Immortal Longings Copyright 2000

This story contains third season spoilers from "Beyond the Pale" through "I Remember Paris."

***

Nikita was passing Munitions when she noticed the fixed stare on Walter's face. The weapons' master was wearing a worried scowl as he leaned against one of his workbenches. She followed his gaze upward to see the object of his scrutiny: Mahleah, who was apparently in discussion with Operations and Madeline.

"What's going on?" Nikita asked.

"I don't know, sugar," he admitted, "and that's what's worrying me."

"Mahleah's performance has been exceptional," she tried to soothe him. "I'm sure nothing's wrong."

He snorted with derision, "What do superb numbers have to do with anything? How many times have those two screwed with you and Michael? No, they just like the rush they get by having complete control over everyone in their domain."

He tore his gaze away from Mahleah long enough to look at Nikita, "The better I know Mahleah, the more she scares me. If they ever get to understand the real her, the rebel that's buried only surface deep, they'll cancel her."

Nikita put a hand on her friend's shoulder, "Walter, Mahleah can take care of herself. I've seen her confront Madeline before - she gets as blank as Michael."

He grinned for a moment, "Yeah, she told me about that. She says she pretends to be Spock confronted by Romulan interrogators: cool and flawlessly logical but revealing nothing."

Nikita chuckled, then looked up towards the perch, "Well, business must be over, Walter. She's leaving now."

When Mahleah entered the perch, Madeline eyed her curiously. As a recruit Mahleah had provided Section's top strategist with a fascinating puzzle: one that still bore exploring. She was dressed in a cream-colored silk shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans. A black suede vest matched the boots she was wearing, and of course, as always there was the long braid trailing down her back. Interesting choices.

"Mahleah," Operations greeted, "I'm glad to finally meet you."

The woman stared at him attentively but calmly, choosing to remain mute to his salutation.

"I wanted to personally commend you for your excellent work since you've joined us," he continued. "You show enormous potential that I grant we will see fulfilled since you are now being promoted to Full Class One status." He paused, waiting for her to comment, but when silence was forthcoming, he continued, "It is extremely rare for an operative to conclude training so quickly, but Madeline feels and I concur that to hold you back would be both redundant and counterproductive."

"Congratulations, Mahleah," Madeline smiled at the new operative.

"Thank you," Mahleah finally responded.

"You'll be given a day to enjoy your new position, but tomorrow report to Madeline for a special assignment," Operations told her.

"Of course, sir," Mahleah told him politely.

"That will be all," he announced. "I hope you continue to perform up to the standards we've come to expect from you."

She nodded slightly, "As you wish, sir." She turned and walked out of view.

Operations turned to his second in command, "Is she always that reserved?"

Madeline's lips twitched upwards, "No, it seems that is her best professional act. She has made many friends since her arrival; in fact, it seems that she and Walter are dating."

Operations choked slightly on his cigarette, "Walter?"

"Yes."

Operations frowned, "How serious is this attachment?"

"It's hard to be sure," Madeline reluctantly admitted. "Mahleah is very hard to read and Walter knows only too well the penalties of getting involved with a cold op."

"After Belinda you'd think he'd have learned his lesson." He shook his head in amusement. "Well, it seems there's life in the old dog yet. I can't fault him in his taste. She's a beautiful woman."

"There's a danger, I think, in his taking the relationship too seriously," Madeline warned. "Considering her obvious charms and the fact that this will be his first long-term attachment since his wife's death, we may have trouble controlling him."

Operations frowned, "Mahleah is needed for the Copperhead profile. If Walter is wise, he won't get in the way of her work."

When Mahleah joined her friends in Munitions, Walter started running his hands all over her. She slapped at him playfully and scolded, "Walter honey, whatever do you think you're doing?"

"I'm making sure you're still in one piece, darlin'," he told her. "I'm especially worried about knife wounds in the back."

"I'm fine," she told him cheerfully. "In fact, I just got promoted. I'm now a full Operative. I'm off probation, folks."

"Congratulations!" Nikita told her warmly. "You certainly deserve it."

Walter heaved a sigh of relief, "So that's why the brass wanted to see you?"

"Yep. I'm getting some kind of new assignment tomorrow, but the night's mine and I plan to make the most of it."

Walter waggled his eyebrows, "What did you have in mind?"

She sighed exaggeratedly, "We'll get around to that later on, you insatiable satyr. No, I was thinking more of a little dinner party - informal, of course. I'll cook y'all a nice Southern meal at my apartment. We'll invite Birkoff, and Musashi, too of course," she added with a grin towards Nikita. "What do you say?"

"Sounds like fun," her neighbor agreed. "Need some help?"

"Sure," Mahleah agreed. "Everybody gets to take a turn in the kitchen. I'll need some time to prepare, though. So," she leaned in and gave Walter a quick kiss, "I'll see you later, okay."

"Can't wait, darlin'," he told her.

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

Mahleah wandered through the open market at the Rue d'Aligre looking for the ingredients for her dinner. So far she had managed to find fresh corn, green beans and new potatoes. While she searched for the perfect carrots and cabbage for cole slaw she realized that she was going to have difficulty in finding one special item on the menu. She frowned.

She wanted this meal to be as perfect as possible. Her comrades deserved a good meal and jovial company and she was looking forward to this evening. She still needed to pick up a few things from more conventional stores, but she had always been impressed by the selection at Le Marché d'Aligre. In an odd way, it was rather like being home. Farmers selling produce by the roadside were a common sight in her part of Virginia.

Still, all the déjà vu in the world was not going to help her with dessert!

Nikita was looking down from her balcony when she saw Mahleah, loaded with shopping bags, struggle to get out of a taxi. She hurried downstairs so that the other woman had barely made it inside before she was there to help her.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Mahleah exclaimed. "I thought I was going to drop something for sure."

"Well, you didn't have to buy out all the stores in Paris you know," Nikita laughed.

They reached Mahleah's door and stumbled inside. "We lead uncertain lives and never know from one day to the next if we'll see each other again. I believe in having memories that last forever, don't you?" Mahleah asked pointedly.

Nikita ignored the remark and followed Mahleah into the kitchen area of the apartment. After stashing away all the refrigerated goods, Nikita inquired, "So what can I do to help?"

Mahleah turned to her with a grin on her face, "Oh, I love eager assistants. Don't worry, I'll put you to work. First, though, go find some music to put on will you?"

"If we're going to have a Southern meal, should I put on some country?" Nikita asked doubtfully, scanning the CD collection.

Mahleah looked at her patiently. "I don't think so," she replied. "I've never been fond of that genre other than of course the great Patsy Cline. She has an astounding voice, but I can't listen to her for long periods of time without wanting to slit my wrists. She's a little too effective in singing about heartbreak. No, let's get something a little more upbeat, huh?"

Nikita found Ella Fitzgerald and decided that was what the doctor ordered. As soon as the strains of "Anything Goes" began floating from the speakers, she returned to her hostess.

"Now, what do you want me to do?"

"I need to make pie dough first," Mahleah told her, "because it needs to chill before I use it. You can work on peeling these," she handed her a bag of apples.

The blonde picked up a knife from the rack on the counter and sat down, "So, are we having an apple pie?"

"Not exactly. I searched all over Paris in vain for fresh peaches. It's much too early for them, unfortunately, so I'll have to resort to using canned for my cobbler. Hopefully I can doctor them up a little. I want you guys to have something a little better than just canned peaches though, so I'm also going to make a couple of loaves of apple bread."

"Wow," said Nikita watching as Mahleah swiftly laid out the ingredients for her crust. "Who taught you to cook?"

"Well, my dad wasn't much for the culinary arts. A neighbor made sure I never got hungry, but his tastes tended to be a little cosmopolitan for our area. If I wanted down-home food I went over to my best friend's house, or visited my grandma."

A ribbon of apple peel curled down towards Nikita's lap as she spoke, "So, your gran was a good cook?"

"Oh yeah, she was fabulous. Ironically, she taught me self-sufficiency when she thought she was providing me with husband-snagging skills."

Nikita laughed, "Really?"

"Sure. She always made sure that if she was preparing food, I had a hand in it. Looking back, I'm grateful now. I don't often cook large meals but when I do, I always think of her. She is an incredible lady."

"She's the one that taught you to shoot, right?"

"Uh-huh, she has a sharp eye. She and my grandpa were an interesting match. He loved musicals and screwball comedies and she loved westerns and detective stories. Whenever the TV was on, though, they would pretend that whatever they were watching was for the other one. If I came in and Grandpa was watching "Singing in the Rain" it was because Grandma loved it. If Grandma wanted to sit down to a John Wayne movie, she always claimed it was Grandpa's favorite. They didn't fool anyone, but the proprieties were maintained."

"Are they still alive?"

"Grandpa died several years ago, but I think Grandma will live to be a hundred - she's far too ornery to die."

There was a knock on the door. Mahleah frowned, "I wasn't expecting anyone this soon."

"Maybe Walter wanted to sample the cook before the other guests got here," Nikita told her with a small smirk.

Mahleah shook a spoon at her neighbor, "Be nice, Missy, or you'll find yourself on KP after dinner as well."

Opening the door she didn't find her other invited guests. Instead Nikita heard with a wince the sounds of Mick Schtoppel.

"I thought I heard you two lovelies talking about making dinner, and I wondered if I might join you?"

Mahleah stared at him for a couple of seconds and shrugged her shoulders, "Sure, do you chop nuts?"

***********

Nikita watched with amusement as Mahleah sat Mick down with a package of pecans and a chopper. She peeled steadily on her apples wondering what the others would think about the new guest. Tonight could definitely be interesting.

As Mahleah began working on her cobbler filling, Mick chuckled. "What a package! Brains, beauty, and bullets plus she can cook. You're amazing, Mahleah!"

She worked on as she replied, "Mick, I don't like to think of myself in those terms if you don't mind."

"But you truly are, doll," he protested.

She paused, "As I'm made from neither porcelain, cotton, nor plastic please don't call me that, if you don't mind." She resumed stirring, adding spices to the peaches. "People have often made me feel like a freak of nature, so I don't like compliments very much, Mick."

"What do you mean?" Nikita asked softly. She remembered Mahleah making similar statements not long after they'd met.

"Well, all my life it wasn't enough that I had to struggle with being different physically. I've already told you that I was the tallest girl around, I matured at a young age, and I had a bizarre education, but that's not everything. All my life I've had these strange feelings - call them déjà vu if you like - that I had been somewhere before or read something before or known something before. It was crazy. My teachers were all astonished by the fact that they could show me something once and I could usually do it. When I was learning martial arts, each move I was shown was as familiar as if I'd been doing it my entire life."

"How strange," Nikita commented. "Did you ever figure out why?"

"No," Mahleah shook her head. "I used to have the strangest dreams, too. I had a hard time holding onto them, but it seemed like I was talking to myself. When I was little, I thought it was my mom because the other person was an adult and looked like her. It wasn't until I was much older that I realized that it was me. I wish I could remember what I said to myself, but it's all fuzzy now."

"Do you still have these dreams?" Mick asked.

"Not for a year now although a few weeks ago, I had one that was rather similar to them." She added a tiny touch of almond extract to the mixture and stirred.

There was another knock.. Mahleah sat her bowl back down on the counter and licking sweet, sticky peach juice off her fingers went to the door. It was Walter and Birkoff.

"How's dinner coming?" Walter asked.

"Great," she replied. "Glad you two are here."

She led them to the kitchen and handed Birkoff a sack of potatoes and a peeler. Turning to Walter, she said, "You get to string and break the beans."

"Break? String? What kind of beans are they?" he grumbled.

"They're half-runners like we have back home, and I really hate having strings go down my throat as I'm eating, so do a good job."

They all found a place around the table and she looked at them thoughtfully,

"So where's Musashi? Didn't anyone invite him?"

"I did," Nikita offered.

"What did he say?"

"He was, big shock, working on a mission. He said he'd come if he could find the time."

Mahleah frowned. Walter swallowed and then volunteered, "I asked him before Birkoff and I left if he was going to join us."

"And what did he say?"

"He thought it unlikely that he would be able to make it since he had so much work to do."

Mahleah stared at him with fire in her eyes. Nikita raised her head from her apples long enough to say, "Well, you know he's trying for a promotion to Head Strategist."

"I don't care if he's auditioning for the Royal Shakespeare Company!" Mahleah reached for her phone. "Nikita, what's his number at Section?"

All eyes went to Nikita as she dutifully rattled off the numbers. She glared at them, daring them to say a word and wisely they all returned to their chores.

Mahleah punched in the digits and waited for the call to go through fuming the whole time. When the phone was answered she was startled to hear a recording.

"Voicemail? Who the hell has voicemail at Section?" she declared. Putting the receiver back to her ear, she waited for the requisite beep and then left her message, "Michael Samuelle, pick up that phone right now or I'll tell Madeline that considering our last mission together I think you could use a refresher course in Valentine training.... Oh, Musashi, you are there," her voice turned to a dangerous purr. The others took a collective gulp.

"What's this I hear about you not being able to come to my dinner? Work, smurk, I don't cook this way that often and if you miss this one I won't invite you to the next. Trust me, you don't want that to happen. Not to mention the fact that I will take it as a personal insult, and will exact my revenge in the most humiliating way I can imagine. I think you know me well enough by now to realize just how wicked my imagination is. Oh, you think you'll be done in a couple of hours? That's great. We'll see you then. Oh, and Musashi, could you please pick me up a carton of buttermilk? I have homemade biscuits to make."

***********

As Michael hung up the phone he could hear Mahleah tell Nikita, "Oh, Nick those apples really should go in water to keep them from turning brown. Add a little bit of salt and a little bit of lemon juice and we'll rinse them off before we add them to the mix."

He shook his head: this was definitely a woman you didn't say no to. He really hadn't meant to insult her by not coming to dinner. In fact, it wasn't her at all that he wanted to avoid this evening - it was Nikita.

Sighing, he looked back at his computer screen without really seeing its contents. Operations and Madeline had met today to discuss the Head Strategist position and he already knew what the result would be. His superior had taken him aside a month ago and explained this profile: Zalman was suspected of being a mole for Red Cell but had Oversight's favor. They had to set a trap for him in order to prove his complicity with the enemy which involved him pretending to escape Section. Unfortunately, he had orders to involve Nikita in this charade.

He knew that the only reason Nikita would accompany him on this little adventure would be because of her feelings toward him, and he was sick at heart to be asked to use that against her yet again. It was the reason he hadn't wanted to see her. He wanted to be as honest with her as possible about the whole mission, but how would it seem to her after enjoying what, he was sure, would be a pleasant evening with all of their friends, and then put on the pretense of a relationship. Undoubtedly it would benefit the profile for him to be seen with her tonight. It would make her accompanying him more plausible, but how would she feel about it? He had no desire to spend his evening playing games.

He assumed that his hostess would not permit him to do such a thing anyway. Mahleah had little tolerance for the sort of mind games Section played. He had a sneaking suspicion that if she ever decided to seriously join in office politics, Operations and Madeline would be in trouble. Interestingly enough they still regarded her as the perfect agent. He wondered how long that would last.

When Mahleah opened the door, he held out the grocery bag with her buttermilk but she ignored it and gave him a hug. He could smell wonderful aromas wafting toward him: a tantalizing mixture of peaches, apples, and various spices.

"I'm so glad you came," she told him and kissed him on both cheeks.

Amused, he kissed her hand and let her lead him into the kitchen. "Would you mind shredding some cabbage?" she asked sweetly.

He looked over into Nikita's dancing blue eyes and strangely his burden seemed to lift. He was home.

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

Birkoff had been amazed all evening at the effect their hostess seemed to have on all of his friends. Walter was exuberant, Nikita was practically giddy, and Mick was jovial while toeing the line. Hell, even Michael seemed relaxed. He wasn't sure how Mahleah had managed to do it, but she had seemingly forged them into a family unit - an odd one to be sure - but the warmth that permeated the room had little to do with the building's heat pump.

Mahleah had bullied them, bossed them, teased them, and fed them. Oh my God how she had fed them. Although she'd had a lot of help, she had put together a meal he wouldn't soon forget. There had been country-fried steak with new potatoes, corn on the cob, green beans, cole slaw, fried green tomatoes, and homemade biscuits. He still couldn't believe that the cobbler contained canned peaches, and the apple bread was to die for! They had all eaten way too much and he suspected that Michael and Nikita in particular would regret the extra pounds later, but after all as Mahleah had informed them, "There have to be reasons to want to come back from cold ops, right?"

He had heard her sing for the first time tonight and that memory would be seared into his brain. She'd been humming ever since he got there, but while she was putting the biscuits in the oven Nikita had put on a CD of old U2 music. When Mahleah heard "Pride (In the Name of Love)" she came around the counter, with a small smudge of flour on her cheek, and started singing lightly. As the song grew more intense, she began singing out more and at the end she was belting out the chorus full-throttle with Bono.

They were all spellbound both from the full, rich quality of her voice as well as the passion she poured into the melody. After dinner, Mahleah and Nikita turned to him and asked him to dance. He was flabbergasted. The two most beautiful women in Section wanted to teach him to dance in front of their respective "partners" no less. They found some medium tempo music and he took turns learning to lead them around the room. He was on his third dance with Mahleah when Walter came up to them exclaiming, "All right, all right. It's my turn now."

He gave Nikita a couple of turns and then called, "Switch" and neatly changed partners. Mahleah laughed at him but didn't protest. Birkoff watched their playful manner and thought, "Walter, you are a lucky, lucky man."

He felt a little sad for the first time all evening. Watching them reminded him of how empty his own life was. He loved being here with all of his friends, but why couldn't he find a little romance all his own? How much more fun could he have if he had brought a date to this little get together? Walter and Nikita had been telling him for years that he needed to get out more, and he now agreed.

Nikita, swaying in Birkoff's arms, glanced across at the other dancing couple and smiled. Odd as the match might seem to others, Walter and Mahleah appeared to fit well together. Her irresistible sassiness complemented his irrepressible flirtatiousness. She didn't know if she'd ever seen her old friend look quite so happy. Now, if she could only steal a little slice of their pie.

She hoped that Michael would take a cue from Walter and cut in, but he never did. Mick danced with her and yes, his hands did roam once but a slap on the wrist and a stern glance from Mahleah caused him to cast an anxious eye in Michael's direction and apologize.

"It wouldn't have been me if I hadn't tried once, love," he pointed out, but for the rest of the night he was remarkably well behaved.

Michael sat back and watched as everyone enjoyed themselves. He knew that Nikita was hoping he would dance with her, but it would, to him, put a blemish on what was otherwise a perfect evening. Tomorrow the mission would begin playing itself out, and he didn't want Nikita to have any confusion about his true feelings. If they danced, he wanted it to be about them, and not have her worry that he was once again trying to seduce her on behalf of Section. After this is all over, he promised himself, I'll take her somewhere and we'll dance all night.

The party broke up about midnight and Mahleah saw everyone except Walter to the door. He looked up at her from the couch and declared, "I thought they'd never leave!"

"Hush," she scolded. "Be good. You know you enjoyed yourself tonight."

"Yeah, but it's not over yet, darlin'."

Mahleah didn't answer him as she was looking out of her peephole into the hall. She saw Michael walk Nikita to the door, tell her good night and walk off.

"Not even a good night kiss!" she fumed. "That boy is killing me. I think I'm going to have to take the two of them, tie them nose-to-nose, and lock them in a dark closet somewhere for a week."

"Give him time," Walter advised walking up to her. "He's coming around. I don't remember ever seeing him as relaxed as he was this evening. But enough about Michael and Nikita - what else do you have planned for this evening's festivities?"

His hands reached up under the t-shirt she had exchanged for the silk blouse before going to the market. She grinned and leaned toward him.

"Something as sweet as a peach and as tart as an apple that will last a hell of a lot longer than that cobbler did."

***********

She was staring in the window of Duncan's barge, transfixed by the sight before her. From her place on the deck she had a clear view of Mac's bedroom and the couple passionately entwined under his sheets. Her fingers traced the glass, wishing it were the muscled back she saw before her. Another woman's fingers were caressing the back of his neck, another woman's lips were tracing the curve of his throat, and another woman's voice was calling his name, "Duncan."

She felt a hot wet river running down her face, but what had she expected? She was dead to the outside world, which for the moment, had to include him as well. If they both were lucky and kept their heads they would see each other again. She should be glad that he could find comfort in the arms of an old friend.

Yet a small part of her heart wept bitter tears as she heard him cry out, "Amanda!"

Mahleah gave a gasp and sat up in bed with a jerk. Her heart was racing and she couldn't breathe for a second. She impatiently brushed her hair back from her face and found it was sticking to the tears she had cried in her sleep. She wiped the remnants of them away and looked down at Walter. He was a sound sleeper and remained blissfully oblivious to her distress. Leaning in she kissed his forehead, then lay on her side watching him sleep, grateful for his presence.

**********

Madeline looked up as Mahleah entered her office and smiled. "Won't you have a seat?" she suggested.

Mahleah sat down and gazed impassively at Madeline wondering just what kind of mission she was going to be given.

Madeline adjusted her monitor so that Mahleah could see a man's face. "This is Shawn Williams, one of the most dangerous assassins in the world. His presence is usually felt more than seen, with deadly results. You are being assigned a profile designed to allow us to acquire Mr. Williams. It is a long-term cover but will not interfere with your other Section duties. In fact, you will still maintain your current address."

"What will I be doing?"

"We recently ascertained that Mr. Williams has two living relatives: his father, Anthony, and his sister, Teresa Williams. They operate an establishment known as "The Copperhead" which is a restaurant/bar. The family is originally from the United States and Anthony Williams, in particular, is interested in American music. He keeps a house band and your first assignment is to join it anyway you can. I'm sure that someone with your musical experience should have no difficulties."

Mahleah raised an eyebrow, "Joining a band demands a certain amount of commitment, especially if I'm the lead singer. There are rehearsals during the day and performances at night. What happens if I'm needed halfway across the world for a month's time? Mr. Williams will fire me."

"You will explain up front that you are an artist and frequently get the urge to travel, but you will be back once your wanderlust is satisfied. I admit we are placing a great deal of faith on your abilities to ensure that he wishes to retain your services. You have to want him to keep you at all costs."

Mahleah frowned slightly, "I foresee another problem. If I'm to keep their interest so intensely I can't be halfway in my performances. I'll have to focus completely on the music which could be problematic if Shawn actually makes an appearance. Actually there's two problems: I can't draw decent stick figures."

Madeline blinked. It was obvious to Mahleah that Madeline had assumed her to possess an artistic competency that blanketed all genres. Too bad it didn't work like that.

"We could have your work done here at Section." She suggested.

"No, what if someone wanted to see me actually draw something? It's too risky. I propose changing the scenario to that of a writer. I'd have no problems with that."

"Agreed," Madeline approved. "Also, I'll draw up a profile that will allow Michael to drop into the club on occasion to provide backup."

"Good," Mahleah rose. "I assume I should secure this position as soon as possible?"

"Yes."

"Then, I'll coax Anthony Williams into giving me an audition today."

"Excellent. Further details will be on your panel."

***********

Walter and Nikita were wearing sad faces when Mahleah walked up to them. "Hey, what happened?" she asked with concern.

"Michael got passed over for promotion," Nikita explained.

"What? Has someone around here been smoking crack? Who got the position if Musashi didn't?"

"Zalman," Walter said bitterly.

Mahleah had encountered the man once and he'd made an unfavorable impression. She shook her head, "I still say someone's been using dope, but that's the way the grass crumbled, huh?"

"So, what dirty detail have they stuck you with?" Walter asked.

"Well, for now it doesn't sound too bad. I'm supposed to go undercover in a nightclub in hopes of catching an assassin." In an effort to cheer up Nikita, she added, "Whatever shall I wear?"

Walter caught on immediately, "Yeah, sounds like a shopping trip is called for. I mean, you can't run in here every night looking for something new out of wardrobe."

They saw a spark of interest in blue eyes and gave a collective sigh of relief. She'd taken the bait. Now, maybe Mahleah could distract her for a couple of hours.

Mahleah was beginning to regret inviting Nikita on this little excursion. Her tolerance for looking at and trying on clothes was much shorter than her friends. She was just getting really bored when Nikita tried to get her to buy a short spandex outfit.

"I really don't think that'll work, Nick," she protested.

"This is a nightclub, right?" Nikita insisted. "It'll fit right in. Besides if you're the singer you'll want to stand out."

"From what I can tell from his profile, Anthony Williams is not going to hire a woman wearing that," she pointed to the offensive garment. "He's more interested in actual musical talent."

Nikita opened her mouth to argue some more, but at that moment Mahleah felt a warning tingle. She hastily ducked into a dressing room and pulling the curtain, knelt on the bench. She didn't want whoever it was to see her feet, but she wanted to keep an eye out in case it was someone dangerous. She thought Nikita would be fine as long as they were not seen together, but if it turned out that the Immortal was psychotic she'd step in.

"What are you doing?" Nikita demanded.

"Ssh, pretend I'm not here," she hissed.

When she heard the woman speak, she almost wished it had been a stark raving lunatic. It would have been far less painful. Instead she distinctly heard the voice of Amanda saying, "I'm looking for something very special. I need to cheer up a dear friend of mine who's here on a visit. He's been awfully depressed the poor darling and I'm planning a very special night for the two of us."

"Oh God, no," Mahleah thought. "Let her be talking about someone else -- Connor, Methos, even Joe."

"Of course," the saleslady replied. "Are you looking for a dress or something a little more ... intimate?"

"Well, if everything goes according to plan, both," Amanda laughed, but she was looking around her for the Immortal she sensed nearby. She spotted Nikita and smiled, sizing her up. The blonde operative did have a powerful presence and was standing very close to Mahleah's location, so Amanda was a little uncertain.

The saleslady directed the female Immortal to the far side of the room to show her a dress and Nikita edged closer to the dressing room.

"Who is she?" she asked very softly.

"Someone I used to know," Mahleah replied in an equally quiet voice. "Knowing Section's rules about fraternizing with former acquaintances I'd rather she didn't see me."

Nikita nodded accepting the explanation as the truth, which it basically was.

Now, the customer and clerk moved back toward the Section operatives.

"That's perfect," Amanda declared. "I'll take it. Now, for the fun stuff."

"Does the gentleman have any preferences?"

Amanda gave an amused smile, "Nothing too outlandish, I'm afraid. Duncan's the original boy scout."

Mahleah closed her eyes. A catty little voice inside her head responded by saying, "Well, when we were together he had a definite preference: me without any clothing whatsoever. Put that in your scout pipe and smoke it!" She ruthlessly repressed any further commentary and prayed that the torture would be over soon. It was, but not soon enough, unfortunately.

Suddenly, there was a male voice - deep, rich, accented and as familiar as tourists in Paris --saying, "Amanda, how much longer are you going to be?"

She couldn't resist peering out just a little to catch a glimpse of him. It had been so long since they'd been able to talk and then she'd been in jail. Her eyes drank in the sight of him: the tanned skin, broad shoulders, and narrow waist. He was standing in profile and she could make out the strong bones of his face. She was sad to see that he'd kept his hair cut short. She'd always loved it long enough to run her fingers through. Right now, he was more than a little irritated and worried. He kept glancing in her direction, clearly torn between invading anyone's privacy and knowing just who was in his vicinity.

"We need to leave, now," he informed Amanda.

"Can you deliver these?" she sweetly asked the saleslady.

"Of course," she was reassured, "but there will be a fee."

MacLeod sighed and handed the clerk his credit card.

"You won't be sorry, MacLeod." Amanda promised.

He gave her a doubtful look that made Mahleah smile. He hadn't seen the purchases yet, but it still made her heart sing to know that Amanda was still a double-edged proposition for Mac. He cared for her but she drove him bananas. They couldn't stay around each other for long.

Once the clerk returned his card and handed Amanda a receipt, Duncan took her by the arm and steered her out of the shop. Mahleah ran to the window to watch him walk off.

Nikita saw the sadness in her friend's eyes and instinctively knew that she was feeling more pain than seeing an old acquaintance again. Walking up behind Mahleah, she nudged her, "Hey, are you all right?"

"Yeah," came the response, but Nikita could see that the brown eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

"That was a good-looking guy," she ventured.

Her fishing expedition paid off when the response came softly, "He's a lot more than that."

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

It was a subdued Mahleah that found herself that evening in the Place Stalingrad in the north of the city. It was a neighborhood of immigrants who had moved there for the cheaper lodgings. Many were from North Africa and she wondered absently how a man from Kentucky and his daughter had ended up running an establishment there.

When she arrived at "The Copperhead", she was pleasantly surprised by its friendly atmosphere. Considering she had witnessed a couple of drug deals going down on her way there this was not the sort of place she had expected. It actually was a restaurant that happened to have a bar and a band.

A sandy-haired teenage girl escorted her to a table in the corner next to the band and smiled in relief when Mahleah told her she spoke English.

"Oh great," she giggled. "I speak French but my accent is so bad that people who don't know me have trouble understanding what I'm saying."

Mahleah smiled at her, "Well, your American accent is familiar to me. Where are you from? Let me guess: West Virginia?"

"Nope," the girl shook her head.

"Tennessee?"

"'Fraid not."

"Ah, I've got it: Kentucky!"

The girl looked impressed, "Right! How did you know?"

"I'm from across the mountains in Virginia," Mahleah told her. She was letting her own native accent filter through her words ever so slightly.

"Well, it sounds like you've been gone for a long time," she was informed. "You barely sound southern."

"I've traveled a lot," she admitted. "So," she looked at the girl's nametag, "Teresa.. What time does the band get started?"

"Oh, it won't be long now," Teresa promised. "They just have to coax Seth into singing tonight."

"He doesn't want to?" Mahleah asked with amusement.

"Well, he's the guitar player you see, but we can't seem to keep a regular singer."

"Really, that's interesting." Mahleah thought Madeline's timing was perfect on this profile.

"So, what can I get you?" Teresa asked.

"Well, I was out for a walk and saw the sign in the window advertising live music and that's really what I'm here for. I'm not that hungry actually, but if it'll keep you from throwing me out before I get to hear the band I'll order something light. Do you have any fresh fruit?"

"Sure, we make a fruit salad, if that's all right."

"Perfect."

"And to drink?"

"I'll stick to the healthy stuff - could you bring me a glass of orange juice?"

"Ok, a fruit salad and a glass of OJ coming up."

Mahleah sat back and watched the activity around her. It was fairly obvious that Teresa and her father didn't do much business. It was her guess that the few patrons were regulars. Well, they were in need of a lead singer. She just had to get Anthony Williams to give her an audition and hope she could wow him enough to give her a job.

Teresa had disappeared into the kitchen and Mahleah suspected she was making the salad herself. She saw a middle-aged man behind the bar and recognized him as Anthony Williams. He was a handsome man with an athletic build and distinguished gray temples. He saw her gazing at him and nodded to her. She smiled.

The band appeared before the salad, so she sat back and listened. They had some talent but seemed a little lost with Seth as their lead. He was so obviously uncomfortable at the mike that it made them sound tentative. His voice wasn't bad, she thought, but he would probably do better and be happier as backup.

When Teresa finally arrived with the fruit Mahleah thanked her.

"No problem," she said cheerfully, her hazel eyes sparkling with good humor. "We're a little shorthanded around here at the moment, so service is a little slow. Dad keeps hoping that we'll draw in more customers through the music and then we could afford to hire more people. We'll never get there though with Seth singing! He looks like he'd rather be dipped in flour and fried, doesn't he?"

Mahleah nodded in agreement, then leaned forward conspiratorially, "I sing a little myself. Do you think I could get a shot with the band?"

Teresa pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I don't know. Dad's not real keen on strangers, but I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that," Mahleah told her with genuine feeling.

"Oops, I forgot your juice. I'll be right back."

Teresa was gone so long that Mahleah suspected she was squeezing oranges by hand, but she reappeared and giving Mahleah a wink walked up to her father. She talked to him a few minutes, nodding in the operative's general direction. Anthony frowned, took the glass of juice and made his way to Mahleah's table.

Handing her the drink, he sat down across from her, "Teresa tells me you're looking for work - that you want to sing with the band. Is this true?"

"That I want to sing, yeah, it's true enough if you'll give me a chance."

He studied her intensely, "I'm afraid what I pay these boys barely keeps them in guitar strings."

She smiled reassuringly, "That's okay. I'm not looking for money."

"What are you looking for then?"

She looked him in the eye and replied, "Experience."

His brown eyes bore steadily into hers for a long moment and then he shook his head, "I don't think so. Seth's doing a fine job. Give him a little more practice and he'll pack the house."

"But--" Mahleah tried to protest, but he was already on his feet and moving away. "Well, this doesn't bode well," she murmured to herself.

She realized the band had taken a break. When she looked up, Seth was looking at her sympathetically. He was a big guy with blue eyes and a kind face.

"Tony can be a little rough," he told her.

"So, I noticed," she said.

"Did I overhear you telling him that you sing?"

"Yeah," she frowned. "Not that he seemed to care."

"Ah," he shrugged. "You're so pretty, he probably figures you've got no talent."

She raised an eyebrow, "Well, that's rather judgmental."

He grinned, "No, that's Tony. Like to prove him wrong?"

He was offering her his hand. She took it and standing, looked him in the eye, "Can I borrow a guitar?"

***********

Mahleah attempted to brush off the negative thoughts that had haunted her all day. Music had always been an important part of her life - there was no need for her to get nervous, but she was. Today had seemed to be a perfect example of Murphy's Law and she had no desire to screw up or be shot down again.

Thank God she had been coaxed into picking up a guitar again several months ago, but what exactly should she perform? While adjusting her fingers to the strings of Seth's acoustic that he was letting her borrow, memories of Amanda and Duncan flooded into her mind unbidden. She couldn't stem the tide of images. She could see them as they were in her dream and she could hear Amanda's voice say, "I want to cheer up an old friend."

She shook her head trying to clear it and focus on what she was doing to no avail. Oh hell, she thought, I might as well use this. I won't exactly impress Tony Williams by doing my best Vulcan impersonation. She turned to the other band members and told them what she wanted to try. They nodded and let her begin to set the pace.

At the bar Tony Williams wiped off the counter and watched the proceedings with an interest he tried to hide. His daughter made no pretense. She sat at one of the stools and eagerly waited to hear what this newcomer had for them.

Mahleah's fingers picked out a familiar rhythm and she leaned into the mike declaring,

"Tonight I feel so weak
but all in love is fair.
I turn the other cheek:
I feel the slap and the sting of the foul night air.
And I know you're only human...and I haven't got talking room,
but tonight while I'm making excuses -- some other woman is making love to you!"

All the frustration, jealousy and anger she'd been feeling poured out of her and the band picked up on her energy.

"Somebody bring me some water.
Can't you see I'm burning alive?
Can't you see my baby's got another lover and I don't know how I'm gonna survive.
Somebody bring me some water.
Can't you see it's out of control?
Baby's got my heart and my baby's got my mind,
but tonight the sweet Devil, sweet Devil's got my soul."

Tony forgot the rag under his fingers. She picked the right song, he thought with amusement. Her voice was scorching the room. His few customers were on their feet clapping.

"When will this aching pass...when will this night be through?
I want to hear the breaking glass.
I only feel the steel of the red-hot truth, and I'd do anything to get it out of my mind.
I need some insanity...that temporary kind.
Tell me how will I ever be the same when I know that woman is whispering your name?"

With each chorus, her singing and his band got more intense. So, that's what the guys sound like when they're inspired, he thought.

His daughter was thrilled. "Dad, you have to keep her," she informed him.

"Oh, do I?" he teased her.

"Listen to her."

"She's about to melt the paint off my walls," he replied. "I'd have to redecorate every day."

She swatted him on the arm while the band obeyed Mahleah's signal and wound up the song. The regulars clapped and whistled for nearly five minutes. When the roar subsided, Tony walked up to the tall woman. She gave the guitar back to Seth and looked at him expectantly.

Jerry, the drummer, stood up from his kit and informed his boss, "This one's a keeper, Tony."

"Is that so?" came the reply.

"Yeah, in fact if we pass up talent like that I don't want to work here anymore," Jerry, who seemed to have a short fuse, told him.

Seth put a hand on his friend's shoulder but spoke to the man making decisions, "I think we all kind of feel that way, Tony. She's terrific."

"Yeah, she's not bad," he finally let her off the hook.

She gave a sigh of relief. "When should I start?" she inquired.

"No time like the present," he cheerfully answered. "You and the guys will need to get used to each other."

"Sure," she agreed. "I've got all night."

"What's your name, anyway?" he asked, with a smile. "In all the excitement no one thought to ask."

She returned his smile, "I'm Mahleah."

"Well, Mahleah welcome to 'The Copperhead.'" He extended a hand to her.

She shook it, idly noting his expensive gold watch. It had a wide band and must have been a reminder of better days. She settled in with her new bandmates as they eagerly talked shop. She rehearsed with them until the wee hours of the morning, then begging for mercy, told them she needed to get some sleep.

"Make sure you come in tomorrow," she was told. "We have more work to do before we're ready for a real audience."

She nodded, waved goodbye to Teresa and walked out the door. A figure in the shadows pushed itself off from the wall and silently followed her through the streets of Paris.

In Tony Williams' office, the owner of "The Copperhead" was on the phone.

"Yes, there's been an interesting development here. You might want to drop by some day."

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

Birkoff wasn't exactly sure what had drawn him here. He sat at the bar of a sophisticated nightclub and thought to himself, "I'm out of my mind."

He had started the idea with a vague notion of talking to Mahleah about how to get a social life, but she hadn't been home. He recalled that she was beginning her new profile and so started to turn toward Nikita's door. On second thought, however, he left and went for a walk alone. He knew Nikita was ticked because Zalman got Michael's promotion and had no desire to hear about it all night long.

His steps had led him to Christophe's and his lonely seat in front of the bartender. He sipped gingerly at his martini and glanced up into the mirror in front of him and into the dark eyes of a woman sitting on the opposite side of the bar. His heart almost stopped. She was looking right at him...well at his reflection anyway, and smiling.

She had long chestnut-colored hair that flowed down the back of her elegant black dress. She looked sophisticated down to her toenails and he wondered why she was looking at him, of all people, and not the handsome man sitting closer to her.

She down at her glass of wine and then back up at him. He swallowed. Her smile was hesitant, but in a shy sort of way, not snobbish at all. Gathering his courage, he walked over to her and introduced himself.

"Hello, Seymour," she said warmly. "My name is Claire."

Wow, he thought, who needs Mahleah or Nikita?

**********

Jesley came to a dead stop. Where had Mahleah gone? One minute she had been walking several feet in front of her and the next she had vanished. Joe would be upset if she couldn't keep tabs on the Immortal better than this. He was quite anxious to know where Mahleah lived and what she was doing in Paris.

She walked faster, trying to determine if Mahleah had entered one of the doorways ahead. She was completely unprepared for the arm that grabbed her and pulled her into one of those passageways. She felt a hand close over her mouth as she was pushed against a wall. With more than a little fear, she looked into the dark eyes of her missing Immortal.

Mahleah studied the small figure, shaking her head. "What on earth is Joe up to, sending a kid like you to follow me around at night?"

Jesley tried to say something, but Mahleah shook her head, "Listen to me. I know who and what you are and I want you to send Joe a message: stop following me. It's much too dangerous both for you and for me. If anyone was to find out where I live, a great many lives could be in jeopardy. Do you understand me?"

Jesley nodded her head.

"Good, now I'm going to leave and if I catch you again I'm going to tie you up and leave you on Joe's doorstep." She backed off and started down the street.

Jesley stood in place. From everything she knew about her assignment she wasn't bluffing. Mahleah would never harm Jesley but she wouldn't hesitate to fulfill her threat either. She sighed. She'd have to report to Joe and find out what he wanted her to do next.

Exhausted both physically and emotionally, Mahleah went home. She had kept an eye out for Watchers and was glad to see that the small woman had taken her seriously. The last thing she wanted on her conscience was the death of half of Joe's friends because Section got overzealous in its security measures.

In the hall outside her apartment, she fumbled with her keys. Dropping them, she restrained a curse and bent down to pick them up. As she rose she became aware that she wasn't alone. Michael was walking down the hall. She walked towards him.

"Musashi," she greeted him with a tired smile. "What are you doing here?"

To her surprise, he looked a little confused. "Where have you been so late?" he asked in return.

"Oh, it's my new profile. I had to secure a place in the band at this club in the north part of town."

He nodded thoughtfully. In his focus on his current mission, he'd nearly forgotten Madeline apprising him of this situation.

"How did it go?"

She sighed, "Well they made me work for it, but I'm now their new lead singer. I've been rehearsing and they expect me in pretty early tomorrow too, considering how late they kept me tonight. I'm exhausted." Her fingers tugged on her braid, loosening it from its tight plait. "I'm so tired, my hair aches."

"Get some rest," he advised softly, watching the long strands fall across her shoulders.

"Yeah, I intend to." Suddenly her brain kicked in. "You're here to see Nikita right? Oh, Michael, I'm so glad."

To his astonishment, she gave him a big hug and his nose detected the familiar, comforting scent of vanilla before she pulled away and unlocked her door saying, "It's about time the two of you got your act straight. I'll see you tomorrow." She gave him an impish smile, "Enjoy yourself, Musashi."

He stared after her for a moment wishing he could tell her the truth. Sighing he let himself into Nikita's apartment. Mahleah, along with the rest of Section, would find out soon enough.

Nikita came out of a peaceful sleep when her ears detected the sounds of someone in her room. She pulled a gun from underneath her pillow and pointed it at the figure before she realized it was Michael. That was nothing compared to the shock she received when he explained his presence by saying words she never expected to hear coming from his mouth, "We're getting out."

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

Mahleah slept in late the next day, oblivious to the excitement taking place in Section One as Michael and Nikita used a stolen field router to elude detection. As they were making their way to a cabin in the woods, she was deep in rehearsals and getting to know the people at "The Copperhead" better. During a break she wandered over to Tony's bar and sat down next to him.

"Bottle of water?" he offered.

"Thanks," she took it gratefully.

"So what do you do when you're not jumpstarting bar bands, Mahleah?" he asked.

"Well, I'm trying to write a novel," she told him. "It's rough going though, my characters don't want to cooperate with my plot."

"Yeah, I hear they do that sometimes," he agreed, smiling. "I guess you have money then. I mean, if this is your first book you're obviously not making anything from that."

Here came the tricky part, Mahleah knew. "I have a little money of my own," she explained. "My mother left it for me in a trust fund and I don't have extravagant tastes so I do okay."

He nodded. "How'd you end up in Paris?"

"I travel a lot. My grandmother would say I have wandering feet. Paris seemed like as good a place as any to write a book, and better than most. How about you? How did you and Teresa end up at 'The Copperhead'?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "Running from old memories, I guess. After my wife died I wanted a fresh start in life. An old friend was kind enough to lend me the money to buy this place and here we've been ever since."

"Well, I'm glad you are." She raised her water bottle, "To displaced travelers: may they always find warm company and good music."

After another late night, she returned home - always keeping an eye out for Watchers. Yawning she looked over at Nikita's door and smiled. Maybe she couldn't be with Duncan but if Michael and Nikita had finally taken the plunge, things were looking up in the world. She went to bed wondering how Walter was doing. She missed his company.

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

In Michael's cabin Nikita paced nervously. She knew now that this was not a real escape attempt. He had explained things to her last night when they went to bed. She had been wondering all along as the whole business seemed out of character. She could see him being annoyed at losing the promotion but not to the point of leaving Section. It hadn't made any sense. Now she understood.

She understood as well that he was making every attempt to be honest with her. The time was when he would just have arranged things and left her completely in the dark. Manipulation was considered one of his specialties, so what did it mean when he told her the truth rather than using seduction to get his way?

Neither of them could deny that there had always been an attraction between them, but did it run any deeper than that? He certainly had not taken advantage of them sleeping in the same bed together. She had reluctantly wondered about the nights he had spent with Mahleah, but if his behavior toward her last night were any indication she could certainly believe her friend's chaste reports. She wondered if he had managed to sleep at all knowing what he had to do today.

She sighed. Waiting was bad enough, but waiting knowing that someone you cared about was probably in a great deal of pain right now qualified as torture itself. In any reasonable organization, she wouldn't have worried, but she knew that Michael would be treated ruthlessly in order to catch one Red Cell double-agent. If Zalman was in charge of his interrogation personally Michael would be in the White Room right now undergoing procedures she didn't even want to contemplate - it made her feel dizzy and her chest hurt.

Now she had to stay here until Michael finally "broke" and revealed her location. They were gambling on the hope that the router would prove too much of a temptation to Zalman and he would have to take the chance to retrieve it for his real masters. If she could get him alone, she was fairly sure he would compromise himself and they would have him. If she survived the encounter, that is.

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

What had started off as a routine mission for Seymour Birkoff rapidly escalated into chaos and descended from there into madness. It had all started off so well that his mind began drifting off to thoughts of the woman he'd met last night, Claire. Then suddenly, communication with Michael and Nikita ceased and he realized that two of his friends were trying to escape from Section.

After that hell would have been a prettier sight. Zalman, to cover his own incompetence, focused on Walter. Birkoff honestly didn't think his best friend had anything to do with Section's best operatives disappearing. He had been as shocked as the rest of them by this unexpected mutiny.

From there things had rapidly gotten worse. Walter had spent most of the night with Zalman and the operatives he and Nikita referred to as the Torture Twins. He'd finally been released and Birkoff had insisted he go to medical and be treated.

They were back at the computer station now, but Birkoff was worried about his friend. He was still pale and shaky, and the computer whiz wasn't doing much better himself. Why oh why could they not have given that promotion to Michael? He and Nikita would still be here and no one would be torturing his friends.

Walter turned on a monitor and they both froze. On the screen was Michael sitting in the White Room undergoing the same horrific interrogation techniques that Walter had been subjected to.

"I don't need to see this," Walter muttered. He turned away which allowed him to spot a tall figure striding toward them with a smile on her face. She walked up to him and gave him a kiss.

"Hello Walter honey, miss me?" she asked huskily.

"More than you know, darlin', more than you know," he wrapped his arms around her tightly.

She returned the embrace but then sensed something was wrong, "What's going on?" she quizzed him, pulling back. The more she looked at him, the more an acrid feeling in the pit of her stomach built up. She looked at Birkoff and Walter moved with her to block her view.

Birkoff swallowed, "Michael and Nikita have run off together."

She smiled, "Good for them. It's just what they needed."

He shook his head, "No, they left Section."

"They're trying to escape, Mahleah," Walter told her.

She was a little stunned, but then she laughed, "Lord, I knew that Musashi was a man in the most desperate need to get laid, but DAMN! I never dreamed it would take him this far."

Walter frowned. The seriousness of the situation wasn't getting through to her. Before he could speak Birkoff interrupted him.

"Mahleah, they took a field router with them. Operations won't stop until it's located and they're back in Section."

She raised an eyebrow, "As we say back home, Operations is old enough that his wants won't hurt him."

Birkoff continued, "Walter spent all night in the White Room with Zalman because they think he helped Nikita steal the router."

The feeling in her stomach grew worse and began moving upwards into her chest. She examined her lover more closely and saw how tired and pale he looked.

"They tortured you?" she demanded.

He swallowed and said, "Yes, but Operations broke up the party. Never thought I'd be glad to see him."

Mahleah walked a few steps away from him and gripped the back of a chair. A muscle in her jaw jumped involuntarily.

Walter took a deep breath. This could have dangerous consequences, but she needed to know the full story. "That's not all, Mahleah. They found Michael a couple of hours ago. He's in with Zalman right now."

Her head snapped up, and he moved aside so she could see the figure on the screen. She stared at Michael's face, white with smudges under his eyes. He was grimacing in pain.

Her friends held their breath as they saw her skin turn as pale as a sheet of paper. Her fingers clenched the top of the chair in a death-grip, and she bit her lip so hard they could see a drop of blood. Her eyes were dark suns, blazing in fury.

"Is that what they did to you Walter?" she asked in a low voice.

"Yes, but darlin' you can't do anything..."

His voice trailed off as she stalked away with long strides.

Birkoff stared at the top of the chair she'd been gripping. Indentations were left in the metal. He whistled. "I don't know who to feel sorrier for: Michael, or Zalman when he encounters Mahleah."

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

Mahleah stormed down the corridor, trying to regain her composure to no avail.

She'd known that Section was ruthless, but witnessing brutality never came easily to her. Walter had said Operations had stopped his interrogation. Why? Was it possible that he was disgusted by Zalman's actions, or merely his waste of resources? After all, Walter had known nothing about the escape attempt and Zalman was therefore being inefficient in pursuing that line of action.

She wondered how she could help Michael. Thank God Nikita was still free somewhere and it wasn't her sitting in that chair facing the torture twins. Options ran through her mind. Was there someway she could break Michael out of here and let him join Nikita?

Just then, she spotted Zalman, who had just exited the interrogation room very pleased with himself. Of course it had been Operations who gave him the key to breaking Michael, but in the end he had gotten the information he needed. He saw Mahleah and gloated a bit. She was one of the circle that had wanted Michael to have his promotion, now she would see who had power in Section and who didn't. After all, she was barely a class one operative.

"Mahleah," he greeted her.

She wasn't interested in pleasantries. "Where's Michael?" she demanded.

"About to be cancelled," he told her with a smirk.

"What?" she couldn't believe her ears. He stepped in close to her, invading her space. "How the mighty have fallen," he chuckled. "Michael just gave me Nikita's location. So much for his infamous resistance although he did last a lot longer than Walter. That poor old man folded like a gypsy amp...."

Mahleah had heard far too much. Looking into his smug, cruel face something in her snapped. He had stepped too far into the kill zone and made himself an easy target.

Her left hand reached down, grabbed his privates and twisted as her right hand grabbed his throat, pushed him against the wall and squeezed. He started turning interesting shades of red and green at the same time.

"Now you listen to me, little man. I happen to care a great deal about both Walter and Michael so maybe I'll just strike a bargain with you: any pain they receive you get back double. How does that sound? Of course, you've already run up quite a tab, haven't you? Is this a good start?" Her left fist clenched and squeezed tighter. He would have squalled but his air was rapidly running out.

Suddenly a voice behind her commanded, "Mahleah, let go of him now!"

Mahleah turned her head to see Madeline standing nearby. She appeared perfectly calm but perfectly firm. Mahleah sighed and released Zalman.

He fell to his knees gasping for breath. After a few seconds, he was able to wheeze, "You're dead. I'll kill you for this."

She mockingly bowed to him, "Anytime you think you're ready."

Madeline spoke again, "Come with me, please, Mahleah."

They left Section's Head Strategist lying in the floor.

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

Madeline was in a thoughtful mood. Something had been wrong about this entire situation from the start. She had suspected that Michael would be a little resentful about losing the promotion to Zalman, of all people. She had observed the new Strategist carefully and concluded he was inefficient, weak, and debilitated by the cruelty of the insecure.

Michael knew he was the better choice, but she had never expected the actions he had taken. Why had he run now when he had endured the loss of Simone twice and the loss of Nikita for six months? Even when he was separated from his son, he had taken no steps to leave Section. No, something was wrong with the plan and now she knew the answer.

She was a little annoyed with Paul for playing this mindgame with her, but she supposed in the end it only lent credibility to the scenario they were presenting George with both their personal and professional relationships. Still, it was a nuisance to waste her time looking in the wrong direction.

In the end, though, this profile had presented her with some interesting data about her favorite enigma, Mahleah Brennan. She stared at the operative before her with fascination. For once, the woman's mask was down and raw emotion ran across her face and through her eyes.

Madeline liked Mahleah as she possessed so much talent, so many skills, and had seemed to let trivial concerns slide away. Now it appeared that beneath the surface was a woman even more complex than she had suspected. The genie was out of the bottle momentarily, and she wanted the chance to study it before Mahleah's self-control kicked in once again.

Mahleah refused a seat. She knew she needed to restrain herself, but she was angrier than she had been in quite some time. It was one thing to put on a mask and pretend to be what Section wanted: it was a role to her, a part she played as she would Lady MacBeth. It was another to ignore the fact that two of her friends had been severely hurt and a third was in great danger. Just when she thought that her grasp on her fury was starting to cool it down, her mind would flash back to the sight of Michael in the White Room and Zalman's sneering face.

"You seemed to have lost control of yourself in the hallway," Madeline pointed out.

Mahleah lifted her chin, "I was expressing my displeasure with Mr. Zalman's gratuitous descriptions of the way he questioned Walter and Michael."

Madeline nodded, "A very effective display, I must say. Communication is a skill you seem to have a mastery of - with or without words. I find myself a little concerned though. Previously you have shown no sign of such emotional outbursts. Is this the beginning of a new trend in your behavior? We encourage operatives to establish friendships with each other. It promotes cohesiveness and efficiency when acting as a team; however, if such bonds become too entrenched they can make you lose perspective."

"Perspective?" Mahleah's eyebrows raised.

"Yes, remember you are not normal people leading normal lives. We fight terrorism and cannot afford to have anyone lose focus on the goals we set for them. You should concentrate on the Copperhead profile. If your personal involvement with Walter is getting in the way of your objectivity, I'd suggest you break it off before serious repercussions ensue."

Mahleah stared at her, "You want me to stop seeing Walter romantically and if I don't you'll punish us?"

"We would hate to lose an operative with as much potential as yours, but ultimately anyone who cannot obey our commands and put Section responsibilities first becomes a liability."

"Fine," Mahleah stared at her, becoming calmer by the moment. "Cancel me."

Madeline blinked. It usually took operatives years to develop the courage to take this route, but then Mahleah had been ahead of the timetable in everything else as well. Of course, she could be bluffing.....Taking a long, hard look into those dark eyes, Madeline knew she wasn't.

"Before you do something rash, perhaps you should consider a few things. For instance, we might decide to keep you and cancel Walter." She saw the fear and fury flash through Mahleah's eyes and smiled inwardly. She had won this round and they both knew it. "Also, while your anger towards Zalman is understandable, it might help you to know that Michael and Nikita's escape was not real."

Mahleah jerked slightly. Madeline saw her processing the information and come to the right conclusion. "You're after Zalman," she stated flatly.

"Yes, we believe him to be a mole for Red Cell."

"So, Michael and Nikita are safe, then?"

"As far as Section is concerned, yes, but the mission is not over yet. Nikita is still out there with the field router and I believe Zalman wants both of them badly. Hopefully, Michael will be able to catch our double-agent in the act."

"He'll need help," Mahleah stated. Her composure was returning, the older woman noted.

"You wish to accompany him?"

"Yes."

Madeline smiled, "I think that can be arranged."