Outside In By Shelly, Ghost, Denize, MLN, Marie, Kate, Enjoue, Zouzou, Deb, Trudy, Leigh, and Dawn

***Part One by Shelly*** Michael was watching Mowen. The cold op was extremely pale and his skin was sheened with sweat. Something was wrong. The mission they had been sent on had been a bust. A set up of some sort. Operations had sent them on it without getting all the facts. Michael had been watching when the head of Section had killed the man Madeline had been interrogating. She had been furious with Operations, he hadn't cared.

"ETA?" Michael asked the driver of the van.

"Fifteen minutes," the driver replied.

Michael said nothing, but continued his silent contemplation of the mission. The information Madeline had gotten suggested that Red Cell had a set up in a warehouse and that they were leeching information from the CIA database that Section was linked up to. But when Michael's team had approached the warehouse it had been empty. Only Mowen had entered, taking samples of what looked like dried blood. One van had remained on site, at Michael's insistence. Nikita and Danielle were in the van. They would observe the warehouse for another twenty-four hours. Michael had ordered Nikita to stay out of the warehouse and he hoped she would obey him, for once.

By the time Michael had shifted his thoughts back to the present, they had reached Section. The team disembarked and entered transport. Michael found Madeline waiting for him. She was not pleased by what he had to tell her. Michael paused long enough to send Mowen to Walter with the blood samples. Madeline asked a few more questions then told Michael to clean up, she would fully debrief him later. He watched her glide away and could guess that her intent was to confront Operations.

Mowen, meanwhile, had delivered the samples to Walter and had made his way back to Birkoff’s area. Not to see the computer whiz, with whom he had nothing in common, but to chat with Gail. Rumor had it that Gail had broken up with Birkoff. But even as Mowen flirted with Gail, ignoring Birkoff’s glare, he felt a wave of dizziness. Then there was a flash of pain and he felt himself falling.

Michael heard Gail's scream and came running. He looked at Birkoff who confirmed that he had called Medical. By the time the team came with a gurney, Operations and Madeline had joined them. Michael waited till they were gone to speak with Madeline. "Mowen didn't look well during the ride back," he said softly.

"Symptoms?" Madeline prompted.

"Pale, sweaty, glassy-eyed," Michael quoted.

"Flu?" Operations offered, ignoring the cold look Madeline shot him.

Michael blinked. "I don't think so," he replied.

Madeline didn't think so either. "Mowen was the only one who entered the warehouse, yes?" she questioned Michael.

"That's right," Michael confirmed.

"Walter should be running the tests on the blood samples Mowen gave him," Madeline commented. "Send him to MedLab to confer with Doctor Banner."

Michael nodded then strode off. There was nothing more to say. But his mind was chaos. He was doing his job, but his thoughts were on Nikita. Michael prayed she stayed in the van.

****

Danielle woke up with a start, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Frowned as she noticed Nikita was missing. "Damn!" Danielle muttered, then exited the van. She shaded her eyes and searched the area. Nothing. "Probably answering the call of nature," Danielle told herself, thinking that she had to do the same. She headed for some bushes when she caught movement from the corner of her eye. Nikita was exiting the warehouse. "Shit!" Danielle hissed, running towards the other woman. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.

Nikita shrugged. "I was bored," she stated, snapping a piece of gum. "I just wanted to see what was inside."

"Michael told us to stay out of there," Danielle reminded the blond.

"Yeah..well...Michael ain't here," Nikita shot back, her blue eyes flashing with defiance. "Besides...the place is empty. Nothing there to hurt us." She spoke with the certainty of someone who still believed that the good guys would always win. Nikita still hadn't learned that sometimes you couldn't tell the good from the bad, cause there was no such thing as black and white. Only shades of gray. "I'm hungry," Nikita said, clapping Danielle on the shoulder. "Whatcha got in your back pack?"

Danielle shook her head. "I gotta pee," she declared. "Help yourself." With that she headed for the bushes, rolling her eyes. Michael had his hands full with Nikita.

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

"How's Mowen?" Operations asked. He threw the question out to both Michael and Madeline.

Michael answered. "He died five minutes ago."

Operations was not pleased. "From what?" he demanded, his pale eyes glittering in a face that had turned to stone.

"We haven't been able to identify it yet," Madeline interjected.

"What do we know?" Operations challenged.

Michael blinked, folding his hands in front of him. "That it's a virus," he said softly. "Fast acting. Section has been infected."

Moving to the corner of Madeline's desk, Operations sat down hard. He didn't want to hear this. "I take it we're too late to isolate?"

"In Dr. Banner's opinion...yes," Madeline replied. She was watching Operations' closely, then shifted her gaze to Michael and nodded.

"I need a blood sample," Michael stated, reaching for Operations' hand. He pressed a small device to the other man's finger tip then stepped back, pocketing it. "I'll deliver this to MedLab." With that Michael was gone.

Operations resisted the urge to sigh. "What's the damage?" It had been twelve hours since Mowen had first collapsed. Not much time.

Madeline leaned back in her chair, appearing calm and unruffled. She and Michael had already been tested. Michael was negative, but she was positive. Not that she intended to relay this fact to Operations. He had enough to worry about. "About sixty percent of our people are infected, but Dr. Banner seems to think he'll need to keep testing. He's getting a fair amount of false negative, and positive, readings."

"Do we know how long the incubation period is?" Operations queried.

"Not really," Madeline replied. "It took Michael's team sixteen hours to return to Section and Mowen collapsed soon after. Which makes about thirty-two hours from the time he was infected to the time he died. The next break out occurred two hours later."

Operations sighed. "Who was that?"

Madeline locked eyes with him before stating, "Gail."

"How is she?" Operations prompted, idly wondering how Birkoff was handling the news. He knew that the two were an item. Or had been.

"She appears fine, other than suffering from regression," Madeline declared.

Operations came up off the desk. "Regression?" he hissed. "What the hell does that mean?"

Madeline was not provoked by his anger. She smiled and explained. "Gail has a fever but it's not overly high. However, she seems to be reliving her childhood. She doesn't recognize anyone here and keeps calling for her grandmother. She was raised by the woman."

"What does that mean?" Operations challenged. "What the hell kind of virus is this?"

"As I said, we don't know," Madeline countered, serenely.

Operations pinched the bridge of his nose. "Has everyone been tested?"

Madeline nodded. "You were the last."

"Is Michael infected?" Operations queried. He needed Michael to be the Rock of Gibraltor that he always was.

"No, he's clean," Madeline replied. "Most everyone is showing positive in some manner, but Michael is completely clear."

Operations' was pleased. "And you?' he prompted, his pale eyes glowing with concern. Madeline was the most important person in the world to him. He would not lose her.

Madeline smiled. "I'm fine," she lied, then turned to face her computer. "I have work to do." She knew that she wouldn't be able to hide her symptoms for long. It was taking all her will power not to tackle Operations to the floor and ravish him. And a part of her wanted to run after Michael and do the same. She had trained him as a Valentine Op and Michael had been a wonderful lover. The part of Madeline's mind that was still unaffected reminded her that she was simply suffering the effects of the virus, but it was getting harder and harder to listen to reason, so she heaved a sigh of relief after Operations left her office. Madeline then slumped in her chair and unbuttoned her blouse. She was burning up from the inside out.

****

Michael delivered Operations' blood sample to the lab. Dr. Banner didn't look good, but he was working diligently and he made Michael submit to another blood test. The doctor had muttered something about Michael's blood being the key, then had wandered off. So Michael had headed for his office. He wanted to check on Nikita, so he uplinked to her via his computer and sent a message. "Nikita....are you there?" Typing in the words gave Michael a cold chill. He hit *enter* then waited. Nothing. Retyped the message and sent again. This time the chill that washed over him made Michael shiver.

***Part 2 by Ghost*** Striding into Medlab, Michael found Walter hunched over a microscope and Dr. Banner seated at his desk, scribbling in a notebook. As he walked over to Walter, Michael cast the doctor an appraising look, noting that he looked flushed, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead despite the coolness of the room. Touching Walter on the shoulder, he laid down the slide containing Operations' blood sample and with a sigh, the older man lifted his eyes from the microscope, rubbing them wearily.

"Has Dr. Banner been tested?" he asked quietly, eyes going once again to the figure of the doctor, rubbing his temples as he continued to write.

"Yeah." Walter gave the doctor an uneasy look. "He's positive." From the doctor came a muttered curse, fist slamming against the desk, and he ran both hands through thinning brown hair, fingers tightening painfully hard on his hair.

"And you?"

Walter heaved a sigh of relief, a small smile creasing weathered features. "I'm okay. Tired...but okay."

Michael's relief was as strong, though nothing showed in his expression. As quickly as this infection was spreading, he needed as many competent operatives as possible to contain the situation. "One last subject to test--and I need the results right now."

"Right." said Walter, heaving another sigh. Grunted as he stretched aching muscles and blinked as he lowered his head to look into the lenses, taking the slide Michael had given him.

Leaving Walter to his work, Michael drifted over to Dr. Banner, who had dropped pen to massage his temples. "Any progress?"

Dr. Banner's head snapped up, a snarl distorting normally placid features. "If I had anything to report...don't you think I would?" As Michael regarded him coolly, he rubbed a hand over his face, trembling a little with the effort to control himself. "Sorry. No--nothing concrete." From a corner of his desk, he grabbed a printout, fingers crumpling it a little as he shoved it at Michael. "That's a list of those infected...so far."

Michael scanned the list, feeling his stomach twist with a growing unease at the long list. Too long...and containing too many people they simply could not do without. And in the middle of the list was Madeline's name--folding the printout Michael looked to Dr. Banner. "I was with Mowen, exposed to him--why am I not infected?"

Dr. Banner gave an irritable shake of his head. "I don't know--something in the blood, some property...but I can't get a lock on it." Rubbed his neck with the back of his hand and mopped sweating brow with his sleeve. "It's hot in here--how can you expect me to concentrate under these conditions?" he complained.

"I'll see about having the climate control adjusted." said Michael placatingly and turned away to confer with Walter again.

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

Dr. Banner closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead, trying to distill the persistent ache there. Hard to think, to concetrate--part of his mind knew it was because he was ill but that rational voice had shrunk down to the tiniest of whispers, fading before the fever that raged through his blood. Opening his eyes, he saw not the white antiseptic walls of Medlab but in its place dark mahogany paneling, the medical cabinet replaced by a floor-to-ceiling bookcase--looked down to see not the glass surface of his desk but a wooden table, his notebook replaced as well by a book.

Disbelievingly he swept the room with his eyes and experienced a chill as he realized where he was. His father's den, his inner sanctum...and he had been called here for yet another imagined infraction. His father strode in front of the fireplace, the leaping of flames casting odd shadows behind him, lending him a demonic appearance, and he slapped the thin whip against the palm of his hand, eyes grim behind his glasses. Coming to administer another beating, scourging him with words as well as that whip...

Slowly Dr. Banner pushed up from his desk, hand sliding across the surface to find the sharp scissors that laid there, and stalked towards his father. It had to stop...he had to bring this to an end...

At the sound of footsteps behind him, Walter half-turned, just in time to see Dr. Banner lunge at him with the scissors. They cut across his sleeve, scoring a long line down his forearm, and he tumbled back off the stool in his attempt to avoid another attack. Michael caught the doctor by the back of his coat and dragged him off, throwing the older man down onto his back. Sat on his legs and caught the wrist that held the scissors, struggling to hold Dr. Banner down as the other man thrashed under him, screaming obscenities.

"Walter!" he snapped, ducking his head to avoid a clawing hand.

Scrambling to his feet, Walter began yanking drawers open feverishly, looking for a syringe. Tearing the plastic wrapping from it, he grabbed a vial and quickly filled the needle, dropping awkwardly down to his knees beside Dr. Banner. Michael leaned forward, twisting the wrist that held the scissors, and put an arm across Dr. Banner's throat, trying to hold him still as Walter injected him. Dr. Banner gave a jerk as the needle went in and then slowly went still, eyes rolling back up in his head.

Gingerly Michael eased his grip and rose, giving Walter a nod of thanks. Strode over the desk and slapped at the intercom. "Medical to Dr. Banner's office." he ordered tersely.

Tearing his sleeve open, Walter turned his arm to look at the ragged cut with a grimace and Michael pushed him back to the stool, getting an alcohol swab and a bandage to tend the wound. "If this is a progression of the infection...we're gonna be in a world of hurt really soon." reflected Walter sourly, wincing as Michael taped the bandage in place. His eyes went to the microscope and he swallowed hard, reaching out to grasp Michael's arm as the younger man started to move away. "The last slide...infected."

"Operations." said Michael quietly and without another word strode quickly from the room.

***Part 3 by Denize***

"Nikita...are you there?"

Nikita's heart lurched. How many times had she seen those words during the six months she was "free" from Section? How many times had she typed in the word "yes," only to turn off the comm unit before sending the message? She just couldn't take the step that would allow her to let Michael know she was alive. She didn't know if she was punishing Michael or punishing herself by not responding. In the end, it didn't really matter, because Nikita's heart ruled her head and she knew that as much as she pretended, she would have no life unless she could resolve her feelings about Michael once and for all.

"Yes, Michael, I'm here," she said into the comm headset.

"What's your status?" Michael asked.

"It's pretty dead here. There's been no activity. We surveilled the perimeter several times throughout the night and all we found were some dead animals."

"Dead animals? What kind?"

"Some dogs. I also found some dead rabbits in cages inside the warehouse this morning."

"You went inside?"

"Yeah, I..."

"Then you've been exposed."

"Exposed? Exposed to what, Michael?"

"Mowen's dead. More than 60 percent of section is infected."

"Infected with what? There's nothing in there."

"We're not sure yet, some kind of virus, but, dammit Nikita, why couldn't you do what I told you and not go into the warehouse?"

"Can't it be contained?"

"No, it's a fast acting virus and it's too late to isolate Section. You've got to send us a blood sample for both you and Danielle. If you're infected you'll need to get back to Section as soon as possible because the incubation period is less than 24 hours."

"What are the symptoms?"

"Starts out with flu-like symptoms. In some cases the virus seems to affect the brain's memory function and create a regressive state."

"You said 60 percent of section was infected. What about you?"

"No, it looks like I'm one of the few that tested negative, but there have been several false negative and false positive results, so until Biotech identifies the virus we're all at risk. I need those blood samples from you immediately."

She could hear the worry in Michael's voice. As much as he tried to disguise it she sensed it and only then did she begin to realize the serious- ness of the situation. Michael was safe. That's all that mattered to her. But then she thought of herself and Danielle. To make it back to Section, back to Michael, only to lose it all through her own stupidity. Why had she gone into the warehouse? Why hadn't she listened to Michael?

"Danielle, we need to send a blood sample back to section. Mowen contracted some sort of virus from the warehouse and has infected Section."

"What?" Danielle shouted. "You mean there's some killer virus floating around in that warehouse and you went in there and now you've probably infected us both. Oh my God, we're going to die out here in the middle of nowhere and it's all your fault."

"Let's just stay calm, Danielle. Michael was exposed and he tested negative, so there's a chance that we'll test negative as well."

Nikita drew blood from her finger into a small vial and then drew from Danielle. She placed a drop of her blood on the chem strip and inserted it into the analyzer that would send her blood cells to Section for analysis. Then she placed a drop of Danielle's blood on the strip and they waited in silence.

As the stillness of the woods enveloped them, Nikita could only imagine the chaos that must be spreading through Section. Michael had said he was one of the few who had tested negative. What about Operations? What about Madeline? God, what about Walter and Birkoff? What if the entire Section became infected before some kind of antidote could be found? Did this mean the end of Section?

Nikita's mind drifted off to the fantasy that she had dreamed of so many times. In her dream, she had answered Michael's message on the comm unit when she was away from Section. Michael found a way to fake his death and was able to escape Section to be with her. They were able to start over with a whole new life.

Lost in thought, Nikita was unaware of Danielle's movements in the van. Before she could react, Danielle had a gun pressed against Nikita's temple.

"Danielle, what are you..."

"Shut up. If you think I'm going to listen to your bullying anymore then get ready to die right now because I've had it with you."

"Danielle, what are you talking about?" Nikita tried to move her head to the side just enough to look at Danielle. What she saw made her blood run cold. The eyes she looked into were manic. The face she saw was contorted in rage.

"Get up. And don't try anything. I've waited a long time for this and I'm going to enjoy every minute of watching you suffer, just like I've suffered."

*****

Michael paced nervously back and forth as Walter ran the diagnostic on Nikita and Danielle's blood samples.

"Can't that thing work any faster?"

"Look man, it's a computer. Computers work on their own time."

Damn Nikita. It was all Michael could think about. Damn, damn, damn her. If he wasn't so mad he'd be worried. Okay. He was worried. He knew a little bit about the demons from Nikita's past and the thought of those memories coming to the surface as a result of the virus was more than he could bear. The thought of her not being able to make it back to Section, of her suffering, helpless and alone, made him want to get on a plane to Scotland immediately to be by her side.

He was wracked with fear. He was filled with guilt and remorse at the things he didn't say. At the things he didn't do.

"Okay Michael, we've got one positive and one negative."

*****

Nikita slowly opened her eyes and tried to bring her surroundings into focus. She started to move her hand to her throbbing head, but soon found that her hands were tied behind her back. She felt the damp ground beneath her and realized she was seated against a tree about 50 feet from the van.

"Good, you're awake Margo." Nikita heard a voice behind her and felt a jolt of pain in her neck when she tried to turn her head towards the voice.

"Now we're going to see how you like to play the game when I'm the one making up all the rules." Danielle spit the words out with such vehemence that Nikita wasn't sure it was really Danielle.

For the year that Nikita had known Danielle she'd always thought her to be a rather quiet girl, almost serene in her manner. Nikita knew a little about Danielle's past. Knew she had been in prison for five years before she was "recruited" by Section. She didn't know what brought Danielle to prison but she did know that Danielle's quiet and reserved manner did not serve her well in the maximum security women's prison where she spent five years of her life.

Michael had said that one of the symptoms of the virus was memory regression. Did Danielle think she was back in prison?

"Danielle, you called me Margo. I'm Nikita, remember? We're on a mission and we're waiting to hear back from section on our test results."

"Margo, it's time for you to shut up. I've done my time as your slave and now it's your turn. Now I'm going to take the van to get supplies and you're going to stay here like a nice little girl. And when I get back, we'll play house, just like old times."

"Danielle, it's Nikita. Let's both go back to the van and contact Section to..."

"We're not contacting anybody. You're going to do what I say for once and wait right here Margo." And with that, Danielle smacked the end of her gun against Nikita's head, walked to the van, got in, started the engine and drove away.

***Part 4 by MLN***

Operations stopped outside the door to Madeline's office to light a cigarette. Hell, he was probably going to kick the bucket because of this virus, so what was one more cancer stick? Pocketing the lighter, he took a drag and looked around. Empty. Not an operative in sight, cold or otherwise.

A cold one would be good right now, he thought grimly, loosening his tie. It was as hot and steamy as a jungle in here. He made a mental note to instruct Birkoff to run a diagnostic on the environmental controls, but then it occurred to him he might have a fever. Well, if he did, he'd just deal with it. God knows he'd suffered through worse and still managed to keep hold of his faculties. And his men.

He was punching in the entrance code to Madeline's office when he heard it. A rustle, like leaves or bushes. And then the sound of a twig snapping.

SNIPER, his instincts shouted, and he grabbed his gun and whirled around to catch the son-of-a--

But there was nothing except the gray, antiseptic hall of Section. Not a sniper soul in sight, not down here, where the sun never shone and the only Charlie was the one in Systems.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched, and it was with a sickening sense of dread that he finished the entrance code and escaped into Madeline's office.

Madeline. There she was. As she always was: watching her computer monitor, still and composed. His touchstone, the one who cooled his temper, guided his judgment, kept him steady and focused.

And reminded him even supposedly dead POWs had pulses.

He shook himself out of his reverie. "What's our status?" he asked, more brusquely than he intended.

She looked up, and he saw in concern that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glazed. "I'm not sure," she said mildly, and returned her attention to the computer.

He stepped down to her desk and was startled to see that the monitor was blank. She was not reading reports, she was just staring into empty space. He leaned over, knocking the ash off his cigarette, and hit the comm button.

"Birkoff," he said sharply. "Status report."

"The infection rate is at seventy-five percent," Birkoff's voice returned promptly.

"I do wish you'd give up those nasty things," Madeline murmured. She distastefully wiped the ash off her desk with a tissue.

Operations ignored her. "What have we heard from MedLab?"

"Dr. Banner collapsed and had to be sedated," Birkoff reported. "Walter is now heading the medical team."

"Walter's not a doctor," Madeline observed, amused.

"No," said Birkoff. "But he is listed as one of our experts on chemical warfare. Apparently he worked for a group called the Green Berets or something."

"Green Mountain Men," Operations corrected sharply. "A group of long-haired draft dodgers who tried to find a cure for Agent Orange instead of serving their country."

"Yeah, that's it. Mountain Men. Anyway, Walter's all we got left," Birkoff said, his voice dropping so low they could hardly hear it.

"Oh, dear," Madeline sighed. She stretched her neck.

"What about Michael?" Operations asked, trying not to watch Madeline.

"He's working with Walter. They think Michael might have been exposed to a similar virus years ago, resulting in the production of antibodies in his blood. We might be able to use his blood to develop an anti-toxin."

"That's -- uh --" Operations stopped, trying to remember what Birkoff had just said. It was difficult. Madeline was smiling at him. Not her usual all-purpose Mona Lisa mystery smile, but THAT smile. The one she used in the hotel in Amsterdam, the houseboat in Miami, the hot tub in --

Operations cleared his throat. "Keep me posted," he ordered, and reached over to cut the comm link.

Madeline grabbed his hand before he could pull it back. Rubbing her thumbs over the ridges of his forehand, she murmured, "I do like your hands. Such strong hands. Strong and --"

"Madeline," he interrupted. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said. She rose and, keeping his hand loosely in hers, rounded the desk. "I'm just a little warm."

"Oh, my God," he said. "You've got it."

"Yes," she responded lightly, running her hand up his sleeve to his shoulder. "And so do you." Gently, she placed the back of her fingers against his heated face.

"Madeline," he said urgently. "We can't give into this. We have to stay in control."

"I," she said deliberately, "am always in control."

"I need you," he said. "I can't beat them without you."

"Them?"

"The people responsible for introducing this virus into the Section. We have to find the traitors, flush them out, and--"

"But I already know who is responsible."

"Who?"

She ran a sharp fingernail down his cheek. "You."

Furious, he stepped back. "How can you say that?!"

She laughed. "You should have listened to me," she said. "If you had--" she broke off, laughing again, when he stalked out of the office.

Needed her. Of course he needed her. He couldn't do without her. This place couldn't do without her. If he'd realized that before, they wouldn't be in this mess. All he had to do was let her finish the interrogation, but noooooo. He had to assert his power, throw around his macho bossman weight. Men. They were such bull-headed creatures. She was of the firm belief that the level of testosterone was in direct proportion to the level of stupidity in human beings.

Restless, she pulled off her jacket and tossed it on the desk. It was so hot in here. The fever, of course, but she could handle a little fever. She'd certainly survived worse.

And maybe it wasn't the fever. Maybe that little twit Birkoff was playing with the computer again. He thought he was so smart. Yeah, right. He was so smart that, even with his coke-bottle glasses, he couldn't see that little chickie Gail was stepping out on him.

Or maybe he had seen it, she thought. And maybe he blames me. He probably upped the temperature in here to make me think I was sick. Well, she'd show him. She could stay cool-headed no matter what.

Oh, but her bonsais. Poor little things, they would wilt and die in this heat. She retrieved her pruning shears, deciding that trimming the extra leaves would help them survive this ordeal. Such pretty little bonsais, she thought, happily starting to snip. Her babies, really. The only babies she'd ever have, and that was fine.

She hummed while she worked, something vaguely and appropriately Japanese, and then somehow the tune got mixed up with a fragment of a poem she remembered from a long time ago:

"The bonsai tree in the attractive pot could have grown eighty feet tall -- But a gardener carefully pruned it."

The rest escaped her. Something about a woman being a bonsai and a man being the gardener and . . . . typical woman-as-victim feminist crap. Any woman who let herself be pruned by a man deserved to wilt and die in a pot. Women had the power to rule the world, or at least the power to rule the men that ruled the world. For you see, she argued with the poet mentally, women had the secret. They understood the power of emotion -- they understood that it wasn't the rational mind that dictated our actions, but all those seething, roiling drives that ran under the surface. Fear. Lust. Desire. Hatred.

If she were the woman in the poem, she'd -- but she wouldn't be. Poetry. Puh-leez. Alison had liked poetry. She even wrote poems, sweet little sickening ditties about the boys in her class. Stupid boys. Stupid poems.

She hadn't thought of Alison in years. What a summer that was. Mama and her brilliant idea to take in a foster child, as if that could replace Sarah.

Snip, snip.

Mama had called Alison's poems "delightful." She had thought everything about Alison was "delightful." A golden girl, sweet and unsullied by the dark demons that terrified her real daughter's sleep.

Snip, snip.

Mama wanted to adopt Alison. One big happy family, mommy and stepdaddy and two little girls, one dark and one light. Well, Madeline smiled, I handled that problem just fine. And what a pretty bonfire it was, and what good kindling were Alison's little journals, Alison's little girl dresses, Alison's golden curls, snipped from her sleeping head.

Pretty little bonfire, pretty little bonsais. All lined up in a row. Just like -- just like the dolls on the windowseat in Sarah's room. Pretty little dolls, all of them, but the prettiest by far was the one in the middle. A Madelaine doll, Mama said when Sarah opened it that Christmas. Very rare and very expensive. Mama wanted her to have it because she thought it looked like Sarah. The same pretty blond curls, the same pretty blue eyes. Not like the dark-haired, dark-eyed Sharon, glowering at them from the other side of the tree.

But Madelaine was mine, Madeline thought, ruthlessly excising a dead branch. I was supposed to get a doll that Christmas, but instead all I got was a bike. A girl's bike at that.

Sarah just didn't understand. No one understood. Not then, not after the ambulance had come and gone, not after the doctor sedated Mama to stop her crying, not after Papa walked out of the funeral home and never came back, not after she'd taken that pretty Madelaine and bashed her pretty little golden china doll head against the stairs, over and over and over . . . .

"I wanted the doll."

The shears clattered to the floor, and Madeline spun around.

Nikita stood there, smiling sympathetically.

"When did you get back?" Madeline demanded.

"I didn't," Nikita said, and vanished.

Slowly, carefully, Madeline regulated her breath. Nikita. Wasn't here.

Nikita. Pretty Nikita. Pretty golden-haired Nikita. Pretty golden-haired Nikita watching her with pity. Madeline didn't want pity.

Picking up the shears, she crossed to her computer and hit the comm button. "Birkoff," she said sharply.

"Yes?" he answered.

"Any word from Nikita and Danielle?"

"No. And they're not responding to --"

"Well, find them," Madeline interrupted impatiently. She had to do everything around here. "And as soon as they arrive, I want to see Nikita in my office."

The pruning shears gleamed in her hand. What Madeline wants, Madeline gets, she thought. And she smiled.

***Part 5 by Marie***

Michael took a deep breath before he had the nerve to ask Walter, "Which one of them is negative?" His heart was ready to sink as he looked at Walter for an answer to his silent prayer.

"Nikita is negative. Sugar doesn't have it either!" Walter felt tears of joy spring to his eyes, but was unwilling to let the younger operative see how much he truly cared for Nikita. Instead he acted as if he had something in his eye and rubbed it vigorously.

Michael's exhaled breath was clearly audible to Walter, but his answer was short. "Good. I'll try to contact them again." Michael's heart sang a brief paean of thanks as he contacted Birkoff on the comm. "Try to raise Nikita and Danielle again. Nikita is negative, but Danielle is positive. We need to keep Danielle from spreading the virus, and there may be something in Nikita's blood as well that will help stop this epidemic."

"Sure, Michael, but they're still not answering," was Birkoff's reply as he continued to raise them.

"What about their personal tracking devices? Can we triangulate on them?" Michael knew he could not give up. Section One's survival depended on his finding them.

"There's only one that's sending, Michael, and it's stationary and still at the site of the warehouse area."

"Only one?" Michael's concern for Nikita grew. Had Danielle or Nikita shed a tracker and fled? He couldn't see Nikita being that irresponsible. She would never endanger a civilian population with the threat of an outbreak. Neither of the two operatives knew their blood results. What kind of regression had Danielle experienced? Had she harmed Nikita? Michael's fears continued to mount, but he was chained here at Section One by duty and honor. He was free of the disease, and there was no way he could rationalize deserting everyone here in order to rescue Nikita. She was on her own.

"One of them could be malfunctioning, Michael."

"What's the failure rate on the tracers, Birkoff?" he asked grabbing at a proverbial straw.

"Forty per cent give or take ten. Or maybe it was dislodged. It could happen."

"Can you triangulate on the van itself?" Michael asked.

Birkoff's fingers flew over the keys. A link here, and a link there and--voila! "Here it is, Michael. It's heading straight toward Edinburgh. What? Do you think Nikita is taking the van there?"

"No, Nikita wouldn't do that. She would contact us. She is negative, but Danielle's blood sample is positive, and there is no way to determine what she might do given the many presentations of the disease. Continue to monitor the tracker still activated. Let me know if there is any change." At this moment, Michael didn't know if Nikita was still alive, but he had to continue to function here. It was up to him to save Section One.

********

Nikita stirred restlessly as she lay on the damp grass. Her entire head throbbed and seemed to expand with each susurration sounding like the pounding surf in her ears. She tried to open her eyes but seemed to see two of everything and three of some things. She was almost certain she could make out three men watching her as she struggled against her bonds. She was so tired and sleepy. Maybe she should just take another little nap. Yes, that was exactly what she needed.

Nikita's head drifted to the side again, but the man who watched her knew sleep was the last thing she needed. "Dinna be goin' to sleep on me now lass," James MacGregor said softly as he leaned over the body of a moderately battered but still beautiful blonde.

The sound of a voice startled Nikita from her nap. She jumped and groaned with pain as she hit her head on the tree behind her. She shrank in reflex from his offered hand.

He continued in his soft Scots burr. "I'm no gonna be hurtin ye. Ye look like ye could use some assistance, if ye dinna mind me sayin'so. I'm James MacGregor, but my friends usually call me Jamie. Will ye let me untie ye?"

Nikita was cautious, but nodded her head in assent. Untying could only be good in her condition. "Where am I?" she asked. Why was she tied out in the woods anyway, she wondered.

Jamie's expression grew quizzical. "Ye dinna know where ye are? Ye're outside Edinburgh, lass. What be yer name?"

Nikita thought for a moment, looked at Jamie, looked at the trees, and said, "I don't know."

"Well most likely ye've had a concussion, and I"d better be takin' a look at ye. Will ye come with me? I promise I won't hurt ye."

He held out his hands, and Nikita could see that they were uncallused and smooth. His face was kind as well as handsome, and he had merry blue eyes that hid nothing. She didn't know why, but she trusted him, and she obviously needed help.

Jamie gently untied Nikita's hands, and as she flexed her wrists to regain the circulation she gazed into his blue eyes, blinked for a moment, because the image of gray-green eyes intruded. Nikita smiled uncertainly as he assisted her slowly to her feet. "Can ye make it over to my Land Rover or shall I carry ye?" he asked in concern at her wobbly stance.

"Oh, I'll be fine," she said automatically as she stepped forward and collapsed into Jamie's arms. Luckily, Jamie was a large man, for she was no dainty bundle.

"Thank you," she said softly as she lay her head on his shoulder.

***Part 6 by Kate***

Jamie opened the door of the Land Rover, steadying Nikita on the side of the vehicle. "Now, Nikita, in you go ..."

She blinked at him, confused. Her head still pounded and she felt a little shaky, but she had enough sense to know something wasn't right.

"Come along, lass ..." he held out his hand, but still Nikita hesitated.

Never get in the car with a stranger. Even if he has a gun. If you get in, chances are you won't ever get out alive.

Good advice, even if she couldn't remember who gave it to her. Nikita blinked again. "What did you call me?"

"Nothing, darlin'. Now, get in the automobile, there's a good girl ..." his voice was soothing, his eyes warm and kind, but Nikita, regaining her equilibrium, shook her head.

"I don't think ..."

"Nikita, get in the car." His voice was harder now, and though his eyes were still soft and concerned, Nikita began backing away.

Not fast enough, though. Jamie reached out a long arm and snagged her. Nikita struggled against him, but she only succeeded in banging her head on the top of the car; with a groan, she slid down in a heap. Jamie sighed, collected her, stuffed her in the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. ______________

"Michael," Birkhoff announced, "Rogers and Cecille have Danielle."

"Details?"

"She's sick, all right. It's being contained for the moment, though. They've got her in isolation, and they haven't been exposed."

"The van?"

"Also isolated."

"Good." Michael stayed silent, eyes scanning the computer screen. A tiny dot representing Nikita blinked regularly, not moving. "The tracker?"

Birkhoff sighed. Sometimes, he really enjoyed his job. Then there were times like these. "It's been stationary for too long."

Michael swallowed and nodded. "I'll be in my office if you need me. Please forward all of Operation's files. I'll run things from there, it's less ... distracting."

"You got it." ___________

Well, this was a fine how-do-you-do, he thought, thoroughly disgusted. Not twenty minutes before, he'd watched Danielle tear off in the mission van, with Nikita trussed up like a fowl. He'd been about to break the rules and go over and untie her when the Land Rover pulled up. Great, he thought, pulling distractedly at his ginger goatee. What is this, the George Washington Parkway? It's a forest, for crying out loud, in the middle of nowhere. Not a damn scenic route.

He melted back into the shadows, crouching behind a rather large bush, watching the scene play out in front of him.

He shivered. Despite the calendar, it was cold in Scotland. I wish I were home, he thought longingly. With my central heating and Elspeth. She was a good dog, a black lab he'd used when he'd watched over Nikita on the Armel mission. Although he'd rented her with the full intention of returning her after the mission was over, he and Elspeth hit it off and somehow she'd been in his life ever since. She was a good dog: understanding, loyal and affectionate. When he was gone his brother watched her, and while his brother was good with Elspeth, she truly preferred her owner.

He didn't spend enough time with Elspeth. Hired to watch Nikita, one of the more transient operatives in Section, his duties took him all over the globe. He'd been to Mexico, Columbia, all the provinces, and half of the United States. He tried to tell himself he was seeing the world; but the truth was, Nikita didn't really go anywhere he wanted to see. She spent a lot of time in unsettled countries with nasty people. He wanted Venice and Athens. She got sent to Siberia and Peru. And Turkey. Geez. If he never had to go to Turkey again, it'd be too soon. Once was nice. Nine times was a bit much.

Nikita was by far one of his most difficult assignments. Not because of her job -- though that was part of it -- but because of how much depended on her safety. He'd never interfered, not even when things looked desperate. That wasn't his job. His job was to watch and report. Still, it was only natural to want to help her; she got into such odd scrapes, he was reminded of those nutty Nancy Drew books his sisters used to devour. Like Nancy, for Nikita, one thing seemed to follow another, and before either of them knew it, she was in some sticky mess. Like now, he thought, heaving a sigh. Following her was no picnic, that was for sure.

Well, at least she was untied now. From his vantage point, he could tell she had a nasty cut on her head; blonde hair was stained red near the back of her head, and though he was far away, he knew her body language well enough to realize she wasn't too steady on her feet. The man said something to her; Nikita nodded, then sort of tumbled into his arms.

Perfect, he raged. Just perfect. Don't get in the car, Nikita, he willed silently. You get in, you're harder to track. Come on, make my life easier. Whack him on the head or shoot him or something ... for God's sake, make those sessions with Michael pay off ... I've seen you fight off bigger men than him ...

Good. She was backing up. He held his breath.

Her rescuer had other ideas, though. He caught Nikita and pulled her close; she fought back, but though her instincts were good, her aim was off. She swung around, and her head rammed into the side of the Land Rover with a sickening thud.

From behind his bush, he winced. That had to have hurt. Of course, she wouldn't feel it for some time -- even from where he watched, he could tell she was down for the count. The other man scooped her up, tucked her in the car and slid behind the wheel.

Damn, he thought. He waited for the car to turn around and head out, then he trotted over to his moped, hopped on and followed the Land Rover.

Keeping a safe distance, he wondered if he still had his international drivers' license. That's all I need, to be detained in Scotland, he thought, and as his hand slid to his inside pocket, he felt his phone lurch against his chest. He nearly lost control of the bike. Thoroughly enraged, he snapped open the phone, steering with one hand.

"What?" he said tersely.

"Status," the other voice said.

"I'm a little busy now," he protested.

"Status."

"I think she's alive. She's got a head injury. Someone's taken her."

"Taken?"

"I'm following them now," he said, then, tiring of the conversation and not entirely sure he could keep up the balancing act, he disconnected, replaced the phone and concentrated on his prey.

As the wind hit his face, he cursed steadily to himself. Damn, damn, damn. At this rate, he wouldn't get home to his dog and his central heating for at least another week.

***Part 7 by Enjoue***

She began to stir restlessly, then spoke one word, a question in her voice. "Michael?"

"Ah...no, lass. It’s me, I’m afraid. Rest easy now; ye’ve been out a good while."

A gentle hand held hers as Nikita gradually rose upward through the murky depths of unconsciousness. Bit by bit she took in her surroundings, her awareness expanding outward like ripples in a pond. She opened her eyes, looking and listening. A dim room. A crackling fire. The ticking of a large clock. A monkey.

A monkey?

The tiny thing grimaced at her and Nikita jerked back reflexively. With a wry smile the man sitting next to the sofa patted her hand. He spoke in a calming tone.

"Dinna be upset by Priscilla . She’s my little pet and wouldna hurt ye. She’s only a wee bit curious, a common thing for monkeys, ye understand."

Nikita shook her head. "A monkey." She looked at him and repeated her words. "A monkey?" Though her mind was swarming with questions, this one seemed irresistibly to beg an answer.

The little creature leapt to Jamie’s shoulder and clung there adoringly. "Well," he began, somewhat sheepishly, "she was part of an experiment where I work and I, well, I got somewhat attached, ye see. After the experiment was finished she couldna be used for any other research, so I spoke for her."

He turned his face to the side and the monkey looked into his eyes intently. "She’s called a spider monkey, see? She’s a rather clever little thing."

He gestured toward the sofa and addressed the tiny animal. "Look here, Priscilla. This lady was in some trouble so we’ve brought her to safety. We must be nice, now." The monkey turned its droll little face in Nikita’s direction and rolled her eyes around in their sockets.

Despite herself, Nikita smiled. She painfully eased herself up to a sitting position. "Thank you for helping me. I’m Nikita, by the way."

Jamie reached up and gently disengaged Priscilla from his neck, cradling her instead in the crook of his elbow. "Well, we are pleased to meet ye, Nikita. I’m Jamie MacGregor, in case you dinna remember our earlier introductions."

Nikita smiled wanly. "Where are we, exactly?"

"Well, ye are in my home just outside Edinburgh. I wasna too sure of the circumstances ye were in. I thought perhaps we might talk a bit before I called in the police."

Nikita closed her eyes briefly and said a silent thank you for this kindness. For a moment she felt overwhelmed by those circumstances. Section One’s infection rate. Danielle loose somewhere - and possibly spreading the disease. Her own exposure. Michael...

She closed her eyes again and willed order upon her chaotic thoughts. First: figure out how to either use or get clear of Jamie. Second: contact Michael.

Jamie watched her face intently. Although he could never have left her as he had found her, he had a bad feeling about this. Clearly this was a situation he should be no part of. He was in over his head and ought to remove himself from the entire business. And quickly.

But instead, he reached out to push blood-matted hair away from the wound on her scalp. "That’s deep, lass. It could have used a couple o’stitches," he murmured gently.

The blue eyes focused sharply on his face. "And how would you know that?" she snapped.

The monkey bared her teeth at Nikita’s tone but did not stir from Jamie’s lap. Nikita looked at the creature, replaying earlier conversation in her mind and adding things up. "Are you some kind of doctor?" she asked, her tone more civil now.

"Aye...well, some kind. I teach at the University of Edinburgh in the pathology department of the medical school."

"Oh?" Nikita prompted. Against her will and all common sense, a small kernel of hope formed and sat shiny and hard in the pit of her stomach.

"Aye," he repeated, warming to his subject. "We’re a teaching and research facility. I work in the Neuropathological Disorders Group. We work on infective dementias in layman’s terms that would be the mental effects caused by certain infective agents viruses, if ye know what they are." He paused, fearing that he had lost his audience, then finished up lamely. "It’s verra interesting work."

The kernel of hope burst open and sent out long roots and tendrils that twined throughout her body. Trying the quell the rising tide of desperate optimism, she pasted a small, calm smile on her face.

"How did you happen to find me?" she asked casually.

"Oh, well I enjoy the countryside. Whenever I can I get away from thecity." He shrugged. "My office is at Western General Hospital, a verra busy place. Unfortunately, I canna do my work without labs, students and cities." The last word was uttered with particular distaste. "Anyway, I was just on a ramble, like. And there ye were at the edge o’ the wood near that old warehouse."

Nikita nodded, her mind working furiously as she listened to his soft burr. Suddenly swinging her legs over the edge of the sofa, she placed her hands on his knees and gazed resolutely into his face. He looked back warily.

"Jamie," she said carefully. "A lot of people need your help." She hesitated, trying to gauge how much to tell him. In the corner a grandfather clock began to chime softly, reminding her of the urgency of the situation.

She waited until the last rich bong died away, then began speaking again, softly. "Jamie, that warehouse where you found me has an infective agent of some kind inside. One of the people I work with was exposed to that agent and has in turn infected a lot of people at my...office. Many of them are already dead, possibly including our doctor."

Jamie’s face registered an almost comical mixture of dismay, disbelief and intrigue. "What..." he whispered vaguely.

"I was exposed too, but for some reason haven’t developed any symptoms." She rushed ahead then. She had to have this man’s cooperation. "One of the people who has the illness is out somewhere, possibly spreading it to the general population." Nikita could not know, of course, that Rogers and Cecille had already contained Danielle. Or that Danielle was already on a morgue slab back at Section One.

Jamie stood up slowly and walked away a few steps, leaving Priscilla in the chair and turning his back to Nikita. In its corner, the clock ticked, marking the passing minutes with ponderous regularity. Desperately Nikita willed Jamie to believe her - to want to help. She refused to hear the thoughts that whispered at the back of her mind, the knowledge of what would become of his life if he did choose to help. That could not be helped; there was simply too much at stake.

At last he turned and knelt before the fire. The light flickered warmly on his face as he poked and rearranged the logs, sending up a brief shower of sparks. He turned to face her, still on one knee and leaning on the poker.

"If there’s something dangerous and infectious out there, ye know we should call the authorities." He watched her, waiting.

Nikita simply shook her head. "We can’t." Then it was her turn to watch and wait, her blue gaze boring into him, imploring.

He nodded, then threw the poker down in disgust. "Well, I’m a certain fool, but I’ll help ye however I can. At least for now." On the chair back Priscilla yawned hugely then chattered her teeth together, peering from Jamie to Nikita and back again.

Nikita slumped back on the sofa in combined pain and relief. "Thank you," she breathed. Struggling upward once more she stepped shakily toward the telephone that hung on the wall just inside the entrance.

Suddenly the door slammed inward and rebounded loudly on the wall. Priscilla shrieked deafen- ingly and in one tremendous leap gained the security of Jamie’s shoulder. Startled, Nikita staggered defenselessly against the wall.

A drawn pistol preceeding him, Michael entered the room. His eyes roamed restlessly throughout the area, taking in every detail. Only then did he allow his gaze to lock onto Nikita.

"Are you all right?" he asked, not lowering his gun.

Nikita drew a long, relieved breath to regain her composure. "I’m fine," she replied, pushing away from the wall to stand upright. "You can put that away, I was just about to call you."

Michael looked back at Jamie. Although his gaze lingered momentarily on Priscilla, he showed no reaction to the remarkable presence of the little primate.

"This is Jamie MacGregor, Michael," Nikita said by way of introduction. "*Doctor* James MacGregor."

Michael lowered the gun finally and looked at Nikita for clarification.

"Jamie is with the University of Edinburgh, in the department that studies..." she paused, momentarily at a loss.

"...I study the kind o’ problem ye seem to be having," Jamie finished, looking curiously at Michael.

Michael turned to Nikita. Grasping her upper arm, he drew her aside, his lips close to her ear, his eyes flicking constantly to Jamie and the monkey.

"How did you find me?" Nikita whispered.

Michael ignored the question. "Tell me what he knows."

"He found me near the warehouse where Danielle left me unconscious and tied up. When I found out what he does, I only told him that there is something in that warehouse that made us sick...some of us, anyway," she amended when he shot her a burning glance. "I’m fine."

Nikita stepped closer and closed her hand on his arm. "Michael, I think he can help us. He has the knowledge. The lab. He doesn’t know anything yet about who we are, but he’s agreed to help. What’s going on at Section?"

His reply was terse, unfeeling. "Seventy five percent infection. Medical is virtually gone. Operations and Madeline are both infected."

"Then we must have help," Nikita whispered urgently.

Seeing no answering conviction in Michael’s expression she dug her fingers deeply into his arm. "He’s our only chance, Michael."

Michael looked back at Jamie. From her shoulder perch Priscilla bared her teeth at Michael in an ingratiating grin, then began grooming her left armpit industriously. Jamie said nothing, but watched them both with unwavering attention.

"Michael." Finally he looked back at her.

He stared into her eyes, then let his gaze wander strangely over the rest of her face. With a flash of alarm, Nikita wondered if Michael had been infected. After a minute of silence, his reluctant words were barely audible.

"We could be free."

Thunderstruck, Nikita felt her chest constrict until it seemed there was no breath left in her. For a few glorious moments her imagination took flight, and Michael watched as it all played out on her face. Then, he saw what he had expected to see, and knew the answer before she spoke.

"They would all die," she whispered brokenly.

Michael nodded and touched her face once, gently. He couldn’t really say that he felt disappointed; he wouldn’t want her to be any other way. Slowly he turned and looked at the doctor.

"You have five minutes to pack a bag. We’re leaving." Heading for the door he added over his shoulder, "No monkey."

***Part 8 by Zouzou***

Nikita watched as Michael retreated across the room and waited, his body language telegraphing continued vigilance. He had given an order and after so many years as a team leader he simply expected it to be obeyed.

"Well than we have a wee bit of a problem." Jamie finally voiced in response to Michael's directive about Priscilla. "The wee one and I go together or not at all." he stated with quiet finality.

"Michael, what harm can it do? She's just a little monkey." Nikita asked, anxious to get this issue behind them so they could head back to Section and save their friends--and Madeline and Operations too.

Michael turned ice green eyes to the two people across the room. Priscilla regarded him disdainfully from her perch atop Jamie's shoulder and groomed herself while her fate was decided.

He looked at her and a slight shiver ran up his spine. Normally he liked animals--although he had made a point since being in Section to not become attached to any--but monkeys were different. Michael had always been intrigued by them as a boy and had loved going to the zoo to see them. He had carried that natural curiosity with him about man's closest relative into adulthood until he'd had the opportunity to meet one up close and personal....then his perspective had been forever changed.

It had been on a mission about 10 years earlier when he was a member of a team sent in to raid a laboratory suspected of trying to manufacture designer viruses. The building had been vacant of people when they had arrived but they had still performed a systematic search of the facility to gather evidence and then destroy the place. There had been dozens of cages of animals in the laboratory and it was a given that they would be destroyed along with the building. There was no way to know which animal had been infected and thus all were to be eliminated. Michael had been searching the computer system in a back office when he had seen a blur out of the corner of his eye and then the attack had come.

One of the monkeys had escaped its cage and had taken refuge in the office and now had its strong simian arms wrapped around Michael's neck and its teeth imbedded securely into the juncture between his throat and shoulder. It had been a fight that Michael had barely won and in the end he had grudgingly admitted that the animal had been a more opposing advisary than many of the humans he fought.

By the time the team had returned to Section twenty-four hours later, Michael had been sick and the wound terribly infected. One of the Medlab doctors cheerily informed him that monkey's mouths were a veritable cornucopia of bacterium. Michael hadn't cared at the time--he'd just wanted to feel better. He'd spent a week in sick bay, an unusually long time for him, and then had been on partial status for another six. In retrospect Michael realized one of the closest calls he'd ever had while in Section had come at the hand of a monkey...not a very auspicious fact, he mused.

Now here he was facing another life threatening situation, not his life this time but that of his friends, and of all the variables to be thrown into the mix was a primate that made him supremely uncomfortable. Suddenly realizing that three sets of eyes were watching him, waiting for an answer, he snapped himself out of his reverie and returned to the situation at hand. "We don't know what type of virus we might be dealing with. I'm sure you wouldn't want to put her at risk." Michael said to Jamie, hoping that other man's concern for his pet would win the day.

"Oh, she's a hearty little lass, I'm not worried about her. Plus she helps me with my work. She's a good assistant in the lab. She's learned to fetch things for me, saves me some steps." Jamie responded.

"Come on, Michael, let's just take her with and get going. It's not like she'll be running around loose, she'll be with Jamie." Nikita said, wondering at the slight look of discomfort she had seen on Michael's face earlier. It was hard to fathom that he could be frightened by a tiny monkey but it seemed it was so.

Taking one final look into the two pair of blue eyes, and one of brown, regarding him Michael finally gave into the inevitable and nodded. "Get what you need, we leave in four minutes." he said, turning back to the window and wondering why this whole situation just didn't feel right to him. It was too convenient, too much of a coincidence. But even if it was a set-up he had no choice but to bring Jamie--and the damn monkey-- in and see if he could help.

Michael made a mental note to ask some more pointed questions of Jamie once they were on their way. Why had the man been in that particular area near a location that by coincidence was contaminated with the exact sort of virus he happened to do research on? Why was he so willing to help them with so little information? Why was he so calm in having a gun bearing mission clad man storm into his house? Those and a dozen other questions ran through Michael's mind as he absently listened to the other two packing to depart.

"We're ready to go Michael." Nikita's husky voice whispered into his ear. He hadn't heard her approach but he had sensed her to his very DNA and briefly closed his eyes and absorbed her aura.

Turning to her his eyes roamed her battered blood stained face and hair and he thought that with the sun shining through the window onto her she was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

"Then lets go. Our friends are waiting." he whispered back, his left hand reaching to gently brush against her smooth cheek.

***Part 9 by Deb***

The halls of Section were even more desolate than usual. Michael walked a few paces ahead of the trio and Nikita couldn't help but wonder if it was his usual role as leader taking precedence, or if he wanted to place distance between himself and the monkey. ****** She noticed Michael's usually calm demeanor unravel slightly when Priscilla jumped from her perch on Jamie's shoulder into the front seat of the car. For Michael, the white knuckled grip on the steering wheel and the muscle lined clenched jaw was the extent of losing it, but definitely a noticeable reprieve from his stoic nature. It wasn't until he glanced at her sideways and gruffed out through tight lips for her to "lose the monkey" that she realized there was something definitely up.

He was afraid, an almost childlike fear of something relatively harmless, and this amused her. So, Michael was human after all--of course she knew it, but to have it play out in front of her was fascinating. Had the circumstances been different she may have even enjoyed this a bit. Rather than cause any more stress to an already stressful situation she lifted Priscilla and handed her back to Jaime.

****** "Stay close" Michael whispered.

A small squeak from Priscilla brought a deadly glare from green eyes...Jaime swinging the little simian off his shoulders and nearly suffocating her to his chest to comply with Michael's not so subtle hint that she had best remain quiet.

Nikita looked around wearily. "Where are the ones who are infected being contained?"

"There is no containment area, its too wide-spread and Medical personnel is just about depleted. Walter has been working in Med Lab, we'll stop there first and let Jaime get acclimated." Michael answered.

Nikita nodded "What can we do in the meantime?"

"We will have to split up and check out the status here. We need to know if any of the negative results have proven false and if there were any more losses." Michel replied.

He had no sooner completed his thought when Nikita turned to leave. "I'll get started while you show Jaime the set-up in Med Lab."

He grabbed her arm to stop her retreat "Nikita, be careful....suspect everybody." His tone held warning but his eyes emanated worry.

With a reassuring smile she nodded and continued on her way, Michael watching her retreat with the wish that for once she would really listen to what he said. He sighed and turned toward Jaime "Let's go." ******

Walter looked up in alarm at the intrusion into Med Lab. It took him a moment to register that it was Michael who entered, the relief coming in the form of a whistle while he rubbed his temples. Taking immediate note of the man accompanying him was overshadowed only by Priscilla still held tightly in his arms. "You got company?"

"This is Dr. Jaime MacGregor" Michael provided by way of introduction.

Walter rose to shake the man's hand "Boy, am I glad to meet you." He looked curiously at the monkey. "And who is your friend?"

"This is Priscilla." Jaime replied.

"Well Priscilla, welcome." Walter smiled. "I need all the help I can get."

Michael stood quietly while the two men spoke, immediately interjecting with the facts. "Jaime has experience with the virus here at Section....show him what you have so far."

Having said all that he felt necessary he left the room.

"Talkative chap." Jaime mused aloud.

"For him that was a tirade." Walter quipped

Jaime chuckled,enjoying the much needed stress reliever. "OK, let's see what we've got."

Walter immediately provided the slides that had been analyzed with no end result. "It's not much but it's all we have."

"I'm not as interested in the specimens of the infected at the moment.... I'd like to start with the currently negative ones if ye don't mind." Jaime requested.

"Yeah, sure...Here's mine." Walter offered the slide.

Jaime placed the slide in the electronic microscope barely giving it a quick once over. "Do ye have Michael's on hand?"

Walter's senses stirred with a sudden uncomfortable feeling. "Um...it's in the analyzer. Dr. Banner was working on it."

Leaving all of the other specimens where they lay, Jaime walked hurriedly over to the analyzer. "Interesting...very interesting." he mused aloud as he read the digital printout. Ejecting the slide from the equipment he stared at it,features becoming tight with anger as jaw muscles clenched to stave the fury.

"This will not do--I need a full sample...a couple of vials at the least." he hissed.

Noticing Walter's surprised expression at his sudden outburst he attempted to smooth out his tone. "You must understand that to accurately analyze the characteristics of the potential antibodies here I must have enough of the specimen to test it in various stages."

Walter continued looking at the man as he spoke, his eyes growing crystal blue with suspicion.

He didn't know much about infective dementia or molecular virology but he did know when something didn't feel right. Dr. Jaime MacGregor was not at all what he professed to be. He would have to give the suspicion more time, but he most certainly would keep his eyes open.

Two things he knew for sure: That the man knew more than he was letting on and it most definitely had to do with Michael...and that the Scottish accent he had walked in with had disappeared.

******

Nikita continued her trek through Section; its stark endless hallways lending an eerie feeling that made her skin crawl. Michael had checked in through her Com unit and knowing Walter and Birkoff were safe she decided it was best to check in with Madeline.

She entered the office slowly, her vision being hindered by the gray haze of unusually low lighting. The hum of the computer was the only sound breaking the otherwise still ambience of the barren room. The tingle of apprehension made its way up her spine; hairs coming to attention on prickling skin.

Finding the room empty she turned to leave nearly barreling into Madeline.

The older woman stood there, her usually soft brown eyes glazed with a maniacal glint. Her hair was wild about her face just barely covering features that held an almost hideous evil smile.

"Hello Nikita... I've been waiting for you."

***Part 10 by Trudy***

Nikita immediately sensed trouble and began backing down the stairs into Madeline's office. There was no choice, really, Madeline was steadily advancing upon Nikita forcing her back into the room.

"Mmm..adeline? Are you all right?" asked a wary and extremely anxious Nikita. Eyes furrowed and lips tight, Madeline hissed back, "I'm fine."

"Madeline? You don't look well. Can I get you something....anything..." Nikita trailed off as Madeline circled around her. Nikita immediately began looking for escape routes, and remembered that she had her comm link on, tuned to a private frequency connected only with Michael.

"Michael...I'm going to need your help with Madeline," she whispered softly.

"DON'T YOU DARE CALL FOR HIM! Michael...Michael...Michael. IS THAT ALL YOU EVER THINK ABOUT?" Madeline spat these words at Nikita, and then just as quickly her face morphed into that of the usually serene, calm Madeline.

Taking a deep breath, Madeline calmly ordered, "Now then, Alison. Please sit down...we need to talk."

"Madeline, I'm not Alison, I'm Nikita." Nikita's words enraged Madeline.

"SHUT-UP! SHUT-UP! I'm sick of you and your stupid poems, and your stupid lies! SIT DOWN NOW!"

"MICHAEL....now would be good!" Nikita repeated in her comm link.

"I'm on my way." Michael could hear the anxiety in Nikita's voice and left his office to assist her. After his scissors encounter with Dr. Banner, he knew anyone infected and delusional could have the strength to kill, and Madeline had this strength under normal conditions.

Michael quickly made his way past Medlab and scanned the area. Cots upon cots of downed operatives lined the hallway. It looked as if he were walking though a makeshift war zone hospital. And, in fact, it *was* a war zone...one of sick and dying people, here no cure was insight.

As he looked over the casualties, Michael came upon Ken, one of his most favored team members. Ken always did a good job. He obeyed orders to the letter, was cooperative and well-liked by his colleagues.

Even though Michael knew Nikita needed him to help her, he stopped a moment to look into Ken's dark brown eyes. They were glassy and distant.

"Ken," Michael whispered. The operative was dazed, but blinked at the sound of Michael's voice.

"Ken, can you hear me?"

"Dad?" Ken asked quizzically. He looked into Michael's eyes, and began to sob. "Dad...I'm sorry...please forgive me! I didn't mean to do it! I'm sorry...Dad, please!" Ken begged Michael to forgive him.

Michael's heart ached. He knew only too well that he also wanted forgiveness from *his* father. Forgiveness for crimes against humanity, his family, himself. Michael felt compelled to give his friend some comfort.

"Yes, Ken, it's Dad...I forgive you, son." Michael felt the tears well in his eyes as he saw a relieved and thankful friend find solace in these simple, but profound words.

"Dad..." Ken whispered. "I love you, Dad." And then, Ken's eyes shuttered closed, lost to an unconscious void.

In a brotherly gesture, Michael stroked back a lock of black curly hair from Ken's forehead, could feel the heat of his fever, and Michael's heart sank, heavy with grief, praying that his friend and colleague would survive this deadly assault on them all.

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

"Madeline, please let me help you!" Nikita begged, trying to be understanding but using extreme caution. It was clear that Madeline was in a very dangerous state.

"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP! SIT DOWN!" Suddenly Madeline threw her body against Nikita and shoved her full-force down to the floor, slapping her, hand over hand, like a child beating up her little sister.

Nikita held her hands up against the attack, deciding not to fight back unless the blows being inflected got to be too much. "MADELINE....MADELINE! CALM DOWN!" Nikita tried to grasp the flailing arms of the enraged Madeline, but Madeline was much too strong, almost robotic in her relentless attack, now straddling a stunned and shocked Nikita, slapping her face over and over.

"I HATE YOU! Why did you have to come into our life! Everything was just fine until you showed up! I HATED SARAH, AND I HATE YOU....you with your blonde hair and blue eyes....Momma always liked your eyes...SHE HATES ME!" Madeline hissed as she continued her relentless battering of Nikita. "MICHAEL....Mich.....!" Michael's mind was quickly returned to the voice of the woman he loved; could hear the panic in her voice, and bolted from Medlab to Madeline's office.

Michael raced through Systems to be met with the unmistakable sound of a bullet ricocheting off the wall behind him. Instinctively, he ducked behind the computer console and pulled out the hidden gun from the holster on his lower leg.

Weapons inside Section were strictly prohibited, but Michael learned long ago always to have some type of weapon in his possession after the attempt on Operations' life which resulted in the Protosian fiasco. Walter came up with a small, undetectable solution for him as a favor and Michael reminded himself that he must thank his friend once he was out of this predicament.

Again, another round fired at him. Michael peered over the console, through the computer monitors, to see a shadow of a man holding a pistol. Was it Operations? No…it couldn't be. It *was* Operations!

"Sir, sir, what are you doing? It's me, Michael!"

"Carter, Wilson, RETREAT TO THE WEST!" cried Operations. "VC closing in! Snipers above! Fire on my command!"

Michael looked over the console in disbelief. What the hell was going on? Michael thought exasperated. Did Operations think he was back in Viet Nam?

Suddenly, another shot rang past his temple, missing him within centimeters. Michael ducked again, turned and hugged his back up against the wall of the console, checking the clip in his gun. The situation was rapidly deteriorating from bad to worse.

Upon hearing sounds to his left, Michael quickly raised his gun and pointed it at the intruder invading Systems, prepared to shoot.

"Whoa...Michael...it's me! Birkoff exclaimed, hands held up. He was scared to death. Michael let out the breath he was holding and lowered his gun.

"What the hell is going on?" Birkoff demanded nervously. He didn't know what to make of the situation.

"Well Birkoff, Operations is shooting at me," Michael replied sarcastically.

"Why?" Always the inquisitor, Birkoff was truly curious.

Suppressing the urge to slap him, Michael took calming breaths and tried to explain. "The virus can cause serious repression. Operations thinks he is in Viet Nam."

"WHAT?" shouted a stunned Birkoff.

"Birkoff, have you been tested again?" Michael had to know whom he could trust.

"Yes," replied the young computer genius.

"And..." prompted an agitated Michael.

"Negative." Both breathed a sigh of relief for a moment, until they were startled again to the serious situation around them by flying bullets.

"Birkoff, pull down the keyboard and call up Operations' personal files," ordered Michael.

"But..." stammered Birkoff.

"Just do it," demanded Michael.

"Okay, okay...what am I looking for?" Birkoff need to know where to start.

"Who was his second in command in Viet Nam?" Michael had a plan. He thought if he could appeal to Operations as an ally, he might be able to subdue him and then sedate him.

"It was Sgt. John Carter, Michael. Decorated, Purple Heart, Medal of Valor, served two tours under Operations ending in the 1972 withdrawal. Now a CFO for a computer software company in Carlsbad, California. Married, two kids." Birkoff paused. "Looks like they might have been close. What are you going to do?" asked a curious Birkoff.

"I'm going to be Sgt. John Carter," stated Michael softly, peering over the console, mapping the situation before him, concerned about Nikita and knew he had to get word to her about his delay.

"Nikita, do you hear me?" He could hear her frantic attempts to calm Madeline as she protected herself from Madeline's relentless assault.

"Michael....?" Nikita asked in panic.

"Nikita...you have to do what you can...I can't get there. Try to be her friend. Kita....her middle desk drawer. There is a syringe. Sedate her as quickly as you can. And, Kita...be careful."

Knowing Michael was not coming, Nikita had to make a choice. Madeline was quickly overtaking her, battering Nikita, until Nikita had had enough. Superior commander or not, she could not let Madeline beat her to death. The time to act had arrived.

Even though occupied by trying to push Madeline off her, Nikita had heard the exchange between Michael and Birkoff and knew that Operations was attacking them as if at war. She thought that Michael's theory to overcome Operations posing as his friend might just work for her too.

A moment later, the stronger Nikita flipped Madeline to the floor and straddled her, placing her arm against Madeline's neck. Nikita thought she would try to become "Alison."

"Madeline....Madeline...calm down....it's Alison!" shouted Nikita, trying to get her words to sink in to an insane Madeline.

"MY NAME IS NOT MADELINE! MY NAME IS SHARON!" Madeline spat at Nikita.

Nikita was stunned. *Sharon*? Who was Sharon? Multiple personalities? Nikita wondered as she tried to restrain a wriggling and hostile Madeline. No time to consider who Madeline *thought* she was, Nikita had to play the hand dealt.

"Okay...okay...Sharon. Please calm down....do you want to play a game?"

"NOOOOOOOOO, I don't want to play with you! I hate you!" Shouted the demented Madeline.

"But, Sharon...I like you! Please, let's play a game. You choose what to play, and I'll play whatever *you* want to play!" Nikita used her most soothing, earnest, innocent voice.

"You will?" Madeline's eyes grew wide with surprise. "You will play with me? What I want?" Madeline suddenly turned in to an enthusiastic little girl, thrilled that someone wanted to play with her. Madeline calmed down immediately.

Nikita's heart sank. Generally, she disliked and distrusted Madeline, but seeing her in this vulnerable state, so delighted and surprised that someone wanted to play with her, well, it caused Nikita's heart to soften since it reminded her so much of herself.

Nikita never had many friends. They moved around a lot. She wore tattered clothes and the mean kids often made fun of her, sometimes chasing her to beat her up. She had been reminded of this horrific childhood memory when she was used as a guinea pig by Madeline for the fazing shell. Then, though, she had won against the kids who were chasing her-she beat them up! But, that hadn't been real. Usually, the kids *did* beat her up, so Nikita spent most of her time alone and afraid. She had been a lonely child. Apparently, Madeline had been too.

"Yes, Sharon, whatever you want to play. It's you room, your choice!" Nikita began to feel assured that Madeline was not going to continue hitting her, so she let Madeline up.

"Oh, goody Alison, I want to play dolls!" Madeline beamed, giddy with excitement.

"Okay." Nikita replied suspiciously, looked around wondering how she was going to get to Madeline's desk. No telling when Madeline would revert back into hostility, could be any moment.

"Sharon, let me look in the desk over there...I'll bet there are dolls in the drawers." She had to move quickly...she could see the suspicion beginning to form in Madeline's eyes.

Nikita scurried to the desk and frantically began opening drawers.

"No dolls, but look...tea cups...and a tea pot! We could have a tea party!" Nikita was desperately grasping at any diversion to stall, but Madeline responded joyfully to the tiny teacups.

"Oh...I like tea," replied a jubilant Madeline.

"Then you make the tea, any kind you like and we'll pretend we have dolls, okay?" Quietly, Nikita opened the middle drawer of the desk and found nothing. No syringe, no weapon, nothing that could give her a leg up on the situation.

"Well, are you coming?" demanded Madeline. Nikita knew she had to work fast. She pulled open the third drawer and hastily rummaged through it looking for the sedative Michael knew Madeline kept there. Suddenly, her hand came across a small black leather case. She looked up to Madeline, who was becoming more agitated that Nikita was not sitting on the floor for their makeshift tea party.

"I'll be right there Sharon." Nikita pulled the small case up on her lap and opened it quickly. It was there...a small tube with a needle on the end sheathed with plastic to protect it. Quickly, she pulled the plastic off and concealed the tube in her hand.

Moving over to Madeline, Nikita sat down and smiled. "Looks good Sharon. Cupcakes and everything!" Nikita giggled. "Can I sit next to you Sharon?"

Madeline looked carefully at her tea party companion and tensed, apparently feeling the need to guard against allowing anyone to get too close.

"Well...why don't you sit where you are?" Madeline replied, mildly irritated.

Nikita needed to get close enough to inject the sedative.

As if a prayer was answered from the heavens, Madeline straightened out her left leg and Nikita took the chance given her. She plunged the needle into the calf of Madeline's leg and within moments, Madeline laid unconscious on the floor.

Nikita raced back to the desk and pulled out a pair of restraints that she found as she rummaged through Madeline's desk looking for the sedative. She secured Madeline, made her comfortable and left the office in search of Michael.

Quietly, Nikita made her way to Systems. She hid in every shadow until she could see Birkoff hovering behind the console. He motioned to Michael that Nikita was nearby. Michael locked eyes with Nikita, telegraphing a look of sheer relief in seeing her free of Madeline.

It was time for him to assume his role as Sgt. John Carter, second in command to Lt. Paul Wolfe.

Michael motioned to Nikita to hold her position, then race to the console once he moved out. Birkoff had a weapon there that she could use to defend their position.

"Lt. Wolfe, sir, it's me, John...hold your fire, sir!" Michael shouted from the console.

Operations head jerked toward Michael's voice. "John? Where are you son?"

"Here, sir." Michael raised his arm over the console and peeked over the top, showing only the top of his head. Having no idea what John Carter looked like, Michael did not want to take the chance that Operations would see through the charade.

"Sir, I'm under heavy fire. Hold steady-I'll come to you!" Michael's plan was to stealth over to Operations' position and subdue him by cutting off the oxygen in his neck rendering him unconscious. Given the delusional state Operations was in, Michael though his chances were pretty good.

"I'll keep 'em off you, son!" Operations shouted. "Go to the East!"

Well, this is working, Michael thought thankfully. With all the rest of the hell that had broken loose in Section, he needed a break.

Soon, Michael had sneaked up on Operations, who never even heard him coming. For a brief moment, Michael watched in fascination as he studied his boss, the incomparable leader of one of the most powerful covert agencies in the world, holding guard against imaginary enemies. It saddened Michael; somehow he felt a twinge of pity for his boss.

It soon dissipated, however, when Operations opened fire at Nikita as she ran across the floor to get to Birkoff. Boss or not, no one was going to endanger Nikita. Operations had to be subdued. Within moments, an oblivious Operations lay at Michael's feet, cuffed, ready to be sedated, and moved to Medlab.

Nikita raced to Michael, but stopped short of leaping into his arms. Their eyes locked for long minutes. Their silent conversation raged-relief, love, anguish, fear, panic, and back again to relief.

Michael held his hand out to Nikita, and gingerly, she placed hers in his. He tightened his grip, never taking his eyes from hers, silently speaking his devoted love to her.

Suddenly, he pulled her to him and wrapped his strong arms around her, rocking her back and forth.

"Ni-kita," he breathed and was instantly warmed by her soft breath on his neck, rejuvenated by the beating of her heart, encouraged by gentle touch of her kiss.

"Michael, what are we going to do?" She was frightened, confused, unable to think clearly.

Michael leaned back against the wall, pulling her with him, holding her gently around her shoulders with one arm, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose with his free hand, staving off the exhaustion.

"You okay?" Nikita whispered as she gently smoothed her hand over his chest, trying to comfort him, worried for him.

Michael looked into her loving eyes, touched by her concern.

"I'm fine, Kita. Take Operations to Medlab, I'll meet you there soon."

"Where are you going?"

"I need to work with Birkoff. It's just the four of us now, Nikita. You, me, Walter, and Birkoff--everyone one else is infected."

He continued, holding her arm, "This is important. Listen to me," he urged. "Trust no one but us. Do you understand, Kita?" He begged her to obey him for once with his intense stare.

She nodded her agreement.

"I'll be in Medlab soon. Once I get there, stay close."

***Part 11 by Leigh***

As the sound of gunfire erupted, Priscilla shrieked loudly and leaped from the countertop, on which she had been perched, onto the equally surprised and frightened Dr. MacGregor. He clutched the monkey to his chest as he dropped into a squatting position behind the safety of the counter. His eyes flashed anxiously toward Walter. "What's going on?" he asked.

Walter, who had been studying the doctor with growing unease, spun his attention towards the main hall in time to see Michael and Birkoff duck for cover. Across from them, near the entrance to Systems, Operations stood partially hidden behind the doorway. Even from this distance Walter could see the wild, almost maniacal, expression in his eyes. In horror he watched as Operations turned and yelled directions over his shoulder to the empty room behind him. He then stepped out into the open, took careful aim at Michael and Birkoff and fired another shot.

"My god..." Walter whispered in disbelief. "It's Operations." He stood, momentarily stunned at the sight before him. Then, regaining his senses, he quickly pulled a gun from off of the racks and reached for a tranq dart. As he loaded the weapon, he pressed the intercom on the wall and spoke hastily into it. "Hold on, Michael, I'm coming!"

A few seconds later Michael's voice responded. "Negative, Walter. Hold your position," he ordered. "We'll handle this."

"Are you sure?" Walter asked.

"Yes."

Walter placed the gun on the counter and glanced with uncertainty back across the hall. He watched as Michael slowly made his way over to Operations. He was saying something to him but they were too far away for Walter to be able to hear.

A movement down on the floor caught Walter's attention and he turned to face Dr. MacGregor. He'd forgotten about him and his monkey. The doctor rose slowly, still clutching Priscilla against his chest, and made his way around to where Walter stood. "What's happening?" he asked.

"Michael's trying to disarm Operations," he responded.

"Michael?!" There was no mistaking the agitation in Dr. MacGregor's voice. Once again, Walter was filled with the sense that the good doctor was hiding something from them. Something about this guy just didn't add up...

"You have to do something!" Dr. MacGregor nearly shouted as he glanced about in growing panic. Seeing the gun lying on the counter, he grabbed it and headed toward the door.

"HEY!!!" With a quickness that surprised the doctor, Walter rushed forward and collared him - throwing him against the wall - nearly smashing poor Priscilla in the process. The monkey screamed and leaped to the ground where she scrambled quickly around the corner and disappeared. Walter twisted Dr. MacGregor's left hand behind him while he used his weight to push the doctor further against the wall. "Drop it!" he ordered.

"Okay! All right!" MacGregor cried as he released the gun. With his foot Walter slid the gun away as he released him, then quickly bent over and picked up the discarded weapon. In one fluid movement he raised and pointed it at the doctor.

"Move," Walter growled as he pointed with the gun toward the chair next to his workstation.

Dr. MacGregor raised his hands and backed up slowly towards the chair as he kept his gaze locked on Walter's. "Look," he said, "I was just trying to help Michael, that's all!"

Walter didn't reply as he reached for a pair of handcuffs and ordered MacGregor to turn. "Bring your arms round to the back," he ordered.

MacGregor obeyed and Walter quickly restrained him with the cuffs then gave him a little push. "Now...turn around and sit down." Again MacGregor obeyed.

As the doctor sat Walter glanced quickly toward the main hall and saw, with relief, Michael embracing Nikita. Operations was lying motionless on the ground. For a moment he thought Michael had killed him. Relief flooded through Walter, though, when he saw Operation's stir - raising a hand to his head as he struggled to sit up. Nikita was at his side almost immediately. She removed the weapon that was lying next to him and then proceeded to assist him up.

Transferring his attention back to the doctor, Walter asked, "Why are you so interested in Michael?"

The doctor shook his head and feigned confusion. "I dunno what ye mean," he stated.

Walter snorted as he noticed the slight change in the doctor's voice. "Your accent has a funny habit of disappearing and reappearing," Walter observed with sarcasm. MacGregor stared back at him, his brows knitting together slightly in annoyance.

Walter backed up toward the intercom and pressed it again. "Michael. I think you'd better come here," he stated.

"Is something wrong?" Michael asked.

"You could say that," Walter replied. "It's Dr. MacGregor."

There was a slight pause and then Michael responded. "I'll be right there."

Ten minutes later Michael and Walter had moved the handcuffed Dr. MacGregor to the comm center where they proceeded to interrogate him while Birkoff ran a computer analysis on his fingerprints. After a few seconds the doctor's picture appeared on screen.

"Whoa! Take a look at this," Birkoff called. Michael glided over behind the young computer genius and quietly read the information displayed on the monitor. After a moment he thanked Birkoff and moved back toward Walter and the doctor.

"Where's the monkey?" he asked Walter.

Walter raised his brows in surprise as he tried to recall what had happened to Priscilla. "I'm not sure. She was frightened when I grabbed the doctor and she took off running."

"Find her and bring her here," Michael ordered quietly. As Walter left to do his bidding, Michael turned and faced the doctor once more.

He stood calmly, his hands clasped in front of him as he gave the doctor his full attention. "Shall we start from the beginning--Dr.McCarne?"

The doctor paled visibly at Michael's use of his real name. Suddenly, his mouth felt dry and he found it extremely difficult to swallow. "I...I don't know...what..."

"I know that your name isn't Jamie MacGregor. It's Dr. Elliot McCarne," Michael interrupted evenly. "I also know you work for the government in a sector called 'Gemini'. I want to know what Gemini is and how you're connected to this virus."

A thin layer of sweat began to form on the doctor's forehead as he looked around, as if searching for an escape.

"There's no where for you to run and no one here to help you," Michael added. "If you value the life of your little friend you'll tell me what I want to know and do it quickly."

The doctor stared back at Michael with wide eyes. "Don't hurt Priscilla!" he nearly shouted. His reaction was met with a cold blank stare from Michael. The doctor could tell by the look on his face that Michael would have no qualms about carrying out his threat. He looked away for a moment, as if he were contemplating some important decision. When he turned his gaze back to Michael, there was no mistaking the fear in his eyes.

"You don't understand," he pleaded in a lowered tone. "If you kill Priscilla, we lose all hope of saving your friends - and Section One."

***Part 12 by Dawn***

"Continue."

The icy chill in Michael's voice shook Elliot. But it was the blank emptiness in his eyes that really startled him. This daunting man in black was just informed that virtually everyone's survival hinged on the continued existence of his little companion, and he didn't even bat an eye. Gemini's files had been right. He was the best. Guess that's why Michael was the present day Bond and he was just a scientist.

Taking a deep breath, Elliot peered out into the once organized Section One. There was only a handful of sentient operatives left. The rest… well…the virus was running its course. Few operatives strolled the halls absently talking to themselves. Some cowered in the corners screaming at non existed demons. The worst were the ones agitated and bent on vengeance. They sought out blood, and at every turn they found it. Off in the distance a stocky man dressed in black pummeled his fists into a shrieking figure. Suddenly the sharp report of a handgun echoed through the spacious cavern. Dropping to his knees, the operative continued his struggle oblivious to the blood that dripped down his thigh. The gun sounded again. This time he fell unconscious to the ground.

With smoking gun in hand, Walter reentered carrying a very agitated Priscilla. Claw marks streaked down his weathered face that foretold the effort he had taken to capture the little beast. Jumping from his arms, she landed on the restrained Doctor. Climbing onto his shoulder, she wrapped her arms around his head and hung on for dear life.

"Dr. McCarne?"

Snapping back to reality, he sighed in resignation. He was going to have to talk. If he didn't, they would all die.

"Yes, I am Dr. Elliot McCarne. And yes, your information is surprisingly correct. I do work for Gemini." There was no trace of Scottish accent left. Looking into steely green eyes, he continued. "Gemini are much like Section. We are a subverted branch of the government. We don't exist."

"Just get to the point…Jamie" Walter broke in. His bitterness, sarcasm and exasperation were evident. From the beginning something didn't feel right about their guest. Now time was even more precious. By his figures, they had 4 hours left before 95% of Section personnel reached critical mass. And here he sat calmly giving lessons in organizational structure.

Placing a hand on Walters's shoulder, Michael willed him to be silent. This was his game. He needed to maintain control. "What is Gemini's specialty?"

Knowing his future was determined by his next words, Elliot continued. "We are affiliated with the CDC."

All action stopped as he continued.

"We research and develop Biologicals. Test their viability and study the physiological and psychological effects for future use." At that, Dr. McCarne finally drew a slight reaction from Michael. His eyes remained closed a tad too long. It wasn't much, but he knew he had gotten to him.

"Section One was a test environment." Michael wasn't asking a question, but stating a fact. Actually, it answered all their questions save one. "The four of us…"

Elliot continued for him. "…were injected with the vaccine."

"When?" That from Walter who was surprised he still had a voice left.

"Five months ago when all operatives were given their mandatory flu shots. Several variations were tested. It seems that the only one which worked was derived from Priscilla."

Standing with his hands behind his back, Michael was glad Nikita convinced him to bring in the furry mammal. If she had been left behind, it would have been disastrous. Moving forward, he plucked the tiny simian off of Elliot. She did not come willingly and frantically ripped at strands of Dr. McCarne's hair. No matter how determined she was, she was no match for the man in black. With arms flailing, Michael passed her over to a very reluctant Walter.

"What about the Vaccine? Is there any left?"

Shaking his head, Elliot took a deep breath. "None close enough to do us any good. More will have to be synthesized. Do you have another lab? The stuff you have down here won't cut it."

"We have everything you need in Level 4." Moving behind Elliot, Michael started to release him from his restraints. Pausing, he leaned in toward his ear. "How do I know I can trust you? How do I know what you say is true?"

Glancing at the wall clock Elliot started making calculations in his head. Each second they sat talking meant another subject would die. "Because you have no choice. And something about this scenario doesn't fit with Gemini's normal profile. From what I can tell, you were all meant to die. That is not our modus operandi."

With a click, the latch was released. Stretching his muscles, Dr. McCarne held out his arms as Priscilla leapt into them before he could stand.

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

Walking through Section, Nikita tracked down wayward operatives. Glancing at the PDA Birkoff had provided, she was relieved to see that only a handful were left. Any more and her chances of success would be diminished. She was exhausted. In the past hour she had been manhandled, shot at, felt up and screamed at. Rubbing her tender shoulder, she could see the beginning of a serious bruise. Adams had been hard to take down. It had taken over a quarter of an hour to subdue her. The problem had been just getting to the agitated operative. After scaling the 4-story iron structure, Nikita then delt with tranquilizing her without having her plummet to the ground below. It had been grueling work that only a contortionist could do, but now Adams rested in oblivion like the majority of the infected Section operatives.

Just a few more and she would be done. **sigh** Jackson, Franklin, Angela and Hernandez. It couldn't be that bad, could it? A loud crash drew her attention, and made her think otherwise. Racing toward the noise, Nikita hoped the vaccine would be ready soon. There were some operatives she would gladly bid farewell to, but most she had come to respect and admire.

Peeking around the corner, she saw the one thing she was afraid of. Of course this would happen to her. They were all together and living out their dementia with each other. They needed to be isolated. She needed help. Taping her com unit, she called for reinforcements. "Michael?"

It took a moment, but his clear voice responded in agitation. "Yes?"

"Need help. Have four left… all together... need a diversion."

Her voice was tired. He understood her need. But for the second time today, he couldn't help. "Use Birkoff. I can't break free."

He heard her call for Birkoff to meet her outside of Sim Room 2, then she cut their link again. Shaking his head he turned his attention back to what Dr. McCarne was saying.

"…the strain 746b is now known as the Simian Neurosis Virus. Creates progressive mental regression and hallucinations culminating in death as the virus attacks the brain. Luckily they didn't release the 800 series strain. Its symptoms are strikingly similar to the Bone Break Virus and Ebola. I talked them out of that one…thank god. If not, we would all be dead by now. There is no vaccine."

A shiver went up Michael's spine. How did Section get chosen for this sick experiment? Why? It just didn't match up. Time was running out. "How long?"

Flipping the switch on the centrifuge, Elliot waiting until it stopped spinning. Withdrawing 3 vials, he held them up to the light. Clear fluid layered over white sludge. Nodding to himself he began to decant away the top layer. When all that was left was Priscilla's virus antigenic DNA matter, he carefully dumped the mixture into an awaiting beaker. Bringing it to a boil, he stepped back. He would have to repeat this process 3 more times to get enough to vaccinate all the infected personnel. But they would be able to save the majority. "Should have first batch ready in 20 minutes. The other three will be along in 10 minute increments after that."

Rubbing his sore neck, Elliot looked at Walter and Michael. "You do understand that some will be past the point of no return, don't you? We will be able to stop the spread of the virus in their systems, but the brain damage might be too severe. If that is the case, they will no longer be viable."

Both nodded in understanding. It was an outcome they dreaded, but a fact none the less. Fighting against the helplessness that started to over take these men of action, they started preparing all the medical equipment needed to perform the mass inoculation.

A flicker of the overhead lights drew everyone's attention. Before he could query Birkoff, Nikita's voice filled his ear. "All are accounted for and secured. Ready when you are."

Signing off, the team of uninfected personnel fanned out with their batches of attenuated virus. As Michael walked toward the Med Lab door, he stopped beside a small unconscious figure. Strapped to a rolling gurney, Priscilla lay drugged and hooked up to an IV. He tried to outwardly express his words of thanks to no avail. But for some odd reason, Michael was certain the little monkey knew.

48 hours later

"Sir?"

Operations looked up from his chair in his personal quarters. His skin was still sickly pale, but he would be in top form soon. Feebly waving his prized operative towards him, the once great and powerful leader now relied on his chosen one to provide an update.

"Status?"

Michael stood with hands clasped behind his back. His stiff spine and quiet demeanor not quite masking the healthy dose of pride that was a large part of him. "7% fatality in headquarters alone. Scotland lost only 1%."

Leaning forward Operations grabbed for his clove cigarettes to no avail, giving up in exhaustion he watched as Michael moved forward and held one for him. Putting it to his lips he waited for Michael to light the end. His infirmary really irked him, but it could have been worse. He could be dead.

Coughing as the smoke filled his lungs for the first time, Operations continued. "7% was better than expected. How many do we have to get rid of?"

Michael raised his eyebrow. "Sir?"

"How many are non-viable? How many are recommended for cancellation?"

Clearing his throat, Michael cringed. "Several need to be moved from cold op status, but they can be used else where. Only one is recommended for cancellation."

He nodded his head in understanding. Section One had come away virtually unscathed. Still each now had to deal with the hidden demons that were so recently resurfaced. "Did you find out from George what the hell happened with Gemini?"

"Yes. Red Cell converted one of Gemini's top echelons. He is being taken care of now. They planned on releasing the virus and eradicating Section One. They would have been successful if not for Dr. McCarne. He created the real vaccine and inoculated a few when the rest where given placebos. His actions saved Section."

Considering Michael's words, Operations agreed with the recommendation to add Elliot to the Section One staff. He would be a useful individual to have around. Let alone the fact that now Section would have the ability to create any virus it needed. Power was always and good thing….and biological weapons were power.

Dismissing the level five operative with a wave of his hand, he leaned back and tried to relax. He needed his rest, but one thing still nagged at him. "Michael?"

Stopping just shy of the door, the green eyed operative turned and waited.

"Who is the operative recommended for cancellation?"

The silence was deafening. Then only one word. "Madeline."

If Operations hadn't been sitting, his legs would have given out. "Where is she?"

"Psyche. Holding cell D" With that Michael left his frail leader to return to the status of acting head of Section One.

When he left, Operations painstakingly made his way to the vid screen. Pulling up surveillance footage, he watched in painful remorse. There was his right hand, his confidant, his once paramour. Sitting primly on the floor she was in a pale grey dress. Several ribbons were haphazardly tied in her hair. In front of her lay several dolls all with blonde hair and blue eyes. In a matter of seconds, this child of serenity turned into the devil's spawn. With evil laughter and shiny eyes she ripped the head off the dolls and delighted in pounding them into the ground. All that could be heard was three words…..Sarah…..Allison….Nikita.

Knowing the moment had come, Operations said his heartfelt goodbye.

"Goodbye."

Flicking the monitor off, he missed seeing the torture twins enter her room as he contemplated her replacement. Section One was still his, and would always remain so.

************Tag***********

The gray concrete walls reflected bright florescent light. Hundreds of steel cages were lined in rows stacked three high. In each space of containment a tiny monkey. Some were healthy…some were sick…most just sat and waited. Every so often a worker clad in a full Biohazard Suit would walk by. One would make a note of observation. Another might draw some blood from one of the helpless animal. But as usual the daily routine would go on.

In the distance a phone rang. Hurriedly a worker moves to a safe area. Pulling off her mask, dark curls tumble down. Answering the buzzing device, a calm female voice comes from the earpiece.

"I am very pleased the results of this last experiment. Nicely done. Start next sequence in one month. ….This time use something stronger. What one created physical immobilization and simulated brain death? Oh that's right, I remember…try strain 963a. That should do the trick."

The worker finally spoke. "Yes Adrian" and the call was terminated. There was much planning to do if the second phase was to be initiated so quickly. Donning her gear she went back into the war zone to prepare.

In an office on another continent, Adrian contemplated her take over. They had fallen for it hook line and sinker. She would be in control of Section by year's end. Her chosen leaders will do exceptionally well. They had handled this test to perfection.

The end…..

Send suggestions and comments to ranma.