Michael paused before entering Madeleine's office, schooling his features into his usual blank mask. This had become more and more difficult for him of late- since he and Nikita had become closer, it was becoming harder for him to keep the smile off his face, even here in Section.

He sighed, remembering. Last night, after making love, they had fallen asleep in each other's arms, and he had awoken early that morning to find his beautiful blonde lover still snuggled close against him. The gift of this simple human contact, body against body, fed his soul, leaving him somehow deeply satisfied on more than just a physical or sexual level. He savored being touched, being cradled and held. He had no words for this feeling, except that it was like a hunger, a deep need that been building in him for a long time, through many years of isolation and loneliness. It was a desire he didn't even know that he had, this touch-hunger. And like a starving man, he craved more.

She was the only one he trusted, the only one he could truly let go with. With her, for a little while, at least, he could drop the mask, the hard outer protective shell that he wore like armor on his personality, and the let her touch the vulnerable human beneath. How he wanted that touch…

This morning he had awoken Nikita from her sleep by caressing the long hair from the back of her neck, and then kissing the soft skin underneath. Then he had worked his way down her throat to her breasts, tasting and savoring the warm cream velvet skin. She stirred and opened her eyes, her mind, as well as her body, fully awakened and aroused, needing him in return.

"Michael…." She moaned softly in pleasure, a warm smile enveloping her features, the light of love in her eyes. He needed no further invitation. They made love again, melding into each other, merging as one. He held her close, heart against beating heart, his mouth covering hers, breathing the same breath…

But that incredible sweetness had been interrupted by the phone call, summoning him here. Reluctantly, he pulled his thoughts away from those precious hours in Nikita's bed, and forced himself to concentrate on the job at hand. Frowning, he punched in his access code and entered Madeleine's office.

"You wanted to see me?" he said in a cold clipped tone, his voice, except for a slight huskiness, giving no hint of the passionate man beneath.

Madeleine smiled knowingly at him from her seat behind her wide desk. "I'm sorry to interrupt your rendezvous with Nikita, Michael," she drawled in an amused tone, glancing at him slyly. "But there was some business to be taken care of that wouldn't wait…."

Michael flinched, disturbed by this blatant reference to his newly kindled love affair with Nikita. His green eyes narrowed suspiciously; he wondered if Section had resumed their surveillance of Nikita's apartment again… He almost opened his mouth to demand to know if Madeleine had been watching them that morning, but stopped himself in time. Instead, he controlled his temper and asked another cold -voiced question.

"What kind of business?" he snapped impatiently.

Madeleine sighed and gave him another indulgent smile. "Sit down, Michael," she ordered, waving her hand at the chair in front of her desk. "This could take a while…"

Michael stared at her a moment, then did as he was bid, folding his long, muscular legs under him and sinking gracefully into the chair. His green eyes still watched her warily.

Madeleine, in contrast, leaned back in seat and smiled at him, completely at ease. "Actually, Michael, it's Nikita that I wanted to talk to you about…" Madeleine threw out slyly.

Michael forced himself to stay in his seat, his knuckles going white as they grasped the sides of the chair. A muscle in his jaw twitched with tension. "What about her?" he asked pointedly, through clenched teeth.

"Do you remember, Michael," she began in a casual tone, "The reason we recruited Nikita in the first place?"

He stiffened, his whole body tensing, nerves jangling to alert. What was she after? Michael wondered apprehensively. What game was she playing with them now? He licked dry lips. "A woman with her looks, who could kill in cold blood…" he answered tightly, recalling verbatim the first words he had said to his Beloved.

Madeleine nodded, pleased. "Exactly," she mused on in a happy tone. "It was obvious at the time that she would make excellent Valentine material, but, of course, on that score, she proved us quite wrong…." The dark beauty smiled serenely at Michael's stricken look, and reached for the cup and saucer on her desk. "Tea?" she offered in disconcerting politeness, lifting the delicate china pot.

"No, thank you," Michael answered gruffly, shaking his head. His throat was too dry and closed up to swallow. He already didn't like where this was going. He subsided into silence, waiting tensely for Madeleine to go on.

After carefully pouring a cup of tea for herself and taking several slow, infuriating sips of her drink, she did. "Valentine positions have always been the hardest to fill," she mused on, almost to herself. "We never seem to have enough of them, and even the most promising of recruits, like Nikita, for instance, often fail to meet our expectations. It takes a certain kind of personality to achieve the correct amount of… emotional detachment required, and Nikita, although an exemplary operative in most other ways, has always had difficulty in this area…"

Michael swallowed hard, and flickered green eyes up to stare at her challengingly. "Are you intending to.. re-train her, is that it?" he demanded roughly, tensed in fear.

To his shock, Madeleine laughed. "Oh, no, not at all!" she declared almost gaily, brown eyes twinkling. "We're well aware that Nikita will never be able to perform well in Valentine situations unless drugged or assigned to a partner to her liking…." The brunette beauty said with a sly smile, this last referring to the Armel mission where Michael and Nikita posed as husband and wife.

Madeleine sighed and leaned back in her chair. "No, I was just using Nikita as an illustration of how problematic finding Valentine recruits can be," she continued blithely. "But I think we might have a solution to our problem…"

Michael let himself relax a little, leaning forward in his chair. He let out the breath he was holding and asked an interested question. "What?" he said in his usual terse manner.

Madeleine smiled and tilted her head, looking pleased. "We will acquire ones who are already trained," she answered serenely. "Ones who have already proven themselves in the field, as it were…"

Michael shook his head, not believing what he was hearing. "You mean professionals?" he asked in amazement. "Prostitutes, hookers…"

Madeleine laughed again. "Of course not," she answered, reaching forward to pour herself more tea. "Call girls, even street walkers, as a rule, are too independent for our uses," she replied, shaking her head. "They pick and choose; they function with a certain amount of autonomy that would not fit in with the requirements of Section…"

They're not trained to be slaves, like I am, Michael thought to himself ruefully. "Who, then?" he asked, genuinely curious now.

Madeleine smiled once more. "We'll need the ones that are already obedient, trained to take orders, the ones who have already been broken of their notions of independence…." She paused, folding her hands primly in front of her. "In other words, slaves," she finished delicately, echoing Michael's thoughts.

The green eyes widened. "You intend to tap the white slavery market?" he queried curiously with a lift of his eyebrow.

Madeleine shook her head. "No, that would cause problems of its own," she answered with a frown. "It would make us too visible to the wrong kind of people, and given the international nature of the trade, we might stir up waters we would just as soon remained clear…"

Michael nodded, agreeing totally with this assessment. "What then?" he asked, his attention riveted.

His superior swiveled in her chair and steepled her fingers together. Her lips quirked up in a satisfied smile. "There are those individuals who have been used sexually since childhood, some who have been imprisoned in their own homes, by their own families…" She tilted her head to one side, brown eyes glowing. "For them, being in Section would seem like… Paradise…."

Michael blinked, at first not comprehending. Then as realization dawned, he became angry. "You intend to recruit abused children, is that it?" He choked out hoarsely, hardly believing what he was hearing.

Madeleine's smile widened, as if this protest amused her. "Recruitment in this case amounts to rescue, I would expect," she drawled wryly. "At least when working for us, the abuse has a purpose…." She sighed, and then passed a PDA over to him across her desk.

"The profile of our first candidate is in there," she told him briskly. "Hope Franklin- eighteen years old, young, beautiful, and, from what we can tell, already completely broken…."

Michael stiffened, but carefully accepted the panel from her hand. He disliked Madeleine’s glee at the thought of another's brokenness. He had been too close to that point himself at times to be comfortable with her delight in it. He glanced quickly at the panel, skimming the target's background, and found himself stifling a groan of pity.

It was appalling. According to Section intel, Hope Franklin's parents had been killed in a car wreck shortly after the girl's fourteenth birthday. They had left her with nothing; there was no money, only debt. There were also no relatives to take her in. She had ended up in a children's home, awaiting an extremely improbable event- adoption. Most people wanted infants, not minors who were almost adults.

But in a few short months, it happened. Hope was adopted by a middle-aged couple with no children of their own. But the dream turned sour very quickly. The girl was allowed no freedom at all, and before the year was out, she was spending every moment at home, at the couple's beck and call. Even the simple change of scene of school was denied her; although a bright child with good grades, Hope was forced to drop out so that she could do the household chores.

One of those chores, Mrs. Franklin discovered, was warming Mr. Franklin's bed. Her adopted father had begun raping her regularly within a few months after her fifteenth birthday. His wife left him shortly after walking in on them together, leaving Hope completely at her remaining parent's mercy.

But Franklin had no mercy. He saw in his "daughter" not only someone to cook, clean, and mate with him, but to bring in income as well. He started making discreet arrangements to sell her services to other men. Soon the list of clients grew, along with Franklin's bank account.

Madeleine was right, Michael thought in disgust. This girl was a slave, in every sense of the word.

"You see how perfect she is," Madeleine commented, as Michael finished reading the report. "Hope has no personal ties except Franklin, who would never dare go to the police about her…." She took another sip of her tea and smiled her satisfied smile. "If she disappears, no one would come looking…." Madeleine sighed gloatingly. "It should be a simple enough mission for you to retrieve her…"

Michael pursed full lips in distaste, not liking Madeleine's obvious pleasure at the suffering of another human being, no matter how convenient it was for Section.

"What mode?" he barked out, dampening down his outrage. He knew part of his anger and distress on this girl Hope's behalf was because she looked so much like Nikita. The small fuzzy picture on his PDA display showed a slender, blue-eyed blonde, uncannily resembling Nikita, down to the turned up nose and the beautifully curved lips of his lover. Hope even had the same wide-eyed innocent expression as she did. Michael wondered cynically if Madeleine had selected this girl for this very factor, just to rub Michael's face in the fact that Section could assign Nikita to whore herself out at anytime, a not-so-subtle reminder that Nikita was as much a slave as this girl was.

And as much a slave as he was himself, he amended in his thoughts.

"Franklin has the girl for sale," Madeleine drawled, answering Michael's question. "You'll buy her for a night and simply forget to return her," she finished in an amused tone, still smiling.

Michael found none of this amusing. "Fine," he said curtly, rising to his feet. "I'll go prepare my team…." He turned to leave, but before he had gone two steps, Madeleine called him back.

"One more thing, Michael…" the dark beauty said in her melodic voice.

He tensed, shoulders stiffening, and then slowly turned back to face her, this woman who owned his life, just as Nikita owned his heart. "Yes?" he asked softly in apprehension.

Madeleine smiled once more. "After you retrieve the girl, I want you to see that she succeeds in Section," she ordered in a steely tone. The brown eyes bored into his, exerting her dominance. "Failure this time is not an option. You'll be Hope's trainer, is that understood?"

The message was clear. He was to succeed in training Hope to perform in Valentine missions, as he had failed to do with Nikita. Michael closed his eyes, his soul wrenching in misery.

"Yes," he forced out in a choked whisper. "Understood…."

Knowing she had succeeded in creating a situation that would essentially destroy Michael and Nikita's tenuous happiness, Madeleine smiled wider. She waved her hand at Michael, dismissing her slave.

"You may go," she commanded imperiously.

Michael bowed his head submissively, while inside, he seethed with rebellious rage. His mind was planning a revolt, even as his body submissively obeyed. He walked calmly to the door, settled in his heart that he would do everything in power to thwart Madeleine's plan to destroy him. He had served Section obediently for years, but now the time to fight back was at hand. Nikita, and the life he hoped to have with her, was just too important to him.

Madeleine watched him go, noting the determined set of his back. She smiled knowingly, and took another sip of her tea. "This should be interesting," she said softly to herself, then laughed out loud. She loved a good challenge…..

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

Hope Caroline (nee Masters) Franklin looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and sighed. She had just stepped out of the shower, and the reflected vision of her slim body surrounded by steam, almost like a flawless Venus rising out of the mist, gave her no joy. In fact, it saddened her and left her hopeless. Her beauty, in her opinion, had been a curse.

A few months ago she had tried in a fit of despair to destroy that beauty by slashing herself with a knife in the kitchen, but Franklin had caught her before she had succeeded in making more than the most superficial of scratches across her face and breasts. The punishment he had meted out afterwards was so horrible that she never tried to disfigure herself again. Franklin (she always referred to him as Franklin, never as her father) had not beaten her, or done anything to leave marks. Instead, he had tied her spread-eagled to her bed and raped her brutally and repeatedly all night long, as if he couldn't get enough of her to assuage his rage.

Hope shuddered, remembering. In a funny way, she almost had welcomed Franklin's complete loss of control. In spite of her terror and pain, while she lay there helpless under his assault, she had secretly hoped that he would lose his temper entirely, and maybe kill her. She would have welcomed the release from this living Hell.

But Franklin, unfortunately, had not ended it for her. He let her live, let her go on servicing him and the growing list of clients that came to the door. Franklin was particularly anxious that she please the special client that was coming tonight, someone named Michael Bonniere, a wealthy European businessman.

Hope sighed, and pulled her thoughts away from the bad memories and her apprehension about the stranger who would maul her tonight, and lapsed into her favorite day-dream.

She often wondered what her life would have been like if she had been a homely teenager, and not the stunning, if shy and naive, beauty that she was at fourteen. Perhaps Franklin would have overlooked her then. Then she could have lived out her high school years quietly in the orphanage, then maybe gone to college on a scholarship when she turned eighteen. Going to college had been her life-long dream. It was what her parents always wanted for her….

Hope stifled a sob and quickly stepped out of the tub, wrapping a towel around herself and another around her long hair. She tried not to think about her parents too much. She tried not to think at all. It was better to turn off everything- her emotions, her mind, her feelings, her dreams- otherwise, it hurt too much. Shutting down was essential for her survival. It was the only way she could get through being touched by Franklin and all the men.

Automatically, she began her routine- applying make-up and perfume, fixing her hair. She stared determinedly into the mirror, her mouth grim, trying to turn off her thoughts, but tonight she was having little success. Her hand shook so badly that she could hardly put on her mascara. For some reason, she was even more apprehensive than was usual for her before a "performance".

Perhaps it was this new client, Michael, that had her on edge, although what little she knew about him led her to believe he was no different than all the others. She found all the sexual acts she was requested to do equally degrading and humiliating, and she expected that tonight's duties would be just as exhausting and repulsive for her as all the others, no more, no less.

Then why did she feel so jumpy? She wondered. Chills went up and down her spine, and she shuddered again, feeling inexplicably cold in the warm room. Finishing in the bathroom, she discarded her towel and walked quickly out into the adjoining bedroom, heading for the closet.

Shivering, she ignored the clothes that Franklin had picked out for her to wear- a skimpy mini-skirt and an even skimpier top- and reached past them in the closet for her favorite dress, something she had managed to sew for herself out of some discarded material that Mrs. Franklin had bought at a piece goods store and never used.

The dress was ice blue, the color of a spring sky. She slipped it over her head, feeling comforted by the silky touch of the fabric. It had long sleeves and a high neck, and the skirt fell in a straight line almost to her ankles. Hope felt warmed by it, and soothed. She felt like a real person in this dress, not a like a whore.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the dressing table mirror, and sighed. She looked cool and elegant, like a young Grace Kelly. The material clung lovingly to her firm, full breasts and outlined her small waist and slim hips, but not in a blatant way. The sexuality displayed was lady-like, and subtle.

Enjoying her beauty for once, now caught up in the fun of playing dress-up, Hope slipped on a pair of high-heeled white pumps, the most demure shoes she owned, and then rummaged in the jewelry box until she found the earrings she wanted. They were tiny pearls, the perfect accent to set off her flawless skin and pale hair. She smiled at herself, almost forgetting her strange premonition of fear that had gripped her before.

This one moment of pleasure was interrupted the next instant by the loud crash of the bedroom door being flung open. Hope jumped in fright, and turned to see Franklin glaring angrily at her from the doorway.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you little Slut!" he screamed at her, coming forward into the room. He was a drab-looking, rather ordinary man, with dull brown eyes and a receding hairline. The kind of man you wouldn't look twice at in the street, just an average Joe. But Hope knew better than to underestimate him because of his harmless appearance. She had learned that the hard way.

She cowered back from him, trying to retreat into the corner. "N-Nothing," she stammered in fright, "I'm just g-getting r-ready, that's all…."

The brown eyes blazed angrily, and Franklin took a step closer, his face an apoplectic red. "What are doing in that gunny-sack of a dress, Stupid!" he raged at her. "The richest john you've ever had is going to be here any minute, and he's going to want to see some tits and some legs, not this ugly granny gown…."

He lunged for her then, and grabbed the top neckline of her carefully sewn dress and ripped it from her shoulders, leaving her exposed to the waist. "Now take it off and wear what I told you to wear!" he growled angrily.

Hope whimpered in shock, feeling her dignity and self-worth as well as her dress stripped from her by this act of violation. She stood trembling in the corner, lifting her hands up to cover herself modestly. She stared at Franklin with frightened blue eyes.

Her hesitation angered him further. "Do it, Bitch!" he screamed at her impatiently. With another growl, he was on her again. He clutched her by her shoulders and threw her on the bed, then, before she could react, he was straddling her, holding her down by her wrists to the mattress. But instead of tearing off what remained of her dress as Hope expected, Franklin stilled, staring at her hungrily with a greedy light in his eyes, panting heavily as his eyes devoured the sight of her pert breasts. He groaned loudly.

Hope twisted her head to the side to escape his hot breath on her neck. She knew what that light in his eyes meant. "No…." she begged in a whisper, shaking with fear. "Don't…." she pleaded, struggling feebly beneath him.

Franklin gave a grunt of pleasure at her fear; it always turned him on when she begged. He lowered his lips to one pink, up-thrust nipple, and he bit her there, light enough not to break the skin, but hard enough to make her flinch with pain.

"I think you need to be punished again," he growled huskily, pressing his hardening pelvis to hers. Hope whimpered, struggling harder, and Franklin pinned both her wrists with one hand over her head, while with the other he removed his belt. The girl squirmed to free herself in vain, and uttered a soft cry of despair as he used his belt to strap her wrists to the headboard, rendering her helpless and at his mercy.

Franklin laughed at her cries, and began to roughly fumble under the long skirt….

Hope closed her eyes, trying to shut out the feelings of panic and despair, closing down her mind against the pain….

"I believe you are touching my property," a soft French-accented voice interrupted from the doorway.

Franklin gasped in shock, and lifted off of the child in his charge, twisting around to look at the intruder. An elegant auburn-haired man in his thirties, dressed in black suit and black over-coat, stared back at him with cold green eyes.

"Who the f*ck are you?" Franklin demanded rudely, scrambling up from the bed and hastily adjusting his trousers.

The stranger gazed back at him coolly. "I am Michael Bonniere," he stated calmly, inclining his head politely. "I think you were expecting me…"

Franklin, flustered, stammered incoherently, looking at the ground. "Sh*t…" he muttered to himself. He hoped he hadn't ruined this particular sale. Bonniere had promised him five times the going rate for a night with his gold-mine of a daughter.

Michael stepped further into the room, coming closer to the bed. Hope watched him fearfully, her eyes wide, her bare breasts heaving with each rapid intake of breath. The stranger's gaze raked over her, his face so inscrutable that Hope had no idea what he was thinking. Whether he lusted for her or pitied her, she did not know.

Behind his blank mask, Michael was experiencing having his heart torn. He wasn't prepared for this girl to look quite so much like Nikita. The long legs, the curve of her cheek, her hair, were all the same as his lover's. When he had seen Franklin squirming on top of her, it took all of his self-control not to shoot the bastard right then and there. He would probably be doing the world a favor, but Franklin's death was not in the mission profile. There was to be as little exposure and attention brought to this as possible.

Gently, Michael reached out one hand and stroked the panicked young girl on the cheek, in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. "She is as you said," he whispered softly, addressing Franklin, but keeping his eyes on Hope. "Quite beautiful…"

The flesh peddler relaxed and let out the breath he was holding. He smiled to himself; the pigeon was still interested in what he was selling. "Yeah," Franklin bragged proudly, puffing out his chest. "She's a prime bit of ass all right…." He grinned and leaned forward to grip the hem of Hope's blue skirt, twitching it higher. The girl whimpered again and turned her head into the pillow in shame. Franklin went on pushing his wares, shoving the dress higher up her long legs. "You should just see what a nice little…."

In a flash, Michael's hand lashed out to grip Franklin firmly by the wrist, stopping the girl from being completely stripped before his eyes. Franklin met the cold green eyes and let out a little yelp of fear.

"If you don't mind," the customer said softly, but with an underlying threat in tone that was quite clear, "I would prefer to discover her charms on my own."

"Sure, man, fine…." Franklin squeaked out, sweating profusely. "Whatever you want…" he agreed meekly, frightened by the look in those glittering eyes as well as the intensity of the firm grip on his arm.

Michael held the man's gaze as well as his wrist a little longer, letting Franklin sweat. Then, slowly, he released the pimp and straightened, reaching inside his jacket pocket. Michael pulled out a wad of bills and shoved it into Franklin's limp hand.

"I believe this is the price we agreed upon," he said tightly, impatient to get on with his mission.

Franklin gave him the oily grin again, his eyes lighting up with greed at the sight of so much money. "Thanks," he grunted happily, pocketing the cash. He gave the man in black a wink and walked quickly to the door. "She's all yours, man," he said with a leer, and then left, closing the door behind him.

Hope, still bound helplessly to the bed and half-naked, turned frightened blue eyes to the stranger. He was a dangerous man, she knew, if he could cause even Franklin to be so terrified of him. Yet his eyes were so kind when he looked at her, and he had touched her gently. But she had no illusions that the soft voice and soft manners hid an equally sweet soul underneath. This Michael was hard, hard and cold and ruthless. He confused her; she had no idea what to expect from him. What was he going to do to her?

He stood staring at her, as if mesmerized. He stared for so long that the girl became even more uneasy, squirming with fear. She pulled against the leather strap around her wrists and tried to inch back away from him on the bed. The room was totally silent except for the sound of Hope's frantic, gasping breaths.

At last, Michael broke free from his trance, and stepped closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached his hand out to touch the captive beauty again, and she flinched back in fear, letting out a soft sob.

"Shhh," he soothed, leaning forward to work her hands free of the belt that held her wrists, "I'm not going to hurt you…"

A moment later, she was free. He straightened from her and stood up. As soon as he did so, Hope took the opportunity to sit up against the head-board, pulling her knees up and crossing her arms across her breasts to hide her nakedness. The pretty dress was ruined now, what was left of it lying bunched in tatters around her waist. She was terrified of this man, but even more terrified of what Franklin would do to her if she did not please him. Trembling, she swallowed hard and said the words she had been trained to say to all the paying customers.

"W-What would you like me to d-do?" she stammered out apprehensively.

To her surprise, the man smiled at her, a beautiful, heart-wrenching, bitter smile. He unbuttoned his long black overcoat and took it off, but instead of tossing it on the bed and taking off the rest of his clothes, he held the coat out for her.

"Put this on," he ordered gently. "You're coming with me."

She blinked at him for a moment, then did as she was told. The coat was still warm from his body, the soft silk-lined wool making her feel safe and sheltered somehow. This was the nicest gift, the kindest touch she had received from anyone in four years. Something changed as the warmth seeped into her. She was no longer worried about what he would do to her, no longer afraid. She asked him no questions, just looked at him, her eyes filled with implicit trust.

"This way," Michael said, taking her by the arm. Instead of leading her to the door, however, he surprised her by pulling her toward the window. He flung up the sash and then expertly pushed out the screen, then shocked her by lifting her off her feet into his arms. She clung to his neck and buried her face in his hair as he carried her through the window and out into the night, away from this house of abuse and torment….

She didn't know that he was taking her to another place just like it….

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

Hope walked around her cell, for perhaps the fiftieth time. There was nothing else to do. The walls were stark white tile, and so was the ceiling, and the floor. Even the clothes they had given her- sweat pants and a tee shirt- were white, too. The monotony of color was broken only by a gray steel door in one wall. The door was definitely locked, she had checked that already a dozen times. The only furniture was a cot in the center of the room with some scary looking straps attached to it. Having experienced all too recently the unpleasant feel of being strapped helpless to a bed, Hope avoided sitting or lying on it at all costs, giving the cot a wide berth as she toured the room.

She didn't know where she was, or why she was here. She would have been stark raving mad with fear if Michael hadn't told her several times before he left her here that everything would be all right, that they wouldn't hurt her.

She wanted to believe him, but she was beginning to wonder what was going on, and if instead of being rescued like she had thought, that she was in even bigger trouble than she had been before at Franklin's hands…

No, she said abruptly to herself, stopping this worrisome stream of thought right there. Nothing could ever be as bad as that….

She jumped at the sound of the door opening, automatically taking a defensive stance with her back to one wall, jittery from her thoughts of Franklin. She stared wide-eyed at the doorway, but then relaxed when she saw it was no one threatening, but her savior, her hero, and rescuer- Michael.

"Michael!" she cried happily, rushing forward to greet him. Impulsively, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. She was so relieved to see him.

"What's going on?" she asked breathlessly, at the same time breaking out into a wide smile. "Did you arrest him?"

The green eyes stared solemnly down into hers, his mouth firming grimly. He had told her in the van that he was a law officer, a federal agent, and that it was his job to protect her. This partial truth had served the purpose of keeping his target calm and compliant while they brought her into Section. The lie now gave him, however, the unpleasant task of disillusioning her further.

He decided brutal honesty was the best policy. Hope might as well start getting used to the facts of life in Section.

"No," he answered tensely, gently putting the girl away from him, breaking the embrace. "Franklin is still free, and he'll remain that way…" His eyes, full of sorrow, met hers. "You're the one who will go on being a prisoner…."

The girl blinked in shock, her face going white. "What?" she choked out, a hand going up to her throat. "What are you talking about?" She shook her head, and then looked anxiously around the room. "This… this isn't a police station, is it?" she asked tremulously.

Michael sighed and shook his head. "No," he said softly, his voice tense and low. "This is Section One, the most clandestine anti-terrorist organization on the planet…." He looked away, unable to face her when he delivered this last blow. "You're here because we need you to work for us…."

The girl blinked again, a look of confusion and fear crossing her face. "Work for you?" she echoed, uncomprehending. "Work.. doing WHAT?" she demanded in a gasp.

Michael lowered his eyes, unable to meet the innocent blue gaze. He knew somehow she still trusted him, and that trust tore him apart. His next words would shatter her, but he felt he had no choice.

"The same thing you did for Franklin," he choked out tensely. "Only this time you'll be seducing targets not for money, but because your government needs you to…."

Hope froze, not even breathing, the world spinning around her. She took a moment to process this blow, then, as it registered to her stunned brain, she let out a sharp cry and crumpled to her knees on the cold tile floor.

"No…." she moaned softly to herself, burying her face in her hands. "Please…. No…." The girl began to cry raggedly, her dreams of freedom shattered.

Michael's heart wrenched with pity, and he said the only words he had in him to say. "I'm sorry," he whispered roughly. The girl's cries stabbed him with guilt and pain. With her face covered like that, he was haunted by her image. She could have been Nikita, sobbing for mercy….

He let her cry on for a few more minutes, but then interrupted her, unable to endure this torment any longer. He put his hand under her arm and hauled her to her feet. "We start tomorrow, 5 a.m.," he told her in a strict tone, staring coldly down into the tear-filled blue eyes. "Get some rest….."

He pushed her, gently, but inexorably, toward the cot in the center of the room. The girl balked, flinching back from this piece of furniture as if it were some barbaric rack of torture.

"I -I.. can't!" she sobbed frantically, turning to clutch Michael by the lapels, looking up into his face for comfort. "It has those… those THINGS!" she gasped, pointing to the straps. Her eyes pleaded with his. "I can't sleep here…." She confessed desperately, panting hard in terror and clinging to him. "Please…" she begged. "Please don't leave me here…"

Michael stiffened, realizing with another jolt to his heart what the girl's fear meant- that tonight had not been the first time she had been tied to a bed and rendered helpless. He knew with sudden clarity that she had been tortured- raped- probably repeatedly by Franklin, and maybe by some of the others. He closed his eyes; he had planned to tell her the truth and get out, but he couldn't leave her like this- panicked, desperate, and, uncannily, still trusting him.

He sighed raggedly, feeling shaken inside. Try as he might, he couldn't harden his heart enough to walk out. This could have been Nikita, five years ago. She had come to Section, alone in the world, abandoned, terrified, and like Hope, an abused child. He had seen something good in her and he fiercely risked himself to protect her as best he could from being destroyed and degraded further. He couldn't abandon Nikita then to Section's callous ways, and he couldn't abandon Hope now.

Inside him, something shifted- his loyalty to Section, no matter how strong, could not outweigh his need for a clear conscience. He had to live with himself, and he knew that unless he protected this child as he had protected Nikita, his soul would never heal from the scars. He didn't know how he would manage to do it, but he would prevent Section from turning Hope into their whore if it was the last thing he ever did.

These thoughts and feelings only took a few moments to flicker through his mind, but their effect was immediate and deep. Abruptly, he grabbed Hope by the hand and pulled her toward the door.

"Come with me," he ordered firmly, giving her no time to argue with him. "We'll find you some new quarters….."

The girl ceased her crying and followed him obediently, letting out a deep sigh. She had complete faith that her hero would fix everything, that everything would be all right…

She stared wide-eyed at each corridor and department he led her through, each more modern and fantastically high-tech than the last. She asked no questions, needing all her breath just to keep up with him. He strode along the hallways with a determined pace, like a man on a mission, a man being chased by demons. At last, after so many twists and turns and trips in elevators and stairs that Hope was completely disoriented, Michael came to a halt before another steel door, looking very much like the last one she had been locked behind.

The girl cowered back as Michael unlocked the door to the room with a flat, rectangular electronic key. "What's this place?" she asked apprehensively, gasping to catch her breath.

Michael gave her a self-deprecating, almost modest smile. "My room," he answered in a husky tone.

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

Hope backed away from him a step, watching him warily. "YOUR room?" she choked out uncertainly, going pale.

Michael took in a deep breath, realizing that after what she'd been through that her sudden fear of him was understandable, although it hurt him to think he had frightened her. He hastened to reassure her that he had no intention of spending the night in her bed.

"It's where I stay occasionally when we're on standby," he explained softly, opening the door wider for her. "I have an apartment in town, so I'm not here much…" The green eyes met hers, pleading for her trust. "You'll be safe here…." He promised gently.

He reached for her hand and Hope smiled at him briefly, letting him lead her further into the room, its appearance reassuring her further.

This was not a love-nest, she grasped that instantly. The single bed was narrow and shoved against one wall, covered in a drab navy-blue bedspread. Hope sighed with relief when she saw it was just a bed, with no straps of any kind. A shelf of books and a small desk with a computer on it comprised the rest of the furniture. The walls were bare white tile with no pictures or decorations; Michael's quarters were almost as plain and stark as the prison cell she had just been in.

"The bathroom's in there," Michael went on, pointing to a door in the far wall. "There's nothing to eat," he explained apologetically, "But I could bring you something if you're hungry…"

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "This is fine," she told him, touched by his attention. Franklin had never cared if she were hungry or not, and he cared even less if she were afraid. In fact, her old mentor had probably enjoyed her discomfort and savored her fear. This new trainer- or owner, as Hope was resigning herself to think of him- was certainly kinder that the last. She let her gratitude show in her eyes, the blue depths filling with tears.

"Thank you…" she choked out, overcome.

Michael blinked back tears of his own, distressed that she was so grateful to him when he was essentially contriving to make her his- and Section's- slave. "Get some rest," he repeated in a harsh tone, covering his tenderness under a gruff exterior. He strode toward the door, planning to leave before his emotions got the better of him.

Her small voice called him back. "Michael?" Hope asked in a tentative whisper.

Michael sighed, and turned to look at her, still with one foot out the doorway. "Yes?" he asked impatiently, anxious to be gone, his guilt making him uncomfortable in her presence.

The girl flushed, and bit her lip, staring at the floor shyly. "Could I… uh…." She began awkwardly, choking off the last words. She swallowed hard and nervously tried again. "Could I…."

"Could you WHAT?" Michael snapped, immediately feeling angry at himself for being so edgy.

Hope flinched at his tone, but then took a determined breath and raised her eyes to his. "C-Could I read one of your books?" she pleaded tremulously, the request obviously of importance to her, since she had made an effort to overcome her embarrassment about asking. "You see," the girl rushed on breathlessly, "Franklin pulled me out of school when I was sixteen and then he threw my books away," she expounded shyly. "He wouldn't let me read anything- I was only supposed to clean house and cook and.. and…." Her voice trailed off, unable to find the words for her duties as Franklin's whore.

Michael's face softened in pity, noting how she eyed the battered stack of paperbacks and dusty hard-bound tomes on his shelf almost hungrily. He realized that this bright girl had been starved not just of affection and respect, but of intellectual stimulation as well.

"Of course," he answered roughly, coming back into the room. "You can read whatever you want…." His gaze flickered again over the bookshelves, which to his eye held only sparse, out-dated offerings. The girl's mind was starving, and the books were like stale leftovers; Michael wanted to give her a feast.

"Why don't I just let you use the computer instead," he suggested impulsively, striding toward the desk and seating himself in front of the monitor. He booted up the machine and then typed in a low-level password. "Here," he said after a moment, standing up and gesturing toward the chair to indicate she should take his place. "I've tapped you in to Section's Level One Database. There's quite an extensive library, references on every topic…."

To his shock, Hope flinched again, and backed away from the desk. "No, that's okay…" she refused breathlessly, shaking her head. She looked almost frightened again. "The books will be fine…." She sighed deeply and forced a brave smile, her lower lip trembling. "I don't want to use your computer…"

Michael tilted his head curiously, one eyebrow shooting up. "Why not?" he asked gently, his voice kind.

The kindness was almost Hope's undoing. Tears started in her eyes and she looked away, flushing with shame. "I.. I've never used a computer," she admitted with a breathless sob, choking out this confession. "I wouldn't know how…"

Michael blinked, realizing how much he took for granted. He had been a prisoner, too, but this child had led an even more restricted and dysfunctionally abnormal life than he did. He sighed, and closed his eyes. Madeleine was right, he thought grimly. To Hope, Section would be like Paradise, compared to what she was used to.

It's okay," he soothed her, leaning down to flick the monitor off. "You can learn how tomorrow," he told her, making another impulsive promise. "I'll have Birkoff teach you…."

"Birkoff?" she echoed a little apprehensively. "Who's that?" Her eyes widened, and Michael realized that her fear had returned. He wondered if she thought Birkoff was yet another unknown male that she would be forced to please. He knew she had had few if any good experiences with men lately to make her trust any of his gender.

"He's our resident young genius," Michael replied in a gentle tone, smiling reassuringly at her. "You'll like him."

Hope smiled back, if at first a little uncertainly. "Okay," she agreed, her smile broadening as she relaxed, realizing the gift of education he was offering her. "Michael, thank you…" she cried impulsively, and rushed forward to give him a tight hug, and a kiss…

Her warm lips brushed his invitingly. With her arms around him, her soft curves melding into his body, Michael was overcome with a swift and sudden surge of desire. She was so much like Nikita that every cell in his being responded to her with a keen yearning, wanting her touch. He moaned involuntarily against her lips, and the kiss deepened, his mouth now plundering hers. His arms tightened around her, and he pulled her closer, capturing her in his embrace.

His senses reeling from this unexpected and spontaneous conflagration of desire, he went on kissing her until a soft sound recalled him back to reality, making him realize that he was not with Nikita after all.

Hope was whimpering in the back of her throat, but whether from fear or desire, Michael did not know. Abruptly sobering, he broke the kiss and held her away from him, his hands clenched around her upper arms. She held on to him, fingers grasping his shoulders, for support. She was trembling, her knees giving way beneath her.

"I'm sorry…" he choked out, devastated by guilt, and disconcerted by his complete lack of control.

The girl stared back at him, an expression of pure shock on her face. "M-Michael?" she gasped, confused and uncertain.

With a harsh groan, Michael shoved her firmly away from him, realizing he was still tempted by her nearness. He wanted her, or he wanted Nikita, or both. His mind was reeling; he was as disoriented and confused by the kiss as she was.

"Tomorrow, five a.m.," he uttered gruffly, trying to calm himself. He walked quickly to the door, making his escape. Hope watched his stiff, retreating back as he left her, locking the door behind him without a backward glance.

She sank onto the cot, her knees giving way beneath her. Collapsing sideways onto the bed, she buried her face in the pillow and sobbed, overcome by her emotions. She cried and cried, until she eventually succumbed to exhaustion, and fell into a troubled sleep.

She dreamed she was a slave girl in ancient Egypt, a slave that did not want her freedom. She was captured by the green-eyed Pharaoh's kisses……

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

Michael fled Section after leaving Hope, heading for the sanctuary of home immediately after locking her into his room.

Home. He hadn't used that word much before, even for the six years he was "married" to Elena. She and Adam were a separate half of his life, and though they were his family, his existence in their lives was a role he played, for a mission. The suburban house he shared with them was technically his home, but he could never truly relax there, not completely….

The apartment he had found for himself after he was extracted from the mission was still new, and half empty. He had had no great urge to furnish it, or to establish it as a new nest for himself. It was a place to sleep, a place to store his clothes and his extra coffee-pot. It was not a home.

Home was a loft apartment with a view that looked out over the city. Home was a glassed-in modern bedroom, with a platform bed that he shared with his Beloved.

Home was the two of them in that bed.

Home was being with Nikita.

He arrived at her apartment building, his heart beating faster- His increase in pulse rate having nothing to do with his having taken the stairs. He had a key, but he knocked first, liking it when she greeted him at the door. He liked to see her smile at him, he liked being greeted with a kiss, liked being enveloped in her arms…

He was trembling when he arrived, his hand shaking so much he could barely knock on the door. He had barely rapped twice when the door opened and Nikita stood there, devouring his ravaged face with a wide-eyed look.

"What is it?" she gasped, holding out her arms to him. "What's wrong?"

Wordlessly, Michael let out a harsh sigh and fell into her embrace, crushing her to his chest and letting the warmth from her heart seep into his.

"Michael?" his blonde lover whispered in his ear, stroking his hair and letting him absorb what strength and comfort he needed from her nearness. It amazed her, sometimes, how open Michael was with her now about his feelings. Since he had moved in with her, he was no longer a blank wall, or a closed book. The walls were down now, the pages open, just for her. In Section, he was still the ice man, the operative, but once here, once they were alone together, he allowed her to see inside his soul, holding back nothing.

His trembling stopped and he took a deep breath, lifting his head from her shoulder. His tortured green eyes met hers. "She's doing it again," he told her in an anguished tone. "Madeleine's toying with us…."

Nikita nodded solemnly, saddened but not surprised. She took his hand and led him to the couch, where they both sat down side by side. Still holding his fingers tightly in hers, she looked at him tenderly. "Tell me," she said softly.

Michael sighed again and began. "Madeleine called me in early this morning because she wanted to discuss the lack of Valentine operatives with me…."

Nikita's blue eyes widened, then she frowned, her perfectly shaped lips twisting to one side in distaste. "She interrupted our love-making for that?" she murmured, her eyes lighting up at the memory. She leaned forward to kiss him gently, a quick, but tender caress of connection and reassurance, before she relaxed back into the couch and let him go on.

Michael gave her an answering kiss on the cheek, then, his eyes softening, he told her the rest.

"She said you hadn't lived up to your potential as a Valentine operative, and then she ordered me to bring in a girl who would be a substitute for you…."

Restlessly, Michael jumped to his feet and began agitatedly pacing the hard-wood floor. "That's exactly what she is, Nikita…" he confessed gruffly, stopping his pacing to run his hand nervously through his medium-length brown hair. His eyes met hers once more.

"She's … you…." He whispered roughly.

Nikita blinked at him, confused. "Me?" she queried in a puzzled tone. "What do you mean?"

Michael licked dry lips and then looked away from her before he went on. "She's young, blonde, beautiful…" he sighed raggedly. "She's also vulnerable, and sweet…." He closed his eyes in pain. "She's been treated unjustly by Life, hurt, abused…."

He opened his eyes to look at her, his face tormented. "They want me to train her…." He choked out hoarsely. "I don't know if I can do it…"

Nikita stared at him grimly for a moment, then swallowed hard and lifted her chin. "Why not?" she demanded directly, trying to be brave. "You've trained people before…." She went on, shrugging her shoulders, as if to reassure herself that what he did outside of these four walls didn't matter…

"Nikita…" Michael breathed in an admonishing tone, coming to sit beside her once more. He took her hand in his. "Madeleine's doing this NOW to upset things between us…." He told her gruffly. "She wants this to break us up…."

His Beloved stiffened, her hand in his growing cold. "You think this girl could break us up?" she demanded in a hurt tone. Her eyes met his, her lower lip quivering. "You already care for her that much?" she asked uncertainly.

Michael stared at her a long moment, then slowly shook his head. "I care for her because she reminds me of you," he said in a husky tone. He took in a ragged breath. "Watching HER suffer is like watching YOU suffer," he explained in a hoarse whisper. "I don't want to force her into the role of Section whore, but if I don't…." He stopped, the words choking in his throat.

"If you don't?" Nikita whispered back, lifting her hand to caress his cheek.

He uttered a soft cry at her touch and gathered her into his arms, crushing her to his chest once more, as if he were afraid of letting her go. "If I don't," he continued in an anguished voice in her ear, "Madeleine will send you out on those whoring missions instead…"

Nikita let out a tremulous breath and then placed both her hands on either side of his face and held him still. She looked bravely into his eyes and smiled at him, a smile full of empathy and tenderness. "It's okay, Michael…" she told him softly. "You won't have to train her, and you won't have to worry about losing me…."

She leaned forward and gently kissed him on the mouth, the caress both comforting and possessive, marking him as her own.

He moaned softly, then blinked at her, astonished. "What do you mean?" he whispered roughly, his lips still nuzzled against hers.

Nikita wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his face down to hers even closer, staring at his mouth hungrily. "You won't have to train her, Michael, my Love," she sighed, nipping her lips along his jaw. "Because I'll train her for you…" she whispered throatily. And then, before he could respond to this shocking offer, she kissed him again.

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

Five a.m. came very early. Nikita yawned and walked bleary-eyed through gray Section corridors toward Michael's old quarters where her new recruit, Hope Franklin, was waiting.

It had taken her several hours of persuasive talking and even more persuasive love-making to get Michael to agree to her scheme, but at last he had seen that her plan was best. After all, if this girl was supposed to be a substitute for Nikita, what better way was there to train her than giving her the model she was supposed to be patterned after? And besides, Nikita had cajoled him in between kisses, from what Michael had explained to her about Hope's fear and distrust of men, a woman trainer might be just what was needed to get the girl to open up and learn what she needed to learn.

Michael had not been able to argue with her about these points. He protested even less when Nikita led him to the bedroom and began to take off his clothes…

In the light of morning, her good idea of last night still seemed like a good idea. To both of them. She and Michael had discussed it again briefly over a quick breakfast, as they both got ready for work. Nikita would oversee Hope's training, becoming her mentor and friend. This would remove Michael from the emotional discomfort of seeing the young girl everyday, something which he and Nikita both wanted, but for different reasons. Nikita was anxious to break the bond that seemed to already have been formed between new recruit and Class Five operative.

Nikita at last reached her new pupil's quarters and dug in her pocket for the card-key. She smiled to herself grimly. She recognized that her motives for wanting to train Hope were not entirely altruistic, even though she had nothing but sympathy for the girl's plight. Given Michael's reaction to her, and his distress at having to train her, Nikita knew he was already attracted to some degree to the young woman he had rescued last night. Training her would serve the dual purpose of keeping Hope away from Michael, as well as increasing the girl's chances of survival in Section.

Straightening her shoulders, Nikita sighed once more, slid the key in the lock, and opened the door.

Hope was waiting for her. She was awake, dressed, and standing just beyond the door, wide-eyed and expectant. But Hope had been expecting to see Michael, not this stunning twin. Except for a slight difference in height- Hope was a few inches shorter- and the fact that they younger girl's face was slightly softer, there was nothing to indicate that they hadn't both sprung from the same womb. Both women stared at each other in shock. Nikita, in spite of having been given Michael's description of her, was not prepared, either. The resemblance between them was uncanny- it was almost like looking into a mirror.

"My name's Nikita," the original said at last after another long moment of staring. She realized that her trainee was beyond the power of speech at the moment. She smiled warmly and took a step closer, holding out her hand. "I'll be training you from now on…"

The girl blinked rapidly a few times, as if coming out of a trance, then smiled back. She reached forward eagerly to shake Nikita's hand. "I'm Hope," she introduced herself unnecessarily. Her eyes riveted on her twin's face. "I'm supposed to be like you, aren't I?" she blurted out, grasping the situation immediately.

Nikita nodded, admiring the girl's intelligence. "That's right," she drawled with a slight grimace. "It seems you already look like me, now we'll just have to make sure you have the skills you need to perform like I do, as well…."

The younger blonde paled, looking stricken. Her hand went to her throat. "Skills?" she echoed apprehensively. "P-Perform…?"

Nikita shook her head, anxious to reassure the frightened trainee that she wasn't talking about sex, which she realized Hope thought she had meant.

"We'll need to teach you how to handle weapons, to defend yourself in a fight, and to have a certain proficiency with computers…." Nikita explained gently.

The girl's face lit up. "I'd like to learn about computers," she confessed shyly. "Michael said that he was going to have someone named Birkoff teach me…." She blushed and lowered her eyes when she mentioned Michael's name.

Nikita paused, stunned a little at the blatant adoration in the girl's face. But why was she surprised? Michael had that effect on women, especially Nikita herself.

"Yes, he told me," Nikita answered dryly. "You'll get to spend some time with Birkoff this afternoon, but we'll start off first in the gym…."

The girl raised her eyes shyly to stare at her new trainer again. "Will Michael be there, too?" she asked hopefully.

Nikita sighed. It was plain that the new recruit was already smitten. They usually were. Only this time, this particular recruit could offer quite a bit of competition- it had been plain that Hope was definitely Michael's type…

Nikita drew in a deep breath and shook her head, trying to clear it of her sudden pang of jealousy. She tried to imagine how she would feel if the situation were reversed, and it was SHE who had been told to train a recruit that looked just like Michael. Nikita was sure she would have been a little unsettled by it, as well. She supposed she should have been flattered, in a way, that Michael was so … connected to Hope from the start, but that didn't mean she wanted the connection to deepen any further.

"No, he won't," she answered sharply, more gruffly than she intended. "Ready?" she barked imperiously, hands on her hips.

Hope flinched at her tone, then swallowed hard and nodded obediently. "Yes, ready," the girl replied meekly, although to Nikita she looked scared to death.

To make up for snapping at her, Nikita smiled at her new charge and linked arms with her as they went out into the hallway. Hope relaxed enough to smile back, and together they strode along toward the main staging area of Section.

Heads turned wherever they went. Men and women alike stared at them- the most attractive woman in Section appeared to have been cloned, duplicated, the impact of Nikita's beauty doubled before their eyes. Some of the men dared to whistle at them, and a few made cat-calls and rude remarks, mostly aimed at Hope. She was the new girl, and thus, unlike Nikita, fair game.

Nikita quelled the offenders with a look, and an offhand reply. "Stuff it, Kowalski," she tossed over her shoulder to the worst of them, continuing to casually stroll on by. Hope, on the other hand, was not nearly as blasé and unaffected as her new teacher. The taunts had unsettled her, making her feel threatened and uneasy. She no longer felt safe, as she had when locked away from the world in Michael's old room.

Nikita could feel the girl trembling beside her, and when they reached the end of the hallway, and had a modicum of privacy, she took her pupil aside to deliver the first lesson.

"Never show fear," she told the pale-faced young girl. "Or weakness. Your enemies will sense it and take advantage…."

Hope bit her lip hard, fighting tears. "But what if I AM afraid?" she protested. "Or weaker?" the girl shook her head. "What then?"

Nikita sighed, and clapped her hand on Hope's shoulder, blue eyes looking into blue. "It's okay to be afraid," she said softly. "Just make them more afraid of you than you are of them…."

Hope flinched back from her touch, her eyes flashing angrily. "That's crap!" she hissed, torn between anger and tears. "No amount of bravado in the world would have kept Franklin and the others from raping me…." Her voice broke on a sob, and she turned away, hugging her arms around herself as if suddenly cold with dread. "This place won't be any different…." She added in a quavering tone, staring back in the direction of the men who had taunted her. The girl shuddered.

Nikita caught Hope by the arm again and turned her to face her. "You're right," she said tightly, gazing sympathetically into Hope's face. "Attitude means nothing if you don't have the skills to back it up…" She released her startled pupil and smiled at her encouragingly. "What do you say I teach you how to kick some butt so you'll never be afraid again, hmm?"

Hope blinked at her in astonishment, then a slow, dazzling smile crossed her face. "Okay," she agreed happily. "Sounds good to me…"

The women linked arms again, and strode on toward the gym. This time Hope's new attitude of confidence must have made an impression, because no one bothered them at all, not once.

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

Two weeks went by, the most fulfilling and exciting weeks of Hope's life. After spending three years as Franklin's prisoner, having her mind stifled and her body abused, her training in Section was like a gift. Now, instead of spending her time in alternating states of boredom and fear, her days were filled with new intellectual challenges, and new physical achievements. Her hours in the gym with Nikita gave her a sense of freedom and empowerment, and she found her time at comm sitting in front of a computer next to Birkoff not in the least boring, but stimulating and challenging. A whole new world had opened to her, and she drank in her training eagerly, absorbing everything she learned like a sponge. She learned and learned, and wanted more.

Each night she went to bed, blessedly alone and unmolested, in Michael's old room, exhausted, but pleased with herself. She slept through the night, deeply and dreamlessly, and awoke each morning eager to begin again.

The only flaw that she could see in her new life was that she hadn't gotten to see Michael at all, except for a short glimpse of him now and then as he strode down the hallways. He had been too busy to stop and visit with her, she supposed. Maybe, she thought wistfully, he had forgotten all about her…

But Michael hadn't forgotten her. Not at all. He followed each step of her progress minutely, even if Hope was not aware of it. He scrutinized each report, and watched every surveillance tape of her training. Things were going well; the girl was blossoming under her new routine. Even though he had only caught a brief glimpse of Hope in person now and then, even he could see the difference in her that a few short weeks without being tortured by Franklin had made.

Hope no longer had a haunted look, and her face was no longer so drawn and pale. Roses bloomed in her cheeks, and she laughed more. She was sleeping well, and appeared to be relaxed and happy. He knew from the way that Nikita talked about her that mentor and pupil had formed a warm friendship, Hope looking up to Nikita almost as the big sister she had never had. Nikita, in turn, had quickly overcome her suspicions and jealousies and now regarded the younger woman with warm affection. It was natural, and inevitable, Michael thought uneasily. The two of them had so much in common, had such similar backgrounds….

Michael knew that the girl had been starved for affection and human contact, much as Nikita had been when she first came to Section. Both of the beautiful blondes had been abused and ill-treated, Nikita by her life on the streets, and Hope in her own home, by someone who was supposed to be family. The women gravitated to each other, both fulfilling some need in each other, bonding like the sisters they had been born to be.

Michael was a bit perturbed by how close they had become. Not because he resented the women being friends, but because he knew, sooner or later, that Madeleine would find a way to use it against them, as she used every relationship in Section.

He was surprised that Section's head task-mistress hadn't called him in to her office to discuss the change in command already. Madeleine knew of Hope's new training arrangement, of course, but she had let it go, making no comments or complaints about Nikita's taking over as Hope's primary teacher. In fact, if anything, she seemed pleased by this new configuration.

And, Michael knew from experience, Madeleine being pleased about something was always a very bad sign.

Madeleine wasn't the only one who was pleased. Birkoff had come to Michael's office that very morning, with a big smile on his face. After some hemming and hawing, he had finally gotten to the point of his visit.

"Uh, I was wondering, if it was okay with you if I could borrow Hope for the night?" he blurted out, blushing furiously. "You know, she's really good at what she does…."

Michael went white, and stood up. He glared at the younger man coldly, even as his heart pounded hot blood through his veins. If Hope had been prostituting herself with the men in Section, or Birkoff in particular, this was the first he had heard of it.

"Borrow… her?" he choked out, barely able to speak for fury.

Birkoff swallowed nervously, and then nodded. "I know she's your material, Michael, and you have her scheduled for training, but I could really use her in my department," he explained eagerly. "I'd hate to not take advantage of talent like hers….."

Michael stiffened, his hands knotting into fists at his sides. "In ….your …department?" he demanded tightly, echoing the only words that had kept him from decking the young computer genius right there. The words "use" and "take advantage of" combined in the same sentence with Hope's name had not set well with her protector.

"Yeah, well," Birkoff mumbled on, blushing again and shoving his hands in his pockets nervously. "You see, at first when you assigned her to me, I was a little ticked off, you know, that I would have to baby-sit some clueless bimbo that didn't know anything about computers, but the girl is phenomenal at what she does…." He nodded again emphatically.

"She absorbs everything so fast, I can hardly keep up with her," he explained further. "She grasps things in a few hours that even some of my senior analysts have taken years to learn…" He stopped his praises, disconcerted by Michael's continued stone-faced silence.

"Uh, if I couldn't have her for the night, maybe if you could give her to me for just a few hours?" the young genius begged. "Please?"

"You want her," Michael said at last, enunciating each word slowly as if to be sure he heard right, "because of your work?"

"Yeah," Birkoff answered quickly, giving Michael a curious look. "My work. What do you think I meant?" he added, tilting his head to the side, his brown eyes widening.

It was Michael's turn to blush. "Nothing," he choked out, embarrassed at where his thoughts had been going. "Fine," he added quickly, when he saw that Birkoff was still waiting expectantly for an answer to his request. "She's yours for the next two weeks, will that do?" he promised hastily.

Birkoff's face lit up. "Gosh, thanks, Michael!" he said with a beaming smile. He heaved a sigh of relief. "I didn't know how I was going to finish those Libyan stats without some competent help…."

The happy computer genius nodded his thanks once more, and went whistling out of the office. Michael slumped back into his chair when Birkoff had gone, wondering if he had done the right thing. Should he have pulled his new protégé off of her schedule to work with Birkoff full-time?

Hope's self-defense training had just barely begun, and her lessons with weapons had not even started. Nikita had avoided introducing her to Walter just yet, thinking that the older man's casual teasing and sexual banter would probably spook the battered young girl at this point. Her training with Section's weapon's master could wait until Hope had gained a little more confidence.

She had also had to this point no formal lessons with Madeleine, either, in dance, deportment, or in the fine art of seduction. Michael suspected shrewdly that Section's chief strategist had deliberately left these subjects to himself and Nikita to administer, just to toy with them further. Madeleine was probably well aware of the potential tension that was possible between himself and his lover by throwing Hope into the equation. Madeleine, Michael speculated, was standing by, staying out of it, waiting for the situation to complicate itself.

Michael sighed, and rubbed his forehead. Maybe, he thought, his impulsive gesture toward Birkoff would come to good, after all. It would give Nikita and him a chance to be together more, without the shadow of Hope between them. Although they still talked about her at home, Nikita had been reluctant to discuss the girl at length, and Michael had been wary of seeming too interested in her pupil's progress. Both of them were feeling a bit guilty, just from the fact that the burden of future Valentine missions would fall on the young girl's shoulders, not Nikita's. Michael disliked the idea of pushing Section's dirty-work onto Hope as much as Nikita did.

Maybe with this two-week respite from training her, it would give them all a chance to unwind, a break from the pressure. Michael knew Hope seemed happy working with Birkoff, so perhaps it was all for the best.

Having convinced himself that everything was fine, Michael calmly turned in his chair to settle in front of his computer again, and went back to work.

Little did he know, that in just twenty-four hours, his peaceful world would be shattered…..

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

At three a.m. in comm, Hope yawned and rubbed her eyes. She had been enjoying her stint helping Birkoff, but after sixteen hours straight at the computer station, she was getting a bit tired. She leaned forward in her chair, and then arched her back to stretch it. She took a deep breath and then went back to work again.

>From behind her, a young male voice made a gentle suggestion. "Why don't we take a break?" Birkoff said quietly. "We've got most of the Sudentenland encryptions finished, anyway…."

Hope swiveled in her chair and smiled at him gratefully. "Okay.." she agreed quickly. She liked Birkoff, and felt safe with him. She found working with computers new and fascinating, and she hadn't been upset too much that she would be assigned to this station for the next few weeks, although she would miss seeing Nikita everyday. But just because she enjoyed her work it didn't mean she couldn't get tired of it at the end of the day. A break would be welcome…

She went to stand up, thinking that she and Birkoff would head out for the cafeteria for a light meal, but Birkoff had another idea.

"Here," he told her, shoving a bag of Oreos her way that he had produced from a drawer under his desk. "Have some…."

Hope sat down again and accepted a cookie from the bag. "Thank you," she said politely, taking a cautious bite. She was surprised by how good it was, sweeter than she had expected. Franklin had not allowed her to indulge in candy or treats of any kind, and the Oreo was a new experience for her. She smiled; this was yet another freedom she had been given since Michael had brought her here- she could eat what she wanted.

Birkoff swallowed the last bite of his own cookie and smiled back at her. He liked having her around- Hope was hard-working, uncomplaining, and he didn't have to baby her like some of the prima donna analysts in his department. She was also incredibly beautiful. It had taken Birkoff a little while to overcome his shock at her amazing resemblance to Nikita, but as he worked with her, he came to see Hope as her own person, a very different person from her double.

Hope was more like he was himself, Birkoff thought. In spite of her experiences, she was still basically shy and vulnerable, not nearly as outgoing and extroverted as Nikita. And he knew she felt things deeply, but managed to keep them inside. He was impressed with how together she was, considering what she had been through. Birkoff was surprised she was so mentally acute and sharp, traits he admired along with her beauty. He shook his head; he knew he would have been a total nut-case by now if he had been through the same experiences that she had endured.

He watched her shyly while delicately nibbled her cookie. He liked her as a woman, as well. And, he speculated hopefully that his chances of having a relationship with her were much greater than they could ever be with Nikita. Maybe, someday…

"More?" he said eagerly, offering her the bag of cookies.

Hope shook her head in refusal. "No, thanks," she told him, smiling.

Birkoff lapsed into an embarrassed silence, unsure of what to say next. Fortunately, Hope did not seem so shy about continuing the conversation.

"Could I ask you a question?" she requested demurely.

The young man's brown eyes lit up behind his glasses. "Sure!" he answered eagerly.

Hope frowned and bit her lip, looking anxious. "Did Michael say anything to you about my working here?" she asked breathlessly. "I mean, do you think maybe I could be assigned here to comm for longer than just two weeks?"

Her young companion was both pleased and dismayed at this question. He was gratified that Hope seemed happy to be with him, and wanted more of his company, but at the same time he was well aware that the chances of her being reassigned to his department were virtually nil. He had seen the numbers- Valentine ops were rare, and with the shortage in her "field", Birkoff knew Hope would not likely be pulled from her other duties anytime soon. Section, he thought grimly, had other uses for her.

"I don't know," the young man told her gently, not wanting to hurt her by giving her request a blunt refusal. He shrugged his shoulders and gave her a serious look behind his glasses. "I guess you'd have to ask Michael," Birkoff hedged.

The girl leaned forward, her face still eager. "Is he here?" she asked quickly, scanning the room for the presence of her handsome rescuer in the hallways of Systems. "I could ask him now….."

Birkoff, watching her closely, stiffened and sighed to himself, his stomach sinking. He knew that look. He had seen it on the faces of dozens of recruits in the past; he recognized the signs instantly. Hope was in love with Michael. He took a deep breath and broke it to her gently.

"No, he's not here," her mentor told her softly. Birkoff turned away to gaze at his monitor again, not wanting to see the crushed look on Hope's face when he told her the truth. "He's gone home for the night," he whispered tensely, licking dry lips. "With Nikita….."

Birkoff heard her sharp intake of breath and he looked up to see his protégé looking pale and stricken in her chair. "With…. Nikita?" the girl gasped, stunned, flinching visibly at this news.

"Yeah," Birkoff acknowledged miserably, hating to witness her pain. "They've been crazy about each other for years…." He hunched down in his chair and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Michael moved in with her a few months ago….."

Hope flinched, feeling the sting of this blow as if she had literally been kicked in the stomach. The girl's mouth worked but no sound came out. "Oh," she managed to gasp breathlessly after a moment, bending double and clutching the sides of her chair. Her face went completely white with pain, her whole body trembling.

Michael… she thought, her mind reeling. With Nikita….. A sob of anguish rose to her throat. The two people she trusted the most, her closest friend, and the man she loved, were together, and they hadn't told her. How could they do this to her? She thought in agony. How could she have been such a fool? Hope wrenched her head to the side and closed her eyes, tears squeezing out from underneath her lashes. She began to sob in earnest.

Birkoff, alarmed and guilt stricken at her reaction, leaned forward and put his hand on her arm. "Are you okay?" he asked her nervously, unsure what to do.

Hope sighed tremulously and opened her eyes, the blue depths glittering with tears. "No…." she choked out hoarsely. "No…"

Birkoff wasn't sure whether the word was an answer to his question or a denial of the painful news he had told her. Embarrassed, and wanting to save the girl further humiliation, he responded as if she had meant the former.

"If you're not feeling well," he told her softly, "Why don't we call it a day?" He bit his lip, his heart wrenched with compassion. "Go get some rest. We can start fresh in the morning, all right?"

Hope was galvanized immediately by these words, grateful for the release. Still too choked with tears to speak, she leapt from her chair and nodded once to Birkoff, and then ran from her post, blindly seeking escape from her tormented thoughts.

She fled down the heading for her room, for a haven in which to hide. She ran and ran, her pounding feet and harsh breathing the only sound in the empty corridors. She had almost reached her quarters when she stopped, sobbing breathlessly in her tracks with sudden realization.

That was Michael's room. The place he had led her to when she had been so afraid, the place where he had been kind to her, where he had kissed her….

Lies, she thought, with another wrenching stab of pain in her heart. It had all been lies. And Nikita had lied to her there, too. She had pretended to be Hope's friend, and all the while she knew how they younger girl had felt about Michael, had let her babble on about her feelings for him, had listened to Hope's confession of her adoration of him, and had never once told her the truth.

Because the friendship had all been a lie, Hope realized with a start. And Michael's, too. They had used her, used her worse than Franklin ever had….

The girl twisted around, desperately seeking another place to hide, to lick her wounds. She couldn't do it, she thought. She couldn't go back to that room again….

She paused for a moment to get her breath, and then she calmed down, a look of stubborn determination coming over her beautiful features.

She wouldn't stay here to be used and humiliated any longer, Hope thought grimly. She had had enough. She was through being toyed with, through with being a slave…..

She would escape, find freedom. And she would do it alone, all by herself. Life had just taught her that there was no one else besides herself to be trusted…

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Hope took a deep breath and ran on, searching the Section corridors for a way out of her cruel prison….

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

Three hours later, at six a.m., before he was even aware that his material had escaped, Michael was having problems of his own.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked in gruff resentment, stepping down into Madeleine's office. He had been ordered to report there by a phone call early that morning, the summons once again interrupting his and Nikita's pre-dawn lovemaking. He was beginning to wonder if Madeleine had deliberately calculated the timing of the call to coincide with the worst possible moment for a disruption of their privacy. Madeleine, he speculated wryly, was certainly cruel and twisted enough to do just that.

"Yes, Michael," Madeleine said without her usual serene Mona Lisa smile; she looked rattled, concerned. "Come in," she invited him almost absent-mindedly as she frowned in preoccupation.

Michael's instincts to be wary ratcheted up a notch. Seldom had he seen Madeleine disconcerted about anything, even a few months ago when Section itself was being incinerated. Her anxious mood now did not bode well.

Michael had barely seated himself in the chair before her desk when she began. "We have a window of opportunity that has come up unexpectedly," the lovely brunette started in briskly. "A target we've been after for years but thought we couldn't get has suddenly become attainable…" She folded her hands demurely in front of her, but Michael noticed how tensely her entwined fingers were clenched.

"We'll have to act quickly, or our chance will be lost." She fixed him with a cold glare. "This will be your only briefing on the subject. There won't be time to go through standard procedures. After you leave here, you will gather your team and depart to retrieve the target, is that understood?"

Michael nodded. "A flash mission," he acknowledged softly. They were rare, but not unheard of. He tilted his head to the side, and raised one eyebrow. "Who is the target?" he queried sharply.

Madeleine sighed and lifted one delicate hand to rub her forehead wearily. "Jorge Rodriguez," she answered tightly.

Michael flinched, his back going stiff. He was more than familiar with Rodriguez, the most notorious arms dealer in Central and South America. Section suspected that he had instigated a least a third of the terrorist skirmishes that had ignited several international and civil wars, just to keep himself in business. Rodriguez took no sides in the resulting blood-baths; he was only interested in who could pay the most for his supplies.

The terrorist was also completely amoral in his personal life. He had a short temper, and was notoriously cruel and sadistic to his followers, as well as his own family. He was known to have killed some of his workers for no reason, other than he felt bored that day and wanted amusement.

He was capricious, totally ruthless and unstable. Rodriguez had beaten his wife to death one evening after she had protested his bringing a hooker into their bed. It was rumored that after he was done with her, Rodriguez had killed the hooker as well.

"What mode?" Michael asked tightly, going pale. He anticipated the answer, but still awaited Madeleine's reply with cold dread.

Madeleine fixed him with a stern look. "A seduction, of course," she told him, her brown eyes warming sympathetically. "He likes tall blondes…"

Michael caught his breath, feeling like he had just been sucker-punched in the gut. "No…" he gasped involuntarily.

The brown eyes hardened. "It's not ideal, but it can't be helped," she spat out with asperity. "Rodriguez will be at a night club in Miami for one night, and one night only…." She sighed again. "Slipping one of our operatives in amongst the women he'll be provided with is our only way in…."

Michael closed his eyes, feeling his heart lurch in his chest. Nikita, he thought with horror. They were going to send in Nikita to be abused and killed by this monster. He stifled a moan. He couldn't bear it….

Madeleine went on before he could utter any further protest. "I know you've barely begun training her, but Hope is the only viable candidate we have right now to take point…."

Michael flinched, and opened his eyes. "Hope?" he gasped in shock. The girl didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of surviving against a man like Rodriguez. He would make what Franklin did to her look like a kindness. "He'll rape her and butcher her," Michael choked out, green eyes flashing angrily. "She's not an operative, Madeleine," he defended his protégé protectively. "She's little more than a defenseless child…." He pleaded desperately. "You can't do this…."

Madeleine rose slowly to her feet, her brown eyes flashing angrily in return. "But I can, and I will," the brunette beauty countered in a tone as cold as ice. She paused, and met his gaze with a stern look. She tilted her head and then threw out her trump card.

"Would you prefer that I send Nikita, Michael?" she said in a deadly quiet tone. "Because that is your only option…"

Michael stood up, eyes flashing dangerously. His instincts told him that there was more to this than what he had been told. The opening to get Rodriguez coming so soon on the heels of his newly kindled love-affair with Nikita and Hope's recruitment had to be more than coincidence. Was he paranoid to think that Madeleine had orchestrated it all, to test him again? Did she want to see if he were willing to sacrifice Nikita in order to secure a successful mission for Section? Or was this about something else?

He bit his lip and then forced out a choked reply, answering as an operative, not the man he was inside. "Nikita has more training and experience," he acknowledged hoarsely, feeling cold shivers up and down his spine at the thought of her going in to retrieve Rodriguez. "Her POS would be higher than Hope's…."

Madeleine stared at him for a long moment, and then sighed. "No, it wouldn't," she answered softly, as if relieved that he had given the proper answer. "All our sims indicate that there is a 95% chance of losing whoever is sent in, no matter what their experience…."

She leaned back in her chair as if too weary to sit up straight any longer. "We have to protect Nikita….." Madeleine told him gently. "She's too valuable to lose…." The Section strategist smiled briefly and ruefully. "Too valuable to us, to you, and too valuable to be wasted on the likes of Rodriguez," she added in a soft voice.

Michael stiffened, staring at her shrewdly. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You knew the chance to get Rodriguez was coming, and you recruited Hope specifically for this mission, didn't you?" he accused in a tense voice.

Madeleine closed her eyes and nodded. "Yes, of course, we did," she admitted unashamedly. The brown eyes opened and looked at him with sympathy. "We did it to spare Nikita. Why do you think we didn't interfere in your rather slip-shod training of the girl?" Madeleine sighed heavily once more. "She's too psychologically damaged to be good Valentine material, anyway. It didn't matter what classes she did or did not have…." The brunette paused to give him another ironic, if sad, smile. "She wouldn't make it as operative, Michael. If Rodriguez didn't kill her, she'd be cancelled anyway…"

Michael glared at her, balling his hands into fists at his sides. "And if she DOES survive, what then?" he challenged forcefully. "What will you do to her?"

Madeleine steepled her fingers together and regarded him thoughtfully. "It's pointless to plan for the impossible," Madeleine told him quietly. "She'll be killed- you might as well face that," she said bluntly. She tilted her head to the side and studied him, evaluating his reaction. Michael hadn't said a word or changed his facial expression, but his eyes gave him away. The green depths had darkened to emerald, glittering with pain.

"You should know better by now, Michael," she admonished him gently, her tone almost kind, "Than to become attached to the material…."

Michael stared at her blankly, but behind the mask he wore his mind was working furiously. He would find a way to keep Hope alive. Somehow, by some miracle, he would see to it that she survived the mission, and after that, he would contrive to make Section give her another chance. She deserved that much.

He neither nodded nor spoke. He couldn't bring himself to agree with her by saying yes, of course. There was something in Hope that he cherished as he cherished his soul-mate, Nikita. Her heart, perhaps, or her humanity. But whatever nameless, priceless thing it was, he valued it too much to just throw it away. He had to try; he had to find a way….

Madeleine paused for his answer, and then, after receiving no acknowledgement of her order, she gave him another one. "The profile has been uploaded on your panel," she told him briskly. "The plane leaves in four hours…" Her chocolate brown eyes hardened, impaling him with her cold gaze. "That will be all…" she dismissed him firmly.

Michael glared back for a moment, his eyes not concealing his hatred, and then turned on his heel to leave. Without a backward glance, he strode out of the office, heading for Systems, where he thought Hope should be……

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

Michael strode into systems, hating his task, dreading what he was about to do. He rehearsed in his mind what he would say to Hope, how he would explain this mission. He couldn't tell her the truth. He couldn't tell her that Section was sending her to her death, and that he was a willing part of it.

Well, perhaps not willing, he amended to himself, closing his eyes against the pain. But still, he was the instrument of her destruction, the one ultimately responsible for bringing her here. He thought when he had brought her in that he was saving her from her tormented life with Franklin, that things would be better for her here, if only marginally.

Michael grimaced. For a few weeks, he had fooled himself into believing that everything would be all right, that her life would be different. But it wasn't. The names of the players had changed, but Hope's role as abused slave hadn't. Franklin or Rodriquez, or Section or Michael Samuelle-it mattered not what their names were, they were still her owners, the ones who controlled her, the ones who would push her to her death….

Michael looked up from his tortured thoughts to scan Systems for his blonde victim. The day shift of analysts and cyber experts filled all of the available stations, their leader, Birkoff, in the center. But Hope was not to be seen.

A small chill of apprehension skittered up Michael's spine, a new anxiety on top of the others already there.

"Merde," Michael cursed softly under his breath. He strode tensely up to Birkoff, ignoring the workers around him, and leaned down close to the young genius, lowering his voice so no one else could hear.

"Hope," he hissed curtly. "Where is she?"

Birkoff, absorbed in his work, jumped. "Jesus, Michael!" he protested with a gasp, rubbing his hand over his forehead. "You're going give me a heart-attack someday, sneaking up on a person like that…."

Michael had no patience for the younger man's complaints. He was on a deadline, and he could feel the clock ticking away the remaining few hours of Hope's life. He placed his hand firmly on Birkoff's shoulder and began squeezing until he evinced a startled yelp from his prey.

"WHERE?" Michael barked, raising his voice.

The sharply uttered command drew the attention of the computer crew around them. Birkoff looked up to see himself surrounded by a sea of wide-eyed, avidly interested faces.

Heaving a huge sigh, Birkoff barked an order of his own. "Go!" he demanded, shooing the gawkers away. "Go take a break or something…."

The technicians scattered, their departure hastened by Michael's glaring after them. In seconds, the men were alone. Birkoff licked dry lips and began before Michael could ask his question again.

"She's in her room sleeping, I suppose," he answered breathlessly. "She pulled her shift, and then left about four hours ago…" He felt his heart pounding fast with dread- he really didn't want to tell Michael that he had sent Hope away crying after telling her that Michael and Nikita were an item. Michael would flip, for sure.

The green eyes hardened. "Check," Michael ordered, his tone abrupt and glacial.

Birkoff nodded and turned back to his station, quickly tapping a few keys to bring up the surveillance monitor of that area of Section. The computer screen showed an empty room with an empty bed- no Hope anywhere.

The younger man heard Michael release a slow breath behind him. "Search for her," he hissed tightly.

Birkoff nodded, and hitched his chair closer to his desk. He shivered, not liking the feel of Michael literally breathing down his neck. His agile fingers flew over the keyboard, as he brought up location after location of where the young recruit might be. She was not in the gym, the cafeteria, the lounge, or the library. She was not in the locker rooms, or the even the showers. The main hallways showed no sign of her.

"Uh, she's not around…" Birkoff said unnecessarily. He heard Michael sigh again behind him.

"Where could she be?" the older man asked, sounding desperate. Birkoff cowered in his chair and shook his head miserably. It was time to 'fess up, he realized, his stomach knotting. Michael wouldn't stop until he found out everything. Besides, Birkoff was getting a little worried about Hope himself.

"Uh, Michael, there's something you should know…." The bespectacled genius began in a quavering voice. "I kind of let it slip that you and Nikita were… uh… I mean, that you and she are… uh…"

Michael paled, his back going ramrod straight. "Yes?" he demanded stiffly, his mouth grim. "And?" he queried, raising one eyebrow.

Birkoff swallowed hard and squeaked out a response. "Uh, you see, Hope didn't take it too well," he confessed awkwardly. He closed his eyes, wincing, as he choked out the rest. "She got upset. She..uh.. burst into tears and ran off…."

Michael's face went white and he swayed on his feet. This was a nightmare. Hope could be anywhere by now. He seriously doubted she was able to escape Section, but the underground complex by itself was plenty enough territory to cover in a search for a missing girl. Balling his hands into fists at his sides, Michael controlled, with effort, his urge to strike out at Birkoff in his fury. Guilt stabbed him, as well. Along with feeling responsible for toying with the girl's emotions, he realized wrenchingly that if he didn't find Hope, and find her soon, Nikita would be sent on the mission instead…

"Find her," Michael begged hoarsely. "Find her now…"

The younger man looked up at the usually stoic cold op, startled to see him distressed. He only stared at Michael for a moment, then took a deep breath and turned back to his station, fingers flying furiously over the keys.

"She doesn't have a tracker implanted," Birkoff muttered to himself as he worked. "But I can tweak the infra-red monitors to scan for her body-type…."

Michael waited in silent tension while Birkoff worked. The next few minutes seemed like the longest of his life. There was a cold place inside in the pit of his stomach that told him everything was going very wrong….

"Got her," Birkoff exclaimed triumphantly, interrupting Michael's brooding, dark thoughts.

Michael leaned closer, peering at the monitor. "Where?" he barked out.

Birkoff pointed to a small, red blob on the screen. "Level Five, the north stairs," he told him grimly. Birkoff enlarged the image and then looked closer. "Christ!" the young man gasped, horrified. "That's five floors up! It looks like she's…."

"She's jumping…." Michael finished tightly. Before Birkoff could catch his breath enough to reply, Michael was gone. He had already turned on his heel and lit out for the lower levels.

"Should I call for back-up?" Birkoff's anxious voice carried to him down the hall.

Michael paused to shout back a reply. "No," he answered gruffly. "I need to do this alone…."

He broke into a run then, his last word echoing in head over and over as he rushed to Hope's rescue.

Alone. That's how Hope felt….

Alone. That's how Michael would be, without Nikita, if this mission failed….

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

Hope clung to the outside of the metal stairway railing, feeling dizzy. It was a long way down, she thought. Long enough to do the job, she added to herself grimly. It wouldn't do to jump and end up mangled, but still alive. It had to be far enough to finish everything….

She closed her eyes and sighed. "I want it to be over…." She whispered into the darkness. "I've had enough…."

She hesitated, just from sheer weariness. She was so tired, so very tired of it all….

Physically, she was exhausted from her long day of training and her equally long stint after that at her computer station with Birkoff. But her intense fatigue went way beyond the simple need to sleep. She was numb from crying, and wounded in her soul. Suicide had not been her intention when she fled from her post- she had only wanted a place to hide, to lick her wounds, to THINK. Going back to her quarters was impossible; that space was too redolent of Michael. It was his room, his place, and she felt rejected by him, no longer part of it. She sought sanctuary elsewhere, somewhere where there were no people, somewhere where she could cry in private.

Hope had fled blindly down the halls, and had eventually found the stairway. She climbed and climbed, then stopped to catch her breath on the landing; she hadn't had the energy to go on.

Why go on at all? A voice inside her head asked quietly.

The girl blinked, stunned at this sudden and shocking idea. It made sense, though. What was there to live for, anyway? She sat down on the landing and mulled over her life, stunned at its emptiness.

She remembered when her parents had died; the grief had almost crushed her. There was no one to love her, or care for her. She had been totally alone.

Until Franklin had taken her in. The girl shuddered, and clung more tightly to the cold, metal railing. The orphan's brief hopes that she would be sheltered within the warmth of a family again were quickly shattered by her adopted father's swift and brutal betrayal. Her life had become a living hell, a hell she was desperate to escape from. Sometimes she contemplated provoking Franklin or one of the johns into killing her, but she had always held back, unsure whether she could get them to finish the job.

Now Hope looked down, to the hard, cement floor hundreds of feet below her.

This will do the job, the voice in her head said softly. Just let go.

Hope shivered, and gripped the railing tighter. She shifted her feet to ensure her perch was more stable on the slick metal steps. She wasn't going to jump, not just yet. She had to remember everything, had to think it all through…

She remembered what had happened next. Michael had rescued her, and Nikita had befriended her. Or, at least, she THOUGHT that's what had happened. But again, she had been betrayed. The promise of Michael's kiss had meant nothing. SHE meant nothing. He had only kissed her because she reminded him of his true love, Nikita….

Hope felt hot tears course down her cheeks. Her grip tightened on the railing, her knuckles going white. She clung on for dear life, unable to wipe the tears away. If she did, if she let go, she knew she would fall, and it would all be over. And for some reason she couldn't fathom, she wasn't done yet. She went on torturing herself, remembering more…..

Nikita, Hope thought. Nikita's betrayal hurt most of all. Hope had confided in her, trusted her; she thought the older girl was her friend. She had told Nikita all her secrets, all about how she felt about Michael, how she longed for him, admired him, how he was the first man she had ever loved. And all the time, Nikita must have been laughing at her behind her back, whispering in bed to Michael all the stupid, foolish things Hope had said….

The girl sobbed brokenly, closing her eyes. They BOTH had laughed at her, she knew it. But now the joke must have been wearing thin, because Michael had reassigned her to work with Birkoff. Hope's lower lip trembled; Michael and Nikita, she thought wretchedly, were probably tired of dealing with her, and had taken the first chance they got to transfer her away from them, so that they wouldn't have to put up with her anymore. Toying with her emotions must have been some kind of game to them. And now they didn't need her anymore for entertainment.

No one needs you, the voice said, louder this time. Just do them all a favor and jump.

"No…" Hope moaned, closing her eyes. The dizziness assailed her more strongly now, her hands aching from gripping the stair-railing. Her heart was sore, but still some deeper part of her protested her mind's suggestion that she end her pain. Some spark, a small flame, a life-force inside, urged her to hang on….

But you want it to be done with, the voice protested in return, promising sweet release. You want the darkness, the peace….

Hope struggled with herself, torn in half, one side fighting for life, one side for Death… The agony of this war within was even more painful than her sorrow at Michael's betrayal had been. The girl sobbed wildly now, great racking sobs that shook her body and threatened to shake her from her precarious perch on the landing ledge. Blinded by tears, her own crying and the squabbling inner voices ringing in her ears, she neither heard nor saw the black-clad figure stealthily approaching her from the stairs until he was upon her, close enough to touch..

"Leave me ALONE!!!" Hope screamed loudly, addressing the tormenting voices in her head, unaware that Michael was standing on the landing just inches from her, reaching out his hand…. "Go AWAY!!!" she yelled brokenly.

"All right," he agreed softly, backing away a half step. He swallowed hard, eyeing the young girl warily. She was sobbing and shuddering, her tentative hold on the outside railing alarming him greatly. He didn't want to do anything to push her in the wrong direction. "I won't touch you, I promise…" he soothed her gently, never taking his gaze off her face.

Hope flinched, and opened her eyes. Startled, she hadn't realized he was there until he had spoken out loud.

"M-Michael?" Hope gasped in shock, jerking her head up to look at him. The movement was enough to loosen her precarious grip on the metal bar, and the next second she found herself tilting backwards to lurch into the empty air, falling… falling….

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

Hope screamed and flailed wildly, hating the sickening feeling of having nothing but blank space under her feet where floor should be. Time slowed for her, and it seemed as if she was spending an eternity suspended like a puppet on a string, dangling in mid-air. She had time to endure an intense stab of sharp regret, a sorrow that almost rivaled her overpowering fear.

She didn't want it to be over, she realized. She didn't want this to be the end. Oh God, she thought, I want to live… A sob shook her. But now it was too late…

The world tilted and swirled around her, and she closed her eyes, gasping for breath, reaching out her hands to clutch the last few remaining seconds of life…..

And screamed again in shock when her fingers brushed solid warm flesh. Time rushed back to its normal speed again, and in seconds she realized that Michael had somehow caught her by her wrist, gripping hard. She gasped in relief and opened her eyes, and found herself looking straight up into Michael's ravaged face. His hand gripped hers, pulse point to pulse point, his grasp hard and painful as she dangled by her wrist over five floors of empty space below.

She looked down and whimpered in fear. A split second later, she felt a rending pain in her shoulder as Michael drew her upwards, a pain so sharp and wrenching that she thought she would pass out. Before she could register her rescue from the jaws of Death, Michael hauled her up and over the railing to the safety of the terra firma of the landing where he stood. Hope found herself lifted in strong arms, and cradled to the warm solidity of her hero's broad chest. She could feel his heart beating against hers in a rapid, wild rhythm.

He was panting as hard as she was, and crying as well. "My God," he moaned against her cheek. "My God, I thought I'd lost you…."

Hope writhed in his arms, panting in pain. She twisted wildly, trying to escape the fire of agony that blazed in her shoulder.

"Hope?" Michael asked anxiously, lifting his head to look at her. "Hope, what is it?"

The girl was too agonized to speak. She could only moan softly in answer.

Understanding immediately, Michael knelt with his precious burden and laid Hope carefully on the solid landing, cradling her head gently in his lap. The girl moaned again, louder this time, and then she felt Michael's gentle fingers probing the consuming fire….

"Don't!" she protested on a choked sob, flinching away from his touch. "Hurts…." She whimpered, closing her eyes.

"Shh.." Michael's gentle voice soothed above her. "You dislocated your shoulder…" Hope felt his fingers return to grasp her arm. "I can fix that for you…."

Before she had a chance to lift her head and tell him no, it was over. Michael gave her useless arm a swift yank, and then a push, and Hope felt the joint pop back into place. The raging forest fire in her shoulder flared high for an instant, and then eased quickly to a tolerable small flame, still there, still painful, but manageable.

"Better?" Michael asked softly from above her. He watched as the girl panted, recovering, stretched out across the cold metal floor. He gave her a moment to catch her breath, withdrawing a few inches away to allow some space between them.

But Hope neither needed nor wanted this distance, this separation. She sat up, turned, and reached for him, throwing her uninjured arm around his neck and cuddling close.

"Michael…." She murmured in breathless gratitude, nestling her head against his shoulder. "Michael…." Hungrily, she drank in this touch, this warmth, this feeling of shelter and safety, like the starving child that she was. "Thank you…."

His arms came up automatically to support her, holding her close in his embrace. Hope felt him trembling with reaction, and he buried his face in her hair, rocking her and breathing raggedly.

"There's nothing to thank me for…." He denied in a choked voice, knowing that he had saved her now only to send her to her an even more grisly death at Rodriguez's hands. Her demise had not been cancelled, only delayed. Michael sobbed quietly, hating himself.

"I'm sorry…." He choked out hoarsely, agonized. "I never meant to hurt you…"

Misinterpreting the cause for the obvious guilt in his tone, Hope lifted her head to look at him. She raised one hand to stroke his tear-stained cheek tenderly, and tried to give him some comfort and reassurance in return.

"Don't be sorry," the girl said softly, the light of love burning in her eyes. "I… was just being stupid… and upset…." She glanced at the railing that she had almost leapt from and blushed in shame, then looked away, embarrassed now to face him. "I was upset because I thought that you…. You and Nikita, I mean… that you didn't care about me," she confessed in a small voice. "I thought you were…p-playing games…." She went on tremulously, tears welling in her eyes. "I thought you were ..l-laughing at m-me…"

Michael closed his eyes and stifled a curse. "Jesus.." he thought to himself. "What a total bastard I am…."

Hope caught her breath on a sob, and then forced a brave, if teary-eyed, smile. "But now everything's okay, because I know that you DO care," she went on, unaware that to Michael her every word was like the twisting of a knife in his heart. She caressed his face once more, leaving her hand there on the stubbled cheek. She sighed out more unknowingly hurtful words.

"You saved my life," Hope said shyly, lowering her eyes. Her voice held awe, as if she didn't quite believe she were worthy of this gift. "You saved my life twice," she continued breathlessly, "Just now, and when you took me away from Franklin…."

Michael gasped out a moan. "Hope, no…." he begged wretchedly, tormented. "No…" He turned his head, unable to bear the praise in her voice, the glowing adoration in her eyes. "You don't understand," he choked out roughly. "I haven't saved you," he told her gruffly. "I …. haven't spared you from pain…."

His eyes met hers innocent adoring ones, and he knew he had to tell her the truth. "Your pain is just beginning…." Michael confessed tightly. "You have to know that…."

The girl blinked, unsettled and shocked by her hero's unexpected reaction. His denials went way beyond just simple modesty or shyness in response to her praise. Hope shivered, disturbed by the ominous tone of his words. Her feeling of comfort and peace was evaporating rapidly, the more she looked into those tormented green eyes.

"What do you mean?" she asked uncertainly. "What are you talking about?" She shuddered again, from sudden fear.

In answer, Michael stood up wearily, and then helped her carefully to her feet. "There's not much time," he urged her enigmatically. "We have to go…"

The girl nodded, her face going white. She swayed where she stood, exhausted from her ordeal of emotional and physical suffering. She was shaking from reaction. She clutched Michael's arm for support, to steady herself. "I'll be okay in a minute…." Hope told him bravely, although her shoulder still throbbed abominably and her knees felt like they would give way beneath her if she attempted to take a step.

Without a word, Michael took one look at her pale face and swept her up in his arms again. She went limp, relaxing in complete trust against his broad chest, closing her eyes and sighing as if her heart had once again found its home.

Michael hugged her closer, and walked on, carrying his victim down the cold metal corridors of Section, knowing he was taking her from one death scene to the next, and knowing with a crushing, agonized regret that he would not be able to save her next time….

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

It was not far from the site of Hope's near suicide to Michael's old quarters, and without thinking, he returned there almost instinctively, like a wounded animal returning to its cave. Hope remained quiet and quiescent in his arms, her body relaxed, her eyes closed, her head lolling on his shoulder.

"She's probably unconscious," Michael thought grimly, looking down into Hope's ashen face. What the girl needed, he knew, was time. Time to rest and heal. Perhaps, if given enough rest and space, a few months, at least, Hope would begin to recover from all the injuries, both physical and emotional, that had been inflicted on her since Michael had brought her to Section, and the years of trauma with Franklin before that. The girl was resilient, and strong, he knew, but she had been pushed to the breaking point and beyond by years of abuse, as well as his own unthinkingly callous treatment of her in the past weeks.

It had to stop, Michael thought in anguish. Otherwise Hope would end up on a ledge again, and next time, he might not be there to save her. If only it could stop, he prayed tearfully. If only….

But he knew this healing time was not to be- There were only a few hours left before he, his team, and Hope herself were expected to board a plane and begin the mission. Only a few hours before the girl would be brutalized and killed…

"No…." he moaned softly under his breath, tormented. His vision blurred with tears, he walked on, carrying the helpless child to her death. He wanted to run, wanted to take her and flee from this hideous future that loomed before them. But he didn't. He couldn't. Because if he did, Section would use someone else in Hope's place, someone who was his life, his heart-beat, his very soul…

"Nikita…" Michael whispered, anguished. He had to protect her, had to keep her safe, as he had done so many times before. He had been willing to sacrifice others, his own team-mates at times, in order to ensure his Beloved's safety. Sending Wallace in Nikita's place on one most recent mission hadn't been particularly easy, but he had done it, knowing that the older operative was being played as a pawn by Madeleine, and that Wallace's challenge to his authority was a test he could not fail. Ruthlessly, he had ordered his fellow operative to take point, and the man had gone down, as predicted…

But this was different. Hope was not a seasoned operative, a trained killer who knew the score. She was a defenseless lamb, being sent to the slaughter. Sacrificing her for Nikita was not something he could do blithely, without a twinge of conscience. In fact, his conscience tortured him now, and he knew his soul would be scarred permanently from the aftermath. Not since he had been forced to betray his friend and brother-in-arms Rene Dion had he felt so conflicted, so utterly trapped. He felt now what he felt then- he didn't know if he could do it…..

Another anguished thought came to torture him as well. Nikita might hate him after tonight. She had been appalled and unsettled by his ruthless actions toward Wallace. For a time, she had broken it off with him because of that. Michael suspected that Nikita's trust had been shaken in him, and though she had not said so, her repulsion had come in part because she was afraid. Afraid of him, afraid of the cruel, heartless things he was capable of doing…

She had nearly stopped loving him over Wallace, Michael remembered, stricken with fear. If he used Hope to save her now, how would Nikita feel then? Wouldn't she despise him? Maybe as much as he despised himself?

Anguished, Michael looked up from his tormented reverie and discovered that he had arrived at the door of Hope's quarters without realizing how he had got there. With a sigh, he shifted Hope's weight to one arm, cradling her across his shoulder, and with the other hand fumbled in his pocket for the key to the door. In a moment, he was inside, grateful for the privacy and sanctuary the room provided him, if only for a little while.

Gently, he laid Hope across the bed, taking his time so as not to jostle her injured shoulder. The girl murmured incoherently, stirring briefly, but did not open her eyes. When Michael straightened to look at her, she was still, breathing quietly, apparently fast asleep.

Michael let out a ragged sigh and collapsed heavily into the chair opposite the bed. He knew he shouldn't let the girl sleep, that he should be rousing her and getting her prepped for the mission, but he couldn't bring himself to disturb her by getting started. Heart-sore and defeated, he was too drained and weary to do anything else but sit there and bury his face in hands. He trembled, his heart and mind torn in two.

Hope had to die, his mind told him. But she couldn't die! His heart protested in anguish. But if she didn't, his ruthless side answered, Nikita would die instead. A wrenching sob escaped from Michael's throat, torn from the depths of his soul. He had two choices, neither one of which he could live with.

"Help me…" he prayed outloud, weeping brokenly. "Help me, please…"

A sound at the doorway startled him, and he lifted his tear-stained face to see the angel that the Fates had sent in answer to his prayer. A blonde angel, with blue eyes that looked at him in compassionate adoration.

"Nikita?!" Michael gasped in shock, rising to his feet.

His Beloved smiled a solemn smile and stepped fully into the room, softly closing the door behind her. She gazed from her tormented lover to the equally tormented girl on the bed, and back again.

"I'll help you, Michael," Nikita promised softly. "I'll help you both…."

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

Michael let out a sharp breath, his eyes widening. He took in Nikita's knowing expression, her glance of pity toward Hope. His beautiful blonde lover had a tender look for him, tender and compassionate, and …eagerly determined. He had seen that look before, just when she was about to charge in to protect the innocent…

"You know," he gasped, grasping the situation quickly. "You know about the mission….."

Nikita nodded. "Yes, I know," she admitted gently, then stepped closer, lowering her voice to a whisper so as not to wake the sleeping girl on the bed. "I came into Systems right after you left. I watched you rescue Hope on Birkoff's monitor," she confessed in a low tone. "Your panel was there on the desk where you dropped it.…." She blushed only slightly with guilt. "I read the mission profile…."

The blonde let her eyes drift back to Hope, looking pale and vulnerable in her unconscious state of total helplessness. "Michael, I want to help you catch Rodriguez…."

Michael let out a low moan. "No…" he choked out, appalled. His blood ran cold. The last thing he wanted was for her to have anything to do with that terrorist brutalizer of women. "Nikita, no…."

She inched closer still and put her hand lightly on Michael's arm. "You can't do this alone," Nikita whispered urgently. "Let me help you…." Her voice was low and seductive, her eyes pleading. But Michael would not be wooed from his stance. He grabbed Nikita by the arms and held her away from him.

"You're …not …going… on …this…mission," he hissed angrily into her face, slowly enunciating each word. "I forbid it…."

"But Michael…." His lover began. "Michael, I…."

"No!" Michael shouted, alarmed, shaking her in his grip. "I said NO!" The green eyes glittered with panic. "I can't…" he gasped brokenly. "I can't lose you both…."

Nikita, unafraid, lifted her chin determinedly. She glanced once more at Hope and then back again. "So you'll just let her die, is that it?" the blonde challenged him defiantly. "You know what kind of man Rodriguez is! You'll just let him rape her and kill her?"

Michael let out a low moan of pain and collapsed back into the chair. He clenched his hands together so tightly that the knuckles showed white. "Do you think I have a CHOICE here, Nikita?" he hissed out roughly, his voice tense with agony. "Hope fits the profile that Rodriguez wants, the mission is set.…"

Nikita strode toward him, unwilling to give in, still determined to fight. She leaned down and put both hands on the chair arms, effectively trapping Michael in his seat. He looked up at her, eye to eye, in a glaring contest of wills.

"She's untrained and unskilled," Nikita went on, her voice tight but carefully controlled. "I fit the profile as well or better than she does," his heart-mate insisted. "Along with my experience, that makes me better suited to go in…" Nikita leaned closer, her eyes softening. She gave him the pleading look once more.

"My POS is higher," the blonde operative insisted. "I could go in, get Rodriguez, and make it out again…" she begged.

Michael stood up, infuriated, unable to take anymore. He rose so swiftly from the chair that Nikita was forced to stagger back a few feet. He didn't touch her this time- just glared at her, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Nikita cowered back; she had never seen him so angry.

"No, you wouldn't!" he countered, his voice trembling with rage. "You'd be killed, just as easily as Hope…." His voice broke on a sob, then he glared at her again, and went on. "It's a suicide mission," he continued tensely. "Whoever goes in won't come out alive." He sighed deeply, his whole body shaking. "It's profiled that way; there isn't even an egress point planned into the sim …."

Tears welled in the green eyes. "They recruited Hope just for this scenario, to get Rodriguez…." He told her hoarsely. His voice broke once more. "You can't help her, and neither can I…" Michael choked out, anguished. "There's nothing we can do- She's…. collateral…."

Nikita let out a sharp grunt of disgust and shook her head, then crossed her arms across her chest in a defiant stance. "That's not suicide, Michael," she protested, her anger growing. "That's MURDER…" Nikita sighed, walked toward him, and put her hand under his chin. Michael lifted his head but did not look at her, just stood silently, arms at his sides, his whole body tensed, not responding. Frustrated, Nikita demanded an answer to her challenge. "Look me in the eye, Michael," she spat out gruffly, "And then tell me you're really able to do this…."

Slowly, Michael raised his eyes to hers, his face ravaged with the torment of the decision that had wrenched him in two. He swallowed hard and made his choice.

"Yes," he told her, agonized, capitulating to the impossible pressure that Section had placed on him, and to the needs of his own heart. He cared for Hope, but Nikita was his whole world, his very life…. "I'll do it…"

"Better her than you," he said numbly, his voice weary with defeat.

He heard a soft, feminine gasp, but it did not come from the woman before him, but from the girl on the bed.

Startled, Michael jerked up his head to see Hope sitting up straight on the cot, her eyes wide with terror and accusation. Nikita whirled to face her trainee as well, unconsciously taking a supportive stance next to Michael, standing side by side with him.

There was total silence as the three stared in shock at each other- couple to girl, victim to jailers, owners to slave.

Hope broke the silence with a low whimper of despair. The fear and betrayal in her eyes faded, to be replaced by a look of utter resignation. She was trapped, a slave, in this prison, and there was no way to escape.

Except one.

"So let him kill me," Hope said softly, turning her head so she wouldn't see the stricken faces of her betrayers. She shrugged, as if she didn't care. And in that moment of hurt and defeat, she didn't. Her brief surge of wanting to live after Michael had saved her was gone. Life held no promise, no sweetness, only pain. Franklin, the johns, Michael, or Rodriguez- it didn't matter who it was who struck the final blow, as long as she was released from this Hell…

She smiled a death's head smile. "It's okay," she assured her trainers, her false friends, with a cynicism born of suppressed, but deeply felt soul-wounds. "It's what we all want, isn't it?"

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

Michael paled at Hope's harsh words, knowing he deserved them. The girl had obviously overheard enough of their conversation to grasp the situation completely. She knew there was a mission, a mission from which she would not return alive, and she knew Michael preferred her to go on it instead of Nikita. She believed all his caring had been a lie.

But it hadn't. He DID care. His soul burned now with guilt and remorse, and a great tenderness for her. Instinctively, he stepped forward to touch her, to comfort and assure her….

"Hope, please…." He begged huskily, reaching out to gently place his hand on the girl's shoulder. "I can explain…"

The girl flinched back from him as if burned, and then gave him a sullen look from under her lashes. "Don't bother," she told him mulishly, throwing Nikita a disgusted look as well. She turned her head away as if the revulsion of seeing them was just too much to bear. "I understand everything perfectly…."

Her blue eyes flashed up to skewer his with a piercing gaze. "You used me, you tricked me, you pretended to give a damn about me," Hope spat out bitterly. "But it was all an act," the girl went on, stifling a sob. Her eyes turned to rivet on her other betrayer, Nikita. "You were never my friends at all," Hope whispered hoarsely, wounded tears streaming from her eyes. "I'm just a surrogate for you to use so that you can save YOURSELF…."

Michael withdrew his hand and stepped back from the bed. He bit his lower lip and met Nikita's eyes, throwing her a helpless look.

His lover, as stricken with guilt as he was, made her own attempt at conciliation. "Hope, we- Michael and I- didn't know about the mission until jus a few hours ago," Nikita pleaded urgently, her voice rough with tears of her own. "Our friendship with you wasn't faked, please believe that…"

The words were soft and sincere, but Hope refused to be consoled. She had their number now, and she was determined not to be tricked by their slick assurances again. She knew she had only a few hours to live, and she wanted to live them in dignity, not as a gullible, easily manipulated fool. She didn't have much at this point, but, tattered and broken though it was, she did have her pride.

Hope dismissed this plea with a shrug of her shoulders and a casual wave of her hand. "Fine, whatever," she agreed, in a tone that left no doubt that she considered these words to be just another one of the couple's lies. "What does it matter now, anyway?" she added, with a cynical twist of a smile.

Michael's heart wrenched, knowing the brave front the girl put on was just an act to hide a broken heart. He stared at the floor, saying nothing, knowing further words and arguments would be useless. Hope no longer trusted him, and she was right not to do so. He knew there was little likelihood of restoring that trust in the short time they had left. A tense silence ensued, the only sound in the room was a heavy sigh from the girl on the cot.

After a minute, Hope stood up slowly, drawing herself with full dignity up from the bed. Cradling her bad arm with the good, she lifted her chin and faced her two captors squarely.

"Let's get this over with then," Hope said tightly, sounding almost impatient to meet her killer. Her blue eyes met Michael's. "Didn't you say you were in a hurry?" the slave asked in a sharply bitter tone.

Michael closed his eyes, exhaling a breath in a tense sigh. "Yes, there's not much time," he agreed softly, giving in for the moment. He thought he might have more of a chance to talk persuasively to her again in a few hours, after they were aboard the plane and on their way to Miami.

Nikita sighed as well, and then took a tentative step forward. "I'll stay and help you get dressed…." The blonde operative offered gently, throwing her pupil a beseeching look. She gestured toward the younger girl's injured arm. "You must still be hurting…." Nikita choked out, compassion and remorse evident on her face.

Hope returned the tender look with a hard stare. "I don't need any help, thank you," the girl said in a clipped, icy tone. Her ability to go on with her act of indifference was eroding rapidly; Hope knew if they stayed any longer, looking at her like that, that she would burst into tears. She wanted them to leave, and leave soon, before she lost control completely.

"Just go," the slave-girl ordered her masters. "Please…" she added tremulously, her voice and body shaking.

Defeated, Michael agreed once more. "Fine," he told her huskily, putting his hand on Nikita's arm and drawing her toward the door. "We'll see you later…."

At first Nikita resisted going, but when she saw the tormented pleading in Michael's eyes, she submitted, obeying his unspoken request. She knew Michael was suffering, and that he needed her. She also knew they needed time and privacy to plan a way to save their young friend. Looking back over her shoulder, Nikita threw Hope one last glance of pity and then followed her soul-mate out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Hope trembled and let out a ragged sigh, collapsing back onto the bed as soon as they were gone. She cried brokenly for several minutes, gasping out great wracking sobs that shook her body and wrenched her shoulder with pain. She hardly felt this physical discomfort, however, consumed as she was with the even more overwhelming emotional pain of her grief. Her heart hurt so much more than any injury ever could…

This paroxysm of crying only lasted a short time. A welcome numbness overcame the wounded girl, and her catharsis of tears stopped, to be replaced by deadened indifference and hopeless resignation once more.

She sat up, wiped her eyes, and held her head high.

"Soon," she said out loud to the empty room, comforting herself with these words. "It will all be over soon…."

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

Nikita wasted no time in returning to her original idea, the idea that terrified Michael.

"Let me go with you on this mission, Michael," she insisted breathlessly, as soon as they had gotten a few feet beyond Hope's door. "At least assign me as back-up, as one of the girls chosen for Rodriguez," she begged, looking pleadingly up into her lover's face. "We can't just leave her to go in to face him alone like that…"

Michael stiffened, his face going white. He turned his head and fixed her with a frozen glare. "No," he said sharply, in a tight, emphatic tone. "I forbid it." He barked out a direct order, asserting his authority as her mentor, not her lover. "You'll stay out of it, o