As Michael left Operations' office he let the words run through his mind. "There are not many class five operatives, Michael. You're one of the front-runners to replace me when the time comes." Their encounter after the Belarus mission had been brittle, and Operations had berated him for not asking for assistance. "I have access to resources you don't have." Michael had maintained that he had not needed help, and Operations had chosen to see that as a mistake to be reported and placed in his 'file.'

Michael had known he was taking a risk, when he brought up the fact that he would have to report that both Operations and Madeline were absent from Section at the same time and that there had been no 'mission' requiring their absence. It had also been a risk threatening to use his own resources in order to amend the report. He had gambled and he had won. Operations had retreated. Given enough time, the right circumstances and a soupcon of good fortune, Michael intended to be the next Operations. The attempted coup by Egran Petrosian had shown him that he did not want to take orders from anyone, especially a certain beautiful blonde.

He was a man after all, he admitted to himself, and he knew he was guilty of chauvinistic tendencies. He had a powerful need to be in control of himself, of his life and ultimately of Section One. He also admitted only to himself that he loved the beautiful blonde. He had lied and killed to protect her from the Section, and he would do it again if necessary. It mattered not to him that he withheld his feelings from her 99 percent of the time. The two instances when he had made love to Nikita had been enlightening. He had found that he was still human with a human's heart and emotions. His heart and mind had found a temporary healing in her touch, and in her love and in her vibrant passion.

Michael shook his head as he tried to erase the image of her naked body beneath his. This is not the time to think about Nikita, he told himself. It never seemed to make a difference, what he 'should' be thinking about, for his thoughts always returned to her. When he had left Operations, he had every intention of investigating his competition among the other class five operatives. In less that five minutes, he was mooning over Nikita as if he were a teenager with overactive hormones. Twice in four years he had felt human. Twice in four years he had not felt the shackles that had been placed on him fourteen years earlier. Stop it, he demanded of himself. Keep to the business at hand.

Michael entered his office and entered his class five code into his computer. He pulled a list of all class five operatives. There were four others in the local station and five others throughout the rest of Section One. As he started to access their files, a light tap sounded at his door, and Nikita entered. Merde, he thought. Why now? I am barely able to focus as it is. "Yes?" he said as he acknowledged her presence.

Nikita was dressed in a man's black suit, and her wheaten blonde hair flowed softly to her shoulders softening the masculine effect. "Are you busy?" She looked around and sighed, as she fiddled with the mini-blinds.

"Yes, I'm busy." Michael took the hint. She wanted to talk. Mon Dieu! I want to remove that suit and bury my face in her white skin and touch her silken hair. Michael knew if his thoughts continued in that vein, he would go insane. He reached to turn on his scrambling device, and he hoped that Nikita could not see that his hand trembled.

Nikita sat in her usual spot. "Tell me again, Michael. Why can't we be together? Everyone else in Section seems to be having relationships. Why can't we? I can only conclude," her voice caught, and she had to swallow before she could continue, "that it's you and not Section that's stopping us. Is that true, Michael?"

It was obvious to Michael that Nikita was tired of the feast or famine routine that he had perfected, and she wanted some answers. He knew how difficult it was for her to come to him like this. Unfortunately, he had no answers that would satisfy her.

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

Madeline received a warning on her computer screen, "NOTE: Code Name Lord Byron is accessing all class five operative files." Madeline smiled and deleted the message. So Michael is checking his competition, she thought, and she wondered what motivated that action on his part. Until now he had shown little overt interest in the other operatives at his level. He had interacted with them as necessary, and there had never been any problems or personality conflicts.

She paged Operations and requested a priority meeting for early the next morning. She knew that Operations had left Michael totally in charge of Section One during their rendezvous at the Tower. The crisis in Belarus created by the now defunct and disassembled Brutus had been handled quite neatly by Michael's deft management. It was a little too close for comfort, but the outcome was all that mattered.

Outcomes were all that mattered. She repeated those words to herself. The hours she had spent with Paul at the Tower suite had left her conflicted and uneasy. It was so simple for him to issue an ultimatum, then disguise it as a "request," but she had gone anyway. Madeline sighed. She had been uncomfortable, and she had walked slowly into his presence. The sight of him with his back to her brought a flood of memories to her mind, and the soft torch song he had playing had done the rest. It was the same song that had played during their first mission as they had danced together at a fund-raiser sponsored by a weapons dealer. They had become lovers that night.

It had been so long since she had thought of him as Paul. It had been a long time since their time together, and so many distractions had pulled them further apart emotionally, but circumstances at Section One contrived to deepen their professional relationship. Michael's training had been the decisive factor in their personal estrangement. She knew, too, that Paul had regretted the hasty words that had driven her away, for he had tried to make amends more than once.

Paul loved her, and in her way she returned his love, but never in the way he desired most. Madeline knew that she was Paul's weakness, therefore Operations' weakness as well. She did not want the responsibility of being the weak link in Section One's chain of deception.

Madeline saw a parallel in her relationship with Operations and in the one between Michael and Nikita. Nikita was more like Operations with her passion and impulsive nature, while Michael was more like herself with his stoic and deeply tormented soul. She knew Michael suffered because she did, and she understood how he had separated his life into compartments because that was what she had done in order to survive in Section.

She feared for Nikita, because Nikita lacked the military background that Operations possessed. Life in Section One would always be difficult for Nikita because of that lack. Even Operations had lost all sense of judgment and discipline when she had been kidnapped by Enquist. He had lost perspective and sent half of Section One to stop Michael from completing his mission, which could have resulted in her death. Madeline thought, amazingly, Nikita had saved the day--with her passion for Michael and her sense of fair play, she saved Michael and me.

Madeline sighed again. Too many memories and too much time to think about them. She decided she would simply go home.

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

Michael beseeched the powers that be for someone to interrupt them by knocking on his door, but it seemed in vain, since neither Birkoff nor Walter happened to oblige. He took a deep breath as he said, "Nikita, we have had this discussion before. I don't have anything new to add." He waited for the flames to erupt from Nikita's eyes, and he wasn't disappointed.

Nikita's eyes did blaze, but her tone was exceptionally mild as she spoke. "You know, Michael, there seems to be a gigantic double standard here in Section." She paused and waited for a response, and was rewarded with a look of curiosity in Michael's eyes.

"A double standard? What do you mean?" Michael knew he was inviting trouble by encouraging Nikita to continue, but he could not resist the gauntlet she had thrown.

"Take Andrea Karsov, for example," said Nikita as she leaned forward.

"Andrea? Why discuss Andrea, she's--."

"My point exactly," Nikita interrupted. "Did Section One ever consider that she might have been just fine, if they hadn't had you seduce her. I assume it was Operations' or Madeline's idea and not yours. I mean it was obvious she wasn't interested in seeing you or anyone else, until you brought out your special brand of charm and seduction."

Michael made no reply except for blinking his eyes rapidly for a moment.

Nikita took his silence as a cue to continue her cross-examination. "It seems to me that while I was 'gone' for those six months after the Freedom League explosion, that you were mentally unstable, but no one canceled you. I mean you nearly got your whole team killed in Liberia. How bad do you have to screw up, Michael, before Operations would consider canceling you?"

"Discussing this will make no difference in an outcome that has already been decided. No, it was not my idea to seduce Andrea."

"Andrea only made one mistake, and she's canceled."

"I've already said this discussion is a waste of time. You should be more concerned about your own mistakes."

"My mistakes!" Nikita laughed harshly. "One, coming back to Section and thinking you and I could have some kind of life together. That may have been the biggest. I don't have to have you to have a life, Michael. My other mistake was to believe that if I were 'patient' you would open up and share whatever it is that you've kept hidden. The only time you've shared anything with me, you had amnesia. You know what your other self said to me, Michael. He said to me that you must be a real jerk, and he was right." Nikita could stand Michael's level green gaze no longer. She rose quickly from her chair needing to escape his suffocating presence.

Michael stopped her at the door. Again curiosity drove his response. "What else did I say?" He'd had troubling dreams ever since the incident, and he wanted to know more.

Nikita tossed her hair and said, "You don't really want to know, Michael. You couldn't handle it." Nikita freed the door from Michael's grasp and fled down the hall.

Michael sat down weakly as he tried to remember. He feared the worst, and the 'worst' was that in his emotionally fragile state, he had told her he loved her. That's what his dreams seemed to indicate night after tortured night. The words 'Have I ever told you I love you? I do,' echoed through his mind. If he could only regain the part of his being that had for one brief moment been able to express what he truly felt for Nikita. For once he would have liked to see love in Nikita's eyes instead of disgust or simply desire. Whoever said it was wise beyond belief-- the two saddest words in the English language were 'if only.'

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

Nikita strode down the hall bumping into Walter in the process. "Whoa, Sugar! What's the rush?" he asked. "What are you so pissed off about?" He knew when his Sugar was in one of her moods and what usually caused them.

Nikita stopped to take a deep breath. "Nothing, nothing at all, Walter."

"Ah, a fight with Michael. I see. Now what you need to try next time, Sugar, is an older man, who knows how to treat a hot babe like you."

Nikita snickered, "Yeah, that's just what I need to do, Walter. Let's start right away." Nikita hugged the older operative and kissed him on the cheek. He was gratified that he could still bring a smile to her face and a joke to her lips.

"Nikita, that's all you ever do--talk." Walter shook his head at the only ray of light ever to penetrate the dark underground of Section One.

"Someday, Walter. I won't be kidding," she said as she winked one of her luminous blue eyes.

"Yeah, right, now get outta here."

Nikita continued down the hall and sought the sanctuary of her standby quarters. She was too close to tears to be around anyone else. Walter with his healing personality often brought her closer to her real feelings than anyone she knew. She hadn't believed half of what she'd said to Michael. Andrea had tried to kill him--some mistake. Not that she hadn't felt like it herself a few times, she thought as she threw herself on the bed.

And then there were the other times that she remembered pouring her heart into her diary:

Dear Diary, Tonight I spend another lonely night, wondering if Michael ever thinks of me, if I am not there for him to see. Today I caught him watching me. I recognized the longing in his eyes, but the moment he saw and knew I had seen it, he shuttered those lustrous green eyes with the blank stare, the one that hides less than he dreams. My heart speaks to his, and his heart hears it, but tries to ignore its own response. The blood rushes to my face, and the heat is there for him and anyone else to see. My skin cries for his touch again. Cameras or no, we shared a moment of time and space, of ecstasy and communion, and one that I crave again and again. My mind seeks to know his, a more difficult task than ever I imagined. Whether my light will illuminate his inner darkness, or whether his darkness will extinguish my light, I no longer know or care, for I must persist in my odyssey to know the man. Doux reves, Michel. Nikita

She wondered how she could ever have been so stupid as to believe anything would change in her relationship with Michael. They were farther apart than ever. All he cared about was doing the job and focusing on the mission. There was no room in his heart for her. Nikita felt the tears as they began to course down her face, and she let them fall. Nikita lay on her bed and sobbed as she remembered the gentle Michael she had rescued from Red Cell's torture chamber.

She remembered their dance in her apartment, and how he had lain his head on her shoulder for that brief second before his cell phone rang. She was so close to losing control with him there in her arms, that she had sprinted for the phone the second it chimed.

She remembered pausing before she injected the limbic enhancer into his IV bag. She could have loved this Michael, too, but she doubted her ability to keep him alive much longer. His words as she injected the medication haunted her night and day. Who really said those words of love--Michael or Michael? She had to put that scene behind her. She had tenderly kissed his hand, something she would never have allowed herself to do with the current and real Michael. Who could say which was the real Michael? Maybe at one time, he had been tender and loving, but all she knew was a man who was a master at seduction. She knew the man who had worshipped her body as if it were a pagan temple, and he the high priest who knew every hymn and every rite. How could she trust such a man? More to the point, how could she love such a man? Even worse, how could she not?

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

After Nikita's hasty departure, Michael spent the next few minutes staring at the wall opposite his desk. The words she had thrown in his face made him realize more than ever that he did love her, and no, he couldn't handle it--not as long as they existed in Section One. Nikita would always be a pawn in the hands of chessmasters like Operations and Madeline. A pawn used to manipulate or punish the knight.

In the grand scheme of Section One, Operations was the King, and Madeline was the valuable queen. Michael saw himself as the knight. Walter, perhaps, was the bishop, and Birkoff the rook. Each of them had limitations placed on their moves, as each of them in life had limitations or 'weaknesses.' Nikita was his weakness. At least that's how she was perceived by Operations. Madeline seemed to have had a slightly different attitude at times about Nikita, but Michael knew it was useless to attempt to divine Madeline's rationale for anything she thought or did.

Michael closed his eyes and took three cleansing breaths. As he exhaled he felt his heart rate slow. As he exhaled again, the prickling sensation that affected him, when Nikita was near, ceased. After the third exhalation, Michael opened his eyes and returned to his previous task. He typed in his class five security clearance again and surveyed the results of his previous search. He decided to concentrate on the class five operatives that he knew here in Section One headquarters. He didn't discount the others scattered around the world. They would have to be of high caliber in order to function as autonomously as they did. Still, being under the nose of Operations and the Agency, had to count for something.

Michael was not ambitious for ambition's sake. True, he could easily be classified as a workaholic, and he was truly dedicated to his 'job,' but Michael also believed the only way he and Nikita could have any kind of life was for him to be in control of Section One. Operations and Madeline had managed it for a time before their relationship soured. Michael was also aware that his special training sessions with Madeline were the reason that Operations and Madeline had quarreled. Section One had been very tense for several months, but eventually the two had finally developed a working truce.

Since that time Operations had kept him under a watchful eye. Michael knew that Operations resented him, as much as he respected and needed his abilities. Michael also knew that Operations' remark, 'you are one of the front-runners....' could simply have been an attempt to manipulate him into conforming to his wishes. Michael didn't take his future position for granted. That was why he was accessing the class five operative files. Intel is power. That had been Madeline's modus operandi for years, and it was his as well.

He knew his security access would not allow him to delve as deeply as he desired without leaving traces. He was sure Madeline or Operations already knew of his interest. There was no harm in that, but he would have to figure a way to hack in to psych-ops files that Madeline guarded so carefully.

The list scrolled: Marcus Redmond, Terrence Carey, Judith LaFontaine, Desmond Black were the local class five operatives. Michael decided to investigate the international ones after all. Italy-Silvia Damico, England-Jonathan Dwyer, France-Pierre LeBlanc, Africa-Isaac Agbenohevi, and Balkans--Korda Coriascue--NOTE: Intel just received that Coriascue was lost in a mission that same day.

Michael was not heartless. He wasn't relieved that there was one less C5 operative. He had met Coriascue and knew him to be a valuable asset. Section One would have to replace him quickly. Michael began highlighting and downloading all available intel about each C5 op. to a zip disc. He planned to take the intel to his quarters and study it through the night.

As he turned to leave, he saw Nikita standing silently in the doorway. His breath caught in his throat. She was a vision of peppermint candy in a simple pair of red slacks topped by a loose fitting red and white striped sweater. Her blonde hair fell softly to her shoulders. Mon Dieu, he thought. She doesn't play fair.

Nikita gave a shy, uncertain smile as she asked, "Want some coffee?" She knew she was crazy, obsessed even, but she had to be near him, even if only for coffee.

It was as close to a peace offering as he would ever receive from her, and he considered the damage that would be created by the rebuff that was on his lips. Another, 'I'm busy," would sink any remnants of their relationship like the Titanic. He considered maybe that would be the best thing for both of them. He looked into her face and saw the lower lip that barely managed to keep from trembling and said, "Sure."

Nikita restrained the double-take she felt. She had watched his face as he had considered his options, and if she had gambled on his response, she would have lost. Instead she smiled the age old smile of all women who succeeded in spite of their self-doubts. It may have been a small victory, but Nikita counted it all the same.

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

The dark coffee shop, which only 2 years before had been the scene of their only other outing for coffee, was now bright and trendy. People bustled around and ordered more and more exotic versions of the once simple drink. Michael shrugged. "Do you still want to have coffee?"

"Yes." Nikita looked around, as if expecting someone to be watching. "We could go back to my place. I have coffee." Nikita smiled as she remembered another visit for 'coffee.'

Michael hesitated, knowing what going back to 'her place' could mean. It would be nearly impossible for him to leave. His desire and passion had not diminished over time. It had only increased, making his self-control tenuous at best.

Nikita saw Michael's hesitation, and the words slipped out before she could stop them. "It's all right, Michael. Forget it." She turned away so that he could not see the emotions that she knew were too apparent in her face.

"Nikita," he said as he touched her shoulder gently. "Your place will be fine."

Nikita turned to him. "Are you sure?"

Michael knew Nikita had asked about more than coffee. His answer was conflicted, "No, but let's go anyway."

* * *

All the way to Nikita's apartment, Michael remembered the healing peace of being joined with Nikita, and he remembered the agony of separation. The thought that each time might be their last haunted him--plagued him unmercifully. Being with her on missions and not touching her was exquisite torture.

David Fanning's rude question had touched a raw nerve. 'When you and Nikita are on missions, how often do you have sex?' The hit man hadn't had a clue to the difficult dynamics of Nikita's and his relationship. Almost everyone in Section assumed they were having an affair, when the reality was the opposite.

Nikita's thoughts were as tortured as Michael's. She gave herself a pep talk. Just because he's coming back to your apartment for coffee, do not assume or expect anymore than that. Don't act seductive. It'll drive him away. Make the coffee, drink it, and let him go if that's what he wants. Oooooh, what does he want? Does he even know? Do I even know?

Michael knew what he 'wanted.' He wanted a different life, and he wanted Nikita in that life; however, Michael was a realist. Section One was the life he had been given, and Nikita had been given to him as his material, but she could hardly be considered his material now. She was a team leader in her own right, and he wondered how much longer he would be able to have any influence over her often impulsive actions. She was independent, but she always had been. Her strength and her goodness pulled him from the dark path he had chosen, and her emotional fragility touched him in a place he had thought scarred and closed forever.

Nikita thought that she wanted to be able to be with Michael 'sometimes.' She relished her independence and knew that a full-blown relationship in or out of Section One seemed impossible. She thought about how cold he was to her on missions. A look or a touch that acknowledged what they had shared--would that be so difficult to manage, she asked herself.

Michael thought about the recent mission to Glasgow, Scotland. He and Nikita had spent an entire night alone doing 'surveillance,' while Section One had been invaded by an anthrax variant. Their colleagues were sickening and dying, and all he could think about was sweeping the equipment off the table and taking Nikita right there. He had tried to sleep while Nikita monitored the intel coming from Section, but it had been useless. He had closed his eyes, but even more vivid images of Nikita had taken the place of the living breathing woman in front of him.

Four-twelve, the numbers on the door loomed at them. Nikita unlocked the door, and they walked into her apartment. Michael suppressed a shiver as he crossed the threshold. Had he danced with Nikita here, recently? The image was fleeting, but vivid none the less.

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

Nikita turned on the light in the kitchen area, then went about lighting the many vanilla scented candles that were positioned everywhere in the apartment. Michael, for want of something to do, wandered into the kitchen. "Want me to start the coffee?" he asked.

Nikita looked up in surprise. She'd already forgotten they were supposed to be having coffee. The memories from Michael's last visit to her apartment kept intruding into her conscious mind. She could not forget how he had asked her to dance and how she had barely maintained a semblance of self control with a tender and gentle Michael in her arms. Two sides of the coin--unable to be separated without destroying the value of the whole. She had wanted that tender Michael to make love to her that day, but she wanted the Michael, in front of her now, even more.

Michael had been a tender lover, but the angst he seemed to endure afterwards always tinged their partings with a bittersweet flavor that haunted Nikita's thoughts and dreams.

She watched as Michael busied himself with the coffee preparation. "Would you rather have tea?" he asked as he watched her restless movements around the room.

"No, coffee will be fine." Nikita settled to perch on the edge of the couch.

Michael poured two cups of steaming coffee and carried them on a tray to where Nikita sat. He remembered that when Nikita drank coffee, she drank it sweet and light--like her nature.

Nikita took the cup of coffee with hands that could not conceal the tremor her whole body felt.

"I was here recently, wasn't I? When I lost my memory, I mean," he asked her softly as he sipped his coffee.

"Yes. I brought you here to keep Section from knowing your memory had been altered. You were very tired, and needed to rest."

"In your bed. I had a dream about being in your bed, alone."

Nikita swallowed, "Yes, that's right."

"Tell me. Show me. My mind and memory are so confused about that time. I think it would help, if you did."

Nikita found it difficult to meet Michael's gaze. The last thing she wanted to do was verbalize the circumstances and emotions of his last visit. She swallowed a sip of coffee.

Michael saw her hesitation and took the cup of coffee from her hand. "Show me," he said.

Nikita took his hand and led him up the stairs to her bedroom. "I brought you back here, and you slept for several hours. When you awakened, you asked if we shouldn't notify you family. When I explained the reality of Section to you, you were confused and upset. You kept asking me questions about yourself. There were things I didn't know." Nikita rushed the details. "You asked me how long I'd known you. When I told you three years, you wanted to know why I didn't know you better, I told you it was hard to understand. That's when you said you must be a real jerk.

"What did you say to that?" Michael kept looking from her eyes to her mouth and back again.

Nikita looked at the floor. "I said, 'Actually, I was quite fond of you.' Really, Michael, I don't see the point of all this rehashing. Either your memory comes back or it doesn't. It won't make any difference in the long run."

"We didn't make love, did we? I think I would remember that, but I remember you brushing the hair from my eyes."

Nikita took a deep breath and answered, "No, we didn't make love. You were in no condition to be making love or anything else. You'd been tortured and drugged. I'm not that desperate for your touch, Michael." She decided to continue with telling him what had been said. Maybe it would keep him quiet. She couldn't stand many more of his soft probing questions. "You asked me what would happen if you didn't get your memory back, and I told you they would kill you. That's when I brushed your hair back. You were upset and compared yourself to a caged animal. You said you couldn't live like that. I told you that you had no choice."

"After that I drew a blood sample to have analyzed for what type of agents they had used on you. Then you were called in for the mission in Luchenwald where you were shot. The rest you pretty much know. I injected you with the reversing agent, and you came back with your memory." Nikita glossed over what she couldn't bear to repeat.

"No, there's something else. Did we dance? I remember dancing with you there in the living room," he protested.

Nikita's blue eyes were shiny with unshed tears. "We danced for a moment, then your cell phone rang."

"Show me," he said as he led her down the stairs to the living room.

Nikita sighed, "Michael, this is too much. I can't."

Michael put his arms around Nikita as he had before. "I need to do this, Nikita. I need to put the dreams to rest," he said as he pulled her closer to his chest. He could feel her heart racing, as he knew she must be able to feel his. He lay his head on her shoulder. It felt right and familiar. Nikita clung to him as the tears started to course down her cheeks. This time the dance was not interrupted by a ringing cell phone.

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

They continued to dance to music only they could hear. "You wouldn't let me kiss you. Why?" he asked as memories of another self returned and merged with the memories of his present self.

"I didn't want to take advantage. That Michael wasn't really you. It didn't seem right." Nikita shook her head, unable to express anymore of the emotions that overwhelmed her.

Michael kissed the side of her face, where he remembered trying to kiss her before, and tasted the salt of her tears. "Nikita, I can't make you any promises. I can't say there will ever be more than what we have already had. I wish I could, but I can't."

"I know, Michael, but we can have tonight--if you want, that is." Nikita wasn't sure if she could take his rejection again, and she was uncertain what his response would be.

Michael took Nikita's face in his hands and gave her a tender kiss. "Nikita, I want tonight even more than you do," he whispered. He wanted to cleanse the images of Lisa and Andrea from his mind. While having sex with them had been necessary, two such episodes so close together had awakened his sleeping, sensual nature. Since Simone's death, he had lived in sexual denial much of the time, except for his two times with Nikita. He had regretted having to seduce Lisa Fanning a second time, but he would have seduced Operations, if necessary, to save Nikita from David Fanning.

Seducing Andrea had been even more problematic, but it had been his assignment, and he had no choice. There may have been some truth to Nikita's accusations that Andrea might have been all right, if he hadn't seduced her. He would never know. Andrea had attempted to kill him after he rebuffed her, and she had been canceled.

But he had a choice tonight, because Nikita had given him one, and she would always be 'his' choice. Michael lifted Nikita and carried her to the bedroom. Nikita wrapped her legs around his waist as she captured his lips with her own.

Michael want to throw Nikita on the bed and claim her once again as his own, but he restrained this wild impulse. He lay her on the bed with tenderness, kissed her again and began to remove her sweater with slow, languorous movements. He kissed each inch of ivory skin as it was revealed.

Nikita's turquoise eyes locked with his green ones. She reached to remove his long black jacket, which Michael shrugged off with ease. With his left hand he removed the black tee shirt, while with his right he unbuttoned the waist band of her red trousers. Nikita giggled, "I guess there are advantages to being ambidextrous, aren't there, Michael?"

"Uh hmmm," was his only reply because he had begun to devote himself to kissing her round breasts. Her skin was soft and smooth under his hands. Her body firm, resilient and inviting had cast its spell over him long ago, but it was her inner goodness had kept him bewitched and bedeviled since their first meeting. Making love to her was an exalting experience, no matter the circumstances.

As Michael's attentions to her body intensified, Nikita's mind disconnected, and she became a creature of sensation and emotion. When Michael made love to her, she knew it was love and not mere sexual gratification. She might have doubts in the cold gray halls of Section One, but never when she was in bed with him.

Control and technique fled as the intensity of their passion mounted. Michael and Nikita climaxed swiftly, for their need for each other was great. Michael was sweaty and trembling as he collapsed and cried Nikita's name again and again. His wavy hair clung to the side of his face, and Nikita brushed it back with a loving touch as she gasped for air and moaned, "Michael."

Eventually, they were able to breathe again, and Michael started to speak, but Nikita shushed him. "No, you don't have to say anything. No expectations, no disappointments, Michael. We have this night. I won't ruin it by asking for what you can't give."

Michael rose on his elbows to look into Nikita's face. "Nikita, I would give my soul to give you what you want, to give you what I 'need' to give you. I just don't know when, or if I ever can."

Nikita knew this to be the only truth that he could give her. "I know, Michael. I know."

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

At 4AM, with great deliberation Michael eased out of Nikita's bed. He was accustomed to awakening at that time every day, but he saw no pressing need for Nikita to have to keep such early hours. He stood and watched her as she slept. He was always entranced by her beauty, and it never mattered to him what kind of 'get-up' she wore. Michael thought that she had never looked any lovelier than she did at that exact moment. Her blonde hair spilled over the pillow, and a slight smile was still on her lips. He wanted to caress her face and even made the motion to do so, but stopped himself. Let her sleep, he thought. Let her dream the way I wish I could.

Even in her somnolent state, Nikita noticed Michael's absence almost immediately. When she opened her eyes, she saw him watching her. She also saw the emotions in his eyes, and her heart was touched and warmed by them. "Michael, are you leaving? It's early yet," she murmured, as she reached for his hand and gave it a soft kiss.

Michael was unable to restrain a second time his earlier impulse to caress her face. "Sorry, I didn't want to disturb you, but I always go in at this time. Go back to sleep. You won't be needed there for hours."

Although he knew it would make it much more difficult to leave, Michael sat on the bed as Nikita cuddled closer to him for a moment. "I have to go. Uh, there were some files I intended to read last night," Michael said as he stumbled and hesitated, uncertain of what to say and afraid of hurting her feelings.

Nikita, however, still basked in the glow of their love-making. "I have your number, Michael. Go on, go to work. I'll see 'you' later," she promised him with more than a suggestive hint. She rolled to her back and began a languorous stretch that she hoped would entice Michael. Nikita could see that her gambit was successful. After all, Michael hadn't bothered to dress yet. Nikita giggled, as she turned her back to him and pretended to go to sleep.

Michael could feel that his body had betrayed his feelings again and gave her a pat on the derrière. "Nikita, you don't play fair."

With the sweetest expression imaginable on her innocent face, she turned to him and said, "I know," and pulled up the sheet. "Now go. I'll see you later, and I promise to be on my good behavior. I won't compromise you with Operations and Madeline, and I won't accost you in the darkened back corridors, unless you want to be accosted, of course-."

Michael interrupted her silliness with a kiss and a soft, "Nikita. Hush." He turned to leave, and Nikita stopped him.

"Michael, you really ought to put on some clothes before you leave," was her insolent parting thrust. Michael's look of chagrin delighted Nikita, as much as his lovemaking had--almost.

Nikita's giggles followed him as he hurriedly dressed and left. The sound of her giggles made his heart lighter and gave his step an indefinable spring. As he closed the door to her apartment, he stopped and said, "Merci," with a breathless sigh to whomever might be listening.

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

At precisely 4:45AM, Michael walked down the steel gray halls of Section One and into his office. One of the reasons he preferred an early start to his day was the silence. It enabled him to think without distraction or interruption. It was usually like this, unless there was a major mission on tap. With fewer people to get in his way, Michael could accomplish mountains of paper work. Walter, another early riser, would not be here before 5:30 or 6:00.

Michael's fingers flew as he keyed his security code into the system. He had a flashing email. That meant a priority message from Operations or Madeline or another Class 5 operative. Michael opened it at once. Oddly, it was not from Operations or Madeline, but from Terrence Carrey. C5 ops. normally operated autonomously--not from Section, but from each other. Given the responsibilities that C5 ops. had, there was little time for socializing. They all knew each other, and some had even been on missions together in earlier days, but at that level there was little interaction.

"Please see me when you arrive. It is urgent. Tell no one. Carrey," was the cryptic message. Michael accessed the file he had on Carrey. 41 years old, previous field experience with CIA until felt too 'difficult' to control. Recruited in 1983. Many successful missions. Fluent in five languages. Damn! Michael thought, there is very little intel in these files. He had known that much about Carrey without accessing the file. Well, best to see what he wants. What better way to assess my competition.

Michael walked with brisk strides to Terrence Carrey's office and gave a tap on the door. When there was no response, Michael opened the door. Whatever Michael expected to see, it was not Carrey with his arms flung wide and his brains splattered over the wall behind the desk. There was no point in checking for signs of life. Michael took note of the 9mm lying on the floor where it had been dropped. Michael had never figured Carrey for a suicide. Michael, being careful not to touch anything, used his cell phone to call Operations emergency number.

Michael spoke with urgency. "Come to Carrey's office. He's dead. Looks like a suicide."

Michael shut the door to Carrey's office and stood to secure the room, while waiting for Operations. Two C5 ops. lost in two days. Michael wasn't certain that he believed in coincidences. Time would tell if they were related.

Six minutes later Operations came puffing around the corner. "What the hell's going on here Michael? Are you sure he's dead?"

"Of course," said Michael, answering the second question first. I found a priority email from him when I arrived this morning. I went to see him as requested and found him like this."

"Did you touch anything?" Operations demanded as if Michael were an incompetent rookie cop.

"Of course not." Michael chose not to be offended by Operations' heavy-handed manner. He knew that Operations was more than surprised by Carrey's suicide.

Madeline chose this moment to make her elegant entrance. Every hair was in place, and no wrinkle dared show its face in her apparel. "Michael, is it true?" she asked.

"Yes." Michael had learned self-restraint at Madeline's behest, and he used it against her now. He had resented her mission profile to test Andrea Karsov. Anyone could have accessed Andrea's private files. It didn't have to be him, but the test had been for him as well. Madeline had wanted to see if he would let his feelings for Nikita interfere with the mission. Madeline should have known better. If fact, he was certain that she did. She had tried to drive a wedge between Nikita and him by having him seduce Andrea. This after allowing him to spend six torturous nights with Nikita during the Armel mission.

"I'll call housekeeping, but have them do the routine investigation first. We should follow procedure, no matter how obvious it looks. This is only the second suicide we've had on the premises in all these years. Isn't that amazing?" Madeline asked, not expecting an answer.

"Yes, it is," Michael said.

"We'll debrief you, Michael, in 30 minutes," Madeline added as she left for her office and her well-secured psych files.

"Of course," was Michael's standard reply as he turned to leave.

Operations paced back and forth before the door of Carrey's office. Something bothered him about the circumstances. Carrey had not seemed the type to take his own life. There had been no warning signs. He looked speculatively at Michael's back as he walked down the hall. Surely not, he thought. Surely not.

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

For half an hour, Operations had paced back and forth in the hall outside Terrence Carrey's office, as Hector from Housekeeping collected evidence. His need to smoke a cigarette was almost unbearable, and he toyed with the slim brown weed that he usually carried. Luckily, he carried no matches. "How much longer is this going to take, Hector?' he asked as he stood in the open door.

Hector in his paper gown and rubber gloves gave Operations a look of distaste. "The physical gathering of evidence will take another hour or two. Med lab will remove the body for autopsy. I assume there is 'someone' here qualified to do one." Hector's voice dripped with sarcasm. He knew that Section One had its 'resources,' but he had always felt 'above' the petty professionals brought in under blindfold to do a one-time job.

His special skills, honed as a member of the police force of a small suburban hamlet, had brought him to the attention of Section One, when he had been arrested for systematically ridding the town of its worst problem citizens.

"Let me know when the body has been moved to the morgue and all the evidence collected. I have to attend a debriefing." Operations spun on his heel and headed to Madeline's office. Hector had always given him the creeps. He was a necessary evil in Section One, but Operations didn't have to like him.

Madeline nodded as Operations entered. Her brown eyes were troubled, as she asked, "Do you think Michael had anything to do with Carrey's death?"

Trust Madeline to come straight to the point, Operations thought. "It doesn't seem like something Michael would do. What do you think? 'You' know him better than I do."

Madeline's face showed that she was giving great thought to her answer. "Given Michael's sudden interest in access the C5 op's. files, I am puzzled by the coincidence. Your recent exchange with Michael about him being one of the front-runners to take your place may have been the impetus for his accessing the files, but we need to carefully consider and weigh the consequences of having a rogue operative in our midst."

Operations laughed aloud, "Hell, I've told them all that at one time or another. It keeps them on their toes, thinking they might be the one."

Madeline smiled her mysterious smile. "Did it work with Michael? Did it keep him in line?"

Operations, as he remembered Michael's challenge, had to admit, "No, it didn't."

Madeline smiled again. "My point exactly." She took a deep breath and continued, "If Michael is set on eliminating all his competition, you might be on his list as well. We've already been through one coup attempt, and I would hate to see us surprised by another so soon."

Operations was stunned at Madeline's bald statement of fact. "We can confine him quite well here. Yes, that might be the best way to go."

Madeline shook her head. "I think we need a little more intel before we do anything that rash." Madeline had purposefully needled him about making emotional decisions since her kidnapping, and her comments to Nikita about Operations' mistake had been true. Operative in Section were not there for each other. "Let's debrief him first."

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

Michael stood waiting until Madeline and Operations were ready to see him. His senses were acute and focused on his upcoming debriefing. It was a simple thing he had done--finding Carrey's body. He had carefully not touched anything. All the same he would be glad when the session was over. Finally, Madeline's door opened with its usual silent efficiency. Michael walked in with his usual graceful stride and said, "You wanted to see me?" He stood with his hands folded in front of him and waited for their onslaught of questions.

Madeline looked at Michael with her flat brown eyes. She had trained him well. He stood before her as evidence of that training. His perfect posture, his composure, and the folded hands were all hers. His blank stare was his own, refined and polished by pain. Its purpose was to never to let anyone know his real feelings. If Michael had known how expressive his eyes were, he would have walked around blindfolded.

"Michael, tell us in your own words how you came to find Carrey's body. Don't omit anything."

"I came in at 4:45AM to go over some files. I found a priority email from Carrey on my laptop. He asked that I see him immediately. I went to his office and found him. I called you. I didn't touch anything. I remained there until you arrived some five or six minutes later. That's all."

Michael's debriefs were always the epitome of clarity of speech and simplicity of delivery. Madeline was impressed and gratified, for she had taught Michael that the most convincing lies were those that contained an element of truth.

"You came from your standby quarters or your apartment?" she queried.

"Neither," Michael responded, who was determined not to volunteer anything he considered unnecessary.

Madeline raised an eyebrow at his cryptic answer. "Would you mind telling me where you were last night?"

"Yes, I would. It was personal and had nothing to do with Section One." The last thing that Michael wanted the pair to know was where he had been and with whom he had been. He didn't want Nikita tarnished by his brush with coincidence.

Madeline blinked. "Well, we can let that go for now, but we may need to revisit the question at a later time." She looked at Operations, who had been extraordinarily quiet through her whole interview. He nodded his head, for her to continue, indicating with his silence that he would remain an observer.

"You didn't touch the body?" she probed.

"No."

"Nothing in the office?"

"No.'

"How long were you in his office before you called Operations?"

"Thirty seconds at most."

"Tell me again your reason for going to his office."

"I had a priority email from him requesting me to see him urgently. It should still be filed in lap top."

"Well, Michael. It isn't, and there is no record of an email being sent from Carrey's computer either. You do see my problem, don't you Michael?" Madeline asked with her enigmatic smile which chilled more than it warmed.

"What? I never deleted it. Even if I had, it could still be recovered." Michael was concerned, and while he understood that Madeline had to be thorough, he didn't appreciate being the focus of her scrutiny.

Operations spoke for the first time. "Michael, consider yourself on close quarters stand by until otherwise notified. I will accept your word of honor that you will remain away from the scene of the investigation and that you will not interfere in anyway."

Michael was incredulous that they were confining him to quarters. Apparently, they suspected him of responsibility for Carrey's death, and they had no other viable suspect.

A sudden dryness caught the words in his throat, as he answered, "Of course."

"That'll be all, Michael." Madeline noted his difficulty in speaking and was pleased that she had been able to rattle Michael.

Michael pivoted and strode from the room.

Operations turned to Madeline, "Well, what do you think?"

"I haven't decided yet. It's too soon."

Michael continued his walk down the hall. He turned with automatic precision to return to his office, then thought better of it. His office would be part of the investigation now, he knew. He felt powerless, even helpless, and these were unusual feelings for him and ones that were uncomfortable in the extreme.

As Michael continued his journey to him quarters, he saw Nikita coming towards him. He saw her smile as she saw him, and he knew he had to warn her away from him. She would hear the news soon enough.

Nikita's heart raced at the sight of him. The memory of their lovemaking was fresh in her mind and body, as she reached for him.

"I'm busy," he said as he brushed past her and continued on his way. He had to protect her now and explain later.

Nikita's sharp intake of air told Michael, he had probably wiped away all the progress they had made the night before. His heart ached and his feet wanted to turn around so that he could apologize.

Nikita watched Michael as he strode down the hall without giving her a backward glance. I will never understand him, she thought, if I live a thousand years. What the hell is going through his head now? This was a dance they had danced one too many times. Her angry stride down the hall in the opposite direction mirrored his.

**********

Birkoff saw Nikita taking long brisk strides past Systems. "Nikita!" He motioned for her to come near. Birkoff was anxious to tell her about Carrey's apparent suicide. His movements were animated as he switched his weight from one foot to the other.

With another rebuff from Michael fresh in her mind, the last thing Nikita wanted to do was talk to anyone, but Birkoff was one of the two exceptions that she would consider making. In her present churlish mood, Nikita still managed a smile for him. "What is it, Birkoff? I'm in a bit of a rush." Actually, Nikita had no where to be, but she had simply wanted to be where Michael was, but his response to her in the hallway had taken all the joy from last nights encounter and trashed it quite effectively.

"Harikari, committed suicide sometime last night or early this morning," Birkoff said, using Terrence Carrey's nickname. "But Operations and Madeline have been questioning Michael about it. Something's fishy."

"Carrey's dead? They're questioning Michael. Why?" Nikita was leaning very close to Birkoff as she asked. "Why would they suspect Michael, if Carrey committed suicide?"

"Michael found him, and something about his accessing Carrey's file recently. I don't know, but I don't like it. They're acting like they suspect him of something more. They've had me remove his security codes and access from the entire system, and they're having me download all the files on his laptop to theirs." Birkoff shook his head in disbelief. "Nothing like this has ever happened here before."

Nikita said in a quiet measured tone, "I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding. As soon as they do a little investigating, they'll see that it was a suicide attempt all along." There was no need for Birkoff to be so agitated. They would both have to keep clear heads, if anything else should be revealed by the investigation. "Where's Michael?"

"I dunno. In his quarters, I guess." Birkoff turned back to his task at hand. Many of Michael's files were encrypted, and he would be hours trying to break that sophisticated code.

As Nikita walked toward Michael's stand-by quarters, she understood Michael's previous behavior. He had been attempting to protect her yet 'again.' The one thing she knew was that Michael had a 'need' to protect her. Whether that need was because he loved her or because she represented something else indefinable to him, Nikita didn't know. She also knew that he had not killed Carrey. She knew Michael could kill ruthlessly on a mission without a millisecond pause, and she knew he would kill to protect her, but to kill another operative and attempt to make it look like suicide didn't seem like something he would have done.

Nikita could not eliminate from her mind the haunting specter of both Michael's in her bed. Last night it had seemed as if there were layers and dimensions to Michael's lovemaking that she had never experienced in the two other encounters they had shared.

Their night in Lyon, France aboard the deserted ship, had been full of long-denied passion and the desperation of two lost souls, his and hers, merging and struggling for completion.

They had joined like elemental beasts in a forest primeval, and it had been a life-altering experience for Nikita, who had accepted that Michael was her master, at least in passion.

The knowledge that they would soon have to part had filled that night with intense highs and crashing lows that had only been surmounted by ascending the heights again.

Their second night together had not been so private. Nikita shook her head as she walked. She still couldn't believe that she and Michael had made love while under surveillance for the Armel mission. For five agonizing nights she had lain in the same bed with Michael, barely touching. For five tortuous nights they had kissed good night like a sweet little married couple and gone to sleep on opposite sides of the bed. More than one morning she had awakened to find herself on Michael's half of the bed and Michael in the shower or having coffee--anywhere but near her.

She had surmised from the first night that he had no desire to make love to her. His perfunctory excuse for the cameras about an injured back, had taken the pressure off their need to 'perform,' but Nikita's very skin had cried to be caressed by his hands. It had seemed on the fifth night that Michael's hands had been a little more adventurous and seemed as if they had wanted to linger beneath the duvet, but Nikita used the injured back excuse against him that time.

The sixth night, well-recorded on videotape for the whole fu**ing Section to see, had been encouraged by Madeline. "Studies show that young married couples who have been married under five years have intimate relations at least twice a week." Well, talk about encouraging a thief to steal. Okay, Maddy, she had thought as she walked with composure out of the office. You want to see some intimate relations. You're going to see some intimate relations!

Michael had been cautiously reluctant, but had responded nicely to her need to relax. Once he had started touching and kissing her, she had forgotten the surveillance cameras in her desire to join with him again. It had been months since Lyon, and it might be months again. There had been no semblance desperation to color that encounter, but there had been plenty of passion, hunger and even laughter that night.

Nikita stopped and leaned her back against a wall. She could almost feel his hands on her now. She took a deep breath to try and regain her composure before seeing him again. He didn't need her to be acting like a love-starved nymphomaniac. He needed her help now, not her body.

Ken Stiles walked by and saw Nikita leaning against the wall with her eyes closed and fanning her face with her hand. "Are you all right, Nikita?"

Nikita's eyes jerked open with surprise. "Yes, of course. Thanks."

Nikita swallowed and resumed her trek to see Michael. Through the twisted corridors of Section, Nikita finally found herself at the door to his quarters. She took a deep breath and knocked.

**********

Michael paced his quarters, back and forth. He had never noticed how small they were before. They had always been a convenience, and now they seemed a prison. He was not locked in, but he still felt like a caged animal. He had been locked out of the computer system, and he had no way of accessing his files. There was nothing for him to do but pace, and Michael had difficulty in withstanding the inaction. He had always been a creature of action either physical or mental. His quarters contained no TV, but many books; however, he was too restless to concentrate on the printed word.

Michael could barely admit to himself that he was offended as well. He felt he had served Section One well, and he had suffered unimaginable losses in that time. He felt he deserved the benefit of a doubt. It seemed to him to be the perfect irony that they were treating him like the criminal he was. He wondered if his quarters were under surveillance and assumed they were. He blamed himself for being unprepared for 'any' eventuality. He had no scrambling devices to secure the room. He supposed that someone in surveillance was having the dubious honor of watching him as he paced. Michael's frustrations continued to mount as he contemplated the unrelenting powerlessness of his situation once more.

A sharp rap a the door diverted his attention. "Michael, it's me,"

As much as Michael desired Nikita and felt a driving need to see her, he didn't want her involved. "I'm resting. Go away, Nikita," he said with abrupt measured tones, all the while, his heart cried, 'don't go.'

Nikita kicked the door in exasperation, "Open the damn door, Michael!" she shouted. "You can't do this by yourself--and you don't have to. Let me in."

Michael knew she wouldn't go away, and he was relieved. He knew he needed her help, but he hated admitting it even to himself.

"Are you --" was the start of another demand for Michael to open the door, but it opened slowly. Michael stood there, dressed in his usual black attire. His eyes were suspiciously shiny, but nothing else in his quiet demeanor disclosed his inner turmoil. Nikita walked into his quarters and flopped into the white molded chair. "Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten us into, Michael," was her insolent challenge as she looked at him with blazing blue eyes.

"Us?" he replied. "You're not involved in this at all. You need to stay away from me is what you need to do." He looked at the ceiling at the obvious surveillance cameras.

Nikita could not believe her ears. She hissed, "You were with me most of the night. I'm your alibi, whether you like it or not, Michael."

Michael used his eyes to deter her from any more declarations, but it had no effect on Nikita. "They have to know you--"

Michael stopped her words by grabbing her and kissing her. As he nuzzled her neck, his whisper was terse, "Shut up. I'm only trying to protect you. They don't need to know where I was. They've already heard too much," he said with a hoarse plea in his voice.

"Tough," was her reply as she bit him on the ear. "I'm going to see Madeline now, and there's not a thing you can do to stop me. I mean, you can't even shoot me in the leg, 'cause I'll bet they took away your gun," she said as she gave him her million watt saucy smile.

Nikita's sarcastic reminder of one of his threats on a prior mission was another sarcastic jab--irritating, but without any real sting. "Fine. Do as you wish." Michael said as he folded his hands in front of him and looked away from the face that figured in his dreams.

Nikita rose and looked over her glasses at him. "I will," she said as she walked out the door.

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

The sun shone in a dappled pattern through the ecru lace curtains that adorned her boudoir, and Judith La Fontaine luxuriated in the tactile sensuality of satin sheets. Only minutes before she had bade her married lover farewell. As a C5 operative of Section One, she was quite circumspect with whom she shared her body, and she was careful never to target anyone who would make demands on her limited time. At the slightest sign of an imminent emotional entanglement, Judith terminated the relationship.

Her current lover was typical--professional, handsome, and married.

Lovers fitting that profile made the fewest demands. The current man was so self-absorbed in his career, he had never bothered to ask about hers. Judith had only made one mistake in her years in Section One, and she was lucky to have survived it. She had been young and foolish, for she had coveted Operations at a time when he and Madeline were going through their difficult patch over Michael. At the point when Operations had appeared to be most receptive and even agreeable to her pursuit, Madeline had appeared at her door in the middle of the night. Madeline had brusquely warned her of all the incidents that could befall a cold op. Judith, who was no shrinking violet, had felt the chill of Madeline's words deep into the marrow of her spine. Madeline's eyes had been flat and her voice robotic as she discouraged Judith from getting involved with 'any' colleague. Madeline had turned on her heel and left as quickly as she had come. Judith remembered locking the door and leaning against it as her heart pounded. She had known the threat was neither idle nor empty, moreover, it had sounded more like a promise that Madeline would delight in keeping.

Judith's chilly reverie was interrupted by a knock. Martin coming back for more, she wondered. She quickly pulled on a long, ivory satin robe and tied the sash loosely. The reflection in the mirror pleased her still, even at 40. Auburn hair hung smoothly to her shoulders, smooth ivory skin, clear blue eyes and a body that had retained its tone by the lifestyle requirements of Section One.

With movements slow and languorous, she shuffled her way to the door and opened it wide. Only her eyes had time to react, and they opened in surprise at the sight in front of her. The shotgun blast into her mid-chest blew her ten feet back into her apartment, which had been a monochromatic study in ivory.

Now the pale ivory contrasted with the spreading crimson pool that flowed from her massive chest wound. The shooter nodded in satisfaction, dropped the gun beside LaFontaine's body and left with silent measured movements.

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

Birkoff continued to work through the day on Michael's files and his frustration level was at its peak, when he received a urgent communication from Marco, who, as part of his Section training, was currently assigned to routine operative surveillance.

Marco, a former police detective recruited by Section One after Nikita became involved in the investigation of a serial killer, was shouting over the comm. "One of your C5 ops was just murdered in her apartment. Someone blew her away as she answered the door." Marco's excitement was tangible. Here was something he was already trained to do and he was ready to do it, if they would only let him. He rewound the tape again, and saw that the angle of the camera did not show the perp at the door. All he could see was LaFontaine walking toward the door, then heard the blast and saw her body flying into camera range again.

Birkoff knew the only local female C5 op was Judith LaFontaine, whose reputation was almost on a par with Michael's. She had been beautiful, cold and relentless with little of Nikita's heart. He was stunned, but not enough to forget what needed to be done next. "Get me Operations now," he demanded into his comm set.

"What is it Birkoff? We're awfully busy right now," was Operations terse reply.

"Judith LaFontaine has been murdered at her apartment. Surveillance caught the act, but not who did it. Shotgun blast! Police will be crawling over the place if we don't hurry, sir."

Operations looked at Madeline. "Someone has taken out Judith at her apartment." Madeline's only response was a raised eyebrow.

"Birkoff, dispatch housekeeping ASAP. We have to contain this. Get me George at the Agency, right away, Birkoff." Barking orders came naturally to the ex-Army officer.

"Yes, Sir!" Birkoff was so snappy in his reply, his mental salute could almost be heard. Birkoff set in motion the mechanisms to contain this disaster. If housekeeping didn't arrive in time, Section One was in danger of being compromised by a mere police investigation.

Madeline, who had been sitting quietly through the exchange, said, "We need to call everyone in, Birkoff. We also need to investigate the death of Coriascue as well. I know that was supposed to be a mission loss, but I want full details on my desk by midnight."

Operations looked a little ragged around the edges. The loss of three C5 ops in twenty-four hours and another one suspected was more than he had ever thought he should handle in a routine day. "What the hell is happening here? Is this an internal or external threat?" His expression was weary as he looked at Madeline for her interpretation.

Madeline, too, was tired, for she had not slept since the call about Carrey's suicide. "It's still too soon to tell, but we need a priority briefing with all the C5 ops, international as well. You know this could get worse before it gets better."

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

With blonde hair flying behind her, Nikita was an avenging fury as she made her way to Madeline's office. She knew Operations was bound to be there, since he wasn't watching over them like Zeus on Mt. Olympus.

Nothing Michael had said would deter her from providing him with an alibi for the night before. As many times as Michael had lied to save her, she would see to it that this time the truth would save him instead. The very idea that they had restricted him to his quarters infuriated her beyond belief. It was obvious to her that Operations and Madeline had no sense of loyalty to the operatives they oversaw. At the first sign of trouble, they quietly withdrew into their private domain to spin further webs of deceit and manipulation.

Nikita punched in her access code and was rewarded by the opening of Madeline's office door. Operations and Madeline looked at her with twin looks of exasperation as she entered.

"Nikita, is this important?" was Madeline's soft question.

"It damn well better be, Nikita," was Operations terse challenge.

"It's damn important! You have Michael confined to quarters, and I'm here to tell you he was with me last night." Nikita's start had been brave, but years of hiding her feelings diminished the last half of her sentence both in volume and enthusiasm.

"What?" Operations asked unable to believe his ears. Michael had spent the night with Nikita. What the hell was Michael thinking? Was it some ploy to destroy her compassion. Obviously not working, he thought. Here Nikita was defending the 'innocent' yet again.

Nikita swallowed, stared at them both and repeated, "Michael was with me last night--till after 4AM." Operations steel gray eyes were boring through her as if to dissect her heart from her chest. Damn, she thought, Michael was right. I should have kept my mouth shut.

"That's lovely, Nikita. Thank you for giving Michael an alibi, although I doubt he would appreciate the consequences, if it were true."

Operations did not doubt Nikita, but he was not inclined to deal with the consequences of her truth, certainly not now in the midst of three dead C5 ops.

Nikita felt her face flush as the blood rushed there with the increase in her blood pressure. By the time Nikita could speak, she was in Operations face. "Thank you? You damn well 'should' thank me! You're treating the best operative that Section One has like he's a murderer without one shred of evidence. You ought to be damn grateful he was with me."

Operations was taken aback, and he was incensed. Nikita had been in his face many times, but never in quite this loud and belligerent manner. "I'll give you leave to remember where you are and who you--"

Madeline sighed and stepped between them. "Emotions are high. Both of you need to reconsider and step back. This furor isn't solving anything. Nikita, another C5 operative has been murdered, and there is no doubt this time that she was murdered. As she was at her apartment, and Michael was here, he is no longer a suspect at this time.

However, we will 'all' have to keep our heads in order to find the solution, without any further loss of life."

It was Nikita's turn to be taken aback, "Judith?" After receiving a silent nod from Madeline, Nikita was speechless for a moment. Madeline's eyes prodded her by looking from her to Operations. "I'm sorry, I was only trying to--"

"Help Michael." Operations finished for her. "Yes, we're well aware of that, Nikita. And there will be further discussion of your relationship with Michael at another time," he promised with a forged-in-steel smile.

Madeline spoke up before the situation could escalate again, "That will be all, Nikita."

Nikita turned to leave, but paused on the second step. "What about pulling O'Brian in on this? He was a homicide detective, for heaven's sake."

Operations raised an eyebrow, in surprise at her suggestion. Why hadn't one of them thought of it. Nikita might actually be worth something as an operative someday, if she could ever overcome her emotional tendencies. He turned to Madeline, "Do it."

Operations turned and nodded to Nikita, "Thank you. That was an excellent suggestion. That will be all."

Geez, Nikita thought as she left. Damned by faint praise again. I hope I haven't loused up Marco's day, as well.

**********

After Nikita swept from the room, Michael continued to pace from one side of his quarters to the other. He knew if he had to stay confined much longer, he would surely decompensate. He feared she would make things worse by offering to alibi him for the night before. If they bothered to believed her at all, it would then be impossible to deflect Operations' and Madeline's queries into their relationship. Nikita's rash action would ruin everything he had hoped to accomplish in the future. His frank denials to Operations would no longer be accepted.

In the past, Michael had told himself that the possibility of a relationship with Nikita still existed, as long as he continued to lie to Operations and there was no direct evidence of the relationship.

Michael also worried that Nikita's patience would grow weary of waiting for the right time. Today her impulsive rush to 'save' him would aim the spotlight dramatically on them both. This was what he had sought to avoid with four years of lies and manipulations so that Nikita might survive the rigors of training and missions. Michael had seen her potential from the first meeting, but as his feelings for her had become so entwined with his very being, that he had engineered every circumstance available at his command to ensure that she more than survived--she excelled.

She was the most frustrating recruit ever given to him for material. He had told Operations once that she was different and that she was strong.

No one since Simone had touched him inside where his shackled and case-Hardened heart beat. He knew he had not deserved to receive love again.

Daily after her arrival, he had been transported and, yes, frightened as well, that he could feel love for the most disruptive and vulnerable female to ever walk into a briefing in Section One. Her breathtaking beauty dazzled all who saw her, and he had been more vulnerable to her beauty and apparent goodness than any.

'Hoist on his own petard," was a phrase that often echoed through Michael's head. Attempting to seduce her into the ways of Section One, he had been seduced by her beauty, by her light, and by her passion. Headlong into hell of self-torment, he had flung himself. It was Michael's hell of denial, where he had attempted to counterbalance his need for her with his need to control her.

Michael's torment was interrupted by Madeline's soft voice over the comm system. "Michael, briefing in five minutes."

"Of course." Michael took a deep breath, attempted to compose his thoughts, and buttoned his jacket with a practiced movement of his left hand as he walked toward the briefing area.

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

Marco O'Brian received the call from Madeline as he sat on an uncomfortable stool in surveillance with his eyes glued to the screen.

Housekeeping was already there at LaFontaine's apartment--in record time, he noted. He wondered why the police had not been called and supposed that a call from 'someone' to another 'someone' about a federal case could circumvent the usual procedure for a 'while.' His perpetual habit of running his hands through his hair left it in a continual state of disarray, and todays events had increased his air of nervous agitation.

"O'Brian, you are to report to me immediately. We want to use you for our internal investigation of recent circumstances."

"All right. I'll be there," was O'Brian's response. Madeline smiled at how different he was from the taciturn Michael and wondered how long it would take O'Brian to change, or if he would be able to change.

O'Brian presented himself with an eager ready-to-go attitude. His appearance was slightly rumpled, so different from Michael's usual state of immaculate elegance, Madeline mused as she continued her comparison of the two men.

"Okay, what do you want me to do? I'm ready," Marco blurted. He knew he was probably pathetic in his eagerness to do something 'real' for a change. He was tired of shooting at hologram terrorists.

Madeline smiled. "You will coordinate with Hector in Housekeeping. He has collected the evidence in Carrey's office and is in the process of doing the same in LaFontaine's apartment. You will report to me. Birkoff will assist you with any computer analysis or files that you need. If you wish access to anything that is beyond Birkoff's clearance, you are to come to me. Is that understood?"

Marco smiled, "Yes, Ma'am. Thank you for letting me do this." Marco didn't know what else to say to Madeline. She was certainly an awesome woman. She had power, femininity and danger written all over her.

Powerful women could be as seductive to men as powerful men to women. He wondered what she would be like in bed and remembered what he had learned in school about female spiders and preying mantises. Nah. Better not go there.