Greg sat there staring and blinking. He closed his eyes and rubbed the lids with his thumb and forefinger. *It's too many late nights on the shit shift, that's what it is. Damn you Seymour!* Feeling a little better for being able to place the blame, he opened his eyes but to his dismay, there were still there.

*What the hell are they?*

He knew what they looked like. He could distinctly recall that week in his "youth" when he had been fascinated with the show and the whole context, but he got over that rather quickly, *I mean, I was sooooo young then, what 11?*

He types in a command to view the same location from another angle and the screen, instead of changing camera angles, fizzles, static-blocks and returns to the original view, minus the object of his consternation.

Greg blinks again and then casually slaps himself across the face to wake himself up from the light doze he has apparently fallen into.

"If you need that done, I'm sure we could find someone only too willing to help." Nikita murmurs "just" loud enough as she walks by.

"Oh, I need a lot of things done to me, are you volunteering?" Greg returns, his eyes locked on Nikita's gently swaying hips and long, long legs.

"Hillinger." Michael's voice comes softly from behind him.

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

Operations paces his loft, his attention fixed on the cigar he holds in his hand. *I just have to get through this one more thing and then I can light up,* he encourages himself. "Yes, George. No, George. Yes, George. I don't know George. That's not my section George. You can't do this George!" Exasperated Operations slams the phone down on his desk. *Dammit!!* He places the cigar in his mouth and brings the lighter up when Madeline's very stern countenance fills his mind, "And no smoking in Section anymore, it is encouraging the Operatives to be foolhardy with their health. Do you know that some of them are indulging in 'chocolate' on a regular basis?!?" She had whispered the word 'chocolate' like her mother would be washing her mouth out with soap if she were caught, thereby granting the word all sorts of 'naughty' connotations. With a sigh Operations clicks off the lighter without making use of it. *I'll just go below, but someone is going to pay for my conversation with George.*

Operations starts down the stairs, intent on sneaking away to one of the lower levels and having a quick smoke, but not before he can wreak some havoc with someone, he flips open his phone, "Madeline, I want you to assign Nikita to a valentine mission. None on the books? Well then give her some training in 'field mechanics.' And remember, no ..." Operations' stream of vindictiveness is stopped as somehow he loses his balance and teeters on the stairs. With an undignified "Whooooaaaa" falls forward, flipping completely over once before landing with a THUD at the bottom. For a long moment he lays absolutely still.

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

Birkoff hurries over, "Sir. Are you all right?" He asks, keeping the amusement out of his voice. He has to admit, after the way Operations has been treating him it was a little *a lot* gratifying to watch the old man go down. *If only I had been monitoring the stairs then, I bet this tape would have outsold the Armel mission!*

Operations looks up and sees a ring of young faces looking down at him, none of them reflecting any real concern, but all of them reflecting a morbid curiosity about his chance of survival. "I'm fine. Help me up." he snaps at Birkoff.

Birkoff reaches down to pull Operations up when some unidentified voice in the crowd murmurs something about the 'old man.'

Operations pulls himself up and glares around the circle, "What are you all doing? Get back to your stations and start a full sweep, someone pushed me!"

They all gape at him in stunned wonder.

"Sir." Michael's voice comes softly from behind him.

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

Madeline scrolls down the list of Valentine Ops even though she knows it is an exercise in futility.  She already knows the perfect trainer to work with Nikita on her 'field mechanics,' she just can not understand what Operations is thinking.

Sighing, she types in the mission data, hits enter and then waits.

Approximately 10 seconds later Birkoff buzzes her intercom.  *Hmm, I must remember to note the delay and ascertain it's reason.  He is off of my projection by 3 seconds.*

"Yes?"

"Regarding Mission AZ-712, am I reading this correctly?"

"Yes, Mr. Birkoff.  Is there a problem?"

"Uhh, No.  Just checking."  Madeline can hear him swallowing as he signs off.

Madeline steeples her fingers and stares unseeing at her bonsai.  *What could Paul be thinking?  Who else am I supposed to assign?  Training exercises are always mentored by the most competent available operative.*  With a dismissive shrug, Madeline resigns the question to the emotional depths of Paul's psyche and returns to her previously interrupted game of "Jeopardy" on-line.  Mistress Maddy is winning, just as she expected.

***

"Birkoff."  Michael's voice comes softly from behind him.

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

Nikita flips the postcard from Scotland over and reads the unsigned typed message on the back, "We're here.  Wish you were having fun."  She smiles, trying to decide if it's deliberate or a computerized misunderstanding of the classic phrase.

A knock on her door causes her to stash the card safely away in the kitchen drawer before she turns on the monitor screen.

Nikita sighs as she sees Mick rubbing his hands together outside of her door.

She opens the door just enough to glance around the edge and fixes an uncompromising stare on her neighbor.  "What is it Mick?"

Mick smiles, his glance gliding up and down once involuntarily, *Ohhh, bare feet.*  "Hey Dollface.  Look, I've got something you just got to see."

Nikita rolls her eyes, *Not now.*  "Not now Mick." she starts to close the door.

Mick sticks his foot in the door stopping it from closing, "I'm serious Nikita, this is absolutely too good to pass up." He draws an X across his chest, "I swear you will not regret it."

"Okay," she sighs, "What is it?"

"You have got to come to my apartment to see it."

Nikita quirks her lips in disapproval.  "Oh come on." she states exasperatedly.

Mick looks hurt, "I swear it's not a move.  I'll stay five feet away from you the whole time."  He smiles again, "You do need to see it, I just KNOW you'll appreciate it."

Resigning herself to the inevitable, "Wait here."  Nikita closes the door and automatically pockets her keys and cell phone.  Slipping on some shoes, she opens the door to find Mick still waiting, but he's rubbing his hands together in anticipation and glee. "Okay, let's see it."

Mick graciously holds his apartment door open and Nikita glances around, involuntarily curious.  It is set up very sparsely, with only the bare necessities for the most part, the exceptions being the full-screen TV with stereo surround sound and the computer. 

Nikita turns around and looks at Mick, one eyebrow arched in question.

"It's right here, you'll love it."  Mick scurries around her and heads for the computer which has a, naked blonde playing volleyball, screensaver scrolling across it.

"I hope you did not bring me over here to look at some porn you found on the Net." Nikita warns.

"No, No.  It's better than that.  Hold on. Now where is that newsgroup?" Mick busies himself with the computer, clicking through several open Netscape windows.  Just as he says, "Ah, here it is." and clicks bringing up the window, Nikita's cell phone rings.

She moves to stand behind him as she answers the phone, "Hello."

"Watch this."

Nikita's eyes go huge as the avi plays and she bursts out laughing.

"Josephine." Michael's voice comes softly from the phone. 

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

Greg stares so hard at the screen that he forgets to blink. *Is that what I think it is?*

"Hillinger, what are you doing? Have you run that interface yet?" Birkoff asks impatiently.

Nothing.

"Hillinger!"

No response.

Birkoff stands up, his temper flaring, *This is it! I've had it with that 'Boy Genius'!* Birkoff stomps over to Hillinger's terminal and slams his hand down directly in front of Greg's face. "What in the hell are you doing?!!"

Greg jumps and automatically scoots back from the terminal desk.

"Sorry, Birkoff. I was just scanning the surveillance tape. I thought I saw an anomaly." Greg apologizes, glancing around but maintaining a respectful tone.

Birkoff stands stunned, barely remembering to keep his jaw from falling at Hillinger's apparent deference and apology and then grins wryly as he recognizes the qwerty bruise on Greg's face and wonders if it was Michael or Nikita that finally introduced Greg to the concept of politeness.

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

Operations winces and rotates his shoulders forward. That tumble earlier may have done some damage after all. *Damn if I'm going to go have it looked at. "Old Man" indeed!* He draws in two lungfuls of smoke and savors the harsh bite before exhaling. *AHHHH!* Just then he hears the familiar 'click click click' announcing Madeline. *Damn! Can't I even have a cigar in peace?* He searches frantically for a place to stash the half-smoked cigar. Nothing to the right. Nothing to the left. Ahead of him, by about 10 feet is a cylindrical waste disposal. With a glance of regret at the remaining half of his cigar, Operations lobs the cigar into the top opening *Three points.* just as Madeline turns the corner.

She looks surprised to see him but then her nose twitches delicately and a tiny frown forms of her shapely mouth. "I see." she states, her tone disapproving.

Operations shoves his hands into his pockets and decides to brazen it out. *She can't prove anything. There's no evidence.* He thinks smugly as his cigar pops back out of the cylindrical waste disposal and rolls across the floor.

Both Madeline and Operations watch the rolling cigar gradually stop just in front of Madeline's feet, she in triumph and he in amazement. They pause and look at each other and then there is a mad scramble as each attempt to get the cigar.

Operations ignores the burning sensation in his finger as he grasps the lit end of the cigar.

Madeline contemplates kicking him but instead steps on the back of his hand, placing pressure via her heel.

Operations yelps and releases the cigar as he pulls his hand out of the way.

Madeline swoops down and grabs the cigar, holding it victoriously. "I warned you. Now, I'm going to get the doctor to recommend you quit smoking and send the report to Oversight." *I know George will enforce it just for spite!*

Operations glares at her while he cradles his injured hand. "You can't prove that I had anything to do with that cigar." He quietly informs her.

Madeline arches a brow while a faintly cynical smile flits across her face. "Don't make me do DNA testing to prove my point." she warns him.

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

Birkoff stops scrolling and waits for the avi to finish downloading. He's a little surprised to discover Greg is posting to this newsgroup, but then who can tell with Hillinger?

Birkoff taps his fingers as he waits, thinking back to the restrained surveillance he watched earlier. Who would have thought that two people who were so obviously hot for each other as Michael and Nikita, would have had such a stilted Valentine training session? The fact that Michael had opted to stick to a dining 'field mechanics' did not surprise Birkoff. He didn't think that Michael would willing 'train' with Nikita for the cameras to record, still they were so ... wooden. Most of what they said seemed distant, protracted, almost rehearsed, as if they had said it before. And something was obviously wrong with the equipment mounted in Nikita's apartment, there was slight jumps and skips during the viewing.

*At Last!!* the avi play box comes up. *One day I have to get budgetting to look into Cablevision access or something.* Birkoff hits the play button and watches with amazement as video from Operations' fall down the stairs plays to the song of "I fall to pieces." As the song continues, Operations' computer enhanced image flips over once and then his body parts fly apart and reconnect in ... inappropriate places and then the image skips and returns to the original fall, over and over and over again.

Greg walks by, his bruise fading, "Hey Seymour, you want to close that mouth, you are attracting flies." he drops the casual insult as he saunters by.

Birkoff closes his mouth and then saving the avi, he smiles. His smile starts out as just a twitch of his lips and blossoms into a face splitter as he attaches origin information and presses the send button, sending the avi up to Operations' computer with a FYI designation.

*GOTCHA Boy Genius!!!*

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

The mousy brown tribble shifts his body to adjust his glasses and scampers back to the splicing machine. Rolls and rolls of tape litter the floor causing him to skid slightly as on the screen more video of Michael and Nikita eating dinner plays out on the screen.

On a second screen Operations' head disconnects from his falling body and plants itself on the seat of his pants. Music plays softly in the background.

***********

Nikita sprawls over Michael's nude body waiting for her heart to slow down to it's normal pace. She snuggles up closer to him drinking in his unique scent. "Tell me if I am squishing you." she breathes into his neck.

Michael gently draws a random path down Nikita's back and across her shoulders with a fingertip as he feels her delicious weight pinning him down, claiming him. "You are fine."

Nikita grimaces at his choice of words but decides not to pursue it. "Michael, how do you know we didn't just give Birkoff a lesson in sex education, the kinky years?" Nikita gnaws slightly at her lower lip.

Michael smiles a little at the thought, but shakes his head. "No, I received a message that the surviellance would be on the fritz tonight."

Nikita smiles, "That's so sweet of him." She traces a fingernail across Michael's chest, outlining each individual muscle, "You know, when someone gives you a gift, it's a shame to waste it." she drawls in a husky voice as she starts to bite gently along Michael's jawline.

***

"But I didn't do it!" Hillinger calls out as two of the Housekeeping force drag him around the corner. "It was Birkoff, he set me up!" Hillinger tries a last minute shift of blame.

Birkoff turns to Madeline, secure in the knowledge that the system search they did earlier proves conclusively that the original video and changes had originated from Greg's com station, during his shift and with his signature code embedded. "Is he cancelled?"

Madeline smiles slightly, making Birkoff nervous, "No, he's due for some ... 're-education.'" she states simply, her eyes shining at the thought of what lay ahead.

Birkoff nods his head and avoid the almost sensual gleam in her eyes. He shivers slightly.

***

Greg sweats freely as Madeline circles him. The metal clamps on his arms and legs chafing him. "It wasn't me. I swear it. I didn't do it. It must have been Birkoff, he's jealous of me, you know it." Greg babbles.

Madeline just continues to circle him, like a vulture waiting for the final twitches before snacking.

After a few minutes Greg finally stops as he realizes that it is doing him no good to blame Birkoff. "It was ..." he stops, *NO. Even in this situation, that is too stupid to say out loud.*

Madeline stops and waits, when Greg does not continue his thought, "Yes?" she encourages.

Greg glances at her, then at his hands and back at her. *What the hell!* "It was the Tribbles?"

Madeline's smile disappears and she quickly switches off the surveillance camera. "What did you say?"

Greg, who has watched her reaction with fear, shrinks back into the chair, "It was the Tribbles??" he offers hesitantly.

Madeline smiles as she leans closer to Greg, her lips almost touching his ear as she asks, "Mr. Hillinger, have you every heard of SPOT?"

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