***********

Nikita wandered aimlessly about Systems. Birkoff was ignoring her. She slumped down in a free chair and drummed her nails on the desk top.

"For Pete's sake, Nikita. Cut that out," Birkoff reacted, giving her a dirty look.

"What's the matter, Seymour? Am I interrupting something important?" she asked, knowing damn well she wasn't. She'd never seen Section One so inactive. There were no live missions. One rather complicated mission was prepping, but the grapevine had it that it would be with the profilers for another forty-eight hours before all the contingencies could be ironed out.

Birkoff cast her a visibly irritated glance over the rims of his glasses. "No. You're getting on my nerves. Don't you have anything to do?"

"Well, if I did, I'd hardly be down here getting on your nerves, now would I?"

"Aren't you down?"

"Yeah, I had an idea about something, but I need to clear it with Madeline, first. She can't see me for a few minutes, yet."

"Oh, yeah. You never go off on your own. Not you."

Nikita sighed, studied her nails. They were due for a manicure. "This is a little sensitive. I want to drop in and check on Adam and Elena . . . while Michael's not around, you know?"

"Yeah, that's definitely something you'd better clear with Madeline." Birkoff nodded in agreement.

Nikita leaned toward Birkoff and asked in a near whisper, "You see all the intel on them. Are they doing okay?"

Birkoff shrugged. "Depends on what you mean by okay."

"Well, I need to see for myself. I feel a responsibility for them." Nikita's voice grew husky with emotion.

"Might make it worse, Nikita."

"I know. I'll abide by Madeline's assessment."

"Turning over a new leaf, Nikita?" Birkoff asked in disbelief. "Don't you usually do whatever the hell you think is the right thing to do, and then worry about it afterward?"

"Hmph. Yeah, usually," she agreed, "but this is different."

"Birkoff, is Nikita down there?" Madeline's well-modulated voice came over the intercom.

"Yes."

"Nikita, I'll see you now."

"On my way." Nikita sprang from the chair, but turned back. "See ya, Birkoff."

She heard him mutter, as she walked out the door, "Right, like I need a little trouble to keep me busy." She smiled. She loved teasing him.

* * *

Madeline turned from her monitor to look at Nikita. "You want to drop in on Elena and Adam and see how they're doing?"

"Is that so difficult to understand? Elena accepted me as a relative of Michael's. Won't she be more suspicious if I disappear forever?"

"Let me understand this. You are proposing this because you desire to preserve Michael's previous cover?" Madeline was not opposed to Nikita's proposal, but it would never do to allow the younger operative to know it too soon.

Nikita shifted uncomfortably. "Not entirely. I'd like to see for myself how they are. Offer them some support. Be a friend to them."

Nikita was having difficulty maintaining eye contact. Madeline decided to push her further. "Is Michael aware of this plan?"

Nikita shook her head. "No, I thought that since he's occupied in England, this might be a good time. He wouldn't have to know, unless you thought he should. I don't want to add to his pain."

"I'll consider it, Nikita." Really, Nikita, Madeline thought, you shouldn't be so obvious about your feelings for Michael. You make it very difficult for me to protect you from Operations' wrath.

"Elena really doesn't have anyone, now that Michael's gone. It must be difficult for her."

"It is," Madeline agreed, being privy to detailed reports on Elena's emotional travail that followed seeing her husband murdered in front of her.

"Then, could I, just for a day or so?"

"Yes. I know I don't need to warn you about revealing that Michael's alive. We would all hate to see the results of that."

A stricken look passed over Nikita's face. "No, of course not."

"That'll be all, Nikita. You have forty-eight hours. See me when you return."

Nikita stopped on the top step before leaving. "And Michael, should I tell him?"

"No, he doesn't need to know."

Nikita nodded once and left.

Madeline turned once again to her monitor. "Antonia, I want a thorough debrief when Nikita returns."

"Yes, Madeline."

This should prove quite interesting, Madeline thought. Quite interesting, indeed.

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

Mary Raney sat and toyed with her dinner. How could she eat with Michael sitting across from her, gazing into her eyes as if she were his favorite dessert? She placed the fork, tines down, across the edge of her dinner plate.

"Qu'est-ce qi'il ya? Don't you like it? Would you like something else?" Michael asked.

"What? I'm sorry, Michael. I guess I'm not very hungry. I'm afraid I didn't take French in school. I know you must think me awfully ignorant."

"Non, not at all. This is a very good occasion for me to practice my English. I should not fall back into my birth language when I am with you."

Mary looked down shyly. He was so utterly charming. "I should have taken languages in school, but I spent so much time on my music that everything else was secondary."

"You are a musician, no?"

Oh, crap, here we go now. It's time to talk about ourselves, and what will I say? "I was. I'm not anymore." She hesitated before continuing. "I was married for a while. My husband didn't approve, so I gave up music." Her hands clenched and unclenched the white dinner napkin in her lap. His gently probing questions made her nervous. How long could she keep up this pretense under his penetrating gaze?

"You are no longer married?"

"No." Deciding it was time to turn the tables on her dinner partner, Mary asked, "What about you, Michael? Have you been married? Are you married?"

"Not any longer." Michael took a thoughtful sip of wine. "My wife died in an accident several years ago."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Did you have any children?" Lord, it sounds as if I'm interviewing him for a magazine article.

"No."

Mary watched as he took another sip from the long stemmed wineglass. He seemed to be withholding something. He probably has a girlfriend back in France. I'm a nice little diversion for him while he's in Oxford. Oh, well, divert away, green-eyed poet. I'm ready to drown in those jade pools. Ready to feel those tender lips on mine. It must be the wine. I can't be having these lascivious thoughts about a man I only met in the bookstore . . . yesterday.

"You're very quiet, Mary. Have I said something to upset you?" he asked her in a hushed voice.

Mary's heart kicked up its rhythm, the blood rushing to her face. "No. I'm afraid that just being with you upsets me. I'm not thinking too clearly right now, if you must know. It must be the wine," she giggled.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Too bad, I thought perhaps I was having some effect on you. You certainly are having one on me."

He reached across the table for her hand. Mary was appalled to realize that her hand quivered in his. "Y­You may be having some effect on me, after all," she stuttered.

Michael rose, pulled pound notes from his wallet to cover their dinner, left them on the table. He pulled her to her feet, said. "Let's go."

Mary allowed herself to be led from the restaurant. I'm hypnotized, she thought. Yeah, he hypnotized me right there in the restaurant. That or he's a warlock, and he's cast a spell on me.

Michael guided her toward the car, his hand at her waist. She thought his hand felt as if it belonged there, had always belonged there. She felt the warmth of his body as they walked along hip to hip, thigh to thigh. She wanted to feel the rest of his body covering hers.

They reached the car. Michael stopped and enfolded her in his arms, her back against the passenger side door. She felt his lips, claim hers. Gently first, seeking, learning, then insistently. Her lips parted involuntarily allowing his tongue to sweep in search of hers. He tasted of wine. Waves of desire swept though her and excited her blood. She shuddered as she felt his hands caress her through the lace. Her knees weakened.

He caught her before she fell.

"Désolé. Sorry. You are so beautiful. I lose my head,"

Michael murmured in her ear. "I will take you home, if you will forgive me for my unpardonable behavior."

Mary tried to laugh it off. "Well, it takes two to behave like that. I'm not usually so uh­easily, uh­aroused." She looked around. Had anyone seen her wanton performance? She hoped not.

"No?"

"No!" She turned to the car. "Maybe we'd better go back to the cottage. I'll fix some coffee. I think we both need it."

Michael, opening the door for her, said, "Oui, coffee would be very agreeable."

He shut the door for her and walked around to his side of the car. Mary hoped the ride to her cottage would provide a cooling off period. Apparently, her heart hadn't received the message yet. It was still pounding like an anvil had taken up residence in her chest.

Michael opened his car door and slid in beside her. Turning to her he said, "May I assist you to fasten the seat belt?"

Michael's hands were deft and skillful as he performed the simple maneuver. What else could he do with them? Yeah, she thought. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.

**********

Mary's hands shook as she prepared the coffee. Looking over her shoulder, she could see Michael inspecting her living room. He was standing before the bookcase perusing the titles on the shelves. Geez, now he'll know I read nothing but mysteries. That's no way to impress a French poet. There's not a single volume of poetry on the shelf, much less French poetry.

She picked up a silver tray and hastily arranged two cups, saucers, spoons. Hmm. "How do you take your coffee, Michael?" she asked.

He turned, smiled and said, "Black." He walked toward her, reaching for the tray. "Allow me." He placed it carefully on the tea table in front of the sofa, then sat down on an overstuffed, tapestry-upholstered chair.

"Thank you." Mary surrendered the tray with gratitude. Now, she didn't have to worry about tripping and spilling everything. She sank onto the chintz-covered sofa and began to add sugar and cream to her coffee until it was the color of jamocha ice cream. She stirred the contents of her cup. The spoon clinking against the side of the fine porcelain cup was the only sound in the room. Mary shivered.

"You said at dinner that you were a musician. What instrument did you play?" Michael asked.

"Violin." Mary took a hasty sip of coffee. At least he had the presence of mind to attempt polite conversation.

"You don't play anymore? At all?"

His green eyes shone over the gold rim of his cup, as he sipped his coffee.

"Occasionally, just for myself. I'm a little rusty. I used to spend hours every day practicing when I played professionally. That's a part of my life I put behind me when I moved to England." Why don't I just tell him everything, and then the Donatello family can find me and kill me? she asked herself.

"Did you ever take music lessons, Michael?" she asked, more from habit than anything else. The truth be known, she wanted to shift the topic of conversation from herself to him.

"Yes, I studied the cello," he said somewhat shyly.

"The cello! Fabulous! Do you still find time to play?"

"No, I haven't played for a very long time," he said, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper.

Mary was thrilled. A poet and a musician. No man had any right to be so handsome and talented, too. "Perhaps, we could play together sometime." Her spontaneous reply caught them both off guard. The double entendre was unintentional, but it caught his attention. He looked at her suddenly with an intense sensual gaze that nearly made her heart nearly stop . . . and her hands shake.

"Mary," he rose from his chair and sat beside her of the sofa. "I know I make you uneasy. I don't mean to do that. I­I" he stuttered, "I find you so appealing. You're intelligent, talented. I can't help how I feel." He reached to brush the hair back from her face.

Mary started to shiver. Waves of animal sensuality were emanating from him. They swept over her, leaving her feeling helpless as a deer in the headlights of a car. She might as well sit on the sofa and allow his seduction to continue. She had no illusions about her beauty or talent. She knew she was attractive, certainly not a dog by anyone's standards. Of course, she was intelligent, but since when was that ever high on a man's list of necessary attributes in a woman.

"Wait a minute," she gasped. "I­I thought I heard something."

Amazingly, the level of sensual expectation in the room dropped. "Where? What did you hear?" Michael asked, rising from the sofa, his body tensed, as if ready for action.

"It was toward the back of the cottage." Mary stood, about to lead him to the kitchen.

"Stay here," he commanded, giving her a gentle push back onto the sofa.

Mary's mouth dropped open. She watched in amazement as Michael pulled a gun from a concealed holster as he left the room. Who was he? He certainly wasn't acting like a French poet right now. She turned. Her mouth opened again.

A tall, rather thin, woman was standing in the doorway.

"Hello. Who are you? What are you doing in my house?" Mary asked.

"Shh," the strange woman whispered. "I came to save you from him."

"But­but," Mary stuttered. The woman had a crazed look in her pale gray eyes. "Michael!" Mary called, suddenly finding her voice. "Michael!"

With one abrupt maneuver, the young woman was no longer simply standing there. Her arm wrapped around Mary's neck and a sharp knife was being pressed ever so insistently into the space formed by the junction of the chin and neck.

"Shut up, you whore! You can't have him. He loves me," she hissed into Mary's ear.

Mary felt the urine dribble down her leg. She'd never been so scared. No one had ever made her wet her pants, not even her mobster husband.

Michael walked back into the room. His gun was nowhere to be seen. "Caroline," he said in an even tone, "put down the knife. You don't want to do this." He continued to walk slowly toward them.

"You've been unfaithful to me, Michael. I had to punish you."

"I wasn't being unfaithful to you, Caroline. I was assigned to obtain information from her. She means nothing to me." He continued to advance.

Caroline's grip on Mary's neck loosened, but the knife remained in place. "Really, Michael?"

"Really. Now put down the knife. I can't find out what I need to know, if you scare her to death." He was only an arms length away.

"Well, all right, Michael, if you say so." Caroline lowered the hand holding the knife. Mary shrank away, stumbled and leaned against the wall. She couldn't have stood without its support.

Michael's hands were a blur of movement. Suddenly, Caroline crumpled at his feet.

"My God, Michael, did you kill her?" Mary gasped.

"No." He knelt beside her, checking for her pulse.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? Who was she?"

***********

Michael looked up at Mary from where he knelt beside Caroline Tweed. "I'll answer your questions, but first I must contact my agency." Michael pulled the cellular phone from his pocket, flipped it open and keyed in the sequence of numbers that would connect him with Section One. A compromised mission required that he follow the prescribed protocol, both in reporting and in containment.

"Michael, you're compromised?" Birkoff responded to the code that Michael had entered.

"Yes, partially. I need a pickup at the cottage, mode OneHLA." Translated in Section-speak, it meant there was one hostile, come as local authorities. Michael closed the cell phone with a click. He looked at Mary, whose eyes were wide with disbelief.

"Mary, I work for the government. I was sent here to protect you," Michael began, hoping desperately he could maintain his cover with a partial truth.

"From her?" Mary asked, pointing at Caroline's prone body. "I don't even know who she is."

"No, from the Donatello's."

Mary feet slipped, and she hit the floor with a thud. "Y-- you know about them? I'm sorry. I'm a little confused here. Who is the nutcase who just tried to kill me?"

"She's one of my students. She was stalking me."

"I thought you were a government agent. Now you're saying she's one of your students. Which is it Michael, or is that even your name?"

Michael sighed. This assignment had deteriorated into a disaster. He should have taken steps to contain Caroline Tweed before this happened. Operations and Madeline would not be pleased.

"My name is Michael, and I'm a government agent, but my cover was that of a poet and teacher. Caroline was in one of my tutorials. She became obsessed with me. She has a history of doing this before, but I never expected her to come after you. My agency will contact the local authorities and have her picked up." Mary's face was white and drawn. Did she believe him?

"Are you sure she's not dead?"

"Yes, I interrupted the flow of blood to her brain. It will take her a few minutes to recover, but she will. After that, she won't be a problem . . . to you anyway."

"Michael, since you seem to know who I am, then you must know I can't go through a trial and all that rigamarole. I have to reach my contact in the government and tell him what's happened."

"That's already been taken care of. My agency will have already made that contact." Technically, he lied. Section One would prefer that Mary Raney remain exactly where she was. "This incident was an aberration that had nothing to do with your cover. You should continue as before, making your normal contacts." Michael hoped he could convince her to change nothing in her schedule. Inter-agency cooperation was not always a given. Operations would be even unhappier if Oversight had to intervene with the Witness Protection Program of the U.S. government.

Michael watched her closely.

"Well, I certainly don't want to have to relocate again. I sort of like it here, except for all the rain." Mary paused, then continued, "So, I guess it's a given that you're not hot for my body after all? You must think I'm an idiot."

"Not at all, you're very attractive. Being with you has been very enjoyable." He had to salvage whatever he could from the relationship in order to preserve his real mission.

"Whoa, buddy. Your cover is already blown. Do you do this sort of thing often? I mean, seducing a woman to keep an eye on her? You must love your job."

Michael didn't know what to say. He'd never seen anyone as frank about her feelings, except maybe Nikita. Her words wounded, but they were deserved. "It's a job," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Beside him, Caroline began to move. "Mary, do you have any rope or tape? She's coming around."

"Oh, sure. I'll just have a look in my handy-dandy stalker tie-up kit. Be right back."

Michael couldn't prevent his mouth from twitching. He liked her. She had a lot of spunk.

"Listen, you, this isn't funny." Mary stamped her foot and left him shaking his head. The debrief would be a joke.

"Here, spyboy, will this do?"

Michael took the duct tape, flipped Caroline over and bound her hands behind her. One more strip across her mouth. At least he wouldn't have to listen to her manic ramblings.

"Well, now that you have her all trussed up, I need to be excused."

"Oh." What else could he say? She wasn't a prisoner.

"I­I wet my pants. I'm not used to having knives at my throat," Mary offered, what Michael considered to be an unnecessary explanation.

"By all means. Go." Michael closed his eyes. He wanted to laugh, but he had the feeling she might attempt bodily harm if he did. It was still possible to salvage the mission with some alteration, if only Section One would allow it.

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

Nikita drove down the now familiar residential street where all the houses were older and substantial. She'd called ahead this time, not wanting to surprise Elena like she had the first time, when she'd traced Michael to his home. Elena had been visibly wary of the tall blonde standing at her door. But the bigger surprise had been Nikita's. Michael was married and had a son. Yes, that certainly met the classification of surprise in her book.

The angst and heartbreak that went with Michael's deep cover mission had receded into the background, at least for her. She was sure that Michael would never completely recover from having to give up his son. As for Elena, Nikita was never quite sure what Michael felt for her, but she knew he'd felt something for the woman he married and with whom he'd had a child.

She'd adjusted to her own hurt and surprise. Now, she wanted to see how Elena and Adam were recovering from Michael's supposed death. Elena had sounded delighted to hear from Michael's long lost cousin and had asked Nikita to come prepared to spend a couple of days. She'd obtained the necessary approval from Madeline. Here she was, pulling into the drive of the old three-story stone house. A sign stood in the front yard that read For Sale with ‘sold' emblazoned across the top.

Nikita stopped the car, turned off the motor and opened the door. The aubergine-painted front door opened, and a young whirlwind rushed to meet her, his arms outstretched. "Kita! You came to see us. I missed you!" Adam shouted, throwing his arms around her knees.

Nikita's heart clutched and felt like it was in her throat. "I missed you, too. What've you been doing?" Tears welled in her eyes. She'd missed the little fellow, unable to erase his sweet face from her mind.

She swept him up in her arms and hugged him until he squealed. "You're crushing me, Kita."

"Adam, give Nikita a chance to catch her breath. Hello, Nikita. I'm so glad you could come. We've missed you," Elena said from inside the front door. "Please come in."

Elena's deliberate voice hadn't changed, but her physical appearance had. Always trim, Elena was now only a couple of pounds away from emaciation. "Thank you for inviting me. Y­you look wonderful," Nikita stuttered, reaching to hug her. She could feel Elena's ribs through her sweater.

Elena shook her head. "No, I don't, but I'm starting to regain some of my weight. I haven't been able to eat." Turning to her small son, she said, "Adam, why don't you take Nikita's bag to her room, then come down to dinner."

"All right. I'll be back in a minute, Kita. Don't eat all the pizza!"

Nikita pulled back from Elena and gave her an intense once over. "Are you all right?"

Elena nodded. "Yes, I'm going to make it, I think. If it hadn't been for Adam, I don't think I would've had the courage to even try."

Together they walked into the living room. Nikita was dumbstruck. There were pictures of Michael . . . everywhere. An oil painting of Michael and Adam hung over the fireplace. It looked as if it had been done from a photograph, but it had been executed beautifully, showing the tender and loving relationship between the father and son. Nikita blinked to keep the tears at bay.

Elena noticed her staring at the portrait. "It's beautiful, isn't it? An old friend of mine from school did it for me." Elena looked around nervously. "I guess it's a bit much, all these pictures, but I didn't want to forget what he looked like. He was so handsome . . . and such a good man." Elena crumpled on the sofa and began to weep.

Nikita rushed to her side and put her arms around Elena. They cried together.

At the sound of footsteps, Elena straightened up, brushed away her tears and said. "I've been in therapy ever since Michael and my father were shot. I really am getting better, really." Her large dark brown eyes were full of pain. Pain that Nikita had helped put there. Pain that Nikita could do nothing about.

Adam rushed back into the room. "Pizza! Pizza! I want pizza!"

Elena brushed a kiss across the top of her son's head, a gesture that Nikita had seen Michael do so often.

"All right, pizza it is. I hope you don't mind, Nikita, we live pretty informally, now that it's just the two of us."

"No, of course not. I love pizza."

Nikita followed Elena into the small cosy den. Elena, with much assistance from Adam, served the pizza on earthenware plates. Nikita still felt as if she should be eating with utensils, instead of her hands. Everything Elena did was perfect with attention to every detail.

Adam took his plate of pizza and sat on the floor in front of the television. Elena settled back on her end of the sofa and began taking meticulous bites from her slice of pizza. "Now, tell me what you've been doing? I was afraid we'd lose touch eventually. I'm really glad you came to see us."

"Well, I went back to Paris for a while, then on to Rome. I gave up my apartment. I­I couldn't face staying around here after what happened. I'm really sorry, I haven't been back before now, Elena."

"Oh, Nikita, you mustn't feel that way. You have your own life. You're young. Besides, I don't know what I would've done without you making all the arrangements for me. Michael had it all spelled out. I had no idea he was so well prepared for the . . . the unexpected."

"I was happy to help. I always liked Michael."

"I know. I could tell." Elena stared into the blazing fire.

"I saw SOLD sign outside. You're moving?" Nikita asked, changing the subject.

Elena nodded. "Yes, the house and the yard. It's too much, and everything reminds me of Michael and the love we shared . . . the good times. I mean I don't want to forget him, but sometimes I think he's going to walk in here and tell me it was all a big mistake. I know it's crazy."

"No, no, it's perfectly normal."

"I mean I saw him die right in front of me, but­but there's a part of me that doesn't want to believe he's really gone." Elena had dropped her voice, but Adam saw her distress and climbed into her lap.

"It's all right, Mommy. I'll take care of you. I'm the man of the house now, right?" He turned to Nikita. "I'm the man, right?"

"Right," Nikita nearly sobbed.

"When my mommy gets sad about my daddy going away, I always give her a hug. Then she gets better, don't you, Mommy?"

Elena wiped her tears away and kissed her son. "Yes, you're the man of the house, now. And your hugs are the best in the world."

"Good. Now, can I eat the rest of my pizza?" Adam squirmed to the floor and went back to watch his favorite TV show.

Elena shook her head. "I'm sorry. I try not to break down in front Adam too often."

Elena turned the conversation back to Nikita's career. The rest of dinner passed without a further incidence of tears.

Elena looked at her watch. "Adam, it's eight-thirty. Bedtime."

"Aw, Mommy."

"If you go up without whining, I'll let Nikita take you put you to bed, while I do the dishes."

"Okay, Kita, let's go." He held out his small hand. Nikita took it in hers and swept him up in her arms. He reached over and gave Elena a big smacking kiss. "Night, Mommy."

"Goodnight, darling." Elena gave Nikita a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Nikita, for being here."

Again, Nikita had to blink back her tears. "Okay, cowboy, let's go."

Once the pair reached Adam's room, Nikita put him down. There was a cello sitting in the corner. "Is that your daddy's cello, Adam?" she asked.

"Yes, but it's mine now. I'm too little to play it, but I'm taking Suzuki cello at school. It's smaller, made for little kids like me. I'll play Daddy's when I get a little bigger."

Adam walked over to the beautiful instrument. "Daddy used to play for me. Now Mommy plays a CD, so I can go to sleep. I shut my eyes and pretend it's my daddy."

Nikita fought to keep the tears from falling as she helped Adam change into his pajamas.

"Kita? Do you think the bad man that killed my daddy and my grandpa will try to kill me, too? I get scared sometimes."

Nikita hugged Adam to her chest. "No, no, Adam. The bad man will never hurt you. He's gone away, far, far away." Nikita rocked him in her arms, while the tears streaked down her cheeks.

She'd never hated Section One more than she did at this moment. How could they justify the misery and injustice that had been inflicted on this one innocent child? It wasn't fair, but then nothing about Section One was fair.

"I'm going to stay right here with you until you fall asleep, and no one will hurt you, I promise. I promise." She leaned over and kissed Adam's forehead . . . Michael's child . . . the only way she could share in the love that made him.

***********

After changing, Mary returned to find Michael at her front door talking with members of the local constabulary. Caroline was nowhere in sight. "Michael, what do I need to do? Should I go with them to press charges?"

Michael walked toward her, shaking his head. "No, I told them I was the target of the attack. I'll press charges, and you won't be needed as a witness. I've kept you out of it, so you don't have to worry about any exposure of your status in the Witness Protection Program."

"Whew," Mary sighed with great relief. "I could just see all this blowing up in my face. Having to relocate again. It's such a nightmare." Mary looked around. "Is she gone?"

Michael nodded. "She's gone. You won't have to worry about her again. My status with the government has its advantages."

"What'll happen to her, Michael?"

An unreadable expression crossed Michael's face. "She'll be put away, where she won't be able to do anything like this again. It's for her own protection as well."

Michael walked back to the constable in charge and spoke with him softly, beyond Mary's hearing. She sank onto the chintz sofa and pulled her feet up, tucking them beneath her body. A hard tremor passed through her body. It was just now hitting her, how close she'd come to being killed. She felt nauseous and exhilarated all at once. She supposed it was the adrenaline left over from the encounter with Caroline.

The constable nodded once in Mary's direction and left.

Michael closed the door behind him and walked back toward her. He sat on the sofa beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She jumped.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Are you going to be all right? Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, or something stronger?"

"Stronger," she croaked. Her mouth and throat felt as parched as the Mojave Desert in summertime. "There's a bottle of wine in the fridge."

She could hear him opening cabinets, removing glasses, pouring the wine. Still unable to move, she sat on the sofa and listened to him puttering about in her kitchen. His rummaging was a comfortable sound, reminding her of the early days of her marriage . . . before it had turned into a soap opera.

Suddenly, Michael stood before her, holding two glasses of wine. She jumped. "Sorry, I didn't hear you. I guess I'm still a little nervous." She accepted the wine gratefully and took a long swallow from the glass.

"Now I know what people really feel when they say, ‘I needed that.' I really needed it," she said, attempting a feeble smile. "So, what do you do now? Will you go on teaching your class on French poetry? I don't suppose you're really a poet, are you?"

"No, there'll be a family emergency. I'll be called away."

He looked away, apparently, unable to meet her eyes. "Is there anything else you want to tell me, Michael? You're not going to stay and protect me?" she asked with a small laugh.

"No, my cover is blown. I'll be reassigned to something else. You'll be assigned to someone else. You won't know who, neither will I."

Mary considered his words. "Will you be in trouble? I mean, for not carrying out your assignment?"

"Not really. It happens sometimes. The situation has been contained."

Mary noticed that Michael's speech grew more and more abbreviated. He was changing into a stranger, before her very eyes. His face and eyes were unreadable. His body language grew wary. "And you were prepared to seduce me to stay close and protect me?"

"Yes."

Mary shook her head in disbelief. "I see. She watched as he sipped his wine. Hmph, maybe he needed it now. And I don't suppose you play the cello, either. That was just another ploy, right?"

A half smile played about his lips. "Yes, I do."

"So, it wasn't all a lie?" she said with a snort. "Just 99% of it."

"I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Oh, hell, Michael. You overrate your charms. I've had a few fantasies dashed, but that's about it. I've lived through worse. Besides, you were just doing your job, right?" Let him squirm a little. It wouldn't hurt him a bit, she thought.

"Yes . . . but it's not always what I'd prefer to do."

Michael placed his wine glass on the tea table. "Perhaps, I'd better leave. I've caused you enough trouble for one night."

Mary wanted to stop him from going, but she remembered her dream and the ensorceled princess in the tower. She rose from the sofa. "I guess you'd better." She walked to the door and opened it.

He walked toward the door. She stopped him, gave him her hand and said, "Well, I hope you free the world of evil soon, Dark Knight, and free your princess from the tower."

A moment of incomprehension crossed his face. "Never mind, you wouldn't understand," she murmured with a small laugh.

Then, Michael's face beamed, "But I do understand, Mary Raney." He bowed over her hand and kissed it, just as he'd done in her dream. "I wish you happiness. May you find your White Knight."

He went into the night and was gone.

"Goodbye, Michael," Mary whispered to the darkness. She shut the door, leaned against it, and let the tears course down her face. She could still feel the pain and sadness that resided within him. His dark side was strong, but it was tempered with light in a continual struggle to save his soul. Mary Raney cried because no man had touched her spirit in such a manner before.

***********

Nikita, Elena and Adam sat at the table, eating breakfast, drinking orange juice. "Adam, don't play with your food. It'll get cold, and you won't want it."

Adam looked up at his mother with his dark eyes shining. "I don't want any breakfast. I want to show Kita that I can ride my bicycle without training wheels."

Elena was firm. "No breakfast, no bicycle riding."

Nikita watched as Adam sighed and began stuffing scrambled eggs into his mouth. He chewed as he did everything, with the exuberance of youth.

Nikita turned to Elena, "When are you going to start packing for the move? Can I help while I'm here?"

A clouded expression crossed Elena's thin face. "No, I'm having someone do the packing for me, but I do need to get rid of some of Michael's things. I haven't had the courage to do it before, but now that you're here, maybe we could do it together?"

Damn, what had she gotten herself into? "Of course, I will," she said gamely. "Where are you moving? What are you going to do?" Nikita asked before taking a drink of orange juice.

"Well, as you know, Michael had plenty of insurance. We have enough to live on, but I thought I would go back to school. We're moving to England. I've been accepted at St. Anne's College in Oxford."

Nikita dropped her glass of orange juice. "Oh, I'm so sorry." Nikita jumped up and tried to wipe up the spill with her napkin.

"It's all right, Kita. Mommy doesn't get mad when I spill my juice."

During the time it took for Elena to procure a paper towel and the two of them to eliminate the spilled juice, Nikita had regained her equanimity. "Well, that's a really big move, Elena."

"It's a wonderful school. I can complete my degree. I don't know. Perhaps, I'll teach. I've always loved children. I don't guess I'll be having any more of them, now that Michael is gone." Elena's voice trailed off in a wistful whisper.

"I know you don't think so now, Elena, but you're so young and beautiful. You'll probably marry again," Nikita suggested.

"Oh, no, Nikita. You don't understand. Michael is the only man I'll ever love. No one can ever compare with him. He was wonderful." Elena's eyes shone with unshed tears. "You'll understand someday, when you truly fall in love."

Nikita's heart plummeted. She wanted to sink through the floor. She understood too well. After all, they loved the same man.

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

Michael stood, hands clasped in front of him, before Operations and Madeline. Neither were smiling. "Michael, you failed to do the one thing you were assigned to do. Do you have any explanation?" Operations asked in his most irascible tone.

"It was an unforeseen anomaly." Michael felt the skin crawl on the back of his neck. Madeline had fixed him with her penetrating gaze. He could not move to leave until she and Operations were satisfied with his answers. He couldn't risk them extracting Mary Raney.

"Yes, we should have expected at least one of Michael's students to become enamored of him," Madeline admitted. "It was a flaw in the profile."

"The situation has been contained. Mary Raney is not aware of my true identity or affiliation with Section One."

Madeline nodded, "At least we already had a contingency plan in place for backup. Mina Griswold has already made a favorable contact with the target. At this juncture, Mary Raney will probably be extremely cautious around strange men."

"I agree."

"That'll be all, Michael," Operations said.

Michael spun on his heel and left Operations' office aerie. He traversed the metal stairway and went immediately to Systems.

"Birkoff, where is Nikita?"

Birkoff looked up. "You're back already? Uh, Nikita is down for a couple of days. I can't keep track of her when she's around here, much less when she's down."

"Find out where she is. Now," Michael demanded softly.

Birkoff rolled his eyes, but complied. A minute later, Michael knew Nikita's location. The urge to follow her was unbearable. He knew he couldn't disrupt their lives by risking exposure. Disrupt? It would be more than a disruption if Elena and Adam discovered he wasn't dead. Section would likely have Elena canceled, and Adam? What would they do to his son?

Michael left Section One. He would go to Nikita's apartment and await her return. He wanted a full debrief, instead of Section-sanitized reports on their progress.

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

Nikita fitted her key into the lock, turned it and opened the door to her apartment. Helping Elena sort through Michael's things had been more traumatic than she could've ever imagined. All she wanted to do now was go to bed. The debrief could wait until tomorrow. After that, she'd figure out how to keep Michael from finding out where she'd been.

Nikita threw her keys on the glass counter top, shrugged off her jacket and kicked off her sandals. Yawning widely, she walked over to the refrigerator, opened the door and looked inside. An unopened bottle of an excellent wine, brie and a bowl of salad greens . . . Michael must've come by, she thought. She certainly hadn't purchased any of those items. She grabbed the wine bottle, and after setting it on the counter, she looked in the cabinet, in searching of a clean glass. There were two left that weren't in the dishwasher. Shutting the cabinet door, she turned and nearly dropped the glasses. Michael was standing directly behind her.

"Geez, Michael, don't sneak up on me like that." She placed her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss full on the lips. "Mm." she murmured, "I could've shot you."

"You forget that I'm an antiterrorist agent. I have great reflexes. I wouldn't be shot so easily," he said with dry humor. Michael pulled her closer, she could feel the urgency in his touch. As tired as she was, she couldn't help responding. Her heart had already kicked into fourth gear at the sight of him.

"I thought you were still in Oxford. When did you get back?"

"Early this morning. My cover was blown." Michael's hands traveled down the small of her back to cup her buttocks.

"How did that happen?"

"It doesn't matter. There was a contingency plan, and my part in the mission is over."

Nikita took a deep breath and asked, "Well, did you get around to seducing Mary Raney?"

Michael gave a half smile, "Not quite. There were uh-- complications."

"I see." Nikita breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn't help it.

Michael pulled away from her and looked at her intently. "Where have you been?"

Nikita swallowed. Lying to Michael was patently impossible. He knew her too well. Perhaps a half lie would do. "Just some routine reconnaissance. Took a couple of days. I'm tired."

Nikita grew uncomfortable under his steady gaze. She started fiddling with a lock of her hair. Michael's eyes narrowed. She knew without a doubt that she hadn't deceived him.

Michael turned from her and walked toward the French doors. "How are they?" he asked.

"Uh­uh," Nikita stuttered and swallowed, trying to think of a plausible explanation. Michael whirled and stalked toward her.

"Adam and Elena, how are they?" he pressed her.

"Oh, God, Michael, you weren't supposed to know. Madeline didn't think it advisable." Nikita took a deep breath. How could she tell him the truth? It would hurt him all over again.

"I don't care what Madeline thought." Michael stood inches from her. "I want to know. I want to hear it from you." He pulled the stray lock of hair back from her face. "I want to hear it from someone who cares about them. Not some dry-as-a-bone report that tells me nothing."

Nikita tried to blink back the tears. "I was only with them two days, but . . . ."

"What?"

The agony in Michael's voice tore at Nikita's heart. "Elena's the worst. She's in therapy.

"That much I knew."

"She's very thin, Michael. Anorexic almost. But the good news is that she's starting to regain some of her weight. If it weren't for Adam, I don't think she'd be alive." Tears coursed down Nikita's cheeks as she continued. "She loved you so much, Michael. This has been terribly difficult for her." Nikita saw the tears form in Michael's eyes.

"Do you think she'll recover?" His voice was hoarse with emotion.

"Yes, I do. We went through your things while I was there, and she's making plans to go back to school. She wants to teach."

Michael smiled and nodded, "Good. She'll make a wonderful teacher."

Nikita tried to think of a way to tell him the rest. Straight out with it would be best, she guessed. "She's sold the house, and she and Adam are moving to Oxford."

"Oxford?" Michael slumped and pulled away from Nikita. He walked toward the blue bench sofa and sat heavily, as if all the energy had been drained from his body.

"I know. Ironic, isn't it?" Nikita poured glasses of wine and carried one of them to him. He turned to her with his green eyes full of sorrow. "You grew to love her, didn't you?"

"Yes." His eyes pleaded for forgiveness, for which she knew he would never ask.

"I understand, Michael. I do." Nikita said. She understood so much. His reticence in pursuing a closer relationship with her, his conflict. She understood that he cared for her too much to use her for his casual gratification. Elena would never have known, but he would have.

Michael nodded, sipped his wine. "And Adam?" his voice broke.

Nikita beamed at the memory of his son. His beautiful young son. She sat down beside him before answering. "Adam misses you, of course. He doesn't understand everything, but he's adjusting. Children adjust better than adults, sometimes. Or they hide it better."

"Good. It's better if he forgets about me."

"He's not going to forget about you, Michael. Elena has turned the house into a shrine, with pictures of you everywhere. Those she wouldn't give up. Not one." Nikita stroked the hair back from Michael's temple. The curls were growing long enough to tuck behind his ear. "Adam has your other cello . . . in his room. He's taking lessons at school."

"He doesn't know how I died, does he? I don't want him to be afraid." Michael said with a frown.

Nikita nodded, "Some kids at school told him. It was in all the papers. He's been afraid that the bad man who killed his daddy and grandpa would come after him next, but I told him the bad man was way far away. I think it helped."

Michael exhaled raggedly.

Nikita wasn't sure she'd accomplished anything. She hoped the truth helped. Lies would've been worse. She didn't want to hurt him any more than he'd already been hurt. "They will be all right, Michael. They've made it through the worst part."

Michael turned and looked into her eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, and you have, too." Nikita picked up his hand and kissed the back of it. Then she held her glass up and toasted, "To Adam and Elena, may they find happiness."

Michael nodded, then added, "To Mary Raney, too."

"Okay," Nikita said with solemn deliberation, "To Mary Raney, too . . . just not with you."

The corner of Michael's mouth quirked. It was the best sign Nikita had seen in the last fifteen minutes. He had made it through the worst.

Michael placed his glass of wine down and turned to her. "Thank you, for telling me the truth."

Nikita could see the passion as it flared in his eyes, darkening them to emerald green. He pulled her to him, his tongue sweeping between her lips, plundering. His hunger and desperation to be near her overwhelmed her defenses. His lips were demanding, as were his hands. She felt his hands at the fastenings of her clothing, then felt his lips on her bare skin. She pulled his shirt from his pants, unbuckling them in her haste to see and touch and taste him.

Somehow, someway, they made it to her bed. Michael took her quickly . . . not before she was ready. The intensity of his passion engulfed her and carried her along as they rode the storm of their desire.

Afterward, Michael cradled her in his arms, murmuring "Never leave me, Kita. Never."

"Never, Michael," she'd answered. Now she lay awake, prayed that Section One would not try to part them. He needed her as much as she needed him. If only . . . .

Fini

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