This one is for Cynaera. I dedicate it to her for all the support and encouragement she has given me, as a writer, and as a human being. She's lifted me up more than once when I was down, and I hope this story lifts her up a little in return.

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

On a soft November night, the wind rustled through the slumbering trees, gentle as a whisper. There was no moon, no light, no movement at all, just the deep peace of dark woods, and the flutter of leaves resting under great oaks that slept dreamlessly through the winter. In the darkness, more rustling, but this time, it was not the wind, or the trees, or the leaves, that made the soft sounds. It was a company of ghosts….

"Team Two, report," whispered one ghost, the company’s leader, straining to see further into the darkness through his night vision gear with his keen green eyes.. He was dressed all in black, his face hooded, his body bristling with weapon’s of death- guns, knives, explosives. The trees that sheltered him on the wooded hillside were a hindrance now to his view of the target below, a terrorist compound where the family of a sensitively placed General, who had the ear of the President, was being held hostage. The group, Gray Dawn, had kidnapped General Alton Dudley’s only daughter, Ann, and her four-year-old child, Aaron, and were threatening to kill them if the General did not use his influence with the President to steer military plans their way, i.e., to stop the new programs the President had instigated against terrorism.

Section orders had come from the highest levels- from Oversight itself. Their mission was simple. Retrieve the hostages, take out Gray Dawn. Failure was not an option.

A disembodied ghostly voice reported back through the leader’s com-unit. "Perimeter is now clear, Sir," Atkins, the Team Two leader told him. "We’ve taken out all the guards…"

The ghostly leader sighed. "Good," said Michael, and turned his head to address the team of ghosts behind him. One of them was a tall blonde, who watched him carefully with her intense blue eyes. Michael’s expression softened a little as he looked at her, although she could not see his face change in the darkness.

"Nikita and I will take point," he told his troops in a hoarse whisper. "We’ll go in first, and assess the situation. When I give the signal, all teams will advance into the compound…." The leader let out another small, almost imperceptible sigh. His mouth hardened into a grim line. "Take no prisoners," he ordered harshly. "They’re all collateral, except for the General’s family, understand?"

The black-clad teams of deadly ghosts nodded. "Got it," responded Jenkins, an electronics expert. He patted a black box at his side and gave Michael a confident grin. "Just let me know when you want me to knock the power out," he said eagerly, giving the device another fond caress. "I can’t wait to try this baby out…."

Michael smiled in spite of himself. Jenkins’ enthusiasm reminded him too much of Walter, Section’s resident weapon’s expert, who, well into his sixties, was still child-like in his enjoyment of new gadgets.

"I’ll let you know," Michael acknowledged dryly, then his wry smile faded as the seriousness of the mission hit him once more. Once again, he was responsible for the lives of innocents, this time the most innocent of all, a child.

He tensed, remembering Adam, his back going rigid. He flinched with the sudden flood of pain that stabbed through him at the memory of his child’s sweet love, and the agony of knowing he would never see him again, never feel Adam’s sweet love again. Michael turned abruptly to Nikita, and glared at her, his voice coming out more harshly than he intended.

"Let’s go," he barked, waving her toward the compound with a swift, almost angry, gesture.

Nikita nodded, unoffended by his hard tone. The blue eyes softened in understanding, seeing more than he knew. "Right, Michael," she said softly. And with that, the two ghosts, both of them haunted by the past, slipped silently through the dark woods and into the night.

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

Grimly, Nikita followed Michael through the stark line of trees that surrounded Gray Dawn’s compound, which consisted of several dilapidated army barrack buildings and Quonset huts, huddled together in a dingy hodge-podge arrangement at odd angles to each other. The buildings, which had once been white, but were now colorless with peeling paint, were connected by a maze of gravel paths, overgrown with grass and weeds. Scruffy, shrunken pine trees, almost black-green, cowered in clumps here and there against the buildings, as if hunched against the cold. Gray Dawn had not picked this abandoned military training camp as their base because of its cheerful ambience, Nikita thought wryly. She found the atmosphere surrounding the place somehow compellingly oppressive and unsettling, as if there were real ghosts here, other than the ones from Section One.

She shivered, and picked up her pace a little, so that she was closer to Michael’s side. He paused in his scramble down the hillside, and turned to look at her.

"Yes?" he asked tensely, all his senses going on alert. "What is it, Nikita?"

Michael had become accustomed, without even thinking about it, to rely on Nikita’s intuition on missions. Although he would not have put it quite that way, her "sixth sense" and ability to pick up "bad vibes", to sense something was wrong, had saved his life, and that of his teammates, more than once during the past three years that she had been by his side. Now he turned to her automatically to be the extra "radar" he needed, unconsciously trusting her sensibilities and her instincts, almost as much, if not more, than his own.

To his inquiry, Nikita gave a small shrug of her shoulders and a slight shake of the head. "It’s nothing, Michael," she said with a wistful half-smile. "This place just gives me the creeps, that’s all."

He nodded, and she saw his shoulders relax, even as his eyes narrowed sharply as he turned back to look at the compound. He let out a sigh. "If it scares you, just think what that little boy must be feeling right now," he whispered back, his lower lip trembling.

Nikita’s eyes widened in shocked surprise. Seldom did Michael mention feelings, his own, or those of others, especially those involved in missions as innocent targets. When he was in mission-mode, being a machine for Section, he couldn’t afford the luxury of empathy, sorrow, or pity. He split himself in two, then shutting down all emotional aspects of himself, all his humanity and tenderness, to focus solely on the task at hand. There was no other way to do his job and stay sane.

But now Michael seemed to be doing both- being emotional, AND leading a mission. Nikita realized with a jolt that the General’s grandson, little four year old Aaron, had had the effect on Michael that she had feared- the child, so like his own son, Adam, had ripped open Michael’s newly healed wounds, and had brought back a wave of grief that Michael was now struggling hard to control.

Nikita closed her eyes for a moment and once again cursed the person responsible for Michael’s pain. *Damn him,* she thought angrily to herself. *Damn Operations…* From the moment the briefing had started yesterday morning, Nikita knew how difficult it was going to be for Michael. Difficult- maybe impossible- for him to split himself in two this time. Michael had sat stoically through the briefing, watching images of a smiling child and his mother on the screen. The General’s daughter, Ann, a recent widow, and little Aaron, were too much like his own family- Elena and Adam- for it not to effect him. As Operations droned on about plans of attack to retrieve the kidnapped mother and son, Nikita had sat next to Michael at the briefing table, and watched as he grew paler and paler as each moment passed. She had felt him tense rigidly in his chair, and when she had impulsively slipped her hand into his underneath the table, she found that his fingers were stiff, and ice-cold.

"Oversight is breathing down our necks over this one," Operations complained, tossing the remote for the holographic screen on the table. "Let’s see if we can pull this off without a blood bath.." He paused, fixing his icy blue glare on Michael. "Are you getting this, Michael?" he demanded sharply, in acid tones.

Michael flinched, then nodded. "Yes," he said tightly, his voice rough with the effort to choke out the words. "I have to save a mother and child…" he choked out bitterly. The hand he had draped across the table top trembled visibly.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence as all present at the briefing table watched Michael closely, knowing he was barely able to keep himself under control. Green eyes locked with pale blue, and Operations almost flinched at the hatred he saw there in the emerald depths.

But then the older man had licked his lips and smiled. "Yes, I see you ARE finally getting it, Michael," he sneered gleefully, enjoying twisting the knife, his words reminding Michael that in order to save his own family, to keep them safe, Michael had been forced to give them up. Elena and Adam, if they had continued to live with Michael, if they had remained part of his world, would have been targeted by terrorists just as Aaron and Ann had been. It would have been inevitable. Sooner or later, one way or another, being with Michael would have destroyed them.

Operations was enjoying hammering home that fact. "General Dudley wants his daughter and grandson back," he said scathingly. "Don’t disappoint him." The light that flared in the cold blue eyes was as sharp as shards of ice.

Michael glared back for a moment, then blinked first, lowering his eyes in defeat. Trembling, he rose from his chair and without a word, staggered away, numb with pain and grief. The briefing broke up, the operatives scattering, grateful to be free of this tense scene. Nikita, however, stood her ground. A few moments later, it was only her and Operations, locking eyes across the table.

"Are you TRYING to destroy him?" she demanded, placing her hands on her hips in a stance of blatant challenge. "Is that what you want from Michael?"

Operations stared back, his back stiffening. An expression of annoyance crossed his face. He did not like his orders to be questioned, and he particularly did not like it when it was Nikita doing the questioning. He glared at her for a long moment, and then relaxed, realizing he had the upper hand, after all. The pair of dogs he controlled were just straining at the leash a little, that’s all.

Operations smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "No," he answered, the cold eyes gleaming merrily. "I just want him to do the job," he told her in an amused tone. He had allowed the two operatives a reward- a week or so, unbothered, for Michael to lick his wounds, and for Nikita to comfort him. Now it was time for a test, to see if Michael was still able to function as before, before his family was ripped away from him.

"Really?" responded Nikita with a disgusted look. "Is that all you want?" she sneered back. She knew there was more on her boss’s agenda than just getting the job done. The older man seemed determined to arrange things to cause Michael as much emotional pain as possible. Simone’s death, Nikita’s scheduled cancellation, and now the separation from Adam, his precious child. Was there no end to it, Nikita wondered?

Operations leaned forward, and pressed his palms to the table. His eyes glittered dangerously. "Michael knows what he must do," he said very quietly, jerking the leash. "If you know what’s good for you, you’ll do the same."

The two stared at each other a moment more, Nikita unshaken by this implied threat. His words of warning had only made her angrier. A returning dangerous light flared in her blue eyes. "Fine," she said in a sharp voice, her tone giving her words a different meaning other than one of subservient obedience. She spat out the rest of the sentence in an unabashed challenge, a gauntlet thrown down. "I’ll do that."

She smiled then, letting Operations know she would unsubmissively follow the path of her own choosing, not his. She would protect all the innocents involved here- the hostages, AND Michael. Then she had turned on her heel and left, leaving Operations the one who was unsettled.

But that has been yesterday morning. Now, in the dark woods, facing this hard challenge straight on, Nikita was no longer so blithe and confident about the outcome. For the hostages, or for Michael. But she was determined to give both sets of victims their chance.

"We’ll get him out, Michael," Nikita vowed solemnly, putting her hand on Michael’s arm. Her eyes shone with stern conviction. "The little one, and his mother."

Michael smiled at her, a slight smile, but his eyes beamed with immense gratitude; he was so glad she was there. He let out another long breath, then rose from his crouched position among the trees.

"Let’s go," he ordered her again, this time with a renewed confidence and trust. And together, side by side, the two partners slipped further into the night.

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

"Jenkins, stand by," Michael ordered through his com link.

He and Nikita were now inside the perimeter of the compound, where all remained quiet. The Gray Dawn members inside the ugly buildings were not yet aware that the security guards outside had been taken out. Michael moved forward stealthily toward the largest building, a square, two story barracks built in ugly cinder-block. Their intel from Birkoff indicated that this was where the hostages were being kept, in a room on the north side. Cautiously, Michael moved closer, Nikita right by his side.

The eager electronics expert responded immediately. "Ready when you are, Team Leader," Jenkins’s voice said breathlessly in Michael’s ear-piece.

Michael located the door closest to where the hostages were imprisoned, and placed a small circular dot of C-4 on the rusty metal lock. Then he stepped back around the corner of the building, shoving Nikita behind him.

"Jenkins, NOW!" he barked, and then two things happened at once. The lights went out all over the compound, and at the same time the doors blew open with a soft bang. In an instant, rifles at the ready, Nikita and Michael had rushed inside the building.

Their night vision goggles helped them see their way in the total blackness, through the maze of dingy hallways. They could hear the sound of shouted warnings and running feet, as the terrorists reacted to the sudden power outage, searching for the cause of the assault. Michael knew that he and Nikita had little time to locate and retrieve the hostages before their presence in the compound was discovered. But this was the safest way. A small team had more chance of succeeding in getting the hostages out alive, more so than a full out armed invasion by the Section troops. To go in with guns blazing would have meant certain death to the General’s family.

Michael grimaced, as he turned a corner, and ran face to face into a guard running down the hallway with , as luck would have it, one of the hostages in tow. The General’s daughter, Ann, a slender blonde with wide dark eyes, was struggling in her captor’s grip, screaming in anguish. "My Baby!" she yelled. "Please! My Baby!!"

The guard, who was handling her roughly, pushing her in front of him down the hall, barely had time to register the fact of the intruders’ presence before Michael shot him expertly between the eyes with his silenced pistol. The man jerked once, and then dropped where he stood. Ann screamed again as the guard’s body slumped next to her, and then screamed once more as the two black-clad figures rushed toward her.

"We got you now, it’s okay.." Nikita shushed her, taking a firm grip on the woman’s arm, while Michael did the same with the other.

The hostage struggled, terrified. "No!" she cried out. "No!"

Michael paused to soothe her, even as he and Nikita hustled her between them to the exit. "We’re not going to hurt you," he whispered urgently. "We’re going to get you out of here…"

The prisoner was not soothed, but struggled even more. "No! I can’t leave my baby!" she yelled, digging in her heels and straining to go back the way they had come.

The teammates paused, their eyes meeting over Ann’s head in silent communication. "You take her," Michael ordered Nikita. "I’ll retrieve the child."

Nikita wanted to protest this command, feeling her unexplained feeling of dread again, but only sighed and nodded grimly. "Okay," she acknowledged, reluctantly. She didn’t like the idea of leaving Michael alone, but knew she had little choice. Her eyes locked with Michael’s, conveying her concern.

Michael nodded back, then lowered his eyes to meet the frantic gaze of the distraught mother. "Where do they have him?" he demanded intensely.

Ann let out a sob, her struggles abating as she realized these two were here to rescue her and her child, not harm them. "In there…." She breathed hoarsely, pointing shakily to a room a little ways down the hall, across from the one where she herself had been kept.

Michael nodded again, and then shoved Ann toward Nikita. "Go," he ordered, rushing down the hallway. He didn’t look back, trusting Nikita to get one hostage safely out to the awaiting teams, while he took care of retrieving the other. His ears registered the sound of the women’s hasty retreat, but it only peripherally impacted on his senses. All his concentration now, his whole being, was focused on only one thing- saving a little boy.

Silently, he slid down the hall and then pressed his ear to the locked door that Ann had indicated as being the entrance to her child’s prison. Michael’s heart broke anew as he heard the boy’s terrified whimpering.

"Mama!" Aaron sobbed from behind the door. "Mama!"

Frowning grimly, Michael stepped back, and raised his gun. In an instant, he had shot off the lock and flung the door open, peering into the room.

Aaron, small and blonde, like his mother, with her dark eyes, stood trembling in the center of the room, mouth open, frozen in shock. Michael knew he presented a terrifying figure, all in black, with his gun, and his mask, and the night-vision goggles that made him look like some monster from a science fiction movie. He rushed forward to snatch the child from his prison, but before he did, he took a moment to speak gently, as he would to his own little boy.

It was a mistake he would later regret bitterly.

"It’s all right, Mon Petit," Michael whispered softly, his voice full of tenderness. "I’m going to take you to your Mama, okay?"

The child nodded solemnly, and then broke out into a huge smile, his fear suddenly gone. "You’re Robo-Cop!" he crowed gleefully, his tears evaporating in a giggle of child-like wonder and delight. "Aren’t you?"

In spite of himself, Michael smiled. "Yes," he agreed softly, indulging the child’s fantasy. He held out his hand. "Let’s go…"

Aaron toddled toward him eagerly, rushing into Michael’s outstretched arms. But it was too late.

A group of guards rushed down the hallway, and burst into the room, weapons drawn. One of the terrorists, the first to enter and see Michael, raised his gun and opened fire.

Michael had no time to think, no time to plan, no time to escape. Instinctively, like a tigress protecting her cub, Michael shoved the boy to the ground out of the line of fire and then threw himself on top of him, sheltering the child’s body under his. For one brief instant, he felt the tender pleasure of holding a child in his arms again, then he jerked with pain as the bullets impacted his Kevlar vest, one of them grazing the top of his right hip, ripping through the lean flesh.

Terrified, the boy sobbed and clutched Michael closer, burrowing his head into the shelter of his protector’s strong shoulder, whimpering in fear.

Michael let out a harsh groan pulled the child closer to his chest and then struggled to stay conscious long enough to bark one last order into his com unit. "Abort attack," he choked out hoarsely. "Hostage is still inside the compound…" he moaned out in a rushed, anguished whisper. The pain of knowing he had failed to rescue this innocent child was almost as great as the pain he felt from his wounds.

Looking up through eyes almost blinded with pain and grief, Michael saw the Gray Dawn men surrounding him, reaching down to pull him off of the precious hostage he sheltered in his embrace. "Don’t….." Michael protested with a weak moan, agonized. The world was fading rapidly as the pain overtook him, and though he fought heroically to stay conscious, it was a losing battle. The last thing he experienced before the world faded into blackness was, once more, having a child ripped from his arms…..

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

For a long time there was nothing. Only blackness, velvet, sweet, and deep. Then, gradually, as if from far away, Michael became aware of separate, discreet sensations that coalesced out of the sameness of the Void, jarring the smooth, sweet velvet darkness with jolts of noise and jagged pain.

A voice, faraway. And, dimly, an ache from deep inside his body, growing larger, and larger…. At the same time the voice grew louder, louder…. He struggled to hold onto the darkness, but the sensations could not be ignored….

He moaned in protest, as all at once, his whole awareness consisted of an unrelenting, throbbing pain screaming in his side, and a harsh voice, equally as painful, screaming in his ear.

"Wake up!" the voice yelled insistently. "Wake up!"

Michael bit back another moan and opened his eyes. The harsh glare of lights stabbed him, and he let his lids flutter closed again, but not before he had glimpsed enough of his surroundings to orient himself somewhat to harsh reality.

He was in one of the grubby barracks rooms in the Grey Dawn compound, its walls painted a sickening green. Surrounding him were several terrorist soldiers, armed and angry. Michael knew he was tied to a chair, hands bound behind his back. He knew he was weaponless, his mask and vest removed, leaving him only in a black t-shirt and mission pants, the right side of both stained with blood, the source of the unrelenting pain.

And more painful than that, he realized that there was now no child sheltered in his arms… No child…..

"Adam…" Michael sobbed, disoriented, and then jerked totally awake, his eyes opening fully, meeting the intense gaze of his inquisitor. They were soft brown eyes, set in a full round face lined with age and topped with a shock of white hair. A white scar ran in a jagged line down one otherwise tanned brown cheek. The full lips curled now in amusement.

"That’s better," the man said in a tone of happy satisfaction. "You’re awake. Now we can have a little talk."

Michael blinked hard, and then shook his head, biting his lip to stop another moan of pain. "Not.. talking to.. you.." he gasped out defiantly, and then lifted his chin to glare at his captor.

The man only laughed. "Tough, aren’t you?" he chuckled, shaking his head. He settled in a chair across from Michael’s and then sobered, looking solemnly into his captive’s green eyes.

"It doesn’t matter how tough you are," the man said softly. "Or how brave. Or how much you want to protect your teammates, or the child…" He nodded sagely. "You’ll talk in the end…."

Michael blanched at the mention of the boy, and squirmed in his chair, straining against the ropes. "The little one!" he gasped angrily, lunging against his bonds. "What did you do with him?" he begged in alarm. "What did you do with him, you Bastard?!"

The inquisitor remained silent, regarding his prisoner for a long, thoughtful moment, the brown eyes still solemn. Michael glared back, the pause stretching tensely out into minutes as the two men held a battle of wills with their eyes.

At last the Gray Dawn leader let out a sigh, and dropped his gaze. His eyes flickered up to his men, standing behind Michael. "Leave us," the leader barked at the soldiers.

The guards shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind them. Michael was alone with the terrorist kidnapper, helpless, completely at his mercy.

The older man stood, and went to a beat-up metal cabinet set in the wall, and began rummaging through it, gathering items in his arms. "The man who shot at you and the boy is dead," the terrorist commented over his shoulder in a conversational tone. "Any soldier stupid enough to endanger our last remaining hostage doesn’t deserve to live," he went on calmly. He flashed Michael a brief smile. "Don’t worry," he soothed, turning back to select a few more items from the cabinet. "Little Aaron is fine."

He closed the cabinet and brought his supplies toward Michael, dumping them on a near-by table. Michael blinked, confused. What he expected to be implements of torture retrieved from the cabinet turned out to be innocuous medical supplies.

Michael cringed back as his captor came closer. "What are you doing?" he gasped , shifting in his chair, restless with pain. The terrorist only smiled again and bent his knees to crouch beside his prisoner. Still smiling, he reached for the hem of Michael’s T-shirt, pulling it up away from the wound. He nodded appraisingly at the jagged gash in Michael’s side, and then reached for his supplies, and began cleaning the ravaged flesh.

"The bullet only grazed you," the terrorist reported softly, swabbing the gash with a cloth moistened in alcohol. Michael hissed in a breath as the disinfectant stung him painfully. He squirmed in his chair, pain vying with amazement at his captor’s gentleness for which shocked him the most.

"Easy," the older man soothed, still working diligently on the injury. "Hold still…."

He paused to peel back the waistband of the clinging mission pants down over the injured hip, and then resumed his ministrations. Michael, still stunned at this treatment, obediently did what his captor asked, holding still as the older man expertly applied a bandage to the wound and then tugged the shirt and pants back over the injury, patting the clothes back into place.

"That should hold you for a while," his captor said with satisfaction, standing straight and wiping his hands down his camouflage- covered thighs.

Michael stared up at him in amazement. "Why are you helping me?" he grunted in confusion.

His captor settled back into his own chair and regarded Michael in amusement. He tilted his head and smiled. His response shocked Michael more than anything that the man had done so far.

"Because you’re going to help me," the terrorist answered brightly.

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

Michael stared at his captor, stunned. "What do you mean, I’M going to help YOU?" He pressed his mouth into a grim line, and gave the terrorist a cold glare, his green eyes glittering dangerously. "I’m not co-operating with you, you Bastard…"

The kidnapper of women and children only laughed, and then shook his head. "Maybe I should rephrase that," he said in a friendly tone, leaning forward in his chair. The brown eyes twinkled merrily. "You, My Boy, are not going to help me so much as you are going to BE of help to me…"

Michael scowled at him, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "How?" he demanded. "How would I be of help to you?"

His captor smiled wider. "Because you’re from Section One, of course."

Michael flinched, jerking his head up to meet the amused brown eyes. He remained silent, inwardly appalled that this terrorist would have this information.

The older man laughed. "Come, it was not that hard to figure out," he went on, spreading his arms wide. "I am only a humble worker for the Cause of Liberation, but even I, Jonathan Stavros, am aware of the capitalist oppressors’ most aggressive and ruthless organization of control…."

Stavros stood up and walked toward Michael, putting his hand lightly on his prisoner’s shoulder. He smiled down into Michael’s face. "Of course, the United States government would send Section One in to retrieve General Dudley’s family," he continued in his self-satisfied tone. "It was really a blessing in disguise, that you were only HALF successful in achieving your objective…."

His captor laughed again. "It really worked out well. Yes, we may have lost one hostage, but we now have another…." Stavros said, cupping Michael’s chin in his hand and tilting his prisoner’s face up to look at him, "… even more valuable than the first…."

Stavros smiled into the angry green eyes. "You," he said gleefully.

Michael glared at his tormentor, jerking his head away. "Valuable, how?" he spat out bitterly. "To Section I’m just expendable material…" Michael grimaced, realizing how true this was. Section had never valued him as a human being, had never honored him with their regard. He was just an object to be used. If they really thought of him as having any worth at all, they never would have taken his child from him, so cruelly…

Stavros laughed and settled back into his chair. "You underestimate yourself, My Boy," he chuckled, his eyes roaming over Michael appraisingly. "Retrieving General Dudley’s family would be a delicate assignment for Section One. They would send in only their best…"

He tilted his head, and then nodded toward Michael. "Their best, meaning YOU…" he said, pointing his finger at Michael’s chest.

The prisoner lifted his chin defiantly, but said nothing. Stavros went on."I’m not wrong, am I?" the terrorist taunted. "You are highly placed, well trained, a leader…" Stavros eyed him thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "I suspect they might be willing to bargain for you, too, as well as for the little boy…."

"You’re wrong," Michael answered grimly. His mouth twisted in a bitter grimace as he recognized the irony of this terrorist enemy having more respect for him than his own bosses did. He knew full well that if it came down to it, that Operations would not negotiate for his life, but would be more likely to write him off as acceptable collateral.

Stavros laughed delightedly again. "We’ll see," he said happily, then stood from his chair. "I’m not worried that your people will try anything rash, as long as we have you…." he told him confidently, "…. AND the boy," Stavros added smugly.

Michael, his heart sinking, slumped down in his chair, and turned his head away. "I want to see him," he begged roughly, knowing it was probably useless, but knowing he had to try, anyway.

"I want to see how the child is," Michael demanded, turning back to glare at his captor once more.

Stavros nodded at him approvingly. "Always thinking of the mission," he commented with a smile. "I like that." His captor shrugged. "Very well, then, if you wish," he agreed serenely.

To Michael’s astonishment, Stavros then flung open the door to the room, and motioned to the guards outside in the hall to come in. Two burly armed men in camouflage gear entered, flanking the prisoner.

"Take him to the cell with the boy," he ordered the men gruffly. "Let him join our other guest."

The guards nodded and hauled Michael to his feet, then hustled him roughly to the door.

Stavros stood aside to let them pass. Before they took Michael away, prisoner gave captor one last look. "Thank you," Michael whispered softly, acknowledging this last act of mercy.

Stavros shrugged, and waved the men away. "Think nothing of it," he said graciously, then smiled again as his prize prisoner was dragged down the hallway.

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

Ann Dudley Harrington huddled in her blanket at the Section base camp, shivering with cold. She felt even colder when she listened in on the conversation of the operatives around her, discussing how to retrieve her son and the mission leader who had promised to get him out, but was now imprisoned himself in the terrorist compound. Besides being cold, she was tired, frightened, and hurting. Her heart hurt from missing her child, her arms ached from emptiness. "Aaron…" she whispered over and over to herself, like a mantra, like a prayer. "Aaron…"

The tall blonde who had rescued her, a woman who Ann thought looked more like someone who should have had a career in modeling rather than being a storm trooper in a covert anti-terrorist army, was grimly barking orders and asking questions of a disembodied voice named Birkoff through her small ear-piece communication device.

"Birkoff, do you have a location yet?" Nikita demanded anxiously, pacing agitatedly in front of the men surrounding her. Ann noted numbly that the blonde woman was the defacto leader of these troops, now that the other one, called Michael, was captured. In the back of her mind, though her head was clouded with fear, Ann registered the respect that the men gave her, and felt a surge of confidence that perhaps this nightmare ordeal would end all right, and she would soon have her son back in her arms.

She shuddered violently and fought the urge to cry. Since her husband, Andrew, a police officer, had been killed a year ago, shot in the line of duty, Ann’s whole life revolved around her son, Aaron. He was her hope, her heart, her soul. If anything happened to him, she didn’t know how she would be able to go on. *They might as well kill me, too* she thought to herself, then shook her head, struggling to banish thoughts of failure. She was, after all, a General’s daughter. Her father had taught her to be braver than that.

Shaking her head as if to clear away her sense of dread, Ann resumed listening to the blonde leader’s conversation.

"Okay," Nikita told the men around her, her shoulders relaxing some of their tension. "Birkoff activated Michael’s clock tracker, and we know he is alive," she announced, "and he’s being held… HERE……" Nikita pointed to a spot on a small map on her PDA screen that showed a schematic of the compound.

Ann straightened, and came forward, the men respectfully parting ranks to allow her access to the circle. Huddled in her blanket, small and frail-looking, disheveled and tear-stained, she nevertheless was a figure of immense dignity. "Do you know where they have my son?" she asked quietly, in a voice tremulous with hope.

Nikita’s eyes softened as she looked at the distraught mother. "We’re not sure," she told Ann gently. "But Michael is being held in the same room where you were kept, and we can only hope that Aaron is there as well."

Ann blanched, and bit her lower lip. "You… hope?" she choked out. "But you don’t know if he’s there, do you?"

There was a tense silence for a long moment, and then one of the operatives standing next to Ann spoke out. It was Jenkins, the technical expert. "Your child is valuable to them," he told her softly. "Even more valuable, now that you’re free." He nodded slowly and went on in a diffident tone. "I’m sure he’s still all right, and being treated carefully." Jenkins licked his lips. "Besides," he added earnestly, "If Michael’s there with him, he won’t let anything happen to him."

Ann nodded gratefully, but still frowned in worry. She turned her warm brown eyes back to Nikita. "But shots were fired," she protested anxiously, her voice choking on a sob. "We all heard them. How do we know m-my son wasn’t.. wasn’t…" she stopped, unable to say the words.

Nikita rushed to Ann’s side, and put her hand on the other woman’s shoulder, gripping it hard. "He’s not dead," she declared firmly, looking into Ann’s frightened brown eyes with her sympathetic blue ones. "He just can’t be."

The women’s gazes held, and then Ann nodded slowly, and let out a heavy sigh. "All right," She agreed softly, acquiescing to Nikita’s bold assurance. "What are you going to do?"

Nikita heaved a sigh of her own, deciding to tell Ann the truth. "Standard procedure says to negotiate first, stall for time, but I believe that option is out," she explained grimly. "We have no time. We have to get them out. NOW."

She sighed again and looked around at the men, then back at the terrified mother. "It won’t be easy. We’ve lost the element of surprise, and we know they’ve reinforced all the entrance points again in their compound. They’ll be waiting for us."

Nikita tapped her finger on her PDA and continued grimly. "From this schematic, there’s no way in but the one door, HERE." She swallowed hard and faced Ann again, steeling herself to tell her the hard truth. "We can create some diversions, but when it comes down to it, we have no other choice but to make a full frontal attack…"

Ann let out a high- pitched cry of agony. "Nooo!" she sobbed, more terrified than ever. "No!" Blindly, she struck out at Nikita, snatching the PDA from her hand, and waving it wildly over her head. "My husband got killed that way!" Ann yelled. "Trying to be a hero in a losing battle!"

The operatives stared at her, as she suddenly subsided into harsh sobs, clutching the PDA to her chest, and bowing her head over it as she cried out her grief. "He thought he had no other options, either," she choked out hoarsely. Ann raised her head and met the eyes of the silent operatives encircling her. "Can’t you see?" she begged the troops anxiously. "What you’re proposing is suicide! I won’t let YOU throw your lives away," she told them gruffly. "I won’t stand by and watch you die, and my son with you…" Ann let out another sob, and looked at Nikita pleadingly.

"You can’t do this!" she cried. "There must be some other way!"

Nikita closed her eyes, and then rubbed her hand across her brow. She let out a shaky breath. "There is no other way," she stated softly, holding out her hand for the PDA. "Ann, we have to TRY."

The smaller woman pressed her trembling lips together, and stared at Nikita with tear-filled eyes. She let out a sob, and then bowed her head in defeat. "All right…" she agreed reluctantly, her voice quivering. Slowly, she held out the small device to the blonde team leader, glancing at the PDA screen for the first time.

Ann froze in shock. She snatched the device back from Nikita’s hand and peered at the schematic display in disbelief. "WAIT!" Ann shouted in her growing excitement. "I know this place!"

Nikita blinked, and then stared hard at the hostage. "What do you mean?" she gasped. "What do you mean, you KNOW it?"

Ann’s face lit up with hope, and then an incredibly radiant smile. To the Section troops’ shock, the hostage began to laugh. "I didn’t realize it when I was in there, but this is Fort Swanson, isn’t it?"

Nikita nodded, still puzzled. "That’s right," she acknowledged warily. "It was an old army base that was closed years ago," she told her. "It’s been abandoned for decades….."

Ann’s smile stayed bright. "Twenty years ago, in fact." She let out a reminiscent sigh. "My father was head of this post back then- we were stationed here when I was a little girl."

Ann tapped the PDA screen, indicating the main gray Dawn compound building, where her son was imprisoned. "My friends and I used to play here, with our dolls…"

Jenkins watched her uncomfortably, his eyes full of pity. "That’s nice, Ma’am, but your stroll down memory lane doesn’t help us," the electronics expert told her gently. "We’re wasting time. Why don’t you let me take you back to the van, and then let our teams continue with the mission…"

Ann stared at him wide-eyed, and then shook her head. To the teams’ astonishment, she laughed again. "No, I’m not going anywhere!" she insisted, moving closer to Nikita, and looking up eagerly into the tall blonde’s face. "I’m going to lead you in!"

Nikita’s mouth twisted piteously. "Ann, please.." she begged. "Just let us do our jobs….."

Jenkins moved in then, taking Ann by the arm. "Come with me, Ma’am…." He said sorrowfully, pulling her away from Nikita.

Ann jerked away from him, and began yelling. "No! You don’t get it!" she insisted angrily, her eyes riveted on Nikita’s. "You don’t understand! I TOLD you! I can lead you in!" Her brown eyes flared with anger and frustration, but they were also alive with hope. "Through the tunnels!" she added.

Everyone froze. Then Nikita broke out into a wide smile. "Tunnels?" she said eagerly, feeling hope replace the unrelenting dread in her heart. She snatched up the PDA. "Show me…"

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

The guards marched Michael a short distance down the dingy hallway, and shoved him roughly into a room, and then locked the door behind him. Michael staggered forward a few steps, and then stopped, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

"Aaron?" he called out softly, peering around the dim prison. "Aaron, are you there?"

A soft whimper answered him from the far corner of the room. "Uh huh," the child answered, his voice choked with tears. "I’m here…"

Michael saw him then, a small shadow huddled on a dingy mattress on the floor. The child was pressed as far as he could go up against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, his brown eyes wide with fear. "I’m afraid of the dark…" the boy confessed, sniffing loudly. "I want my Mommy…"

Michael felt his heart constrict in his chest with pity. The boy was so young, so innocent. He didn’t deserve this…

He stepped closer, not wanting to frighten the little one further. "It’s okay, Mon Petit," he soothed gently. "I’ll stay with you until we can get you to your Mama, okay?" He took another hesitating step closer. "Do you remember me?"

Aaron nodded, and then scrambled up on his knees on the mattress. His fear fading now that he was not alone, his voice again held a childish eagerness. "Sure," he told Michael breathlessly. "You’re Robocop!" The boy let out an awed giggle. "I saw the bullets bounce off of you when you jumped in front of me…" the child nodded, bobbing his up and down enthusiastically. "That was waaay cool…."

Michael smiled, and then winced as the wound in his side twinged painfully. "I’ll tell you a secret," he said, his mouth twisting ironically. "I’m not bullet-proof," the hero confessed. "Just my vest…."

Weakly, he staggered forward, and then collapsed to his knees beside the child on the mattress. He was feeling very dizzy, almost faint. "Aaron…" he groaned softly, as the world spun around him. "Do you think you could untie me?"

The boy paused for a moment, and Michael wondered if he had alarmed the child further with his request. But then a second later, Aaron scrambled closer, and Michael felt the touch of the boy’s small hands on the ropes that bound his wrists behind his back. The child began plucking at the bonds eagerly. "I’ll help you, RoboCop!" Aaron gushed, proud to be able to help.

"Thank you," Michael said weakly, his head slumping forward on his chest. "And you can call me Michael, okay?" he whispered gently, rejecting the RoboCop title the child had dubbed him with. He didn’t feel much like an invincible hero just then.

"Okay, Michael," the child agreed, continuing to work on the stiff knots of rope, tugging furiously. To Michael’s relief, and astonishment, a few moments later he felt his bonds loosen and give way, as Aaron pulled the ropes free from his wrists.

"Oh, GOOD boy.." Michael praised him with a gasp. He pulled his newly freed arms forward to wrap around himself, and bent double as an new wave of pain from his side hit him. Through his fingers, Michael felt the wet stickiness on the bandage and knew he was bleeding again. "Ohh…" he moaned, and collapsed forward onto the make-shift bed, writhing in pain.

The boy crawled closer, and put a soft warm hand on his hero’s shoulder. "Are you okay, Michael?" he asked tensely.

Michael let out another gasp. "I’m fine," he grunted hoarsely, struggling for breath.

The child wisely ignored this lie. He patted Michael’s hair. "There, there," he soothed, unconsciously imitating his mother’s calm voice. "I’ll take care of you, okay?"

Michael felt the warm tears spring to his eyes. "Okay…" he choked out, moved by the child’s tenderness, and the wrenching stab of pain in his heart as he felt the keen loss of his own child’s affection. He fell over onto his back on the grubby mattress. "Thank you, Little One.." he groaned.

Aaron smiled, and wriggled closer. He patted Michael’s arm again. "A nap will make you feel better," the wise child advised in a solemn tone. "Why don’t you just close your eyes, and I’ll tell you a story, okay?"

"Yes," Michael agreed obediently. He would have laughed at the four year old’s stern tone, if he had had the strength, but he didn’t. Michael closed his eyes, and let out a sigh. He was already unconscious before the tale started.

"Once upon a time," the boy began, re-telling his favorite story that his Mama told to him every night, "I had a Daddy that loved me, very, very much…"

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

The Section operatives gathered closer around the small blonde hostage, listening raptly. Nikita leaned over Ann’s shoulder, eyes riveted on the PDA in the other woman’s hand. Hope, light and sweet, stirred in her breast, replacing the heavy sense of doom that had been oppressing her since the mission began.

Nikita had been willing to lead her teams into almost certain death in order to rescue the kidnapped child, and to save Michael. Nikita sighed. She would have done anything for Michael, she acknowledged to herself. Even die for him. The hope in her heart fluttered again.

With Ann’s intel, she thought with a smile, maybe no one would have to die….

"Where are the tunnels?" Nikita demanded sharply, feeling the press of time. Now that there was a way to get inside the compound, she was anxious to start. The men on her teams pressed closer- they were all anxious, too, their faces betraying the tension they felt, having to wait helplessly by until the battle began…

Ann trailed her finger in a line down the electronic map, slowly outlining the underground paths. "They start here," the child’s mother told them, pointing to the building where Michael and Aaron were being held, "And they end over…. there…" She pointed at another spot on the map, much farther from the first.

Jenkins craned his neck to see the PDA, and then let out a crow of surprise. "Jesus, the damn tunnel goes all the way under the compound, and ends outside the perimeter!" His eyes lit up in delight, and he looked up at Nikita, the team leader. "That means we can access the building without encountering any resistance from Gray Dawn’s guards…" he said with a grin.

Nikita smiled back, but cautiously, not wanting to get her hopes up too high. She turned to address Ann again. "How do we know the tunnel is clear, and hasn’t collapsed, or become blocked, since you were last there?" she said softly. "Twenty years is a long time…"

To Nikita’s relief, her cautious words had no dampening effect at all on the young mother. Ann just shook her head, and smiled. "It’s not a problem. The tunnels were built during the height of the Cold War," she explained eagerly. "Everyone was totally paranoid about World War Three starting any minute…"

She tapped the small screen on the PDA once more. "The tunnels were built as a way to get the officers off the base, and into an underground bunker when the Big One started…"

"Holy shit!" Jenkins swore loudly, then began to laugh. "The tunnels lead to a BOMB shelter?"

Ann nodded, returning the operative’s infectious grin. "That’s right," she agreed with a smile. "The tunnels were built of reinforced concrete and lead shielding, several feet thick, the same configuration as the bunker itself…"

Ann’s gaze flickered around the assembled operatives, finally settling on Nikita’s face again. "They were designed to hold up under a full-out nuclear attack," she said in a tone of wry amusement. "Twenty years of dust shouldn’t be a problem."

Relieved laughter rippled through the crowd, the men feeling pleased and excited at this good news.

Nikita grinned, and allowed herself to laugh with the others. "Mrs. Harrington," she addressed Ann formally, but with total sincerity, "I think I could kiss you.."

Ann smiled at this quip, and then sobered, glancing around at the assembled troops, all there to save her son. Grateful tears started in her eyes. "When I get my Aaron back in my arms, I’ll kiss all of you…." She promised in a tear-choked whisper.

The men gazed back at the brave heroine for a long, poignant moment, feeling the warm appreciation and caring she radiated toward them, the feeling entirely mutual. The seasoned operatives were not accustomed to such warmth, and were moved by it. They did their job, day in, day out, protecting the innocents, and no one in the outside public even knew of their existence. This woman’s gratitude and acknowledgement of their sacrifices touched them to the core, effecting each one in a deep way.

Nikita, basking in Ann's warm regard, like the others on her team, felt pride, felt.. valued. She even felt -almost- glad to be part of Section One. Her life had meaning, after all.

The startling moment of healing could not last, however. The sympathetic silence was broken by the eager Jenkins again.

"Woo hoo!!" he shouted. "What are we waiting for?" he crowed happily. "Let’s go get them!"

Nikita smiled her agreement, and mustered her troops, giving the order. "Yes, let’s go," she commanded, and slipped her arm through Ann’s. Together, the teams following behind the brave women, they started through the woods, to save a small boy and a teammate, heroes all.

*Hold on, Michael, My Love* Nikita whispered in her mind to her soul-mate, her hero, her friend, as her heart soared high with new hope. *Hold on….*

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

Unaware of the pending rescue attempt by his comrades, Michael stirred on the filthy mattress in his cold prison, feeling entirely, miserably alone, bereft in his grief. In the darkness, as he came awake, he had been disoriented by the feel of a small, warm body snuggled up against his, breathing softly. For a brief, piercingly joyous moment, Michael had thought he was back in his old house again, and that his son, Adam, was nestled between himself and Elena in their bed, as the boy often was after having a nightmare. He smiled; he had always cherished those sweet moments, had savored the feel of that perfect, warm weight of sleeping child against his chest, had adored the sensation of Adam’s small, but brave, heart beating against his……

He sighed, basking in the return of such perfect ecstasy…. Then the illusion shattered, destroying the brief moment of peace, the rest from his pain…

Michael had reached up his arms to pull the child closer, and was stabbed with the doubly vicious agony of both his emotional and physical wounds. His side screamed in protest at this movement, the wound ripping open again, and at the same time, his heart tore in two once more as he realized he could never hold Adam this way again, as he held Aaron now. His family, his child, was gone from him. He would never feel this simple joy again, never hold his son…

The agony was too great to be kept inside. Michael keened out his sorrow, sobbing bitterly. "Adam…." He moaned in anguish. "Adam…" The pain in his heart sliced even deeper than the physical wound in his side, wrenching his soul with cruel despair…

"Daddy?" the high childish voice murmured in the darkness against Michael’s shoulder.

"Daddy…." Aaron breathed out on a satisfied sigh, stirring in Michael’s arms and nestling closer.

Michael froze for a moment, stunned. His head whirled, the pain of his loss at once magnified and eased by being addressed this way, as "Daddy", what Adam had always called him. He had never thought he would hear that word again…

But why was Aaron calling him that? Michael wondered. The child had been without a father for a year, since he was three, a mere baby. How could this little boy remember his father at all?

Not wanting to wake the little one, who seemed so content to be where he was, sheltered in Michael’s embrace, and perhaps wanting to hold on to the fantasy of having his own son in his arms, Michael delved deeper into the illusion.

"Shhh," he whispered against the child’s hair, stroking his hand reassuringly down Aaron’s small back with the gentlest of caresses. "Daddy’s right here…"

Aaron stirred, and cuddled closer still. Two little hands strayed upward and wrapped themselves around Michael’s neck. "Mmm," the child mumbled dreamily, half asleep. "Daddy, I miss you…" Aaron murmured.

Michael froze again, and let out an involuntary gasp. His arms tightened around the small body nestled against his heart. "I miss you, too.." he choked out, the words coming as a heartfelt cry deep from his soul. "God, how I miss you…"

Aaron sighed, and, eyes closed, went on with his drowsy murmurings. "Mama says you’re always here with me," the child mused dreamily. "That you’re always watching over me…"

Michael stiffened, and let out a gasp, understanding. It was Ann, he realized, who had kept the memory of the child’s father alive for him. It was Ann who had helped the boy remember the fatherly love he had lost, just like Adam had lost him…..

Or had he? Michael wondered, his mind whirling in confusion, infused with sudden hope. Was Aaron really without his father’s love? Was Adam? Didn’t these orphaned children’s knowledge that they had been cherished and cared for count for something? Didn’t the memories, the caring, the LOVE, mean something? Even now, when parent and child were so far apart, cut off from each other….

Michael pressed his lips to the child’s sweet forehead, and kissed him gently. He let his fingers tangle in the boy’s silky textured hair at the nape of his neck, and felt the gentle, insistent pulse of life there…

Alive. Aaron was alive, just like his precious Adam was. And just as alive as that, the memory of Aaron’s father lived on as well, burning like a fierce flame in the child’s huge heart, keeping him strong…

Michael shuddered suddenly as a epiphany of knowledge burst through his mind, scattering his grief, dissolving it, melting the hard lump of pain in his heart…. He saw it all clearly now. Everything made sense.

Adam would remember him, too. Adam, like Aaron, would carry his father’s love in his soul, in his heart. A love so strong, so vast and pure, that it could never be diminished, no matter how long they were separated, no matter how far apart. The distance between them, whether it was a distance of miles, or of space, or even the distance of death, didn’t matter. Spirit was like that, Michael realized. Just like Love, it was eternal and …Alive. He would always be with Adam, always, and Adam would be with him…

Michael hugged Aaron close, and then felt himself laugh, a laugh of pure astonishment and….. joy. He realized something else, as well. A truth so simple, so basic, so OBVIOUS, that he didn’t know how he could not have seen it for the past fourteen years. The reality of this sweet truth surged through him, like a jolt of electricity, the blinding shock of it so real he was no longer able to deny it…

"*I* am alive, too….." Michael whispered to himself, awed by this truth. He had a spirit, a soul, a living heart. He loved, and was loved in return.

"I’m not a ghost, after all," Michael said out loud, with a soft laugh of joy. "I’m not a ghost…."

The little one sighed in his arms. "I know, Daddy," the child said wisely, settling his head comfortably under Michael’s chin, just before the two fell asleep, heart to heart. "I know…"

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

Ann, every inch the General’s daughter, led the way through the woods. It had been a long time since she had been there, since she had played on these hills with her friends, and had explored the tunnels below them. But the memories were still fresh in her mind; her feet led her unerringly to the small entrance, down the path through the woods that she had traversed thousands of times before, as an eager nine year old.

She was even more eager than that now, anxious, not to play with dolls this time, but to have her own living child in her arms once more. Fear and hope made her impatient, and she ran the rest of the way, her feet flying over the leaves on the frozen ground. "This way!" she cried, and took off, uncaring if the Section troops were left behind her.

They weren’t. Nikita and the teams she had brought with her kept up, following just a few paces behind. They, too, felt the urgency of the young mother’s fear, and flanked the General’s daughter protectively as they ran on.

At last, Ann stopped, coming to an abrupt halt under a small clump of trees. "Here.." she gasped out, pointing downward.

Nikita peered closely at the frozen ground, at first not seeing it. Then she let out a gasp as the wind fluttered through the dry leaves, revealing the whiteness of poured concrete, and the blackness of a jagged circular opening, just big enough for a man to pass through.

Ann looked up to meet Nikita’s eyes, her own shining brightly. She paused a moment to catch her breath, then explained in a soft voice, "The bunker and the tunnel were supposed to be military secrets…" she began, still panting hard from her run down the hill. "But my friends and I found this opening, when we were exploring the woods one day…"

Jenkins, the ever-curious one, squatted by the rough gap in the concrete, getting a closer look. "Looks like this used to be an air-vent to the outside, " he mused, poking his hand into the opening.

Ann nodded. "There was a bad storm a few days before my friends and I found it," she told the electronics expert. "We played in these woods all the time, and never saw the opening, til then…" She shook her head, remembering. "My friend Kathy almost fell down the hole that day, and that’s when we went exploring…."

Taking a deep breath, Ann plopped on the ground near the gap and shimmied on her rear until her feet were dangling over the edge of the opening. "C’mon!" she urged the others, and then, before Nikita could stop her, she disappeared from sight, with a little jump, slipping into the blackness.

"Ann, no!" Nikita called out to her, but it was too late. The hostage had already vanished into the tunnel below. Sighing with exasperation, Nikita handed her rifle with a shove to the nearest operative standing by, and then imitated Ann’s movements, sat on the ground, and followed her into the hole.

Feeling a little like Alice in Wonderland, Nikita was astonished t find herself in a whole other world. A ladder under the opening helped her descend, and she saw that she was not in cramped darkness as she had expected to be, but in a spacious, well lit area, with smooth concrete walls, and a high ceiling. Fluorescent lights burned in the ceiling, no doubt from the bunkers’ own generator, still functioning after all these years. Except for the dust, and a few cobwebs, the access tunnel was totally wide-open and clear.

Ann was standing there, grinning at her. "See, it’s fine, like I told you," the eager mother said. She gestured toward a direction where the passageway curved out of sight "Let’s GO!" she urged the blonde leader.

Nikita grinned back, and then pulled Ann to the side of the wall by her arm. "Stay here!" she ordered her gruffly, then clambered back up the ladder to inform the troops it was safe to move in.

Minutes later, the tunnel was full of heavily armed men, all, like Nikita had before, staring with astonishment at the unexpectedly spacious surroundings.

"This hall is as wide as the one in Section," one of the men commented with a laugh.

Jenkins nodded his agreement, and gave Ann a wink. "I bet you little girls could have played basket ball games in here," he quipped.

Ann laughed out loud. "We did!" she assured him.

Nikita called them to order. "Teams Four and Five," she directed, pointing to four men in the back of the crowd, "You stay here to guard the exit point…." The blue eyes swiveled to rest on four others. "Hawkins, your team, and Murray’s, will co-ordinate back-up."

The men nodded, acknowledging her orders.

Nikita jerked her head toward the end of the tunnel. "The rest of you are with me," she barked. "Let’s move!"

Like a well-oiled machine, the troops fell into formation, following the leader they trusted as much as they trusted Michael. Ann trusted them, as well- all of them. With tears in her eyes, she rushed headlong down the tunnel, at the leader’s side, knowing instinctively that her child’s welfare meant as much to these brave operatives as it did to her.

Ann chanted her prayer to herself as they ran on. "Aaron, hold on, My Darling," she whispered, her heart surging with hope and fear, her arms aching to hold her son again. "Mommy’s here…"

Nikita’s prayer was no different. "We’re coming, My Love," she thought fervently to herself, aching to hold Michael again, to see him safe in the company of his comrades once more. "Michael, My Love, hold on…."

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

The Gray Dawn leader, Jonathan Stavros, leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. He had just had a fine meal served to him, along with a bottle of good wine, and was feeling very pleased with himself. The meal had been in way of celebration of what he had considered to be a very successful day. His Cause had triumphed over their enemies, sending them scattering like frightened dogs with their tails between their legs.

Stavros laughed out loud, remembering. After the failed rescue attempt by Section to retrieve the hostages - another success on Gray Dawn’s part, Stavros noted gleefully, because they had captured the rescue team’s leader- there had been no further trouble from them. In fact, Stavros’ look-outs had reported that the Section troops had all retreated back from whence they came. There was no sign of them on the hills anymore.

Gray Dawn had won.

Stavros laughed to himself again and took another sip of wine. The alcohol warmed his belly, and he sank into a happy reverie, imagining the glories to come. Although the child’s mother had escaped, the fact that Gray Dawn still held General Dudley’s only grandchild was a triumph indeed. The General would no doubt do exactly what they asked, or the child would suffer the consequences.

A small frown creased the terrorist’s brow. Of course, he mused, there was always the slight chance that the General would refuse to co-operate with their demands, but it was not likely. Stavros was loath to have to do anything to harm the child, and hoped it would not come to that. The worst he planned to do with the boy was keep him sequestered from his family for a long time. If the General co-operated, which seemed likely at this point, Stavros fully intended to honor his word and release the boy unharmed.

After all, he was a soldier for his Cause. And soldiers were nothing without their honor.

Stavros sighed, and set down his glass. These thoughts of honor, and honorable soldiers, led him to ponder about the brave, young Section leader, who was now imprisoned along with the younger hostage. This one, thought Stavros, had his honor, too. He had risked his life to save the small boy, a child he didn’t even know, because, Stavros supposed, he had been ordered to do so. But somehow, the Gray Dawn leader thought Michael’s devotion to duty went beyond that. This one was truly dedicated. Even when wounded, and while being interrogated, the Section soldier had not thought of himself, but of the boy. Stavros had had his men check on the prisoners, and they had reported that both man and child were asleep, the boy cradled in the soldier’s arms.

Stavros laughed again, and shook his head. Yes, even a child could see that that one could be trusted. He pursed his lips together thoughtfully, feeling a pang of regret. Unlike the boy, whose government would no doubt negotiate for him, Section would no doubt refuse to bargain for Michael’s life. He would be written off as just another casualty.

Stavros frowned. It was a shame, a damned shame, he thought to himself. Such a waste. He sighed again. Michael would be cast off by his organization, and Stavros would be forced to torture him for his information, and then dispose of him. He doubted seriously that the young man would consider the alternative, that of joining forces with Gray Dawn, but that outcome was extremely unlikely, from what Stavros had noted of Michael’s sense of loyalty and duty.

A pity. A real pity. Stavros liked the young soldier, admired him. It would be nice to have him in his organization, but Michael could probably not be persuaded to change sides at this point in the game. Unless….

Stavros sat up straight in his chair, a smile spreading slowly across his face. Perhaps there was a way to win Michael to their side after all. Stavros laughed, and jumped up from his seat, as the plan to secure Michael’s services for Gray Dawn coalesced in his mind.

It was so simple, really. Michael’s weak point was the same one as General Dudley’s was.

The tactic to control the General could be used to control Michael as well.

The boy. Both would do anything to save the boy.

Stavros smiled, a sense of excitement building in his chest. All he had to do was threaten to harm the child, and Michael would fall into line, predictable as clock-work. This would be easy. And the beautiful thing was that it would all be bluffing on Stavros’ part. The Gray Dawn terrorist had no intention of killing the goose that laid the golden eggs. Th goose, in this case, being a small four-year-old boy.

But Michael wouldn’t know that.

The terrorist rushed to the door, and flung it wide, shouting an order to the guards in the hallway outside. "Bring the prisoners to me! NOW!" he commanded. Another sly smile crossed his face, and he rubbed his hands together in anticipatory delight.

"Both of them," he added, and then laughed out loud.

************ In the tunnel below the Gray Dawn compound, the Section teams came to a halt behind the slender blonde hostage who led them. Ann motioned with her hand to a thick, metal access door on the right, set into a recessed alcove off of the long, concrete hallway they had been traversing for the last twenty minutes.

"There," she said firmly, pointing to the exit. "That’s the door that leads to the building where the officers’ headquarters used to be…"

Nikita nodded, and gave the young mother a grim smile. "It leads to Gray Dawn headquarters now," she commented tightly. "We should be right under the room where the.. hostages are being kept…"

Ann bit her lip and nodded solemnly in return. "It leads to the basement, actually, just below there…" She stepped forward and pulled open the heavy door, which, except for a creak of its hinges, swung open easily for her. Ann headed inside. "I’ll show you…" she began.

Before she had gone two steps, Jenkins gripped her arm and pulled her back. "I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ma’am," he said firmly.

Ann’s brown eyes widened, and she looked from the man who held her to his leader, Nikita. "But I need to show you…" she protested.

Nikita interrupted her. "No," she ordered sternly. "You’ve led us as far as you can. Now it’s our turn.." Nikita fixed her with a firm gaze. "You have to stay here.."

Ann stared into the sincere, but hard, blue eyes and then opened her mouth to protest this order, then closed it again. She let out a sigh. "But, my baby…" she whispered, anguished, hanging her head. "My baby needs me……"

Nikita’s eyes softened, and she took Ann’s arm from Jenkins grip, then patted the distraught mother on the shoulder. "You baby needs you to be ALIVE," she told Ann gently. "Your baby needs you to be here waiting for him when we bring him back, okay?"

Ann lifted her face to meet Nikita’s eyes again, her own filled with tears. "Okay," she choked out roughly, he lower lip trembling as she gave in to this request. "I’ll be here.."

Nikita looked into the brave woman’s face and impulsively hugged her hard to her chest. "Good," she said, voice choking with emotion as well, as she thumped Ann reassuringly on the back. "We’ll bring him back to you, I promise…" she vowed sincerely.

The women broke apart, and Ann smiled tremulously. "I know you will," she said softly, giving Nikita and her troops encouragement in return. The boy’s mother nodded to the soldiers, meeting their eyes with a gaze full of hope, and a deep trust. "I know all of you will…"

There was a full, and deep moment of silence then, as the teams acknowledged this tribute, registering the full weight of their burden to fulfill this promise. Somehow, all felt strengthened by the hostage’s warm, solemn gaze.

Silently, the men lined up in front of the door, waiting for their leader’s signal. The next moment it came. Nikita gave Ann one last nod of respect and encouragement, and then ducked through the door, motioning for her troops to follow.

Wordlessly, the men filed past, each one meeting the soft, compassionately grateful gaze of the General’s daughter as they went by.

When they had gone, Ann slumped to her knees on the cold concrete floor. "May God be with you," she prayed for her child’s rescuers, the brave soldiers who would save her son’s life. "Please, may God be with you...."

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

Michael flinched violently awake as the door to his cell was yanked roughly open by Stavros’ guards. He raised his head to see two armed men standing ominously silhouetted in the glaring light from the hallway. One remained outside in the corridor, while the other stalked inside, walking up to the edge of the mattress on the floor, where their prisoner lay with a small child nestled in his arms.

The guard kicked the edge of the mattress roughly with the toe of his boot. "Get up," he ordered in a gruff voice.

The child jerked awake then at the sound, lifting his head up to look at the guard looming threateningly over him. Aaron let out a frightened whimper, and immediately buried his head again into Michael’s shoulder, clinging to him desperately.

The guard impatiently repeated his order. "I SAID, GET UP!" he barked out angrily.

Michael glared angrily back, and struggled to do as he was told. With the weight of Aaron on his chest, and the pain of his freshly opened wound, following the guard’s order proved difficult. The pain in his side made every movement sheer agony. After a few moments of struggling, when he had managed to get to his knees, with the child still cradled in his arms, the guard lost patience, and jerked Michael roughly up by the arm the rest of the way to his feet.

Michael let out a sharp cry of pain, and staggered in the guard’s grip, swaying on his feet. He clutched Aaron even more tightly to his chest, struggling for balance. The boy trembled in his arms, and began softly crying against Michael’s neck.

The guard glared at Michael in disgust. "Can you walk?" he demanded roughly.

Michael took a ragged breath and then nodded. "Yes," he answered, uncertain whether this was the truth or not. He felt weak and faint, unsure whether his knees would hold him. But the feel of Aaron’s warmth nestled against his heart gave him strength to try.

The guard released him, and Michael swayed again without this rough support. Determinedly, he found his balance once more and forced himself forward, walking unsteadily toward the door, the guard marching behind him.

Aaron clung closer as Michael carried him out into the harsh glare of the hallway. "I’m scared, Michael…" the child wailed piteously, watching with wide frightened eyes as they were flanked by the other armed guard waiting for them in the corridor.

This new guard, like his partner, gave them an impatient glare. "Shut up," he ordered rudely.

Michael tried to soothe the boy as best he could. His hand again stroked the child’s trembling back. "Shhh," he whispered in Aaron’s ear. "I won’t let them hurt you…" he assured the child, holding him tighter.

The first guard snickered loudly in amusement. "Oh, yeah, RIGHT," he taunted, rolling his eyes as they walked on. "We’ll hurt him if we want to, and there’s nothing you can do to stop us…" the guard bullied with a sneer.

Aaron wailed louder, wriggling frantically. "No!" he screamed, squirming closer into Michael’s arms. "No! Michael! Help me! MI-CHAEL!" he sobbed brokenly.

Michael halted in his tracks at this threat to the child, his eyes glittering dangerously. He fixed the guard with his unrelenting glare. "If you touch him, I’ll kill you," he vowed sternly in a soft voice. It was not a threat, but a solemn promise.

The guard swallowed hard, and hesitated. The look in Michael’s eyes stopped him in his tracks. He was about to make a rude retort, but the words died on his lips. This prisoner- disheveled, unarmed, weak, bleeding- was yet incredibly intimidating. Formidably so. He had absolutely no doubt that this man would do exactly what he said.

"Uh, yeah sure, whatever…" the guard stammered, bluffing in feigned casualness, but inwardly shaken. He resumed their stroll down the hallway, anxious to be rid of this duty, and deliver his prisoners to Stavros as ordered.

Michael gave the guard one last cold glare in warning, and then followed. Aaron sniffed loudly once, and then stopped crying, relaxing in complete trust in Michael’s embrace. His hands stole upwards once more, and he hugged Michael’s neck. He heaved a great sigh.

Michael brushed the hair back from the child’s forehead as they walked on, and looked down into the sweet, four-year-old face. "You okay?" he asked softly, forcing himself to smile.

Aaron smiled back, his grin lighting Michael’s heart. "Yeah, OKAY!" he confirmed brightly, and hugged Michael’s neck again.

A second later, the guards halted. They had reached the terrorist leader’s office.

"How touching," Stavros said from the open door frame, delighted to see this bond between operative and child. He smiled at them in genuine glee.

Everything was going just as he planned, Stavros thought smugly to himself. Everything was just perfect…

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

"Come in," Stavros invited eagerly, stepping back to allow Michael passage into the room.

The prisoner eyed his captor thoughtfully for a moment, and then walked forward into the office to stand solemnly in front of him, still carrying the child in his arms. Aaron looked up at the Gray Dawn leader, recognizing him from before.

"I know you," said the child, in perfect honesty, his small nose wrinkling in distaste. "You’re a bad man," he stated baldly.

Stavros laughed. "I’m sure to you, I am," the terrorist answered good -naturedly. "You’re too young to understand, little one," he went on, explaining in an amused tone, "But I only do what I have to do."

Aaron only stared at him in disgust, and then turned his head away. "You made my Mommy cry," he insisted in a stubborn voice. "You’re BAD…"

Offended at this insult to his leader, one of the guards stepped forward, reaching out his arms to take the child from the room. "I’ll get rid of the brat for you, Sir," he growled angrily.

Michael tensed as the guard approached, but before he could say anything himself, the terrorist leader said it for him.

"No, don’t touch him," Stavros ordered roughly. He waved the guards away. "Leave us," he barked curtly to his men.

Gratefully, the nervous guards backed out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Stavros met Michael’s eyes, watching him appraisingly. "I see you and the little one here have become quite close," he remarked slyly, with an equally sly smile.

Both prisoner and child glared at him, saying nothing, scathing him with their eyes.Stavros’s gaze wandered lower, to the splash of dark red wetness on Michael’s hip. "I see your wound has opened again," the terrorist commented sympathetically, clucking his tongue. "That must hurt…"

He walked a few steps toward the injured man. "I can re-dress it for you, if you want…"

Michael backed away, cradling the child closer in his arms, and then stood his ground. "No," he said softly, but with an undertone of steel. "I’m fine."

Stavros blinked, and then spread his hands wide, giving in. "As you wish, My Boy," he agreed with a smile, walking back to perch on the edge of his desk. He gestured toward a nearby chair. "Sit down, then," he offered politely. "Take a load off."

Michael gave him his best blank stare. "No," he answered once more, his eyes gleaming defiantly.

Stavros sighed. "My, my, you are the stubborn one, now, aren’t you?" he commented in mock weariness. "But no matter," he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "You’ll co-operate fully, soon enough…." He said with a smile.

Michael’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. He knew the Gray Dawn leader was up to something, and he was anxious to find out just what that something was. "What do you want from me?" he demanded tightly.

"I have a proposition for you, Michael," Stavros said bluntly. "In fact, I believe it will be an offer you can’t refuse."

The green eyes glittered angrily again. "I refuse," he stated quickly, equally as blunt. Stavros laughed. "Now, now, don’t be so hasty, Dear Boy," the older man protested in an amiable tone, knowing he had the upper hand. He watched with satisfaction how the child and operative clung together, as if each needed the other for strength and support. The bond between them was palpably clear. Stavros smiled. Controlling Michael was going to be easy.

"I believe you’ll find my proposition very appealing, especially when you consider the alternative…" Stavros went on in a sly tone. He laughed once more, eyeing the enemy operative in frank admiration.

"You’re a good soldier, Michael," Stavros began. "Cool under pressure, brave, intelligent….." He pointed his finger at Michael’s chest. "I could use a man like you in my organization…" He smiled wider. "I’d like you to come work for me," he invited cheerfully.

Michael’s eyes widened in astonishment. He couldn’t believe this terrorist honestly expected him to change sides merely by appealing to his vanity, because of a few flattering statements. Stavros must be insane.

"Work.. for you?" Michael gasped, still stunned.

The terrorist leader nodded his white head. "I wouldn’t waste your talents on grunt work, either," Stavros went on enthusiastically, warming to his subject. "You’d be given a position appropriate to your skills, as a leader, high up in the organization….."

Michael blinked. "You’re crazy," he stated baldly.

Aaron, who had been listening to the exchange in wide-eyed silence so far, chimed in. "Yeah!" he challenged brightly, echoing Michael’s comment and imitating Michael’s scornful glare. "You’re CRAZY!" the boy enthused. "And you’re BAD! You’re a CRAZY , BAD, BAD OLD MAN!" He yelled at the top of his lungs.

Michael was startled, and a little alarmed by this outburst. He didn’t want the child to draw the terrorist’s attention, and the possible negative consequences from it. He put his hand protectively on the back of Aaron’s neck, and drew the boy’s head down onto his shoulder. "Shhh," he cautioned the boy, kissing him softly on the cheek. "It’s okay," he soothed him. "Be still…"

Aaron did not resist Michael’s suggestion, but subsided into silence again, letting out a deep sigh, and rested his head against his hero’s strong shoulder. Then wearily, the child’s eyes fluttered closed, and Michael felt the small body relax against him in complete trust. A moment later, he realized that Aaron, as only children can do, had fallen fast asleep.

"How touching," Stavros commented from his perch on the edge of the desk. "I believe the boy likes you…"

The terrorist uncrossed his arms and rose to cross the room to Michael. The Section operative held his ground, but tensed, watching Stavros’s every move carefully as the older man came toward him. Stavros held Michael’s gaze in turn, studying his prisoner’s reaction when he reached his hand out to carefully stroke the sleeping child’s soft hair.

"It would be a pity if anything happened to him, wouldn’t it?" Stavros taunted softly.

Michael stiffened, stepped back, and drew the boy closer, giving Stavros a fierce glare of warning. "Don’t hurt him," he growled menacingly, radiating all the intensity of a lioness protecting her cub. And, like a lioness, Michael was tensed to spring with deadly force if Stavros threatened the boy again.

The old man smiled. He withdrew his hand and retreated back to the desk, his eyes twinkling merrily. "Well, now, Michael," he replied in a reasoning tone, tinged with amusement, "Whether I hurt him or not is entirely up to you."

Michael let out a sharp gasp, feeling himself shake inside. "WHAT?" he demanded in horror. "What do you mean by that?"

The terrorist laughed, and settled back on his desk, giving Michael another casual shrug of his shoulders. "Well, now, it’s simple, really," he told the prisoner smugly. "This is how it works. If you co-operate, do what I want, then the boy stays healthy…"

He gave Michael a sly look from under his lashes, and then shrugged his shoulders again. "But IF you don’t…." he said softly, and then smiled widely, leaving the rest of the threat unspoken.

Michael blanched, his head reeling. He found himself trembling with cold fear, shaken to the core, his knees weakening as the chills of dread shuddered through him. But then, just as quickly, his fear left him, and another shattering emotion took over, washing over him in irresistible waves. This time the shudders that shook him were not cold, but hot- Hot, blinding fury. It boiled up in him, unable to be contained, and erupted out of his throat in a cry of anguished rage.

"NO!" he screamed, voice rough with fury. "No!"

Aaron came abruptly awake at Michael’s shouts, jerking his head up off Michael’s shoulder and blinking in alarm. With a swift, but careful movement, Michael set the boy on his feet and then shoved the child behind him, taking a protective and challenging stance in front of him, and then stepped forward, still venting his rage.

"No!" he yelled again. "No more!"

The cry came from deep inside, a protest not just for Aaron, but for Adam as well. Stavros’ offer to him was horribly, agonizingly familiar. This was just how Section had manipulated him, controlled him for years, kept him in line. This was the very threat- implied, but chillingly clear- the safety of his child- that Operations had used to keep the enraged lioness within him on a tight leash. But now the years of seething resentment at being kept on a chain were erupting with volcanic force; Michael’s outrage could no longer be contained; he would no longer stand by and let his child- any child- be threatened. His chain had been yanked one time too many, and had now snapped. The lioness was about to break free.

Stavros saw the look in Michael’s eyes, saw the cornered animal break loose, and was terribly afraid. He cowered back from the enraged prisoner, and fumbled at the holster on his side, bringing up the gun in his trembling hand.

"BACK OFF!" Stavros screamed a warning. "Back off NOW, or I shoot!"

But Michael did not back off. He couldn’t. The instinct to protect his young ran too deep, the rage he felt could only be assuaged by shedding blood, destroying the threat to his cub. The lioness leapt, intent on savagely ripping out the throat of this enemy.

"I’LL KILL YOU!" Michael roared, and charged forward.

Stavros raised the gun and fired.

And then behind them, the small boy began to cry.

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

Nikita charged through the double doors of the tunnel, leading her troops behind her. She felt her lungs constrict, not with the physical effort of her exertions, but with a deep emotional pain. The area around her heart felt heavy, and tight, with unexpressed grief. Grief for herself, but mostly for Michael.

What Section had done to him was terrible beyond words. She could only imagine what it must have been like for him to know that he would never see his child again. And then, before that gaping wound had even had a few short weeks to heal, Operations had viciously rubbed salt into it by sending Michael on this mission, to save a fatherless child.

Nikita ran on, her boots pounding rhythmically against the cold, concrete floor. She picked up the pace, anxiety filling her. She was worried for the child, Aaron’s, safety, and also about Michael’s. Her teams were strong, they had the tactical advantage of surprise, and the will to complete their mission. The odds were in their favor of retrieving the hostage, and Michael, alive.

But Michael’s physical well being was not her only worry. There was the question of how much emotional damage may have been done. She asked herself again, how much more could Michael take? She knew he was a strong person, stronger than almost anyone she knew. But even strong people had their breaking points, and Michael had already reached his, when the Vacek mission was over.

His family had been ripped from him, and now he was here, taken prisoner by Gray Dawn, being forced to be present while another little boy, so like his own son Adam, was threatened.

Nikita tried not to think about it, but the dark thoughts would not leave her mind. What would happen to Michael, she wondered, if, God forbid, they were unable to rescue the four-year-old hostage? If Aaron was hurt, or killed? Could Michael survive such a loss? He would no doubt blame himself for the destruction of another young life. He could barely live with what had happened to Adam. How would he endure it if Aaron was hurt even more than his own son had been?

She shook her head, trying to dislodge her sense of doom from her mind, but again, the images came unbidden. She was usually not given to worrying ahead of time, and tried not to torment herself with "what ifs" before, during, or after missions. That way only led to tormented insanity. But she somehow could not fight the torment of the scenarios that came to her now.

What if, she agonized, the child was rescued, and returned to his mother unharmed? Even then, even in this best-case scenario, Michael would again suffer an emotional loss. Especially if it was true, as she suspected, and as their intel suggested, that Michael was imprisoned with the child, and was no doubt comforting him, protecting him, and getting… attached…

"Stop it," Nikita admonished herself sternly. "Focus. Focus on the mission, damn it.." she hissed to herself under her breath.

"You say something?" Jenkins inquired, jogging along beside her at her elbow.

Nikita startled, and looked into her teammate’s face. "No," she denied gruffly. "I didn’t say anything…"

Jenkins nodded, and gave her a swift smile. His eyes moved from his leader’s face back to the seemingly endless length of concrete corridor around them.

"There it is!" Jenkins exclaimed, coming to an abrupt halt, and pointing his finger at another recessed set of doors in the side of the hall. "That must be the way in!"

The teams halted behind them, waiting. Again, Nikita led the way, pushing the doors open cautiously while her troops covered her. The door swung back noiselessly on its hinges about a quarter of the way, and then stopped. Nikita pushed, but the door would not open further.

She stepped back with a frustrated sigh. "It’s blocked," she told the men tersely. She motioned two of the tallest and burliest operatives to come forward. "Sears, Garabaldi, see what you can do," she ordered. "I only want to use explosives if there is no other choice…"

The men nodded, and then, almost like a team of perfectly matched oxen, they put their shoulders to the door. After a brief minute of straining and shoving, the obstruction behind the door suddenly gave way, and the men pushed through. They were followed closely by Nikita, who slipped through the now spacious opening, into the room beyond.

To her delight, she found that they were just where they wanted to be. "This is it!" she hissed to Jenkins on the other side. "It’s the main headquarters building, all right, and this is the basement…"

Indeed, the dingy, cluttered, dank space was just like basements everywhere. She almost smiled when she realized that what had blocked their entrance to the door was a pile of heavy boxes containing junk and papers from decades ago. The rest of the subterranean space was just the same- full of useless waste that should have been thrown out long ago. By the look of the cobwebs everywhere, Nikita knew no one had been down here for years, least of anyone from Gray Dawn.

She turned back to give the order for the troops to file in behind her. "Form up," she told them tersely. "And stay quiet…."

The men swarmed through the opening and assembled with professional grace in the dingy area, silent as ghosts. Nikita nodded, wordlessly giving the order to move to the stairs that led up to the terrorists’ hide-out. At the base of the stairs, Nikita signaled with sign language which teams would go left, and which teams would go right, when they burst into the compound. Everyone knew what he must do. The troops, tensed and ready, waited for the final signal from their leader.

A second later, it came. Nikita took a deep breath, and gave the word. "GO!" she barked out, and then she turned and stormed up the stairs, her men right behind her.

The troops found themselves in another dingy hallway, this one not empty, but occupied by one Gray Dawn guard sleeping in a chair. Silently, one of the operatives took him out with a garrote around his neck. The guard slumped to the floor and then the Section troops moved on, spreading out in either direction as ordered. They progressed through the halls, taking out a soldier here, a soldier there, each time with expert quiet, without alarming the terrorists to their presence.

Stealthily, they moved on , encountering more and more resistance as they drew closer to the main area where Stavros was thought to be holding the prisoners. The opposition fell in their wake, all killed swiftly and silently. With grim, focused intent, Nikita, made her way to the destination she had been seeking- the hallway where she had left Michael hours before, and to the prison room where she hoped to find he was being kept.

Flanked closely by two of her men, and being covered by two others, Nikita located the door she sought and pushed it open, slipping inside. To her dismay, she found the room to be horribly, agonizingly empty. Wrenched with disappointment, Nikita sighed , and crept forward, eyes sweeping the room keenly, looking for any clue to where the hostages might have gone.

Her gaze stopped on the filthy mattress in the corner, and Nikita froze, her breath catching in her throat. A dark red stain in a freshly wet spreading circle marred the surface of the dingy bedding.

*Blood* Nikita realized with a heart-stopping jolt. *Oh, God, so much blood….*

"Michael…" she gasped softly, anguished. "Michael…"

She allowed herself to feel a moment of cold dread and despair before her anger took over. The sinking feeling in her belly was soon replaced with a fire for revenge. Her shapely mouth twisted in a grim line, and she whirled on her heel and stalked to the door, bent on finding the perpetrators of this sacrilege, the ones who had harmed her beloved Michael.

The men behind her parted in her wake, and she gave them each a furious glare, as she whispered her next order. "Whoever hurt them is MINE," she hissed, her blue eyes flashing. "Do you understand?"

The men nodded, indeed understanding Nikita’s rage. Together they moved to the door, and once again slipped into the hallway, continuing their stealthy penetration of the enemy’s camp. Nikita crept up on an unsuspecting Gray Dawn guard, lounging with his comrade outside a door in an inner hallway. She motioned for her teammates to take out one guard while she handled the other.

Swiftly, they pounced on their prey, the neck of one of the operatives’ targets cracking with a satisfying snap as Nikita’s troops took care that he never bothered anyone again. The remaining guard Nikita took care of herself, but in a different way. At this point she desperately needed not another dead guard, but information.

"Where are the prisoners?" she hissed into the quivering guard’s ear, as she pressed her silenced gun into his throat. "ANSWER ME!"

The man swallowed hard, and started to cry. He was the same bully who had terrorized a small child with his threats just a few minutes before. "Please don’t kill me.." he sniveled piteously.

Nikita uttered a grunt of disgust and shoved the gun harder against her captive’s throat. She stated her demand again. "WHERE?" she growled fiercely.

The guard raised his trembling hand and pointed at the door just a few yards beyond them down the hall. "In th-there…" he blubbered, sobbing. "They’re in there…"

Nikita smiled grimly and then honored the guard’s request not to be killed by pistol-whipping the man into unconsciousness. He fell with a satisfying thud to the floor, and then was immediately forgotten as Nikita focused all her energies on her goal- getting to the room where Aaron and Michael were being kept.

She signaled her men to follow, and, hands trembling, she readied her weapon and moved forward, positioning herself before the closed door, tensed to strike.

Before she could burst inside, she froze again, riveted to the spot by the screams coming from inside.

"I’LL KILL YOU!" she heard Michael’s anguished shout.

"Oh, God.." Nikita moaned, and flung herself at the door.

And then, a heart-beat later, the shot rang out.

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

"I’ll kill you!" Nikita heard Michael yell, then came the deafening blast…

Nikita bounded through the door a scant second after the gun was fired. She was just in time to see the grisly tableau in front of her, but not in time to stop it. Like a person watching a train wreck from the sidelines and being unable to do anything about it, Nikita saw what was about to happen, and could only watch in horror as the collision took place, this time not of trains, but of a bullet meeting flesh.

She watched in cold shock as Michael charged the armed terrorist, who, trembling with fright, had fired his gun into Michael’s chest. She saw Michael’s body jerk from the impact of the bullet, saw him crumple and drop where he stood at Stavros’ feet, and then lie very still.

Nikita felt her heart stop beating for a moment, felt her whole world collapse and rock on its axis, felt the earth stop turning as time stood still.

*Michael* Michael* Michael* Michael* Michael* she screamed over and over in her mind, for she had no breath to scream, or even to speak. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t see, she couldn’t think…

Behind her, Aaron whimpered softly, and then sobbed, then screamed. The child’s keening grief jolted her out of her frozen reverie, as time started up again for her once more. Nikita registered the fact that Stavros was still holding his weapon, and, with shaking hands and a terrified expression, was aiming the gun directly at her.

Instinctively, Nikita raised her own weapon and fired. Stavros clutched his heart where the bullet entered, then fell backward onto his desk, sprawling across it, very, very dead. The gun with which he had shot Michael slipped from his lifeless fingers and clattered to the floor.

Nikita found breath enough to speak then, found herself able to move. "Michael!" she choked out in an anguished cry, and rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside her lover’s still form. He was lying face down on the floor, and very gently, Nikita turned him over onto his back and then pulled him into her arms, cradling his head in her lap. He lay like a broken doll, limp and lifeless, in her grasp.

"Oh, God, Michael.." she moaned brokenly.

His eyes were closed, the beautiful face unnaturally pale, but what riveted her gaze was his body, covered in blood. Two large spreading circles of red blossomed on his torso, as the blood seeped from his wounds, one on his right hip, and the other…

Nikita gasped. The other wound was not through his heart, as she had thought. The circular stain of blood was from Michael’s shoulder….

"Michael!" she moaned again, this time in blinding relief. She pressed her hand against his chest and then sobbed with joy as she felt his heart beating under her fingers, and the soft rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled a quick, shallow, breath..

Shaking uncontrollably, her eyes filling with tears, Nikita bent her head and pressed a tender kiss to Michael’s forehead. She closed her eyes and let the sweet swell of relief rise up within her breast. "You’re going to be all right, Michael," she sobbed, holding him tight. Her voice broke on a laugh of pure elation. "You’re going to be all right…"

"Medical is on the way," said a soft voice behind her. Nikita, startled, looked up, registering the presence of one of her team-mates, Jenkins, for the first time. She had been so focused on Michael, that she hadn’t noticed that he had come into the room.

The electronics expert was holding the sobbing child in his arms, rocking him, and trying to soothe him. Nikita noted that the child was as pale as Michael, his eyes glassy with shock.

"Mommy.. Michael…" Aaron whimpered softly, alternately calling for the ones he needed the most. "Mommy! Mi-CHAEL! Mom-EEEE….." he wailed desperately.

*God* thought Nikita, shuddering. This scene- the shooting, the blood, the death- was horrifying enough for an adult, but for a little boy, a mere baby…

She did her best to reassure the child. Looking directly into his eyes, she smiled tremulously. "Michael’s going to be just fine," she promised him with as much sincerity as she could muster. "He’s going to be okay," she said brightly, and smiled wider. "And you know what? You’re going to be okay, too. This nice man there.." she said, nodding at Jenkins, "… is going to take you to see your Mommy right now, okay?"

Aaron gulped and suddenly stopped crying. He ceased his wriggling and looked at Jenkins through wide, tear-filled brown eyes. "M-Mommy?" he said uncertainly.

Jenkins beamed at the child, glad that they had at last found a way to ease the little boy’s distress. "Yeah, that’s right," he assured him, smiling. "We’re going to go see Mommy. I’ll take you to her, okay?"

And with that, Jenkins hoisted the child down from his hip, set him on his feet, and, took the child’s hand firmly in his, heading toward the door.

The child smiled tremulously, and toddled along side Jenkins, eager to accompany him. But at the threshold, Aaron threw a hesitant glance back at Michael, still lying unconscious in Nikita’s arms.

A conflicted look passed over the boy’s face, and then he suddenly crumpled into tears again. "Nooo!" he yelled, stretching his little arms toward the hero who had protected him. "I don’t want to leave Michael!" he cried piteously, straining to be free.

And then with one last furious tug, Aaron broke free from Jenkins’ grip, and ran across the room. Before either operative could do anything to stop him, the child threw himself on the wounded man, and buried his face in Michael’s neck. Nestling himself in the crook of Michael’s good arm, Aaron snuggled close, clutching his hero desperately, and sobbed out a heart-felt plea.

"Don’t die, Michael!" the child cried. "Don’t leave me!" The child begged, crying brokenly. "Don’t leave me like my Daddy did…"

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

Ann waited in the tunnel anxiously, huddling up to the doors to the basement of the terrorist compound as close as she could. She was determined to be there, right there, when Nikita and her teams brought her son back to her.

"Aaron.." she whispered to herself, and then stifled a sob. She lifted her chin, and then shook her head firmly. *No* she thought. *I won’t cry. I’ll be strong. Strong for Aaron…*

She took a shaky breath and pressed her ear to the door, straining to hear. There was only silence- the teams had gone in, they were doing their job- Silence was a good thing, she thought. Wasn’t it?

She licked her lips nervously , straining to hear again. All she sensed was the pounding of blood in her ears. After a few minutes of this, she could bear it no longer, and she stood up form her crouch, and began pacing the corridor. She had managed to distract herself from her nervous terror by thinking about what it would be like when she had her baby home again, the things they would do together, how happy his grandfather would be, when the shot rang out, followed quickly by another.

Ann flinched, and felt all the blood leave her face. "Oh, God…" she moaned. "Oh, God…"

She rushed toward the door, intending to rush through, to reach her child, but a hand on her shoulder pulled her back. She looked up, startled, to see one of the operatives on the back-up team looking down at her sympathetically. "You can’t go in there, Ma’am," he told her firmly.

Ann struggled, not thinking clearly. A part of her- her logical mind- knew it was foolish to rush in where bullets may be flying. She should just stay out of the teams’ way, and let the professionals deal with the terrorists. But Ann was not thinking with her rational mind, but with a mother’s heart.

"Let me go!" she sobbed in the operative’s grip. "Please!" she cried, "My baby’s in there!"

The man held her still, and then abruptly tilted his head up and to the side, as if listening to a voice Ann could not hear.

"Yessir. That’s confirmed…" he replied to the disembodied voice. "Yes. Standing by…" Another pause. "Right, on their way…."

Ann subsided from her struggles, watching the operative’s face wide-eyed. "What is it?" she asked breathlessly, putting her hand on the man’s arm. "What’s going on?"

The team member patted her hand and smiled down into her face. "It’s over," he said gently. "Your boy is safe…"

Ann swayed on her feet, almost faint with relief. She could no longer keep back the sweet release of tears, and began sobbing uncontrollably. "Oh.. God.. Oh.. Thank you…." She gasped out, and then let out a high laugh. She smiled at the man through her tears, and tugged on his arm, pulling him toward the door.

"Let’s go, then.." she said eagerly.

The operative shook his head, yanking her back. "No, Ma’am," he said in a regretful tone. "I’m instructed to wait her with you until Medical brings him down…"

Ann went white. "M-Medical?" she gasped, feeling her heart clench painfully inside her chest. "My baby.. no…."

The operative gripped her arm harder. "No, Ma’am, you don’t understand," he corrected her quickly. "Your child is fine. One of our operatives was wounded, though.."

Ann nodded, her breath coming back into her lungs. She was barely aware that she had stopped breathing for a moment. She blinked, and tried to focus. "Who?" she asked, worried again. She had come to care about the teams in the short time she had known them. Now one of them had been injured, wounded trying to save her Aaron..

She tensed, waiting for the operative’s answer.

"It’s Michael," the man answered softly.

Ann took in a sharp breath. "Michael…" she whispered huskily. Michael was the one who had pulled her from her prison, the one who had gone back for Aaron, the one who had been captured, the one who had stayed behind to protect her child…

Before she had a chance to ask any more questions, there was a commotion in the hallway behind her. She whirled to see a stretcher being carried along, surrounded by a group of weary operatives, one of them a tall blonde, carrying a small child, who was crying on her shoulder.

"AARON!" she screamed, and rushed forward. Nikita met the distraught mother with a wan smile, and placed the weeping youngster in his mother’s waiting arms. Ann held her baby to her bosom and hugged him tight, as if she would never let go. "Oh, God.. Baby.. oh. Aaron.." she sobbed into the child’s soft blonde hair.

"Mommy…" the boy whimpered. "Mommy, h-he shot M-Michael.." Aaron sobbed. "The bad man, he shot Michael…"

Ann hugged her child tighter, unsure to know how to soothe him, what to say to mitigate this horror. Her eyed flickered up to meet Nikita’s sorrowful gaze, the tall blonde also in tears.

"I don’t want Michael to die like Daddy did…" the child wailed.

Ann gasped, realizing that her son had witnessed a scene not unlike the one in which the boy’s own father had been killed, when a hostage situation had gone wrong, and Andrew, a dedicated police officer, had sacrificed himself to save innocent lives. Solemnly, she looked at Nikita again, and then at the man on the stretcher, who was being carried by her at that moment. Michael’s face was ghostly white, his eyes closed, he was lying so still…

"Is he…?" she asked, choking on the words. "Is he bad?"

Nikita shook her head. "He’ll be fine," she assured the hostage, comforting herself as much as she comforted Ann by saying those words. "The bullet went through his shoulder. He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’ll be okay."

"The bad man was going to hurt me…" Aaron said hoarsely, still crying. "Michael wouldn’t let him…."

"The bad man is dead now, Honey," Nikita soothed the child. "He won’t hurt anyone anymore.."

Aaron nodded, but kept crying. "I want to see Michael…" he sobbed, distressed that the stretcher had gone by, and his hero was now out of reach.

Ann kissed the boy’s cheek. "Of course you can see him, Darling," Ann assured him gently. "We’ll go visit him in the hospital, and you can see that’s he’s okay, all right?"

Nikita frowned and shook her head. "I’m sorry, Ann, but that won’t be possible," she told her softly. "Michael will be taken back to Section, to the Medlab there…" She gave mother and child a sorrowful look. "You can’t see him again. Section won’t allow it."

Ann blinked, and then drew herself up to her full height of five feet three inches. A stubborn look came over her face, and she thrust out her lower lip, and straightened her shoulders. She did not realize it then, but in that moment she looked just like her father, the General.

"We’ll see about that," Ann said in a steely tone. "We’ll see about a lot of things."

Nikita’s eyes went wide at this comment. "Ann.. she began gently. "You can’t…"

The General’s daughter interrupted her. "I believe my father AND the President would like to hear about this," she stated with intense confidence, cradling her whimpering child in her arms. She was determined that Aaron, after all he had been through, was not going to be denied the comfort of seeing his new friend, no matter what the rules were. "Get your boss on the phone for me," Ann added grimly. "I’d like to have a little talk with him…."

Nikita grinned suddenly, knowing that Operations would be no match for this tigress protecting her cub. This was going to be good.

"Sure…" said Nikita innocently. She reached into her pocket for her cell phone, and smiled…..

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

Michael drifted, suspended in the darkness, enjoying the dream. He was in bed, he knew, lying on his back, and one side of him- his right- particularly his hip and shoulder, felt pleasantly, languorously numb. Somehow this heavy numbness pleased him. Instinctively, he knew this to be a good thing. His other side, however, felt even better. There was a heavy numb feeling there, too, a weight holding him down, but Michael felt no distress at this imprisonment of his limbs. On the contrary, the cause of this imprisonment was the source of the joy-filled dream’s delight.

It was impossible, he knew, but the weight on his left side was in the shape of a small child, snuggled against his chest, his head on Michael’s heart. The little one was curled up beside him, sleeping soundly in the crook of Michael’s arm, his whole body relaxed, his breathing slow and regular, except for the occasional deep sigh of contentment. The warm peace emanated from the child in waves, touching Michael’s soul, and making him feel at peace as well.

The rightness of it, of having a small child in his arms, touched Michael in a deep place inside, a place that had been wounded and scarred. Now, with the little one resting sweetly in total trust against him, Michael felt his heart mend and heal from the deep sorrow and rending loss he had endured when his child had been taken from him.

"Adam…." Michael murmured softly in his sleep, a smile curving his lips.

Michael did not know if THIS child, this little one that lay curled against his heart was his own son or not, but somehow, it didn’t really matter. The child FIT there, nestled in the shelter of Michael’s arm, like a key fitting perfectly into a lock, or a puzzle piece that made the whole picture at last complete. Michael felt a sense of total wholeness and complete fulfillment, and an all-enveloping joy.

He sighed deeply. He hoped he never woke up. He didn’t want this beautiful dream to end….

"Michael?" a soft feminine voice interrupted his dream. "Michael, are you awake?"

His eyes fluttered open, reluctantly, and he let out a sharp groan as the dream dissipated, rushing away from him like a flock of birds scattering in the forest, impossible to capture again. The harsh glare off the white walls told him he was back in Section, in Medlab. The memory of the mission came back to him then. Stavros. Stavros threatening to hurt Aaron. Stavros with a gun….

"Aaron?" Michael moaned, and struggled to sit up. He couldn’t. Disoriented, and gasping with astonishment, he looked down to see a small blonde head on his chest, attached to the body of a four-year-old boy, sleeping contentedly at his side. It hadn’t been a dream after all.

Michael blinked and then focused on the source of the female voice. His eyes met the soft brown ones that matched the eyes of the child sleeping on his shoulder.

"Aaron’s mother," Michael croaked out, struggling to come fully awake. "You’re Mrs. Harrington…" He blinked at her again.

The woman standing by the side of the bed smiled, and came closer. "Yes, that’s right. But you can call me Ann, please…"

She reached out her hand and stroked the hair off the sleeping child’s forehead. He did not stir at this caress, in fact, he seemed to relax deeper into his peaceful slumber. Michael gazed softly at the little one, and pulled him closer. Then he met Ann’s eyes again.

"What.. happened?" Michael asked, still bewildered. He had a sense of unreality, the scene was so strange. Civilians, and especially children, were usually not seen in Section, or Medlab. He wondered how they had gotten in here. Part of him speculated that he might still be dreaming.

Ann smiled gently down on him. "You saved my son, that’s what happened," she said, voice choking with grateful tears. "You were shot, trying to protect him. Aaron saw everything…."

Michael only blinked in answer, feeling no need to take credit for this situation. He had only been doing his job, had only sheltered the boy out of instinct, and his own emotional needs. He had been the lion protecting its cub, acting out of sheer driving impulse, the only way he could be.

He lowered his eyes to the boy’s face, and let out a sigh. "Is he all right?" he asked softly.

Ann moved closer, and tentatively brushed her hand against Michael’s cheek. "Yes, he is now," she whispered hoarsely. "Aaron saw you collapse, and he thought…" she swallowed hard, choking back tears. "He thought you were dead, like his Daddy is…."

Michael blinked back tears, and took a shuddering breath. His wounds, both physical and emotional, made it impossible for him to hide behind his blank mask, or even to begin to pretend that he was not affected by the child’s plight, so similar, if even more horrific, than his own son’s situation. Both children, Adam and Aaron, had lost their fathers in violent gunfire, both while trying to protect innocent lives. It made virtually no difference in Adam’s situation that Michael was still alive. The boy was in the same situation as Aaron was- he would never see his father again.

"Aaron was distraught, and he wouldn’t calm down," Ann went on softly, her tone slightly apologetic. "He wouldn’t leave you, and that’s why I brought him here, to let him see with his own eyes that you were all right…"

Michael closed his eyes slowly, and hugged the child closer. "I .. see.." he answered softly, although it was a lie. His mind whirled. He felt the sense of unreality return stronger than before. How had Ann managed to get inside Section, and bring a crying, distraught child with her?

He opened his eyes and gazed once again into the young mother’s eyes. "How.. " he began, groping for words, "How did you..?"

Ann smiled, and blushed lightly, her face tinged just barely pink. "I was a little insistent, I’m afraid," she explained with an embarrassed laugh. "Down right BITCHY, in fact, some people might call it…" she shook her head, and met his eyes once more. "But I wasn’t going to stand by and let Aaron be hurt anymore, I just couldn’t…."

Michael blinked, understanding, yet at the same time not understanding. He comprehended the mother’s emotions completely, her maternal drive to protect her young, but he was still bewildered by how she had succeeded in having her way, in spite of Section regulations, and what he was sure would have been Operations very definite objections.

Ann stepped closer, and tentatively put her hand on Michael’s arm. "I know you’re hurting from your wounds and you must be exhausted, Michael," she pleaded softly, "Maybe I shouldn’t have put this on you, to have to deal with a child right now…."

Michael immediately protested this statement. "No," he denied firmly, "It’s okay…" He looked fondly down at the boy sleeping on his heart and his gaze softened. "I… want him here, too.," he assured her. "I…I need him…" Michael blurted out, suddenly aware in that moment how true that confession was, coming straight from his unguarded soul.

Ann blinked back tears. "I’m so glad.." she told him gently. "I knew from how much Aaron was attached to you, that you were a special person, and that the affection and trust he had for you just had to be mutual…"

Michael smiled at her. It felt good to be able to be completely honest about his emotions, and to have those emotions understood so well. "It is," he said firmly. "I care about him, too.."

Ann beamed a bright smile. "Thank you, Michael…" she choked out, suddenly overcome with grateful tears. "Thank you…"

Impulsively, she leaned forward across Aaron’s small form, and kissed Michael softly on the cheek.

"Mama?" the boy whimpered, stirring from his slumbers. He lifted up his head and blinked, his face a picture of groggy confusion. Then the child’s eyes lit on Michael, meeting the green eyes that smiled indulgently at him.

An expression of pure joy crossed the child’s face. "Michael!" Aaron hollered with glee, and wriggled closer, throwing his arms around Michael’s neck and squeezing tight…

It was one of the most wonderful hugs Michael had ever received, the child’s simple trust, his love, healing Michael’s wounded heart. Suddenly, the grieving father felt renewed, restored, and… whole. The child’s love strengthened him, so much so that he felt like he could do anything, endure anything, if only he had this sweet connection, this power flowing from the child’s heart to his, love in its purest form…

"Aaron…" Michael choked out, squeezing him tight with his uninjured arm. "Are you okay?"

The boy pulled back and then sat up on his knees beside Michael on the bed, turning to face his hero. "Yeah!" the little one told him enthusiastically. "Mama had an argument with your boss about me being able to come see you," Aaron confided in an excited tone. "He’s mean, isn’t he?"

Michael blinked. He tried to picture Operations and Ann having this preposterous discussion, but couldn’t even imagine it. Before he had time to process this piece of news, the child babbled on. "But then he gave in , and said I could come with you, me and Mommy…" The child started to bounce on the bed in his excitement, bobbing up and down.

Aaron," Ann cautioned him. "Don’t jostle Michael, okay?"

Aaron blushed, and then agreed. "Okay," he said quickly, and then sat down cross-legged on the edge of the bed and continued his breathless tale. "So we rode in this big truck first, with lots of doctors, and they let me listen to your heart beating, so I’d know you were okay.." Aaron rushed on. "Your heart went like this," the child explained, "BEEP… BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…."

"Aaron!" Ann chided him with a laugh. She met Michael’s eyes. "He means he listened to the heart monitor they had on you in the ambulance…"

"I see," said Michael with a broad smile. He turned back to look at Aaron. "And then what happened?" he encouraged the boy.

Aaron took in a deep breath, and eagerly continued his tale. "Then we flew in this BIG airplane, for days and days and.."

"Four hours," Ann interjected, translating for her child with a smile.

"Then we got in a big truck again, and then we got HERE," the boy’s narrative went on. The small beaming face darkened. "Then the doctors took you away for a while…"

"He cried the whole time…." Ann confided. "We couldn’t get him calmed down," she whispered gravely. "Finally, when you were out of recovery, they let us come into your room to see you…" Ann lowered her eyes, her voice diffident and sincere. "I asked the doctor’s first if it would be okay if Aaron got in bed beside you, and they allowed it.."

Michael nodded. "It’s fine…" he assured her, and then looked fondly at Aaron and reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair. "I think you might have helped cure me, Mon Petit…" Michael told him, his tone teasing, but his words totally serious. "I feel much better now, now that you’re here.."

Aaron beamed, and snuggled beside Michael again. "I feel better, TOO!" the child said loudly, letting out a joyous laugh. He wriggled like a happy puppy, all over, as only very small children can do.

Michael laughed too, but then blanched, as the movement made his side hurt.His pain did not go unnoticed by the child’s mother. She came forward and stretched out her hand to her son. "Come on, you little wild monkey, you," she chided Aaron with an indulgent voice, "Let’s go now and let Michael get his rest, hmmm?"

"O- kay…" the child said glumly, reluctantly sliding off the bed and taking his mother’s hand. The two, mother and son, walked to the door.

Michael watched them go, appalled. His heart tore painfully at the prospect of this new bereavement. He felt unprepared for this new , devastating loss. Aaron’s love echoed in his heart as Adam’s did, and he felt anguished, unable to let this child go. *Not again* he cried in his mind. *No, not again…*

"Please!" he choked out as the hostages reached the doorway. "WAIT!" Michael struggled to sit up, fighting his weakness valiantly, fighting to keep his new friends with him. "Will I ever see you again?" he moaned in despair.

Ann turned at the threshold, and, to Michael’s amazement, she smiled. Remarkably, so did the child beside her. "Mama says when you get better, we can see each other as much as we want," explained Aaron happily. "Forever and ever…."

Ann smiled. "Don’t worry, Michael," she said with a laugh. "You’ll see Aaron again soon enough. In fact, you’ll probably get worn out when you come to visit us…."

Michael blinked in shock. "Visit..?" he gasped out. "But that’s not allowed…"

Ann grinned. "It is now," she said with a merry laugh, and then she went out the door, reluctant child in hand.

When they had gone, Michael lay back on the pillows, his head whirling in shock. He closed his eyes, feeling very strange, the world very unreal to him once again. Had Ann and Aaron really been there, or was it all just wishful thinking on his part, or a figment of his imagination? He sighed, trying to puzzled it out, but then gave up the effort, and soon drifted off to sleep. His last thought was how strangely improbable his dreams had become….

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

Michael slept several more hours, deeply, dreamlessly. Or at least, he did not dream about a small brown-eyed child sleeping against his shoulder, or of the child’s mother’s equally sweet brown eyes smiling brightly at him. This time there was only blackness, no dreams at all. Just the sweet drug-induced oblivion of someone wounded and exhausted. The deep, dreamless rest was interrupted occasionally by various nurses coming in to tend to his needs at sporadic intervals, to take his temperature, change the bandages, and give him a sleeping pill. These interruptions he knew to be painful reality, but of the previous, improbable visitors, he wasn’t so sure that he had imagined their presence or if they had really been there. Had he really seen Ann and Aaron, he wondered, or had it all been a fabrication of his soul’s deepest desires?

He was still puzzling that out, lying thoughtfully just on the edge of sleep, when the door to his room opened and he was met by the sight of three more visitors, these even more improbable than the first two had been.

"Hello, Michael," said Operations, in a tone of almost desperate concern. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice almost trembling with sincerity. "We’ve been worried about you."

Michael blinked groggily, shook his head, and struggled to sit up in bed. This must be a dream as well, he speculated. Operations never asked him how he was after a mission, or seemed concerned when he was wounded, physically, or emotionally. He was much more likely to demand that Michael debrief, or to go over the mistakes made in the performance of the mission, or to scold Michael for every little flaw and mistake he could think of. This new solicitousness was very bizarre, to say the least.

Michael was too groggy and disoriented to think of another answer to this inquiry other than his usual one. "I’ll be fine," Michael answered faintly, still stunned by this odd question.

"OF course you will, My son, of course you will," agreed a hearty voice just behind Operations. Michael turned his head to see a big blonde man in his fifties, dressed in military attire, his chest adorned with medals and ribbons. Michael recognized the uniform and the insignia as that of a four-star General in the U.S. Army. He blinked and sat up straighter, peering closely as the officer approached his bed.

There they were again. The soft brown eyes, just like Aaron had , and Aaron’s mother, repeated again in the General’s face. Michael was sure he was dreaming now. "General Dudley?" he choked out, hazarding a guess as to the dream stranger’s identity.

The General beamed, the brown eyes twinkling in delight. "That’s right, my boy, that’s right!" he boomed out in a pleased voice, and reached down to clap Michael forcefully on the shoulder. Lucky for Michael, it was the uninjured one.

"I can’t tell you how grateful I am for what you did back there," The General told him, grateful tears starting in his brown eyes, "For my little girl, and my precious grandbaby…." He patted Michael’s shoulder twice more, and then removed his hand, using it to wipe away his tears. The General gulped in a sigh, and then beamed at Michael, grabbing him by the hand, and giving it a manly shake.

"Thank you, My son," he said hoarsely. "Thank you…"

Michael only blinked at this demonstration of emotion, and then shook his head once more. The dream was getting weirder. "Uh, you’re welcome, Sir…" he answered politely.

Aaron’s grandfather smiled wider, and nodded vigorously at the hero on the bed. "My daughter has been filling me in on all that you did, and let me tell you, My Boy, such heroism will not go un-rewarded…" The General sluiced his eyes toward Operations. "Isn’t that right, PAUL?" he asked pointedly.

Operations eyed the General with a look of total helplessness. He looked like a man who had been outmatched, out maneuvered, and awash in total defeat. "Right," he choked out meekly, looking like the word stuck in his throat. He looked at Michael, his light gray eyes as fatalistically stunned as those of a deer caught in the headlights. "Michael will definitely be rewarded…." He promised in a forced, falsely happy tone.

Michael stiffened, and felt himself go pale. He had no desire for Section’s brand of "rewards". Madeleine and Operations had too skewed an idea of what would bring a real human being pleasure for that. Madeleine giving Walter a holographic display disk depicting images of his dead wife, Belinda had only been one of the more glaring examples of their cluelessness in that regard.

"Uh, no reward is necessary," Michael protested, quickly declining the offer. "I was just doing my job…"

The General frowned for the first time since he been in the room. "Now, now, none of that," the military man contradicted. "You deserve a reward, and you shall have it, By God! You and your whole unit…" He pulled his chest up and gave Michael a determined look, looking as stubborn as his daughter.

Ann’s father stared pointedly at Operations again. " Go on, tell this brave soldier what we have in mind…."

Michael closed his eyes, feeling like he had stepped down a rabbit hole. The dream was certainly taking on a bizarre twist.

Operations gulped, and then stepped forward toward the hospital bed. He fixed his gaze on a point on the wall just past Michael’s right ear, looking even more like a deer caught in the headlights, and began his recitation. Each reluctant word was pulled painfully from him, like a dentist pulling teeth.

"They’ll be promotions for all the Team leaders," Operations choked out, his face turning blue with the effort, "And extended R&R for everyone, and … and …" he gasped, strangling on the unfamiliar words and the concepts.

Michael glared back, untrusting. Promotions? And vacations? No, it couldn’t be, he thought, eyeing Operations suspiciously. It was another manipulation- they were yanking his chain again, Michael speculated wearily. It was just another Section trick…

"Well, tell him the rest, man!" The General interjected impatiently. "Go on, then- Spit it out, for God’s sake…"

The soft voice of the third visitor in the room interrupted quietly. "I’ll tell him," the man said, stepping forward from his unobtrusive stance by the door from where he had been observing everything in attentive silence.

Michael turned his head groggily toward this new visitor, and blinked twice. He seemed familiar, but Michael couldn’t place him at first. Thinning blondish- gray hair on a round face, lined with wrinkles. He must be in his late sixties, Michael guessed. He looked very ordinary, really, not very tall or impressive, until one looked into his pale blue eyes….

Michael’s blood ran cold. He recognized him now. This man was the head of Oversight, as high as one could go in all the antiterrorist organizations, in fact, this man ruled them all. Michael had only glimpsed him a few times, when he had fleetingly visited Section. This was the man who made Operations and Madeleine afraid… His visitor was none other than the infamous George himself.

*Merde* Michael cursed silently to himself, his heart sinking. The dream was rapidly turning into a nightmare. Michael swallowed hard and gritted his teeth, preparing himself for the blow. What in God’s name would they do to him now?

George approached the side of the bed, quietly folded his hands in front of him, and began. "I’ve been aware of your record, of course, Michael," he said in a solemn tone, "Your performance has been quite… satisfactory so far, sati