Out of habit, Michael surveyed the room, looking for any hidden surveillance cameras. He did not dare assume that because he saw none, that there were none. The furnishings were elegant and understated, a mixture of period and Japanese black lacquered pieces. While there were no windows five hundred feet below ground, he could see that an enviable attempt had been made to give the appearance of windows. Frosted glass had been back-lit, and luxurious window treatments adorned these ‘windows.’ The lighting system was obviously a very sophisticated one and set to a timer, so that the various colored lights mimicked the coming of the dawn and the setting of the sun. The system was also apparently able mimic the length of daylight, so that the changes of the seasons were reflected in the subterranean world of Section One.

Michael marveled at the pains Madeline had taken to make her quarters comfortable and a reflection of herself. The lighting system was symptomatic of her need for control, and he did not doubt that she could also command rain and lightening at her whim. For now, the lighting system was set for a colorful sunset. Michael turned and smiled at his ‘hostess.’

“You like my new toy, Michael?” she asked. She had changed into an ivory kimono with bronze embroidery that was tied loosely at the waist. Her soft auburn hair waved in a loose fall to her shoulders. She held her hand toward him and led him toward the sofa. She settled comfortably on the sofa, but Michael seemed reluctant to be led.

“Yes. It’s remarkable,” he replied with genuine admiration. His eyes continued to search for surveillance equipment.

Madeline caught his eye movements and gave a soft laugh, as she tossed her head back showing an elegant, swan-like neck.. “No cameras. No critique, Michael.”

Michael’s lip quirked in his characteristic half smile. “Can you blame me?” he asked softly, as he remembered the less than salutary training experience of years before. She had been merciless in her review of his skills as a lover. He had suffered from a terrible infatuation, and she had crushed his ego without a qualm, or so it had seemed to him at the time.

Madeline gave him her tried and true Mona Lisa smile. “That was different. It was a necessary part of your training, and,” she gave a brief pause for emphasis, “it was difficult for me as well.”

Michael returned her open gaze with one of his own. “It seemed to me that you enjoyed it.”

Madeline restrained a giggle, “Did you make a joke just now, Michael? I’m never really sure with you. Yes, I did enjoy your love-making. Of course, it would have been inappropriate and detrimental to the training process at the time to have told you so.”

Michael looked at the floor before responding, “It wasn’t a joke then. You broke my heart,” he said softly as he let his eyes enjoy the sensual woman before him.

“Well, I’m not in any danger of doing that now, am I?” she asked in a soft throaty voice that said she desired him on whatever terms.

“No,” he responded, as he joined her on the sofa and began to caress her neck and shoulders. As he began to lose himself in sensation, he was remained unsure why he had allowed himself to come to her this evening. Perhaps, it was gratitude or a simple need for the comfort she seemed to be offering. It was certainly less than love.

**********

Nikita strode into Munitions and slapped her ammunition belt and holster on the work table. She was still dressed in mission gear, but she had taken the time to loosen her long blonde hair. Walter took the 9mm from her. “So, I heard the Moroccan mission went well.”

Nikita shrugged, “Yeah, it went well. We achieved our target, and did it quickly. I might actually have some downtime coming.”

The troubled look that had been in Nikita’s eyes for months was still there, and it prompted Walter to ask, “So, when are you going to quit moping over Michael and get a life?”

The idea that Walter thought she was ‘moping’ over Michael disturbed her. She covered by giving Walter a wink and a smile, “What makes you think I haven’t? Maybe I’m waiting for you to grow up, Walter.”

“That’s my sassy, Sugar. That’s the girl I’ve been missing.”

Nikita assumed a haughty posture and said with the most solemn expression she could manage, “Walter, you really are behind on the women’s movement, aren’t you? I’m a woman, Walter, not a girl.”

Walter chuckled at Nikita’s pretense. “Yeah, that’s right! What a woman.”

Nikita gave Walter a small conspiratorial smile and leaned toward him, “Can you keep a secret, Walter? I have a date tonight.”

“No! And the lucky bastard is?”

Nikita put her forefinger to her mouth and shushed him, “That is the real secret, Walter,” as she proceeded to whisper the answer in his ear.

“’Bout time! But do you think he’s cuter than I am, Sugar?”

“Nah, he just has more hair.” With this gay riposte, Nikita smiled and sashayed from Munitions, leaving Walter once again to shake his head. He hoped like hell she was going to be all right, and he hoped that Michael would rot in hell for breaking his Sugar’s heart one time too many.

***********

The coupling that occurred between Michael and Madeline was more of a well-choreographed pas-de-deux between two well-trained dancers than the mating of two finely honed athletes. Time seemed to slow for both of them, and sensation began to take hold of them. Soon the dance became one reminiscent of Stravinsky’s Firebird.

Memories and complications of the past evaporated as the two luxuriated in their passion, extending each touch, prolonging each kiss, savoring each new taste. The exact mechanics of transfer from the living room sofa to Madeline’s bedroom would forever remain a mystery to them. It must have been magic that transported them from one to the other. Michael remembered kissing Madeline’s neck while they were sitting on the sofa, making love on some higher plane of sensation, and then awoke to find Madeline lying next to him in her bed. He’d had nothing to drink and decided that after several months absence of sexual relations, the sex act itself could be a drug--and not a bad one at that.

Madeline lay near him, neat and composed in sleep, as she had not been in passion. She was not sprawled over him like he had always found Nikita after their too few encounters of love-making. He and Nikita had made love, while he and Madeline had made something, but he wasn’t sure what. He stirred in the bed, and he felt Madeline awaken. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to waken you,” he said softly.

“What time is it?” she asked as she gave a tiny yawn and scooted closer to his side.

“Two AM.”

Madeline gave him a knowing glance. “Post-coital angst, Michael?”

Michael returned her look, “No.”

“It’s certainly understandable. You’ve been through a lot this last year. Did you have it when you were with Nikita?”

“Is this an interview, Madeline? Am I being graded after all?”

Madeline smiled at him and said, “No. I was curious. From certain surveillance tapes, I noticed that invariably you appear to suffer remorse after intimate relations. I wondered if it were different with Nikita, since it has been obvious to me that you have been in love with her.”

“I don’t want to talk about Nikita. That’s over--whatever it was.”

“Why are you here, Michael?”

Michael thought for a moment and knew his answer might not please her, but it would be the truth. “I needed to be close to someone. Not someone new, someone familiar. It seemed like you sensed it, too. And I was grateful that you allowed me to see my son. After seeing him and not being able to touch him, I needed to touch someone and be touched, not just physically but on some emotional level.”

Madeline nodded, “Why not Nikita?”

Michael shook his head. He would not speak of her in another woman’s bed, and he would not dishonor what he felt for her.

Madeline seemed to understand and put her arms around Michael’s neck. “Come to me,” she said as she began stroking him into a fevered response, that startled the two of them with its intensity. It was a primal mating of male and female, straining and sweating until an explosive climax drained them.

* * *

At five AM, Michael had showered and dressed. Madeline lay still asleep, dark shadows beneath her eyes and lips swollen and tender from their ecstasy. Michael closed the door to her quarters behind him and started to return to his own. As he turned the corner, he met Operations.

“Michael?” Operations said. He was startled to see the younger operative in this particular hallway at this time of morning.

“Yes?” Michael responded with a blank stare.

The reality of seeing Michael obviously leaving Madeline’s quarters was bitter. “Nothing. There’s a briefing at eight. Will you be prepared?” Operations attempted his own version of the blank stare. Gray-blue eyes met crystal green ones, and neither blinked.

“Of course. Is there anything else?” Michael asked.

“No. That will be all.” Operations watched Michael continue his confident stride down the hall. Madeline was sleeping with Michael, and he wondered for how long and how he could have been so blind.

*********

Nikita shook her long blonde hair to her shoulders, and sighed. This was the fourth style she’d tried in the last hour, and it was going to have to do. She was running out of time. Her ‘date’ would be here any minute. God, the thought of having a real date was radical, not since Jurgen.... Better not to go there she thought, as a troubled frown crossed her face. Tonight is not about the past, it’s about the future, or tonight at the very least.

She was determined to put Michael out of her mind and life. Well, realistically, he had taken himself out of her life, but that still left her mind, where only with great effort had she been able to push him to a recessed corner. Thoughts of him only crossed her mind when she was at Section, went on missions, saw him, heard his name, ate Chinese food or breathed.

Her date had pursued her steadily, but with reserve. He was aware of her history with Michael and had tried to be her friend, when she would let him. They’d had coffee a few times, and he’d listened. He knew about her life on the streets, her mother and her mother’s boyfriends, and her early days in Section. He’d listened to her talk about Michael, too. She had not been able to say much about the silent and dark operative, because the pain was still too sharp; but he had listened with a sympathetic ear.

Finally, she had accepted his invitation to dinner, and she was in that insane process of trying to decide what to wear. Her hair and makeup were done, if she could only pick out a ‘look’ for the evening. Actually, she simply wanted to look like a normal woman going to dinner with a normal man, although neither of them were exactly normal. Normal people don’t work five-hundred feet below ground and fight terrorists on a planet-wide scale.

Once again, Nikita surveyed her wardrobe and wished she’d had time to go shopping for something new, that didn’t remind her of Michael. No black, that’s for sure, she thought. Nothing like a little black number to remind me of him. She pushed hangers aside and found exactly what she’d been seeking. She had bought it at a vintage dress shop weeks earlier and had forgotten about it. She had never worn it, and more importantly, she had never worn it with Michael.

She carried the white dress over to the mirror and held it in front of her. Yes, it was exactly right. Nikita smiled at her image in the mirror. Nikita removed her bathrobe and shimmied into the dress. Shimmy was the right word for the 1920’s flapper dress with dropped waistline. The length barely skimmed her knees. It was fun, and it was perfect for tonight.

The doorbell rang, and Nikita took one last look in the mirror. Okay, she thought, I look pretty okay. She ran happily for the door and opened it. A tall blond man with a square chin, blue eyes and dimples stood there holding a bottle of wine. “Hi, Tip. Come in.”

He grinned at the lovely woman in front of him. “Nik, you look beautiful.” He was awe-struck. She was so beautiful it hurt him. It hurt him to see the sweetness that Section had not been able to eradicate from her soul. He handed her the bottle of wine and could not resist placing a kiss on her forehead.

“Uh, I guess I’d better chill this,” she responded, suddenly not sure if she were really ready for a date, after all.

“Yeah, that would probably be best,” he grinned.

“Am I going to need a coat?” she asked, playing for time.

“It’s turning a little cool,” he responded. He could see that she was suddenly nervous and wondered if it were a simple case of first date jitters or something more.

Nikita flashed him a quick, nervous smile and handed her light wool coat to him. He took it and placed it on her shoulders being careful not to caress her as he did. He didn’t want to rush her. That she was still too vulnerable was painfully obvious to him.

“Let’s go. Our reservations are at eight,” he said hoarsely.

Nikita nodded. Together they walked down the hall--to dinner and what else?

Neither of them knew, but for the moment dinner was a first step.

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

The tuxedo-clad waiter stood waiting for an answer, “Madame, for dessert you will have?”

Nikita paused, her eyes twinkling as she looked at Tip Wellesley, “I really shouldn’t, but I think I will have the Mousse Chocolat.”

“Tres Bon, Madame.” Pierre bowed and left them to admire his majestically stride, and Nikita dissolved into giggles.

“He’s grand, isn’t he, and I’ll bet he’s from the Bronx or somewhere else that mundane.”

Tip grinned at her outrageous evaluation, and the skin around his blue eyes crinkled attractively. “You should be more respectful, Nikita. Pierre is the maitre’d, and should be treated with the utmost dignity. I may have to report to Madeline that you need a refresher class in proper deportment.”

The smile that had been on Nikita’s face the entire evening, faded. “It was a joke, Tip. I know how to act in public.” Tip’s remark had hit too close to home and reminded Nikita of that time too many years ago when at a dinner much like this one,Michael had told her that Madeline had taught her well. Tonight, she simply wanted to forget there was a Section One.

“Nikita, I was joking, too. I’m sorry.” Tip reached across the table to touch her hand. “Really.” Nikita attempted another smile, but Tip could see the hurt still there in her eyes, her luminous blue eyes.

Nikita fiddled with the linen napkin in her lap, straightening the non-existent wrinkles. “I guess I need to lighten up a bit. I’m so used to falling short of what Madeline expects of me, any mention of her--well, you’ve met her. You must know what I mean.”

Tip smiled again, “She’s a scary lady, all right. Beautiful, but deadly, I think, given the opportunity or necessity.”

Nikita frowned as she remembered Madeline canceling her own husband, Charles Sand. “You have no idea how deadly, Tip. No idea whatsoever.”

“And you do?” he asked.

“First-hand knowledge, believe me.” Nikita replied, then softened her face with a smile, “Need to know basis only.”

“Of course,” he said tersely, but with the same twinkle in his eyes, followed by a wink of his right one.

Nikita wondered if all Class Five Operatives used the same ‘Section Speak.” Except for the accent being English instead of French, Tip sounded remarkably like Michael with his curt response. ‘Of course,’ Michael never followed his with a wink.

An absurd idea occurred to Nikita, and she proposed, “Maybe there should be a manual written for lower level operatives, detailing appropriate answers when dealing with superiors. “I’m fine” means “I will recover from this sucking chest wound in a matter of hours.” “You wanted to see me” means “What do you want with me now you slimy, slave-driving SOB.”

Tip was charmed by Nikita’s sense of humor and by her on-target characterizations of Class Five operatives. He responded in kind, “How about “Sorry, we had to cancel your Mother. It wasn’t personal” means “Watch out, Bozo, you’re next for abeyance.”

Another shadow crossed Nikita’s face. Tip could have kicked himself for bringing up the word ‘mother,’ given his knowledge of her history. “It would be really funny, if it weren’t so close to home,” he said, reaching for her hand again.

“Ah, here we are, Madame.” The splendid Pierre stood and served Nikita with a flourish.

“Merci, Pierre,” Nikita said as her blue eyes widened at the sinful confections before her. Mousse Chocolat and Tip Wellesley were both looking very yummy at the moment.

*********

The Mousse Chocolat was history, and Tipton Wellesley stood at Nikita’s door. He was entranced by the lovely young woman in front of him, but he knew her pain remained close to the surface, and he feared rushing her would push her in the wrong direction.

Nikita, too, was ‘conflicted.’ She wanted to invite him in to sample the wine he’d brought earlier, but did not want her invitation to be mistaken for more than it was. Her heart rate increased as she deliberated, and a pink flush rose from her neck to face.

Unable to stand the awkward silence for another second, Nikita said, “Uh, the wine--would you like some wine? I mean would you like to come in--for some of the wine you brought?” ThenNikita gave a small nervous laugh. “I don’t guess I could mangle the invitation anymore than if I tried.”

The Brit’s deep voice rumbled with good humor, “Ah, the age old question. Do I ask him in or not? Well, to answer. Yes, I would like some wine, and to answer the unasked question. No, I don’t expect more than that.”

Nikita looked at him sharply. “Tip, are you sure you’re a real Section operative? You seem too damn nice.” Nikita unlocked the door to her apartment. She’d left one soft light burning, and the ambiance was immediately one of intimacy. Too intimate, Nikita thought as she busied herself with turning on several more lights.

Tip’s already deep voice, deepened further as he said, “Why do you say that I’m too nice, Nikita. Just because we all started out as murderers, doesn’t mean we aren’t able to evolve into something else. Maybe I wasn’t so bad to start.”

“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t prying. I think I meant to say that this night seems so normal, and I’m not used to normal.” Nikita’s face was now a brilliant red, the bane of all very fair-skinned women, as she had a brief image of the last time Michael had been in her apartment--and bed.

Tip was on the verge of asking Nikita what ‘was’ she used to, but managed for once to say nothing instead. She was a breath-taking beauty, but still so wracked with emotion over Michael that he knew instinctively that this was not the time to press his suit. He accepted that he was fortunate she consented to have dinner with him.

“Nik, I’ll have some wine, and then I’ll go.” He wanted to touch her hair or caress her bare shoulder, but did not dare. He had thick blond lashes that, as he looked at her through them, gave him a puppy-dog expression.

Nikita took a deep breath, “Maybe I don’t want you to leave. Maybe I don’t know what the hell I want.”

Tip shrugged and gave her a puzzled grin. “I’m yours to command, Nik.”

Nikita smiled and said, “I like the sound of that.”

************** Nikita’s grin grew wider as she considered ‘commanding’ him. “Since you’re mine to command, pour me a glass of that wine,” she said with a wink. There’s more than one way to exorcise a memory, she thought. More than one way, and two of them are right in front of me in the form of a bottle of a nice Beaujolais Nouveau and one Tipton Wellesley. Nikita decided she had done without long enough, and once she had made up her mind, she acted. She took a sip, then drank deeply of the 98 Nouveau, then placed the glass on the counter. “Refill, please.”

Tip promptly complied with a look of surprise on his face. He wondered what she was thinking, but only for a moment.

Nikita quickly drained the second glass of wine and said, “Take me to bed, Tip.”

I’ve got to get Michael out of my mind, and I’m going to do it tonight, she thought. I’ll make new memories for this apartment, and soon the old ones will fade from my mind and ...from my heart. She watched him and waited to see his response to her new ‘command.’

“Is that another command, Nik?” This side of Nikita was certainly not what he expected.

“Yeah,” she said in her husky voice, as she walked closely to him and put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “It is,” she added after breaking the kiss.

Tip pushed her away, “Are you sure, Nik? There’s no rush. This could be the wine talking, and you might regret it tomorrow.” It took all of his self-control, but Tip managed to counsel wisdom.

Nikita’s hurt erupted in a rush. “Tomorrow? Tomorrow we could be killed on a mission. What’s the matter, don’t you want me either?”

Tip took a deep ragged breath. “What man in his right mind wouldn’t want you. You’re beautiful and desirable and somehow still innocent. What’s this about, Nik? Is this about us or about trying to forget Michael?”

“Tip, there won’t be an us, if I don’t forget Michael. I need you to put him out of my mind, to erase the memory of his touch. And you’re wrong, I’m not an innocent. I haven’t been innocent in years.” To prove her point, she began unbuckling Tip’s pants.

As aroused as he was, Tip was taken aback by Nikita’s bold action. “Nik!” He grabbed her hands and brought them to his lips and placed soft kisses on their backs. “You’re going to hate me in the morning, if we do this tonight. I don’t want you to hate me, and I don’t want you to do something you only think you’re ready to do.”

Nikita jerked her hands away. “Get out of here, now,” she said coldly. Why she expected anyone to care for her, she didn’t know. Her mother hadn’t loved her, why in hell would anyone else.

“No, Nik, I’m not leaving you like this. I don’t know everything Michael did to you, but he must have been some twisted SOB to hurt you like this. He must have been stupid and blind.” Tip held Nikita in his arms and walked her to the blue sofa and made her sit. Walking over to the kitchen, he asked, “I’m going to fix you some--coffee, tea?

“Tea,” she said, then the tears began to trickle down Nikita’s cheeks. “Yeah, stupid, blind, twisted--that’s Michael all right,” she began with her lopsided grin, as she sniffed.

***********

Operations rushed down the long corridor toward Madeline’s quarters. He was furious, and he was intensely jealous. He stopped at her door to take a deep breath, as he tried to consider what he should say and ‘if’ he should say anything. He knew his own impulsive nature and was aware he could make his relationship with Madeline worse by saying the wrong thing. He’d certainly done it before.

He tapped at her door. No answer. He knocked louder. No answer. With angry jabs of his forefinger, he entered his access code to her quarters. No response. Finally, he heard the answering beep and knew that Madeline had unlocked the door. He entered with a touch of trepidation.

Madeline walked out of her bedroom in a thick, white terry cloth robe, with a similar towel wrapped around her head turban-style. “Good morning. You’re here early.

What’s up?” she asked with her matter of fact style.

Operations had completely forgotten his original reason for coming to see her. After a brief pregnant pause, he said, “The Rimsky profile is completed. There’s a briefing at eight.”

Madeline gave him a quizzical smile and gave a slight yawn. “There is email, you know.”

Operations could not help but notice that dark circles stained her eyes and there was a slight red rash along the lower jaw and neck . “You look lovely this morning, Madeline,” he said as he reached to touch her elegant jaw line. Damn, he wasn’t lying. Except for her circles and rash, she looked radiant. Her eyes even sparkled.

Madeline raised an eyebrow, as any woman just out of bed would, at his compliment. Something was bothering Paul, and she wondered if he had met Michael in the hall. Perhaps, he had. Madeline gave an inward smile. The session with Michael had gone well, better than she had thought it would. It had been their first time to be ‘together’ in years. Their initial session had been adequate and satisfying, but it had not been the ‘elemental’ Michael; however, the second round had been quite elemental, and he had shed formal technique for a more primal expression of passion. That he had called her ‘Nikita’ at the zenith of his ardor told her that he had experienced a release of great magnitude. She doubted he had any idea of his lapse.

Operations watched Madeline during this brief reverie and knew exactly what was going through her mind--Michael’s lovemaking, of course. The cat-like smile on her face told him how satisfying it must have been. For the moment, he hated her, and he hated Michael and wished with all his heart that he could tear the younger operative limb from limb. He knew he would have to be more subtle than that, but he also knew that subtlety was not a major factor in his nature.

Madeline cleared her throat. “Is there anything else?”

Operations could barely speak, for he wanted to shout. “No. See you at the briefing. There may be some changes.”

“Changes?”

“Yes, changes.” Operations turned on his heel and left.

Madeline nearly laughed as the door closed. Her plan was coming together quite nicely, but she did wonder about his ‘changes.’

**********

As Michael walked away from Operations, he considered what effect the early morning meeting might have on his relationship with the head of Section One. The relationship between Operations and Michael had always been one fraught with tension. Michael knew that Operations held him to a higher standard than any other operative. Michael knew it and accepted it because of the standard he set for himself, but there was more to the tension than standards.

As a new recruit, he had not been aware of the relationship between Operations and Madeline, for he had been too busy trying to survive his training with Jurgen. When he had been given to Madeline for special training, Michael had at first been surprised at what the Valentine training entailed. Then he had become mesmerized by the lovely Madeline, who at twenty-eight had been enchanting, graceful and the most sensual woman he had ever encountered. She had tortured him with lessons in the art of seduction without ever allowing him to do more than touch her, and then only as she instructed.

This torture had lasted for months, or so it seemed. Then one magical night she had allowed him into her bed, and he had been initiated into a realm of passion that he had never dreamed existed. It all came crashing around his head the next morning when she presented him with a stroke by stroke video critique, and asked him for suggestions on improvement. When he had none to give, she launched into a two hour lecture before she would allow him to escape, red-faced and sweating to his quarters. He remembered that he would have rather had Jurgen beat him to a pulp than see that surveillance tape one more time.

That had been his first time with Madeline and his last until the previous night. Madeline, however, had always maintained a proprietary air around him. It was later that he heard through the Section rumor mill that Madeline and Operations were lovers. Michael had noticed an increased coolness emanating from Operations, who had not ever been a warm, fuzzy person.

During the ensuing years, Operations had seemed to put aside the knowledge of Madeline’s and Michael’s one night. Now, however, what would his response be? Michael had mixed feelings about Operations as well. At times Operations was a father figure to him, who guided him and prepared him for leadership. Conversely, Operations had also tested him in situations with Nikita and berated him when her performance was not exactly as it should be.

Ah, Nikita, he thought. His experience with Madeline had assuaged his need for comfort, but not his need for Nikita. She was a flame that flickered in his mind and heart, and he wanted more than anything to see her. She had been ‘very’ busy on missions and had not been assigned to his team. Michael had thought it would be easier for both of them, if they didn’t have to interact on a daily basis. He had kept to himself in his office or in his quarters when not on missions. She did not seek him in either place, and he was relieved.

He knew he could continue to work and perform to Section’s expectations, as long as he knew that Nikita was alive and well. He did not have to have her at his side. If he felt slightly incomplete without her there, that was his problem.

Where things would go with Madeline, he did not know or care. He would take her comfort when it was offered, as long as there were no price tag attached. He was human, after all. At least Madeline was safe from the devastation that seemed to affect everyone else that cared about him. And his heart was safe this time--safe because it was already irreparably broken.

*********

A happy, but confused, Nikita walked into Section for the 8AM briefing. She’d never been with anyone quite like Tip Wellesley. They had talked into the early morning hours as they cuddled on the sofa and sipped the tea that Tip kept producing as if he were some type of demented waitress. She had never felt so treasured or cosseted. Yes, cosseted was the right word.

Before he left her, he had told her about his recruitment into Section One. He had been a DC (District Constable) in his small town in Northern England. His much younger sister had made his life hell by turning to drugs and finally to prostitution. A vengeful junky, she had embarrassed him on the force more than once, but he still loved her. When her dealer and pimp decided she was more trouble than she was worth, he gave her a ‘hot shot,’ and she had died. Dottie had been Tip’s only remaining family, and he had found the dealer and killed him, in front of a dozen irrefutable witnesses.

Nikita had been afraid to tell him her own story, so had said nothing, but Tip had told her that he’d seen her file, and he already knew that she had been recruited as a ‘cop-killer;’ but that he also knew that it had to have been a mistake. He’d been around murderers all his adult life before and after Section One, and he’d never seen one like her. Nikita had dissolved into tears and into Tip’s arms.

Kisses had come as tender reassurances, and hunger had come with them. As their need for each other’s comfort grew more fervent, Tip hesitated long enough to ask, “Are you sure?” Nikita’s response had been to nod and indicate what she wanted him to do next.

“Good Morning.” Michael’s soft voice said, as Nikita bumped into him.

Nikita was startled out of her reverie. “Uh, good morning.” She looked away from Michael and slumped into her chair at the briefing table. Damn, she thought. Was Michael going to be part of this mission? Why today after all this time? She didn’t want to look at him, much less be on a mission with him, but she had to know if he’d been able to see his son yet.

They remained alone for the moment, so she asked, “Is Sean all right? Have you been able to see him?”

Michael replied, “Yes.” He was not happy to see Nikita at the briefing, but knew it had to happen sooner or later.

Nikita took Michael’s taciturn response for granted. “Good,” she responded in the same terse manner.

The other members of the team began to assemble, and Nikita and Michael were both spared the need to make polite conversation. At the last minute, Tip rushed to take a place at the table, just before Operations and Madeline appeared.

*********

Operations wasted no time in starting the briefing. He punched a button on the holograph remote, and the ascetic face of a man appeared. “Ivan Rimski is Undersecretary of State for Poland. He is in the possession of some indiscreet letters from a shall we say ‘friendly’ government’s head of state to the wife of another friendly government’s head of state. Their disclosure would more than likely bring down the already beleaguered leader. It is to the advantage of the Agency to see that this does not happen, both for security, political and financial reasons. These letters are held in Rimski’s quarters in the Polish Embassy. We will need to infiltrate and retrieve the letters.”

Michael looked at Tip and asked, “Is there some reason two Class Five operatives are needed on this type of covert mission?”

Operations, who hated to be interrupted, replied, “Yes, and if you give me time, I will explain. Rimski’s wife Teodora is the link we need to access the letters. We have intel that she is amenable to seduction, but is eclectic in her preferences. Section One has decided to give her a ‘choice.’ Michael, you will be an attaché from the French Embassy. Tip, you will act as his body guard. Nikita, you will be Michael’s wife. Teodora Rimsky may prefer ‘any’ one of you.” Operations delivered this coup-de-grace with a ‘wolfish’ smile. “Any questions? The remainder of the profile is downloaded in your PDA’s. There is a state dinner at the Polish Embassy tonight. Have fun and get those damn letters. No mistakes.”

Nikita barely held back a muttered expletive.

Madeline, who now knew the ‘changes’ had involved adding Michael to the mission, asked, “Problem, Nikita?”

“No, not at all, but I would like to talk to you later, if there is time,” Nikita replied.

“Of course. My office in thirty minutes.” Madeline rose and glanced at Michael, who attempted to maintain his blank stare with effort, but she could see the troubled expression in his gray-green eyes.

Operations anxious to regain control of the briefing added tersely, “Mission leaves at 2000 hours. That will be all.”

Michael rose and turned toward Nikita, to reassure her about the upcoming profile, but she was already standing at Tip’s shoulder.

“It’ll be all right, Nik,” Tip said in an attempt to placate her.

Nikita gave a hesitant smile and glanced toward Michael, “Sure. We’ll be one big happy family. Michael, are we on standby till 8PM tonight?”

“No, just make sure you’re back by 1800, but this profile doesn’t allow any margin for errors, so take time to study it.” Michael hated the peevish and dictatorial tone that crept into his voice. He wasn’t blind, and he could see that there was ‘something’ between Nikita and Tip Wellesley. He was jealous and would have to maintain control over his emotions. How he would manage to do that on a mission with Nikita posing as his wife and Tip at their side, he didn’t know. He wanted Nikita to be happy and find someone else, but having them thrown in his face on a mission would require that he dig deep into his emotional reserves.

“Of course, Michael. This isn’t my first mission,” Nikita replied with a little heat.

A far away look crossed Michael’s face with fleeting swiftness. “I know.” Michael turned and left the two operatives at the desk. The wounds were still too fresh, and he still desired Nikita as strongly as he ever had.

*********

Michael not only still desired Nikita as much as ever; he still loved her. Having her in his arms, pretending to be her attentive husband was going to be hell. What kind of game was Madeline and Operations playing with him. He decided to see Madeline immediately and voice his reservations about the mission scenario. He reversed the direction of his purposeful stride and went to Madeline’s office.

He entered his access code on the keypad at Madeline’s door, but it did not open at once. When it did, Operations was leaving. His face was flushed and he was breathing with some difficulty. He stared at Michael, but did not speak.

Michael walked down the steps, with movements that were fluid as always. “Bad time?” he asked.

Madeline was trimming one of her numerous bonsai. Her face was flushed, as well, but she managed a smile. “No, not at all, unless you’re here to complain about the mission profile.”

“I’m not here to ‘complain,’ but I do have some serious reservations about the timing and the ‘mix’ of the team members. I do wonder why you would put the three of us together, when it is obvious that Nikita and Tip are developing a relationship. The two of them could carry this off without any effect on the end game. I’m not needed.”

Only Madeline and Operations knew that Michael’s assessment had been the original scenario. Madeline had planned it herself and Operations had accepted it without qualm, until he had met Michael coming from her apartment early that morning. Madeline had been furious, but had chosen not to allow Operations to know exactly how furious she had been. They had just had a mild debate over the scenario before Michael had entered. Madeline had continued to trim the bonsai, which had infuriated Operations, who recognized it as her way of ignoring him.

“The profile stands as entered, Michael. There will be no deviations. This will be an opportunity for you to evaluate Wellesley’s performance in the field, and Nikita’s as well. I ‘know’ it will be difficult for you. I ‘know’ that you’re not over Nikita. But as we’ve said many times before, the end game is what’s important. Pushing our personal feelings aside is part of what we do here, as uncomfortable as it may be at times.” During her speech, Madeline had turned from the bonsai and walked toward Michael. She looked into his eyes and smiled.

Nikita stood at the door and began to enter her code, when Madeline opened the door for Michael to leave. Nikita saw them as they stood close together, Madeline smiling into Michael’s eyes. She could see Michael had allowed Madeline to stand in his personal space, and Nikita could almost sense the sexual electricity arc between the two. When Michael turned to leave, Nikita watched in amazement as Madeline patted Michael’s shoulder.

“I’m sure things will go fine, and I look forward to the debrief. It should be ‘very’ interesting. See you when you return,” Madeline said with a seductive smile and laugh.

Nikita gulped. Michael walked past her as if she weren’t there.

Madeline asked, “Now, Nikita, what is it that you wanted to see me about?”

********

Nikita closed her mouth, then swallowed. What ‘had’ she meant to talk to Madeline about? She had never seen Michael and Madeline so relaxed or comfortable in each other’s presence. What the hell was going on between them, she wondered.

“Nikita?” Madeline asked, “You wanted to talk to me. This is your chance.”

“Uh-- never mind. It wasn’t important, whatever it was.” Nikita kept shaking her head as she turned and fled Madeline’s office.

Madeline’s expression as Nikita departed was one of pleased resignation. In spite of Operations’ trying to foul the nest, she thought, he may in actuality have accelerated her plans. “We’ll see who wins this game,” she said aloud to the twisted cedar bonsai. Her tiny pruning shears went snip, snip as she shaped the small tree into a more pleasing, but unnatural design.

* * *

Once the door had closed behind her, Nikita stopped to lean against the wall to catch her breath. Images of Michael and Madeline flooded her mind. She had heard the rumors about Madeline ‘training’ Michael, but given his usual level of discomfiture when around Madeline, Nikita had always assumed the rumors were the usual gossip mill material, or that it was such ancient history that there was no point in being concerned about it.

Nikita took another deep breath. Of course, there was still no reason for her to be concerned about it. Michael and she were history. He’d made it very clear several months ago that he wanted nothing more to do with her. She had tried to move on. It had been difficult, and now there was this new involvement with Tip. Only the night before, they had taken their relationship to another level. So, why did she still feel as if the breath had been knocked from her? Why did she feel as if an enormous black hole had opened in the midst of her stomach? Why did she want to scratch Madeline’s brown eyes from their sockets?

Logically, Nikita knew Michael had a right to any happiness he could find, but Nikita couldn’t bear the thought that this happiness should be with anyone but her. Never had she felt so torn--certainly not with Jurgen. She had used him, albeit subconsciously, to make Michael jealous. Tip was an entirely different man. He was kind, gentle, and open. He was everything Michael wasn’t. Tip was everything she wanted Michael to be, but he wasn’t Michael.

Now, the three of them were going on a mission with Michael portraying her husband. She would have to talk to Michael. They would have to set some ground rules.

Nikita nodded her head. Yes, there would be some ground rules. Her mind thus made, Nikita decided that now was the time and headed directly for his office.

* * *

A soft tap at his door caused Michael to raise his head from his work. He was more than surprised to see that it was Nikita, and he could tell from her tense body language that it was not going to be an ‘easy’ encounter. “Come in,” he said in his soft accented voice, as he reached to de-activate the surveillance on the room.

*********

As was her habit, Nikita was forthright about coming to the point. “We need some ground rules for this mission, Michael,” she blurted without preamble.

Michael hid his initial impulse to smile. “Ground rules?” he asked, as he gave her his best blank stare.

“Who profiled this mission, Michael?” Nikita demanded as she stood with hands on hips.

“Operations had the final say on the profile.”

“Did you choose me for this mission, or did he?”

“I had no input on the profile, Ni-ki-ta.” His voice could not help the caress it always gave her name. “I think I was a last minute addition to the profile. You and Wellesley were set for the mission originally.”

“Oh.” Nikita was not sure if Michael’s answer pleased her or not.

“You came to talk to me about ‘ground rules,’ Nikita? What did you have in mind?”

“Well, for one thing, no ‘relaxation’ techniques.” Nikita’s face flushed as she remembered the last time they had relaxed on the Armel mission.

“Nikita, if you had gone over the profile in your PDA, you would have known that we will not be under surveillance in our hotel rooms. There will be two rooms--adjoining. You and I don’t even have to share a room. I can bunk with Wellesley, or--you can be together, if that’s what you would prefer,” he said softly.

Nikita’s face flushed again. “That’s exactly what I’d prefer.” She turned to leave.

“Nikita,” Michael said, stopping her retreat. “When we are under observation at the embassy, you will be my tender, devoted wife. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Michael, I understand you loud and clear.”

“Then spend some of your time going over the mission parameters. There is no room for error on this mission.”

“Of course, Michael,” Nikita said with a sarcastic simper. She turned again to leave, but stopped and asked, “Why were you in Madeline’s office just now?”

“That’s on a need to know basis, Nikita.”

“And I don’t need to know, right?”

“No.”

“Fine. Keep you little manipulations to yourself,” Nikita said as she made a hasty exit.

Michael could not keep the half smile from his face. Nikita was jealous, and he was glad. He knew it was vain and foolish of him to feel that way. The emotional connection between them was still alive, but it would complicate the upcoming mission--of that he had no doubt.

*********

The ride in the limousine to the Polish Embassy was quiet. Each operative was lost in thought at the possible ramifications of the upcoming mission. The hotel check-in had been a nightmare of false starts, apologies and generalized discomfiture.

As the ‘married couple,’ Michael’s and Nikita’s luggage had been carried to a luxurious suite. As the ‘body guard,’ Tip’s bags were deposited in a smaller adjoining room. Nikita had not been able to keep from glaring at Michael, as he touched her elbow while they walked down the hall to their room. Once the bellman had left, she had jerked her arm from Michael’s hand and sat on the plush sofa.

Without saying a word, Michael had picked up his luggage and knocked on the door adjoining the two rooms. Tip had opened the door. Again wordlessly, Michael nodded his head in Nikita’s direction, and Tip and he had changed rooms.

As soon as the door between the two rooms was closed, Nikita rushed to throw her arms around Tip. “I thought he’d never leave,” she had said as she snuggled in Tip’s embrace.

Tip had taken a long look at her. “Nikita, I think we’ve rushed things. It’s obvious to me that you’re not over Michael. If you want me to stay in this room, okay, but making love with you and having Michael next door is exactly an appealing idea.

Nikita had flushed and pulled away. “It’s not very appealing to me either, if you want to know the truth.” She wasn’t sure if she could make it on this mission with the ‘two’ of them at her side.

* * *

After the door closed, Michael had unpacked his bags in his usual quick and efficient manner. He had checked his weapons and gear that would be needed for the mission, then had lain on the bed, closed his eyes and imagined the scene next door.

He remembered every curve and valley of Nikita’s body, as well as he remembered the sweetness of her caresses and the mewling sounds she made in passion. He had hoped the construction of the hotel would prevent his hearing anything from the other room. He didn’t think he could stand to hear Nikita and Tip making love. To hear her call another’s name would be more than he could stand.

Intellectually, he knew he wanted Nikita to have a chance at a healthier relationship and a better life, but emotionally he wasn’t sure he was ready to relinquish her to another man without a fight. In spite of all his words to the contrary, he was still in love with her, and he ached to knock down the door and claim her.

* * *

As he rode in the limo, Tip wondered if it were possible to salvage his burgeoning relationship with Nikita. The sexual tension between Nikita and Michael was arcing and reverberating between them, although both of them tried to deny it to themselves and each other. He thought he had given Nikita enough time before asking her to dinner--enough time to forget Michael. Apparently their bond was a lot deeper than he had been led to believe. Somehow the three of them had to make it through this mission.

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

By Michael’s expert estimation, Nikita was clearly the most beautiful woman at the embassy party. She wore an elegant royal blue dress that shimmered in the gaily lit ballroom. The color of the dress heightened the deep blue of her eyes, and made Michael want to dive into their clear and shining pools. The shimmering material clung to her curves and left nothing to his or any other man’s imagination.

It gave him pleasure to have her at his side, to be able to touch her elbow, to caress her shoulder as any husband would. He surveyed the room, but his eyes kept returning to the blonde at his side, the unhappy, recalcitrant blonde, who had pasted a smile on her face for the duration of the evening.

The orchestra engaged for the gala started playing a waltz. Michael loved to dance with Nikita, and he decided to take advantage of this singular opportunity. “Would you care to dance, mon coeur?” he asked as he looked into her puzzled eyes.

Nikita smiled as she said, “Of course, darling.” As Michael led her to the floor, she asked under her breath, “Is this absolutely necessary, Michael?”

“Yes,” was Michael’s smiling answer. He stopped to take her in his arms and whispered seductively in her ear. “What better way to attract the attention of Teodora Rimski than with a dazzling waltz?”

“I’m sure you’re right, Michael. You always are, but I don’t think you should enjoy it quite so much,” she whispered tersely through clenched teeth.

“Why shouldn’t I enjoy having the most beautiful woman here in my arms?” He asked as he swung her around in an elegant sweeping movement. They were attracting attention, both for their dramatic waltz and their dynamic good looks.

“If you keep this up, Michael, you are going to seriously piss me off.” Nikita had difficulty keeping her breathing even, as he whirled her around the ballroom floor. Michael emitted waves of sensuality, and she was sure that no one had ever waltzed the way he did. His grace and elegance on the dance floor had women all around the room turning their heads. How he could turn the simplest waltz into an invitation to seduction for an entire room of women was beyond her, nor was she immune.

Michael smiled. “Enjoy the dance, Nikita, or at least ‘try’ to look like you are. Remember we are a loving married couple. We are here to meet the Undersecretary’s wife and seduce her.”

“Well, no doubt you’ve already done the job, Michael. There are about forty women who look as if they’re lined up to take their turn with you.” Nikita smiled and ran her fingers through the newly styled hair Michael sported for this mission. “Why did you cut your hair?” she asked.

Michael continued to guide Nikita in an ageless glide. “Madeline thought it would better fit the profile,” he said. He felt Nikita stiffen in his arms. “Don’t you like it?” he asked softly.

“It’s all right,” she admitted with a grudging smile. “I suppose I can get used to it.” Nikita berated herself mentally. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m falling into his trap again. First, he dumps me and tells me I’d be better off with someone else, and now he acts like he’s trying to seduce me all over again. She looked into his crystal green eyes--eyes that stared into her soul and knew she was lost. She could see the desire in his eyes. She could feel the heat in his hands as the held her. Yes, she was lost.

Women were not the only ones watching Michael and Nikita on the dance floor. Tip watched, too. He watched as they made love to each other with their eyes and every movement of their bodies. He turned away. He couldn’t stand to see the passion they so obviously still shared. He was in hell.

“You’re in love with the tall blonde, too, aren’t you?” said a soft feminine voice at his side.

Tip turned and saw their ‘target’ smiling at him. “What?”

“You’re a little green, darling. It shows. Does your employer know you’re in love with his wife?” she asked. Teodora Rimski placed a proprietary hand on his forearm. She was tall, at least 5-9 and had voluptuous breasts, with a slender waist and hips. She had brown eyes that sparkled with mischief. Her features were regular and just missed being beautiful, but her animated personality made the difference between ordinary and dramatic. Her command of English was spectacular with almost no trace of accent.

Tip asked, “It shows that much?”

“Oh, but yes, it does. You do not have a chance with her. At least that’s how I read the body language between them. Better to give up now. You will never have her heart.”

“How do you even know who I am or who they are?” he asked with a bewildered frown on his face. Was she right? Was his love for Nikita so hopeless that a total stranger, target or not, could see it?

“I am Teodora Rimski, wife of the Undersecretary. You are the body guard of M. Samuelle and his beautiful wife Nikita. I know a little about everyone who is allowed to come here. It’s a hobby of mine, knowing things, that is.” She smiled. “Let’s have some of this Dom Perignon, Darling.” Tip followed her willingly, after all he had apparently been ‘chosen’ by their target. He would leave Michael and Nikita to the dance and to their love.

*********

“Michael,” said Birkoff. “Wellesley’s made contact with the target.”

“Yes,” Michael replied as he continued to lead Nikita in the same fluid waltz. Only the change in his eyes and the increased tension of his body were clues that Michael was aware of Birkoff’s contact.

Although Nikita had witnessed it dozens of times, the rapidity with which Michael was able to switch into ‘machine mode,’ it always amazed her. One moment he was seducing her with every touch and glance, and the next he was focused entirely on the mission. The most amazing thing about the change was that she was the only one aware of it. They continued their waltz without a misstep until the final note was struck. Michael bent his head to Nikita’s lips and gave her a soul-searing kiss that took away her breath. The party-goers who witnessed the provocative dance and its passionate ending applauded.

Nikita flushed, as Michael led her through the parting crowd. Michael smiled, as if he had eyes for no one but her. Only ‘she’ could hear him responding to Birkoff’s instructions through her comm set.

“Michael, Wellesley and the target are entering the private quarters of the embassy. Man, that chick doesn’t waste any time, does she?”

“Proceeding,” Michael replied as he continued to lead Nikita in the direction that Tip and Teodora Rimski had taken.

* * *

Teodora led Tip into an ornate Louis XVI styled suite of rooms. White-painted panels and woodwork with ornate gilt trim. “Quite grand, isn’t it?” she stated, not really expecting a reply.

All Tip’s senses and reflexes were on overdrive. This was too easy. He didn’t trust situations that were too easy. “Isn’t this a little risky? What about your husband? Aren’t you afraid he might discover me here?”

Teodora gave a deep throated chuckle, “Playing Twenty Questions, are we? Are you a little nervous? Afraid your employer might miss you? See, I can play the game, too. My husband will be busy with the party, and I’m bored with seeing the same people all the time. You are new, so let’s become acquainted, why don’t we.” Teodora wrapped her arms around Tip’s neck and began to plunder his mouth with her own, while her hands began divesting him of his cummerbund and trousers.

* * *

“Michael and Nikita, hold position. Tip is already in the private quarters, and I think he’s going to be very occupied for the next little bit.” Birkoff’s smarmy chuckle resounded loud and clear through their comm. sets. “Whew! I wish you guys could hear her operate.”

Michael watched Nikita flush at Birkoff’s inane remarks. Nikita spoke before he could. “Thanks, Birkoff, but a blow by blow commentary is ‘not’ necessary.”

“I’m sorry, it was supposed to be me she picked,” Michael said as they stopped to sit on an ornate settee. Silently, he motioned for her to turn off her out-going transmissions.

“That’s a pretty arrogant attitude, Michael. Besides, do you think I would feel any better, if it ‘were’ you?” Nikita argued, after she had complied with his instructions.

“I don’t know how you would feel ‘now’. It might be easier. I’ve done it before.”

“Whored for Section One, Michael? We’ve all done it, in one form or another.”

“I’ve always tried to protect you from scenarios like that.”

“I know.... I’m grateful, Michael. I always have been.”

“Nikita,” Michael started, his voice hoarse with emotion, but Nikita interrupted him.

Nikita rose from the settee, “Not now, Michael. I’m too confused. Tonight, it was like you were trying to seduce me all over again. You had a roomful of women drooling as we danced. I don’t know if I could ever trust you. I don’t know if I could keep your interest,” Nikita confessed. “Tip is so open and ....”

“Trustworthy?” Michael asked harshly as he rose to stand in front of her. “He’s in there with another woman, whoring for Section, as you phrased it so succinctly. He’s the same kind of pawn that we all are. Why is he more trustworthy than I? Tell me, Nikita?” Michael demanded as he backed Nikita against the wall, his face and lips only inches from her own.

Nikita could only shake her head, but Michael captured her lips and claimed them. As he tongue plundered hers, Nikita’s felt her bones melt as she responded to the feel of his lips and the touch of his hands on her body.

“Michael, Nikita, are you holding position?” came Birkoff’s voice.

Operations could be heard, “What’s going on, Birkoff?”

“I think they’re holding position, sir.”

********

One second before completely losing control, Michael clicked into mission mode. The sound of Operations’ voice in his comm. set had had that effect. “Nikita, we’re in play here, on a mission! Get hold of yourself,” he demanded hoarsely, as he pulled himself together.

Nikita, whose limbs were weak with passion and ready to slide down the wall, opened her eyes with a sudden snap. “Get a hold of myself. Oh, my god, what are we doing?”

“We were about to make an error in judgment,” he said simply.

Nikita giggled, “Yeah, talk about a ‘lapse.’ It’s a good thing we don’t have on view cams, or Madeline would be raking us over the coals after this mission.” Nikita watched as Michael switched his comm set to channel B, thus activating outgoing transmissions. She nodded and quickly followed suit.

“Michael, can you continue to hold position? Wellesley should be able to obtain the letters at some point tonight. Man! That woman is a wild cat,” said Birkoff over their comm. set.

“We’re in a hallway in the residential area. I don’t think we can stay here much longer without attracting attention. Alternate site?” Michael asked.

“There does appear to be a linen room down the hall to your left about ten meters,” Birkoff offered.

Nikita looked at Michael with renewed interest. “A linen room?” she asked with complete innocence. She watched Michael’s eyes begin to glaze with desire.

Operations’s voice interjected over the comm. link. “Wellesley has the mission in hand. You two are done. Get back to the van. B Team is available for backup, should he need it.”

“Shit,” Nikita said as she gave an exasperated toss of her head. In response Michael put a warning finger to his mouth to remind her that they could be heard.

“Problem, Nikita?” asked Operations.

“No, just broke the heel on my pumps,” she said blithely, as Michael rolled his eyes.

Michael knew it was time to take control of the situation before Nikita said anything else. “Returning to the van to await further instructions.” Michael held his hand to Nikita, who promptly placed her hand there.

Michael shook his head furiously as he pantomimed, Give me your shoe. Awareness dawned, and Nikita stopped and removed one of her stiletto pumps. She had a sad look on her face as she handed it to him. She really loved those shoes.

Michael loved those shoes, too. He sighed as he stroked the royal blue satin, then gave a sharp twist, and it was fait accompli.

************ Because the earlier heat of the moment had ebbed, Michael and Nikita passed an uncomfortable interval as they waited in the van for Tip’s return. Michael watched Nikita as she fidgeted at Birkoff’s extraneous comments about Tip’s progress. Sometimes Birkoff had no clue about what was appropriate and what was not. “Birkoff, cool it,” Michael had warned more than once, but the irrepressible computer genius was having too much fun monitoring Tip’s transmissions.

Luckily, Nikita and Michael were party only to Birkoff’s comments. Nikita thought she might have to hurt Birkoff, when they returned to Section One. No ‘might’ about it, she would ‘have’ to hurt him--a little anyway. It’s all part of the job, she thought, and after one dance with Michael, there I was ready to ‘relax’ in the hall or linen closet with him. Michael has no dibs to the ‘conflicted’ title. Nikita rested her head in her hands and looked at the floor.

Michael wished he could do something to alleviate her pain and the obvious indecision written across her face, but he was not going to let her go without a fight. He couldn’t. She simply meant too much to him. He knew she loved him, loved him more than he deserved. Nikita and his son were his two reasons for existing. While he might never be able to be a father to his son Sean, he could still fight for Nikita.

Two and a half long hours later, Tip signaled the team. “Letters retrieved, target decommissioned temporarily. Exiting the private quarters now.”

Back in Section One headquarters, Operations breathed a huge sigh of relief. Only he knew exactly ‘who’ had written those indiscreet letters. Friendly nation, indeed. How about the President of the United States. At least those letters would not come back to haunt the nation or their already harried writer.

Ten minutes later Tip knocked on the door of the van and entered with a “Whew!”

“We have closure?” Michael asked, trying to relieve the tension in the air that had only increased with Tip’s entry.

Tip grinned and nodded. “One set of highly provocative, lust-filled letters,” he said waving them at Michael and Nikita.

“You read them?” Michael asked.

“Well, I had to make sure they were the genuine article, after all,” Tip said with a grin.

“Go,” Michael said to the driver, who began to weave his way out of the embassy gates.

Michael was curious, but determined not to show it. Nikita, however, showed no compunction about asking, “Well, dammit, Tip, who wrote them?”

“Need to know only, Nikita.” Tip’s dimples deepened, as he added. “He’s been in the news quite a bit lately.”

Nikita’s mouth dropped open. “Oh.”

Michael gave a silent nod. No wonder the letters were so important, he thought.

Suddenly, the gray van was rammed by two other vehicles, and the machine gun fire that erupted could be heard in Section One. “What’s going on, Michael?” a suddenly anxious Operations asked. The mission had been too simple and now....

It was Wellesley who answered, “We’re under attack. Michael’s down.”

*********** As the van driver Max maneuvered their damaged vehicle around the two vehicles, Nikita struggled to keep her balance, as well as keep out of the line of fire. “Michael lost his balance and hit his head when we were rammed. He’s unconscious. We’re going to need Medical. He’s bleeding a lot from a cut at the temple, but so far he’s breathing okay,” Nikita reported.

“Somebody else must want those letters,” Tip said wryly, as he began to return fire at the unknown enemy.”

Operations began a rapid fire of orders. “Blue team, advance and cover the van. Medical, we’ve got incoming wounded--at least one head injury, others unknown. Birkoff, I want to know who’s attacking our team, and I want to know now.”

Birkoff spoke up, “It’s not too hard to figure who might be after those letters, Sir. Secret Service, NSA, or some rogue that the Republicans hired. Not too many others give a flying flip about them.”

“It’s nothing to be flip about young man,” Operations replied heatedly. Those letters are important to ‘me,’ he admitted to himself. They were a superb bargaining chip in his arsenal of ‘weapons.’ While the letters would be of value only for another two years, they would give him immense power over the President for those two years. A great many opportunities could come and go in that time, and he meant to take advantage of them all.

“Report, Wellesley!” Operations demanded. “What’s going on now?”

“Blue Team is making a difference. They appear to be aborting the attack,” Tip responded. “Michael still unconscious, Nikita?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yes, I’ve put pressure on the laceration, but he’s still not responding.” Nikita could not keep the worry from her voice.

A new voice sounded in her headset, “Nikita, this is Doc. How’s his color? Slap some telemetry on him and see if one of you can get an IV line in him. I want to see some numbers on him. Give him an oxy mask, after you read me his O2 Sat. level.”

“Right. We’ve been kind of busy till now. Color is so-so,” Nikita answered. She began to follow the trauma surgeon’s instructions. Pulse oximeter on his right forefinger, 98%--that was good. Nikita didn’t bother to announce the result. She knew Marie could read it from where she was. Oxygen mask on, two liters, she thought as she adjusted the flow meter. She ripped open Michael’s shirt and placed a sticky Dynamapp pad against his chest.

“Numbers are looking good, Nikita. His EKG and O2 levels are fine. Now, see if you can get that line in.”

Nikita began to pull the IV box from beneath the van seat, and to rummage for the supplies she would need. She thanked heaven that Michael had large prominent veins in his forearms. The medical portion of her training had been her least favorite, and she absolutely hated needles. Nikita applied the tourniquet and cleaned the most opportune site. The needle slid into the vein, and Nikita was awarded with a return of blood. Ten more seconds and the needle was secured. “IV Done,” she announced with relief.

“Okay, just give him a bolus of 250cc, then cut it back to 125cc/hr, Nikita.”

“Right,” Nikita replied as she programmed the numbers on the IV pump.

“Great job, Nikita! If you ever get ‘tired’ of going on missions, I can use you down in Medical!” Marie exclaimed, as she winked and grinned at Operations and a pale-faced Madeline. “Bring my patient home now, okay, kids? We’ll be waiting for you with the porch light on.”

Operations sighed and rolled his eyes. Madeline maintained an impassive exterior, belying the turmoil she actually felt.

Tip looked at Nikita with a smile on his face. She was one hell of an operative. Cool as a cucumber, and she didn’t know he was even in the van. All her energy was directed at Michael, and he guessed it always would be.

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

In spite of all the times, Nikita had sat by Michael’s bed, waiting for him to regain consciousness, she had never become accustomed to the agony and uncertainty. A future without Michael seemed unthinkable. She watched the dials and numbers on the various pieces of medical equipment with anxious eyes. Doc had been in numerous times and nodded as she surveyed his test results.

She had been told, “Nikita, he’s going to be fine. He has a severe concussion, but there’s no subdural hematoma, and we’re going to keep him under observation until there’s no danger of one. You can go to your quarters, and I’ll call you when he awakens.”

Nikita had shaken her head. “I know. I know. You’re going to stay here till he regains consciousness or until you lose consciousness yourself.” Marie had patted her shoulder and left her alone again with Michael.

Nikita could not help but remember the first time she had seen Michael in the white room. She had looked into his silver-green eyes and seen the face of an angel. The Dark Angel he was called, even the Angel of Death, because of his ethereal beauty. He wasn’t a Hollywood pretty boy, for his beauty went far deeper than the arrangement of skin and bones and muscle. His calm demeanor merely showcased the beauty of his eyes; the eyes that tried to hide a man’s soul behind a blank stare. The same blank stare that was utilized whenever the pain of what the man did to survive became too much. This was the man she loved, would always love.

Nikita sat and held his hand, stroked his arm. She resisted the temptation to run her fingers through his newly shorn hair. The natural curl made it thick and springy, much more so than when he had worn it in the longer style. Unconscious, he looked so young and untroubled, for none of the demons that assailed him when awake were to be seen in his face now.

* * *

It was early morning when Nikita finally surrendered and lay her head on Michael’s bed. Tip Wellesley stood outside Michael’s room and watched Nikita through the observation window as she slept. He had finished a lengthy debrief with Operations, who had seemed a trifle too elated over the retrieval of the letters. There was a lot that Tip did not understand about the internal politics at Section Headquarters, and he continued to have many unanswered questions. He heard footsteps and turned to see who was joining him at the window. It was the Munitions Master Walter.

“Sugar still in there?” Walter asked as he walked to Tip’s side.

“Yes. It uh- looks like she plans on staying there too,” Tip offered.

“Hmm. Not surprising. When either one of them is injured, you can’t pry the other one away. They’re soul mates, you know. They’ve spent four years trying to deny it, but they are,” Walter said by way of consolation. From the looks of it, Wellesley had it bad for his Sugar. Walter didn’t think for one minute that the younger operative was standing at the window mooning over Michael.

Tip sighed, “Really. Too bad, for me that is. I guess it’s good for them.”

“That still remains to be seen,” was Walter’s sage reply.

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

Although it was not noted in Section One, dawn broke the horizon at 0600. A movement awakened Nikita, a movement of Michael’s hand. Nikita raised her head and looked first at Michael. His eyelids were fluttering, and he grabbed her hand.

“Nikita?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yes, Michael, I’m right here. You fell and hit your head in the van, and you’ve been unconscious all night,” Nikita said in an attempt to orient him. Her heart soared. Michael really was all right.

“The rest of the team?” he asked as he shut his eyes again, in order to adjust them to the light.

“Everyone’s fine. You were the only casualty. You have a severe concussion and a laceration from where you hit your head when you fell, but that’s all. Doc wants you to stay here another twenty-four hours to make sure you don’t develop a subdural hematoma.”

“I need to debrief.”

“No, that’s all taken care of. Operations has the letters. Everything is fine.” Nikita desperately wanted Michael to stay in bed, as ordered by the feisty physician, but Michael was difficult to keep in bed, at least by injury.

“Well, I’m awake now, and I’m ready to go to my quarters,” he insisted as he began removing the telemetry leads.

Doc sauntered into Michael’s room and saw what he intended. “Hmm. I thought you might be up to something like that. The wires can come off, but you’re staying put, if I have to sit on you, Michael! Now I can think of at least one other person who might just help me do that, eh, Nikita?” the tiny physician said with a huge grin on her face.

Michael rolled his eyes, then gave his own half smile, half smirk of a grin. “I think Nikita will be sufficient for the task, Marie--if she wants to be, that is.”

“Well, she’s been here all night, Michael. What do you think? I think that shows some kind of devotion.”

A wordless glance passed between the two operatives--a communication, wordless, but no less powerful for not being spoken aloud. Nikita nodded at Michael, and Michael in turn nodded at Marie, who took the hint and left them alone.

Michael took Nikita’s hands in his and kissed the backs of them and continued to hold them to his lips. “The things I said to you after Hector took you. I had no right at that time to say them, but I did. I meant them then, and I mean them now. You are my life, and I want you to be with me always. You and my son are my hope for the future. I don’t know if I will ever be able to be a father to Sean again, but I am not going to let you go without a fight. I will not surrender you to another--unless you tell me ‘now’ that you love him and not me.”

Michael paused to take a deep breath. “More than anything, I know that I don’t deserve your love, but if I do have your love, I will do everything in my power to earn it--and your respect, Nikita.”

Nikita shushed him with her lips on his. “I love you, Michael, for the man you are and for the man you can be. I don’t want to live without you in my life. You’re like a part of my heart or my brain--if we’re not together, I’m incomplete, pathetic as that might sound.”

Michael spoke again. For once, the words could not be withheld. “From the first time I saw you, I knew I was lost. It was the first time that I realized I would be able to get over Simone’s death. Your protestations of innocence were a common response from new recruits, but something in your eyes--a fire, but an innocence--told me you were no common recruit.”

Michael moved on the bed to allow Nikita room. She climbed into the bed and lay beside him as he cuddled her in his arms. “Je t’aime, Nikita. You are my heart.” He pressed a kiss on her forehead, as she began to cry softly in his arms.

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

Madeline viewed the tender scene between Michael and Nikita. Tip Wellesley stood by her and watched as well. Madeline pushed a button on the remote, and the screen went black. “You were assigned to seduce Nikita and take her from Michael’s realm of influence. You have blatantly failed in your mission. What do you think I should do?” Madeline asked with an impregnable reserve.

Tip flushed. At that moment, he hated Madeline more than he thought it possible to hate anyone, except the drug pusher responsible for killing his sister. “I think you need to find a better hobby, Madeline,” he responded rashly.

Madeline blinked. “In what way?”

“I think you ought to stay out of the personal relationships that develop between your operatives. The bond between Michael and Nikita was and is very strong. You shouldn’t interfere with it.”

Madeline smiled, “You’re in love with Nikita, too, aren’t you? Without waiting for any admission from Tip, she continued. “I assign a class 5 operative, the veteran of many Valentine operations, to seduce one level 2 field operative, and you fall in love with her. If it weren’t so ironic, I would be amused.”

Tip shifted his weight, uncomfortably from foot to the other. The woman was a demon without a heart or soul. Her reputation was well-deserved. Surely, she wouldn’t order him canceled, would she? Even class 5 ops. were not immune to cancellation, given great enough error.

Inwardly, Madeline delighted at his discomfiture. Control had always been her drug, and she now had another handsome man in the palm of her hand. She could imagine the thoughts running through his mind, but no matter! He had actually accomplished what she had desired, but she felt no need to let him know that. Michael and Nikita were reconciled, as she had planned.

If she had any regrets about ‘using’ Michael, she relegated them to an interior guardian. No regrets would be acknowledged, at least not in the light of day. What she felt or allowed herself to feel in the dark hours of the night was her own trial.

Madeline leveled a blank stare at Tip. “I will have to give this some consideration, and then I will make my recommendations to Operations as to any status change. That will be all.”

Tip turned on his heel and escaped from her lair.

********** Two days later, Michael knocked on Nikita’s door. “Come with me,” he said.

Nikita looked at the man in front of her. He wore blue jeans and light gray wool sweater. She smiled as she leaned against the doorway with a wooden spoon in her hand, “Why should I go with you, strange man. You show up at my door, and I’m not sure I even know you. You look like someone I used to know, but you’re not wearing a single black article of clothing. You might be a spy for all I know.” She rapped him lightly on the lips with her wooden spoon, and a dot of muffin batter remained.

Michael disarmed Nikita of the wooden spoon, gathered her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “We’re going to the park,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

“Hmm. Yes, you’re who I thought you were after all. At least you kiss like the spyguy. So, I guess I’ll accompany you to the park.” Nikita grabbed a sweater and pulled it over her long blonde hair.

Michael smiled at the lovely vision in front of him, grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Let’s go,” he said softly.

Nikita smiled. She was only too happy to follow this strange man, where ever he led her.

* * *

Michael led Nikita to a green-painted park bench, where they sat in the early spring sunshine. Michael was being very mysterious, but Nikita was willing to play his game, whatever it was. It didn’t feel like a mission--no briefing! However, as they snuggled on the park bench, holding hands, kissing like any normal couple in love with life and each other, Nikita noted an air of tension in Michael, as if he were watching for something or someone.

After a few minutes, Nikita asked, “You were going to show me something?”

Michael smiled, “Be patient.”

Nikita rolled her eyes and said, “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

Suddenly, Nikita felt the tension leave Michael’s body.

He said, “Over there, coming in the iron gate.”

Nikita turned to look, and her eyes grew wide at what she saw. “It’s Sean,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know you knew where he was.”

“Madeline has allowed me to monitor him, as long as I make no attempt to contact him or his new family. They bring him to the park in good weather, and I wanted to share it with you,” he said in a voice thick with emotion.

Michael and Nikita sat and held hands while watching the active four year old play on the swings and slide. His petite mom, seemed to have as much fun playing as he did. She was a brunette with dark eyes and appeared to love the little redheaded boy. He appeared to return her affection as he ran and jumped and basically had a great time in the park. His mom brought out a ball and soon they were pitching it back and forth. The little fellow seemed to have a natural ability in catching and throwing and boundless energy.

“Back up, Sonny, and I’ll throw it farther. Let’s see if you can catch this one,” called his mother.

‘Sonny’ was obedient, but missed the ball, which landed at Michael and Nikita’s feet. Nikita quickly picked up the ball as Sonny came to retrieve it.

“Thank you!” he said. “My mom is a great pitcher. I’m gonna grow up to be a baseball player. I will too!” he declared with great seriousness.

He paused for a moment and looked into Michael’s eyes. “Hi!” he said. “Gotta go now. Bye!” Off the youngster ran to his watchful mom.

“Sorry, I hope he didn’t bother you,” she yelled across the distance.

“No bother. He’s beautiful,” Nikita yelled back to her. Nikita reached and took Michael’s hand in her own. “No bother at all.” Her eyes swam with unshed tears, as she looked into Michael’s face.

“I don’t know if I can stand this,” he said, as he watched his son run in the other direction.

“Of course, you can. You have to, for his sake,” Nikita said as she led him from the park.

* * *

Unseen in the shade of the evergreens, Tip Wellesley watched Nikita as she and Michael left the park. He had to face it. She belonged to Michael. He had lost Nikita, because she had never truly belonged to him, but that knowledge didn’t lessen the searing pain in his chest.

* * *

From another vantage point, Madeline viewed the park incident, unseen by Michael and Nikita or Tip. She was satisfied with Michael’s response when the ball had landed at his feet. Nikita had reacted brilliantly, relieving Michael of any need to respond. The two belonged together, and if they could stay alive long enough to enjoy it, she would be more than satisfied.

* * *

Operations was pleased as well. He had arranged surveillance for Michael’s trips to the park. He noted Wellesley’s presence and filed that bit of intel into his data bank of weaknesses. Nikita was still a danger to the order in Section One, but she seemed to be at the top of her game, protecting Michael. Interesting, he noted how strong she had become. She had no where near Michael’s abilities in tactical strategies, but she was good--damn good.

Madeline’s being at the park did not please Operations. He suspected that Madeline had harbored some kind of feeling for Michael, for years. At least, with Michael and Nikita together, he didn’t have to worry about meeting Michael coming from Madeline’s quarters anymore. He still loved Madeline, in spite of her cold manner toward him of late. He had nearly lost her during the contagion outbreak some months ago, but she would come around, he thought. She always did, sooner or later. He had to be patient.

Fini

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