This story takes place a few months after AROUND AGAIN. It is a continuation of the exploration of Nikita in her earliest days in Section. Although Nikita and Michael are not central to this story, they manage to push it along. It is, instead, Birkoff-intensive and very dialogue driven. Humorous situations and the introduction of a new character made this story a blast to write…although bringing Birkoff along was more difficult than I imagined. As always, no infringement of LFN, Fireworks, USA Network or Warner Brothers is intended.

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

Life is good when you have the world by the short hairs. Just on the other side of her one-year anniversary since coming to section, Nikita had posted the highest numbers ever recorded for a female trainee. She had tested off the chart in weaponry, hand-to-hand combat and profile simulations. Even Michael was impressed and that was no easy feat.

Her plan was progressing even better than she had hoped. In the four months since she and Michael had become lovers, Nikita had eclipsed all of his expectations in the field. She'd heard the whisperings, the skepticism of the veteran cold ops who thought her astronomically high marks were due solely to the fact that she was sleeping with her mentor. She had to admit that being in love did enhance her performance, but it was more than that. That sense of dread was gone, of feeling trapped. With Michael firmly in her life, Section no longer seemed so unforgiving, so terrible. She was ready to take that next step, to work with Michael side-by-side on a mission. They couldn't deny her that. She'd earned it fair and square.

The profile she constructed for the Hong Kong mission had been brilliantly formulated. After some fine tuning from Michael, it was put in play and his team executed it flawlessly. Not even Operations could blame its success on beginner's luck. She had finally gotten his attention. In Nikita's mind there could be no other explanation for why Michael had asked her to sit in on this briefing. She was finally going to become a member of his team.

When Nikita entered the briefing room, she suddenly understood what it felt like to be a part of the inner circle of Section One. It was heady company, indeed. Michael and Madeline were there along with two other veterans, Jessup and Wheeler, whose reputations as two of the top Level 5 Operatives, were renown. She offered silent acknowledgment to each, saving a quick wink of her eye for Michael. Taking a deep breath, she chose a seat across the table from him. She fidgeted nervously in her chair, the palms of her hands now damp with sweat. Her heart was pounding with the anticipation of what was to follow. She glanced over at Michael and his look spoke volumes with its coldness. Taking the hint, she reined in her excitement.

"People, we have an interesting situation developing," Operations began. With the push of a button, the large screen before them revealed a hologram of a portly man, around 60 years of age. "This is Evan Wilmslow. Those of us who have been with Section for some time may remember Wilmslow from his days here. To refresh everyone's memories, Wilmslow is one of the top nuclear physicists in the world. He's been forced underground because of threats against his family by members of Hezbollah. Radical factions in the Middle East would like nothing more than to get their hands on his study of chemical warfare."

"Do we have his location," Michael asked.

"He's not our primary concern," Madeline interjected. "She is."

Before them was a photo of a stunningly beautiful young girl. "This is Callie Wilmslow, Evan's 17-year old daughter," Madeline continued. "She's being brought here this afternoon and will hereby be treated as class one collateral until Wilmslow is considered out of danger. Nikita, this is where you come in."

Nikita glanced over at Michael, his expression offering no hint of her involvement. "I don't understand."

"It's simple, Nikita," Operations replied. "Your outstanding performance over the past few months has allowed you to play a vital role in this mission."

Yes, it was happening, she thought. She was being promoted to a Level 2 Op and by Operations, himself!

"You have been put in play because of your proximity in age to Callie and because of your, how should I put this? Demeanor. You two are strikingly similar in many ways. It was felt that you were best suited to help Callie feel at ease during her stay here. In short, she's yours for as long as necessary."

Nikita was dumbfounded. "Let me get this straight. I'm supposed to babysit this brat? This is my role in the mission?"

Michael could almost see the smoke billowing from Operations' ears. He wanted to run interference for Nikita, to ferry her out of the room to safety. Knowing nothing short of divine intervention would save her from Operations' seismic eruption, he settled in for what he knew was to follow.

Operations walked around the table and stood in front of Nikita. "Stand!," he barked.

Nikita felt her jaw tighten as she dragged herself to her feet.

"I don't usually dress down a trainee in front of others," he said calmly, "but you insist on pushing the envelope to the point of insubordination," he scolded, his voice gaining an octave with each word. "In case you've forgotten, Nikita, this is a military operation! You will not question my orders and you will from this point on, dispense with the clever retorts. Yes, you will babysit her! You will be her shadow. You will tuck her in bed every night if you have to! Her safety is your only concern. She so much as comes down with a head cold and I'm holding you personally responsible! Now, everyone out of here, except Michael. I want him… alone!"

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

Even through the soundproof glass of Operations' office, Nikita could almost hear what he was saying to Michael. She stood below in systems, craning her neck, trying to read his lips. Operations was either waving his hands in anger or pounding his fist on the table. Neither one a good sign.

Michael stood stoic before him, the shifting of his feet and the movement of his eyes as they followed Operations around the room, the only indication that he was even listening. The shouting and cursing seemed to blur together like one huge run-on sentence, ceasing only when Operations stopped to catch his breath before launching into another diatribe. Michael abhored shouting; to him it never accomplished anything. To Operations, it was a second language.

"Get her under control, Michael! She's got one foot in the abeyance pool. You're her mentor. For Christ's sake you're sleeping with her!"

"She doesn't like you," Michael replied softly.

Operations laughed quietly. "If I had a dollar for every person in section that hated my guts, I'd be a very rich man. I'm not running for homecoming king, it's not a popularity contest!" he shouted. He turned and walked to the window, looking down, his eyes locking with Nikita's.

"It's the lack of respect that I resent the most," he added quietly before turning back to face Michael. "Truth be told, Michael, I admire Nikita. She's got moxie. Perhaps she peaked too soon."

"No," Michael replied confidently. "She's ready. Her passion and spirit are two of the qualities that set her apart. But she's her own worst enemy."

Operations nodded in agreement. "It must have been difficult for you to sit there and listen to me tear into her the way I did."

Michael looked away from him. "It had to be done."

"Keep a close eye on her. Her future, your future together is dependent on her performance. Do what you have to to make this work."

His ears still ringing, Michael headed out of Operations' office and straight for Nikita. He was seething, infuriated that just by opening her mouth she could torpedo their very future together. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear Michael come up behind her.

"In my office. Now," he said sternly as he brushed past her. Nikita looked up at him and fell in step behind, keeping a safe distance between them.

Michael pushed open the door to his office and took a seat behind his desk. He pulled out the scrambler hidden in the drawer and shut down the surveillance system allowing them to talk freely. Nikita slumped down in the chair in front of him, her eyes lowered, unable to look at him.

"Explain yourself," he said, grimly.

She raised her head slowly to look at him, swallowing hard. "I…I don't know. I thought I was going to be promoted to a Level 2 Op. You know, based on my performance evaluation." She forced a smile. "All right, go ahead. Tell me I'm crazy." Ashamed, she bowed her head.

"I wonder sometimes," Michael said softly. "Your behavior was completely unacceptable. Do you realize how close you are to being sent to abeyance? I've seen recruits canceled for lesser offenses."

"Operations wouldn't…" Michael silenced her with a look.

"If you think that I can protect you simply because we're lovers, you are mistaken. That means nothing to them. We're expendable, both of us. I will not allow your petulance to destroy all that I have accomplished in the15 years I've been in the section. Your lack of respect for authority is a direct reflection upon me and my skills as a trainer. Unless you can learn to control your emotions and follow orders without question, regardless of who gives them, everything that you and I have together will cease to exist. A heavy price to pay." He studied Nikita intently, his eyes never leaving her face.

Nikita rose from her seat and came to Michael. She bent down and gently kissed his cheek, her lips lingering there. Her hands wandered down his chest heading south, only to be grabbed away in one swift move and placed back at her sides. Michael stood, his fingers wrapped firmly around Nikita's wrists.

"Not this time. It won't work." He felt Nikita press against him as she nuzzled her face in his neck. "Ni-ki-ta? He pried her from him. "Enough." Michael's tone was determined, his message unmistakable. He wanted no part of her.

"All right," she said with resignation. "I'll fall in line. You win, no more games." She walked to the door, lingering a moment before turning to him. "You're really angry with me aren't you? I understand why, but I don't have to like it."

He avoided her stare, flipping open his lap top computer. "I'll be watching you," he said, his head lowered. "Don't think I won't be."

Nikita smiled. "I know. You can't keep your eyes off me."

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

Nikita watched through the monitor as Madeline and Callie Wilmslow attempted to exchange pleasantries. What was to be a simple introduction quickly fell apart, with Callie firmly in command.

Callie Wilmslow's photograph hardly did her justice. A computer monitor could not capture her coloring, the depth of her eyes or their shade of green. A wisp of a girl, Nikita guessed her to be about 5'2" and no more than 85 pounds. Short, layered black hair that framed her face, she reminded Nikita of a young Demi Moore. A full-blown goddess in the making, what she lacked in stature, she more than made up for in attitude.

From her neck on down, Callie was all lean curves and stalking female. She wore a pair of black nylon warm-up pants that hung low across her hips while toned upper arms poked through a sleeveless black half shirt. Sandwiched between the two was a tight, flat belly complete with navel ring. She sported a bicycle chain around her neck and four diamond studs in each ear. Topping off her ensemble were a pair of purple platform sneakers and a purple baseball cap perched off-kilter atop her head. 17 years-old going on 25, she oozed self-confidence. Arrogant, haughty and fearless, Nikita knew her type all too well.

Madeline's obvious frustration in dealing with Callie made Nikita chuckle. Bewildered by Callie's apparent lack of fear, she circled the young girl, eyeing her intently. Callie locked on to Madeline's gaze and didn't let go…a staring contest for the ages.

"Hey if this is about that car, I didn't steal it. I was borrowing it from a friend," Callie offered, lying back in her chair, her hands clasped behind her head.

"Excuse me?"

"That is why I'm in here isn't it? You guys think I stole that car. Hey, just because a girl can hot wire a car doesn't automatically make her a thief. Besides, hot-wiring is a valuable life skill. Right up there with rolling your own and being able to put a condom on a guy in the dark."

Nikita giggled aloud. "Hey Walter, you gotta come see this," she said, pulling him in front of the monitor. "That's Callie Wilmslow. I've been assigned to protect her until her father's out of danger. She's a trip. Has Madeline completely goofy."

"Yeah, I know her old man," Walter replied as he watched the monitor. "Boy, she's a real spitfire. Cute girl. Got her dad's eyes, too. Too bad her mom didn't live to see her grow up."

Nikita looked at him, puzzled. "What happened to her mother?"

"About six years ago, Callie's mom was shot in an attempted kidnapping. Right in front of her. Kid's got a lot of baggage."

"Might explain her rebellious behavior," Nikita summized. "I know something about that."

"Oh, you two will get along famously," Walter added. "I bet you were a lot like her at that age. Come to think of it, you still are." He smiled at her warmly.

The two of them continued to watch as Madeline explained to Callie why she had been brought to Section and how long she could expect to be staying.

"Okay, whatever," Callie said, waving her away. "Are we finished here, 'cause if we are, I could really use a cigarette."

Madeline shook her head and summoned Nikita to the white room. "I'm having someone join us. I think you two will get along fine." She ushered Nikita in to the room as Callie stared heavily at her. "I'll leave you two. Nikita, check back with me later after she's settled." Madeline took her leave, leaving the two young women alone to size each other up.

"Sure," Nikita smiled, extending her hand to Callie. "Hey, Callie. I'm Nikita."

Callie folded her arms across her chest. "Uh-huh. Nikita. As in Kruschev?"

Nikita bit down on her lower lip, trying hard not to laugh out loud. "No relation."

"So I guess you're my bodyguard. We have to stay cooped up in this place or do I get recess?"

"Well that depends upon you. Let's get you settled into your quarters and we'll go from there. Come on."

Callie grabbed her backpack and tossed it to Nikita. "Hey, Xena. Hang on to this for a second," she said, throwing her jacket over her shoulder as she reached for her boom box.

Nikita glared back at her. "It's Ni-ki-ta, and what have you got in here, bricks?" She unzipped the bag and found a compact CD player and headphones and what she estimated to be close to 75 CDs. "This is all you brought with you?"

Callie seized the back pack from Nikita's hand. "Hey, when they grabbed me up, this was all they let me bring. I don't go anywhere without my tunes and my cigarettes. Which reminds me, what do I do for threads?"

"I'll take care of it. Let's see. I bet you're a size…"

"2 petite," Callie interrupted. And just because I'm on the small size, don't load me up with any of that little girl, designer junk. You look pretty hip. I'll take a chance that you'll do right by me."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Nikita said as she led her out down the hallway and into systems.

Callie was dumbfounded. With mouth gaping open her eyes drank in everything around her. "Un-freakin' believable. I've got a video game that looks just like this place. You ever play Tomb Raider? Dye your hair and you'd look just like Lara Croft."

"Who?" Nikita replied, her eyes narrowing.

"Forget it. You gotta get out more, babe."

As they continued to make their way through section, Nikita could sense her young guest was attracting lots of attention. Callie did have a way about her. An unmistakable swagger, she was lightning in a bottle.

"Whoa! Who is that?," she gasped, stopping dead in her tracks, her eyes trained on Michael who was watching them both from a walkway above.

Nikita's eyes followed hers as a sly smile washed over her face. "That's Michael. Forget it. He's off limits. Let's go."

"Mmm, mmm. He is slammin'. See the way he's scopin' me out? He wants me. The guy's obviously got great taste."

Nikita grabbed Callie by the arm pulling her along. "Uh, I hate to burst your bubble, but I think he wants me. He's a little out of your league. Say, about 15 years."

"Oooooh, do I detect a little jealousy there? I get it. You two are gettin' jiggy." Callie's eyes devoured Michael. "He's yummy. Bet he's got a big…" She felt Nikita's hand clasp around her mouth.

Nikita bent down, so close their noses were practically touching. "Let's get something straight. We're going to be spending a lot of time together. If you expect to have a shelf life longer than 15 minutes, you won't test me. This is where I work. You are in my charge, on my turf. Clear?"

Callie shook off Nikita's stare. "Crystal." They walked past Michael, both sets of eyes fixated upon him. "This place might not be so bad after all," she muttered under her breath.

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

Nikita had spent the better part of an hour getting Callie situated in her living quarters. In between her ranting about the lack of amenities and her endless questions about Michael, Nikita found herself captivated by her young charge. Nikita had obviously piqued Callie's interest as well, offering to share her prized CD collection with her in exchange for information about Michael.

"So, you two are secret agents. Michael's James Bond and you're that chick from the Avengers. What's her name? Emma Slice. That's it."

"It's Emma Peel. God, you have a rampant imagination."

"Look," Callie replied. "I know a little bit about this place from when my dad used to work here. He'd be gone for months at a time, so I knew it had to be some covert group. Then when my mom died, it started to come together for me." Her voice turned somber. "I guess there's not much about me or my family that you don't already know."

Nikita smiled at her. "No, I read the profile. It's our job to know. It must have been hard for you when you're mom died. To see her killed in front of you like that."

"Yeah," Callie sighed, lowering her eyes. "It's like a bad dream. Kind of pissed me off at the world, you know? I got to be too much for my dad to handle. Did you know I've spent the last four years in 3 different boarding schools. And people wonder why I'm such a pain in the ass."

"I don't know if this will make things any easier, but I can empathize with you," Nikita said, taking a seat on the bed next to Callie. "I spent a lot of years on the streets. Never knew my dad. And my mom? Well, her flavor-of-the month boyfriends always came before me." Makes you grow up fast."

"Duh," Callie replied, falling back on the bed. "I'm done with this conversation…it's a downer."

"All right," Nikita said, patting her on the leg. "I've got to go get some work done. Why don't you relax for awhile and I'll get with you later?"

"Okay. Hey, Nikita? You're all right. If I had to be hooked up with someone, I'm glad it's you." She smiled sweetly. "Now, if Michael wants a shot at me, you might have to take a hike."

"Dream on," Nikita laughed.

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

With each passing day, Callie Wilmslow had wriggled her way into the heart of everyone she met in Section. She worshipped Michael, shadowing him like a lovesick puppy. Michael found her refreshing and was amused by her relentless flirtations. She managed to brush up against him or toss him a seductive glance every chance she got and it pleased him that her actions prompted such a rise out of Nikita.

When it came to Walter, Callie had him eating out of her hand from the moment they met, capturing his heart completely. They would sit for hours discussing music, everything from jazz to alternative. They shared CDs, Callie offering him her Garbage and Beastie Boys collections in exchange for his Buddy Guy and Junior Wells anthologies. An unlikely duo, they bridged the generation gap with a common bond. She made him feel young and he, in turn, regaled her with stories of his colorful life.

Even Madeline and Operations warmed up to Callie. Operations had a history with her, having watched her grow up through his friendship with Evan. He felt highly protective of her and was pleased that she had made such an easy transition to life inside Section.

"She's an extraordinary young woman," Madeline noted as the two watched her through the monitor as she engaged Walter in a game of checkers. "It will be difficult for everyone when she has to leave."

"Yes," Operations sighed. "We need to address how we plan to reintroduce her to the outside. I think memory modification would be most appropriate."

"I agree. You realize, however, that by doing that, she'll have no recollection of the friendship's she's made here." It seems a shame."

"There's no other way, Madeline," Operations pointed out. "She's seen too much. Her knowledge of us would only further endanger her life."

"I know. It's going to be hardest on Nikita. They've become like sisters. Your pairing Callie with Nikita was brilliant. She's done an excellent job."

"I almost hate to say it, but I agree with you. Nikita has surpassed all my expectations."

Madeline turned to Operations. "I think you need to tell her that. After the rocky start you two had, it might bring you to more of an understanding."

Operations looked at Madeline, his eyes narrowing. "She's the one who should be apologizing to me. She's lucky I let her continue with this assignment."

"Agreed. But you're in a position to appear compassionate. I know that's a side of yourself that you don't want anyone to see. But in this case, I think you could make an exception." Madeline smiled sweetly.

"You know me too well, Madeline. Very well. First chance I get, I'll speak with Nikita."

"Good." Madeline paused before turning to leave. "You realize what's missing from this scenario. Birkoff is due to return today from recognizance. He has yet to meet our Callie Wilmslow. It should prove…interesting."

"Ah, yes," Operations smiled deviously. "Mr. Birkoff. The fur will definitely be flying."

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

Callie's head bopped in time to the music blaring at an ungodly decibel level throughout Michael's office. The bass bounced off the walls, shaking the floor beneath them. Michael, rubbed his temples, a screaming headache building at the base of his skull.

"Callie!" he shouted. "Would you mind turning that down?" Noting that she was unable to hear him through the din, he rose from his desk and clicked off the boom box.

"Hey! I was just getting into it."

"Get into it somewhere else," Michael said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not getting anything done here."

"Sorry, Mikey, she said sweetly. But 'Love In An Elevator' has to be played as loud as humanly possible."

Mikey. No one had ever gotten away with calling him, Mikey. Not even Nikita. But somehow coming from Callie, he'd allow it. "Then I suggest you play it as loud as you please through the headphones, thus sparing the rest of us."

Callie took the hint. She plugged in her headphones and lay down on her stomach on the floor, a copy of the latest issue of Glamour magazine opened before her. Michael watched her as she shuffled through the pages, head swaying and toes tapping in time with the music. Michael marveled at her beauty and it took him back to when he had first seen Nikita. Her looks had obviously attracted his immediate attention but he was drawn to her by her spirit and confidence, the same qualities he now saw in Callie. A knock at his door derailed his train of thought.

"Yes?," Michael replied.

Birkoff stuck his head through the doorway. "Got a minute?"

Michael motioned him in. "How did the surveillance go? Were you able to tag the mark?"

Birkoff nodded. "Everything went as planned. Took a little longer than I expected, though. I feel like I've been gone two months instead of two weeks. Here. When you get time take a look at these tacticals and give your feedback to Madeline." He leaned his head back, taking note of the legs now protruding from the other side of Michael's desk. Walking around to get a better look, his eyes caught their first glorious look at the backside of Callie Wilmslow.

"I have been gone a long time. What have we here?"

Callie glanced away from her magazine, her eyes coming to rest on a pair of Doc Marten's, now situated right next to her. Sensing an unknown pair of eyes were watching her, she slid off her headphones and trailed her eyes slowly upward, silently evaluating the stranger at her side. His gaze was fixed on her mouth.

"Callie," Michael said, "this is…"

"Birkoff," he interrupted. Just plain, Birkoff." He watched as Callie pushed herself up from the floor, his eyes cemented to her.

She flashed him a quizzical grin and extended her hand in greeting. "Pleased to meet you, just plain Birkoff," she said, his name rolling off her tongue.

Birkoff swallowed hard, trying hard not to stare. He felt a wonderful delight, there was no other word. Her voice was throaty, pitched low, a bewitching musical instrument. The sound of it sent tremors up his spine, and flip flopped his stomach. It wasn't until he felt her fingers move that he realized he was still holding her hand.

"Sorry," he said, drawing his hand back.

Michael sensed a nervous energy between the two and moved to minimize the awkwardness. "Callie is under our protection. Class one collateral until she's deemed out of danger. She came to us shortly after you left on your mission."

"Uh huh," Birkoff mumbled, paying little attention to what Michael had said. "I've got to get back up to systems." He turned to leave.

"Want some company?," Callie asked. I've never really been in systems before. I'd like to see it."

Birkoff glanced quickly at Michael, who nodded his approval. "Sure, that'd be great," Birkoff replied, the tone of his voice buoyed by her request. Callie brushed past him as she bent to retrieve her backpack from the floor. Birkoff pushed his glasses down his nose and peered over the top of the frames, his eyes trained on her bottom.

Michael tapped him on the arm. "You're staring," he mouthed silently.

Birkoff shrugged his shoulders at Michael. "She's unbelievable," he mouthed back.

Michael nodded in agreement. He watched as the two of them headed down the hallway, jabbering like magpies. Michael could count on one hand the number of minutes it would take Callie to work her magic on Birkoff. He shook his head and smiled as he doubted that the young man even knew what hit him.

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

Callie sat, head in hand, listening as Birkoff babbled on, endlessly. He had pulled out all the stops in an effort to impress her, rattling off an endless job description and noting every computer program and configuration at his disposal. He even tempted her with his treasury of computer games, giving her access to her choice of over 200 games.

"Impressive," she noted, leaning closer to him. Her eyes studied his profile. She had to admit that he had real possibilities. Not exactly the type of guy she'd climb over someone to get to, but he was cute and the combination of those puppy dog eyes and that killer mouth was intriguing. Callie sensed something raw and feral about him, a tiger hidden deep inside that techno-nerd shell. And oh, so attainable.

"Now, I want you to really show me what you can do," she whispered, her breath brushing his neck.

"Huh?" Birkoff turned to find her smile teasing him, her hazel eyes dancing with mischief.

"Get us out of here," she purred. "I've been stuck here in this dump for almost two weeks. I need a little…release. Come on, it will be fun."

"Me get you out of Section. Uh-uh. Been there, done that. Besides, Nikita would kill me. Followed by Michael, Madeline, Operations…"

Disgusted, Callie pushed her chair away from him. "Geez, Birkoff. You disappoint me. And here I thought you were a risk taker." She stuck her lower lip out in an obvious pout.

Birkoff stared hard at her, his arms folded across his chest. "You want risk taker? How's this for risk taker. I broke into the Pentagon's main frame three times before I was 15 years-old. When I was eight I was selling fake IDs at five dollars a pop. This is Section One, babe. There's a difference between taking a risk and having a death wish."

Callie waved her hand in Birkoff's face. "Talk to the hand, Birkoff," she said as she rose to leave. She felt his arm snag her wrist.

"What if I talk to Nikita about getting out of here for awhile tonight. She's cool. She might go for it. Good enough for you?"

Callie moved closer to him, running her hand over his chest. "Works for me." She angled her chin, her eyes offering him that challenging come-get-me look. "Let's do it," she growled as she turned away from him allowing her hand to trail down his arm.

He sat back down hard in his chair and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. He could almost feel the earth opening up beneath his feet, unmistakably drawn to a girl that was used to having every guy dancing to her call. She was sweetest temptation. He knew one taste of her would lead to a strong addiction. Propping his feet up on his desk, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, her face cemented to the backs of his eyelids . He thought about what it would be like to hold her, to kiss her, to…

"Well you've finally graced us with your presence," Nikita said, grabbing him softly around the neck.

Birkoff's head snapped back at the sound of her voice, his feet flying off his desk. "God, Nikita. You scared me to death!"

"Aren't we a little jumpy today. That must have been some surveillance mission ." She dropped a handful of computer disks in front of him. "I need you to download these into the mainframe when you get time." Nikita looked at Birkoff, her mouth forming into a faint smirk. "Have you heard a word I've said?"

Birkoff gazed off over her shoulder. "I have a favor to ask. About Callie."

Nikita pulled up a chair and sat down. "Oh, Callie. So you two met," she said, arching her eyebrows. "And?"

A far away look washed across Birkoff's face. "She's amazing. She's beautiful. She's sexy. She's…"

"Seventeen."

"Ouch!" Birkoff cringed. "Terrific. My dream girl's a cheerleader." He clasped his hands atop his head. "I can't catch a break."

"Easy, Romeo," Nikita laughed softly. "Let's get back to this favor. What's it got to do with Callie?"

"Callie asked me to sneak her out of Section. Just for tonight. I told her I wouldn't do it, not that I wasn't tempted. But I told her how cool you were; that maybe you'd be able to work something out. Please, Nikita," Birkoff continued. "I don't get a chance to have much of a social life. And we don't know how much longer Callie's going to be here. Just this once."

It didn't take a mind reader to figure out that Birkoff had fallen hard for Callie. The look on his face was unmistakable. Nikita recognized it immediately; the glaze of the eyes, that dopey lovesick expression plastered all over his face, the desperate, pleading tone of his voice. Nikita was a sucker for this stuff, a hopeless romantic, herself. She was moved by his sincerity and appreciated his honesty in coming to her rather than taking matters into his own hands.

"I'll see what I can do," she replied. "But I'll have to clear it with Operations, though I don't think that will be a problem. What about Venue? I have a soft spot for that place."

"Great," Birkoff sighed. "But, how are we going to get her in there. She's underage."

Nikita shook her head. "Earth to Birkoff. This is Callie Wilmslow we're talking about. Not exactly your run of the mill babe in the woods. Something tells me she's got the fake ID thing covered. Besides, this is Section, remember? I'm sure you could pull one together for her in say, 10 seconds, if need be." Nikita looked deeply into Birkoff's eyes. "You really like this girl, don't you?"

Birkoff dropped his eyes, avoiding her gaze. "She's probably way out of my league, but, yeah."

"You do realize that if I have to peel you off of her, there'll be hell to pay. Callie's still under my protection."

"Hey, I'll be on my best behavior," Birkoff replied, his fingers crossed behind his back. "She won't need any protection from me."

Nikita touched him gently on the arm as she turned to leave. "Yeah, but you might need protection from her."

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

Birkoff was wearing a path in the sidewalk in front of Venue. Michael estimated he must have walked back and forth at least 60 times in the past 20 minutes, checking his watch at least as often. He'd practically chewed a hole through his lower lip, his nervous anticipation bordering on the comical.

He had changed into a heather gray jacket, a black t-shirt and fresh jeans - no way was she going to think he fretted over tonight. If she knew he was the least bit nervous, the least bit anxious, it would give her too much of an advantage. He liked the way Callie used her advantages, even respected her for it. But he wasn't willing to let her get a step ahead, or over him.

"Will you relax," Michael said, pulling him aside. "You don't want to appear too anxious."

"Yeah? Well it's too late for that," Birkoff replied, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. "This whole thing seems like a dream."

"Well your dream just arrived." Michael's eyes followed Nikita's car as it pulled into the valet parking area. They watched as Nikita handed the valet her keys as she came around behind the car and headed for Michael. Dressed in black velvet pants and matching sleeveless tank, she looked stunning, as usual. She walked into Michael's embrace, kissing him softly. Birkoff lifted his head in acknowledgment as he turned his attention back to the valet as he opened up the passenger side door. He breathed in deeply as he watched Callie step from the car. Their eyes met almost immediately through the crowd and she smiled warmly.

If Callie Wilmslow was anything, she was maddening. In a pair of black draw-string rayon pants and a white scoop-neck spandex crop top, she didn't look like she'd fussed much, which gave her no right to set his pulse rate soaring. She moved with her patented strut, totally aware of the effect she had on Birkoff and any other member of the opposite sex within a two mile radius. He tried valiantly not to let his eyes wander below her face, but the curve of her breasts and the bob and weave of her belly were too enticing and his eyes devoured the entire length of her. A sweet talking, rump-shakin' maneater, Birkoff could hardly believe she was headed his way.

"Hey, Birkoff. You clean up nice." She snaked her arm through his and leaned her head on his chest. "Ultra suede," she said as she ran her fingers down the length of his sleeve. "Sweet."

"Thanks," he said, ordering himself to ignore the jitters in his stomach. "Just something I threw together."

Callie looked up at him with a lazy coolness. "And just when I thought I had you figured out. Nikita! Doesn't Birkoff look fly?"

"Absolutely," she called out. "Heavy duty lust brewing here," she whispered into Michael's ear as she watched them. "Birkoff's in way over his head."

"You underestimate him." Michael pulled Nikita close. "There's more to our computer genius than meets the eye. I think Birkoff can handle Callie." He found that sweet spot just at the curve of her neck, and nuzzled.

"She's just a kid," she murmured, her head lolling back. "If Birkoff so much as cops a feel, so help me, I'll break his fingers. Let's see what kind of a computer whiz he is then."

Michael laughed softly. "Nikita, Callie is hardly a child. There are some things that even you can't protect her from. Leave them be." He pulled her closer, tracing her lips with his tongue until she trembled. "You need something to take your mind off Callie."

"Later." She gave him a quick kiss. "Focus on the reason we're here, Michael. We better get inside before we change our minds."

Birkoff and Callie had already disappeared, having successfully survived being carded at the entrance. Birkoff caught a glimpse of her fake driver's license and had to admit it was an excellent reproduction of her likeness.

Tonight, for purely selfish reasons, Miss Callie Wilmslow was 23 years-old and all his.

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

The club was hot and so was the music. Callie could hardly contain herself, the bass pulsing through her veins, the urge to dance driving her insane. This was her Xanadu and she was smack in the middle of it.

"This place rocks," she noted, her eyes flitting in a 360 degree circle. "I'm gonna check out the bar. Anybody coming with?"

The four of them shuffled their way through the crowd to the huge circular bar. They weaved through the mass of humanity, three rows deep in some parts, before Michael was able to catch the barkeep's attention. "Your best champagne," he said, digging into his pocket for his wallet.

The bartender set the bottle and four glasses on the bar. "Need to see some ID on the little lady there."

Nikita nudged Callie. "He asked to see your ID."

Callie rolled her eyes as she fumbled through her purse, retrieved her driver's license and slapped it defiantly on the counter. "Read it and weap, mack. And, if it's not too much trouble, I'd like a beer. Anything draft in a bottle will be fine. Oh, and leave the cap on. I like to open it myself."

Birkoff, Michael and Nikita exchanged bewildering looks. They watched as the bartender brought Callie her beer and in collective amazement, stared as she gripped the bottle between her teeth and peeled off the cap, letting it fall into her hand. "Here, Birkoff," she said, tucking the cap in his jacket pocket. "Don't say I never gave you anything."

"I'm not even going to ask where you learned to do that," Nikita said, shaking her head.

"You don't want to know." Callie winked at her before turning to Birkoff. "And you. Bet you're wondering what else I can do with my mouth."

God, she was a mind reader, too. How else could she have known that his head was overflowing with exactly those kinds of thoughts. He was suddenly grateful for the darkness and the noise so she wouldn't notice the shade of red his face had just turned or hear the incessant pounding of his heart.

"Oooh. I love this song." Callie straightened her spine, threw back her head and with hips swaying, began to move slowly, languidly. Her head snapped back upright, her eyes narrowing. "Hold this." She shoved her bottle of beer into Birkoff's hand and headed for the dance floor. The absence of a partner lasted all of 30 seconds as she was immediately joined by a swarthy, dark-haired young man with the body of a boxer. Together they gave new meaning to the term dirty dancing as he spun her out, then whirled her back until her body meshed intimately with his.

Just as quickly as the music turned from raucous salsa to slow, sensuous rhythm and blues, Callie's partner hoisted her into his arms and lifted her atop a nearby table. She was oblivious to the cat-calls and whistles that filled the club, hips bumping, grinding and circling in a demonstration of pure sexual gymnastics. Her arms outstretched, she beckoned him to join her. He leapt up on the table and in a singular, swift motion, dipped her, low and slow. His hands worked their way down the small of her back until he cupped her bottom. He pulled her back up to him, their mouths dangerously close, as the music pumped over them. Callie snaked her arms around his neck as they moved together, his hands quickly becoming intimate friends with every inch of her body.

"I'll strangle her," Birkoff seethed as he started toward them.

Nikita snagged his arm, pulling him back. "Not if I get to her first." She pushed her way through the crowd, stopping in front of the table. Reaching up, she grabbed Callie by the ankle, bringing the dance to a screeching halt.

"Nikita, let go of me!" She kicked out at her in frustration, the toe of her shoe just grazing Nikita's cheek. Seeing red, Nikita lunged at Callie, catching her around both wrists and pulling her off the table.

Callie's new friend flew from the tabletop, positioning himself between the two women. "I don't think the lady liked that."

Nikita whirled on him, her blue eyes filled with temper and violence. "Yeah? Well dance recital is over. Beat it!" Figuring a woman who could face a strange man down alone, without trembling, wasn't a woman to challenge, he threw up his hands in mock surrender and retreated.

"I hate you!" Callie yanked her arm from Nikita's hand and stalked back to the bar, a major hissy fit brewing in the pit of her stomach like a volcano.

"I doubt I'll lose any sleep over it." Nikita followed close on her heels, shoving her gently in Birkoff's direction. "Here, Birkoff. Try and keep an eye on your date."

"Me?! I thought you were her…never mind." Birkoff's eyes narrowed as he glared at Callie. "Excuse us a minute." Angry and frustrated, he grabbed her hand and practically dragged her through the crowd and out the front door.

The crispness of the night air did little to cool off either of them. "You're certifiable," Birkoff screamed, pressing his fingers to his temples. "12 different kinds of crazy."

"Oh, you are smooth, Birkoff," Callie hissed. "That kind of talk is sure to sweep me right off my feet.

"Hey, Nikita saved your ass. Birkoff threw up his hands now. "Five more minutes and that guy would have done you right there on the table. Besides, you went looking for it."

That snapped it. Callie's eyes narrowed as she advanced on Birkoff, arms folded tightly across her chest. "Who died and made you King? And, last time I checked I'm free to dance or dress however I choose. Just because I happen to be put together doesn't mean I wear a sandwich board that says, 'DO ME'. Besides, I noticed the way your tongue was hanging down to your shoes the first time you saw me. Don't see you complaining."

She was gorgeous when she was mad. Flushed with temper, her hands clenched at her sides, as if ready to do battle. Why that look suited her so well, why it made his blood swim, he had no idea. It just was. It almost made him forget she had a smart mouth and a snakebite temper.

"You really think you're all that don't you?" Birkoff snagged her hands, his own sliding up her wrists like cuffs. With one swift tug, he had her in his arms, his eyes giving her a slow once over. "Are you finished?" he asked. "Can I kiss you now, because if you don't want me to, now's the time to say so."

Not exactly the turn of events she had anticipated. She fought the urge to cram her fingers in her ears and clear out all the wax; sure that she couldn't possibly have heard him correctly. His hands skimmed down her arms and settled on her waist, his thumbs caressing her bare belly. The warmth of his hands seeped through her skin, the heat unnerving. The quickness of her breath, the churning in her stomach were simply normal reactions, her mind explained, while big warning bells clanged.

"You? Kiss me? Birkoff, the day I let you kiss me is the day they start building igloos in hell." She wriggled free from his arms and backed away, her pride shuddering at the fact that for even one tiny instant she'd been excited. Even tempted.

He studied her hair, the heat in her cheeks and then her mouth. He didn't know what made him do it, ego or desire. Maybe both. But he leaned toward her until their faces were close, their eyes locked. "What's the matter? Afraid you might like it?"

"As if," Callie huffed. "But," she said, lifting his glasses from his nose, "if we're going to do this, let's lose the shades. I want to see the look in your eyes when you finally figure out you don't move me."

"Whatever," he replied, as she folded his glasses and slipped them into his breast pocket. She watched as his eyes darkened and then, as if in slow motion his mouth brushed her lips, back…to the corners, his breath sweeping her skin. Before she could inhale, Birkoff jerked his head back. They stared at each other and while Callie trembled, Birkoff lifted a fingertip to trace her mouth while his eyes skimmed over her face.

His eyes met hers, curiosity gleamed in them. "You're nervous," he realized with a jolt of surprise and pleasure. "Never figured you for the nervous type, but you're definitely jumpy."

The sight of his ebony eyes, with their flecks of gold blazing with desire started a liquid warmth running through her. "Please. Don't flatter yourself," she said, hating the fact that his confidence excited her. "I'm cool. Bring it."

It was all the invitation he needed. He found her mouth, his kiss soft and enchanting. She rose up on tiptoe, needing more, aching to taste him, the gentle crush of his lips never stopping. This techno-nerd tiger in the brown paper wrapper was actually getting to her, touching off a wave of feelings that bubbled up and thundered inside her. He gathered her in his arms and lifted her off the ground. Callie's breath was harsh, her body taut as she heard herself groan, grabbing him tighter. Pulling back from her mouth, it was impossible for him not to be pleased by that dazed look on her face. "You were saying something about igloos in hell?"

Her hazel eyes flicked over him warmly, seductively. "So, maybe I was wrong. There's a first time for everything." Her hands slid over his shoulders to cup the back of his neck as her legs came up to snake around his waist. She bit gently on his lower lip, touching her tongue to his. "Birky," she murmured against his mouth as once again his lips moved on hers, their tongues teasing, tasting, the intimacy frightening her. She felt her stomach fall away, her knees turn to jello and she could have sworn she heard herself moan his name. Twice.

Her mouth was pure sin and she used it with a proficiency that was driving him crazy. In the back of his mind he told himself that he should stop this now, before it was too late, but the words died in his throat, and all that escaped his lips, were soft, anxious moans. Finally, he released her and stepped back, breathing hard, knowing he didn't dare carry this any further. He'd never been so tempted, however, for he knew he had only to open his arms and Callie would step back into them. "We'd better get back. Michael and Nikita have probably sent out a search party to find us." He reached for Callie's hand, the roar of his own blood pounding in his ears.

"Liked that a little, did you Birkoff? When you're ready to finish this, you just come and get me." She shot him a fierce, hot look that said she knew what he wanted, what he would want from her, and that she'd know how to give it to him, and how to take. She turned and headed back into the crowd, leaving him hungry. He leaned back against the wall, his aching, frustrated body telling him that he hadn't had enough of her. Not now. Not ever.

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

It had taken seven shrill beeps to reach the corner of his sleeping brain. By the tenth, he managed to pop his head out from under the blanket. He smacked the alarm clock with the back of his hand sending it to its final resting place in the corner of his room. With a yawn, he pulled the covers back over his head and snuggled his face into the pillow.

Scattered sleep could best describe how he'd spent the past five hours, but it wasn't for lack of trying. He'd struggled with all his might to erase her from his mind, to just let it be. But she came to him too willingly and much too often to allow himself any restful sleep. Erotic, sex-drenched visions, the kind he rarely enjoyed, had come in waves, sending both mind and body into cataclysmic euphoria. The logical, theoretical side warred through the night with his passionate, illogical side; the scales finally tipping decidedly in favor of desire and lust. She had a way of sucking all logic and reason from his brain and replacing them instead with selfishness and irrationality. Dark circles the size of Samsonite bags were visible evidence of the kind of torture Callie Wilmslow was capable of inflicting.

It had taken Callie the better part of the night to clear her head. Now, nearly seven-thirty in the morning, she was finally starting to think. Why hadn't he pursued her more vigorously? She had given him every indication that she was interested. How else could you explain the way he kissed her as if she were the last woman on earth. He knew he'd gotten to her, rocked her right to her very core. Yet, for the remainder of the evening they had sat, side by side, like two teenagers on a blind date. Okay, so she was, in reality, a teenager, so what was his excuse. There was no doubt in Callie's mind—but then, there rarely was. She'd scared the living daylights out of him.

"Why does any of this matter," she mumbled under her breath as she stopped in front of his door. "I hope he didn't get two seconds of sleep. Serves him right." For looking at her like he did. For gentle fingers that made her shiver. For kissing her absolutely brainless. She shook off the memory of him as she rapped on the door. Four knocks later, she reached for the handle, pulled it down and peeked in.

It was nothing like she'd imagined. The room was a cluttered mess, the floor a minefield of clothes, empty pizza boxes and countless computer magazines. Her mouth curved into a slight smile as she thought of how far off the mark she had been, having pegged him for a neat-freak from the beginning. Her eyes snagged on an impressive collection of CDs and an absolutely first rate stereo system, a huge speaker mounted in each corner of the room. Leave it to Birkoff to have a concert quality, surround-sound stereo system in this ramshackle three-room rectangle he called home.

Her pulse quickened as she stuck her head through the doorway of his bedroom. She walked on tiptoe and stood next to the bed. Asleep, he looked so peaceful, so vulnerable, his breath deep and even. She sat on the edge of the bed and slowly reached out, with just one fingertip, and touched him, lightly, at the hollow where his shoulder and neck met. She traced her finger up the line of his neck, all the way to his ear, as he stirred lightly under her touch.

He sensed something…something itchy, light and feathery. He twitched his shoulder, hoping to shake it off. When it wouldn't go away, he began, reluctantly, to awaken.

Her hand followed him, tracing a gentle line behind his ear, down the back of his neck. She reached up with her other hand to gently stroke the top of his head. After a while, he turned over, eyes blurred with sleep.

"Hi." Callie smiled sweetly.

"Hi." Blinking owlishly, he smiled, again shyly, a little surprised to see her, but glad just the same. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to know you grind your teeth," she laughed softly. "I was having fun watching you sleep.

"Somebody has to roust you out of bed," she said glancing at what remained of his alarm clock. "With all that electronic wizardry you have crammed into that brain of yours, you'd think you could cook up something that could wake you."

Birkoff pushed himself up to his elbows, and consciously drew back, her closeness making him anxious. "It looks like you did that for me." His eyes found hers and lingered. "You shouldn't be here."

"Here?" Callie's eyes swept over the room before returning to his face. "Or here?" Her hand skimmed over the warmth of the sheets.

The woman was merciless. As if it weren't bad enough that she'd kept him up most of the night, here she was, inches away from him, so close he could see the pupils of her eyes rise and fall. All he'd have to do is reach out and pull her to him and he could do what he'd been wanting to since the moment he'd first laid eyes on her. And he'd make her melt like butter. He'd see to it.

"Callie, you better go." He started to throw back the covers, but halted abruptly. "I've got to get dressed."

"Oh, brother." Callie rose from the bed. "Ten hours ago we were swapping spit with our tongues crammed down each other's mouths. And now you're worried I might catch an eyeful of you in your underwear?! Unless of course you're naked under there." She grabbed the edge of the covers and lifted them in an effort to peek underneath. Birkoff snatched the blanket away, startling her. "I'll take that as a yes." She turned and headed out of the room. "I'll just draw my own little mental pictures and be on my way."

"Boxers. If you're really that interested."

Callie turned, eyebrows arched. "I am." She slipped her tongue between her lips. "Boxers are definitely doable." She grinned sinfully, the sound of Birkoff's head hitting the headboard the last sound she heard as she headed out the door.

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

"We've been over this before. What's the problem?" Michael's voice was soft but slightly annoyed.

His fingers flew skillfully over the keys of the laptop, brow furrowed in concentration, his eyes just a little irritated. He had the look of a man who was struggling with something and was not entirely pleased with the results. "It's not cueing up as quickly as I'd like, that's all." Birkoff squinted, his eyes surveying the layout on the monitor before them. "Having taken into account our narrowing window, this is the best sequence offering the least possibility for resistance. Because there has been little or no movement by Hezbollah in the past eight days, it looks like a simple cut and run."

Michael bent down over his shoulder. "Shraman, take the meet. Two floating back-up teams are in position. You have 60 minutes to retrieve Wilmslow and get him to the rendezvous point." He glanced at his watch. "Begin sequencing in ten seconds. Go." He removed his com set and placed it on Birkoff's desk. "48 hours and he'll be out of the country."

"Yeah," Birkoff stared at, more like looked through, the artwork on the monitor. "And Callie out of our lives." He rolled back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head. "She doesn't know does she?"

Michael looked at him with quiet understanding. "No. It would be pointless to tell her at this point. As soon as we have word that her father is safely underground, she'll undergo memory modification and she'll be released. She'll have no recollection of ever being here."

Birkoff let out a long sigh. "I have two days to spend with a girl who, in 48 hours, won't even know I existed."

"But you'll know." Michael placed a firm hand on Birkoff's shoulder. "Don't waste time worrying about what can never be. Take what you've been given and make the most of it." Nowhere in his job description did it say anything about armchair psychologist. But Michael felt for Birkoff, knowing that his time, all of their time with Callie, was coming to an end.

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

Nikita was the best kind of friend. The kind that would lend you her apartment for the night and then conveniently get lost. When she had pitched the idea to Callie, she hadn't even flinched, simply turned over her keys without a moment's hesitation. Callie suspected that her father must be safely tucked away by now, the use of Nikita's apartment, a going away present. Trying to analyze it all only made her dizzy and, because she was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she looked forward to having the place all to herself. She could blast her tunes at full volume, take a bubble bath, and actually smoke a cigarette whenever she pleased. She would, she decided, smoke while in the tub.

She took a long drag and threw back her head, a steady stream of perfectly formed smoke rings escaping from her mouth. Clicking on the stereo, she sailed through the FM dial, instantly recognizing the first guitar riffs of "Smoke on the Water". Dialing up the volume, she slid across the floor in her stocking feet, her right hand strumming an invisible guitar. Laughing out loud, she threw herself down on the couch and closed her eyes, her foot lolling over the cushion, tapping in time to the beat. Heaven, absolute heaven.

The pounding she heard was definitely not a part of the back beat of the song. Pushing herself up from the couch she crept to the door. She stuck her eye into the peephole, only to find Birkoff on the other end. "What the…," she said as she flung open the door. "What are you doing here?"

He shifted the bags he carried from arm to arm. "Seven o'clock, right? I know I'm a little early but the traffic was light." He brushed past her and set the bags on the kitchen counter. "Extra crispy and regular. I wasn't sure which one you liked."

Callie approached him, her eyes narrowed. "I'm missing something here," she said, sneaking a peak inside the bags. "Did we have a date, because I think I would have remembered."

"Uh, Nikita said seven. That you'd…be…expecting me." Birkoff looked stricken. "Guess not."

Callie shook her head. "Do I look like I was expecting you, or anyone for that matter?" She grabbed at her ratty sweatshirt. "We've been set-up."

"By the best." Birkoff tapped his fingers nervously on the counter. "Look, I'll just leave this and take off," he said, turning to leave. Callie snagged the hem of his sweater.

"Not so fast." She walked around to face him, her eyes glued to his. "You didn't know about any of this?" She raised the pinky finger of her right hand. "Pinky swear?"

"I don't think I've done a pinky swear since second grade." He twined his pinky around hers as his eyes roamed over her face. "Pinky swear. Honest."

"Either you're the best liar in the world or you're telling the truth." She eyed him cautiously. "Okay. You look way too clueless to be in on it." She began rummaging through the bags, emptying their contents on to the counter. "There's enough food here to feed a small city," she said, leaning back against the counter. "So we've been had. No biggie. You were nice enough to bring dinner. Might as well stick around to enjoy it."

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "It looks like you had other plans for this evening."

"Oh, yeah. My dance card is just jammed these days." She toddled over to the stereo and switched the dial to a soft rock station. "This sounds like appropriate eating-fried-chicken-on-paper-plates music. You staying or what?"

"How can I refuse such a heartfelt invitation?" He pulled the lid off the bucket of chicken, it's aroma filling the room.

"You are such a pain in the ass." Callie smiled, her eyes laughing at him. "Mmm, extra crispy. And Coke, that will enhance, rather than overwhelm that secret blend of herbs and spices." They sat on the floor of the living room and divvied up the chicken and fries, Birkoff allowing Callie the extra wing that came with the order. He winced as she dumped salt over her meal. "I know, it's gross." She took a healthy chunk from her chicken leg, peeling back the skin with her teeth. "Why is it that stuff that's so bad for you, tastes so good? I hate when that happens." She sighed with pleasure.

"This is a delicacy for me," Birkoff said as he wiped his fingers. "It's not like I can just drop everything and head for the drive-thru window."

Callie devoured everything on her plate, down to the last shriveled french fry. She skimmed her fingers over her tongue, licking them clean. "I have to compliment you on your choice of restaurant, Mr. Birkoff. Definitely four stars." Rummaging through her purse she pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a huge drag. She laid back on the floor, her legs crossed at the ankles. "And it even has a smoking section." She formed her mouth into a perfect circle, a smoke ring close behind. "Those are so hard to find anymore."

Birkoff found himself staring as a tiny ache flared in his groin. There was that mouth again, tormenting him. Another movement of the lips like that last one and he'd no longer be responsible for his actions.

She rolled over on her stomach, her sweatshirt riding up her back just enough to give him a good healthy eyeful of skin. Savoring the last puff on her cigarette, she ground the butt into her soda can. "So, when were you guys going to tell me my dad is safe? Five minutes before they kick my ass out?"

Birkoff's ears pricked as he dumped the chicken bones and paper plates into the bag. "What did you say?"

"Look. Let's cut to the chase. I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even I know that my dad must be safe, or Nikita, or whoever, wouldn't have given me the use of her place for no reason. Throw you into the mix and it's obvious to me that somebody went to an awful lot of trouble to make sure you and I hook up."

Suddenly it all made sense. "Michael," he whispered under his breath. "Yeah. Your dad's out of danger." He hesitated a moment. "I can't believe…"

"That I figured all this out? I know there's no way your head honcho is gonna let me walk out of the section knowing what I know, having seen what I've seen. When it's all said and done, I'll walk out of there remembering only what they want me to. It's the same thing they did to my father. When I was a little girl, I'd ask him about his work. His eyes would just sort of glaze over. Never got much of an answer out of him. Now I know why." Callie sat up, her body tensed, her voice becoming more animated. "I'll tell you something, Birkoff. They're going to have to haul my fanny out of there kicking and screaming, because I'm not so sure I want to leave. Nobody makes me do something I don't want to do."

Amazing. A mind like a steel trap with a body that could stop a train. "Not much gets by you, does it? But the part about you staying in Section. Callie, you're only 17. And as much as I'd love for you to stay, believe me, it's no life. Once you're there, you don't ever leave." His eyes shifted their gaze, away from her. "You belong with your family."

Callie's breathing became faster and more ragged as she felt the anger building inside her. "A dysfunctional one that consists of me and a part-time dad. What's worse? Me being shipped from boarding school to boarding school, maybe seeing my dad four times a year, if I'm lucky? Or staying with you guys. People I actually like and who, I think, like me." She twisted her face into a smirk. "No contest."

Birkoff scooted across the floor toward her. "You don't get it. We kill people. That's what we do. You sugar coat it because it's the only way you can come to live with yourself. You tell yourself you're saving the universe, anything to try to justify it. But in the end, it's still the same and the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach…it never goes away."

"Give me a little credit here, Birkoff. I'm stronger than you think. I know the consequences."

"You have no idea," Birkoff muttered under his breath, her ignorance making him bristle. "Section isn't a half-way house for runaways or little girls who hate their fathers!"

Callie's eyes narrowed as her blood reached the boiling point. "You're an asshole!" She whipped her empty soda can past his head. "My father has absolutely zero to do with this. If I want to stay in Section, it's my choice. What's your excuse?!"

He grabbed her by the forearms and pulled her to him, his voice trembling with frustration. "Look at me! I killed my sister! Did you hear me?! I killed her! Supposedly, Nikita murdered a cop. Madeline, she killed her sister, too. Walter, who knows! But the guy makes tennis balls that can blow off your arm with the flip of a switch! And Michael. He was a member of a terrorist group that ran around France setting off bombs to protest the atrocities of the world!" He released her and bowed his head, clasping his hands behind his neck. "These are the people you call your friends. And there's hundreds more just like us." He lifted his head to meet her now tearful gaze. "Still want to stay?"

The impact of his words hit her like a blow to the gut. Unable to stop shaking, Callie crawled over against the wall and sat there, her knees drawn up against her chest. She swallowed hard, her throat dry and absent of words. "I guess I pushed the wrong button," she said through a feeble smile. "Tell me it's not all bad."

Birkoff stood up, his body tightly wound and anxious. Callie's eyes followed him as he paced like a caged animal. "Oh sure. It has its moments. Like the few times you actually get to leave the section and have some sort of normal life. I can count the number of times on one hand that I was outside of the section for something that wasn't directly related to a mission. And when you are outside, you can't wait to get back in because it takes about five minutes for you to realize that you're a freak. That you don't deserve a real life. That the only reason you exist at all is to do their bidding. And you want to know the best part? Screw up and they'll cancel you. In a heartbeat, a .38 right between the eyes. Or better yet, a suicide mission when they no longer need your services. Try living with that hanging over your head." He leaned back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. "Heard enough, 'cause I've got a million more. Oh yeah. I almost forgot about the white room. I once saw an operative cut out a guy's tongue and…"

"Stop!" Callie's covered her ears with her hands. She bit down hard on her lower lip, trying vainly to hold back the tears now pooling in her eyes. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were trying to get rid of me." She leaned back as the tears streamed down her cheeks.

Birkoff knelt down in front of her, and gently took her hands in his. "You want to know what really gets me?" Their eyes locked. "Nikita and Michael; they wouldn't give me the time of day in the real world. But in section, I'm suddenly their best friend. Why? Because I can keep them alive. So we can all spend one more day in hell." He sat down and pulled her into the crook of his arm, her head nestled on his shoulder. "There's nothing good in section, Callie. Nothing worth remembering."

"All of you are worth it," she sniffed, dragging the back of her hand across her nose. "Especially you."

They were suddenly face-to-face and eye-to-eye. Close, close enough for him to see that little gold rim around her blazing green irises. Close enough for his blood to heat and stir. "Don't kid yourself. It's just that we both got kind of worked up. You're just caught up in the moment."

"There you go. Trying to tell me how I feel." Her throat was heated and parched with desire. What was wrong with her? The pressure built up in her chest, choking off her breath. She could hardly believe that in the course of a few minutes she had gone from being hurt and angry to incredibly aroused. "You realize we're both sitting here staring at each other? One minute I'm calling you an asshole and the next, all I can think about is kissing you."

He wanted that mouth---and everything that came with it. "Yeah. Go figure." He tried to remind himself that in less than 48 hours she'd be history. That somehow that would automatically make her less desirable. But her scent was clogging his brain. This was an experiment in self-control destined to go horribly wrong. Blame it on her mouth. So soft, so generous. So very tempting.

They moved abruptly and somehow, their lips met, their mouths tangled. It was spontaneous combustion, teeth scraping, tongues touching. She pulled him down on top of her as her hands made their way underneath his sweater and up his back. He rose up on his hands and knees and hovered over her as he bent down to nuzzle in the hollow of her neck. He fought back greed. It was impossible not to feel it, with her body so hot, so soft. He couldn't get enough. Every kiss, every taste of her was more potent than the last.

"What are you thinking?" she whispered against his neck.

"If I have to tell you, you're not as smart as I think you are." His face was flushed, his eyes smoking. "I didn't think I could want you this bad."

"Then don't think so much." Callie reached up and removed his glasses. "I'm not afraid. I'm here, we're here because we want to be," she whispered, her hands gently framing his face. "I don't want to worry about tomorrow or the next day. Just now. Just us."

He believed her. This sanctuary they'd found was the only reality he wanted or needed tonight. He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and lowered his mouth to hers for a quiet kiss. She wasn't nervous, not yet and he wanted her to be. He wanted her stomach to flip flop like his, her head to pound, her heart to skip beat after beat. He could hardly wait to see her eyes grow dark with need, for her body to tremble in anticipation of each kiss, each touch. Suddenly she had become everything and he would give her all that he had. Tonight, for the first time, each of them would know what it was like to be in love with a lover.

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

The hardwood floor felt like a bed of nails and certainly not the place Callie wished to continue their passionate exchange. "I can't do this," she said as she inched herself up to her elbows.

Birkoff rolled off of her and scrambled to his feet. "What's wrong?" His eyes were wide. "I thought you wanted…"

Callie extended her hands upward and Birkoff gently pulled her to her feet. She ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders. "Don't have a meltdown. The floor just isn't the place I had in mind. Race 'ya!" She cleared the length of the living room in three strides before Birkoff could catch up. He was right on her heels as together they bounded up the landing and through the door of Nikita's bedroom. "Yes!" Callie hurdled onto the bed and began jumping up and down, her arms flailing, the sound of her laughter filling the room. "This is more like it." She jumped one last time and fell backwards on to the bed. "You coming or what?"

"I don't know." Birkoff slowly made his way to the edge of the bed. "There's something about this that's…"

"Dangerous?" Callie's lip curled into a devious smile. "Yeah. Doin' it on someone else's bed. It's a rush!" She inched across the bed on her knees and grabbed the bottom of his sweater, hiking it up over his head and tossing it carelessly aside. "Will you lighten up? It's just you and me." Her fingers drew tiny circles across his belly as her eyes lifted to meet his gaze. "You gonna bust a move or do you need a little coaxing?" She pulled her sweatshirt up over head and tossed it onto the floor. "Better?"

"Incredible." He'd never expected to find such a perfect package underneath that sweatshirt. He'd prepared himself for her body, the wonder of it, the ebb of desire. But the black lace bra, her velvet skin and that navel ring, had his fingers squeezing hard on her shoulders.

The sudden blaze of lust in his eyes sent her heart rocketing into her throat. When his eyes left hers, traveled slowly down, she felt her blood heat, her head go light. He skimmed his fingertips over her belly just above the waistband of her jeans. She shivered when his hands went up and cupped her breasts, when his thumbs brushed the curve and swell of them. Their moans mixed when he unsnapped the front clasp of her bra and pushed it over her shoulders, letting it slip down and fall onto the bed. He leaned in, just a little, a brush of bodies, skin to skin. His mouth closed in on hers, stopping just before contact as he watched as her eyes went dark, heard the long intake of breath, knew she held it. He waited until he knew they were both suffering.

"Callie," he moaned, and crushed his mouth to hers. His kiss was warm and deep. He eased her onto the bed, covering her body with his. His mouth traveled down her throat, nuzzling, as his hands caressed her breasts, her nipples puckering and swelling under his fingertips. He kissed each breast, each nipple, with a tongue made warm and wet from their kisses.

Of all the boys she'd been with, no one had ever touched her so, had ever sparked such conflicting and overpowering emotions. His touch was that of a man; one who could see past the bravado to feel her yearning, her experienced, yet unfulfilled passion. How could he touch her so gently yet look at her with such pending ferocity.

Her hands trembled as she reached to unbutton his jeans, her fingers fumbling a bit as they made their way inside. It was then that he saw the nerves. Tiny fears flickered in her eyes, and seeing them, feeling the slight tremor in her fingers as she touched him there, caused his breath to catch, his eyes grow wide. The delightful feeling was quickly destroying what little intention remained to go slowly with her.

Their legs tangled as they dragged at each other's jeans. His fingers dug into her hips as she arched instinctively to meet him. Muscles quivered as skin slid over skin, moan blended into moan. There had never been anyone or anything he wanted as much as he wanted her.

Callie's mind was a blur, her body tingling as waves of excitement broke over her. When his fingers made their way between her legs, softly stroking, she felt herself choke on her own breath, her heart slam into her ribs. His lips circled her, his tongue sliding just over the edge of her teeth. In an instant, Callie pushed him away, her eyes filling with tears.

"This is just a little scary," she said, her voice whisper soft. "I've never felt this way before. Never cared so much. Never cared…ever." She turned her head, avoiding his gaze.

Birkoff touched her cheek, guiding her face back to meet his eyes. "If you're not sure…"

Callie touched her fingers to his lips. "It's not that. I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid I'll fall in love with you." She pressed her eyes closed as a tear escaped down her cheek.

He kissed her gently. "Someone once told me that you shouldn't waste time worrying about what can never be. To take what you've been given and make the most of it. That's what I want to do. With you."

Callie's lip curved into a smile. "You may not be my first, Birky, but you're the first one I've ever given a damn about." She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. "Still want me?"

"More."

They made love with a passion neither had ever known or ever dreamed existed. Their earlier nerves forgotten, they moved together in a rhythm that was as natural as breathing. Callie hadn't known she could want so much, that the need for anything could be so sharp, so urgent. She cried out from the feel of his lips, his tongue on her flesh. Everything he did, everywhere he touched, brought a low, throbbing ache.

And when he was inside her, she heard nothing but her own blood rushing to her head, felt nothing but the indescribable pleasure his body gave to hers, saw nothing but his face, those ebony eyes watching her.

She wrapped herself around him and gave him everything, knowing that for the first time in her life, he would be the one to make real every dream she'd ever had. Her heart filled with joy as they rose and fell together.

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

Callie woke up thinking that he was still in her arms, and she felt herself smile. She sighed, recalling his lovemaking, and then she realized she had a death grip on her pillow, not Birkoff. She stretched, smiling again. No wonder men and women chased after each other like idiots, she mused.

Making love was incredible, especially with him. He had been tender, even in the roughest moments, and Callie hugged herself recalling the way he had looked at her, kissed her, held her afterward. She was, she thought, moonstruck over a guy she could never have.

It was nearly seven in the morning before he was able to think again. That sexual punch, the casual intimacy refused to leave him alone. When had she gotten under his skin this way? How had he let it happen? And what the hell was he going to do about the fact that he was falling hammer and tongs in love with a girl who was holding a one-way ticket out of his life.

He stood to stretch his legs as she appeared in the doorway. They stood, staring at each other. God I want you, was all he could think. When is this going to stop?

Shit! Her mind screamed. I have no clue what to do about you. She told herself to go, to walk out and chalk up the last 24 hours as a learning experience. But instead, she turned slowly and looked around. He was everywhere in this place, she thought. Damn him.

"Hi." Birkoff's voice was almost a whisper as he approached her. "Any regrets?" he asked, his eyes studying her intently.

Callie's mouth curved into a huge grin. "An evening of mind-altering orgasms tends to suck the regret right out of me. How many were there? I think I lost consciousness after the first."

Birkoff felt the after-burners of his ego kick in. "Three, but who's counting." He leaned into her, circled her waist. "I don't want to fall in love with you, Callie. It would be a disaster."

"Yeah, I know. So how close are you?"

"Really close."

"Ditto."

"We can't let this happen. You've effectively blown my life to hell." And her mouth was on his, draining his reason, scrambling his brain, driving feelings to the surface when he knew there was no way he could act on them. It should be illegal for a woman to kiss like this before she turned twenty-one. He broke from her. "I didn't want this. Didn't want you…well, maybe a little." His smile was sweet and sincere. "Now there's nothing but you."

"I know." Her heart jumped hearing it, knowing it. "If that was all there was to this, we'd be home free. Knowing you want me is all I'm going to get." Pain quickly replaced that playful look in her eye as she turned to leave. She was nearly out the doorway when he called her name, and stopped her dead in her tracks. She didn't dare turn around. She simply bolted down the hallway and away.

He thought about going after her. He could catch her, talk her into his quarters. Take her to bed again.

And then what?

He swore and stalked back to his desk. Flipping open his laptop, he wished aloud for the ache in his heart to go away.

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

Her head dangled over the edge of the bed, fingertips scraping along the floor, She wondered how long it would take for all the blood to drain from her body and pool inside her brain. Maybe if she was lucky and stayed like this long enough, she'd slip into a coma. Maybe even die.

"Hey." Nikita peeked her head through the door. "Safe for me to come in?"

"Hey, it's your world. I'm just a visitor." Callie lay sprawled across the bed, her face now turning as red as the t-shirt she was wearing.

"Pissed at me, huh?" Nikita lay back on the bed beside her. "Come up for air and talk to me."

Callie pulled herself back up on the bed, her head spinning. "Nice set-up, Nikita." Callie glared at her. I should strangle you with your own hair. You screwed up my life." She laid back down on the bed, her head at Nikita's feet.

Nikita studied Callie's face. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing her own reflection. A woman in love could spot another woman in love from a mile away. And Callie was definitely in love. Nikita could tell even if she'd been wearing a bag over her head. "I don't mean to pry, but if you want to talk about it, I'll listen."

Callie rolled over to her stomach, her eyes avoiding Nikita's gaze. "How was it? Your first time with Michael, I mean?"

Nikita's eyes widened. "Well. Let's see." Nikita settled in next to Callie. "It's kinda' weird actually talking to someone about it." She smiled sweetly. "It was everything I'd hoped it would be, and more. Michael was tender, very concerned about my needs." Her eyes grew bright as she spoke. "I thought I was way out of my league with him, what with his reputation and all. But he had me feeling, doing, things I didn't think were possible." She paused as she lay her head on the bed, her eyes fixed on Callie. "It's still that way."

"A guy like Birkoff. What are the chances he'd be the one to turn me inside out." Callie lowered her head. "You know, Nikita. Guys have been telling me I'm beautiful ever since I can remember. They all wanted to get over on me and I guess that was okay. But this was so…unexpected, so honest. If last night were any better, God would have had to charge me a cover. Birkoff messed me up, but good."

"Yeah. Birkoff's a sweetheart. Too smart for his own good sometimes." Nikita rubbed her hand along Callie's back. "We're not known as a covert group for nothing, ya' know. It's the ones that you least expect that pack the biggest punch."

Callie let out a heavy sigh. "Well in that case I was a TKO in the first round." She bit back the tears gathering in her throat. "This place sucks!"she barked, slamming her fist on the bed.

"Callie, look at me." Nikita lifted Callie's chin to capture her gaze. "What you and Birkoff shared? Some people never find that connection. I wish I could ease your pain, but I can't. If it's any consolation, it's going to tear him up even worse. It's always harder for the one left behind. It will be hard for all of us when you leave."

Callie nodded as she dragged the back of her hand across her nose. "So this memory thing? Will it hurt?"

"No. They'll give you a light sedative and then you'll be injected intravenously. Takes about a half hour." Nikita ran a hand through Callie's hair. "Madeline will be there to see that everything's done properly. You know, your father is anxious to see you."

"Is he okay? Where will we go?"

Nikita felt her throat grow dry as the reality of Callie's departure started to hit home. "I can't say. But you'll both be safe."

Callie sat up and wrapped her arms around Nikita. They sat like that for several minutes, holding one another, Callie seemingly taking strength from Nikita's presence. Drawing back to look at her, her eyes were red and swollen. "I wish I'd known you in my world. I'll miss our talks."

Nikita clung to her, her eyes filling with tears. "Me, too. Me, too."

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

There were unspoken rules in Section, everywhere you turned, and those rules served to set apart those who belonged from those who did not. Birkoff knew he belonged but wished he didn't. He sat alone in the darkness, the bluish glow from his computer monitor providing the only light. It was so still, so peaceful. Every day, every night had been that way since Callie left. He moved closer to the glow, his chin resting in his hand. Like a voyeur he watched, reaching out his hand to gently touch the screen. The pool of tears building behind his eyelids broke through his tightly closed eyes and streamed down his face. He wiped his eyes dry with the heels of his palms, cursing his wretched life.

Callie grabbed her purse from the kitchen table and headed for the front door. This scene would repeat itself every day, five days a week and sometimes, if he was lucky, on weekends, too. This was as close as he would ever get to Callie...an occasional glimpse of her on his monitor when Operations and Madeline felt like throwing him a bone.

He had no idea where she went when she disappeared from view. Did she work, go to school. Did she have friends. A boyfriend. Michael had told him that the less he knew, the easier it would be for him to purge her from his system. As if that could ever happen. As if he could go to sleep one single night and not wake up in a cold sweat from remembering what it was like to love her. He didn't want to lose that feeling, of having that part of her with him. It was the only thing that made any sense.

She never spoke of him, never thought of him. What they shared had been a dream. That was his torture, his own private hell. To love someone so completely and have them snatched away from you was unthinkable. But to allow her to leave and never remember him or the friendships she'd made; that was the cruelest cut of all.

He'd done a yeoman's job of keeping his emotions in check, of keeping at bay the thought of her having to leave. A lifetime of happiness crammed into three days only to see her slip through his fingers like water. Now, when he closed his eyes, in a struggle to fill himself with the memory of her touch, her kiss, he heard instead the last words she spoke. It had been over two months but in his timeline it was like yesterday. She had walked out of her quarters and into systems, to say good-bye. Everyone was there. Walter, Michael, Nikita. It might as well have been a wake.

"I guess I'm history," she said, the tears building in her eyes. "It's been real. You guys are the best."

"Take care of yourself," Nikita cradled her in her arms, tears streaming down her face. "You'll always be the sister I never had."

"Au voir, mon ami," Michael kissed her on the forehead before gathering her into his arms, wrapping her in a bear hug. "Live a good life."

Callie clung to him, sobs building in her throat. "If only I were a little older, I'd have given Nikita a run for her money."

"I have no doubt," Michael framed her face in his hands as he kissed her gently on the forehead.

Nikita wrapped her arms around Michael and kissed his cheek. "Is that a tear I see there in the corner of your eye?" She brushed her thumb across his lid. "And they say you have no soul."

"I miss her already," he said, his voice soft and breathy. They watched together as Callie turned to embrace Walter. Where Callie was concerned, he proudly wore his heart on his sleeve and now, it had splintered into a million pieces. She'd become the granddaughter he'd never have and she had relished each moment they'd shared together.

"Take care of those CDs old man. You know I don't share my tunes with just anybody."

He couldn't look at her, the pain of her leaving so excruciating. Finally, he raised his head slowly and succumbed to the need to feel her near, one last time. "Come here," he said, grabbing her to him. "You watch your backside." There wasn't a dry eye in Section as Walter gently kissed her cheek and released her.

She moved to Birkoff, running her fingers down his arm. "And you," she said, her voice whisper soft. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Anything you want." He pulled her to him, crushing her against his body. Arms wrapped tightly around her, he melted into her, never wanting to let her go. The tears came fast and furious, blurring and bitter. He stepped back to look at her, his eyes red and puffy. "I love you. You need to hear it and I need to say it."

Callie stepped back into his arms, coiling her arms around his neck. "You did a number on me, Birky," she said, her voice breaking. "I've got a major Jones for you." She kissed him with such desire, pouring herself into him, her spirit seeping into every pore, until she filled his soul, his memory, forever. Their mouths lingered on one another, each one committing to memory the feel, the scent, the heat of the other.

It was too much and at the same time, not enough. He prayed that the floor would open up and swallow him, the weight of his sadness so heavy. He stepped back and gave her a loving once over. "I'll never forget you," he said, his voice cracking. He held up his right hand, his pinky finger raised. "Pinky swear. Honest."

Callie bit back the tears as they pressed the palms of their hands together and she wrapped her pinky around his. "Pinky swear." Touching his face with her other hand she felt a warm wetness on his cheek. "You'll always be with me." She took his hand and placed it over her heart. "Here." She brushed her lips against his one last time. "I better go." Gathering up her jacket and backpack, she backed away from them, managing a smile before turning to head down the hall. She shot Birkoff one last look over her shoulder. And just as quickly as she had made her way into their lives, she was gone.

The huge whooshing sound Birkoff heard inside his head was the sound of the life being sucked out of Section. He stood in the middle of systems, amid the sympathetic pats on the back and the pitiful looks. He saw Nikita and Michael and Walter, their lips all moving, but he heard no words. Saw tears, but felt no sadness. Numbness was all there was. And he wore it like a suit of armor.

"I'm outta here," he said. He brushed past them, past everyone whose lives would just pick up and go on, never missing a beat. He stared straight ahead as he walked down the hallway, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket. He stopped and pulled out the only tangible thing he had left to remind him of Callie. He tenderly fingered the bottle cap in his hand, his head filled with the memory of their first kiss.

"It took a big man to do what you did." Operations' eyes were filled with an understanding Birkoff had never seen before. "You must have loved her a great deal to let her go."

Birkoff held out his hand, the bottle cap between his outstretched fingers. "I wished for her. And now this is all I've got left." His eyes raised to meet Operations' gaze. "Please don't tell me it's for her own good or that I'll get over her. I just can't believe that right now."

"You're not the only one here who's hurting, Mr. Birkoff. She was important to me, too." Operations circled him before leaning back against the wall. "I've known Callie since she was a baby. Evan trusted me, all of us, with her life. We do what we have to do to keep the people we care about safe. Having her here was a breath of fresh air. And if you don't think I'm going to miss her, too…you're sadly mistaken."

Operations' words rang honest and sincere. As they watched each other, Birkoff thought he might actually be telling the truth. That he was capable of caring. When it had come to Callie, even Operations had fallen under her spell.

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

"Mornin', Cal," Evan Wilmslow greeted his daughter with a peck on the cheek. "Have time for breakfast?"

"Daddy, I'm sequestering myself in my room. I've got to work an extra three hours at the store tonight, plus I have some paperwork I've just got to get done. She stuffed a piece of toast into her mouth as she turned to head back up the stairs. "Besides, I may have to crash before work. I didn't get much sleep last night."

Evan smiled at her. "It's no wonder. You were making so much noise, I had to check on you." And who or what is a Birkoff? Must have been some dream."

Callie arched her eyebrows and swung around to look at him. "Birkoff? Hmm," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I think they're a new European industrial band. Maybe somebody at the store asked me about them. They must be hot." She bent to kiss the top of Evan's head. "Later, daddy."

She closed the door and locked it behind her. Rummaging through her backpack, she pulled out the PDA and punched in the code on the keypad. The screen lit up as a huge smile started to form in the corner of her mouth until it washed over her entire face, her whole being.

MADELINE -- THANKS FOR LEAVING ME SOMETHING TO TAKE WITH ME. –CALLIE--

Madeline turned the monitor around, allowing Birkoff to see the screen. "I couldn't take it all away. I am human, you know."

Birkoff moved closer to the monitor, his mouth agape. He stared into the screen so long, his vision started to blur. "But…Operations? How?… I don't…" he stammered.

Madeline sat back in her chair. "Not everything here is for his eyes. There was little to be gained in allowing Callie to leave with no memories, whatsoever. She remembers you, your conversations. Your time together. There's nothing classified remaining in her memory regarding her time here. She's no threat to anyone. There's nothing she can use against us."

His hands fell to his sides. "Why can't I see more of her. Know where she is?"

Madeline rose and came to sit on the table beside his chair. "Don't press your luck. Her location will remain classified. And if you get the crazy notion that you might be able to find her? Don't. You're good, but you're not that good."

His heart leapt to his throat as tempered joy filled him. It was surreal. If he couldn't be with her, couldn't have her, at least he could take to heart the knowledge that she remembered him. Remembered them.

"What about everyone else? Does she remember them, too?"

"No. Her recollection of her time here is a series of memories spliced together. Too many individuals in the picture and it has a tendency to become too overwhelming. In time she'll come to accept what she knows."

Birkoff rose to his feet. "Callie asked me if there was anything good inside Section. I told her no. I'm glad I was wrong. He turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Thank you. I won't forget it."

Madeline smiled as she turned back to her work. "Don't worry. I don't intend to let you."

THE END

Send suggestions and comments to ranma.
OR
If you would like to send a comment to SkiCat, click HERE!