Her lover flinched, wounded to the quick of his soul. Her words angered him, and yet stung with bitter truth. Who was he? she had asked. A heartless killer, a ruthless bastard who felt nothing for his victims? A cold, machine-like robot that did Section's bidding, without a shred of remorse?

"No…." Michael gasped out, reaching for her. He took her hand in his and pressed her fingers against his chest, his eyes desperately pleading. "I'm not heartless, Nikita…." He begged for understanding, wanting her to feel for herself the reality of his rapidly beating heart, the emotional core of him that motivated all his actions to protect her. His Beloved looked at him, startled, and a bit wary, her lips parting slightly to breathe out a sigh of fear.

"I …. Feel…. Everything…." He confessed, crushing her palm more tightly to the center of his broad chest, "Inside… in here…"

Mesmerized, Nikita stared at him, knowing the words came hard, wrenched from his very soul.

"I feel it all…." Michael went on, choking out the rest in an anguished tone. " For you….."

Nikita closed her eyes, ashamed for hurling her hateful words at him. "Michael…." She breathed, awed at his utter vulnerability. It was as if he had stripped away the usual cold mask he wore, and let her see the naked, lonely soul beneath.

"Look at me!" He begged roughly, grabbing her by the arms and hauling her closer to him, so that her heart beat directly against his, breast to breast. "You asked me who I am…." He whispered, agonized, his eyes capturing and holding hers. Nikita gazed into the warm jade depths of those eyes, and could not look away.

"I'll tell you…." He breathed huskily, lowering his face to hers so that their lips almost touched. Nikita shivered, the intensity of his emotions making her shudder with desire. She tilted her face up and moved closer, brushing his mouth in exquisite tenderness with hers.

"Who… Are… You …. Then,.. Michael?" she murmured achingly against his lips, her heart beating as wildly as his own.

He let out a soft groan, and told her the words he had expressed in thousands of actions, but had never uttered out loud before.

"I'm… yours…" he confessed in a voice hoarse with passion. "I'm the man who loves you…" he cried softly, and then he kissed her with all his might, claiming her forever as his own.

Nikita surrendered instantly, letting him possess her lips as fully as he possessed her heart, her mind, and her soul. As his mouth plundered hers, giving all as well as sweetly taking, a deep peace filled Nikita's heart, a profound calm that she had never felt before. It was as if she had been a shipwrecked sailor adrift on a vast, uncaring ocean, and had suddenly found dry land. The world was solid under her feet now, her salvation assured, her future certain. She had found a harbor of safety and strength in Michael's arms. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to exquisite joy.

But in the back of her mind a voice cried out, disturbing her euphoric peace. "What about Hope?" her heart insisted. "How can you abandon her?"

Nikita whimpered against Michael's mouth and reluctantly broke the kiss. Panting, she looked up into the glittering green eyes, her own dark with concern and fear. "Michael…." She pleaded trustingly. "Michael, what are we going to do?"

Her lover sighed, understanding her question immediately. Still holding her close, he rested his forehead against hers, and then murmured an answer that was firm with conviction. "I don't know, but we'll do something," he promised softly. "We'll get her out of there somehow….."

Nikita stiffened suddenly, as if a jolt had gone through her, his words triggering a wild, but workable plan in her mind. She let out a soft gasp. "That's it, Michael!" she said breathlessly, looking up into his face with glowing blue eyes. "We'll get her out…."

Puzzled, but trusting in return, Michael tilted his head. "How?" he asked, face open with hope.

Nikita only smiled and grabbed his hand. She began dragging him further down the hallway. "I'll tell you on the way," she said, almost merrily. She tugged his fingers harder, urging him onward. "Let's go!"

Michael smiled for the first time in weeks. Joyfully, he let out a deep, relieved sigh, his tension easing, his heart suddenly, deliriously light. Without a word, he clutched Nikita's hand tightly in his and ran with her, a prisoner-slave racing for freedom, - his, own, Hope's, and Nikita's- , a prisoner heading for the light, fleeing the darkness of Section One….

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

The deadened numbness that Hope felt continued all through the time she was getting ready. Automatically, with robot-like movements, she dragged herself up from the bed, shed her clothes, and walked into the shower.

>From old habits, she began her routine, the rituals of beauty that she always performed when getting ready for a john, a new client. She welcomed the fact that Rodriguez would be the last in a long line of abusers who had taken her before. She shampooed her hair, shaved her legs, washed and lotioned the body that would be given in a final sacrifice. She felt detached from the warm, living flesh of her own person, as if her soul had already withdrawn from her body.

This distance was a good thing, she thought wearily, the numbness a true blessing. She hardly felt the harsh ache in her injured shoulder, or the sting of soap in her eyes. A gray indifference surrounded her, as if her despair engulfed her like a blanket, cushioning her from physical pain.

Mechanically, she stepped out of the shower and dried off, then began to calmly put on make-up and fix her hair. She moved slowly, taking her time, doing everything with special care. Again, she felt a strange sense of detachment from her familiar, living flesh. The bizarre idea that she was making up a corpse struck her with bitter irony. Thoughtfully, she powdered cheeks that would soon be cold and blue, mascara-ed eyes that would soon never see, and applied lipstick to a mouth that after tonight would never be kissed….

Never be kissed by Michael…

A sharp pang of emotion surged through her, threatening to well up from under the blanket of deadness in her heart. The vivid memory of the night Michael had first brought her to Section, to this room, came clearly into her mind. He had held her, had touched her face, had kissed her. It was unlike any other touch from a man she had received before. Franklin and the clients had handled her like she was a plaything- roughly, greedily, selfishly. Her body was an instrument to be used for their own gratification, not hers. Hope had put on an act of enjoying it, but she had never been aroused by their touch, had never derived any kind of pleasure from being with the men, other than a distinct, sharp relief when it was over.

But with Michael, it had been so different. The touch was gentle, the pleasure,-the FEELINGS- genuine and real. Hope had responded to it, liking it, wanting it to go on, wanting to touch and pleasure in return for the first time….

Hope turned away from the blonde image in the mirror, her heart wrenching. She knew now why Michael had held her so gently, why he had kissed her with such passion, why he had seemed to care so deeply for her.

Her mouth twisted in a grim line. The passion and caring had been genuine, all right. That's why she had responded to it. She had experienced how it felt to be held and touched by a man with love for the first time. But the love in Michael's touch had not been for her, but for Nikita..

The girl stifled a sob and ran out of the bathroom, wrapping her robe around her. She needed to flee the image in the mirror, the image that reflected the bitter truth.

She was just a substitute for the woman that Michael really loved. She was then, weeks ago when he brought her in, and she was now, on the eve of the mission that would end her life. Hope tried to get her mind around the incomprehensible, but wrenchingly unavoidable conclusion-

They had planned it all along. Michael and Nikita had schemed to bring her here, so she could take Nikita's place in this death trap scenario. No wonder Michael had been frantic to save her from her suicide attempt. Hope's lower lip trembled with shame. Like a fool, she had believed all their lies, all their pretended affection. The fact that her "friends" seemed upset and a bit remorseful now was probably due to guilt, Hope speculated bitterly. She didn't see them canceling the mission, or finding another way to do this…..

Hope shook her head and strode further into the room, wishing fervently that she could feel the numbness again that had engulfed her before. The hollow emptiness inside ate at her like acid. How much pain could she take, she wondered, before she died of it? How much longer could her heart go on beating when it had been shattered to pieces?

The idea of a quick death in a few hours was a welcome one. She didn't look forward to being mauled and violated again, but the promised oblivion afterwards seemed like a blessing she was more than willing to receive. What else was there to look forward to?

As she paced quickly across the room, Hope saw something she hadn't seen before, out of the corner of her eye. Coming up short, she stared at the chair beside the bed. She knew instantly that someone had delivered the items to her room while she had been in the shower.

Carefully laid out for her was a dress, and beside it, a pair of shoes. Nothing else. The girl's eyes widened. Obviously this was the outfit she was supposed to wear to lure Rodriguez. Approaching closer, Hope reached out her hand and touched the soft silk of the diaphanous beaded black gown.

This will do the trick, Hope thought cynically to herself. Quickly, she took a deep breath, shed her robe, and slipped the gown over her head. The silk shimmied over her naked body like a lover's caress, hugging every curve. Hope slipped into the high-heeled, strapped black shoes, and then turned to face the mirror on the back of the closet door.

Hope gasped at her own reflection. The dress, cut low in front and slit up to the top of one thigh on one side, was yet modest in what it showed, concealing as much as it revealed. The material was sheer enough to allure and intrigue, but opaque enough to thwart the curious eye from seeing plainly all of the wearer's charms.

The girl almost laughed. The dress was a perfect tease, she thought. The thin spaghetti straps that held up the bodice looked as if they would snap at the slightest touch, and the silky skirt that clung lovingly to her thighs would no doubt reveal tempting flashes of leg when she walked. The color was a brilliant selection, too. The contrast of black gown with alabaster flesh seemed to set her skin aglow, like warm cream. Her hair glowed, too, the shining beads of the dress capturing the gold fire in the curls that tumbled over her shoulders.

Hope smiled, pleased. The dress was her insurance policy that the target would take the bait. Death was now a sure thing.

There was nothing left to do but wait…..

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

Hope did not have to wait long. She had only been contemplating her reflection in the mirror for a few minutes when there was a tap at the door, followed by the sound of a key in the lock. Hope turned as the cell door swung open, and found herself staring directly into a pair of troubled green eyes.

"Michael?" she gasped, shivering, unprepared emotionally to see him so soon after learning of his betrayal.

The Class 5 operative stepped silently into the room, looking somehow more threatening to Hope than he had ever done before. She realized the change was due in part to the clothes he wore; instead of the usual black suit, he was garbed in what she could only assume was his own version of mission gear. The vest he wore over his broad, turtle-neck-clad chest bristled with an intimidating array of weapons, and there was a lethal-looking pistol strapped to his lycra-encased thigh. Looking down, Hope could see that he also had a large knife tucked into the top of one of his boots.

Hope backed away. He was intimidating as hell.

The expression on his face was intimidating also. He scowled at her, his full lips pressed firmly together in disapproval, although she knew her dress, and the way she looked in it, must surely more than meet his expectations.

"What's wrong?" Hope stammered, flinching back from him and running one hand down to smooth the clinging skirt of her dress. "Isn't this all right?" she asked, referring to the clothes they had given her to wear.

Michael sighed tensely. Madeleine had done a brilliant job. Rodriguez would rape and kill the girl for sure in that outfit. The reality of what they were facing struck him anew. Nikita's hastily devised plan was in place, but there were no guarantees that everything would work out like they wanted them to. Hope could still be slaughtered by their vicious target, and there would be nothing he could do to change that. Unreasonably, he felt a surge of resentment at the fact that Madeleine had stacked the odds against the young girl by selecting a dress for her that made her essentially irresistible. He couldn't imagine any man not wanting her. He wanted her himself.

"It's fine," he said curtly, looking away from the display of tempting feminine flesh. Hastily, he yanked open the closet door and rummaged inside until he found one of his old winter coats that he stored there in his room.

"Put this on," he ordered, holding the bulky garment open for her.

Hope raised one eyebrow and regarded him quizzically. "Isn't that a little much, Michael?" she said softly, eyeing the floor-length black trench-coat in his hands. She shook her head, puzzled. "Will I really need that? I thought we were going to Miami…."

Michael sighed heavily, unwilling to explain that what he was doing was for her own protection. Given the nature of the backgrounds of some of the men in Section, Michael knew flaunting temptation in their faces was not a good idea. When he had described her fellow operatives to Nikita on her first mission long ago as "animals with guns", he had not been far from the truth. Some of them were morally no better than Rodriguez.

When Hope had first been brought into Section, Michael had made the rounds, using threats and sometimes physical violence if he had to, to make sure the other operatives and recruits knew to keep their hands off his young protégé. Once word got out that Hope was under Michael's protection, the girl had been essentially safe from her fellow slaves. But Michael had still kept a vigilant eye out for her, watching the surveillance tapes and making sure no one else had a key to her room but him.

Five years ago, he had done exactly the same thing for his then recruit, Nikita. Michael grimaced inwardly. He wondered if Hope would be flattered or resentful if he gave her that little bit of information.

"Just do it," he hissed tightly through clenched teeth, thrusting the coat roughly into her hands. He was tense and on edge, anxious about what the coming hours would bring. He just wanted to get Hope out of there and get the mission over with.

It was a mistake. The harshness of the order coupled with the girl's vulnerable emotional state made her lose her tenuous control on her fears, and her anger, as well. To Hope, the coat represented not the warm blanket of Michael's caring protection, but rather a funeral shroud in which he was determined to smother her. The coat was the last straw, the mark of Michael's complete and callous indifference. He can't wait, Hope thought with stinging clarity, to see me dead.

She stood trembling, clenching the coat in white-knuckled hands, while the waves of hurt and anger surged through her. They crashed and pounded against the wall of her temporary numb calmness, breaking through the flood gates that held back her pain, spilling out to engulf Michael in their wake.

With a harsh wail, she hurled the offending garment back at him with all her might. The soft material of the coat struck him with a gentle thud against his chest and then fluttered harmlessly to the floor. The unsatisfactory retaliation of this attack enraged the girl further. She wanted to break things, to smash something, to shatter Michael as he had shattered her heart and her soul.

"What the hell do you want from me?!" the anguished girl screamed, her voice choking on a sob. "Will you just tell me that?" Her face crumpled into tears. "Just what the hell do you WANT?!"

Michael stepped forward to touch her arm, murmuring her name soothingly. "Hope, take it easy…." He whispered gently, dismayed now that he had pushed her too fast, too far.

The girl skittered back from him, out of reach. "You've jerked me around from the beginning, Michael!" Hope tiraded on, feeling a strange sense of relief to be able to vent out her pain. "You've pulled me in so many directions," she spat out bitterly, "I don't know which way is up…."

She gasped in a breath and went on quickly, before he had a chance to respond. "First you rescue me from being a whore, and now you want me to be one….." the girl sobbed brokenly. "You had Nikita train me to fight, and now you want me to lie down and play dead…" Her blue eyes welled with tears so that she was literally blind with pain.

Michael closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, remorse at wounding her flooding him. "I'm sorry…." He whispered softly. "Hope, I didn't mean…."

The girl cut him off, raising her voice angrily, her eyes flashing fire. "Who the hell knows WHAT you mean by anything, Michael?" she spat out scathingly. "Because it's all a lie, isn't it?"

Hope swayed on her feet, her shoulders slumping in a defeated stance. She shuddered and let out a long breath, the fight going out of her. The next words she uttered lifelessly, calmly, in utter despair. "I thought you wanted me to live, Michael," she whispered flatly. "When you pulled me back from the ledge…."

She sighed again, and turned away from him, unable to look at him any longer. "But you only saved me so that I could die…." The girl sobbed. "Instead of Nikita…."

She turned then to meet Michael's stricken face, and then vented her deepest agony, the inner wound that was the deepest source of her pain.

"I thought you… l-loved me…." The girl sobbed hopelessly. "But now I know the truth is that you've h-hated me all along…"

"Hope, no…" Michael groaned, forced out of his trance by the wrenching pain of these words. He stepped forward and gathered the weeping girl in his arms, holding her close. He stroked the soft hair and whispered words of comfort against her cheek as she trembled helplessly in his embrace.

"Hope, I DO care for you…." He told her hoarsely, as she gasped out shuddering sobs against his shoulder. "Nikita and I both do…" he assured her sincerely. He hadn't wanted to give away their plans to rescue the girl from the hands of the murderous target, but he couldn't leave her like this, without hope, thinking that he was willing to send her callously to her death. He wanted her to know that, unlike what she believed, that he really did feel something for her, that she mattered. He didn't want her to spend what may be the last hours of her life in any further emotional suffering. God knows, Hope had been tormented enough.

Michael lowered his voice to a bare whisper, and pressed his lips against her ear, not wanting to be overheard by any chance surveillance of the room. "We're getting you out," he told her urgently. "There's a plan in place. Just go along with the mission, and in a few hours, you'll be free, and safe…"

Hope stiffened in his arms and stopped her crying. She let out a huge sigh, as if she were releasing all the tension inside her. Michael relaxed, thinking the girl had accepted his words and was now encouraged and buoyed by them.

But she wasn't. At his utterance, Hope had been plunged even more deeply into despair.

She lifted her head and stepped slowly back from him. Michael released her from the embrace, letting her go. He was shocked to see the ravaged expression on her face.

"I was wrong about you," she whispered starkly, hugging her bare arms and shivering with cold. She glared at him icily. "You don't hate me, do you?"

Michael blinked at the intensity of venom in her voice, her words holding none of the gratitude and warmth that he had half expected. "No, I don't…" he assured her softly, watching her with wary green eyes. He was taken aback by this sudden unnatural calm of hers…

Hope nodded slowly, then lifted her chin, her mouth firming stubbornly. "That's right, Michael, you don't…." she began in a bitterly cold tone. "Because you don't care about me enough to hate me…" Her blue eyes glittered, but her tears were all gone. Dry-eyed and wretched, she went on.

"It's not hate you feel for me, but contempt, isn't it?" Hope stated in the same calm, level tone, as if finally resigning herself to accepting a truth she didn't want to face. "You think I'm pathetic, just a joke, just something to laugh at…."

Michael stood dumbfounded, not sure why his promise to save her had triggered such bitterness. With her next words, she told him.

"I'm sure you got a lot of amusement out of my crush on you," the girl continued flatly. "Nikita probably told you all about it…." Her calm façade crumbled then, her lower lip trembling dangerously. "I'm sure you thought I was so damned FUNNY…." Hope choked out, tears threatening.

Michael took a step toward her, holding out his hand pleadingly. "We never laughed at you," he entreated softly. "Never. You have to believe that…."

The girl backed away, holding up her hand as if to ward him off. "Don't, Michael," she demanded firmly, glaring at him again. "Please, no more games…" she sighed and shook her head. "Just be honest with me for once…."

Hurt, Michael tried to defend himself. "I wasn't lying…" he began, protesting innocence.

Hope would have none of it. His declaration angered her more. "You know something, Michael?" she spat out bitterly, raising her voice. "I think Franklin treated me better than you do…"

Michael was speechless. He couldn't believe she had ranked in the same category, or worse, than the father who betrayed her and raped her. He stood rooted to the spot, stunned, as the girl went on with her invective.

"At least he valued me for some things," Hope said softly, her tone fading into one of numbed resignation. "At least he didn't pretend that he loved me…" She raised her eyes to his, her look hurt and accusing. "He was honest about what I meant to him. He didn't lead me on to think that I was anything more to him than what I was- his personal whore…." The girl's voice broke again, tears streaming freely. "He never tortured me with all these games like you do…." She sobbed.

"Franklin may have raped my body, but what you did to me was worse," Hope whispered in a sharp, intense tone. "You violated me in HERE," she said louder, tapping her hand against her heart. "You raped my SOUL…."

Michael gasped in shock, then struggled to find his voice, but could not. He gaped at her, still speechless. He knew the hurt he felt was probably deserved. Guilt tore at him. He supposed that what he had done had all seemed like a calculated manipulation to Hope. His heart wrenched, knowing that the horrible things the girl had accused him of were, in her view of it, the truth. To her, the perceived violation of her respect and dignity that Michael had perpetrated had hurt her worse than her adopted father's actual physical attacks, the inner molestation more wounding and distressing to her than the outer ones had been.

He stared at her, heart-broken, unable to say anything in his defense. He was miserably unable to think of a way to fix this, to rectify the damage he had done. Hope believed him to be a monster, and Michael had to wonder if she was right. Although his actions had been good, his intentions hadn't been. He had gone along with Section's plan to use the girl, because he, perhaps selfishly, could not bear the thought of losing his beloved Nikita. He opened his mouth to try to explain his motivations, but stopped. Didn't he deserve every word of invective that Hope had spoken? Michael thought wretchedly. How could he deny anything? Wasn't he standing here right now, ready to lead the girl to her death?

Michael swallowed hard, and then uttered the only words that he knew she could not construe as dishonest. The other things that he wanted so urgently to say- that he was sorry, that he cared for her, that he wanted desperately for her to live-he knew she would believe to be lies.

"We have to go," he choked out hoarsely, feeling utterly hopeless.

The girl nodded solemnly, then obediently bent and swept up the discarded coat from the floor. She put it on, slowly buttoning all the buttons on the long trench coat, then lifted her head to meet his eyes. "From now on, there are new rules," she declared firmly, her eyes dry. " I'll do what ever you ask me to. You give me orders, and I'll obey them," she stated flatly. Her eyes stared piercingly into his. "That's all I want to hear from you," she demanded coldly, her face full of dignity. "Just orders. No more lies. You'll quit pretending to give a damn about me…" Hope lifted her chin and glared at him challengingly. "Do we have a deal?"

Michael closed his eyes, completely wretched. "Yes," he replied huskily, unable to do anything else but acquiesce to her and to the horrible situation. The mission was loading, and he had no choice. "We have a deal," he whispered, feeling doomed.

Hope nodded again, letting out a soft sigh. "Let's go then," she agreed obediently. She turned sharply and walked to the door, leaving Michael to follow. She held her head high, facing death bravely, even eagerly.

Soon, she comforted herself in her mind, as she walked through the Section halls for what she knew would be the last time. Soon the pain will be over….

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

Hope was true to her word, following every order that Michael gave during the long trip to meet the fate that awaited her in Miami, in the form of the terrorist Rodriguez. She was silent through the short drive to the airport, huddled in a corner of the mission van, still wrapped in Michael's long coat. The girl sat staring stonily in front of her, wan and listless, as if after venting all the pain and anger in her heart on Michael, she had nothing more inside to give. The fight had gone out of her.

Michael's spirits fell, thinking he would have almost welcomed another tirade, or even more tears, from his prisoner, than this calm, numb acceptance. He watched her silently from his post at the van doorway, feeling his heart sink further. It was if she had given up, and was ready to die….

And the last thing he wanted was for her to die. There were too many things at stake- his own conscience, his heart, his life, and now, Nikita's…..

He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander back a few hours to the time when he and Nikita were planning the escape plot for Hope. He had wanted to veto Nikita's wild scheme to rescue the girl, citing it as too dangerous, but he knew from the determined look in his lover's blue eyes that she would never back down, and would in all likelihood carry on her course of action without his help if he didn't approve. Nikita was no more willing to let Hope die than he was. Reluctantly, his stomach twisting with dread, he had agreed. Now he only hoped that they could pull off this plan born out of total desperation.

He had to have been desperate, he thought grimly, to have agreed. Because the last thing in the world he wanted had happened. Nikita - HIS Nikita, his life, his world, his heart- was on the mission.

Sighing, he scanned the line of team-members seated in the van alongside the girl. He lifted his eyes to meet those of a tall, black-clad operative, face mask pulled down, seated on the opposite end of the row from Hope. Deep crystal blue eyes looked into his, the only feature recognizable in the concealing black garb. Nikita nodded at him in silent encouragement, and for a moment, Michael imagined that she smiled, although it would have been impossible to tell what her features were behind the dark mask.

Michael turned away again, this display of courage somehow frightening him further. He didn't want her there, didn't want her to be in this van, on the way to meet Rodriguez. But Nikita had out-maneuvered him. Without telling him, Nikita had gone to Madeleine and had requested to be assigned as back-up on the mission. If Hope failed, Nikita would be sent in, in her place.

Michael had been livid with rage at this; Madeleine had been pleased. Nikita had calmly forged ahead. She and Michael had made their own plans, above and beyond the mission profile, to get Hope out alive. Michael grimaced; he had to pray now that those plans didn't backfire, or else he would lose more than just two operatives on a mission- he would lose Life itself.

His eyes wandered to the monitor of the outside location, and noted with surprise that they had arrived already at the airport. The van lurched to a halt, as Michael's heart sank further.

It was all happening so fast. He wished that time would slow down, that he could savor these last few hours- they might be all he had left..

Shivering, he took a hold of himself, suppressing these dark thoughts and forcing himself to carry on with the mission. He flung open the door and then glared at his team, then barked an order.

"Let's go," he growled harshly.

Nikita was nearest the door and was the first one out, debarking efficiently and quickly, followed by the rest of the team. They had already discussed that Hope should be kept in the dark about Nikita's presence on the mission. The fewer emotional distractions the girl had, the better.

Michael looked at her now. The girl had risen obediently at Michael's command, and was filing out, the last to leave the van. She kept her eyes down, not looking at him. She still wore Michael's black coat, which was way too large for her, buttoned up to her chin. She looked very young, despite her sophisticated hair-style and make-up, like a small child playing dress-up in grown-up clothes.

She WAS too young, Michael thought grimly. Way too young and innocent for the serious games they were playing, now, with Rodriguez….

Impulsively, protectively, he reached out to take her arm to help her down the van steps. The girl flinched, and paused in the doorway to glare at him.

"I wasn't going to run, if that's what you were thinking," she hissed sullenly. "You don't have to manhandle me…." She raised her chin defiantly. "Don't worry, Michael," she spat out scornfully. "I plan on keeping up my end of the bargain…."

Michael sighed, dropped his hand from her arm, and let her go. He didn't have the strength to argue with her, and he doubted she would believe him if he tried to explain what he had really been thinking, that she was too precious to sacrifice on the altar of Section's never-ending needs.

"Fine," he grunted tersely instead, and stepped back to let her pass. He didn't touch her again, but stayed close behind her as they boarded the waiting plane. The aircraft they would be flying in was a standard commercial jet-liner; it was a quick as any other method of transportation, and would bring less attention in the busy Miami airport than any less conventional craft they could use.

Once inside, he guided Hope to the front first-class cabin, away from the other operatives settling themselves and their equipment in the back. The plane was already starting its rumbling way down the tarmac for take-off.

Michael closed the drapes separating both the forward and rear compartments, shutting the two of them off in a private enclave. He pointed to one of the seats on the right side of the plane. "Sit down and buckle up," he ordered gruffly.

Hope, swallowed hard, and then obeyed, sitting down in the chair closest to the window. Her face was pale, her eyes wide, and her hands trembled as she fumbled awkwardly with the seat belt. She was shaking so badly she could hardly fasten it.

Michael sighed impatiently, seated himself on the aisle seat beside her, and then reached over to fasten the belt for her. Hope shuddered at his touch and then squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. She turned frightened eyes to Michael as the plane's engines screamed further into life, hurtling the plane down the runway.

"I.. I've never flown before…" she confessed breathlessly, biting her lip in fear.

Michael smiled at her, his heart lightening momentarily. At least this was one fear he could deal with, he thought wryly.

He buckled his own seat belt quickly and then took her hand in his. This time she did not flinch back, but clung to him, her fingers almost crushing his in a white-knuckled, desperate grip.

"This is the only exciting part," he explained gently, trying to soothe the girl's fears. "The plane has to go fast enough to achieve enough lift under its wings…" He smiled at her once more. "Once we're airborne, the ride is as dull and boring as any bus trip, you'll see…"

Hope stared at him in disbelief, then let out a little squeal of terror when the plane sped to an even higher speed, its tires bumping the pavement one last time, and then lurched with sickening grace into the air.

Hope closed her eyes and prayed.

The relative quiet that followed, and the soothing, steady drone of the engines, calmed Hope's fears, along with the comforting strength of Michael's hand on hers. She opened her eyes cautiously and was immediately distracted from her anxiety by the fascinating view of billowy clouds and green farmland below.

"How pretty!" she exclaimed, pressing her hand to the window and staring mesmerized at the scene on the other side of the thick glass. "Oh… oh my…" She had forgotten everything in her fascination with this new experience- her fears, the mission, Michael's presence, even the reason for her being on the plane in the first place.

Michael smiled at her indulgently, and then unbuckled his seat-belt and stood up. He knew she would be all right on her own for a little while.

"Don't go anywhere," he admonished her in a kindly tone. "I'll be back soon…."

Hope turned to look at him, blinking almost incomprehensibly. Her gaze was pulled inexorably back to the window, like a magnet.

"Okay, Michael…" she agreed distractedly, then lost herself in the view once more.

Michael knew she wasn't even aware that he had left. He gave her one last glance before parting the curtain and stepping out to join the other woman he cared about, yet another hostage to Fate-

Nikita….

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

Michael slipped through the curtain and entered the main compartment of the plane, then paused in the aisle, his eyes searching for one particular face in the sea of uniformly garbed and armed operatives seated in the back.

He did not have to look far. He spotted Nikita near a back row of the plane, sitting by herself. She had removed her concealing hood and was plainly recognizable by her trade-mark bright gold hair. He stalked quickly toward her, and seated himself in the chair next to hers. The rest of the team politely, and prudently, ignored the lovers' tete-a-tete and went on with their business, i.e., either going over their panels in preparation for the mission, or trying to catch some sleep.

Nikita leaned over and whispered an anxious question even before Michael had sat all the way down.

"How is she?" his beloved asked tensely.

Michael sighed and then nodded his head. He made no pretense of not understanding who it was that Nikita was concerned about. "As well as can be expected," he answered cautiously. He was loath to tell Nikita that Hope had essentially given up, and was almost eager to die; he figured she didn't need hear such discouraging intel right before the mission.

Nikita saw through the ruse of his deflected answer. Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. "So, she's still afraid, then," she responded with a knowing nod of her head. "And probably furious with both of us, as well…"

Michael looked away, uncomfortable, and then sighed again. "Yes," he answered tersely. "Exactly."

Nikita shocked him by giving him a sudden, brilliant smile. "Well, it doesn't matter, does it?" she replied sunnily. "Soon, very soon, she won't have anything to be afraid or angry about… In a few hours, she'll be safe and free…."

Michael turned his head to look at her, green eyes meeting blue. Without saying a word, he communicated his desperate hopes that that scenario would indeed come true. Not just for Hope, but for themselves as well. There would be no freedom for Michael, he knew, and no reason to go on living, if anything happened to Nikita.

He dared to risk taking her hand in his own. "Be careful," he whispered urgently. The green eyes bored with passionate intensity into hers. "Timing is critical. You mustn’t go in until the last possible moment…."

Nikita dismissed his fears with a shrug of her shoulders. "I know the plan, Michael," she told him with a confident smile. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

Michael lowered his eyes and stared at the floor, his jaw twitching nervously. "I hope so," he said glumly.

She resisted, with difficulty, the almost overwhelming urge to kiss all his fears away right there in front of the whole team. He seemed so forlorn, so lost, so in need of comforting… She sighed deeply, staring mesmerized at Michael's luscious mouth. Yes, she could kiss him thoroughly and devotedly for any number of reasons… because he cared about her and about Hope, because he had such a noble, warm heart under the cold exterior, because she adored him, because his kisses tasted of Paradise….

Michael interrupted her straying thoughts with an anxious question of his own. "Do you have it?" he demanded abruptly, shattering Nikita's pleasant day-dream. Nikita nodded, and patted a pocket of her jacket, just above her left breast.

"I've got it right here, Michael," she answered with another reassuring smile. She leaned close and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Walter said the extras you wanted fitted right in with the other electronics…"

Michael heaved a sigh of relief. At least that was one less thing to worry about. "Good," he said softly, and held out his hand.

Nikita retrieved a slim, rectangular black box from her shirt and handed it over. Michael let his fingers linger just a pause longer than necessary on hers as the package was exchanged. His eyes lingered as well on her lips, watching her hungrily.

"Thank you," he intoned huskily, leaning closer as he pocketed the item carefully in his jacket.

Nikita blushed, feeling her cheeks warm, her body tingling with the excitement of having him near. "You're welcome," she answered throatily, the conventional exchange of words conveying an extraordinary and personal meaning. She wanted to tell him how grateful she was, that he was willing to let her help him save Hope. She wanted him to know how deeply touched she was that he had let down his guard with her, had let her see the real man inside, had shared himself with her- his body, his life, his feelings…..

Their eyes met once again, and Nikita's breath caught as she saw the expression in those endlessly fascinating green depths. He was watching her with an intensity that took her breath away.

Slowly, Michael stood, his hand brushing hers once more. "Later…." He whispered his farewell, the word not just a casual, offhand phrase of leave-taking, but a heartfelt promise of future and tender passion.

Nikita flushed again, trembling. "Later…." she echoed hoarsely, hardly able to choke out the word, squirming under that intimate gaze, the electricity of feeling conveyed through the warm grazing of his fingertips against her skin….

Michael tore himself away, walking slowly back up the aisle, to return to Hope, his young prisoner in the forward compartment. Nikita leaned back in her seat, and closed her eyes, feigning sleep. In actuality, she was struggling to regain her composure. Michael's touch had set her pulses racing, her heart pounding. It would take a while before her nerves would settle down….

Meanwhile, another young blonde woman, perhaps even more vulnerable to his charms, awaited him. Hope looked up immediately as Michael entered the cabin, and then pulled the curtain securely closed behind him. Hope, he noted, was no longer happily engrossed in gazing at the view outside the window, but had been staring grimly down at her hands in her lap.

Michael paused, alarmed at seeing her once more distressed. Obviously, the novelty of her first flight had worn off, and she was no longer momentarily distracted from the grim reality of her imminently harsh and brutal future. He let out a sharp breath and strode forward, settling once more into the chair next to hers. He gave her a small, but encouraging smile.

"I told you the ride gets boring after a while," he quipped gently.

Hope did not return his smile, but glanced away again, shifting nervously in her seat. "How much time do I have?" she asked tensely. It was the kind of question a terminal cancer patient would ask, Michael thought with grim irony, or a convicted inmate awaiting execution on death row. Hope's situation couldn't have been anymore gravely serious than theirs….

"We have about five hours," he told her, not knowing if his answer would alarm or comfort her. "You should try to relax a little bit…"

Hope seemed to tense further at these words, licking dry lips and going pale. Impulsively, Michael stood up abruptly and then turned to push back the armrest that divided their two seats, so that together the large chairs made essentially one unbroken expanse of cushions, i.e, a bed. He stretched up to open the nearest overhead compartment and retrieved pillows and a blanket from inside the bin.

Hunching over, stooping because of his height, he reached past Hope in the small space and placed the pillows on the armrest behind her, then tossed the blanket on his own chair. The girl shrank back from his nearness, and turned her head away to look blindly out the window again. Michael straightened and sighed, realizing that her nerves were probably too tightly wound to allow her to sleep, but he wanted her to try. She was pale and stressed, and had been pushed to the end of her rope. He knew she must be exhausted, but would most likely resist the idea of resting, but he was determined to give the girl a chance to recover a bit from one gruesome ordeal before she was thrust into the next.

Hope had withdrawn as far into her corner as he could, huddled tensely up against the window. She still wore the too-large coat, and had pulled the collar up and was holding it protectively against her throat. She refused to look at him. Michael sighed, wondering how to approach her, then remembered their deal and decided to bark out an order. It may be the only way to get her to obey, Michael thought grimly.

"Take your coat off and lie down," he said sharply.

The girl shivered, then turned to stare at him, her eyes mutinous. Michael thought she would refuse, but she stood up slowly and carefully began to undo the coat buttons, one by one. She lowered her eyes, no longer looking at him. Her lower lip trembling, she finished this task in utter silence and then pulled off the coat and tossed it over the back of the seat behind hers. Michael stifled a sharp intake of breath, stunned anew at her exquisite beauty so perfectly displayed in the elegant black gown. She was utterly lovely.

Still staring at the floor, Hope seated herself gracefully once again in her chair, and then swung her legs up and lay back, her head supported on the pillows that Michael had shoved against the window. The movement made the dress fall open where it was slit on the side, allowing Michael a thrilling glimpse of the girl's slender, exquisitely shaped thigh.

Tearing his eyes away, he looked down, seeking something to distract himself from this vision, and found it. He was staring directly at Hope's elegantly turned ankles and delicate feet, both encased in the seductively high-heeled, but uncomfortable-looking, shoes.

"Let's get these off," he growled impatiently, wanting to get Hope settled in for her nap and be done with this peculiar form of self-inflicted torture.

Cradling each delicately arched foot in his palm one by one, Michael carefully, but with speedy efficiency, removed the sexy footwear and dropped the shoes by the "bed". Trying not to look higher, although the temptation to gaze at the shapely knees and thighs was strong, he fumbled for the blanket that had fallen off the back of the seat and was now lying crumpled against Hope's waist, wedged under her. He reached between the seats to yank the coverlet free, and instead found himself holding a handful of soft, black dress, his fingers cupping the sweet curve of a feminine buttock.

The girl let out a sharp gasp as his hand grazed her hip, and Michael jerked his head up, meeting her eyes for the first time since he had given his order for her to lie down.

Hope sat up halfway, her eyes locked with his, the blue depths glowing with bitter resignation. "Let me do it…." she said in a flat, indifferent tone, although her lip quivered in fear. Michael backed off, but instead of reaching for the blanket, Hope plucked at one of the skimpy shoulder straps of her gown and began pulling it down over her creamy-skinned bosom.

Michael snatched her wrist, gripping it hard, stopping her before she could go further. "What are you doing?" he demanded, appalled.

Hope took in deep breath and then bravely met his eyes, her own brimmed with tears.

"I'm following orders," she told him grimly, lifting her chin in defiance. "I'm giving you what you wanted…" In spite of her bravado, her voice shook with fear.

Hope sighed shakily, and bit back a sob. "I suppose you didn't want to waste your last chance to screw me, before Rodriguez has his turn…." Hope choked out bitterly. "Just go on, Michael, it's all right…" she said with a resigned sigh. "I … understand…." The girl's face contorted in a painful grimace. "I doubt I'll be very …appealing to you later, after he's done with me…."

Michael froze, his whole body going rigid with shock. He couldn't believe Hope thought him capable of using her so callously, of wanting to violate her as casually and thoughtlessly as Rodriguez would, or as her own adopted father had….

He groaned inwardly, his hand tightening involuntarily on the girl's wrist. But that's exactly how she sees you, he told himself with brutal honesty. To her, you're just another rapist, another abuser in a long line of abusers…

You're just like Franklin. No, worse than Franklin, Michael thought grimly. Hadn't Hope told him that? He let out a sharp breath, the truth stinging him. According to the girl, she already felt he had violated her trust, her dignity, her heart and soul. Betrayal was all she had come to expect from him; if she believed him capable of further betrayal by wanting to violate her body as well, who could blame her?

Hope didn't fight to free herself from the ever-increasing pressure of his restraining hand on hers. She lowered her eyes, and slumped back in against the chair cushions, going limp as if after enduring all that life had thrown at her, she had no resistance left, her will crushed and broken under this last humiliating sorrow.

"Please…." She begged, breaking into harsh sobs. "Just do it and get it over with…" she closed her eyes tight, hot tears squeezing out from underneath her long lashes. She couldn't bear the thought of Michael touching her, holding her, without caring, without love, when she loved him so desperately in return. She didn't think there could be a greater torment than this, than to have his utter indifference rubbed in her face….

The next moment, the grip on wrist eased abruptly and she found herself being lowered gently back on the makeshift bed. She sobbed harder, turning her face into the pillow. Michael's hands fumbled at her side again, and she tensed rigidly for a moment, thinking he was beginning to disrobe her again. But instead, she felt the soft warmth of the blanket being pulled over her, covering her from neck to toe in a light, protective web, like a mother's touch. She held her breath; not since her parents had died had she been treated with such gentleness.

Her sobbing quieted, but she still did not open her eyes, unwilling to break the spell of this magical touch. She shivered violently, then sighed deeply when, a second later, she felt Michael's fingers stroke her hair soothingly, with a gossamer touch. Hope let herself relax into the caress, letting all her tension go in total trust….

"Shhhh," he whispered softly into her ear, in a tone so tender that he might have been speaking to his own child. "Rest now, Little One…"

She sighed again, and obeyed, letting go of her last hold on consciousness, letting the soft blanket of inner peace descend. Hope no longer fought the gentle pull of the darkness that sought to claim her. She allowed her wounded soul to float free, while her body sank gratefully into an exhausted, much-needed sleep….

Already deep in slumber, Hope was not aware that her angel stood guard over her rest. Michael leaned down to kiss her cheek, then settled into the seat across the aisle, keeping watch, through eyes blinded with tears. Lost in blissful sleep, Hope did not hear the sound of the angel softly crying….

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

Hope slept on, deeply, her rest soothed into even more profound serenity by her dreams.

She was in a different world than the one she had lived in for the past three years. She was free, out in the sunshine, no longer confined in the small, cramped bedroom where Franklin had made her his prisoner. There was warmth all around her- even the air smelled different. In her dream, she strolled through a tropical paradise that was all hers, a place of freedom and beauty, new and exciting, but strangely familiar. A place where anything she wished to do, anything she longed for, was within her grasp. Here, all things were possible. Relaxed and feeling at home, she knew she belonged there.

The feeling of peace was overwhelming. She had not felt this safe, this emotionally unfettered, this CHERISHED, since she was a small child sheltered in her parents' arms. It was as if she were surrounded by an unseen blanket of caring and love, as if the universe itself was underpinning her, supporting her, the earth itself turning in her direction…..

The world was beautiful. Life was beautiful. SHE was beautiful….

While Hope slept quietly, Michael sat guard over her. He was faced with an unexpected pause in the constant rush of activity that had become his existence in Section, the endless race to survive. Something very rare and unusual had occurred.

He had time to think.

He closed his eyes. Except for the soothing drone of the jet's engines, there was nothing to hear but the sound of his own furiously racing thoughts. Some of them were painful to face, but he gathered the errant, fleeting ideas in his head together, the good and the bad, and examined them one by one.

Lifting his gaze to look across the aisle at the unconscious girl in his charge, he thought of Hope. He recalled the image of her delighted face when she had first seen a view of clouds close up, on her first ride in a plane. It had been the same look of delight and joyous anticipation that she had had when he told her she would be allowed to learn how to use a computer. The child-like wonder in her expression had gladdened his heart, and at the same time saddened him. Her wonderment and excitement at such extremely ordinary things had only meant that she had been deprived of having such frankly common experiences by her years of imprisonment as Franklin's slave.

She hadn't had much of a life, Michael thought grimly. She deserved more than this, she deserved to live more than eighteen years, and she deserved to live those extra years free of torture, abuse, and humiliation.

Hope deserved to be free. If Nikita's plan went right, she would be. Tonight.

Or she would be dead. That was the other alternative.

Michael groaned and put his head in his hands. There was nothing more he could do now. The plans had been set, the mission prepped. What else could he do? What else did he need?

Nikita, a voice in his head whispered loudly. You need Nikita….

He trembled, and then almost laughed at himself. Here he was, a grown man, a mission leader, a cold-blooded killer, but all he really wanted right then was for his lover to hold him, just hold him, to comfort his fears, to kiss all his doubts away…..

It may be the last time you ever see her, another voice inside his head said grimly. It may be a kiss goodbye..

Michael stood up, making a decision. He didn't care how it looked to the others; he didn't care what Section thought. He had to be with her.

Striding back through the cabin, he flung the curtain aside and stalked boldly down the aisle of the rear compartment of the plane. Operatives were stretched out sleeping in the seats, the room quiet. He reached the last row of seats where Nikita was sitting, expecting her to sleeping, too. Instead, he was greeted with two alert blue eyes, both anxiously searching his.

"Michael?" Nikita asked with breathless concern, coming out of her chair. She put her hand on his arm, and looked into his ravaged face. "Michael, what is it?"

His façade crumpled then, and he gave way to the tense longing within him.

"Nikita," he breathed huskily, pulling her closer, so that they stood bare inches apart. She could feel him trembling. "Nikita, I.. I. need you…."

Her eyes widened at these words, and she stared at him uncertainly; she knew him- she knew such a private man would not have made such a blatantly sexual proposal in the middle of a mission, and in such relatively public circumstances. No, she thought quickly, this wasn't about sex, but something else.

Nikita watched him- the clenched jaw, the bright eyes, the grimly held mouth. She felt the tremors, faint but distinct, that shuddered through the strong body. His hand felt cold in hers. Some of his raging fear communicated itself to her.

"Michael," she whispered anxiously, "Is it Hope? Is she all right?"

Her handsome lover lowered his eyes in shame. Hope's despair and desperation, the emotional pain she was in, as well as the physical danger she faced, was all his fault. He said nothing, only sighed in silent misery.

Nikita blanched, then pulled Michael by the hand into the aisle. Frantically, she urged him forward, and together they moved back down the aisle toward the front of the plane, and then entered the enclave where the girl, Section's sacrifice, slept.

Nikita pushed the curtain aside, and then rushed forward, eyes searching for young protégé and friend. Michael pulled the curtain closed behind them and stopped Nikita with a hand on her arm.

"She's fine," he whispered gruffly. "Don't wake her…."

Nikita nodded, but then leaned forward to check for herself. She peered over the seats and was immediately relieved to see the younger girl stretched out, blanket covering her, resting serenely, smiling in her sleep.

Nikita sighed in relief, and then turned to Michael. She sensed immediately what he needed. It was the same thing she was needing herself-reassurance. Not just any kind of reassurance, but the comfort that only touch can give.

Silently, she held her arms out to him. With a low cry, he came forward and entered the fierce embrace, wrapping his own arms around her to hug her back. Heart crushed against beating heart, the two lovers stood exchanging strength, drawing courage from each other, each feeling the electrical charge that arced between them, an emotional current to recharge the worn-down reserves of their souls' batteries.

In total trust, Michael laid his head on Nikita's shoulder, surrendering. Warm tears clouded her eyes, as the tenderest of emotions overwhelmed her. Gently, softly, as if it were a frightened child that she held, Nikita stroked Michael's hair and murmured soft words of comfort in his ear.

"It'll be all right, My Love," she whispered. "It'll be all right. You'll see….."

Michael relaxed in her embrace, sighing softly, but did not let her go.

She breathed in the warm clean male scent of him, felt the strength in the arms that held her tight, and wondered if it would be for the last time. She closed her eyes and sent out a silent plea to the gods, praying that in a few hours her words of hope would not prove to be lies….

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

A few hours later, Hope's happy dream was interrupted by cold, intrusive, and unwelcome, reality.

"Hope, wake up," a stern male voice uttered sharply in her ear, while at the same time she felt a firm hand shake her shoulder. "It's time…."

The girl groaned and thought about staying asleep, wanting nothing more than to be left in the sweet freedom of her intensely pleasurable dream. Why wake up to a death sentence?

"Wake up," the gruff voice insisted. She heard her tormentor sigh anxiously. "Please…" Michael begged.

Hope's eyes fluttered open and she sat up, knowing the voice of her captor-commander-and …..friend?. The panicked note in his tone communicated itself to her, and she was instantly awake and alert.

She shoved the blanket down from her arms and twisted her head around to peer out the window behind her. "Did we land yet?" she asked in a high trembling voice, knowing what awaited her on the ground.

Michael shook his head, and moved back, straightening to stand erect in the aisle. "Not yet," he answered tensely. "We have an hour."

The girl sighed in relief, and then lifted her eyes to meet Michael's, eyeing him curiously. "What now?" Hope asked in grim resignation. Her memories of his tenderness before when he had tucked her in warred with her knowledge of what he planned for her in the next few hours. Confused, she was torn about her feelings for him, not knowing whether to trust or fear him, love or hate….

He stared at her blankly for a moment, a muscle in his jaw twitching nervously. He looked away, and then pointed to a door just beyond the cabin's aisle. "Go freshen up," he ordered in a carefully controlled flat tone. "There's a make-up kit on the counter."

Hope blushed, her hand immediately coming up to pat her mussed hair. With her tear-stained face, she thought, she must look a fright. She stifled a short, bitter laugh. Maybe I can frighten Rodriquez to death, she mused dryly to herself.

"Okay," she agreed meekly, and stood up, walking past him with as much dignity as she could to the bathroom.

Michael sighed, thinking she looked not a fright, but like a small, scared child, caught in an adult world she had no hope of understanding. He didn't know that he understood it himself. He DID understand the way Hope was feeling, however. He and Nikita had had a few scant hours of sleep in each other's arms, on one of the seats in the first class cabin. They too, like Hope, had had to awaken from warm sweet dreams to rude reality. Nikita had gone back to the rear of the plane to prepare the team, and Michael had stayed forward to get Hope ready.

He busied himself in the galley while the girl made her ablutions in the restroom. When Hope emerged ten minutes later, he looked up to see her restored to a vision of perfect loveliness once more. She had washed her face, applied new make-up, and combed her hair. Except for her bare feet, her outfit was complete, ready to tempt Rodriguez into using her, then discarding her when he was done with her charms…

He schooled his thoughts away from that ugly direction, and went on with his tasks. "Sit down," he ordered sharply, pointing to an aisle seat where a tray of food he had prepared for her lay waiting. "Eat your breakfast," he demanded.

Hope eyed the food- coffee, orange juice, and a sweet roll- with an expression of apprehension. She shook her head and clutched her stomach. "I..I can't," she pleaded softly, looking piteously into Michael's cold green eyes. "I don't think I could keep it down…." She confessed nervously.

Michael nodded slowly, then sighed in sympathy. He never could eat before a mission, either. "Try," he ordered softly.

The girl relaxed a little, then nodded. She slipped into her seat and gingerly lifted her glass of orange juice and took a sip. The one swallow was all she attempted; she replaced the glass on the tray and did not reach for it again, but solemnly folded her hands in her lap, feeling she had kept up her bargain to follow his orders as best she could.

Michael decided it was time to distract her.

He reached into his pocket and took out the small, flat rectangular black box that Nikita had given him earlier, the box that held the device with the extras that Walter had planted so carefully. If all went well, this device would be what saved her.

He extended the box with its life-saving gift inside. "Here," Michael said simply. "For you."

Hope blinked at him, then slowly accepted the package. She gave him quick, wary glance from under her lashes, and then, balancing the box on the palm of one hand, she carefully opened the lid with the other.

She let out a sharp gasp of shock and almost dropped the box in her excitement when she saw what it contained.

"Oh, Michael!" she breathed in delight, staring mesmerized at the dazzling glitter of jewels that lay nestled in the velvet lining of the box. She bit her lip, overwhelmed by this stunning gift. "A diamond necklace…" she choked out, touched beyond words. She looked up to meet his eyes, her own clouding with tears. "For me?" she asked in disbelief.

Michael closed his eyes, then steeled himself to squelch the happy gratitude in his prisoner's eyes, to crush her eager, newborn hopes…

He grabbed the necklace roughly from its box and then draped the string of diamonds around the girl's neck, fastening it securely with impersonal hands. "It's your communication device," he told her grimly, hating himself for what he was doing. "We'll be able to monitor your … progress with Rodriguez through the equipment planted in the settings…."

The girl blanched, looking stricken, then doubled over as if she had just received a blow to the stomach. Jesus, she thought to herself, feeling her cheeks warm with a swift blush of embarrassed humiliation. He's done it again. She stifled a soft sob. I'm such a IDIOT, she berated herself harshly. He's jerked my emotions around one more time, she thought despairingly, and like a stupid fool, I fell for it….

The pain of this new betrayal coming so swiftly on top of the others, wrenched her already broken heart. The flood-gates of her bitterness opened once more.

Throwing him a mutinous look, she lifted her hands automatically to her throat to rip the offending device off her skin. She couldn't stand the thought of it touching her…

Michael stopped her with a swift hand, catching her wrists in his grip.

"Don't," he ordered in an intense low tone, his mood almost as miserable despairing as hers. "It stays on. Permanently."

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, glaring angrily. Hope opened her mouth to protest, but then stopped when she saw the haunted expression in the green eyes. She stared at him, puzzled, not knowing whether to hate him or pity him. She wondered why, if he was getting what he wanted tonight on the mission, why he looked so sad….

Michael licked dry lips and gave another order. "You'll keep the necklace on," he demanded urgently. His eyes hardened. "Swear it."

Hope took a shaky breath and then let it out on a trembling sigh. She closed her eyes, giving in. What choice did she have? What did it matter, anyway?

"I swear," she told him mulishly, in a resentful tone. She glanced up at him to glare stubbornly into his face. "Happy now?" she spat out bitterly.

Michael released her wrists and stepped back, relieved, in spite of her anger, at her ready acquiescence to his order. What he had told her about the necklace had been the truth, but not all of it. Its other functions were even more important, but Hope needed to be kept in the dark about those til much later.

"Good," he said curtly, watching her closely to gauge her reaction. "See that you do what you promised."

The blue eyes flashed angrily at him once more, and she snatched the glass of orange juice from the tray and lifted it to her lips. Her eyes never leaving his, she deliberately swallowed down the whole contents of the drink and then set the empty glass carefully back on the tray. It had a funny taste, but she drank it anyway.

Michael watched her drink the last drop in heart-felt relief. He sighed deeply. So far, so good.

"SEE?" Hope sneered at him, lifting her chin defiantly. "See what a GOOD girl I am…." Her voice broke on these despondent words, her tone one of abject self-loathing. "That's why you wanted me in the first place," the girl sobbed, no longer attempting to stifle her hurt tears. "To be your GOOD little whore…."

Michael flinched, but his prisoner went on, her words scarring his soul further.

"They're not real, are they?" Hope declared bitterly, fingering the glittering gems at her neck. The girl shook her head, and uttered a mirthless, self-deprecating laugh. "That's appropriate, I guess…." She mused acidly. "You saved the real diamonds for Nikita, and gave the rhinestones to me…." She dropped her hand defeatedly from the sparkling white fire of stones around her throat.

She looked away, staring blindly out the window, eyes clouded with tears. "I'm just a s-substitute for her, anyway…." The prisoner sobbed brokenly. "A ch-cheap imitation…."

She flung her head back and glared up into Michael's face defiantly, her eyes boring into his. "Isn't that right, Michael?" she demanded roughly, wounded and furious.

Michael, of course, did not answer her. Silently, he removed the tray and the empty box form in front of her, then found her shoes thrust them into her hands.

He issued another order. "Put those on and then buckle up," he told her gruffly. "We'll be landing soon."

Hope glared at him, and for a moment Michael wondered if the girl would fling the spiked footwear back at him, but she didn't. Instead she slumped back in her seat suddenly, as if all the fight had gone out of her. She closed her eyes, giving up.

"Whatever you say, Michael," she answered in meek obedience, unable to muster the strength to challenge him anymore. "Whatever you say…"

Michael nodded, and then took his own seat across the aisle and strapped in, preparing himself for the landing and what would follow.

Everything will be fine, he assured himself sternly, feeling totally miserable. He didn't think he could stand hurting Hope anymore, but it couldn't be avoided. He comforted himself with the thought that everything was going according to plan….

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

Hope did as she was told, too emotionally spent to protest any longer. She buckled her seat belt obediently and then turned her head to stare out the aircraft's window. The swirling, pretty clouds and the lights below only made her dizzy, and she closed her eyes to stop the world from spinning. She felt strange, disoriented, as if her mind were floating on its own, disconnected from her body. Hope passed it off as one the effects of the high altitude that she was unaccustomed to, figuring this was the way everyone felt when a plane landed.

Strangely, she was unafraid when she felt the wheels of the plane bounce hard, touching down. She opened her eyes, turned to look at Michael sitting across the aisle from her, and giggled.

"That was fun," she chuckled, feeling distinctly giddy. She smiled at him goofily, suddenly inexplicably elated, delighted with the world.

Michael did not smile back, but only nodded at her solemnly, then undid his own safety belt and then stood to help her with hers. Hope leaned back, relaxed, doing nothing, allowing him to unbuckle the strap at her hip. His nearness made her shiver, and she inhaled deeply the fragrance of his clean, masculine scent.

"Mmm," she blurted out before she could help herself. "You smell good…." She smiled at him again.

Michael's eyes met hers, and he nodded, satisfied, once more. "Stand up," he ordered curtly.

The girl obeyed, with difficulty. Her legs felt wobbly beneath her as the dizziness assaulted her again. She clutched at Michael's arm, and then held on, as he guided her slowly down the aisle. The door of the jet had been propped open, and she could smell the spicy-scented air of the soft Miami night. She knew what awaited her here, but still, her elation continued, her heart soaring, beyond reason, on its own.

At the threshold, she turned to stare at Michael shrewdly. "You drugged me," she accused in a hazy tone, unable to keep his face in focus. Hope closed her eyes again. "There was something in the orange juice…."

"Yes," Michael admitted baldly, his face grim. He put his arm around her waist to steady her, guiding her forward with his palm pushing against the small of her back. "Let's go."

Hope giggled again. "I like that," she murmured huskily. "I like it when you touch me…."

Michael looked down at her, noting the girl's glazed eyes, parted lips, and flushed cheeks. The drug Walter had given him was working just as promised. Hope was essentially drunk, high, and compliant. And beyond that, she was acutely responsive to the slightest sexual stimulation. And unlike aphrodisiacs or alcohol, the effects of this drug would not wear off for several hours. Michael grimaced. He didn't know where Walter had found such a drug, and he didn't want to know. He had only accepted it gratefully and administered it to his prisoner at the right moment. He hated to do it, but he knew it was for the best. At least this way, drugged, Hope would be able to carry out her role in the mission.

And maybe, Michael thought grimly, she wouldn't suffer too much…..

"I'm sorry…" he choked out roughly, hating himself.

The girl giggled happily once more, and swayed against him, tilting her face up to his. She smiled at him coquettishly. "I'll forgive you," she promised teasingly, her eyes glowing, "If you kiss me, just once…."

Michael froze, guilt-stricken. He didn't want to take advantage of her, to use her weakness for him against her. He hesitated, then shook his head. "Not now," he told Hope sternly, urging her out onto the jet-way. "We have to go…."

The girl pouted, and stubbornly held her ground. "No!" she demanded, stomping her high-heeled, delicate foot. "Kiss me NOW…"

Michael sighed, and turned to her. He took one look into the soft pleading eyes and was lost. Gently, he reached out and cupped her face in both hands. Then slowly, he lowered his full, soft mouth to hers, exploring sweetly, but firmly. The girl whimpered, surrendering totally to this tender, but wild caress. Michael plundered her lips, trying to convey to her all his pent-up feelings inside- his caring, his sorrow, his regret, as well as his total admiration for her bravery. Hope was too drunk to know it, but it was his kiss good-bye.

After a moment, she staggered back from him, and heaved a great sigh. "Thank you," she said breathlessly, a little wobbly on her feet, the unsteadiness not solely from the effects of the drug. She smiled invitingly at him again. "That was VERY nice…" she giggled, then teetered dangerously forward. "Sooo nice…."

Michael caught her arm before she fell, and then supported her the rest of the way as they exited onto the tarmac. A gray van was waiting for them, and Michael ushered the girl inside. A swarm of operatives followed, silently boarding the van and taking their places inside. Hope looked up groggily and recognized one of them.

"Hello, Nikita!" the girl said brightly. "What are you doing here?"

Nikita met Michael's eyes briefly, exchanging a look, and then she answered the girl solemnly. "I'm here to help you, Hope," the blonde operative told her softly.

Hope shot a glance at Michael sitting beside her, and then laughed out loud. Though drunk and giddy, she still retained her memory about exactly what the situation was that she was facing.

"You can't help me, Nikita," the girl responded in a happy tone, shaking her head. "No one can…."

She leaned back and rested her head on Michael's shoulder, closing her eyes, the world spinning again. She didn't see Nikita's stricken expression, or the look of pain in Michael's eyes. She knew she was going to die soon, but, distanced from reality as she was by the drug-induced euphoria, that knowledge didn't bother her. The van started up, carrying her to Rodriguez, and a grisly death, but Hope's heart was flying high, undisturbed by the gruesome scenario waiting ahead.

She hummed a wordless tune to herself, at peace with the world. Everything was great, she thought happily. Everything was just fine…….

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

Hope drowsed through the trip to meet Rodriguez, leaning her head trustingly against Michael's shoulder. She was feeling spacey and out-of-it, strangely detached from reality. She was aware of what was ahead, remembered the terrifying plans that Section had for her, but she was oddly not frightened. It was if it were all happening to someone else. The drug Michael had given her had taken away all her fear.

She didn't protest when the van came to a stop and Michael nudged her awake. Hope blinked her eyes, and forced herself to focus on her mentor's face. Sad green eyes peered into hers, then the look hardened, his mouth firming grimly, as if he had steeled himself to perform this last distasteful task as her trainer.

The rest of the operatives, Nikita included, had already left the van, deploying themselves around the night-club in their designated places. Michael and his victim were alone.

"Rodriguez is inside, waiting," Michael told her tensely, pulling the girl to her feet. "You'll be in a line-up of other girls for him to choose from," he paused, then went on grimly. "Don't worry. He'll choose you."

Hope accepted this, too fuzzy-minded to question how this would be done. "Then what?" she asked sleepily, swaying on her feet.

Michael caught her arm to steady her, pulling her toward the door. Time was running out; there were only a few more instructions for him to give.

"Do whatever he says," Michael ordered gruffly, feeling hollow inside. "He likes compliance in women. He sighed shakily. "Don't fight him. Resistance will only anger him, and make it harder on you…."

Hope raised her eyes to his, and gave him a surprisingly lucid response. "Got it," she said dryly, nodding slowly. "You want me to roll over and play dead…."

Michael flinched, but could think of nothing to say to protest the essential truth of this assessment. He took a deep breath and went on. "We'll be listening," he told her gently, and then reached up his hand to lightly touch the diamonds at her throat, which also held her communication device. "Remember to keep this on…" Michael sighed wearily once more, hating what he had to do. "When you've…engaged Rodriguez, that's when the team will infiltrate and retrieve what we need from his laptop…"

Hope swayed in his grasp, her eyes closing. Michael wondered if her inattention was due solely to the effects of the drug she had been given, of if the soul part of her had been instinctively tuning him out as a way of psychic self-preservation, from some deep well of inner wisdom.

His sorrow and pain at what he must do, as well as his helpless frustration, goaded him to anger. "Do you hear me?" Michael demanded sharply, giving Hope's arm a firm shake.

She opened her eyes and gave him a lop-sided smile. "Loud and clear, Team Leader," she drawled, bringing her free arm up to execute a sloppy, if enthusiastic salute. She giggled again, and then sobered suddenly, closing her eyes wearily. "Let's get this over with…." Hope whispered.

Michael took another deep breath and urged her forward. The mission had begun, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

A moment later, they emerged from the van into the soft, tropical night. The air was warm, but cool breezes rustled the fronds of the palm trees. Above the glitter of the street lights, a full golden Miami moon shone brightly. They were in the alley behind the nightclub where Rodriguez awaited fresh prey. It was only a few steps to the club's back door, where the club-owner, a man named Sanchez who had very recently been persuaded to see things Section's way, stood patiently waiting to escort Hope inside.

Michael's nerves jangled; he knew he should hand the girl over, but he was not yet ready to let go. He wanted this last chance to say good-bye.

Gently, his hands trembling, he reached out to take hold of her shoulders, and turned her to face him. Hope lifted her head and the two looked deeply into each other's eyes.

"I didn't want it this way," he choked out roughly, attempting to apologize once more. He leaned closer, and rested his cheek against hers. He felt his throat swell with unshed tears. At that moment, he didn't care if his next words disgusted or infuriated her, he only knew he HAD to say them, or die of regret.

"I DO love you, Hope- believe that…." He whispered hoarsely in her ear, releasing the hard lump of agony in his heart. He didn't wait for the girl's response, just pushed her roughly away from him, giving her a shove in Sanchez's direction.

Hope tottered toward the doorway, numbly obedient, and let Sanchez lead her inside.

Unable to watch, Michael turned to stumble back to the van, eyes blinded by sudden hot tears. He didn't see the soft, peaceful look on Hope's face as she watched him go, or hear the tranquil words of farewell that escaped her lips.

"I know, Michael," she murmured, calm and serene in the face of Death. "I know…"

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

Jorge Rodriguez, international arms-dealer, terrorist, and raper of women, was feeling no pain. Tonight was going to be a wonderful night. He seldom let his guard down, rarely let himself completely relax, but tonight would be an exception to that rule. In his line of work, there was always a need to be careful. He left his hidden hacienda only occasionally, and then, accompanied by a large entourage of heavily armed guards. His life had become one of weary caution, himself a prisoner of his own chosen career. Rodriguez's hard, evil soul cried for freedom.

But then he heard of Sanchez's Miami paradise- a "nightclub" where, for a certain price, he would be attended to by the most beautiful women in the world, and, even more importantly, he would be allowed to do anything he wanted to them, up to and including murder, no questions asked. The women were disposable commodities, anyway. Sanchez would provide for the security arrangements as well, so that Rodriguez could travel incognito, without his army of guards and servants. Sanchez would supply his every need, no matter how practical, no matter how depraved and vile.

Dios, Rodriguez gloated to himself. This will be fun…

Tonight would be the arms dealer's second visit to Sanchez's exclusive establishment. The first time had gone well, problem free. Rodriguez had been pampered, catered to with wine and food, and then allowed to rampage at will through the beautiful supply of feminine flesh provided for him. In a frenzy of violent release, Rodriguez had taken four of the women to bed, killed three of them, and left the other one permanently injured.

He had never enjoyed himself so much before.

Now, he sat in the nightclub's lounge, happy and replete, his dinner over, and awaited this night's entertainment. He drained the last sip of wine from his glass, and then clapped his hands together loudly.

"Bring them!" he ordered sternly to the servant who hovered by his side. The man bowed in assent, and then walked swiftly to a side door and opened it. The servant snapped his fingers impatiently, then motioned for the women waiting in the corridor beyond to file into the room. The five human prey walked past him to stand in front of the predator who awaited them. The victims were all young, all beautiful, and all very frightened.

Except for one- Hope. She was too numb from the drug to feel any fear.

Rodriguez sighed as the girls entered, his eyes raking them from head to toe. There were five of them, young, fresh meat, enough to last all night, enough to satisfy his lusts, for blood and for sex. Rodriguez intended to take his time, to make a thorough job of it. He smiled, and beckoned to the first one in line, a comely red-head. He preferred blondes, but she would do, Rodriguez thought charitably.

The girl cringed, took a shaky breath, and then obeyed, stepping shyly forward to stand at Rodriguez's side. She had been told that Rodriguez was a famous movie producer, and that this was her night to try out. Since being imprisoned in the club for four hours under armed guard, she had long since realized that there was something else going on here, something much more sinister besides a mere audition.

His next actions proved her fears beyond a doubt. Rodriguez pulled her roughly down to sit on his lap. He pressed his lips to hers roughly, taking her mouth without preamble or invitation. One hand strayed over her breasts, while the other insinuated itself up her skirt.

The redhead struggled, but she was small, and Rodriguez, though not tall, was stocky, powerful, broad-shouldered, and large. He was also without conscience, and determined to get what he wanted.

He pulled back from the kiss, and then looked into the girl's eyes and laughed. "Relax, we're just getting started…" he murmured to her, then plundered her mouth rudely once more. The small red-head whimpered and squirmed, trying to get away.

Rodriguez suddenly and impatiently pushed the girl off his lap, shoving her to the floor. The girl lay where she was thrown, sobbing quietly. Rodriguez shook his head in disgust. He enjoyed women's fear, but he liked compliance, and a little willingness first. Torturing this redhead would be too easy. He needed more of a challenge first.

He lifted his eyes to check out the rest of tonight's offerings. Of the four remaining victims, three of them were huddled together for protection, sobbing quietly and hopelessly in each other's arms, terrified and panicked. Rodriguez turned from them to look at the fourth girl.

She was standing off to the side by herself, staring challengingly at him. She was a vision of blonde loveliness, just like he liked- tall, willowy, slender, but with filled-out curves. The stunning and obviously expensive black dress she wore revealed discreet amounts of cleavage and long legs, enticing, but not blatantly so.

A high-class one, Rodriguez thought slyly. Probably more experienced, too, but he didn't mind that. He smiled at her, and to his surprise, she smiled back. He wasn't to know that Hope was actually pleased that he was considering her. She was anxious to get this whole thing over with.

Mesmerized, his eyes not leaving her face, he snapped his fingers at the servant waiting by the door. "Get rid of these," Rodriguez ordered, waving at the other four girls dismissively. "I'll start with THIS one…."

The man nodded, and hastily ushered the frightened victims out, after hauling the redhead to her feet. The girls scurried through the door, and, after bowing to Rodriguez once more, the servant left, shutting the door behind him.

Hope and Rodriguez were alone.

The terrorist grinned evilly and crooked his finger beckoningly at her. "Come here," he ordered huskily. He patted his muscular thigh invitingly. "Sit down…"

Hope eyed him boldly back, smiled, and then sauntered forward. Unafraid, she seated herself delicately on his knee and then placed her arms around his neck.

"Like this?" she whispered teasingly, her blue eyes glowing. She leaned closer to place her lips against his jaw. "Is this what you wanted?" she murmured, then nipped playfully at his beard-roughened skin.

Rodriguez groaned, and then pulled her into a hard kiss. He slipped his tongue forcefully into her mouth and then cupped her breast in his palm and squeezed.

Hope sighed, but not in fear. Because of the drug, she was feeling an equal amount of frenzied desire. In her heightened state of arousal, the terrorist's crude touch actually felt good. She amazed herself, and him, by begging for more.

"Yes…" she pleaded, arching her back to thrust her hardened nipple more firmly into his hand. "Like that…." She moaned.

Rodriguez complied with a soft grunt of assent, eagerly rolling the aching pink tip between his fingers, rubbing her through the thin material of her dress.

Hope gasped, again shocked by how good it felt. She had only been aroused by one man before, and that was Michael. Michael, the man she loved. All the others had left her cold. Confused, she wondered why now, this one, this sadistic terrorist, Rodriguez, could bring out the same sharp, physical response in her as her beloved Michael did.

What kind of woman was she? Hope asked herself hazily. The drugs, and Rodriguez's straying hands, made her thinking very cloudy.

Rodriguez chuckled amorously, and then unwittingly answered her unspoken question. "You're a real little slut, aren't you?" he murmured, slipping his hand inside the hem of her dress to fondle her bare thigh.

Hope froze, then gave him a confused, stricken look. Her past life as Franklin's whore, and then Section's, flashed before her. With her body screaming and clamoring for this crude client's touch, she was unable to deny her willingness to be taken by him at that moment.

Hope closed her eyes, facing the brutal truth. He's right, she thought bluntly, feeling hollow inside. It was the truth. It was like looking at herself for the first time. She was a whore- not a woman to be loved and cherished, but a commodity to be used and thrown away. It was how Michael saw her, too, she knew it. Why else would he have abandoned her this way?

Hope opened her eyes to look squarely into her brutal lover's face. "Yes," she confessed brokenly, eyes stinging with tears. "Yes, I am…."

Rodriguez laughed heartily, amused and delighted with this answer. He noted the girl's sudden tears, and was silently thrilled at her humiliation. Hope's degradation would only made the sex more satisfying, he thought slyly. Yes, he was VERY pleased with her.

He stood up suddenly, pulling his blonde victim to her feet. "Come," he ordered, gripping her by the wrist and dragging her toward the exit. "There's a bedroom over here…."

Hope suddenly remembered her assignment, and shot a quick glance at the sofa in the corner, where Rodriguez's laptop, the object of the mission, along with his suit-jacket and cell phone, all lay hastily discarded.

"Don't you want to bring your things?" she asked meekly, pointing to the objects. She was keenly aware now that Section was listening to everything they said, through the communication device in her necklace. "Your computer and all?" Hope added anxiously.

Rodriguez blinked at her, surprised she would be concerned about the safety of his property. Women he knew rarely cared about such things. "Don't worry," he assured her with a lascivious smile. "My stuff will be fine right where it is…"

His eyes glazed over with rough passion. Rodriguez drew her hand downward to his groin and forced her palm against the rigid staff of flesh between his legs. "This THING right here is the only one of my possessions you need to worry about…" he told her huskily. Hope's fingers twitched convulsively around the aroused member, squeezing his pulsing manhood almost involuntarily. He paused, holding her there, letting out a soft groan at her touch. After a moment, he grabbed her by the arm and thrust her inside the bedchamber next door, locking the door behind them.

Hope staggered inside, looking around her. The room was dark, lit only with candles, the walls draped with heavy red velvet that glowed as if from within. The setting was sensuous and blatantly romantic, giving the effect of being inside a glass of burgundy wine, and Hope felt her head spinning, dizzy and drunk. It was a room you could drown in.

Or die in, she amended to herself silently.

Rodriguez wasted no time on further wooing, but was already unbuttoning his shirt hastily. "Take off your clothes," he ordered roughly, "And we'll get started."

Hope stiffened, chilled by the business-like, unromantic approach. Then she sighed in resignation. What would take place here was plain and simple f&cking, not love-making, she admonished herself sternly. What right did she have to expect any gentleness from someone like Rodriguez? He was just another john, like all the others…..

And she was still a whore.

Swaying slightly on her feet, Hope closed her eyes and obeyed, pulling the straps of her dress matter-of-factly down her shoulders and letting the gown fall to the floor. She stepped out of the pool of silk daintily, and then stood facing Rodriguez, completely naked except for her high-heeled shoes and the diamond necklace around her throat.

The terrorist stared at her, his breath literally catching in his throat. She was incredibly beautiful. From the blonde hair, the pert breasts, rounded hips and long legs, she was exquisite, totally and completely perfect. Her alabaster skin glowed like warm cream in the light from the candles. He wanted to touch her everywhere, to devour her, to own her, to possess her utterly, to crush her to his will…..

"On the bed," he growled hoarsely, fumbling frantically at his zipper. "I want to take you NOW…"

Hope sighed resignedly, and obediently walked over to the king-sized bed in the center of the room. It was draped, like the walls, in the same sensuous dark velvet. She lay down, stretched out on her back, arms above her head, and closed her eyes. Submissively, she surrendered, opening her legs for Rodriguez to enter her. She lay still and quiet, awaiting his assault.

She expected to feel Rodriguez' weight on top of her, expected to have his hard penis thrust roughly inside of her. Instead, he stayed where he was, and barked another order.

"Not like that," he growled sharply, slapping her on the thigh stingingly. "Roll over, bitch. On your stomach…."

Hope opened her eyes, and raised herself up on her elbows. A chill of apprehension went through her. Rodriguez might want to play rougher than she thought, inspite of her unfailing co-operation. She shot him a wary look, but then obeyed, turning quickly to lie face down on the bed. She heard him sigh in satisfaction, and then felt his hand caress her buttocks, fingers probing between.

She flinched, and Rodriguez laughed, squeezing hard. "Nice ass," he growled rudely. "I think I want some of that…." He clambered on top of her, pressing his hardened c*ck threateningly between the cleft of her soft rear, probing where his fingers had been.

Hope panicked then. Despite the lassitude she felt from the effect of the drug in her system, she could no longer be complacent about what Rodriguez was doing. She had endured this once before, when Franklin had tied her down and punished her by raping her anally over and over again. Frightened and horrified, she knew she was incapable of enduring such punishment again.

She bucked against him and lifted her shoulders up off the bed, struggling to escape. A harsh scream of terror left her lips.

"No!" Hope cried in anguished horror. "No!"

Her assailant was determined to continue. Rodriguez grabbed her by the hair and twisted her head around to look at him, then slapped her face hard. "Do as you're told, bitch!" he hissed at her, his eyes blazing with rage. He was panting hard, his face flushed, aroused by her fear. His blood-lust was building in him, the desire to wound burning as high as the instinct to mate. Rodriguez was like some crazed, wild animal- out of control.

He lunged at her, pinning her to the bed with his hand on the back of her neck. Helplessly, she writhed beneath him as he lay on top of her. He fumbled with his other hand between their bodies, seeking to insert his rigid staff inside her soft curves.

But being sodomized was not her biggest problem right then. Rodriguez had shoved her face into the pillow; Hope was suffocating, unable to breathe. Struggling mightily, she managed to work free, turning her head to the side, gasping in great gulps of air.

She sobbed raggedly, panicking, then closed her eyes and screamed. She screamed for help from the only one who had ever helped her before, despite his later betrayals. She screamed the name of the man who had pulled her back from the ledge, the one who had, however briefly, given her a reason to live….

"Michael!" Hope sobbed hoarsely, blinded by tears, her heart pounding in panic. "Mi-CHAEL!"

It was as if her cry triggered an explosion, a devastating blast of white light. The bed shook and the there was a deafening rumble that seemed to shake the very ground beneath them. Above her, Rodriguez screamed in agony, and rolled off her, collapsing to the floor, clutching his eyes in pain. The air was filled with thick smoke and the sound of crackling flames.

Hope sat up groggily, her eyes stinging from the impenetrable, noxious fog that filled the room, her lungs burning with every breath. She held out her hand, only to see it lost in the whiteness. The smoke was like darkness in reverse, swallowing everything.

Naked and blind, she tried to stand up, determined to find her way out of this sudden, white hell.

She screamed again when a black-gloved hand emerged from the whiteness to grasp her arm. Helplessly, she felt herself lifted in this stranger's arms, carried away by this new terror. She flailed her arms wildly, her fists landing on the glass plate of the monster's face-mask. Her captor stilled her wrists by clasping them in his own, and then she felt a hard, rubber mask being placed over her nose and mouth, smothering her. Hope inhaled a sickeningly-sweet smell, and gagged on the breath of air she was so desperate to partake of a second before. The world was spinning, going black. She looked up through the captor's mask and thought she imagined two softly glowing green eyes watching her kindly through the glass shield.

"Michael?" Hope gasped in shocked surprise. It was the last thing she thought before she hurtled headlong into the darkness….

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

Several hours later, Nikita paced restlessly in her apartment, waiting for Michael to show up. The mission, the main one to take down Rodriguez as well as and their own side-mission to save Hope, had gone well, as far as she knew, but Nikita needed to hear it for herself.

She sighed, ran a hand through her blonde hair, and stopped her pacing to go into the kitchen to make tea. She had gotten the kettle half-filled with water, when she dropped it unceremoniously in the sink and then reached for a bottle of wine instead.

Her nerves were shot, and she really needed a drink. She poured herself a generous glass, and then took both bottle and glass to the living room where she set them on the coffee table. Settling onto the couch, drink in hand, she let her mind wander back over the details of the plan once more.

Their shadow design to save Hope had fit well into the mission as profiled, being only a slight deviation. Only a few, but extremely essential, things had been changed. Michael had taken care of getting to Sanchez, so that the night-club owner had done his part. Sanchez was already in the pay of Section, and it had been easy for Michael to turn him to do the extra side-mission tasks that he was required to do. Nikita had not been there to hear their conversation, but she was sure a few softly worded threats from Michael, delivered in that deadly tone of voice, would have been all it would have taken for Sanchez to fall in line.

Apparently, as far as she knew, it had worked.

Sanchez's only tasks were to set the specially timed explosives in place around the night-club- one in the lounge, one in the bedroom. He was also to see to it that the other girls that Rodriguez was due to "sample" that night got clear of the building before the bombs went off. Nikita had insisted on it. The women were as innocent as Hope had been, and Nikita was not willing to write them off as collateral damage, as Operations had considered the girls to be.

Nikita sipped her wine and smiled smugly to herself. The bombs Section had originally planned for them to set were armed with C-4 explosives- enough to level the block. After they got what they wanted from him, Section didn't want Rodriguez left alive. The devices Michael had had Sanchez substitute were a combination of tear gas and concussion bombs- not enough to kill anyone, only disable and confuse.

So far, so good, Nikita thought to herself.

The second aspect of the shadow mission had been taken care of by Nikita herself. At least this was one thing she was sure of that had gone right. She had been the operative whose job it was to go in to retrieve the data from Rodriguez's laptop while he was in the bedroom otherwise occupied with Hope.

Nikita had slipped in, unseen, through the rear door of the club left conveniently open for her by Sanchez. The servants and the young girls had been sequestered off in another room, and she found herself alone, in complete privacy, in the lounge of the club. She could hear soft muffled voices from the other side of the door, but tried to ignore what she knew was going on in the bedroom between Rodriguez and Hope. She forced herself to concentrate on performing the task at hand.

The laptop was easy to find, lying in full view on the couch where Rodriguez had left it. "Got it, Birkoff," Nikita had reported through her com link.

Back in Systems, the young computer genius acknowledged her signal. "Good," he stated in a bored tone. "Boot it up and then download the list of buyers to me." The young man yawned and then took a bite of licorice. "When you're done, get out of there and then set the charges."

"Right," Nikita acknowledged curtly. She arranged the disk and her panel to transmit the information, doing so quickly and smoothly, from long practice. This part was easy. The buyers list, in fact, all of Rodriguez's contacts in the terrorist community, was displayed in its entirety on the laptop's screen, hers for the taking.

But that was not their secret mission profile.

"It's not here, Birkoff!" Nikita lied. Hastily she pressed a few keys and erased the contents of the disk, eliminating the information they had been sent to find. The intel was gone now- Section would be forced to find another way. "There's no buyers' list!"

Birkoff cursed and sat up straighter, coming instantly alert. "Sh*t, Nikita, are you sure?" she heard him ask anxiously over the com link. "Our intel said it would be there…"

"Positive," Nikita lied smoothly. "The only thing here is some bank records and a few computer games." She stifled a smile, and tried to sound worried. "What should I do?" she asked, pretending to be anxious.

"Damn," Birkoff cursed again. Nikita heard him heave a huge sigh, and she waited eagerly for his response, sure that their plan was working.

"Without the laptop, Rodriguez's status has changed," Birkoff concluded, as she knew he would. "He's no longer collateral. We'll have to bring him in…."

"Gotcha," Nikita acknowledged, crushing her instinct to crow triumphantly. "What mode?"

Birkoff scratched his head and sighed once more. "There's no time to develop a detailed profile," he stated anxiously. "Michael!" The young computer genius barked into the com link. "What is your status? Is your team able to penetrate to retrieve the target?"

A firm, French-accented voice responded immediately. "Affirmative," Michael answered quickly, stifling his own eagerness. "We're on our way in…"

Over the private com link through her necklace, Michael had been listening to Hope's tormented pleas to Rodriguez to stop; he could hear her cries, knew that she was struggling. It broke his heart to hear her when she piteously called out his name. All this time Michael had been agonized by these sounds, as he waited helplessly while Hope suffered Rodriguez's assault, unable to do anything until the moment was right. Now, at last, things had changed, and he was more than ready to move in.

Standing in the alley behind the club, Michael gestured to his men to follow him. He quickly plucked the detonator from his pocket, and keyed the control. As he pushed the button, the smoke and concussion bombs went off. Gas masks at the ready, his team swarmed the building, diving headlong into the fire and smoke.

"Get Rodriguez alive!" Michael ordered curtly, then, relying on his men to carry out this task, Michael set himself to follow through on his own agenda- rescuing Hope.

The team burst into the bedroom, Michael in the lead, after kicking open the door. Through the thick smoke, Michael could see enough of the ugly scene to make his stomach churn. Rodriguez, half naked, was lying on the floor beside the bed, clutching his face and moaning in pain. The flash of the blast had singed his eyes, temporarily blinding him. He had obviously just rolled off of his victim, knocked back by the blast. Hope, naked and sobbing, was in a total panic, clawing at the smoke as if it was something solid and tangible she was fighting to get through. Michael knew she was blind from the smoke as well.

Michael ignored Rodriguez, other than to note with satisfaction that he put up no resistance to the Section team that swarmed around him. Michael heard Hope's rapist whimper in pain, and something in his heart was glad that the terrorist who had caused so much suffering now suffered in return. It seemed like justice to him. Michael also knew that Rodriguez's punishment was only just beginning- Madeleine would no doubt see to that when she extracted the information she needed from him in the white room.

But the real purpose of their plan was not to torment Rodriguez, no matter how deserving he was of such a Fate. Michael and Nikita had arranged the mission this way in order for Michael to be able to get Hope safely away, without Section knowing about it.

Under cover of the smoke and the distraction of bringing in their target, Michael was to get Hope out of the club and into the car waiting outside, driven by none other than their newest friend and partner, Sanchez. The night-club owner's orders had been simple- drive the girl to the hospital and leave her there. Michael would do the rest.

Michael's heart had broken again when he had gathered the panicked girl in his arms, scooping her up from the bed. She fought him, not knowing who he was. Michael had then administered the carefully prepared mask that would serve a two-fold purpose- it's chloroform laced filter would render Hope unconscious, but at the same time help her breathe. After a few seconds, Hope stopped struggling and went limp. Michael thought he saw a flash of recognition in the girl's eyes before she passed out, but he couldn't be sure. Perhaps he had only imagined it.

Cradling her in his arms, he carried her swiftly out to the alley outside, where Sanchez waited in the getaway car, the motor running. Michael knew he didn't have much time, only a few minutes at most, to see that his protegee escaped. He was due back at the mission van with the rest of his team, and he knew his absence would be noted if he lingered very long at this task.

Still, he was reluctant to let her go. Once out in the fresh air outside the club, Michael stripped off the girl's mask, and then his own. He pressed a swift, brief kiss to her lips and whispered one last good-bye. Then he opened the car door and laid his precious burden carefully and gently across the back seat. He straightened long enough to pull off his black leather jacket and tenderly drape it across the sleeping girl, covering her nakedness. The diamond necklace still gleamed at her throat, that, except for the coat, was her only covering. The girl did not stir as he tucked the coat carefully around her and gave her cheek one last gentle, reverent caress.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to straighten again, slamming the rear car door firmly closed, locking the priceless cargo inside. Michael banged his fist on the roof of the car, signaling Sanchez to take off. Sanchez obeyed, gunning the engine, and the car disappeared from sight, leaving Michael standing alone in the alley, his heart feeling as empty as the street he stood in.

But Nikita, back in her apartment, did not know this. She only knew Michael had been grim-faced and silent in the van on the way back to Section. With the other operatives around, and their com links to Section still activated, private conversation between them had been impossible. Once the team arrived back at Section, that situation did not improve. Michael had been called away to debrief, and Nikita had gone home, where she was now, drinking alone and waiting morosely for news.

Lost in thought, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Michael's key scrape in the lock.

"Michael?" she called out anxiously, running to him. "Is everything all right?" She held onto his shoulders and looked into his eyes. "Is Hope okay?" Nikita asked breathlessly.

The green eyes stared longingly into hers, telling her everything she needed to know. The jade depths glittered with exhaustion, but at the same time gleamed brightly with pride and triumph. "She'll be fine," Michael told her in his usual succinct way, his voice redolent of both stress and elation. "I checked with the hospital- they'll keep her for observation a few days and then let her go…."

Nikita breathed out a huge sigh of relief and impulsively kissed him. "Oh, God…." She murmured happily in his ear, clutching him in her arms, "I'm so glad…."

Michael clung to her, burying his face in her fragrant hair. It was over. Hope was safe, and he was standing in the embrace of the woman he loved, the woman who had made Hope's rescue possible.

"Thank you…." He choked out gratefully, savoring the feel of her heart pressed against his.

Nikita gurgled out a happy laugh and pulled back from the embrace in order to look at him. "No, thank YOU!" she corrected gaily. "We did it together, remember?" She smiled and clapped her hands together, eager as a child. "Whew! I feel like celebrating!" Nikita declared joyfully. She met Michael's eyes and asked a perfectly innocent question.

"What would you like to do?" she said, wide-eyed.

Michael answered her with a look, the jade embers of his smoldering eyes igniting to flame.

Nikita trembled at the unleashed passion she saw in those eyes. With a soft cry, he gathered her in his arms once more, crushing her to him, then he claimed her mouth with a hungry kiss.

No more words were needed; Michael turned out the light and carried her to bed, answering her question all night long……

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

Hope floated for an undetermined amount of time in the darkness. It might have been years, or it might have been days or hours. The healing peace of the place she was in had a timeless quality, a depth she couldn't name. No one bothered her, no pain touched her, no rough, male hands defiled her. If this sweet darkness were eternity, she thought, sinking deeper and deeper into those depths, she would revel in it….

She awoke with a gasp, suddenly and completely, as a harsh light stabbed her eyes.

"No…" she whimpered, dazed and stunned by the intrusive brightness. She flinched away, sat up, and then blinked.

The world- not the soft dark, one, but the old world, the world of pain- came into focus around her. Dazed, she took in her surroundings. She realized that she was in a hospital room, and that the man in the white lab-coat standing by her bed must be her doctor. She wiped the streaming tears from her eyes and then saw it. There was pen-sized flashlight in the doctor's hand; that must have been the light that disrupted her rest, the light that made her return here, to this cruel world that brought only tears….

Bastard, she thought angrily.

The doctor, unaware of her unspoken curse, smiled at her. "Excellent, Miss Bonniere!" he gloated, beaming at her. He was young, and cocky, and proud of himself. He took the credit for her healing for his own. "You're awake!" he declared proudly, puffing out his chest, as if he had achieved this feat by his own efforts.

"You're going to be fine!" he said loudly, as if she were deaf, or stupid. "Pupil's look normal now…." He nodded wisely. "We've got the eyes all healed up, and all we have to do is determine if your memory is still there…." He chuckled softly at his own joke, and then started his neurological exam.

"Can you tell me your name, Miss Bonniere?" the doctor asked with a teasing smile.

Hope was in no mood to be teased. Nor did she appreciate him getting her name wrong. She had been born as Hope Caroline Masters. Franklin was her adopted name, the name she never used. Who on earth, she wondered, was this Miss Bonniere?

She paled suddenly, remembering. Bonniere was the name Michael had called himself when she first met him, the day he came to rescue her from Franklin. What was going on? Her eyes roamed the room. Was he here?

She rubbed her forehead, frowned, and blurted out a question. "M-Michael?" she asked wonderingly.

The doctor blanched, worried that his prize patient was not as well as he thought. He cleared his throat anxiously. "Michael?" he echoed, then smiled nervously. "Uh, are you sure? Isn't that a rather unusual name for a girl?"

Hope sighed, leaned back on her pillows, and closed her eyes. The doctor's immense stupidity wearied her.

"My name is Hope," she stated flatly, correcting him. "Hope Caroline…"

She heard the young doctor let out a relieved sigh. "Ah, yes, very funny…. He said, nodding. He patted Hope patronizingly on the arm, and smiled at her. "You were testing me, weren't you?" he said with jocular heartiness, "Just like I was testing you…."

Hope opened her eyes and stared at him. He head ached, her eyes were dry and scratchy, and her throat was raw and felt like it was on fire. There were bruises on her wrists, and her whole body was sore. The last thing she needed right now was "Dr. Dense" and his annoying, dim-witted jokes……

"Right," she said dismissively, not caring what he thought. "Whatever…."

"Right," the doctor echoed. He mentally checked off this question on his list, and went on to the next one. One sure way to check if a patient was lucid was to see if they were oriented in time, so the next question dealt with that.

"Can you tell me what day it is, Miss Bonniere?" The doctor asked, somewhat smugly.

Hope blinked at him. The question only reaffirmed her opinion that the doctor was incredibly stupid. Didn't he know what day it was himself? Why was he asking her?

"Friday," she told him flatly. "It's Friday, the tenth of September," she added for good measure, closing her eyes wearily.

The doctor paused, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Um, I'm afraid that's not correct," he told her, this time in softer, gentler tone. "You've been here two days. This is Monday, the thirteenth….."

Hope's eyes flew open, and she sat up straight again. "What?" she gasped. A flicker of apprehension went across her face, her stomach churning in panic. How could she have lost two days? "I…. I… don't remember…." She choked out in a worried tone, at the same moment it all came rushing back to her.

Rodriguez. The mission. His hands touching her. Her overwhelming fear. Then the terror of the loud blast, the smoke that smothered everything. Then…

Then Michael. She was sure now that it was him, that he was the one who had carried her from the room, out of the smoke and fire, away from Rodriguez. After that, she remembered nothing. That was when she had woken up here, all alone, in the hospital…

A wave of loneliness washed over her, engulfing her. This was how it had been when her parents had died in the car crash when she was a child. She had woken up in the hospital, all alone, among strangers, abandoned, confused, frightened, bereft…..

It was happening all over again, Hope realized in agony. The only love she had in the world had been taken from her.

Michael, she thought, anguished. Michael was gone….

The girl buried her face in her hands and burst into tears, sobbing brokenly.

The doctor, uncomfortable with this emotional display, but still a bit sympathetic, patted her hand again in an awkward attempt to comfort her.

"That's perfectly normal for you not to remember," he assured her briskly. "There was a gas leak in the night club you were in that caused an quite an explosion…." He nodded his head knowingly. "You were knocked out by the blast. It was lucky for you that the owner got you out in time and brought you here…."

He smiled at her. "You're young and healthy, and the injuries you sustained won't be permanent, " he assured her. "You'll be fine…."

Hope caught her breath, lifted her head, and looked the doctor in the eye. She knew now how she had gotten here, and what the public believed about the Rodriguez mission. Section had done a good job covering their tracks. Fire was a good way to hide things. Was Rodriguez's body in the smoldering rubble, she wondered? Was she safe from him?

She shuddered, as a more chilling thought occurred to her. Was she safe from Section? Did they know where she was?

Hope flashed the doctor a desperate look. "Have I had any visitors?" she asked anxiously. "Has anyone come to see me?"

The young doctor cleared his throat nervously, and stammered out an apologetic reply. "I'm afraid not," he replied, his voice tinged with pity. "There haven't been any visitors, er, except for one…."

Hope blanched. "Who?" She asked urgently, leaning forward. "Who was here to see me?"

The doctor gave her the embarrassed look again, and then looked away awkwardly. "Uh, it was your bank manager, Mr. Samuelle," he told her reluctantly, feeling bad that no family had visited his patient, just some business associate on a financial errand.

Hope stared at him in stunned silence. Mr. Samuelle? She thought, shocked. A banker? She didn't even have a checking account. She didn't know anyone by that name. Who could that be?

The doctor paused, waiting for her reaction. When she said nothing, he licked dry lips, and went on reluctantly. "He came by to settle your hospital bill for you, and then he.. uh… took possession of the diamond necklace that you were wearing…."

Hope gasped. "He took my NECKLACE!" she almost shouted, panic engulfing her. Oh, God, she thought, shivering. This Mr. Samuelle MUST be from Section. The necklace was just rhinestones, worthless except for the sophisticated communication devices set in its strands. Who else but Section would want it back?

The doctor winced, and then patted her hand again. He knew how much women set store by their jewelry, but he had to be firm with her. He explained carefully, if somewhat patronizingly, the delicate situation as he understood it.

"Mr. Samuelle told me to remind you that the necklace in question was already promised for sale to a buyer, and that it was no longer your property…." The doctor told her sternly. "He had all the paperwork to show me…."

Hope stared at him numbly, comprehending none of what he had said except the fact that Section knew where she was. She trembled, and clenched her hands together to keep them from shaking. "Oh, no…" she moaned softly. "No…."

The doctor threw her an impatient look. He was becoming slightly annoyed with the girl's foolishness. Why should she be so attached to a piece of jewelry, when she knew it wasn't hers, that it had already been sold to someone else? A practical man, the doctor was beginning to think this patient had no sense.

"It was quite a rare, fine piece, you know," the doctor reminded her sternly, repeating what Mr. Samuelle had told him. "The necklace was worth quite a lot, not the kind of thing you should be wearing out on the town, but something that should be locked up in a vault, and heavily insured…." The doctor scolded her.

Hope's face crumpled into tears, and she buried her head in her hands and sobbed in fright.

Feeling chagrined that he had upset her, the doctor leaned forward and lowered his voice confidentially. "Don't worry, Miss Bonniere," he told her soothingly. "Mr. Samuelle took care of the transaction for you. He smoothed it over with the buyer, and they never even knew that the necklace was gone…."

He patted her hand patronizingly, thinking how silly she was to weep when she was so goddamned wealthy. Why the hell was an heiress like her crying?

"The million dollars was deposited in your account yesterday," the doctor snapped at her peevishly. He was incredibly envious of her riches, and impatient with her tears. "Please!" he scolded. "Get a hold of yourself!"

Hope's head snapped up, and her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was this doctor insane? It took her a moment to regain the power of speech. Her mouth worked silently for a moment, then she managed to gasp out two words. "M-Million…?" she choked, breathless and bewildered. "A-Account?"

The doctor nodded, and then fished inside a deep pocket of his lab coat and handed her a small, leather clutch purse.

"Here it is," he said, thrusting the wallet in her hands. "Mr. Samuelle asked me to hold this for you."

Hope, stunned, numbly opened the wallet to see her name, or rather- her NEW name- Hope C. Bonniere-inscribed inside on the driver's license, complete with her picture. There were credit cards in there, too, and I.D.'s, all with the same name. Curious, she noted that there was a check-book in the wallet, and absently she flipped it open, then gasped.

What the doctor had said was true. He wasn't crazy after all. It was all there in black and white, the numbers unmistakably clear. The balance said she had a million dollars in the bank. Hope dropped the wallet in her lap and moaned, completely shocked.

The doctor took a deep breath and steeled himself to go on with his lecture. He prided himself on his ability to know what was best for his patients, physically and socially, and this girl was obviously in desperate need of his wise guidance.

"You need to straighten up your life, young lady," he scolded her, knowing that sometimes nothing got through to the stubborn ones except for stating the brutal truth. "If you keep running wild, cavorting naked in night-clubs, no good can come of it." He nodded his head sagely. "You almost lost your life this weekend, didn't you? But you got lucky. Now you have a second chance….."

He grabbed the checkbook from the bed where it had fallen and thrust it into her hands. "You should do what Mr. Samuelle recommended that you do…." The doctor waxed on, wagging his finger at her. "You should settle down, get an education, and make something of your life…" he lectured forcefully. "You need to stop this aimless partying and buckle down to studying at some good college…."

Hope blinked. The reality of her new situation was beginning to sink in. As the doctor droned on, the concepts became clear. Her whole life had changed overnight.

She was free. Free from Rodriguez, free from Franklin, and free from Section. Her new future stretched out before her.

College, she thought with wonderment. It was what she had always dreamed about, what her parents had always hoped for her. And now, with this money, like a gift out of the blue, she could live that dream. She was truly free. She was no one's slave anymore.

There was just one question in her mind. Mr. Samuelle- who was he? She had a thrill of suspicion, a wild hope in her heart.

"This bank manager," she interrupted the doctor's pompous verbosity bluntly. "What did he look like?" Hope asked eagerly.

The doctor drew up his chest, offended. Obviously the girl had not heard a word he said. His patient was hopelessly man-crazy, like he feared. All she cared about was not the advice or the service the concerned Mr. Samuelle had given her, but only about his appearance.

"He was in his thirties, tall, dark hair, conservatively dressed," the doctor described the banker dryly, playing down the man's understated, but definite sexual attractiveness. He tried to make Mr. Samuelle sound as dull as possible to this impressionable, and flighty young girl. "He was extremely precise and serious…" the doctor went on. "Quite a conscientious sort, I suppose…."

A small smile of pleasure and delight crossed Hope's face at this description, making her skin glow. She was almost positive she knew Mr. Samuelle's identity, but she had to make sure.

"His eyes!" she demanded abruptly, sitting bolt upright in the bed. "What color were his eyes?"

The doctor sighed wearily. What a mindless, boy-crazy girl, he thought disconsolately. Here he was, trying to have a serious conversation with her about her life choices, and she was only concerned with frivolous things like appearance.

"I don't know," the doctor answered testily. "Does it really matter?"

Hope sighed and nodded her head. "Yes," she begged in soft urgency. "It REALLY matters….." She swallowed hard and looked pleadingly into the physician's face. "Were they…. Green?" she whispered, holding her breath as she waited for his answer.

The doctor frowned, thinking hard. Mr. Samuelle's eye-color had been difficult to determine, and he, as a doctor, was used to noting such things. He was ordinarily very observant.

After a moment, he stammered out an answer. "I guess they could have been green, I suppose…" the doctor said uncertainly. "At first I thought they were blue, but there was a lot of gray in them, too…" He shrugged noncommittally. "It was hard to tell what color they were. They just kept changing…."

Hope let out a whoop of joy. It WAS Michael, she knew it! No one else had eyes like that..

She was struck suddenly with what this meant. Things had not been as she had thought. Michael had not used her to capture Rodriguez, and then abandoned her. In fact, he had not abandoned her at all.

Her heart soared with elation, while her soul felt flooded with warmth. He hadn't lied to her. He DID care. He cared enough to arrange not only her escape from the night club, rescuing her himself, but he had also cared enough to see that she was free from Section, and free from financial worries, free to start life over, with a new name and identity, somewhere where they could never find her.…

He loved her, Hope realized. Michael really loved her…..

Hope laughed out loud, then touched and moved to grateful tears, she began to cry….

"Miss Bonniere?" the doctor inquired in a concerned tone. "Are you all right?" He asked, looking at her askance. He knew of no reason why knowing that a man had green eyes would make his patient become so emotional like this.

"I'm fine, Doctor," Hope assured him, smiling happily through her tears. "Really, I am!" She laughed again, and then threw her arms impulsively around the doctor's neck and gave him a resounding kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you!" she sobbed against his ear, her breath hitching on a laugh of delight even while the tears streamed down her face. "Doctor, thank you!" she cried. Then, exhausted, Hope lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes, resting at last.

Startled, the young doctor jerked back, staring at his patient bemusedly. He regarded the sleeping girl thoughtfully. Yes, she was wild, impulsive, boy-crazy, unstable, and emotionally overwrought. But she had also seemed to have had some kind of break-through, and she had also had the intelligence and good sense to be grateful for his lectures and his good advice. The doctor smiled, and puffed out his chest. He knew without a doubt that this patient would straighten up, turn her life around, and end up all right. He was sure of it.

His ego demanded no less of an outcome.

"You're the greatest, My Boy," he told himself proudly as he walked out the door, taking the credit for a job well done. "Yet another triumph of medicine…." He polished his fingernails on the low collar of his lab-coat.

"All in a day's work," he thought with false modesty. "Just a small matter of saving the world...."

Whistling, he glanced once more at the sleeping girl and then left, shutting the door softly behind him.

The End

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