the silky trousers the rest of the way down his hips. In a moment, it was done. Michael lay naked on the bed before her.

Nikita felt gooseflesh rise all along her arms, as if she were the one who had just been stripped bare, and not him. She couldn’t help staring at his manhood nestled in the center of the dark curls, her eyes riveting there almost of their own accord. She had seen him naked before, of course, but there had never been an opportunity to study him, to savor him, like this. He was beautiful, utterly perfect. The sculpted muscles of his torso, the smoothness of his toned thighs, reminded her of a work of art, some statue of a Greek god. Only Michael was not a statue carved of marble, but a living, breathing man, a man with a dying child that needed him.

Michael stirred again, briefly, his head moving on the pillow, and the spell was broken, as Nikita roused from her entranced regard, realizing she needed to go further, to begin what needed to be done.

Sighing, she settled herself beside him on the bed, and brushed her hand gently down his cheek in a soft caress. The green eyes fluttered open at her touch. They were still glassy and clouded, still deeply affected by the drug. Nikita looked deeply into those eyes, trying to convey to him all the love she had for him with her intense gaze. Her hand on his cheek drifted down to his shoulder and then brushed across his chest, grazing his nipples.

The flat nubs flared to life under her touch, and she felt Michael tense, his heart beating wildly under her palm. She looked back into his eyes, and they were no longer blank and confused, but now glittered with desire. Pleased with this response, she caressed his nipples harder, using both hands to stimulate him.

He moaned, his eyes closing, his head falling back. What movement he was capable of, he did, arching up slightly as he tried to thrust his chest against her hands. "Mmm… uh…" he grunted. "Oui…."

She leaned forward and lowered her mouth to his, hands still on his chest. She kissed him softly, then with more force, suckling on his full lower lip, teasing his mouth open with soft licks, and then slipping her tongue inside. He tried to lift his head up off the pillow, tried to respond to her, but the drug made it impossible to return her kiss as he wanted to. He moaned again, surrendering, and let her taste and explore him, relaxing his mouth under hers. This time it was not Michael, but Nikita, who thrust firmly inside the soft, wet depths. Her hands still relentlessly aroused his nipples as her lips plundered his.

He groaned, and then began to writhe beneath her. She felt something thick and warm against her side, and realized that the kisses and caresses had awakened his desire, before she had even touched him. She broke the kiss, and Michael whimpered loudly, struggling to reach her lips once more. His breath came in harsh gasps. "Please…" he grunted softly. "Please…"

Nikita kissed his jaw, nipping at him, and then ran her tongue over the hard nubs on his chest, lingering briefly on each one before she moved lower, kissing and licking her way down his chest. Her hands trailed down his sides to rest gently on his thighs while her mouth went lower still, her tongue darting inside the shallow indentation of his navel.

He quivered beneath her, panting in irregular gasps. She glanced up to see that his eyes were closed again, and he was tossing his head on the pillow, his face contorted in passion. He let out a low, guttural cry, that could only be described as a whimper of frustration.

Not wanting to prolong his torture any longer, Nikita brushed her palms across his thighs, finding the burning organ of need at his center. She cupped the dark sacs gently in one hand, while she gripped the achingly stiff c*ck with the other. The contrast of textures forced a gasp of pleasure out of her, at once surprising and yet completely familiar, the roughness of the round wrinkled container of his seed juxtaposed against the tight velvet smoothness of his growing phallus. She shivered in sensuous delight as she began to massage and stroke him, stimulating both areas at the same time.

Michael arched his hips off the bed, and groaned. His hands fisted in the sheets, and he threw his head back on the pillows, his jaw clenched tight. The rigid shaft of his manhood throbbed higher, responding like a living thing to her firm, relentless caresses, flaring fully to life at her touch.

She leaned forward to bring her face closer, inhaling his musky male scent, breathing deeply in appreciation. Cupping and fondling his balls very gently, she found herself thinking in awe that here was the source of Adam’s life, this rough flesh she held in her hand. And here also, contained in the precious elixir inside, was the very same magical substance that would give Adam new life again.

She let out a soft moan, and reverently kissed the flesh she had just caressed. Her other hand stroked the thick, engorged shaft firmly downward, pulling the foreskin all the way back to reveal the sculpted, perfectly formed tip. She took in a deep breath, and then lowered her lips to taste his magnificence, engulfing the throbbing flesh all the way into her mouth.

Michael let out a loud groan, and then went completely still, not even breathing. She felt the muscles in his thighs tense, his body arching upwards against her lips. She stroked him faster, using her hand to pull firmly on his length, from the base upwards, while her mouth suckled firmly on the pulsing tip of hard, delectable flesh. His taste aroused her, the feel of him ignited her, and she closed her eyes, reveling in the overload of delights for her senses that his body offered.

He began to tremble beneath her, and then he let out a series of sobbing moans, his breath ragged in his lungs. He began to writhe violently in her grasp, bucking and twisting so much that she had trouble holding on to him.

"Nikita!" He screamed loudly. She raised her head, knowing he was just at the brink, and, almost panicking, reached for the vial on the nightstand by the bed. She snatched it quickly from its case, and then fumbled it against his hard length, pressing it to the tip to collect the substance that would be Adam’s salvation.

She stroked him harder, gripping him almost frantically, squeezing and manipulating the firm, sensitive head. He thrashed on the bed, and let out a gasping cry, shuddering and writhing wildly. Still, he did not come. Nikita worked harder, stroking faster and faster. The gasping sobs continued, his chest heaving as he struggled toward fulfillment, but still there was no release.

Panting hard herself, Nikita raised her eyes to look at him, to see what was wrong, and what she saw made her gasp in shock and regret.

His face was contorted not in passion, but in panic. Tears glistened on his cheeks, and it hit her like a blow that the sobs that had been torn from his throat were not from pleasure, but from pain, not physical pain, but emotional. His thrashing and writhing had been his attempts to get away from her, to escape her touch, not encourage it.

His eyes were liquid pools of anguish. He arched helplessly once more, twisting his head on the pillow, his jaw clenched in pain.

"Michael!" Nikita gasped. "Oh, God, Michael…" What had she done? She thought, her heart sinking in horror. What had she done?

His next words tore at her heart anew, breaking it in a million pieces. "Nikita, no!" Michael sobbed in desperate distress. "Nikita, please…. Please, no ….."

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

Nikita fumbled the glass vial away from him, setting it hastily on the nightstand, then she climbed up further on the bed until she was kneeling over him, and took his face in both her hands, turning him to look at her.

"Michael!" she pleaded breathlessly. "Michael, are you all right?" she sobbed frantically.

His broad chest heaved under her with his labored breaths, and his whole body still trembled. His fists clenched and unclenched feebly by his sides, and he struggled vainly to raise his head, his eyes wide with terror. "Can’t …. move…." He gasped roughly. "I.. can’t move…"

Nikita blinked, suddenly understanding. The combination of the drug along with Madeleine’s conditioning and suggestions for him to lie still, had left him in a state of virtual paralysis and total helplessness. For a man who was uncomfortable with being the least bit out of control of any situation, the condition he was in now must seem like pure torture. No matter how much he trusted her, no matter how safe he felt here, in his own home, in his own bed, and no matter how responsive his body had been to her touch, it was still horrifying to him to be unable to command his limbs to do his bidding. The dream for him had become a nightmare.

"Shhh, Michael," she soothed him. "You’re fine.." She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. "It’s just a dream…."

He moaned again, this time more from frustration than terror. "I can’t touch you," he sobbed. "I can’t…. please you…." He managed to lift his head up a little, struggling to capture her lips once more. "Nikita, please…" he cried hoarsely. "I want you so much…."

She moaned in return, and lay down beside him, burying her face in his shoulder. It was all becoming clear. Michael in all their encounters had been the dominant one, at work, of course, but especially during sex. He wanted- NEEDED- to be in control, needed to set the pace, to guide the action, and always, always, every time they had been together intimately, Michael had put Nikita’s needs and pleasures before his own, even that first frantic, wild time on the boat. Lying back and having Nikita have her way with him might seem like a fantasy come true for some men, but not for Michael. This situation was not comfortable for him- in fact, it was disturbing, frustrating, and went against all his instincts…

Tonight Michael had told her he loved her. He loved her, and the way he had expressed that love through all the years he had known her, was to protect her, to keep her safe, from enemies, from Section, and at times even from himself. His guilt about hurting her was overwhelming, and that was why earlier in the evening he had refused to make love to her, to take advantage, wanting her to have time to think first about whether this was what she truly wanted. He could be infuriating at times, this protection, this need for control, but Nikita realized just how much she had come to rely on that protection, that knowledge that he would always be there for her, looking out for her. It had become so much of a given in their dangerous world, Michael’s cherishing of her, that she had almost taken it for granted. But she knew that love, that devoted guardianship, was something intrinsically *Michael*, and she loved him for it, even though at times his stubborn need for control made her resentful and angry…..

And now it made her frightened. Adam could die if she couldn’t get Michael to surrender that control, just this once, right now, tonight. Adam’s time was running out, and so was hers. She had to find a way …

She wrapped her arms around his neck, settling her warmth against him, and kissed him once more. "I love you, Michael…" she groaned out the truth. "Please, please let me love you….."

These words forced an answering groan out of him in return, but there was no joy in the sound, only anguish. He tensed and struggled beneath her, his hands twitching helplessly by his sides on the bed. "I love you, too," he sobbed. "And I can’t even hold you……."

With a gasp of empathy for his pain, Nikita instinctively lifted his arms for him, and placed them on her back, then snuggled closer. "See… see…" she sobbed out her encouragement, wishing only to comfort him. "You’re holding me now…." She kissed him again. "You’re all right…"

Michael sighed, as if suddenly content, and she felt him relax in her arms, even as she felt his maleness harden and thrum to life against her thigh.

"Michael?" Nikita gasped in surprise, raising up to look at him. His green eyes gleamed with an almost feral desire, the intense longing in the emerald depths pure and unmistakable. It was the same look he had given her right before he had taken her for that first time. She realized with a sudden jolt that Michael- HER Michael -was back—back, and in control. His fingers stroked her blouse, caressing her back sensuously, arousing shivers down her spine at his touch. He plucked the thin material of her top in his fingers, pulling it away from her quivering skin.

"Take this off," he growled in command, and then struggled to lift his head toward her, a determined look in his eyes. "And then kiss me…" he ordered huskily. Nikita’s breath caught in her throat, and then she uttered a sharp cry of relief and delight. The mission was saved- all she had to do was let Michael tell her what he needed, let him have control. She felt her nipples stiffen in desire and a fierce heat stir in her core. It was not only a child’s life that would be saved tonight, but their own. Their life together as lovers had begun, they were learning to trust and understand each other-- The dream was coming true……

"Yes, Michael…." She moaned obediently, surrendering her will, and her body, to his. "Oh, yes….."

Then she laughed in joy and kissed him once more….

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

"Blouse-- OFF," he growled again against her lips when she at last broke the breathless, deep kiss. Nikita gasped, and then sat up straight, straddling his hips. She stared into his eyes for a long moment, and then, trembling with excitement, she clutched the hem of the tight, clinging top and yanked it over her head, tossing it aside. The movement made her softly mounded breasts bobble alluringly, and her nipples pebbled into hardness, responding to the warmth of his eyes on her flesh.

"Let me touch…." He begged urgently, his voice impatient with desire.

Nikita obeyed, gripping his hands in hers, and lifting them from the bed. She brought his strong warm fingers first to her mouth, kissing them briefly first, and then laid them eagerly onto the pink, aching up-thrusting tips of her breasts, holding them there for him. Michael uttered a soft grunt of satisfaction, and immediately began rolling and pinching the hardened nubs in his fingers, stroking his thumbs again and again across the sensitive peaks, arousing them further.

Nikita closed her eyes and let her head fall back, quivering in pleasure. Her breath snagged in her lungs as a sharp bolt of desire shafted through her. It was not only her nipples that ached for him, but her whole body. She lifted her head and opened her eyes, her gaze locking with his. In the green depths she saw the same fire, the same sweetness, that burned in hers.

All his love for her, all his need, everything he wanted, every desire, was there, right there, in his eyes, like an open book for her to read. He was no longer afraid, no longer distressed- he had let go, surrendered into trust, and now there was no fear or anguish, only a deep love for her glittering there in his eyes. She looked into those eyes, and knew that Michael had lifted the mask, removed all the guards to his heart, and was allowing her to see him, really see him, perhaps for the first time, all barriers down, his soul, his heart, naked and vulnerable, defenseless, just for her. Nikita shuddered with the poignancy of it, the beauty. The trust he was giving her made her want to weep.

He said her name, a soft whisper, and that was all the words, all the further guidance that was needed. The dance between the two began, each communing without words, intuiting the next step, and then the next, flowing dream-like from one to the other.

With tears blurring her vision, body trembling, she leaned forward, pressing her heart to his, and kissed him once more. With her movement, Michael’s hands fell back to the bed, at his sides, but his fingers brushed her bare thighs on the way down, caressing the skin where her short skirt and ridden up almost to her waist. She shivered at his touch, and then let out a soft cry when she felt his thick manhood pulse upward against her, as if seeking the home in which it was destined to be received.

Later, Nikita would not remember lifting off of him, to remove her skirt and the small scrap of lace that was the last barrier between them. By then, she was no longer centered in her logical mind, but was entrained in the timeless rhythms of passion, the passion that subsumed both Michael’s soul and her own. She only remembered the feeling of Michael, Michael in her, buried deep, engulfed by her soft aching depths, filling her completely, as she rode him fervently, tenderly, joining their two separate loneliness-es into one complete body, merging two halves into the whole.

While she shifted over him, rocking him, she lifted his hands once more with her own, and guided them over her body, letting Michael touch where he willed, where both of them wanted. He groaned in pleasure, panting harshly, while his fingertips brushed first her breasts, then her belly and thighs, and then at last, the small, stiff nub of flesh at the entrance to her core. Nikita whimpered, pressing his hand there, letting him caress her most sensitive feminine self, while she held his maleness captive within her, stroking him in and out, over and over…

She closed her eyes, giving herself over to the feel of Michael touching her, Michael f*cking, her, Michael loving her. For she knew deep within that despite what it appeared on the surface, that she was not the leader in the dance, not the one in control. She had surrendered that control entirely to him, in total trust, just as he had done for her. Their joining was not just a merging of strength to strength, but also weakness to weakness, each uplifting and supporting the other, each giving, and taking, the heartfelt passion, the physical and emotional bliss, that this mutual union of bodies and souls provided, a tender exchange of gifts.

Michael let himself be immersed in the passionate dream, this unreality that seemed so real. The drug had rendered him powerless, but Nikita had given that power back to him, and more. Much more. This moment, this joining, this open surrender, was more than he had ever hoped to have with her, this beautiful sharing of not just physical pleasure, but soul-pleasure as well. He marveled at how free he felt inside, how high his heart soared. He hadn’t believed it possible to be this happy, this ecstatic, and all because he was not in control, but because they BOTH were, or, he wondered, was it that neither of them was in control, but that both had submitted, had let go, each entrusting their passion to the other?

He didn’t understand it, not really. He only knew that together they were reaching a place that neither had been before. This was all new, all wondrously fresh, completely, devastatingly transformative. He felt like he was dissolving, blending into her, flowing together as one, both breathing, moving, BEING as one. Both reaching the heights, both tumbling over the edge, both coming……

He uttered a hoarse cry as his orgasm began, this signal breaking Nikita out of her trance. Adam, she remembered Adam, and what he needed.

Panting, she collapsed forward onto Michael’s chest, kissing him, snatching the vial off the night-stand at the same time. She lifted off him, and as she did, this final friction of his body leaving hers triggered her own release.

Shuddering in pleasure at this achievement of one earth-shattering goal, she managed to also achieve another- she aligned the vial with his spasming manhood just before he erupted forcefully into it, and captured the life-giving elixir in the glass. Michael gasped her name as wave after wave of pleasure shook him, his precious seed pulsing from him, the seed that was literally the stuff of life.

Nikita, still quivering, sobbed out her joy, and fumbled the vial back into the case, capping it first before closing the lid, and thus safe-keeping Adam’s life. She collapsed on top of Michael, stretching her length over his, twining herself in his limbs. She buried her face in his neck, kissing his shoulder, trembling and moaning as she embraced him.

She felt his chest rising and falling rapidly under hers, his breath, as her own, coming in short gasps. She began to weep, in relief that her mission had been accomplished safely, and beyond that, she wept because her own dream had come true.

At last, despite everything, despite all the obstacles in their way, despite Section’s interference and their own wariness and mistrust, they had overcome it all. They were one. Their love had triumphed.

She lifted her head up to kiss him, and he groaned against her lips, surrendering his mouth once more to hers. Her breath caught when she realized the wetness she felt on his cheek was not just from her own tears, but Michael’s as well. Sobbing against him, she told him again what was in her heart. "I love you, Michael…" she moaned softly. "God, how I love you…."

She heard him sigh deeply, his body relaxing under hers. He lifted his head up as far as he could and his lips brushed her cheek in a reverent, almost sacred, caress. "Je t’aime, Nikita…." He murmured fervently. "Mon Coeur, mon ange, ma reve..." he moaned. "Mon Dieu, que j’taime…."

Nikita’s eyes filled with joyous tears, and she cradled his head in her hands and held him while she kissed him deeply once again. This time his surrender was complete.. to her, to the drug, and to exhaustion. She felt him go limp, relaxing in her arms, his lips parted and pliant under hers. Gently, she laid his head back on the pillow, and kissed his cheek. He did not stir, his eyes closed, his body deep in sleep.

She sat on the side of the bed, catching her breath again, watching him tenderly. Her gaze strayed upward to the nightstand, and the case that held the magic cure. She allowed herself a few more minutes to cry, to watch Michael, to feel his love, and to kiss him once more before she rose from the bed.

She covered him carefully with the blanket and brushed the hair across his forehead in a tender caress. Then she collected her purse from the floor and took out her cell phone, and dialed Madeleine’s number.

"Mission completed," she reported, taking a deep breath. "Material secured."

In her office, Madeleine smiled.

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

Michael awoke slowly, stretching in the bed. He rolled over onto his side, and opened his eyes. Something was different, he thought immediately, and then realized what it was.

He was naked.

He sat up abruptly, and looked around the apartment. There, laid neatly on the chair beside the bed, were his robe and pajama bottoms. He thought he had gone to bed wearing them- hadn’t he?

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to remember. He felt a slight, but definite jolt of anxiety that he even had to make and effort to remember anything- usually his recall of everything, even small details of missions a decade ago- was very clear. Why was it that all of a sudden, he couldn’t remember what he had done just last night?

A jumble of images came to him, some of them making no sense. Why did he think that he had spoken to a bodiless Madeleine, and that the Torture Twins, as he called them, had been in his apartment, wiring him up to the equipment in the ominous orange suitcases? Michael shook his head to clear it. Must be nightmares again, he thought. Only he never recalled any quite as bizarre as this…

He stretched out on his stomach, burying his face in the pillow, trying to think. The movement brought his lower body in contact with the sheets, and he stiffened suddenly, realizing he was sore…. down there. Yes, definitely sore, as if he had been…..

Michael sat up with a gasp, and flung back the sheet. Yes, there was a definite redness to the tip of his organ, and some sticky seepage down his thigh…

He blushed, realizing what must have happened. He had come home yesterday, sad and miserable about the news about Elena and her new love. He had also stupidly broken his date with Nikita, and had spent the evening alone, wallowing in sorrow in his apartment…

He looked up at the living area, and noticed a bottle of wine by the fire, and one glass, mostly empty. The wine bottle was almost empty, too, and he could recall having bought it new just a few days ago.

So, it was clear now. He had drunk himself into a maudlin stupor, and had gone to bed, thinking of Nikita. He recalled now an image, a fantasy, of her fondling him, sucking him, and then at last straddling him, doing everything he commanded….

Michael blushed again. Whether it was a dream, or a drunken fantasy, didn’t matter. He had been thinking of Nikita, imagining being with her, and had, either in his sleep or an alcohol-induced haze, pleasured himself, relieving the tension that his fantasies had created. Now, for some reason, in the light of morning he felt not hung over, or groggy, neither was he embarrassed or ashamed of what he had obviously done. Rather, he felt a warm rush of happiness, even euphoria, about the experience. And he felt relaxed, so very… relaxed…

He sighed, wishing the dream had been real, because now other things he and Nikita had done together in the fantasy were coming back to him. Not erotic, sensual things, although he certainly had enjoyed those, but acts even more intimate than that. They had talked, really talked, and Michael had, in the dream, had told her everything, had laid his soul open for her to claim or reject, and she had embraced him, body, mind, heart, and soul, totally, unreservedly. She had told him she loved him, and he had done the same to her…….

He shook his head, and sighed, and then rested his head in his hands. Why couldn’t it be like that? Why couldn’t they be like in the dream, emotionally and physically close? Why couldn’t he just tell her what he felt? Today, right now? What was stopping him?

The answer came, and he didn’t like it. What was stopping him now was his pride, and his shame, and his guilt, and… he realized with a jolt, his fear. His fear that she would not love him in return…

He lifted his head from his hands, and then rose from the bed, heading for the bathroom, and the shower. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and paused to confront the reflected image, the green eyes staring back at him sternly. "Don’t screw up this time," he scolded himself sharply. "Have the guts and the decency and the… sense to not push her way, to tell her the truth for once…"

He lifted his chin, and regarded the proud, but wary, image in the mirror. "For Christ’s sake, tell her you love her, you Chicken-sh*t Bastard…"

Having delivered this lecture, Michael felt better. In fact, his mood was happy again, almost euphoric. It was almost as if the words had already been said, the love between them already spoken and expressed, the vows sealed with a kiss, and more….

Hastily, he showered and dressed, and headed out to Section. To his Nikita. He had had a dream last night, and now it was time for that dream to come true……

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

Nikita slipped into Michael’s office, and deposited the disk she had stolen from him back on the desk. There, she thought with a sigh. Everything was done. Mission accomplished.

She rubbed her eyes wearily, and let out a yawn. She hadn’t gotten to sleep at all that night, even though she could have lain down for a nap in her quarters if she had wanted to. She had been just too keyed up to rest, too excited.

She had brought the sample to Madeleine in the wee hours of the morning, as soon as she had dressed and arranged the wine and the clothes in Michael’s apartment, and then kissed him once more. Then she had slipped out, rushing back to Section with the case containing the precious substance that would save Adam’s life.

Madeleine had gratefully received it, looking ecstatic, and thanked her profusely, promising that it would be delivered at once to Dr. Green’s hands, and that Elena and Adam were already on their way to the Doctor’s clinic so that the boy could undergo treatment. Soon, Nikita knew, Adam would be well again, she just knew it. And Michael would never know just how close he had come to losing his son.

Nikita smiled, thinking of Madeleine. The secret they shared now seemed to have brought them closer. Nikita felt a warm feeling inside toward the older woman, realizing she wasn’t the cold, manipulative bitch she had always thought her to be. Well, she HAD been manipulative in this case, very much so, in fact, but her motives had been intensely pure and unselfish- Madeleine had wanted to save Adam’s life as much as Nikita did, if not more.

Nikita shook her head, realizing she seen a new side to her old nemesis- Madeleine had a heart, and a MATERNAL one at that. Who would have thought it?

Nikita yawned again and sank into Michael’s chair. She leaned her head on the desk, and closed her eyes, thinking now not of Madeleine, but of him. How beautiful he was, how beautiful he had looked in bed with her, and how beautiful his words had been when he told he loved her….

She sighed, and drifted off into a lovely reverie…

The next thing she heard was Michael’s voice, calling her name. "Nikita?" he asked softly from the doorway. "What are you doing here?"

"Michael?" she groaned drowsily. Nikita sat up groggily and rubbed her eyes, realizing she must have fallen asleep, right in his chair. She blushed and smiled shyly up at him. "I… I knew you were upset when you left last night, and I wanted to check on you," she covered quickly, almost too embarrassed to look at him. "Are you okay?"

Michael nodded, coming forward into the room.

"I’m fine," he said automatically, and then scolded himself for his instant denial, as usual. "No, I take that back," he amended quickly. "I think I WILL be fine, if I can talk to you about what happened last night…." he answered softly, stepping one pace closer.

Nikita blanched, her stomach knotting. What did Michael remember? Could he remember? DID he?

"Last night?" she choked out fearfully, standing up from her chair. "What about last night?"

He crossed the distance between them in a few swift steps, and took her hand in his. "I acted like a fool," he confessed gruffly. "I need to apologize to you, for breaking our date," he told her in a hoarse whisper. "And for being stupid enough to not take you up on your offer to talk , to be with you…" He lifted sorrowful green eyes to hers. "Can you forgive me, Nikita?" he pleaded earnestly, caressing her fingers with his. "I.. I need to talk to you now...to tell you some things…."

Nikita smiled, realizing he didn’t remember last night- or rather, he only remembered enough, that he loved her. It was okay, she thought happily. She didn’t mind hearing it again….

"Of course I forgive you, Michael", she said with a bright smile, linking her arm through his. She smiled up into his face, her eyes glowing softly. She tilted her head and grinned mischievously. “Why not talk now?" she suggested in an eager tone. "Coffee?" she invited pertly.

Michael smiled, his face lighting up like the sun. "Why not?" he answered happily, and led her to the door.

Another dream had begun.

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

At seven o’clock that night, Madeleine sighed and sipped her tea, sitting behind her desk in her office. It had been a very busy day, a productive day, a day of triumph, and she wanted to take the time to look back over her achievements, and savor them, now that it was evening and she had this time for peace and quiet.

Nikita had performed perfectly, Madeleine reflected, leaning back in her chair. It had gone so much more smoothly than she had expected. The blonde had taken the bait right away, had peeked at the tape she had given to Michael, and had instantly gone snooping on Level 4. From there, it had worked like clock-work. Nikita, believing that Adam was in danger, had leapt to Michael’s aide, and Madeleine couldn’t help but feel a deep thrill of satisfaction that her own subterfuge had been so convincing and effective. She was able to pull Nikita’s leash, play her like a puppet, get her to do everything Madeleine needed her to do.

Nikita was just too damn predictable, she thought, as a small twisted smile played over her face, especially when it came to Michael, or Michael’s son.

Madeleine sighed once more, cradling her tea cup in both hands, and thought of Adam. He was so beautiful, so alive, so …indefinably desirable. She lusted for this child, as she had lusted for Michael, wanting to have him as her own. Her own little boy to possess and cherish. But he was not hers, but Elena’s. Elena, the poor dumb twit who had fallen for all of Section’s ruses, for all the lies, for the whole fabrication Section had set up to entrap her terrorist father. Elena, innocent and unsuspecting, had believed it all.

Madeleine’s job, and Section’s raison d’etre, was to protect such innocents as Elena, to place their safety above all else, and for the most part, Madeleine had no problem with this. But in Elena’s case, she found herself unable to conjure up any sympathy for the woman. Her innocence- or rather her stupidity- was just too blatantly overwhelming to command any respect from Section’s chief strategist. Madeleine admired only those traits that she felt most pride in of her own- her cunning, her cleverness, her ability to see the big picture, to plan and conceive artful designs, and her boldness to carry them out. She also prided herself on her ability to conceal her emotions, to lie, and to deceive.

That was why she admired Michael so much. He was like HER, a kindred spirit, the only man she ever considered her equal. Paul, although amusing for a time, did not have nearly the same appeal as the cold, green-eyed seducer she had trained. Michael, unlike Operations, was subtle, clever about using his power, whereas Paul wielded his power clumsily, as subtle as a bull in a china shop.

Madeleine closed her eyes, thinking about the contrast between the two men. No wonder she desired Michael so much- the delicacy with which he could handle anything, the confidence, the deadly silence… She sighed again, and for a brief moment, a shard of sharp frustration stabbed her- How she had wanted Michael’s clever hands on her, his delicate touch on her skin, his sensuous mouth plying hers ruthlessly, his body boldly triumphing over hers in the most delightful of battles between a man and woman..…

But that was not to be. Michael had resisted, staying out of reach, winning, in this one case, the battle she had fought to bring him to her bed. The lovely brunette smiled suddenly, and let out a short laugh. Michael may have won their previous skirmishes, but SHE had won the war. Now she would have everything she wanted, everything she had wanted her whole life, and nothing would stop her. She had beaten them all, all who would have stood in her way-Paul, Nikita, Michael, and Elena. She had defeated them totally.

Madeleine laughed again, relaxing further into her chair, thinking of her vanquished enemies. As for Paul, he was too dense to know that she was no longer on his side. He would go on seeing her as an ally, not an opponent, a game Madeleine knew she could play with him indefinitely.

Nikita, after this episode, would see her as an ally as well. The blonde had been so terribly grateful when Madeleine had told her earlier in her office that the sample would be immediately given to Dr. Green, and that the treatment for Adam’s illness would proceed as quickly as possible.

Madeline laughed once more. There was no illness, of course. Adam was healthy as a horse, as rowdy and vibrant and full of energy as any five-year-old little boy should be. "Dr. Green", like Adam’s illness, was also a fabrication, a digital fantasy created to play on all of Michael’s fears, and Nikita’s hopes. Elena was still alone, still in mourning, but with her son beside her, alive and well.

Madeleine could find no pity for her in her heart- After all, Elena already had been given everything that Madeleine had ever wanted- Michael, and Michael’s son, she thought begrudgingly. Madeleine burned with too much jealously for her to feel any sorrow at the other woman's loss.

And then there was Michael. Madeleine wondered that she had felt so little jealousy last night toward Nikita, the woman who had possessed Michael’s body, and his emotions as well. Madeleine knew the two of them would be closer from now on, but this thought brought only satisfaction. Michael would perform better, now that he was getting past his grief, and Nikita seemed to be able to keep him sharp, focused, and on track. And to keep him alive. Also, the connection between them made both of them easier to manipulate.

Yes, she thought, it was as she had always said, sometimes a relationship between two operatives was a not a bad thing.

Madeleine smiled and then set aside her tea cup. It was irrelevant now what Michael did, or who he loved. She had what she needed from him, at last.

With a satisfied sigh, she read again the report on her monitor that the Section geneticist on Level 8 had given her just hours earlier. Apparently, the fertilization had been successful, and the embryo was already growing and developing in a warm Petri dish in the lab several floors below. Madeleine’s egg, taken from her a few months ago and frozen, had readily accepted the hot, fresh sperm that Michael’s encounter with Nikita had provided. Madeleine need no longer pine over Adam—she now had a child of her own.

Michael’s child, and hers. A child she knew would have the dark eyes, and softly curling hair, and sweet smile that she had always envisioned as perfection- this would be the child that she had dreamed about, the image she had lusted for all her life, since she was eight year old, and had first glimpsed the beautiful face, the replica modeled in porcelain, that she knew was one day destined to be real, a real child all her own, no one else’s…

And definitely NOT her sister Sarah’s…

Calmly, Madeleine unlocked a hidden compartment in her desk and took out the treasure concealed there, the one thing she truly loved. The doll was over thirty years old, but looked brand new, because of how carefully it had been cared for. Except for the small dent in the scalp of the toy’s brown hair, there was no indication that the doll had received rough handling, and had been thrown, now so long ago, down a long flight of stairs…

Gently, very gently, Madeleine cradled the relic from her childhood in her arms, settling back in her chair, and began to rock the substitute baby. The doll smiled up at her, as if happy to see her, and to be in the familiar, decades old embrace.

"Shh," Madeline soothed the child, who of course hadn’t made a sound. "You know I wouldn’t let any one else have you, would I?" She rocked on, smoothing the doll’s blue sailor suit, a boy doll with soft brown eyes, like her own. "You’re mine, aren’t you?" she cooed, and then cuddled the dead plastic thing to her breast. "You’ll always be mine….."

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