---

Madeline tipped back the head of her latest captive and sighed, "I was afraid this day would come. I know you won't believe me, but I'm sorry that it has."

The captive was listless, but nevertheless had enough fight left to jerk his chin out of Madeline's hand. It proved to be his last burst of strength. His head drooped back upon his chest and he remained motionless.

Madeline sighed again, then motioned to her two assistants. "Take him back, and keep him sedated."

The operatives known, with some black humor, as "Frick" and "Frack", nodded their collective heads, released the manacled hands of Madeline's latest victim, and carried him out.

Nikita paced her apartment well into the early morning hours. Since she had seen the little blonde girl on Level Eight, she couldn't sleep at night. Michael had assured her she was mistaken, and there were moments when she almost believed it had been her imagination, and yet, her dreams told her otherwise.

She had no pictures of herself as a child, she could only go from memory of what she looked like, but the little girl was so much like her younger self-it was too much of a coincidence.

Or was it? Nikita ruffled her hair between her hands in frustration, then sat down on the edge of her bed. There were moments that she wasn't even sure she actually had been on Level Eight, much less had seen the little girl!

It had been nearly two months since the mission to capture Chernov had failed. Things at Section One continued normally along-if one could conclude that anything at Section could be considered normal. There was only one major, nagging exception: Michael.

Not only did Michael not share Nikita's concern over the mystery children, he did his best to erode what little confidence Nikita had, that the incident ever happened. It was to the point that she didn't even want to speak to him about it.

After losing Adam, Nikita couldn't understand why he wouldn't want to know for certain if Section was in the children cloning business. How could he not want to know? She wondered.

There were other things as well. Michael had become suddenly cold toward all who knew him.

With Adam and Elena gone, Nikita had tried to encourage Michael into caring about himself again. In the beginning, it seemed to work. They went for coffee several times then Michael finally came to her apartment for a night-long heart to heart, where he gave vent to his grief over the loss of his son and his life outside section. Nikita felt she learned more about Michael in that one night, than she had learned in all four years of working with him.

Michael had been heartbroken and vulnerable, showing a side of himself that Nikita had only witnessed once before-when he had lost his memory. Her tender heart fell deeper in love with him that night. They had become closer than they had ever been and Nikita was certain that Michael was finally willing to share his life with her. Or so it seemed.

Nikita wasn't certain exactly when it was that she began to notice a change in Michael. Perhaps it was his seemingly callous disinterest in helping Birkoff when Birkoff went to him for protection from another op. When Seymour mentioned the incident, Nikita was puzzled. Michael trusted few people in Section for obvious reasons, but always seemed to like the young computer genius. Even though Walter spoke in Michael's defense-"Michael just wanted Birkoff to buck up and stand on his own two feet!"-Nikita felt bothered by the incident enough to speak to Michael about it. Michael's reaction to her inquiry bothered her even more:

"If Birkoff can't handle his own problems, he's abeyance material," Michael told her when they were alone in his office.

"He's just a kid, Michael!" Nikita had protested.

"He's only a few years younger than you." Michael coldly retorted.

"Maybe, but he isn't a cold op either!"

"Is there a point to this conversation?" Michael asked with quiet anger.

"Yes! I can't see how it would have hurt you to help him."

"I am not his private bodyguard."

"He's a friend, Michael." Nikita insisted.

"I have no friends."

Michael's last comment came as a stunning surprise and one that Nikita felt she couldn't let pass. She sat down on the corner of his desk and folded her arms.

"I thought we were friends," she said softly, but hurt and confused at his statement.

Michael didn't answer. Instead he opened his laptop and began to type.

Now annoyed, Nikita slapped it closed.

"Would you please give me a moment of your time?" She snapped.

"I have a mission to plan." He said icily. It was a curt dismissal.

"Fine." Nikita said, her lip curling in anger. She walked briskly to the door and yanked it open.

She paused for a moment to see his reaction, but Michael didn't even look up to see her leave.

"Hi Walter."

"Hi Sugar, what's up?" Walter glanced up from his magnifying lens, then continued soldering.

"Have you seen or spoken with Michael recently?"

"About what?" He asked, still intently concentrating on his task at hand.

"About anything!" She snapped, flinging herself onto a nearby stool.

Walter stopped what he was doing and raised an eyebrow.

"Something wrong?" he asked, giving her his full attention by setting aside his soldering gun.

"It's Michael. I don't know what's wrong with him, but something is."

"How can you tell?" Walter sniped sarcastically.

"He's cold to everyone, he won't talk to me . . . "

"Sugar, Michael has never been a great conversationalist nor a leading contestant for Mr. Personality. You're just noticing?"

Nikita let out a disgusted sigh, "You don't understand, he's different. There's something wrong-maybe something's bothering him, but I just can't put my finger on what it is."

Walter shrugged. "He doesn't seem any different to me."

"But what about his refusal to help Birkoff?"

"I told you! Michael probably thinks it's time for Birkoff to grow up and take some responsibility for himself. He can't expect Michael to scare away all the baddies in his life. He's a big boy now."

"Okay-but couldn't Michael have at least given him some advice on what to do?"

Walter gave a brief chuckle, "He did, and Birkoff acted on it. He took responsibility for his own life. It worked-he's still here, isn't he?"

Nikita shook her head, "There's more to this. Michael's just not himself lately."

"Give him some time, Sugar. He's still trying to heal from that last mission. I saw this happen before when he lost Simone," Walter continued more seriously.

"Maybe." Nikita said sadly.

"Well?" Operations asked as Madeline entered his office. She folded her arms and went to stare down at the operations area below. It was late and there was little activity in Section that night.

"He's fighting me." She said bitterly.

"You're surprised?" Operations said, lighting his cigarette.

"Not surprised, just disappointed."

"What's your prognosis?"

Madeline shook her head and began to slowly pace the room. "I'm hopeful."

"You don't sound hopeful," Operations retorted mildly.

"He will cooperate eventually. He's knows what's at stake."

"Eventually sounds like a long time away, Madeline. We can't keep this hidden forever."

"We have too much invested in him to quit now. Besides, I thought you wanted a test case."

"I do." Operations smiled briefly. "So far, I'm quite pleased with the results."

"He hasn't gone on any missions yet." Madeline reminded him quietly.

"You mean, the proof of the pudding, is in the eating?" His smile grew wider.

"Exactly." Madeline responded seriously.

"I don't want to spoil the pudding by rushing things. Since this is a test case, I want to choose the conditions carefully. Besides, it looks like I have plenty of time."

Birkoff ran the sim for the third time, and for a third time, shook his head.

"What's wrong, Birkoff?" Nikita asked, as she leaned over his shoulder.

"It's the profile." He answered looking puzzled and worried. His nimble fingers skipped across the keyboard once again.

"What about it?"

Birkoff ignored the question for a moment, then threw up his hands. "This isn't going to work!"

Nikita scanned the sims results and frowned. "Who wrote this profile?" She asked dismayed.

Birkoff looked at her oddly and said softly, "Michael."

"Michael?" she replied shaking her head in disbelief. "That's impossible. This scenario has three major flaws that I can see in the first fifteen minutes into the mission. Half the team will certainly be lost before the first mark."

"Do you think he's having trouble again?" Birkoff asked quietly, referring to Michael's behavior after losing his son.

Nikita held her head in her hands for a brief moment, then shook her head. "I don't know. He hasn't been himself lately, but that still can't explain this-not unless . . . " She paused to think, but Birkoff offered his opinion.

"Unless he has a death wish?"

The two exchanged looks of concern.

"When is the mission scheduled to leave?" Nikita asked quietly, looking around to make sure she wasn't overheard.

"First thing in the morning."

"Who's leading the team? Michael?"

Birkoff shook his head. "He set Hanover on point."

"Is Hanover in abeyance?" Nikita asked incredulously.

"No. You know his record. He's level four."

"This doesn't make any sense." Nikita argued.

Birkoff shrugged. "What should we do?"

"Have you shown these figures to Operations yet?"

"No. I've been running sims on it all afternoon, trying to figure out how to make it work."

"Go tell him. I'll stay here and try to fix the profile."

"That's not going to make Michael very happy," Birkoff moaned as he reluctantly got to his feet.

"It can't be helped, Birkoff. If there is something bothering Michael, we can't just stand by and let him get himself and everyone on his team killed. If you're confident of your figures, you know Operations can only agree."

"That's easy for you to say. It's me, Michael will blame for this."

"I'll tell him I turned him in, if it comes to that." Nikita flashed Birkoff a brief smile.

"Somehow, that's not going to make me sleep better at night," Birkoff grumbled beneath his breath as he left for Operations' office.

Operations entered Madeline's office as fury embodied and flung a computer CD onto her desk.

Madeline picked it up without comment and loaded its contents onto her computer. Her brow furrowed as she read her screen.

"That is unacceptable!" Operations fumed.

"Agreed. But it is expected." She retorted softly. "I told you not to expect too much too soon. He has the intelligence, but not the experience. Experience takes time."

"We don't have time!"

"I thought you said we did." Madeline folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. Her dark eyes raked over Operations as he paced in front of her desk. "What has changed?"

"My expectations! This is not a child we are talking about, dammit!"

"But he is a child, in a manner of speaking. And he is having to cope with a multitude and variety of new data each and every waking moment. You have to expect mistakes."

"For how long?" Operations asked angrily.

"I don't know." She said simply, with mild regret.

"And what about Michael?" Operations asked, his arms akimbo. "I've had about all I can stand of rebellion in the ranks!"

Madeline sighed and got to her feet. "I'm making progress . . . ."

"Not fast enough!"

"If you know of a better way, I'm open to suggestion." She said firmly, with a flash of anger.

Operations growled and opened his jacket to reach for a cigarette. "All right," he said at last, "continue with Michael. I have a mission to get back on-line."

* * *

Michael hesitated in the corridor of van access, waved two of his team into the van, then turned to speak with Nikita.

"This mission was not planned for four. What are you doing here?"

"There's been a change in plans," she said, handing him a CD case. "If you have any questions, I suggest you speak with Operations. He sent me to tell you, he needs you to run the mission from here. I'm taking the team out."

Nikita slung her rifle over her shoulder and started to follow the rest of the team into the van, but Michael snagged her sleeve, and yanked her to a halt.

At first Nikita was startled, then her eyes narrowed as she saw the anger in Michael's green eyes.

"Then go!" He spat out, and shoved her viciously against the van. With that he pivoted with military precision and stormed out of van access.

Hanover, a big, blond Dutchman, leaned out of the van door and gave Nikita a hand up. "What was that all about?" He asked curiously.

"Nothing." Nikita said grimly.

"Nothing? I've never seen Michael act that way-there must be something-"

"I said it's nothing!" Nikita snapped. "Get in-Operations has changed the profile. We only have two hours to review it."

* * *

"Why?!"

"Because you aren't ready." Madeline said calmly.

"In what way, am I not ready? I've been trained for months for this."

"Your emotions, for one thing. You lost your temper. That is not acceptable, especially not in front of your team."

"It wouldn't have happened if I had been allowed to go!" Michael answered back angrily.

"It shouldn't have happened at all, and you know it." Madeline responded, getting to her feet.

"Besides, Operations felt Nikita was better for the mission."

"Then, when will I go out?" Michael asked bitterly.

"Soon."

"Soon? How soon?"

"I'm going to let Nikita decide that." Madeline said smoothly, misting one of her orchids.

"Nikita?"

"Yes. If you can convince her, you're ready, then . . . ." Madeline gave a little shrug.

"How do you suggest I convince her?"

Madeline chuckled. "You're a man, she's a woman . . . you'll think of something."

* * *

Nikita shouldered her apartment door open and entered. Backing into the door she bumped it closed with her hip as she wearily peeled her black sweater over her head. It was nearly midnight and all she wanted was a hot shower and a soft bed.

The mission had been difficult, but successful. Hanover was slightly wounded, but everyone came back alive. 'Michael included,' she thought with a sigh.

Nikita stood with her hands pressed against the tiled wall of the shower, and her weary head bowed as hot water enveloped her. Her lean body glistened in the dim light of the scented candles flickering on the sink.

The flickering increased and a faint breeze across her bare back alerted Nikita that she wasn't alone. Her head jerked around to see who was there and found Michael. His arms braced against the doorframe, he stood there silently, watching.

Nikita quickly turned off the shower, smoothed some of the water out of her hair with both hands, then grabbed for a towel.

"Hello, Michael. Glad you felt you could make yourself at home." She said politely, with a sarcastic undertone. She casually dried her hair, then wrapped it in the towel.

"So?" she asked slowly pulling a second towel off its bar, and wrapping it around herself, "What can I do for you?"

Michael took a casual step into the bathroom. Stepping in front of Nikita to block her exit, Michael ran his hands up her still damp arms until they came to rest on her shoulders.

"I came," he said softly, "to apologize for this afternoon." His eyes raked over her, lingering on the slight swell of her breasts beneath the rose-colored towel.

"You're sorry?" Nikita asked sounding unconvinced. She took a step backwards.

Michael followed, sliding his palms across the back of her shoulders to draw her closer and hold her still.

"Yes." His voice caressed the word beneath her left earlobe, just before his mouth followed up with a kiss there.

Nikita's eyes fluttered closed at his touch, but only briefly. The scene in van access raised its ugly head in vivid detail and Michael was always dangerous when he practiced seduction.

'And that's what this feels like' Nikita thought suddenly, 'a practiced seduction.' There was no real warmth in him. She didn't know whether to be hurt by that, or angry. She decided to be cautious and find out what Michael was really up to.

"No hard feelings," she said as seductively as she could manage. She kissed him, holding his mouth against hers as her fingers slid into his hair.

Michael leaned into her, pressed her against the bathroom wall and deepened the kiss hungrily.

Nikita was shocked, not by Michael's intensity, but by her lack of it! She felt nothing-other than a mild revulsion. She found herself pushing him away.

Michael reacted by grabbing her arms and pinning them at her sides. "Where are you going," he asked huskily.

'Good question,' Nikita thought, then replied, "Michael, I'm starving and slightly damp." She smiled at him. "Let me dry off and eat."

Nikita could see hesitation in Michael's face, as if things weren't going as planned but he couldn't figure out why. He did release her, however, for which Nikita could only feel relief.

He followed her into her bedroom and quietly paced while Nikita pulled on some clothes.

"Hungry?" she asked opening the refrigerator. "I went shopping Friday, so there's lots to eat."

Michael sat down at Nikita's table, looking completely out of place.

"Who is this?" he asked pointing to a photo lying on the tabletop.

Nikita was preoccupied with opening a bottle of beer, and asked without looking, "Who's what?"

"This," Michael picked up one of the photos and held it out to her.

Nikita walked to the table with a plate of sandwiches in one hand and two bottles of beer in the other. She sat the food on the table to take the photo out of his hand. Hoping the panic she was suddenly feeling wasn't showing on her face, Nikita forced a smile.

"You mean the little boy? He's the son . . . of a friend of mine. His name is Adam." Nikita watched Michael closely for any reaction and got none. He shrugged off her explanation, and pulled a long sip off his beer.

Noting his disinterest, Nikita quickly scraped the other photos on the table into a pile and removed them to a drawer.

"He's a cute kid," she said, seating herself across from Michael. "I babysat him a few times."

Michael looked up with green eyes and Nikita found them emptier than ever before. It sent a chill through her. "You seem to be overly fond of children."

Nikita was saved from replying when her phone rang. She jumped up quickly to answer it. It was a wrong number, but she pretended otherwise.

"No," she responded to the caller that asked, "Is this Kathy?"

"Oh, sorry," said the caller.

Nikita waited until the other end hung up and continued, "Okay. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

She folded up her phone with a disgusted sigh. "That was Madeline. I have to go in."

"Does she want me in also?"

"She didn't say. I'm sure you'll get a call if she does. I have to go change." Nikita said in the way of urging Michael to leave.

Michael stood reluctantly, but only because he seemed to have no other choice. He followed her with his eyes as she trotted up into her bedroom to dress. When she returned, screwing an earring into her ear, he was gone.

* * *

"Michael?" Madeline's voice echoed off the walls.

Michael opened his eyes, but didn't seek out the speaker. He knew Madeline wasn't in the room. But opening his eyes had been a mistake, nevertheless; Adam was standing in front of him.

"Oh God." Michael said tilting back his head with grief. He prayed his son was only a hologram.

"Daddy?" It was Adam's voice.

"Please-no," Michael clamped his eyes closed and wept.

"Daddy, are you okay?"

Michael thought he felt something touch his knee. His grief destroyed him. He screamed.

"No!"

* * *

After exhaustion set in, Michael forced open red-rimmed eyes. Adam was gone-if he had ever been there at all. But the message was clear. If Madeline had wanted Adam to be there, she could make it happen-and would, if Michael didn't cooperate.

"Michael?" Madeline appeared from behind him. Her voice was gentle, almost apologetic.

"Please. . . " he begged. "Please don't hurt Adam."

"He's safe Michael. I just need your cooperation. That's all this has been about."

"This is wrong, Madeline. This is not what Section is all about."

"You sound like Nikita." Madeline smiled and gave him an ironic little laugh. "This may surprise you, but I agree." Her face turned serious. "The clones appear to be perfect copies of their original, but they aren't. They have all the strengths that nature gave their originals, but they have no real memories or experiences. They can't function the same. I warned Operations of this problem, but he thought because we could skip the childhood stage of development and go immediately into the adult format, it wouldn't be a concern. He was wrong."

"Then why doesn't he stop this?" Michael asked angrily.

"Operations believes the experiment requires more time. You must understand what is at stake here. You know as well as I do how long it takes to find Section candidates, much less the time and money it takes to train them. Prisons are full of abeyance candidates, but people like you and Nikita are rare. What better way to ensure consistent excellence than to clone those features most desirable in our operatives?"

"You just said it isn't working," Michael said softly.

"Yes, I did. Don't misunderstand me, Michael. If it was working, or if I thought it would work in the future I would gladly continue the program. But I am seeing alarming inconsistencies between our originals and the copies. I've run sims, and it is my belief that any or all of the clones could go rogue at any time. And since we don't know when or where it might happen, you can see my concern."

"Even knowing they could go rogue, Operations wants to continue?" Michael asked looking at her seriously.

"Like I said, he thinks with time it can be prevented. Since we lost so many operatives after of the loss of the directory, we've been strapped for manpower. Oversight is not sympathetic. We have been forced to do more with less and it has impacted our success rates."

"Then why am I here?" Michael asked quietly.

"You may well ask. You are here to keep you alive. Operations knows you are his best operative, but he was unhappy that you uncovered the clones. You should never have approached him over the matter. He found it disloyal. He thought about putting you in abeyance, but I convinced him it would be a waste."

"It was wrong, Madeline. Nikita was right. They were children. It makes us no better than Chernov!"

"The children were only being held until we could process them through the system, Michael. Operations isn't interested in children. He wants adults."

"What do you want from me?" Michael asked with resignation.

Madeline smiled.

* * *

"Walter! Walter, wake up!" Nikita shook the older man's shoulder.

"Uh-what? Nikita? What the hell . . ." Walter sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes.

"I'm sorry Walter, but I need your help." Nikita said breathlessly, seating herself on the edge of his bed.

Walter reached over and turned on a nearby light.

"Sugar, unless you want an advanced education in anatomy, you'd better hand me my robe."

Nikita leaned over and pulled the requested garment from the foot of Walter's bed.

"What time is it?" Walter asked as he shoved an arm into a sleeve.

"It's late-Walter, they've done something to Michael. Now I'm sure!"

"Okay, just hold on a minute-who's they and what have they done?"

"Operations-Section, maybe Madeline. They've done something to Michael's memory or something. I showed him some pictures of Adam this evening and he acted as if he had never even seen Adam, much less knew who he was."

"O-kay," he said slowly, "so what do you want me to do about it?"

"You've been in Section a long time. Have you heard anything regarding Michael? Any rumors? Anything that might explain his odd behavior?"

"Nope. But you know how this place works. We've got layer upon layer of lies and cover-up. Even if you find out what's wrong with Michael, what do you expect to do about it?"

Nikita sighed with exasperation. "You're right. Damn! I don't know what to do. Michael is so changed, I'm afraid to talk to him."

"You said he doesn't recognize Adam?"

Nikita nodded, "Not only doesn't recognize him, he is totally disinterested. Do you think they have wiped his memory somehow?"

"It's possible, but doubtful. Why would Section remove Michael's memories of his son? It makes more sense to use those memories to control him."

"You mean, use Adam against his father?"

"Can you think of a better way to control someone?"

Nikita shook her head.

"Let me ask you this," Walter continued. "When did you start noticing there was something odd about Michael?"

"The day Operations pulled Michael off the Cairo mission. Michael's profile was completely unworkable. I couldn't even believe Michael had written it. It was suicidal. It was like he wanted to fail."

Walter grew thoughtful. "Let's say Michael was suicidal. Why write a profile that is so obviously a failure? He had to know someone would notice the errors-Birkoff showed it to me. Those mistakes were blatant. Michael had to know that he'd be removed from the mission. I guess what I'm asking is, why bother? It makes no sense. It almost sounds as if Michael has an evil twin or something."

Nikita stared at Walter in horror. He returned the look curiously.

"What is it?"

"It can't be . . ." Nikita whispered aghast.

"What can't be?" Walter asked again.

"It could explain everything," she continued almost to herself.

"Sugar! What are you talking about?"

"Michael's not Michael!"

Walter gave a grunt of exasperation. "What?"

"A clone." Nikita replied.

"Nikita, that's crazy! Cloning hasn't seen around that long. If what you suspect is true, my money is on Red Cell sending in a medically altered look-alike."

"Is there anyway we could test him to be sure?"

"Sure-a simple retina or voice scan could tell us if there is an imposter. Those things can't be changed."

"Those things wouldn't be different in a clone, though, would they?"

"Since no one's ever cloned anyone, any opinion I give you would be academic. But if you insist, my scientific wild-assed guess would be that, no, there would be no difference. A clone would have to be genetically identical to its original."

"So if I got you a recording of Michael's voice and you matched it to one on file. . . "

"It wouldn't prove anything! If it matched perfectly, all we would have is confirmation that the man running around Section looking like Michael, IS Michael. And if it doesn't, then I'd say we have an infiltrator."

"But if it matched, it could also mean the man running around Section could be a clone."

"Nikita-of the two choices, I'd still put money on it being the real Michael. No one has ever successfully cloned a human being, and even if they had, the clone would still be a child."

"Walter, do you remember the mission where we took down Chernov?"

"Yeah," Walter rolled his eyes, "and that just proves my point. Chernov had been working on human cloning for years and in his own words, he told you he was only close to achieving it."

Nikita leaned closer to Walter, suddenly remembering they might be under observation.

"I went to Level Eight, Walter. I found children there. One of the children was me," she whispered.

"How could it have been?" Walter continued to argue.

"I don't know, but I know it was. The little girl looked exactly like me when I was small. What if Section has been experimenting with cloning for longer than Chernov?"

"Nikita-listen to yourself! Michael's thirty-three years old. Thirty-three years ago, cloning was science-fiction. How could there be an adult clone of Michael, even if cloning a human were possible?"

Nikita sighed. Walter's argument made sense, but her instincts still stubbornly insisted otherwise.

"If I get Michael's voice recorded, would you run a comparison?" Nikita asked softly.

"Yes, if it means you'll get outa my bed and let me get back to sleep!" He replied grumpily.

Nikita smiled and stood. "I never thought I'd hear you say that," she quipped.

He grinned sheepishly, "Damn-maybe I'm a clone too. I take it back. . . " He flipped back the sheets invitingly and patted the bed.

"Goodnight Walter," Nikita said firmly. Smiling, she bent and kissed his brow then quickly made an exit.

* * *

Michael stood in the shadows on the balcony and waited with gun drawn as Nikita entered her apartment. He watched her intently, searching for any outward signs--any inconsistencies. He had to be sure. There could be no mistakes.

The apartment lights went on, illuminating Nikita as she slipped into her small kitchen and retrieved a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She continued into the living area and turned on her stereo. The music was moody. She switched stations until she found satisfaction in a rhythmic beat and began to push her furniture aside to clear a place to exercise. Having completed that, Nikita confined her hair into a ponytail with a small elastic band, then lay on the floor and proceeded to do sit-ups.

Michael watched for several minutes as Nikita worked her way through several exercises. He knew her routine from the dozens of hours of watching her when her apartment had been under surveillance. Perhaps that was when his fascination with her had begun. All those hours of watching her-he never tired of watching her.

He grew more alert as she drank her water and jogged up the few steps to her bedroom. If she were true to her routine, she would shower, and crawl into bed with a book. Michael waited until he heard the water running in the shower and opened the balcony doors.

Nikita sensed that something wasn't right as soon as she entered her bedroom. She had been sensing it all evening-the feeling that she was being watched. She slipped her hand beneath the mattress of her bed and pulled out her spare 9mm. She went into the bathroom to hide the sound of chambering a round, then low crawled out of the bathroom to peek around the partition into the living area. There was no one there. She waited, listening intently, silently cursing that she hadn't turned off the blaring music. Minutes passed, and still nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Nikita began to relax. "Just your imagination," she muttered to herself. She placed the weapon on safety and started to place it on the nightstand. As she turned, she saw him in her peripheral vision, and turned to retrieve the weapon.

Michael entered, gun drawn and pointed at her. "Don't," he said softly.

Nikita looked at the weapon, mentally judging whether her reaction time merited disobeying him.

'Bad idea.' She decided, and turned towards him.

"Hello again, Michael." She said sarcastically. "Who sent you? Operations? Madeline?"

Michael waved her away from her weapon. When she was far enough, he bent to retrieve it.

"Well?" Nikita continued.

He continued to watch her, searching her face with curious green eyes.

"Is this going to be your patented blank stare routine? If so, can it wait until I take a shower?" She added testily. "I would hate to leave a sweaty corpse lying around for someone to find."

He waved her towards the bathroom. She moved slowly, keeping her eyes on him. He surprised her by tossing her a towel off of the bed.

"Make it quick," he said, lowering his gun. "We have to talk."

Nikita retreated into the bathroom to consider her options. There were a few items in the bathroom that she could turn into weapons, if necessary. If the man seated on her bed was Michael, he would be aware of them-after all he had taught her everything she knew about self-defense. If he was a clone, however, would he know what Michael did? Nikita decided to shower in the meantime. By the time she turned off the water, she had decided to bide her time and find out what "this" Michael wanted.

Nikita was mildly surprised to find that Michael had left his spot on her bed and gone downstairs. Dressing quickly into some slacks and a pullover, she trotted barefooted down the steps to find Michael standing at the balcony doors. Taking advantage of his momentary lapse of attention, she went into the kitchen and pulled out a small knife. Tucking it into the waistband of her pants, she peeked over her shoulder to see if Michael had noticed. He hadn't.

As Nikita started to close the drawer, she noticed the photos of Adam that she had placed there earlier and got an idea. Reaching inside, she pulled out the pictures and took them over to Michael, who turned at her approach. It was time to find out who was genuine and who was not.

"Actually," Nikita began conversationally, "I'll glad you came over this evening. I have something I've been meaning to give you. Here." She extended the photographs to him.

Michael smiled softly, "Adam." He eagerly went through the small stack of photos.

"Where did you get these? I thought all I had left was a video," he looked at her with tear-bright eyes.

"Elena gave them to me. I'd forgotten I had them until a few days ago." Somewhat relieved, Nikita reached out and cupped his cheek in her hand. "Michael?"

She had to know for sure! Nikita leaned towards him, and pressed her mouth against his.

Like gasoline on a fire, raw emotion flashed through her. This Michael was Michael. No other man made her feel this way. No man ever could.

Michael pulled her closer, and immediately deepened the kiss. His arms tightened around her waist and the forgotten knife. Finding it, Michael smiled faintly against her mouth, and slipped it free.

Now, she was at his mercy.

Nikita's mouth slipped slowly away from Michael's. She felt the tip of the knife's blade pressed against her throat. He allowed her to move a few inches away, but kept the blade's point firmly against her neck.

Wondering if she hadn't made a fatal error, Nikita watched him with wide blue eyes.

"On the boat in Lyons," Michael whispered, "when I told you I thought I'd lost you--do you remember what you said in return?"

Nikita frowned in discomfort and nodded.

"You never had me," she replied firmly, watching him closely.

Michael lowered the knife with a relieved sigh. He gently kissed the small impression the knife had left against her neck.

"I'm sorry. I had to be sure." He handed her the knife hilt first. She took it and placed it on the counter-top.

"So did I," Nikita replied, with a nod at the knife and a slight smile that instantly faded. "Michael, what's going on?"

"Not here." He said quietly, glancing around the room. "I have a lot to tell you, but not here."

"Okay, let me get my shoes."

Michael nodded as he tucked his son's pictures in his pocket.

Nikita ran up to her bedroom and pulled on some shoes. A moment later there was a knock at her apartment door. Michael was at her side immediately.

"Are you expecting anyone?" he asked.

"No. Stay here, I'll go look." She slipped downstairs and turned on her security monitor.

Michael peered around the corner at the person the camera revealed. Nikita shot him a startled look. The other Michael stood on the other side and knocked again.

Nikita's expression asked what Michael wanted her to do. He nodded, indicating she could allow his double inside.

With a deep breath, Nikita opened the door. "Michael?"

"Can I come in?"

"Uh, I was about to go to bed, but sure, for a minute or two."

* * *

"What is your name?" Chernov asked again.

"I told you! It's Nikita." The blonde snapped irritably.

"Good. Good. And who do you work for?"

"Section One." Nikita replied, with a disgusted sigh. She watched as Chernov examined her hands. He gently rotated her wrists, then tugged on her fingers, as if testing whether they would come off.

"Are we done?" She asked restlessly.

"Almost," Chernov said with a faint smile. "I need you to identify these people for me." He held up some photographs.

Mechanically, as if by rote, Nikita recited. "Operations. . . . Birkoff. . . . Walter . . . Gail . . .Madeline . . . Johnson. . . . Michael . . ."

"Good! Very Good!"

"Is she ready?"

Chernov frowned at the intrusion. "Sleep now, Nikita," he ordered. Immediately, the young woman closed her eyes.

"Is she ready?" The question was repeated with some irritation.

"Soon. Her programming isn't complete. In a few days, we can send her out on a short errand to test the results."

"Okay, fine. Just remember our deal-Birkoff is her first target. I want that little tin god in a box!"

"Of course, Felix" Chernov nodded to appease the agitated young operative. "That was the deal. Now, can you get me some more information on Operations?"

"Whatever you need," Felix grinned. "Whatever you need."

* * *

Nikita watched as Michael the Second stepped into her apartment. She couldn't help but stare. He was Michael's perfect double, right down to the curls in his hair. And yet, there was a difference. This Michael was somehow empty. There was little expression in his face, and even when he attempted to smile, it never reached his eyes.

"Going to bed?" he asked. "Want some company?"

Nikita tried to smile. The thought crossed her mind that, had this been the real Michael, he would be already on his back, after such an invitation.

She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Can't. I'm not sure, but I think my apartment's been put under surveillance."

"So? Who cares?" Michael II asked, completely unswayed by her argument. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

"Michael! Don't be crazy!" Nikita struggled to get out of his embrace. "You know Operations could cancel us both!"

"Don't worry about Operations-if he gets in my way, I'll cancel him." Michael II said grimly. "He doesn't own me." He ended the threat with a grinding kiss that Nikita twisted out of and slapped him soundly.

"Get out!" Nikita raged, backing away from him, towards the kitchen. She swiped at some blood on her lip, injured during the kiss.

Michael II rubbed away the sting of her slap, then laughed. It was a hollow sound, almost mechanical. "You don't own me either." He pulled gun from his pocket and chambered a round. "Come here!"

Nikita stood her ground.

"I said . . ." The words were cut short as Michael II was felled from behind by the butt of his Original's gun.

Michael stood over his unconscious double for a moment, as if inspecting him for flaws, then raised his gun to fire.

"No!" Nikita knocked Michael's hand aside.

"He's a monster." Michael said coldly.

"Maybe so, but Section made him that way. Maybe he's had no choice."

"You heard him threaten Operations. He's gone rogue."

"And who hasn't threatened Operations?" Nikita argued.

"Why are you protecting him?" Michael asked, his eyes narrowing.

Nikita looked at Michael as if seeing him for the first time and planted her fists on her hips. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were jealous of yourself!"

Michael holstered his weapon inside his coat and frowned. Ignoring her remark, he took her arm.

"Let's go, then, before he wakes up."

"So," Nikita began, after they were safely in Michael's car, "What's going on?"

"You just met him. You tell me." Michael said softly, watching the road through a rain-splattered windshield.

"I don't suppose you have an identical twin brother, do you?" Nikita said with a sarcastic twist to her mouth. She paused briefly, before continuing. "A clone?"

"Yes." Michael replied.

"Section's doing?"

"Yes."

"I thought cloning hadn't been around long enough." Nikita said, reminding him of their conversation several months before. Michael didn't bother to respond.

"Is he the only one?" Nikita asked.

"No. There are others."

"More Michaels?"

"No. But they've cloned three other Section operatives."

"Any body I know?" Nikita said frowning.

"Walter, Birkoff and. . . " Michael stopped abruptly.

"Me?" Nikita asked fearfully.

Michael shook his head but didn't look at Nikita. Finally, ever so softly, he added: "Simone."

Nikita's mouth dropped open for a moment before she reached over and placed a comforting hand on Michael's shoulder.

"How did you find out about all of this?" Nikita asked quietly.

"Madeline told me."

"But why? It doesn't make any sense. If Section's behind the cloning . . . "

The clones are defective. Operations thought they could be controlled, but Madeline says she's been tracking anomalies. Based on the data she's been gathering, she expects the clones to go rogue."

"And?"

"And she is having difficulties convincing Operations of her findings."

"So, what does she want you to do?"

After a short pause, Michael answered, "Cancel them."

"Cancel them?" Nikita was shocked, then suspicious. "Cancel the clones?"

"Yes."

"Michael, are you sure it's the clones she wants dead?"

Michael pulled the car into the driveway of a local motel and turned off the engine. Having done so, he turned to Nikita and asked, "What do you mean?"

"Look, this has evidently been going on for a long time, maybe decades. Are you telling me that Madeline is going to have you kill clones that have taken years to develop, and God knows how much money-just like that?"

"Nikita, I've known Madeline a long time. This wouldn't be the first time she has disagreed with Operations, nor it is the first time she's asked me to do something to correct a mistake by Operations."

"Michael, what if the plan is for you to be set up to kill the originals?"

Michael frowned, then shook his head. "No, I believe Madeline's reasoning. You saw for yourself-my clone is already beginning to rebel."

Nikita shook her head, "Michael, what if he is only pretending to go rogue? What if that's part of the plan?"

"Madeline wants me to kill him as well. I could have done it tonight quite easily, and would have, if you hadn't stopped me." Michael's hand casually stroked her cheek.

Nikita frowned. Michael's argument was sound but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was a great deal going on that neither of them knew about.

"S'okay. So what now?"

"I need your help."

"To do what?" Nikita asked as they got out of the car. The bright green and red lights of the motel signage reflected garishly against the wet pavement as the two walked over to a covered breezeway.

"Michael is easy to isolate, but I am not sure about Walter and Birkoff. I need some way to tag the originals." Michael walked over to a motel room on the first floor and unlocked the door. Glancing around to check the area, he opened the door and they went inside. Holding up his hand, the Section signal to be silent, Michael quickly checked the room for bugs. Satisfied there were none, he nodded at Nikita, who removed her jacket and tossed it on the bed.

"You mean, Walter and Birkoff may have already been replaced?" She smoothly continued the conversation.

"It's possible."

"But wouldn't Madeline know for sure?"

"No. Operations is running this experiment on his own."

Nikita looked pensive as she sat down on the bed. "I'm pretty sure both Birkoff and Walter haven't been replaced, at least not yet."

"If that's the case, then we need to find a way to mark them. It has to be subtle, something that won't be noticed, or easily changed."

"Michael, if they haven't been replaced yet, where are the clones now?"

"In training. Madeline believes she knows where. I will infiltrate and take them out quietly. Madeline has suggested biologicals-a replicant virus. It should look as if the cloning process itself is at fault."

"If that's the case, why did you want to shoot Michael tonight?"

Michael gently touched Nikita's bruised bottom lip with the edge of his thumb. "He hurt you," he replied simply.

Nikita was both surprised and a teeny bit suspicious. There were still times that Michael's attitude towards her was suspect. She had seen tenderness in him-with Adam, with Simone . . . but it was an exception to the rule. It was hard to trust him still.

"What are you going to do about Simone's clone?" She asked, suddenly remembering.

"Kill it." He replied coldly.

"Michael, she was your wife. . . " Nikita argued, sounding somewhat appalled by his attitude.

"Simone is dead!"

"I only meant, clone or not, it will be hard to see her die again. Isn't there anyway the clones can live? It's not their fault . . ."

"Nikita," Michael took her face in his hands. "They have to be destroyed. I can't save them, even if I wanted to." He paused, closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers. "It's Adam, Nikita. His life is the price of this mission."

* * *

"Is she ready, yet?" Felix asked with exasperation.

"For testing, yes."

"Testing-look we had a deal!"

Chernov smiled. "And I will fulfill my obligations. Nikita. . . "

The slender blonde turned at her name and approached.

"Nikita, do you recognize this person?"

"Yeah-'s Birkoff." She replied casually looking at the photograph in Chernov's hand.

"Good. I have an assignment for you. I want you to call Mr. Birkoff and offer to meet him for lunch at your apartment." Chernov nodded at Felix who handed Nikita a cell phone, having already punched in the number.

Nikita took the phone, pinched a wad of gum out of her mouth and cleared her throat.

"Yeah?" Came a voice over the phone.

"Birkoff?" Nikita asked with a voice that smoked with sensuality.

"Yeah-Nikita?"

"Yeah. Uh, I need your help on something. Do you think you could meet me for lunch at my apartment?"

"Lunch. . . uh, I don't know. I have a mission on the pad and . . . "

"Come on Birkoff," she said sweetly. "I really need to talk with you. . . .alone."

There was a moment of hesitation before Birkoff answered, "Could, uhm, could you make it my place at one? I can't leave now."

"Sure. Your place at one. See you then, babe." She closed the phone with a snap and handed it back to Felix.

"She can't do that!" Felix argued loudly. "Birkoff's place is IN section!"

Chernov shrugged. "Sounds like a perfect test to me. What better way than to beard the lion in his den?" He turned to Nikita. "Go get ready, my dear."

Nikita nodded nonchalantly and sauntered off, twisting a lock of her hair.

Walter noticed Birkoff's odd expression. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong-oh, nothing." Birkoff rubbed one hand across the top of his closely-sheared head. He looked puzzled as he replaced the phone into its cradle. 'Babe?'

"Who was that-on the phone?"

"Nikita."

"Hmmm, then why the face?"

"She invited me to lunch." Birkoff replied, reseating himself at his console.

Walter raised a questioning eyebrow.

Birkoff bristled at his expression. "What? Nikita and I are friends, why shouldn't she want to eat lunch with me?"

"No reason, except maybe one-Michael."

"Michael-the way he's been acting lately, I don't wonder Nikita's looking elsewhere." Birkoff said grumbling beneath his breath. He plugged his headset in one ear and began to pound his keyboard to upload incoming data.

"You gotta death wish, Birkoff?" Walter asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"It's just lunch!" Birkoff protested back.

"Yeah." Walter answered, shaking his head as he walked away. "Just lunch. Could be your last meal, if you're not careful."

Birkoff made a face at Walter's retreating figure and went back to work.

* * *

"What can I do to help?" Nikita asked gently.

Michael released her and sat down next to her on the bed.

"Madeline said the other clones are probably still in training. Since their existence is a secret, she believes they are being trained by Section Four. If you're right, and Walter and Birkoff haven't been replaced yet, their clones should still be at the Section Four training camp. If they are, I'll cancel them and return for my clone. I need you to keep an eye on Walter and Birkoff and tag them in some way, so if they are replaced, you'll know it at once. If they're the real thing, there will be no problem, but if you're wrong and they have been replaced, they could go rogue. . ."

"And I might have to kill them, is that what you're saying?"

"Yes."

"All right. I think I know a way to mark them-but what about you and your clone? I can't tell you apart."

Michael smiled faintly, "How do you know, I'm not the clone?"

Nikita smiled back coyly, "By the way you kiss-besides your knowing about the boat in Lyons. I'd rather not have to kiss your clone to find out who's who. We need a code word or something."

"Why not let it be 'Lyons'?"

"Fine. Lyons it is. If I say Lyons-you come back with 'boat', okay?" Nikita said seriously.

"Fine." He said.

"Don't forget."

"I never have," Michael said softly. His green eyes were wistful as he watched her.

Nikita was surprised and pleased at his words. She had come to think of the night on the boat as "their night", even though it had only been a bittersweet interlude. Now that she knew about Elena and Adam, Nikita understood why Michael had backed away from further involvement. Mission or not, Michael felt an obligation not to betray the gentle woman he married. Whether it was out of loyalty to the mother of his son, or actual affection, Nikita would never know, but in a way it pleased her that Michael had backed away from a closer relationship for all the right reasons.

"Neither have I," she finally replied, looping her arms loosely around his neck.

Slowly, as if he were almost afraid, Michael cupped Nikita's face in his hands. He searched her face for permission, and received it as she leaned into him.

Then he kissed her.

At first it was gentle, just a brush of lips across lips. But like a match being struck, it inflamed them both.

For Nikita, suddenly, all was sensation. Layer upon layer.

The sight of skin-tight black clothing being peeled off firm muscles, as Michael divested himself of his clothing; the feel of his warm hands as they found their way beneath her shirt and cupped her breasts ever so briefly, before continuing in their mission to remove her clothes completely.

She felt the soft stroke of his hands on her inner thighs as he parted them, then felt her body lift in reaction to his mouth kissing her intimately. If she had wanted to move, she would have been unable to-Michael's strong arms held her firmly against the bed as he began his tender assault.

His tongue teased. His mouth devoured. He brought her near the pinnacle of sweetness twice then retreated.

"Michael, please . . . " Nikita heard herself pleading over the sound of her heart pounding. "Please. . ."

He moved to kiss her, letting her taste herself on his lips, before taking her hand and guiding it to himself. When Nikita took him in her hand and led him inside, the soft sighs of pleasurable relief Michael made were as much of a delight to Nikita as the act itself.

Then began the intense pas de deux. Advance and retreat. Soft curves melded against hard planes. Kisses became endearments and entreaties.

Harder. Faster. Nikita rose to meet him.

"I love you, Michael," she moaned as she climaxed around him.

A moment later Michael followed. Nikita felt his body tense then pulsate with his release.

Afterward, his weight was a pleasant heaviness as he lay atop her.

Nikita closed her eyes, letting her fingers explore their way through Michael's cinnamon curls as his head lay on her breast. She loved his hair. . . loved these moments when he allowed her to touch him.

Like a wild thing, Michael rarely allowed himself to be touched. In Section, he was a solitary figure, never letting anyone close. He had no male friends, although she knew of many operatives that respected and admired him. They even trusted him-in Section that had to be a unique distinction!

Trust. It had been a hard thing for her to do-to trust Michael. She had tried often enough, only to feel betrayed by him. Oddly enough, seeing him with Elena and Adam had given her a new perspective. Now she knew he had had reasons for what he did, and when it often looked as if Michael had been doing the tearing, it had really been him that was being torn.

Nikita felt something warm and wet, tickle her side. Curiosity made her open her eyes and look down at him. Tenderness kept her silent. Michael was crying in his sleep.

* * *

Nikita sauntered into Section, her hands buried deep into the pockets of her tan overcoat. She carefully watched as personnel walked past.

"Hi Sugar!" Walter called out, blowing her a quick kiss.

Nikita nodded at him. "Hi, Walter," she called out casually, as she walked over to his station. "Have you seen Birkoff?"

"He's getting ready for your lunch date," he quipped, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

Nikita smiled, "Oh--he told you?"

Walter nodded and folded his arms across his chest, "Yeah. It's all he's lived for since last night. I hope you let him down easy, Sugar." He gave her a more serious look. "I think the kid has a great big crush on you."

She nodded, then added, "I'll be sure and take your advice."

Walter watched Nikita stroll away with a sigh. "Ah, to be young again-dammit." He muttered beneath his breath.

Birkoff paced his room. In Nikita's honor he had first tidied up his quarters, then fearing it was too obviously clean, he sprinkled the area with a few odds and ends, a pair of old sneakers, and several magazines. But now, as he looked about, his room looked contrived. Before he could make an attempt to correct the situation, however, there came a knock on his door.

Swallowing nervously, Birkoff called out, "It's open!"

His door opened and Nikita peeked around the corner of it. "You decent?" She asked.

"S-sure, why wouldn't I be?" He asked with a frown.

"S'just a rhetorical question, Birky." She replied cheerfully, continuing into his room.

"Oh, yeah, right." He returned, shyly fidgeting with a memory module.

"Hmmm, what's for lunch?" Nikita began to unbutton her ankle-length overcoat.

"Chicken Kiev-I heard you liked that." Birkoff smiled, and put down the module.

Nikita wet her bottom lip with her tongue, "Ohhhh, yeah. Yummy" She dropped her coat on Birkoff's bed, revealing a micro-mini skirt and a skin-tight tank top. Neither article of clothing left much to the imagination.

Birkoff realized he was staring, and flushed red. "Uh, what would you like to drink?"

"Beer?" She asked, slipping into one of the two chairs at his small dining table.

"Okay, sure." He turned to raid his small refrigerator. When he turned around, he found Nikita standing directly in front of him.

"Need any help?" She asked with a winning smile as she relieved him of one of the beers.

"Ah, no. Everything's ready to eat."

"Great! Let's eat." Nikita returned to her chair with her beer in hand.

Birkoff followed, feeling somewhat foolish. It was just lunch, he reminded himself. Nikita was just a friend, no need to get all----

"Oh shit!" Birkoff blew out his breath along with the words as he sat down. Nikita was sitting opposite him with her skirt hitched up to her thighs. Instead of pantyhose, the bottom part of a garter-belt could be seen holding up her stockings. Worse-or better, Birkoff wasn't quite sure he knew which-she wasn't wearing any underwear. If it weren't for the shadows, he could almost bet she was a natural blonde!

"What?" Nikita asked, innocently.

Slowly, or so it seemed to Birkoff, she crossed her legs at the knee.

"Y-you said-umm, you wanted my help?"

"Hmmm, after we eat, this is delicious!" She licked one finger delicately, then sucked on her index finger. It was suggestive enough to make Birkoff shift uncomfortably in his chair and break into a sweat.

Nikita smiled pleasantly. "You know, I just noticed something."

Birkoff looked around to see what that might be, then decided to ask, "Noticed what?"

"You're really pretty cute." She grinned and suckled her finger again. Then she winked.

"Oh, gee!" Birkoff turned scarlet.

"No, really, Birky." Nikita got up and strode over to him. "You just need a little adjustment." She slung one long leg over his legs and straddled his lap as he sat in his chair.

Birkoff nearly stopped breathing and held tight to the sides of the chair.

"Here," she slipped her fingers around both of his ears and lifted his glasses, "I think you ought to get contacts-or maybe even that laser surgery. You have gorgeous eyes."

Birkoff looked at her wide-eyed, straining to see her blurred image better.

"You've got a cute mouth too," she continued casually, then bent to run her tongue along the seam of his lips.

Birkoff shuttered and opened his mouth, half-way in surprise, half-way with desire. Stunned, he allowed her to French kiss him.

'God, this can't be happening. . . ' Birkoff felt his hands being moved to touch Nikita's breasts beneath her shirt. She wasn't wearing a bra . . .

"Come on, Birky," Nikita whispered in his ear as she undid his belt. "Let's see what you've got. . . " She slipped one hand inside the waistband of his pants.

"Ooohh, nice and hard," Nikita said silkily, as her hand glided down the length of him. "Come on baby," she said huskily, beginning to stroke him with a gentle rhythm. "Come for me. . . "

Birkoff closed his eyes out of sheer need. Part of him-a tiny part, was screaming a warning. But the rest of him told it to go to hell . . .

* * *

It was barely 4 am when Nikita was awakened by Michael, seated on the edge of the bed, casually stroking her back. She lifted up and looked at him as he turned on the light on the night stand. He was already dressed.

"What time is it?" She asked, squinting at the light and rolling over on her back.

"Almost four," Michael replied, brushing a few strands of her hair off her forehead. "I have to go."

Nikita caught his wrist as he started to get up. She pressed his palm to her mouth and kissed it. "Be careful."

"You too. Try and stay away from my clone until I get back." He said seriously.

"Jealous?" She quipped, sitting up and releasing his hand so he could stand.

Michael paused, frowned, then surprised Nikita with a kiss that pressed her deep into the pillows with its intensity.

"Yes." He said, releasing her and getting to his feet again.

As she watched him leave, Nikita smiled and added as the door closed: "Good."

* * *

It was mid-morning when Michael arrived at Section Four. Madeline had paved the way for him through her contacts. The head of Section Four had been told Michael was there to share intel, so he was given access to the areas he needed to check with no questions asked. All that was left to do was to locate the clones and introduce the virus into their systems, without them knowing they were being infected.

Michael almost didn't recognize Walter's clone at first. His hair was short and sandy brown, and he looked like he was in his mid to late thirties. It was his voice that gave him away.

"Hey! What are you doing in here?" Walter's clone inquired testily.

"I'm Level Five. I should ask you the same question." Michael replied, ominously.

"I train here." Walter folded his arms across his chest and looked unconcerned.

"Then you must be Walter." Michael's hand tightened around a tiny aerosol cylinder in his fist that carried the virus.

"Yeah. I'm him. So what's it to you?"

Michael slammed the heel of his right hand into Walter's chin, dropping the man where he stood.

"I'm here," Michael said, "To train you in self-defense." He knelt at Walter's side and sprayed a short blast of mist from the tiny cylinder into Walter's face. It happened so quickly that the clone didn't witness it. He was too busy groaning and rubbing his jaw.

"Hell! You could have just said so!" Walter growled, getting to his feet. He staggered and Michael caught him before he fell.

"I suggest we postpone your lessons for a while," Michael said, setting Walter upright again.

"Yeah, good idea." Walter said weakly. "I feel like a train just hit me. You weren't kidding when you said Level Five, were you?"

Michael didn't answer as Walter walked away holding his jaw.

'One down. . . '

* * *

Nikita fingered the two small boxes in her pocket as she entered Section. Her plan was simple. Since both Birkoff and Walter wore earrings, she'd give them each a pair-a present from her to her best friends-complete with tracking devices, should worse come to worse.

"Hi Walter!" She waved at him as she neared his station.

"Nikita?" Walter looked surprised to see her.

"Yep." She smiled and held out a small white box.

"I brought you something."

Walter took the box from her hand, but didn't attempt to open it.

"Hey, I thought you and Birkoff were having lunch. Did he chicken out?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I thought when you left here earlier, you were going to his room for din din." Walter finally opened the box and the vein of conversation changed. "Thanks Sugar! That's the baddest earring I've seen in ages!" He immediately began to unscrew the one in his ear to replace it with Nikita's gift-a small skull and cross-bones-a silvery Jolly Roger.

Nikita frowned. "Where is Birkoff? I have a gift for him too."

"Man, either your losing your memory, or I have a huge case of de'ja vu-I've already told you-he's waiting for you in his quarters."

"His quarters . . . " Nikita seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, then she turned pale and bolted for the elevator.

"No need to rush---he'll wait," Walter chuckled.

Nikita ran down the narrow corridor leading to Birkoff's quarters with a sinking feeling. Michael had said there was no Nikita clone. Had he lied?

She slipped her hand inside her coat and pulled out her 9mm. She checked the clip out of habit. She knew it was empty-damned rules--no mission, no ammo inside Section. She wished she had had time to sweet talk Walter into letting her have a loaded clip-

"Damn!" Nikita went to Birkoff's door and punched in an access code. The door swung open to reveal a bloodied Birkoff clutching his side and trying to plead for his life.

At the sound of the door sliding open, a shot rang out and Nikita ducked a bullet to dive into Birkoff's room. She placed herself in between the dazed Birkoff and his assailant.

The clone seemed more shocked than Nikita was, at facing her mirror image, and Nikita took advantage of her hesitation.

"I won't kill you, if you let Birkoff go," Nikita ordered from her vantage-point behind a bookcase. She raised her gun level with the clone's.

"Who are you?" The clone asked with wide-eyed uncertainty.

"I'm you-or rather, you're me." Nikita took a second to issue an order to Birkoff.

"Birkoff, move it! Get up!"

"I-I'm shot." He answered weakly.

"I know-just get out of here!" Nikita hissed, keeping her double at bay.

The clone pointed her weapon back at Birkoff, then thought better of it, and returned her sights to Nikita.

"Birkoff, GET UP!" Nikita shouted at him.

Birkoff nodded, and despite slipping in his own blood, managed to crawl to the door.

"What do I do?" The clone shouted aloud. She sounded panicked.

"Put your gun down." Nikita returned, glancing over at Birkoff's progress. He'd made it through the door, but she worried he might bleed to death before he made it to an area of Section where he could be discovered.

"Chernov! What do I do?" The clone continued, in a frightened voice.

"Chernov? Chernov sent you?" Nikita said, sounding stunned. "Chernov's dead."

"Don't move, Nikita." Chernov ordered the clone, then off to the side he told an assistant, "Get Felix in here, now!"

* * *

Michael found Birkoff's clone toying with a computer game. He looked all of fifteen years old.

Bright brown eyes glowed as Birkoff looked up at the darkly dressed man standing over him.

"I beat it!" Birkoff's clone declared. "I did it!"

"Hey! What's all the noise in there?" There was playful sarcasm in the tone of voice. It was a woman's voice and Michael turned pale with recognition. 'Simone'.

"I beat it!" Birkoff called out to her. She trotted over to his console, ignoring Michael's presence, and centering on Birkoff.

"Okay, okay!" Simone said with a laugh. The petite brunette leaned over Birkoff's shoulder, and gave him a brief hug. "But you know you are supposed to be studying."

"That's bor-ring." Birkoff whined obstinately.

As if just noticing him, Simone looked over at Michael, and frowned. "Who are you?" She asked.

Michael couldn't answer-couldn't move. It was Simone and it wasn't. Her hair was different, shorter. But the face and voice were the same.

He fingered the aerosol canister in his pocket. They were both together. It would be so simple. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't.

Without a word, he turned and left.

* * *

When Michael returned to Section, he met secretly with Madeline to report on his progress. She would be unhappy, but he felt she wouldn't be surprised.

"I see," Madeline said with a sigh when Michael finished. She steepled her fingers, then continued, "I owe you an apology, Michael. There are some things a person shouldn't be asked to do." She sighed again, "What do you suggest we do with them, then?"

Michael looked away, then back again. "What if we let them live?"

"If we let them survive, they have an 86% chance of going rogue."

"Based on sims." Michael replied softly.

Madeline raised an eyebrow. "Based on sims. Everything we do here, is based on sims, Michael. You know that."

There was a sudden noise at Madeline's office door, and a harried Walter burst in.

"Birkoff's been shot and there's some kind of bizarre stand-off going on in his quarters!" He handed Madeline a pistol, and tossed Michael two loaded clips.

Madeline got quickly to her feet and chambered a round. As she and Michael followed Walter out the door, she asked, "What kind of stand-off?"

"I don't know-Birkoff's not making any sense. Keeps saying there are two Nikita's and one of them shot him. I've put Section on full alert and cordoned off Birkoff's quarters-Operations is at the Agency."

"Go contact him, and let him know what's happening," Madeline ordered. Walter jogged off to do as ordered.

"Michael."

"You never said Section cloned Nikita," Michael said seriously.

"We didn't-Operations doesn't trust the real Nikita, why would he want another one?" Madeline retorted.

"Then we have an outside infiltrator." Michael replied.

"Agreed. And we need her alive. We have to find who sent her, or we'll be dealing with this problem again."

Michael nodded. "I have an idea. Just keep everyone back."

Michael crept quietly down the hallway leading to Birkoff's quarters and wondered how Birkoff had even survived to warn them. His blood was pooled along the entire length of the hallway.

He stopped when he heard Nikita's voice.

"I want outa here!"

"Put your gun down, and you'll get out of here." Came her voice again, this time it was calmer.

"No-no you put yours down first!"

"S'not going to happen." Nikita replied firmly.

Getting to the door, Michael peered carefully into the room. One Nikita was hunched down behind a bookcase with her back to him. The other was across the room, behind a small table that had been knocked over. Other than their clothing was different both were identical. He kept silent, waiting for them to speak again. The one with the fear in her voice wasn't Nikita, that much, he was sure. While he waited, he popped the clip out of his gun and replaced it with another.

* * *

"Talk to her! Tell her what to do." Chernov bellowed at Felix. "She beginning to panic."

"She's your experiment! I told you not to send her in."

"Yes, and if she panics and is captured, she'll lead them right back to us."

"So, let's leave." Felix said turning away.

"No! I can't afford another setback! Getting this second lab going was too difficult-if I don't start producing soon, my backers are going to be very angry."

"Sounds like you have a personal problem to me," Felix sneered. "Besides, I got what I wanted. Birkoff's dead! I'm outa here."

Chernov fumed, but couldn't stop him. He turned his full attention to his clone instead.

"Nikita, if they capture you, you will be horribly tortured. Don't let them take you alive. Do you understand me?"

The clone nodded, through tears. "You won't help me?" She pleaded to the air.

"I can't. I'm sorry. Now listen carefully," Chernov began quietly, hypnotically, "Listen to me and obey. Put the gun to your head. You won't feel anything. . . ."

Nikita watched as the clone lifted the gun to her head and reacted in the only way she could think of. Shouting "Noooooo!" Nikita sprang out from behind the bookcase and threw her empty weapon at the clone's raised hand, hitting her squarely across the knuckles.

The clone's gun hit the floor as Nikita tackled her.

"All right! Get up!" Nikita stood over the injured clone and waved the loaded pistol at her. "Come on. Let's go."

"Nikita."

Nikita turned her head slightly to see Michael standing in the doorway.

"Are you all right?" He asked, stepping into the room with his gun drawn.

With relief, Nikita dropped her arm to her side and turned to greet him. "Lyons," she said with a smile.

Michael nodded and fired one shot at point blank range-straight into Nikita's chest. With a look of utter surprise, she fell to her knees, then onto the floor.

"Are you all right?" Michael asked the woman holding her bleeding hand.

"Say yes! You stupid creature!" Chernov shouted into her ear.

She nodded, and got to her feet with Michael's help. "Is she dead?"

Michael leaned over and briefly felt for a pulse on the neck of his victim. "Yes. Come. Let's get you to medlab."

Chernov laughed. "Excellent. Just play along. As soon as they debrief you to go home, return to the lab. I have another job for you to do."

* * *

"Are you sure you're all right?" Michael asked, as he and Nikita stood in the doorway of her apartment.

She nodded, then held out her bandaged hand, "All except for this," she said with a smile. "But it will get better with time."

"Then get some rest," he said softly. "I'll see you in the morning." Michael drew her into his arms for a brief kiss, before turning to leave.

"Goodnight."

* * *

"What in hell is going on around here!" Operations growled as he stormed into Madeline's office.

Madeline was seated at her desk watching a picture of Medlab on her computer screen, her brow furrowed with worry. She turned in her chair slightly to face him.

"Would you like the list alphabetically, or numerically?" She retorted bitterly.

"I'm in no mood Madeline!"

"Fine! In short, Birkoff has been shot-he's dying. Your clone of Michael has disappeared without a trace, and we have had an infiltrator."

"What happened? Who shot Birkoff?"

Operations had the grace to pale a little, Madeline thought sadly. He was quite fond of Birkoff in his own way.

"Nikita did-or rather her clone did."

"Clone? There is no Nikita clone!"

"But there is, and she was an infiltrator to boot."

"All right-stop there and start from the beginning."

"I'm due in Medlab---Dr Adams just called."

"About Birkoff?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me on the way."

* * *

"Hey, Sugar. Time to wake up."

"Hi, Walter," Nikita grimaced and put her hand to her chest. "Hurts."

"Yeah, I know. I'm sure you have a nice big bruise."

"I've been shot." She said, the memory suddenly returning. "Michael shot me!"

"Just with a tranq dart." He assured her.

"But why?" Nikita struggled to sit up. Walter wrapped an arm around her shoulders to help.

"To set up your clone." He continued. "Michael and the team are tracking her now. We'll have closure in about an hour."

"Tell him, it's Chernov."

"Chernov? I thought he was dead."

"So did I, but I guess I'm not the only one he cloned." Nikita looked across the room into intensive care and spotted a familiar face.

"How's Birkoff?"

Walter's face fell. "Not good. The bullet fragmented-ripped his liver and spleen up pretty bad. Word is, he isn't going to make it."

Nikita slipped off her bed and trod barefoot to the glass wall separating her from Birkoff.

"Oh Walter, why do I feel like this is all my fault?" She asked tearfully.

The old man wrapped his arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder.

There was nothing left to do but pray, Walter thought. But, he wondered, did God answer the prayers of the damned?

* * *

"We want Chernov alive. Everyone else is expendable. Take no orders except from me or Operations over the link. We know there is a Nikita clone, but there may be others. Stay in teams of two-don't let your partner out of your sight. Let's go." Michael opened the van door and allowed his team to disperse.

"Have arrived on site," Michael said quietly into his comlink.

"Go." Operations ordered. He frowned at the operative seated at Birkoff's station, then lit a cigarette.

Silently, the team breached the building's perimeter with Michael in the lead.

"We have arrived at second mark-" Michael commented, chambering a round into his weapon.

"Go." Operations blew out the word with a cloud of blue smoke.

Michael nodded and gave the hand signal to his primary team, while his secondary team fanned out to pick off anyone trying to escape. They entered the building silently.

Two voices were raised at the end of the hall. One of them was Nikita's clone. Michael closed his fist-the signal to hold in place while he checked out the situation.

"You left me there!"

"I had no choice! There was no way to rescue you---this argument is moot. Everything worked out for the best."

"Who was that woman? She said I was her. That makes no sense. Is she my sister?"

"I suppose you could call her a sister of sorts-what does it matter?" Chernov said testily. "That's all past anyway. I have a new assignment for you."

"No." The clone said simply.

"No?" Chernov got to his feet angrily.

"Who are you to tell me, no?"

"My name is Nikita." She retorted angrily.

"You wouldn't be alive, if it weren't for me! You will obey me!"

"No." She returned stubbornly.

Chernov turned red in the face. "I need you to track Felix down and kill him. He's the one that wouldn't help you!"

"No. I don't want to kill anyone."

"You killed Birkoff!"

"No!"

Chernov reached into a nearby drawer. "Fine. Then you are of no use to me." He leveled a revolver at her and fired.

An instant later, Chernov felt the barrel of a rifle pressing against the back of his skull and froze in horror.

"Drop it." Michael said coldly.

The weapon hit the floor with a thud.

"Don't kill me!"

"As you wish," Michael returned, watching his men bind Chernov's hands behind his back. As they hauled Chernov to the van, Michael knelt at the body of the clone, feeling for any remaining life. Finding none, he covered her face carefully with his jacket and left.

* * *

Operations paced the floor of Madeline's office. Madeline sat behind her desk; Michael stood in one corner, his hands clasped together in front of him.

"Let me get this straight, Chernov isn't dead?"

"No. It seems the Chernov that Nikita saw commit suicide was only a clone. Ironically, Chernov was in the room with them. His face was covered by a bio-suit. Nikita forced him to leave. In doing so, she gave him a opportunity to escape." Madeline explained.

Michael shifted his weight and interrupted. "Nikita followed procedure. She isolated her prisoner. If Chernov escaped, it's because the entire team failed to seal the area."

"Excuses, Michael?" Operations baited sarcastically.

Michael didn't answer. Operations had two rules: Never make excuses and never argue with Operations. Having broken the first, for Nikita's sake, it was pointless to dig himself deeper by breaking the second. Michael looked to Madeline to finish.

"We all underestimated Chernov's abilities," Madeline pointed out. "And we all underestimated the clones."

"Besides the Nikita clone, was Chernov able to infiltrate Section with any others?"

"No. Nikita was the only Section specimen available to him. He had no other DNA belonging to any of our operatives."

"You're sure?" Operations asked firmly.

"Yes. Chernov has a very low tolerance for pain. He told me everything I wanted to know in the first ten minutes of interrogation." Madeline commented dryly.

"Good." Operations smiled for the first time. "That will make him all the more biddable won't it?"

"You still intend on continuing the cloning program?" Madeline asked.

"Yes."

"You've seen the sims. . . "

"Yes. Which is why I want Chernov kept alive. If there are problems, let's have him work to solve them. If nothing else, clones would be a good source of spare parts."

Michael dropped his eyes as he thought of Birkoff-alive, but only because his clone had been killed so that its liver and spleen could be transplanted. Simone's fate was still unknown to him.

"So that leaves us one last problem. . . " Madeline began.

"Michael's clone." Operations finished, grounding out his cigarette as a visual period to the sentence. "Do we have any leads?"

"Not so far. I've been unable to develop a character profile on him-without a real background of experiences, likes and dislikes, it's impossible to know what he thinks or how he might react. We aren't even sure why he decided to disappear."

"Michael. He's your clone. Any ideas?" Operations turned to his top operative.

"I believe he will turn up. He only has one frame of reference and that's Section. It's home. Eventually, he'll want to return, even if it's only to get his bearings."

Operations turned to Madeline who was nodding.

"You agree?"

"Yes. All Michael the clone knows how to do is be an operative. He has no emotional background, no friends, family-no real relationships. The problem is, will he return before total psychosis sets in? He's somewhat like a house with no foundation. Stress of any kind begins to dismantle the personality. This is why the adult clones go haywire. It's my belief that for cloning to succeed, we will have to clone babies and allow the normal maturation of the person into an adult."

"That would take years!" Operations interrupted.

"Yes, it would. Which is why I believe cloning is a waste of time." Madeline responded calmly. "What is the point of having adult clones if they lose their minds in the matter of a few months? By the time you have them trained to do a job, you can't be sure they won't go rogue at the worst possible moment. In this business, we have too many variables as it is. If we can't rely on our operatives, then what's the point?"

"Fine. There is a problem. All the more reason for us to get Chernov to fix it!" Operations answered angrily. "In the meantime, we'll have to continue the search for Michael's clone. If nothing else, it knows the location of Section. If he falls into the wrong hands, we could have another disaster on our hands to the scale of the loss of the directory!"

Madeline took in a deep breath and released it. Operations was still not ready to be reasonable. She'd have to accept it and move on-for now. "Michael and I will make his recapture a top priority."

"Good. Let me know as soon as possible what you come up with." Operations lit another cigarette and left the room.

* * *

Nikita leaned over Birkoff as he lay in the intensive care area of medlab. She stroked his forehead gently. It was practically the only place on his body that was touchable. The rest of him was covered with sensor connections, feeding and breathing tubes.

"Seymour, can you hear me?" She said quietly.

Birkoff's eyes slowly opened. He looked at her sleepily at first, then for brief moment his eyes widened.

"Shhh, it's okay, Birkoff. It's me-the REAL Nikita. The other one's dead." Nikita stroked his head and gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead. "You're going to be fine. I just wanted you to know everyone's waiting for you to get better."

Nikita reached down and took one of his hands in hers and was rewarded when he gave hers a slight squeeze.

"If you need anything, there will always be someone here with you. Walter will be here soon." Nikita eased into a nearby chair and continued to hold his hand.

Noticing Birkoff was struggling to keep his eyes open, Nikita continued, "Just rest now and get better. I won't leave you."

Birkoff stared at her for a few more seconds, before losing the battle against the drugs and fell asleep again. Nikita idly stroked the hand she still held in her own.

"How is he?"

Nikita looked up at Michael who had silently appeared at her side.

"The doctor's believe his chances are good-the transplants are working perfectly."

Michael frowned, but didn't enlighten Nikita on the grim reasons why the transplants were working so well.

"How are you?" He asked in response.

"A little bruised, but fine. I heard you captured Chernov."

"Yes." Michael said in his usual succinct way.

It was too usual-too succinct.

"Michael, is something wrong?"

"My clone is still at large."

"Sounds like a problem Operations brought onto himself." Nikita retorted angrily.

Michael didn't argue, but he did cover her mouth briefly with one hand to halt any more angry words.

"It's a serious problem. My double knows Section's location. If he goes rogue, he could be as dangerous to us as the loss of the directory was."

"You mean another war?"

"It's possible, if he were to fall into Red Cell's hands."

"Any hope of drawing him back here, someway?"

"Madeline is trying, but she's been unable to adequately predict what my clone might do. It makes it difficult to create a profile."

"Well, Michael, since he's you, wouldn't you have a better idea of what he might do?"

"Decisions are based on experiences and those are the things he and I do not have in common."

Nikita sighed, then carefully tucked Birkoff's hand underneath his bed sheets. Looking up she spied Walter entering Medlab.

"Hi, Walter."

"Oh, hi Sugar. Michael. . . " He gave Michael a quick nod. "How's he doing?"

"The doctor's say he's still critical, but they're hopeful. Call me, if anything changes." Nikita got to her feet. "I'll be at my apartment."

Walter sat in the seat that Nikita vacated and watched as she and Michael left together.

Michael carefully opened Nikita's door and entered, gun drawn, with Nikita in his wake.

After they both searched the apartment thoroughly and found nothing, Nikita spoke.

"I don't know why you're worried he'd come back here, Michael." His sudden over-protectiveness was both touching and annoying. After all, she could take care of herself just as well s he could.

"It's the one place outside Section where we know he has a connection." He said simply, as he slid his gun back inside his coat.

Nikita had to admit, he had a point. "Want some coffee?" She reached into the cabinets and took out two cups.

He nodded at her, took off his coat and sat down.

As Nikita busied herself with the coffee making, she watched him closely. He seemed distracted, worried. She bit her lip, when she suddenly remembered Simone's clone. How hard it must have been for him. How hard on him to have to kill the images of friends as well-Birkoff-Walter . . .

"Careful, it's hot," Nikita said, handing him his cup.

"Thanks."

Nikita was hesitant to ask, but couldn't help herself.

"Michael, are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He responded.

His standard answer hurt her a little. Why would he never understand that she was here for him? When he hurt, she hurt. She took in a deep breath and began again.

"This mission can't have been easy on you, Michael. I don't believe you're fine."

His gray-green eyes looked at her with mild surprise perhaps with a little gratefulness thrown in.

Nikita touched his cheek, "They didn't have to be so cruel-they could have sent someone else to cancel the clones. I should have done it for you." She said regretfully.

At that Michael covered the hand that was pressed against his cheek with his own. His expression was wistfully amused. "You couldn't have killed them, Nikita, because I couldn't either."

"They're alive?" She smiled at his admission.

His face clouded over, "That's not quite the truth-I did cancel Walter's clone, but when I saw Simone and Birkoff. . . ." He shook his head, got to his feet and started to slowly pace.

"Birkoff's clone was much younger than our Birkoff and Simone . . ." He hesitated, then continued. "She spoke to me. It was her voice."

"But it wasn't her. And it wasn't Walter or Birkoff. But they were all innocents, Michael. All of them."

"And what of my son? What of Adam? He was the leverage Madeline used to get me to cancel them. I failed. Will he be safe?" Michael returned fearfully.

"Michael," Nikita got to her feet and stood before him. "Madeline wouldn't hurt Adam. It was a bluff, and deep down you must know that or the clones would be all dead now at your hand. She wouldn't hurt him. You're too important to Section, if for no other reason."

Michael seemed unconvinced. His face was pale and had that lost look she'd seen in his loft right after he'd lost his son. She slipped her arms around him and pulled him close, as he had done for her on occasion. "He'll be fine. He'll be fine."

They stood there in each other's arms for several minutes before Michael whispered, "Your coffee's getting cold." Then he kissed her cheek and released her. "Thanks."

"Welcome." She smiled and turned to the kitchen, "Hot coffee, coming up."

"Michael," Nikita topped off his cup, then hers. "I was reading this morning about twins. Now I know your clone isn't a twin-but there might be comparisons we can make."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for example, twins separated at birth often have much in common that can't be explained away by coincidence. According to what I read, they tend to like the same colors, the same foods, they marry spouses similar in looks, even name their children with identical names. No one can figure out why that happens, but the assumption must be that perhaps they are genetic tendencies."

"And?" His green eyes told her she had his attention.

"And maybe Madeline can use your likes and dislikes to help fill in the blanks. I mean it might be as simple as you liking Chinese food, and we locate your clone in a Peking restaurant."

Michael seemed interested, so Nikita continued. "Considering Section created your clone in the first place, and trained him, wouldn't it have been logical to let him know about your background a little?"

"You mean access to my personnel file?" Michael's face grew suddenly hard.

"Maybe . . . is something wrong?"

Michael grabbed his coat. "We have to get back to Section. Now!"

* * *

"Calm down, Michael."

"Where are they?"

Madeline folded her arms and stared at her Level Five Op. She'd never had him this upset, this out of control.

"You know I can't tell you that." She replied, forcing herself to keep her voice level.

"Madeline, please. They may be in danger." Nikita interrupted.

"Even if what you suspect is true, you can't do anything about it. Elena saw you die, Michael. Your son believes you're dead as well. You can't intervene and maintain their covers or yours."

"Why can't I go?" Nitika interjected. "I could simply "run into" Elena."

"I still not convinced Michael's clone is on his way to visit Elena."

"He needs a place to go, a place he thinks would be safe," Michael argued. "He needs connections, family-he has to know Section is dangerous for him now."

"Michael, even if I believed that, he would still have to know your wife and son are under our care and surveillance."

"If he was rational-I can't explain why I know, I just know that's where we should be looking."

"Madeline, what if Michael's right? Can we take the chance that he is and do nothing?" Nikita asked firmly.

Madeline sighed. No pointing in arguing the point any longer. This sudden intuition of Michael's was their only lead. As wild as it seemed . . .

"All right. Michael you have two hours to get me a profile."

"It's a lovely house, Michael. Just as nice as the one you had before." Nikita commented upon reviewing the schematics. Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder. It was mild comfort to the turmoil she knew he was feeling. Being in Tac Ops made more open consolation an impossibility.

Michael nodded absently, he was completely absorbed by the information coming across his computer screen.

"Still no data from our Section contact in Bourdeaux," Michael said bitterly.

Nikita didn't comment. That, in itself, was worrisome. Elena and Adam's safety was the contact's responsibility. The fact that no one could raise him, favored Michael's direst predictions.

"It's ready, Michael." Walter said, suddenly appearing at their side. He handed Michael a small carrying case, who opened it to reveal three, small, gas grenade canisters. Along side the canisters were two small vials of amber liquid, and two syringes.

"Okay," Walter said with a deep sigh, "Two of these cylinders must be introduced at the same time. They will cause unconsciousness within thirty to forty-five seconds. The third cylinder is the replicant virus. The virus will take several hours to do its work. It's your back-up, if the clone somehow evades capture."

The look on Michael's face left no doubt in Walter's mind that the virus would be an unneeded redundancy, so he continued: "All right, and this is very important-the gas is extremely potent, so it will work quickly. For an adult, exposure will lead to a long nap and a hell of a headache when they wake up, but for a child, especially a young child, an exposure to the gas for a lengthy period of time-over ten minutes, can be fatal."

Walter picked up one of the vials. "This is the antidote to the gas. Give Elena 4cc's and Adam 1 cc as soon as possible. After you give them a dose of the antidote, follow it up with a dose of this." He held up the second vial. "It's a very mild sedative that will put them both into a twilight sleep. The dosages are the same-4 cc's for Elena, 1 cc for Adam. Hopefully, if all goes well, they will both wake up thinking they dreamed the entire episode."

Michael nodded, then looked up as Madeline approached. "Operations has given you the go. Remember, Elena cannot recognize you or Nikita. If that happens, we will have no choice but cancellation, Michael."

Michael nodded soberly, picked up the case and locked it. "Let's go Nikita. Birkoff, tell the rest of the team to meet us in van access in two minutes.

Elena sat in front of the fireplace in her den, listening to the wood crackle and pop, and the rain beating against the windows. She had been crying all evening, ever since Adam mentioned that today was Michael's birthday. She'd managed to stay dry-eyed until she had put him to bed, but now as she sat in the huge, lonely house, her emotions would no longer be kept at bay.

They had left her nothing. No stick of furniture, no photographs of Michael, no keep-sakes--nothing to which a memory might be attached. It was if Michael had never existed.

"This is for your safety and the safety of your son," they had said. "If your father's people ever locate you again, your life would be in grave danger."

Those days after Michael's death had been a whirlwind of confusion and change. She had been told that Michael's death had been an accident-but it hadn't. She had been a witness. The man that shot Michael did so calmly and without provocation. When she contested the version of what happened with the Federal agents who had arrived moments afterwards, they seemed to ignore her protests for an investigation.

"We have to put you in a witness protection program," they kept saying, "or you and your son could meet the same fate." She felt threatened, not comforted. Even now, as she looked around the beautiful house that felt like a prison, all of what happened seemed surreal. Michael was dead? Her father a terrorist? It had to be a nightmare. And yet, she couldn't wake up. . .

"Elena?"

Elena jerked around, her eyes wide with horror. In a darkened corner of the room stood a man in a long coat, all in black. "Elena," he said again, and stepped into the light.

When he'd stepped closer, Elena had shrieked and jumped to her feet to flee, but his voice arrested her and she turned to stare at him.

"M-michael?"

"Yes." He returned softly, his arms opened to her. With a cry of anguish, Elena threw herself into them.

"Michael, but I saw you die!" she wept against him. "I saw you die!"

"It was a trick," he said, gently stroking her hair, even as he searched the room around him suspiciously.

"But why?" Elena asked, looking up into his face.

Michael shrugged but didn't answer, and Elena was suddenly struck with doubts. There was something different about him, something wrong. The expression in his eyes was hard not tender as she had remembered.

'Perhaps,' she told herself, 'he blames you for what happened'

"I can't tell you. If I did, they would kill you." He answered quietly.

"It doesn't matter," Elena replied, still wondering who "they" might be. "All that's important is you're home. You're home!" She buried her face against his shoulder and held him tightly.

"Where's Adam?"

Sniffing and wiping away tears, Elena answered, "He's upstairs asleep. Oh, Michael, how are we to explain it all to him? He's missed you so much."

"And I've missed him."

"Come," she said tugging on his hand, "I'll take you to see him."

Elena led Michael down the hallway to the staircase and they quietly ascended. When they reached Adam's room, Elena drew her husband to a halt.

"Wait here, Michael. Let me prepare him. Oh, this is so wonderfully strange!" She threw her arms around Michael's neck and hugged him tightly. "I love you." Elena raised her mouth to be kissed, but Michael kissed her forehead instead.

Disappointed, she nevertheless smiled, and went inside Adam's room. With a small click, she turned on the nightstand lamp.

"Adam. Wake up, love. Mommy needs to talk to you."

Adam tried to snuggle down further into the blankets and grumbled in his sleep.

His mother tugged the blankets down and kissed his baby-soft cheek. "Come Adam, wake up."

Finally the little boy opened his eyes. They squinted at the light. "I'm sleepy, Mommy."

"I know. But I need to talk to you. It's important."

"Okay," the little boy said, sitting up. "I'm awake now." Still, he rubbed his eyes.

"Adam, you miss your Daddy, don't you?"

With a sad face, the child nodded.

"What if Daddy could come back? Would you like that?" Elena asked, running her fingers through Adam's dark hair.

"But you said Daddy can't come back."

"Mommy was wrong. Would you like to see your Daddy?"

The child didn't answer, but stared past his mother with a wide-eyed expression.

Michael stepped into the room and stood near the bed.

"Hello, Adam," he said.

Adam looked from one parent to the other in confusion.

"Daddy's home, my lamb," his mother said, pulling the boy into her arms and standing with him.

She handed him to Michael, who seemed unsure of how to hold the child.

Suddenly, the boy began to scream and fight to get out of Michael's arms.

Elena took him to calm him, both shocked at the reaction and upset that Michael was hurt by it.

"What's wrong Adam, it's Daddy." She rocked the terrified child in her arms.

"That's not Daddy!" Adam wailed. "He's not my Daddy!"

Elena was upset by her son's reaction, but Michael's frightened her. He slammed his hand against the lamp on the nightstand and knocked it to the floor. The lampshade crumpled and the light bulb went pop as it shattered.

"Quiet!" He shouted angrily.

"Shhh, shhh, Adam," She begged him urgently, as she slowly backed away from Michael.

But Adam wouldn't hush.

"Tell him to stop that!" Michael shouted again. "I am his father!"

With a flash of insight borrowed from her son, Elena realized this man could not be her husband. It was the voice. Where Michael had had a soft French accent, this man did not. The face and body were inexplicably the same, but the voice was different, as was his expression.

Of course it wasn't Michael, she realized, but who was he? A twin brother? Michael had never mentioned having a brother, much less a twin. Whoever he was, Elena sensed he was dangerous, perhaps even mentally deranged. To protect her son and herself, she had to pretend to believe in him as Michael for a while longer.

"Michael, he's just confused," she told him soothingly. "Let me put him back to bed. We'll discuss this in the morning."

Her words seemed to placate him. Michael nodded and left the room.

* * *

Nikita crept through the soggy yard of the stately three-story home with her team. The storm had worsened and frequent lightning and its accompanying thunder were going to prove to be a problem with the listening devices.

Tucking her weapon inside her jacket, she removed a small transmitter from the pocket on her thigh and carefully placed it on the corner of one window. She watched Johnson and Gaines move to place theirs on windows at the far ends of the house. Both operatives signaled when they had completed their tasks.

"We're done, Walter. How's the quality?"

Nikita could hear Walter hiss in disgust, "Oh, I'm going to have a wonderful thunderstorm tape out of this! No good, Sugar. I can't hear anything. Someone's going to have to go inside and plant one."

"Brian, can you get a reading on how many people are in the house by using infrared?" Nikita asked Birkoff's replacement, trying to find some shelter from the pouring rain by pressing herself closer to the house.

"I'm having trouble with it. It's that cloud cover. The satellite can't punch through it."

Nikita clutched her pistol in both hands and sighed, "Michael, what do you want us to do?"

Michael paced nervously inside the van. While his instincts told him his clone was heading for his wife and son, he couldn't be sure if he had arrived yet or was already in the house. If he hadn't arrived, the mission would be to make sure he never made it to the house and Elena and Adam would never be the wiser. But if he were already inside, then they'd have to use the gas, and that would put his wife and son at greater risk. They had to be sure.

"Johnson and Gaines, hold your positions. Nikita, meet me at the second mark."

"On my way, " she responded and jogged around towards the rear of the house. Michael was there in a matter of moments.

"Basement," he said, gesturing to a small window at ground level. Nikita nodded with understanding, knelt by the window to pull out her glass cutting tools.

"Brian, disengage the security now!" Michael ordered over his com-link.

"Done." Came Brian's crisp answer a second later.

"Okay, now Nikita." Michael nodded for her to begin.

With a ruby laser, Nikita cut a small hole in the window large enough to reach through and unlock the window.

Michael holstered his weapon and held the window open for Nikita.

"Place one on the furnace ducting. It will be able to pick up sounds through the ventilation system quite clearly." He told her.

Nikita nodded and started to slip inside.

"Be careful," he added softly.

His black ski mask hid his expression, but Nikita felt the affection and concern in his voice. She looked up at him and nodded, then dropped down inside the basement to complete her task.

When she was done, Michael reached in and pulled her out again.

"Walter? How's the feed?" Michael asked.

"I'm picking up a voice now-sounds like Elena-she's talking to Adam."

"Let me hear," Michael ordered.

* * *

"Hush, now," Elena whispered, rocking her son. "He didn't mean to scare you. Shhh. Shhh."

"He's not my Daddy!"

"Shhh, Adam! Don't let him hear you! Now listen to Mommy. This is very, very, important! If you hear anything bad happening, I want you to run outside and hide. Can you do that for Mommy?"

Adam nodded.

"That's my good boy," Elena said and kissed him. "Now stay in your room and be very quiet for Mommy. I will be back in a little while."

* * *

"She knows, Michael." Nikita whispered fearfully. "What do you think she'll do?"

"Whatever it takes, to keep Adam safe," he said softly, "even at the cost of her own life."

"Then we have no choice." Nikita replied.

* * *

Elena tiptoed down the hallway to her bedroom and carefully lifted the phone off its cradle. It was dead, either because of the storm, or because the man in her house had thought ahead. In despair, she eased it back into place again.

"Elena." Michael appeared in the doorway. "Is Adam better now?"

Slightly startled, and fearful that he might have seen her try the phone, Elena was at a loss for words for a moment. But Michael's double seemed to have regained control over himself and was quite solicitous.

"He'll be fine," she heard herself saying cheerfully. "Are you hungry?

"Yes." He smiled at her and reached out to take her hand in his.

"Then come," Elena said, praying he wouldn't notice her trembling. "I'll cook, and you can tell me all that's happened to you while you were gone."

His hand tightened around hers, "I can't. If I tell you anything, you and Adam would be in danger. I can't risk it. Don't ever ask me again, Elena."

Thinking it was warranted Elena squeezed his hand in return, "All right. Could at least tell me if you are home for good?"

"I'm home for good. I'll never leave you and Adam again." He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers.

Any hope that she might be mistaken and this man was Michael, was lost through the kiss. This man kissed as if he was just learning how, where her sweet husband had made every kiss a banquet of sensation.

Elena struggled to maintain her calm, despite feeling his hands moving over her body and cupping her bottom possessively.

"Come my love," she said pushing away and playfully pulling at his hands, "let's go eat."

"Oh, . . . let's not," he said huskily, drawing her back into his arms and kissing her neck.

Wanting to cry, Elena bit her lip and allowed him to continue. There was nothing else she could do. She had to keep him from suspecting that she knew the truth until she could find a way to escape.

* * *

"Let's not." Michael repeated grimly, as he strapped on his gas mask and followed Nikita into the basement.

Together they placed the three gas cylinders into place inside the heat ducting and set the timer.

"We have three minutes." Nikita said, chambering a round.

"I'll take him out. You find Adam." Michael handed Nikita the case with the antidote. "Stay with him, until I can get to you."

"Brian," Michael said quietly, "can you use Elena's voice to pinpoint her location?"

"Already done. Go upstairs to the second floor, turn left. My guess is she's in the master bedroom-and I'd hurry if I were you. It suddenly got very quiet in there."

"Where's Adam?" Nikita asked as she followed Michael up the basement stairs and into the house.

"In a room off to the right of the master bedroom." Brian answered. "He's real quiet too."

"Michael," Elena said, pushing him away again, "usually wanted a hot shower before bed. Do you want me to go draw you one?"

He looked at her strangely, "What do you mean 'Michael usually wanted a shower'? I'm Michael."

Elena realized her mistake and the horror of that realization flashed across her face. "I m-meant, you. . ."

"You don't believe me!" He said, suddenly becoming violent again.

He grabbed her by both arms and forced her backward towards the bed. "Michael, please, you're hurting me!"

"Why don't you believe me?" he shouted at her.

"Adam! Run! Run!" Elena screamed as loud as she could and flung herself at her attacker.

"Bitch!" The clone slapped her, knocking her to the floor unconscious.

Out in the hallway, Michael stood outside the bedroom door watching the seconds tick off on his watch. There were still 45 seconds to go before the gas was to release and after that, another 30 before it would take full effect. Nikita looked at him from her position outside Adam's room and knew he was fighting the urge to go inside. He flinched when Elena screamed and took a step towards the door.

Just as Elena screamed, the door of Adam's room opened and he took a step into the hallway.

Seeing Nikita, all in black, with her gas mask and hood, terrified him and he ran screaming back inside his room and slammed the door.

Nikita tried the doorknob. "Oh, God, Michael." she said softly, "He's locked it."

Michael's attention was on Nikita and his son's actions when the clone opened the door. That moment's inattention gave the clone the millisecond he needed to pull his own weapon from beneath his jacket and fire once, hitting Michael in his left thigh. Michael returned fire as he fell, as did Nikita from her position down the hall. Both shots found their target, and the clone staggered to the staircase and fell down it.

"Michael!" Nikita started towards him.

"Get Adam!" He ordered, stopping Nikita in mid-stride.

She nodded and went back to Adam's door, digging in her vest pocket for her lock-pick.

Michael pulled himself to his feet and entered Elena's bedroom.

"Elena," he whispered softly. Looking quickly at his watch, he noted the time. The gas had begun to fill the room. He gave it a several moments to do its work and clear away, then bent to lift her into his arms. He sat down on her bed with her cradled across his lap.

Michael stroked her hair from her face once last time. He lifted his mask for a moment and kissed her gently. "I'm sorry." He said simply, before laying her on the bed and covering her.

"Michael!" Nikita shouted from down the hall.

Michael pulled his weapon and ran to respond.

He found Nikita outside his son's room.

"What's wrong? Where's Adam?"

"Out on the balcony-he's terrified, Michael. He won't let me near him. He's squeezed his way through the bars-he's going to fall if we don't do something!"

Michael pushed past her to evaluate the situation. Adam was hanging precariously to outside of the balcony's iron railing, crying.

Michael turned to Nikita and lifted her mask and hood off her face.

"Go to him. He'll come to Aunt Nikita."

"The gas-"

"The fresh air has neutralized it. Go get him. I'll get the hypodermic ready to put him to sleep." He reached over and quickly unstrapped the small case from Nikita's shoulder.

Nikita nodded and went over to the balcony.

"Adam," she smiled at him and held out her arms. "It's okay, it's Aunt Nikita. Remember me?"

He nodded, still sobbing, "Where's Mommy?"

Nikita leaned over the balcony and gathered him into her arms. "It's all okay now, the bad man is gone. Aunt Nikita's got you now." She cuddled his little body close to hers.

"Where's Mommy?" He repeated, beginning to calm in her arms.

"I'll take you to see her in a minute. First, I have to be sure you're okay." She lowered him down upon his bed.

"Who's he?" Adam asked wide-eyed, pointing at the man walking towards the bed.

"He's a friend of mine," Nikita said soothingly. "He needs to give you some medicine so you'll feel better. Will you let him do that?"

"Will it hurt?" He asked, watching his arm being swabbed.

"Naw. Besides you're a brave little boy, aren't you?" Nikita teased him, getting his attention off of the needle as it was inserted.

"Are you hurt too?" Adam asked sleepily, pointing down at Michael's leg. "You're bleeding."

"Mi-" Nikita knelt at his side to examine his wound.

"I'm fine," he said, watching his son's eyes slide shut. "Call housekeeping."

"Fine? You're not fine! You're bleeding to death!" Nikita caught him as he started to faint. He righted himself and struggled to remain conscious.

"Brian, I need medical-Michael's been shot!" She reached in a hip pocket and pulled out a nylon strap.

"Go give Elena. . . antidote." He whispered weakly.

"I will, on one condition," Nikita said, tying the strap around his leg for a tourniquet. "You lay down next to Adam and don't move!"

Michael nodded and complied, after pulling off his mask. Nikita watched as he gathered his son close, before leaving to find Elena.

"Brian, what's the ETA for medical evac?"

"Ten minutes." He returned quickly.

"God, he could be dead by then!" Nikita muttered under her breath as she quickly administered the two shots to Elena's arm.

"Hey," Johnson said, following Nikita into Elena's room. "That guy's still alive. Want me to finish him off, or wait for housekeeping?"

"Alive? No! Bring him upstairs, and send Gaines back to the van for the medical kit. Tell him to hurry!"

"Brian! Get me someone from medlab."

"I'll patch you through. What's going on?"

"I'm going to try and give Michael a transfusion." She covered Elena to keep her comfortable and returned to Adam's room.

"Michael, can you hear me?"

Nikita touched his face and found his skin cold and clammy.

"Yes?" His voice was barely audible.

"I need to move Adam," she said gently.

"Okay." He whispered, releasing Adam's hand.

"Where do you want him?" Johnson asked as he appeared in the doorway with the clone draped over his shoulder.

Nikita picked up Adam then directed, "Put him on the bed, and move Michael to the floor. When Gaines gets here, tell him to get out the transfusion equipment. I'll be right back."

Having placed Adam in bed with his mother, Nikita met Gaines as he topped the staircase.

"Here you go." He said, handing her the case.

"Thanks."

When she returned to Michael's side, Johnson had already positioned both men for the transfusion.

"Brian? Is medlab on line?" Nikita asked as she swabbed Michael's arm.

"Dr. Landon here. What's the problem?"

"I need to do an emergency field transfusion and this is my first time."

"You sure both patients have the same blood type?"

"Would a clone and its original have the same type?"

"Yes."

"Then, yes, I'm sure."

"All right, I'll talk you through it . . ."

* * *

Michael slowly opened his eyes and saw Nikita's concerned face staring down at him. He glanced at his surroundings. He was back in Adam's bed.

"Where's Adam?"

"With Elena. Medical's checked them over. They're fine."

"Can I see them?"

"Can he be moved yet?" Nikita asked over her shoulder at the medic.

"I have a stretcher coming up the stairs now-we have to get him into surgery as soon as possible."

Nikita felt Michael's disappointment and couldn't let him leave without one last moment with his son. "Wait, I'll be right back."

When Nikita returned, she was carrying a sleeping Adam in her arms.

She gave him to his father and stepped out of the room to give them a moment alone together.

* * *

"Michael?" Operations stepped to Michael's bedside.

Michael opened his eyes and turned his face towards the older man.

"I think, I owe you an apology. I promised Elena and Adam would be well cared for, and failed to follow through. Madeline warned me about the clones and I failed to listen." He smiled ironically. "Sometimes, I'm just plain pig-headed."

Operations' smile faded. "I am sorry about Elena and Adam. We've had to move them again and explanations were difficult to say the least. I've decided to put you in charge of their security setup."

Michael nodded realizing Operations was seriously trying to make amends, then asked, "What did you tell Elena?"

"Madeline thought it best to play it safe. She told her that the clone was a brother of yours that had been in a mental ward for several years-which is why you never mentioned him. As to how he ended up in Bordeaux, pretending to be you-well, 'that will forever remain a mystery' since "your brother" is dead, and we can't ask him.

"She'll never believe that," Michael commented, staring idly at the ceiling.

"Probably not, but it's the only explanation she'll ever have." Operations replied with a shrug.

"And how did Madeline explain the swat team rescue?" Michael asked wearily.

"Simply that we-the Feds-had had the house under surveillance as part of the witness protection program and that we responded to an intruder."

Michael nodded, but stared past Operations. Operations turned to see what had caught his eye and found Nikita standing uncomfortably in the doorway.

"Hello, Nikita." Operations said with a rare smile for his most ungovernable operative. He left Michael's side and approached her. "By the way, that was quick thinking yesterday. Turns out clones are good for something after all." It was a parting shot. Operations continued past her and out the door.

Nikita watched him leave with a sigh, then went over to Michael's bedside.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi." Michael replied.

Looking around to see that they were relatively alone, Nikita slipped her hand over his. "How are you doing?"

"Fine."

Blue eyes met gray-green ones. Both were filled with tears that neither could allow to fall.

Nikita nodded. "I thought as much." She felt Michael's thumb caressing the top of her hand in response. She understood the gesture as a thank you.

"Get well," she said with a faint smile, "and we'll go out for coffee, okay?"

Going out for coffee had somehow become a euphemism for "I love you/let's talk" between the two of them.

"Okay, he replied softly.

* * *

Madeline looked up as Operations stepped into her office. He was smiling. Madeline returned it.

"Your progress report?" Operations asked, slipping into a nearby chair.

"Birkoff and Michael are on the mend, Chernov has been compliant with our requests and is working on solving the problems we've encountered with the clones, and Michael's family has been safely resettled in the United States."

"All's well that ends well." Operations said cheerfully.

Madeline pressed her lips together and folded her arms across her chest.

"You disagree?" Operations asked, casually lighting a cigarette.

Madeline waited until a tiny metallic clink indicated he was finished using his lighter.

"To some degree, yes, I do." Madeline replied. "You risked the lives of two of our best people for a course of action that is clearly a waste of resources. The clones are a failure."

"We did flush Chernov out of hiding," Operations reminded her, his face showing a little less amusement than when he came in.

"Due to Michael and Nikita's actions. The clones were total non-players in that endgame."

"You seem to forget, that Birkoff and Michael might be dead right now if it weren't for the existence of those clones!"

"And you seem to forget that Michael wouldn't have been at risk at all, if those clones had not existed in the first place!"

"What's your point, Madeline?" Operations replied, his smile now a frown.

"I should think it is obvious. We are wasting valuable Section resources experimenting with clone technology."

Operations gave her a long look and blew out a mouthful of blue smoke. "If the clones were perfect copies-perfect rational copies, would you see a value in them?"

"Of course I would, but the point remains, they aren't perfect, are they?"

"But they could eventually become so." Operations smiled once again.

Madeline sighed resignedly. "You aren't going to follow my recommendation on this, are you?"

The smile grew into a boyish grin as Operations replied, "Nope."

Madeline smiled faintly and nodded. The point and game belonged to Operations and he knew it. She didn't have time to pursue the matter anyway.

"Very well. I would like to be kept abreast of Chernov's progress in the matter, if I may."

"You may." He quipped happily.

"One other thing. I think Michael and Nikita have earned a vacation out of this last mission. I'm especially impressed with Nikita. She did well."

"At last, we agree on something!" Operations chuckled.

Madeline looked skeptical which encouraged Operations to laugh again as he stood to leave.

"Yes. She did perform well. Now, if can get her to do it all the time and not just when Michael's involved."

EPILOGUE

Nikita watched Michael as he stood on her balcony. A warm, summer evening's breeze ruffled the cinnamon curls that he had tucked behind one ear as he watched the stars overhead.

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" she said as she handed him a glass of red wine.

He nodded absently and took a sip.

Nikita plopped down on an exercise mat she'd dragged out on the balcony for the evening. She took a sip of her wine, before reclining against a pillow to admire the night sky.

She chuckled, "This is the first vacation I've had in years. I couldn't believe it when Madeline told me I had the week off."

Michael nodded, but didn't look at her.

"Michael." Nikita reached up one hand to him.

He turned and took it, albeit reluctantly, and allowed her to draw him down next to her.

"What's wrong?" She asked in concern.

"They will use this against us," he said sadly. "They will use us against each other."

"I know," she said soberly, "but you once told me that we should take what we could get."

Nikita took his drink and set it next to hers, then coaxed him to lay down at her side.

"Come," she said, pulling him close so that they lay on their sides, face-to-face. "You're tired, Michael. Let me be the strong one this time. Rest."

Nikita watched his eyes close at her command. She stroked his face and forehead, let her fingers slip through his hair until he slept, then guarded his rest until morning.

THE END