Walter led them to the spot he'd picked out: a floor of Section that wasn't completed. Despite the drop cloths, exposed wires and ladders, it was a perfect spot. Walter had brought a container of fruit, Birkoff all the munchies from his computer and Nikita the lemonade Section's chef had prepared.

Mahleah realized, "I didn't bring anything."

"That's okay, darlin', you can provide the entertainment."

"What kind of entertainment? Scintillatingly witty conversation, stories of my tortured youth, or should we play a game?"

"Your conversation is always witty," Birkoff told her a little shyly.

She beamed at him, "Why thank you and give that gentleman an apple. But seriously, what do you want to talk about?"

"How about stories of your tortured youth?" Nikita replied.

"Oh, but that's so boring. I know all about me. I want to learn more about you. For instance, I love music. It's my biggest addiction," she laughed, "well, that and strawberries. What kind of music do you guys like?"

"I listen to a lot of things," Nikita told her. "I suppose you'd classify some of it as dance music."

"Trip hop, that kind of stuff," Mahleah nodded. "I love Massive Attack. 'Unfinished Sympathy' is my favorite. How about you Walter?"

"Well, darlin' I'm a passionate man and that's the way I like my music. I listen to the blues, jazz, stuff that puts shivers down your spine and a girl in your arms."

She shook her head in amusement, "My father was a guitar player, so I love the blues, too. And you, Birkoff?"

He swallowed, "I don't really get a chance to listen to a lot of music. I kind of stay pretty busy."

She frowned, "You're never too busy to enjoy some sort of music."

He shrugged, "I guess I'm just not the music type."

"Or you've just not found the flavor that fits you, yet," she said softly. "Don't worry, there'll be time."

"What about you, Mahleah?" Nikita asked. "You've been a nightclub singer. What are your preferences or your influences?"

"Oh, that's an eclectic bunch. My mentor always played classical, opera and Celtic stuff - traditional, not New Age," she clarified. "My mom used to love soul music: Sam Cooke, Otis Redding, Aretha Franklin. She also liked Motown. She had a great collection of records that I used to play just to know her a little better. My dad, as I said, was a guitar player. So from him, I picked up Jimi Hendrix, the Rolling Stones, The Who, Eric Clapton, Chuck Berry, Elvis.... He gave me a good grounding in rock. When I was a teenager I discovered European dance music. Wow, that used to drive him crazy."

They heard a sound behind them and turning saw Michael coming toward their party.

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

"Michael, how did you find us?" Walter asked.

"I have my methods," he replied enigmatically. Truthfully, he had bribed Gail into revealing this little get-together.

Nikita frowned, "So, why are you here? To throw cold water on our fun?"

"No, just to inform you that there'll be a briefing in half an hour."

"Well, since that's thirty whole minutes away, why don't you join us?" Mahleah invited.

He hesitated, but she persisted, "I can't speak for the others, of course, but I promise I never bite unless the situation calls for it. Sit down."

Looking faintly amused, Michael sat.

"I know what we can do," Walter said with a twinkle in his eye, "play a game of truth or dare."

"That's a great idea," Mahleah agreed. "All right, Walter. Choose: truth or dare?"

"Truth," he grinned.

"Okay, who was the love of your life?"

He looked sad for a moment and Nikita reached out and squeezed his hand. "Mahleah, you had no way of knowing this, but I was married to an operative here. Her name was Belinda and she was killed during a mission." She started to speak, and he saw the dismay in her eyes. "It's okay. Other than Belinda, I guess I have the fondest memories of Lita, a girl I knew in Belize a long time ago."

Mahleah gave him a sideways hug. He returned it, then looked across at Nikita, "How about you, sugar, truth or dare?"

"Truth," she told him.

"Okay, tell us: how did you really feel about your doppleganger, Abbey, taking your place here in Section?"

Nikita turned pale then blushed. Mahleah could see that Walter's question affected most of the group. Birkoff looked nearly as uncomfortable as Nikita while Michael was acutely interested in her answer.

Nikita finally composed herself and said, "I'm not going to talk about Abbey, so I guess I'll have to take the dare."

"Okay," Walter and Mahleah exchanged glances, then the older man challenged, "Okay, sugar, if you won't answer the question, you have to kiss Michael."

Nikita's sky-blue eyes grew as large as dinner plates. "What?"

"You heard me," he replied with a smile.

"Why can't I just kiss you instead?" she said with a flirty look.

"Tempting, but no. The dare is: kiss Michael."

Nikita made a face in protest. Michael was stung. He'd been taken aback by Walter's outrageous demand as well, but Nikita's response hurt. Was she that repulsed by him now?

Mahleah laughed, "Good grief, it's not like he asked you to seduce Operations! As dares go, this is a pretty easy one. I'll do it if you don't want to."

Michael's eyes met hers briefly with a look of gratitude. She winked at him, and Nikita felt something move in dismay in the pit of her stomach.

"Okay," she grumbled. "I'll do it." She leaned in and saw with disappointment that his body language indicated he didn't want this. "Well, too bad," she thought.

She touched her mouth to his and would have left it at that, but his lips were hard and unresponsive. Her hands reached up to tangle in his hair, as her mouth cajoled his for a reaction. Her tongue teasingly caressed him and her teeth gently pulled on his lower lip. When she began tracing the outline of his mouth, he could take no more. With a sigh, he softened and responded. Like their first kiss for Perry Bauer, it was on command and being watched but these were friends, not a twisted voyeur, who were just trying to assist in an awkward situation. Yet like that first kiss, this one had become hot and lush, tantalizingly ripe with erotic possibility. They separated reluctantly.

Michael took a breath and pulled himself together before he could succumb to the desire to push Nikita onto the floor. They weren't alone and it hadn't been her wish to kiss him in the first place.

Nikita saw his withdrawal and took it for rejection. She cursed inwardly. How could he do it? She was still tingling down to her toes, but he was even more closed off than he had been before.

One of the others cleared a throat and she looked up, "Well," Mahleah said, "I'd suggest we refrain from any more dares like that, lest this turn into a completely different kind of picnic than the one I had in mind. Nikita, it's your turn."

"My turn?" she was still feeling a little dazed.

"Truth or dare?"

"Oh, right. Birkoff," she turned to safety. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Okay, what's something you've always wanted to do, but never have?"

He thought for a moment. Before Abbey's appearance, he knew how he could have answered that question, but he would never admit that to Nikita. Likewise, he'd love to have Walter's easy relationship with Mahleah, but that would never happen. He replied wistfully, "I've always wanted to learn to dance, but never found the time."

"Probably because you haven't found the music you like yet," Mahleah replied. "I think Nikita and I could help you."

"Sure," the other woman agreed.

Birkoff smiled, then remembered something he'd read in Mahleah's file, "Mahleah, truth or dare?"

"Truth," she responded.

"All right, why did you nearly get suspended in high school for doing the dance of the seven veils?"

Everyone looked at her in surprise. She laughed, "Oh God, you would bring that up. Well, it all started because I was told I'd grown too tall for ballet class. I was so upset, you see, because I'd planned on being a ballerina when I grew up. To ease my disappointment, I was enrolled in just about any type of dance class going: tap, jazz, flamenco, and yes, Oriental dancing.

"When I was in high school, they had a big talent show every year, and I decided to dance. This caused some consternation because two years before I had performed a gypsy-style flamenco with a boy in my class. My benefactor, who'd seen real gypsy dancing, had re-choreographed it and so the final product was a little more passionate than the teacher had in mind.

"This time I told them I would dance by myself. When they found out I would be belly dancing, though, they freaked. Suddenly I had restrictions. Originally, I hadn't intended to do a veil dance, but after they informed me that I could only shed three instead of seven, sorry Birkoff, I decided to change my plans. I would play with the form: give them something traditional, as well as something stereotypical, but in the end, mostly mine. There were veils on my skirt, but I was under the strictest penalties not to touch those. I had one covering my hair, one covering my face, and one covering my navel, as the school informed me that exposing the belly button was strictly against policy.

"I carried a shawl and during the course of the dance I was supposed to discard it, my hair veil and my face veil. Well, everything went according to plan until the end when I left my face veil intact and discarded the one over my abdomen and left it as a souvenir with my boyfriend."

"The school got mad?" They were all laughing.

"Oh, the school authorities were incensed. I think it had something to do with the fact that I left my hair veil with the principal and his wife was sitting beside him! They tried to kick me out, but between my Oriental dance teacher and a good lawyer, they had to back down. Whew, Birkoff, you just picked the most embarrassing episode of my entire high school career."

"It was worth it," he chuckled.

"Yes, well, be that as it may, it's my turn now. Michael," she turned to face him and he inwardly tensed. "Truth or dare?"

Nikita snorted and said something under her breath about the truth not being in him. Irritated, he picked truth as his option.

"Okay," Mahleah said, "Tell us, what was the happiest moment of your life?"

The happiest moment...oh, he knew well what it was, but to say it in front of all these people? He looked at his watch and saw with relief his way out.

"It's time to go to the briefing," he said and stood up.

Nikita laughed, a harsh bitter sound. Mahleah frowned, "Michael, you have time to answer the question."

He turned away, then stopped and made himself say, "It was in Lyons when I found out Nikita was alive."

He walked off without looking back, not seeing the look of astonishment on Nikita's face.

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

Nikita was becoming severely annoyed. The trouble had begun when she had spotted a familiar face - Jamie. It was inevitable, she supposed that someone from her old neighborhood would also end up in Section One. Too bad it had to be Jamie, though. She had never liked him or his attitude and neither seemed to have changed.

Right now, though, her anger with Jamie was a present, palpable thing - not a remnant of the past. She had just completed a mission with a small team of Operatives led by Michael and a number of recruits. Jamie had been one of the newcomers and had nearly shot innocent civilians.

If that weren't bad enough, he was clustered with the other recruits now, making unpleasant speculations about Michael.

"I'm telling you, I heard that a green recruit put him flat on his ass," he was telling a woman whose name if Nikita recalled correctly was Marie.

"No way," she insisted. "Not Michael. If you knew all the stories I've heard about him, you'd never believe it."

"Yeah," the guy sitting beside her agreed. "Michael's the best operative Section One has. He wouldn't let himself be kicked around by some newbie."

Jamie insisted and Nikita gritted her teeth, restraining herself from slugging him. "From what I heard, it wasn't just a newbie, it was a woman."

"And what did that have to do with anything?" Nikita thought, her irritation growing.

"Dean, here saw it happen," Jamie insisted.

They all looked at Dean, a quiet man who looked unlikely to make up tall tales. He shrugged unhappily. "I was getting ready for my own training session this morning when it happened. Michael and a new recruit were sparring. He knocked the breath out of her. She got up and put him on the floor. He got up and she knocked him out."

Marie gave a little gasp; the others looked grim.

"I think they've been filling our heads with stories of the 'great invincible Michael' so that we won't make waves," Jamie sneered.

Nikita wanted to reach back and smack that snide little grin right off his disgusting face. What the hell did he know about Michael or Mahleah for that matter? If he thought he stood a snowball's chance against the level five operative he was crazy. "It's not like he's been learning martial arts since he got out of diapers," she thought. In fact, if Mahleah could hear what Jamie was saying she'd probably beat the crap out of him.

Nikita looked up involuntarily to Michael's position at the front of the van. He briefly met her eyes and looked away. She knew he'd heard every spiteful word that had been said. During the rest of the ride back to Section, she devised vengeful fantasies that involved shutting Jamie up in a room with Michael and Mahleah with her watching and waiting to polish up what was left.

At 4 am, and a restless night, Mahleah gave up on trying to sleep. She dressed in her workout clothes and went to the gym an hour early. It was deserted, just the way she liked it. She began stretching out her muscles to relieve her frustration.

She'd already heard the events of yesterday from four or five different people, none of whom realized that she was the "newbie" in question. Experienced operatives and new recruits alike were stunned by the news that someone had knocked Michael out. She sighed. It didn't matter that the whole matter had been a means of communication between them. It seemed that she had eroded some of his authority.

She began working through a series of katas, mentally shaking her head. After her little demonstration there was no reason for her not to practice her usual routine. It wouldn't look strange that anyone who could best the great Michael after all would demonstrate a sophisticated knowledge of fighting skills. Actually, she hoped she wouldn't be disturbed. She hated the thoughts of causing him morale trouble, but hey, he was still Musashi to Nikita, wasn't he?

Michael stood outside the gym watching Mahleah as she fought against an imaginary opponent. He understood her impulse to come to the gym before anyone else. He had followed a similar thought, only to find himself beaten to the floor. He knew what was disturbing her. It had already been upsetting Nikita.

His own feelings on the matter? He and Mahleah both knew that he had let her take him. It had been a test and she had aced it. Yet, they both also knew that sooner or later they would have to spar for real. Ostensibly, she was still his student, although he doubted he could teach her anything in this area. She was obviously an expert in several forms of martial arts. It was entirely possible that she was better than he was.

If she was, though, she needed to be promoted to full-operative status quickly. Anything else would erode morale and discipline. Already recruits like Jamie were beginning to challenge his authority. On a mission that kind of behavior could cost lives.

He saw Mahleah pause and look his way. He quickly hid in the shadows. She frowned. He admired her internal radar. She seemed to know he was there. He quietly stepped away, heading to his office until it was time for their official training to start.

Mahleah froze. She was certain someone was watching her. She looked over at the window, but couldn't see past the shadows filling the corridors. She shrugged, internally, and continued with her workout. There was still over thirty minutes before she and Michael had to confront each other again.

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

At 5 am, a small crowd hung around the gym. Nikita pushed past them grimly. Michael and Mahleah were both, of course, already inside waiting on her. She wasn't sure why. This had all gone well out of her control yesterday.

She'd spotted Jamie among the spectators and repressed a smirk. At least she'd told Jamie off. Michael's name had not been mentioned. She had smacked him around a little to remind him of the bad dope he'd sold that had killed a friend of hers. Unfortunately, she still had a little unfinished business with him: he'd mentioned her mother. She seriously doubted he knew anything, but couldn't afford to take the chance. She sighed. One crisis at a time. Right now, they still had to make it through the day's training.

She eyed the two tall figures. Both seemed perfectly serious. Mahleah had her blank warrior expression on again. They'd make a fine pair of bookends, Nikita thought. They were completely focused on the job at hand; the crowd wasn't even there for them.

They seemed to reach a silent agreement and took their places on the mat. Nikita found a place on the sidelines and watched nervously, biting her lower lip. They bowed then began circling each other, testing defenses, checking for weaknesses. Suddenly Michael moved, and Mahleah countered. He found his way past her defenses, thinking it was too easy. She was setting him up, he realized, trying to make him look good. He suppressed a surge of anger. That was unacceptable.

He threw her hard. She hit the mat and clutched her side. She was going to be seriously bruised, he thought grimly, if she hadn't broken a rib. She got to her feet unsteadily. He became a little concerned. She may have cracked a rib. She hadn't expected him to throw her quite so hard.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She straightened gingerly, pressed her hand to the injury, testing. "I'm okay," she pronounced. Her eyes had gone nearly black.

He'd seen through her, she realized. Fine, she didn't mind him rejecting her generous gift, but damn, that had hurt!

"Okay, Michael," she told him. "If that's how you want to do this, so be it."

She approached him and again they circled each other. This time he was the one to fall. He jumped up and the bout resumed. Nikita, by the wall, nearly bit a hole in her lower lip, especially when she saw Michael hit the mat again. She heard the people in the hall muttering.

Mahleah offered him a hand up, "Best three out of five," she suggested.

He nodded, and they continued.

She was really good, perhaps better than anyone he'd faced before. He noticed that she unconsciously favored her hurt side. He hated what he was going to do, but knew he had to do it. In this contest they were involved in, to treat each other as anything but equals would be disrespectful and punches would no longer be pulled. He got a solid kick into her sore ribs. She gasped, and in that split second, he knocked her feet from under her.

She was slower to get up this time. He offered her a hand and she accepted.

"We should stop," he suggested. He was seriously worried about her. She shook off the suggestion. "No, I'll be okay. Just give me a minute to catch my breath." She smiled, "It's not like this is really life or death."

He gave her the minute. He was about to recommend once more that they stop and to offer to escort her to Medical when she announced, "I'm ready."

"Are you certain?" his forehead was creased.

She smiled at him to thank him for his concern. "You'll see, I'm fine."

He frowned and Nikita bit back a laugh. Apparently the two had something else in common. One last time they faced off. Attack, counterattack, feint, dodge, kick, block: the blows seemed endless. The murmuring of the crowd grew louder with astonishment.

"Yeah," Nikita thought with satisfaction. "Take a good look. None of you would last two seconds out there."

Around and around the room they fought with neither gaining an advantage. Nikita just hoped that they wouldn't get tired and hurt one another accidentally. Just as she thought this, a dark-clad figure strode into the room.

"That's enough," she announced with finality.

The sparring couple, recognizing Madeline's presence, obeyed. Their duel ended in a draw and a bow. The people outside the gym had flitted away like frightened pigeons upon seeing Madeline. She, Nikita, Mahleah, Michael and Walter remained.

Madeline examined the two weary figures approvingly. Mahleah was succeeding faster than even she had anticipated. She might have a little project in mind for the woman. She turned and left.

Michael told Mahleah, "You should get those ribs x-rayed."

"I'll be fine," she dismissed the idea, casually.

His eyes narrowed. Nikita moved in quickly to say, "I'm sure Walter would be glad to help her."

"Absolutely," he agreed and escorted Mahleah through the door.

Halfway through the corridor, she stopped him. "You're the one that brought Madeline, aren't you? Thanks, it was getting dicey in there."

"Dicey? Darlin' he hurt you, I saw it."

"Walter, I promise I have no broken ribs or internal bruising. I'll just lie down for a couple of hours. I'll be as good as new before you know it."

"Let me take a look," he started pulling at her shirt. "If I think you're okay, we can skip the Medlab."

"Walter, stop!" she slapped his hand away. "I'm fine. Now tell me about this date with Lita you've got planned. I'm jealous already."

She strode off down the corridor leaving him wondering why he hadn't even seen a bruise.

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

Mahleah had taken a short nap, and was now reading a book in her Section quarters feeling quite refreshed. She heard the sound of her door opening. Madeline entered. Mahleah was surprised but suppressed any show of emotion other than polite interest.

"Madeline," she greeted.

"Mahleah," the dark haired woman returned, pleasantly. She looked around the room, curiously. Most recruits added personal touches to their quarters. Mahleah had left them exactly as they were. She saw a stack of books by the bed, the only foreign objects in the room.

"May I?" she requested.

Mahleah shrugged her shoulders. "Be my guest."

Madeline pulled the top book off the stack, The Count of Monte Cristo. Beneath it were The Brothers Karamazov, A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, and The Odyssey. Mahleah was currently reading Crime and Punishment.

"Revisiting the classics?" Madeline inquired. She was well aware of the message being sent. It appeared the recruit had a sense of humor.

"What better way to pass the time?" Mahleah countered.

"I'm getting the impression that you're rather bored, Mahleah."

Mahleah was cautious. "I'm accustomed to more activity, yes."

Madeline smiled. "We're quite pleased with your progress. I'm going to recommend that you be granted probationary operative status. You'll still be under strict supervision, but your activity level will increase. You will continue your training in areas such as computers, but you'll also be used on missions from time to time."

Mahleah nodded.

"Before I make this suggestion to Operations, though, there is something I would like for you to do."

Mahleah smiled inwardly. Ah, the politics begin already, she thought.

"There is a recruit finishing his first year with us. His name is Jamie. Are you familiar with him?"

"Yes." She didn't care much for him. His attitude was in need of readjustment. A few months ago, she would have been happy to help him with that problem. Now, she figured that was Madeline or even Michael's job.

"It appears he has a previous connection to another operative here. I want you to discover what that tie is and if it poses any security risk to the Section."

"A test?" Mahleah replied.

"Yes," Madeline was serene. It was quite irritating.

"Am I allowed to know who the other operative is?"

"No, I want to discover exactly how precise your intelligence gathering skills are."

"Any suggestions or restrictions on how I go about this assignment?"

"No, the details are strictly up to you." This was part of the test. Madeline wanted to see exactly how far Mahleah could or would go to finish a profile.

"I see, and if I fail to complete this little mission to your complete satisfaction?"

"I would have to reevaluate your status."

Mahleah nodded. "You would cancel me." Her posture indicated her indifference to the idea.

Inwardly Madeline applauded. "That's a possibility, yes. Perhaps we could find other methods of encouraging your best work."

"Such as?" Mahleah had already heard of the White Room. If it ever came down to it, she'd kill herself before she let herself be subjected to the kind of torture it was rumored took place there. If they ever learned how quickly she healed, she'd be the subject of hideous medical experiments.

"We could always pay a visit to the people from your past," Madeline suggested. "Your father and his wife, maybe, or Mark?"

Mahleah steeled herself. "My father is an alcoholic who's neglected me my whole life. His wife is barely older than I am and we've never really liked each other. Mark broke off our engagement and I've not heard from him since. Why should I care what you do with any of them?"

Madeline was unruffled. "True, but can you say the same about your old friend Diana, or the man you were dating several months ago? That relationship seemed to be going well. And, in the end, there's always Duncan, isn't there?"

Okay, now the woman had gone too far. In her mind, Mahleah ran through all the ways that she could kill this woman with her bare hands, knowing that she couldn't lay a finger on her.

"Diana told me to stay out of her life. As for the men," she laughed. "I wouldn't advise trying to take them on if I were you."

"You think Duncan would stand up to our methods of persuasion?"

"I think you should leave Duncan the hell alone if you don't have a death wish."

Madeline stared. The words had been utterly as calmly as a pronouncement about the weather. "Why is that?"

Mahleah cocked her head to one side. "You seem to be impressed by my training. Well, he taught me nearly everything I know. Trust me, it's in Section's best interests to stay as far from him as possible. He is the most dangerous man I ever encountered and if you cause him problems, he will eradicate you."

Impasse. Madeline made a mental note to check into Mahleah's former mentor a little more closely.

Mahleah turned away for a moment in thought and then turned back to face Madeline, "I have a suggestion."

"Yes?"

"You wish to assure yourself that I will fulfill this assignment to your satisfaction, and there's something that I want."

"Really," Madeline raised an eyebrow. "Why should I give it to you?"

"Because it's such a simple thing, really. Besides this assignment is outside the normal parameters, isn't it? Something tells me that you have a personal interest here. It's a very simple quid pro quo."

"I'm listening," Madeline responded.

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

She couldn't believe she'd just entrusted her mother's life to Michael. After all the times he'd seduced her and betrayed her on behalf of Section, all the times he'd "protected" her for her own good, she'd gone to him for help.

The strange thing was, she felt that he wanted to help her, and not just to protect herself or Section from potential exposure. He'd actually asked, "What do you want me to do?"

When she thought about it, he'd been acting very strange lately. He'd told her all he could about Mahleah despite his orders, and he'd actually joined their picnic and their game of Truth or Dare for goodness' sake! When she'd thought he would walk away from Mahleah without answering, he'd surprised her. In fact, his answer had made her heart turn over. She'd later examined the whole game to analyze his behavior. She would have believed he was up to his old tricks and trying to manipulate her behavior, but so far he'd not asked anything of her.

Just when she thought the shocks were over, he'd shown concern that he might have broken Mahleah's ribs. The follow-up had just about knocked her out of her seat: he'd actually suggested they spend the day together. Of course, it was inevitable that he would chose to ask her that when she had to find out about her mother. "Great thought, but rotten timing," she'd told him mentally. "Try again later."

It was all these little things, really, that had lead up to her decision to ask him for help. If he'd been behaving like the old Michael she'd have been leery of putting herself in his debt in that way, but perhaps she could trust him.

"I'm taking a big chance here," she muttered under her breath. "So if you double-cross me this time, Michael, I'll beat you black and blue if I have to borrow Mahleah to do it." She rather doubted she would.

He couldn't believe she'd finally decided to ask for his help. Maybe he was finally getting through to her that he was tired of games and manipulation. What he felt for her was real and even if he could have nothing else he craved her trust. He swore that he would prove worthy of it.

Nikita's request was not a small one. While he'd known that from the beginning, he realized just how complicated it would become after he met her mother, Roberta. The woman had her daughter's persistence and determination - some might even call it stubbornness. She would never give up trying to find her missing child.

Roberta had been working with many people with many connections. It was not going to be enough to sever her contact with the private investigator. She would need a solid reason to stop looking. He would have to manufacture one. He hoped Nikita would have enough faith in him to go along with the plan that was forming.

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

Mahleah stopped outside the target range, and took a deep breath. She was about to begin her new profile. She wished she could just grab Jamie, pin an arm behind his back and threaten to break it unless he told her what she wanted to know. She couldn't do that for many reasons, not the least of which was that she was trying to ignore her more violent impulses these days. Too bad.

She went in. Thank goodness Walter was off on his date with Lita and not here taking care of the weapons. He would definitely know something was up when she started hanging around with Mr. Immature Bad Attitude.

She saw Jamie, hanging with his fellow one-years. They eyed her with appreciation. "Well, this might be easier than I thought," she observed to herself, with humor. "If I can't get the information out of him, maybe one of his little friends knows."

She walked up to the table and picked up a pistol, loaded a clip and began firing. The boys goggled at her marksmanship for a few minutes and then returned their scrutiny of her anatomy. She popped her clip and returned to the ammunition, glancing up ever so briefly at the guys. She met Jamie's eyes for a split-second, then looked back down at the table. She wondered if it would be enough encouragement. Most men would need to have a few more signs to get over the "who-me?" factor, but with Jamie's ego she was betting...

"You handle that thing pretty well, but how do you do with the big guns?" he inquired. No doubt he thought he was smooth.

She repressed a groan. She'd heard better come-ons from the slimiest creeps that frequented the L.A. clubs she'd once used as her personal hunting ground. Even if Jamie made it through the two years of training he was never going to be a Valentine op. Well, she had his interest, now it was up to her to make the most, or better yet least, of it she could.

She glanced up at him with a polite expression, "I hold my own."

"Mmm, I bet you do," he tried to look down her blouse, but she subtly shifted position. "You're the woman who fought Michael this morning, aren't you?"

"That's right," she smiled at him. "Have we met?"

"No, but I was watching. My name's Jamie."

"Mahleah," she offered him her hand. At least he had a firm handshake.

"That was some amazing stuff you did. They say nobody else throws Michael ever."

"He threw me, too." She pointed out.

"Yeah, well, you could throw me anytime," he told her warmly.

Sigh. Had this guy ever had an original thought in his life?

She studied him, letting him watch her do it. "I'll bet you say that to all the girls," she'd join him in the cliché bin.

"Yeah, but you really could," he laughed.

She laid the ammunition back on the table, and started to leave.

He started to panic and trotted after her like a good little puppy. "Hey, don't go." He'd lost a little of his swagger.

She turned, smiling. "But I'm starving, getting kicked in the ribs makes a girl work up an appetite."

He swallowed. "Can I join you?"

Oh, of course, he expected her to cook, too. She frowned and said, "I don't know if I'm up for company tonight. My side's still a little sore. I'm supposed to take some pain medication and go to bed early."

He looked back over his shoulder and she could tell how much it meant to him to score some points in front of the fellows. "Please, I just want to get to know you. I'll be a good boy, I promise." He gave her his best innocent, wide-eyed, pleading look.

"Oh, all right," she agreed, "but I meant what I said. I still have to get up and train early in the morning." This was a lie, but she'd already told him one about the medication, so what the heck.

He looked relived. "What time should I come over?"

"About six o'clock, I think," she told him, then pulled the clasp out of her hair and let it trickle down her back. He caught his breath. "I'll see you, then," she said sweetly and left.

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

Mahleah had requested that Christopher provide dinner. Madeline was cautious.

"Will he not think it strange to have dinner catered?" she had warned.

"No," Mahleah had said, "It will be perfectly plausible."

Now, there was a knock on her door. Mahleah answered it and invited Jamie in. She had not chosen anything special to wear, had added no makeup, and had pulled her hair back up. He looked disappointed.

She smiled, "I hope you like coq au vin. I'm told it's Christopher's specialty."

His eyes widened. "Christopher made you dinner?"

"It was a reward for getting knocked around this morning," she explained, filling his glass with wine.

He sat down at the table across from her. "I get thrown around all the time but no one ever makes me a gourmet meal."

She handed him the glass of wine. "Poor boy. I guess it's because I'm ahead of my training schedule."

"I'd say so," he took a large drink of wine. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll survive the next few days, much less the next year. I screw up all the time. If it hadn't been for..." he stopped himself, "well, I don't know if I'll make operative."

Unexpectedly, she felt a little pity for him. "Yes," she agreed. "I've wondered that myself every day since I woke up here in Section."

"Talk about a rude awakening," he chuckled and finished his wine. She refilled the glass, but only sipped hers.

"And the people here," Mahleah added. "At first they worried me. They all seemed to know what they were doing and I just knew they were looking at me and thinking, 'what an idiot!' Especially Michael." She knew about his conversation on the van.

"Yeah, I know. He gives you this icy stare and you think, 'oh crap, I'm canceled now, for sure.' And if he sees you talking to Nikita, forget about it."

She poured more wine. "I've heard that, but why would he care that you were talking to Nikita?" Surely, he's not so insecure that he thinks she'd prefer this boy to him?

"Oh, she's been trying to help me out-keep me from doing dumb things. From what I hear, it doesn't take much to set off his radar. He probably found out I knew her before."

Mahleah's fork froze for a split second on its way to her mouth. Nikita?! Damn Madeline anyway. This was probably all a test to see if Mahleah could detach herself from personal ties. Now, what was she going to do?

"Really, how?" she inquired.

Jamie looked worried for a moment and then tossed his concerns behind him. "Well, I've seen you two together acting like old friends, so I guess it can't hurt to tell you. Yeah, we grew up in the same neighborhood together. We weren't close, in fact, I think she hated my guts. I guess it says something about her: she's been trying to keep me alive, even though she doesn't like me."

"Oh, it does indeed," Mahleah agreed heartily, feeling sick at heart.

He finished his third glass of wine. "This food's really good. Wish I could get a meal like this every night."

Mahleah's thoughts were churning. Madeline already knew there was a connection between the two and would call her bluff if she tried to name someone other than Nikita. Part of her assignment had been to evaluate the security risk this relationship presented to Section. Frankly, Mahleah saw no risk. Nikita was simply being herself and trying to help him become a better operative. Would Madeline buy this reasoning though?

The more she thought about it, she didn't see why not. Nikita had no close ties to Jamie. What she was doing for him, she would do for any recruit.

Jamie was beginning to experience the full effects of the wine and the heavy meal. She needed him to leave before he fell asleep on the table.

"Jamie, I really should go to bed soon," she told him.

He smiled sleepily, "Want some company?"

She helped him out of his chair and to the door. "I don't think that would be a good idea," she said gently.

He stood in the doorway, blinking owlishly. "Yeah, right, sore ribs," he agreed. "Some other time, maybe."

She ran her fingers lightly through his hair. "I'm afraid not," she said sadly. "I haven't been here very long and it's still hard for me to let go of the past. There was someone out there, someone I love very much, and I can't stop thinking about him."

She kissed him softly, briefly on the mouth. "I've enjoyed your company, though," she said and gave him a hug. "Thank you for dining with me."

"You're welcome," he was becoming a tad unsteady. Well it had been a special wine picked out especially for this occasion. He returned her hug and whispered in her ear, "Don't tell anyone that Nikita's mom is looking for her," and then lurched away.

Mahleah swallowed and refrained from glancing at the cameras in her room. How would she handle this last little bombshell? Telling Madeline about a previous, harmless relationship between Nikita and Jamie was one thing, but informing her that Nikita's mother was looking for her was completely different. She frowned and cleared up the table.

Oh well, she guessed she find out very soon, just how skilled an actress she really was.

"Come in," Madeline called. Mahleah entered the office.

"Ah, good, sit down." Mahleah took the chair in front of Madeline's desk.

"Have you discovered the information I requested?"

"Yes, Jamie grew up on the same street as Nikita. Apparently, they were never friends. He was a drug dealer believed to have sold a tainted product that was responsible for killing one of her friends. Since he's been in Section, she has occasionally attempted to assist him in his training, but she's treated him no differently than she does any other person in Section. In fact, she's been friendlier to me than she is to him."

"So, you believe the security risk to be minimal?"

"Yes. Jamie is grateful for the help she's provided, but mainly she's just a girl he once knew. Nikita has given no indication that she feels any bond between them."

"And if he was in danger?"

Mahleah shrugged, "She would treat him no differently than any other member of her team. I'm sure you're already familiar enough with Nikita's behavior to know the answer to that. If you disliked it you would cancel her."

"I noticed that you didn't have sex with him. Why?"

Mahleah's face stayed bland and impersonal. "He told me everything he knew. Once I had the information, I felt seduction would have been unnecessary and possibly even suspicious. He knew that I had sustained some bruises after my match with Michael and it was completely plausible that I would like company for a meal but want to sleep alone."

Madeline nodded. It had been an interesting performance and confirmed her opinion of Mahleah's Valentine skills. The woman would be thoroughly proficient, but only to a certain level. Nikita had just been in to inform Madeline of the same relationship, so Mahleah's little excursion had proven intriguing but ultimately a waste of time. But really, who could have predicted Nikita to actually make such an admission?

Madeline sighed. She couldn't hold such unpredictability against Mahleah who had certainly upheld her end of their bargain. "Your package will be arriving shortly," she told the other woman. "I'll see that it reaches you."

Mahleah smiled and rose, "Thank you."

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

Nikita walked away from Michael's office with a lighter heart than she had in a long time. She'd finally gotten some closure with her mother. True, it was not all she had wanted, but if she'd actually spoken to her, Roberta would probably be dead, right now. Michael's plan had been for the best. She still had trouble believing that he'd actually helped her. She smiled, remembering his face a few minutes earlier, when she'd both thanked and kissed him. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look so surprised. All in all, it had been a good day.

She walked over to where Walter and Mahleah were chatting.

"Hi, sugar," Walter greeted her, still glowing from the aftermath of his date with Lita.

"So then, everything went well," Mahleah inquired.

"Oh, yeah," his smile widened. "As you said, darlin', there are risks and then there are risks worth taking."

She kissed his cheek, saying, "I'm glad."

Mahleah was in a good mood herself. Madeline had seemed to accept her information about Nikita and she hadn't had to mention the more sensitive information Jamie had let slip.

Speaking of Jamie, she'd spotted him a few hours ago, and waved as she walked by. She was very amused to hear him reprimand one of his comrades.

"What are you looking at?"

"Hey, what's your problem? She's a hot piece of... Hey, ouch! What'd you hit me for?"

"She's not like that, okay? Besides," she could hear the smirk in his voice as she left the corridor, "she could kick your ass all the way to Kalamazoo and back."

She grinned at the memory. He was an immature jerk with a bad attitude, but maybe he could be trained.

Birkoff approached the group with a package in his hands. "Hey," Nikita greeted him. "When do you want your first dance lesson?"

He reddened, but responded, "Whenever you two chicks get brave enough to give it to me."

"That's not hard to arrange," Mahleah responded.

"What have you got for me, kid?" Walter asked, eyeing the parcel.

"Huh, oh no, it's not for you. Madeline told me to give it to Mahleah," he handed her the package.

She set it down on one of Walter's tables and asked him quietly, "May I borrow a knife?"

"Sure, darling, but are you sure you don't want me to scan it first?"

She smiled, "It'll be all right. Just get me something to cut it open, please."

He handed her a utility tool and she carefully slit the box open and gingerly pulled away the wrapping material. She lifted a Japanese sword in a sheath out of the box.

"Whoa," Birkoff said, impressed.

Mahleah barely knew they were there. She was running her hands across the hilt and down the scabbard.

Nikita noticed that the hilt of the sword was ivory and there was a figure carved into it. She half-expected to see a dragon, but instead realized with surprise it was a tiger in a crouch, about to spring upon its prey.

"Tora," Mahleah whispered.

Ten minutes later they were watching as Mahleah, in the gym, pushed the tsuba up with her thumb and drew the sword. She had been sitting in her favorite seiza position and slowly, almost ritualistically, unbound her hair.

She now stepped out of the seiza into a stand, she laid the scabbard to the side, then held the katana up in front of her. She reverently kissed the tiger with closed eyes, then brought the sword up. Holding it in her right hand, she let it fall through her fingers and caught it, rotating her wrist and stretching the muscles. Its weight was a familiar presence in her hand and she quickly rediscovered the blade's unique balance and rhythm.

She began a slow series of butterflies, flowing across the floor, the katana, an extension of her hand, flashing under the fluorescent lights. She turned at the far end of the room, and began another pass, picking up speed. She paused in the middle of the floor and laughed with her arm spinning, and the katana cutting through the air.

Her friends stared in amazement. She seemed lit from within with a joyous fire. At the moment she looked more like a dancer than a fighter carrying a dangerous prop with lethal grace. She stopped, eyes glowing, knowing that her message had been sent.

She shifted focus, becoming once more the warrior renewing her most important bond.

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

In Seacouver, Washington the mood was grimmer in the office of DeSalvo's dojo. Joe Dawson stood by the desk, while Duncan MacLeod gazed out the window.

"Did you call the police?" Joe asked.

"Yes, but I doubt they discover anything. The thief was completely professional."

"Could it be Amanda?" Joe suggested.

MacLeod looked at him briefly with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, the first time it was a bracelet that was stolen. You know how she gets about expensive jewelry."

Mac just looked at him, and he lowered his gaze sheepishly, "Yeah, you're right. Amanda would never have stolen from you."

"Oh, she has before," the Immortal replied with equanimity, "but she would never have stolen something that belonged to Mahleah. Amanda's as worried about her as we are. Besides this time, they didn't take jewelry."

"But why would anyone want to steal Tora?" Joe was at a loss.

MacLeod returned his gaze to the window, "Mahleah."

Joe moved closer to the Scot. "Tora belongs to Mahleah, Mac. Why wouldn't she retrieve the sword herself?"

"Because she can't for some reason," Duncan told him wearily. "Wherever she's disappeared to, she obviously can't contact me by conventional means."

"So, she's sending you a message, then?"

"Yes," Joe waited, but MacLeod had fallen silent.

It was a message, he knew. She was telling him she was alive and well. She was somewhere out there and in enough trouble that she couldn't make any direct contact.

"I will find you, mhuirnin," he promised.

Author's note: Mhuirnin is an endearment in Scots Gaelic and basically means my darling.

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