Chapter Four

"Ohhhhhhh," groaned George as Greg slapped him on the face to bring him to. "How could they know?" he moaned. "They can't know -- no one does. It must have just been a lucky guess."

"Know what?" Greg asked, helping George back to his feet.

"Nikita really is my and Adrian's daughter. But no one must know about this -- especially Mr. Jones."

"Why?"

George sighed. "Because Jones thinks that Nikita is his daughter. That's why he had her recruited, that's why he's going to promote her to the leadership one day. Little does he know that it's really my daughter he's promoting."

Greg made a face of disgust. "You mean Adrian and Jones had an affair at the same time you and Adrian were having an affair? Damn, this place really is a soap opera."

"No, no, no," George said, shaking his head. "Jones and Roberta Wirth had a daughter at the same time Adrian and I did. But we..." he hesitated, and lowered his voice, "arranged for the babies to be switched at the hospital. That way our daughter would be able to take over everything!"

"What happened to Jones' real daughter?"

"Oh," said George, laughing, "she works for us, too. A computer specialist named Kate Quinn."

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

As Nikita ran sobbing from the room, Michael realised that he had made a fatal mistake with his beloved. How could he have been so stupid? How had he misjudged Nikita so badly? Didn't he know her at all? The chasm of dark filled pain that opened up in his chest at the thought of how he had hurt his one, his only, was an aching pain that was a big chasm of dark filled pain. He had to make it right. He had to get her back, to apologise, to get her back so that he could show her just how much she really meant to him. To worship her body with his body as the temple of adoration that she was. She mattered, oh god how she mattered, to him. He loved her, adored her, worshipped her, cherished her, idolised her, beloved her, longed for her, was awed by her -- besides he was getting really, really horny!

Grabbing a bath mat from the gold-plated heated towel rack, he made his way to the Jacuzzi, where Aurora waited nervously. Reaching down his hand in a gentlemanly gesture -- he was, after all, a French gentleman -- Michael helped her rise from the tub. Holding out the bath mat for her to step into and cover herself, Michael said, "Please, dry yourself off and leave this room. I have made a grave error in judgement. If you wait in Nikita's living area, I will fetch Nikita and explain that I have made a mistake and we will try and free you."

Aurora looked at him, perplexed. "Free me? What do you mean free me? Listen buster, I work for myself now and I don't care just what happened here! I will be paid my scheduled fee of $15000 US dollars in gold latinum, wet or dry. Is that understood? Now, I suggest you go find Nikita and work this out and I will wait for you, cause I'm not going anywhere without my money!" And with that, she flounced out of the room, muttering dark gypsy curses under her breath.

Michael wasted no further time thinking about Aurora, he had to find Nikita. His love. His one. His only. Oh, he was a cold heartless bastard to hurt her so, that delicate flower of womanhood. The light of his life. The one that he would forever adore, until the sun would no longer shine and the stars no longer sparkle and twinkle in the night sky. But where would she go? How far would she run from him to escape the pain that he had caused his exquisite beauty? Who could she turn to in her dismay? He knew that it couldn't be her old best friend Carla who used to live close by - cause she was dead. Killed at the end of the second season. And as far as he knew, TPTB hadn't had time or a plotline planned to bring her back. Not that that made any sort of difference to the continuity of LFN. So whom else could she turn to? Who else that she knows lives nearby? And then, like a bolt of lightning from the heavens above, he knew. He knew just whom it was that she would run to. Steeling his lips in a grimace of grim determination, Michael made his way stoically towards the one place that Nikita could be.

Mick Schtoppel's apartment.

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

When Nikita had run crying from her apartment after slapping Michael, she had only one thought in mind 'I need some comfort' and she knew that there was only one person who could give her this comfort apart from Walter, who was stuck in Section One and it was too far to run in her 12 inch spiked heel CFM boots with the gold lame faux fur trim in hot fluoro blue. So she turned and ran to the only person who was close enough to her, cause her feet were really starting to hurt. And that one person was Mick Schtoppel. Oh sure, he was a slimy, greasy, queasy, English git, but he was all she had at the moment.

So she stumbled, with her tear-stained eyes, which were making it really hard to see, towards Mick's door and threw herself upon it, prostrate with grief at how cruelly Michael had once again treated her. She knocked on the door with her open palm as tears once again blocked her eyes from seeing too clearly. But she was gratified to see that Mick answered her door in a few short moments and she didn't have to stand there in her prostrate with grief position for too long. Cause it really wasn't that comfortable.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Mick took one look at Nikita prostrate with grief and exclaimed, "Why, my little marshmallow-creamed centre chocolate-nut bunny, whatever is the matter?"

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

"So, Walter, Birkoff, what do you have to say for yourselves?" asked Operations, aiming a steely stare at the two trembling operatives.

"We're so sorry!" they cried in unison, dropping to their knees in fear. "Please don't cancel us! It'll never happen again!"

"Of course it won't happen again," said Madeline, deliberately sending mixed signals to screw with their minds by crossing her arms and yet smiling warmly. "We accept your apology. Now, please go."

With a look of confusion that turned to relief when they realised they weren't being punished, but then turned to fear because they figured the punishment would just be drawn out over a period of months in countless horrible ways, they scrambled up and fled the Perch, shoving each other aside in their desperation to get out of the room first.

Operations turned to Madeline with a look of annoyance. "Why did you let them go like that? I wanted them punished in some vile, humiliating, unspeakable manner!"

"Occasionally," she answered with a mysterious smile, "we have to let them off the hook for no reason whatsoever. That way we appear arbitrary and omnipotent."

"Ahhhh, of course!" he said with an approving nod. "Now let's go stand by the windows and look out over the floor menacingly while we tell knock-knock jokes."

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

"So, let me get this straight," said Greg, frowning. "Quinn -- the one who happens to be utterly ruthless and self-centred to the point where she would do anything to claw her way to the top -- is Jones' daughter, and Nikita -- the one who would never harm an innocent, even to save, like, thousands of people -- is yours?"

George paused in thought. "Now that you put it that way, it is a little odd." He shrugged. "I guess genes don't count for everything."

"Uh, so just who did this little baby switchie-poo at the hospital?"

"Walter. He did so well separating babies at birth, I thought he could handle switching them, too."

"Jeeze, George," said Greg, shaking his head, "you entrusted Walter with that task? During the Seventies? I doubt that he even remembers any of the Seventies. I think you'd better do a little DNA testing to be on the safe side. And fortunately, I know how to do that, since I'm a fantastical genius and all. All you have to do is give me your system password so I can access everyone's files to get their DNA samples."

"I'm not giving you my access code!" snapped George. "That would be a Class Ten security breach!"

"Okay," said Greg with a shrug, getting up to leave, "then I guess you'll never know."

"Wait, wait!" George called out after him. "All right." He sighed. "My access code is 'Hey_there_Georgie_Girl'."

Greg tried to stifle a snicker but failed.

"I happen to like that song," said George, glaring at Greg. "It's poignant."

Smirking, Greg walked over to a computer panel set into a nearby wall and began typing furiously. After a few minutes, he began to laugh.

"Sorry, Uncle George -- no switcheroo after all. Walter screwed up. Quinn's yours, and Nikita belongs to Jones after all."

George scowled. "I told you not to call me Uncle, dammit!"

"Sorry -- the DNA test says otherwise on that, too," Greg said, grinning.

George blanched for a moment, but then sighed. Great - now he had two greedy and manipulative relatives working for him. He cleared his throat. "All right, I need to fix this. I am not going to let Jones install his daughter as the leader of this organization. That'll happen over my dead body!"

"Yeah, well, I don't know what you're going to do to stop it. Your girl's stuck in the IT ghetto, while Miss Jones is on the management track."

George wrinkled his brow in thought, but then smiled an evil, sinister, really, really creepy smile, the kind of creepy, sinister smile that only he, with his years of practice as the sinister overseer of Oversight, could really manage. It was a sinister smile that he was really, really proud of in fact, that he practised each morning in the mirror after he flossed his teeth. A sinister smile that sent his employees cowering in terror. That caused small schoolchildren to hide behind their mothers' skirts. That started hounds baying on moonlit nights. That -- well, you get the idea.

"Well," he said, "I just happen to know a Red Cell plastic surgeon -- not that I hang out with Red Cell, or anything," he added hastily, "who can make anyone look like anyone." He rubbed his hands together in glee. "Maybe the switch didn't get done at birth, but who's to say it's too late now?"

Just then, they were both distracted by the heralding of trumpets that sounded like a fanfare of some kind. Startled, they then heard the clomp, clomp of marching feet. Their mouths dropped open in jaw-dropping awe as around the corner a bevy of guards dressed up like Roman centurions appeared. There were 8 guards in total, two in the front carrying trumpets, which they were toot-tooting. Then four guards next, each holding a handle so that they could carry the glass square cabinet, and another two guards behind them also carrying trumpets that they were toot-tooting. George and Greg continued to watch as the guards marched towards them and lowered the glass square to the floor. Then they both gasped in horror -- one of those really big gasps that you just know means that they were horrified.

For couched in the glass square, which was see-through because it was glass, was something so horrific that it caused them to gasp. Or maybe it was made out of really strong PVC clear plastic. But whatever it was made out of didn't really matter. Because what was inside it caused both Greg and George to gasp that big horrified gasp again. It was a horror too huge to really think about for too long, cause it was just too horrific. So they gasped with horror, and then stared at the glass square. Or the plastic square, and then trembled as the figure inside spoke to them in a deep, electronically modified voice.

"Hello, George," Jerome said. "Oversight has sent me back from Section Four again to help you solve your little problem. It's the least I can do -- I am, after all, the C-Clone." And both George and Greg stopped their trembling and started doing the hustle as Jerome fixed them with a really hard stare -- the type of stare that causes someone's eyebrows to point downwards like little daggers as they frown.

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

Back at the coffee shop, Davenport and Andrea had failed to notice that Michael and Nikita had left after the phone call from Birkoff. It seems that Andrea's formula to come up with a suitable substitute for the spilled chloral hydrate had taken longer than they had both anticipated. By the time Andrea was satisfied with both the colour and consistency of the substitute, our illustrious heroic couple had departed for greener pastures.

Now, Davenport stood in the kitchen, his head hanging down despondently while Andrea raged at him. Actually, he really didn't give a fig about Andrea's tirade, he was hanging his head despondently cause he realised that despite his best efforts, another run had appeared in his hose. Damn -- and these were his best nylons! Also, it seems that his make-up purse had been pilfered and there was no other lipstick available, so he was stuck with Cherry Red. He'd just have to wiggle his hips that much harder to distract from the awful combination of a hot-pink waitress uniform that clashed with the wrong lipstick. Shaking his head despondently, he suddenly became aware of Andrea's rage-filled tirade.

"Eeee-diii-ottttt, you are ze beegest eee-diii-otttt on zis hole planet! Ow can you ave let zem ezcape! Ow! Ow! First you are ze cause of zis terrible dizazter, and now you ave let zem ezcape!" Andrea prowled around the room, throwing all the Brazilian coffee grounds on the floor in her rage as she continued. "Zis iz ze reason zat Michel will alwyz be a igher level zan you -- you let zem ezcape!"

This time, she had gone too far! Davenport glared at her, fixing her with an icy, steely glare as he answered her with his lips barely moving, "This contingency was factored into the mission, and the profile adjusted accordingly. Check my panel if you don't believe me!" Reaching down into his waitress apron, which was a becoming shade of lilac that contrasted nicely with his ensemble, he pulled out his panel and thrust it in front of her nose. Davenport smirked slightly to see the look of awe and wonder seeping into Andrea's eyes as the Intel on his panel penetrated her brain and its meaning became clear.

"You mean...." Andrea sputtered, as she turned back to face him, suddenly finding that his hot-pink waitress attire made him strangely attractive to her.

"Yes," he replied, "I managed to coat their favourite booth with a new liquid tracking device that is so super secret it hasn't even been released on the market yet. All we need is an Internet connection and we will be able to track them from twenty five miles away!" And with that, they looked at each other and smiled evilly, both having been the last graduates of Madeline and Operations evil-looks-and-smiles-from-Section-Operatives course.

Hmmm, she thought, maybee zees beeg bald muscle-man eez not such an eediot after all....

Hmmm, he thought, maybe if I start acting evil I'll get all the crazy horny chicks that Michael rejected....

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

"Oh, Mick," cried Nikita, "Michael has broken my heart so cruelly and coldly! Why, this time he--"

Before she could finish, she noticed that Mick had stopped looking at her and instead was staring in fear at something behind her -- in fact, Mick seemed so frightened by what he saw that he began trembling and quaking and quivering like a little sodden mass of Jell-O.

"No, Michael," Mick begged, "don't toss me out a window or a door, or through anything plate glass, or into anything sharp or really, really hot -- I promise you I scrubbed off every single one of those black dots on the walls of Nikita�s apartment! I swear! And I've got no idea, really I don't, how they got there in the first place. Absolutely no idea whatsoever!"

"I am not here to talk to you," said Michael.

Nikita whirled around to face Michael, tears of anger streaming down her face. "How could you!" she sobbed. "It's bad enough when you abuse me at the behest of Section, but this was on your own time!"

"We need to talk," he said, grasping her by the hand and dragging her past Mick into Mick�s apartment.

"Hey!" called Mick. "I haven't had a chance to tidy up! Why don't you go back to your own--"

But then the door slammed in his face. Bloody hell! Locked out of his own digs! He made a face of annoyance and then wandered down the hall toward Nikita's apartment, where he spotted that the door had been left open. Fine! he thought. She hasn't got anything decent to eat -- I'm going to starve to death waiting for those two to make up!

As he entered the apartment, however, he was met by a very pleasant surprise.

"Well, hello there, you delectable honey-dipped delight!" he said with his most endearing smile.

Aurora turned at the sound of a new voice and stared at the person from whom the new voice had uttered. Just stared at him. Really stared. As if she couldn�t believe what she was seeing in front of her. Mick stood just that little bit taller -- which was pretty hard cause like most men in LFN other than Michael and Operations, he was quite short. But he knew why the vision of lovely womanhood that stood before him was staring at him in speechless wonder. Even he knew just how good he looked in his lime green silk shirt with the matching red trim and his silver spandex skin-tight pants. But the piece de resistance was his big-ass pimp hat that he had on his head that measured at least 18" all round. No wonder she was smitten!

His ego was deflated slightly at the words that came out of the woman's mouth, though. "Who the hell are you? I work for myself -- I don't need a new pimp! And if that bloody Frenchy thinks that he can run out without paying, he's got another think coming." And with that comment, she stood there affecting an air of unconcern, with her arms crossed and her mouth pouting.

Mick stood looking at her loveliness for a few more minutes before he said anything more. Well, her nipples were standing out quite prominently from her wet t-shirt after all, and he was a perve. But then he moved and reached down into his pants pockets, getting strange looks from Aurora cause his pants were so tight that it looked like he was playing with himself. But after a few minutes of fumbling -- which took just a little longer than normal cause he was copping a bit of a feel -- he pulled out something that made her eyes go really wide and her mouth drop open in shocked awe.

"Ohhhhh...is that what I think it is?" she breathed in shocked awe.

"Yes, my delectable little chocolate coated sugar candy cane all day sucker, it is." And with that, Mick raised his Section One/Oversight platinum gold credit card with unlimited credit over his head, capturing the light and making the card shimmer. "Let's talk business!"

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

When Michael had dragged Nikita into Mick's apartment and slammed the door in Mick's face, he had only had one thought in mind -- to talk to his beloved love, the one he adored, and make things right again. How could he go on with life if she never forgave him? How could he live without her? He wanted to know. How could he ever live without her? If she ever goed. All he could see in his vision was Nikita; her golden beauty inspired him. She was love, she was life, and she was lust. And god he was horny! If he didn�t get some action soon he was going to explode.

Looking down upon his vision of beauty, he gently cupped her face in his hands as he started his apology. "Ni-kee-taaa. We do what we have to do. But no more will I hide behind the lies of Section. No more will I deny my heart. No more will I let you go on believing that you do not matter to me. You are my life. You are my world; you are every breath I take. You are the light of my soul, the place I call home. You are beauty personified and I cannot go on one more day without you by my side. We will defeat all obstacles that life will throw before us. Together. As one. Oh my love, my dearest one, forgive me. Forgive that I ever caused you one moment of pain, of grief or sorrow. I would rather cut out my heart than let you go on without my love!"

And with that declaration of undying heartfelt devotion and love, Michael lowered his head to kiss her lips. Her luscious, pouting, full lips. Nikita froze at the tenderness he was showing her as his tongue slowly licked around her lips to tease and tantalise. And then his lips touched her own. Need exploded into her as she deepened the kiss by pulling him closer and thrusting her tongue down his mouth where-upon she indulged herself in a game of tonsil hockey. It was awesome! It was right. It was love. And she was winning 3 points to 2! But she knew that she had to break the kiss before it got too hot and heavy, because she had to talk to him.

Pulling back reluctantly from Michael's embrace, Nikita stared into his gorgeous green eyes. She stared so hard at him that she could see herself reflected back from them, and was momentarily distracted by how good she looked! But then she shook herself from her preening, as she knew that he needed a response. She could no longer deny her own feelings as far as Michael was concerned. She loved him, loved him to distraction. Loved him so much that she sometimes daydreamed in the middle of a briefing. And that wasn't good, because Operations seemed to know when she lost focus and asked her a question. Luckily for her, she was such an exceptional operative that she only ever needed to listen with half an ear, and always knew the correct answers. But she was digressing. She needed to say that she forgave her love, if only so that they could go on.

"Michael," she said. "I know that you love me, I have just been waiting these countless years for you to admit it to me. I love you too. You are my love, my life. Why do you think I keep coming back to Section each time you free me? It's because without you I have no life, and I don't want to live without you. I would rather have a day with you than an eternity alone. Je t'aime my love, je t'aime!"

But before they had a chance to once more embrace and seal their love, Michael's eyes drifted slightly to the left and as they did, he went a sickly green colour and started to sway on his feet. "Michael!" Nikita cried, alarmed. "What's wrong, what's the matter?"

"Mon Dieu!" Michael moaned. "Nikita, I cannot stay in this room one moment longer. The room...it is making me ill!" And as Michael stood there breaking out in a sweat, Nikita finally looked around the room. Had a real good look. And then gasped in horror. In all the times that she had known Mick, she had never actually set foot in his apartment, and what she saw in the living room made her awfully glad that she hadn't.

The whole room was painted a pale lilac with checked wallpaper trim around the tops of the walls. Instead of a sofa, Mick had installed a love seat that was a hideous fluoro orange with dark red feather trim. Several lava lamps were situated around the room, all of them glug-glugging, and the shapes they were forming were somehow pornographic. The carpet was deep purple shag pile and it seemed there was a feature wall that was covered in chartreuse velvet. The feature wall also had lots of plastic animals tacked on it, all in various positions of the Kama Sutra. Long sweeping curtains covered the windows and they alternated from yellow in one window to green in another and then back again. Everywhere she looked was a mismatch of colour and style, all combining into one hideous temple of kitsch. There was even a swing suspended from the ceiling, surrounded by artificial roses and with a white velour padded seat. Looking around, Nikita started to feel quite ill herself. Grabbing hold of Michael's hand, she tugged him out of the room.

"Come on Michael, we need to get out of here before I hurl!"

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

Mick looked up in dismay as Michael and Nikita came running back into Nikita's apartment. He had only just finished his negotiations with Aurora and it seemed that they were just about to get down to the hanky-panky when he was rudely interrupted. But his dismay turned to concern as he took in their appearance. "Why my sugar whipped, candy battered love duo, whatever is the matter?"

Now that they had escaped the atrocious eyesore of d�cor that was Mick's apartment, Michael was feeling so much better, and he looked at Mick really angrily and said, "You. Out. Now."

"All right, all right, don't get your knickers in a twist guvenor, I'm going. Come, my little love sweet with glazed cinnamon icing, let us retire to the Love Nest of the God Mick!" And he delicately took Aurora's hand and guided her out of Nikita's place and back to his.

"Okay Mick, whatever you say. But tick tock baby -- this is gonna cost ya!" stated Aurora as she followed Mick out. And they left and slammed the door behind them.

As soon as the door had closed behind them, Michael once again grabbed Nikita in his arms. "Now my love, my darling. Now let us seal our love in the physical, as we have sealed our love in the metaphysical. Let our bodies combine as one as our two hearts have combined as one." And as they both stood there gazing into each other's eyes, the slight strains of a song could be heard softly emanating from Michael's famous nose again. A song that seemed to be poignantly accurate for this moment of love revealed and acted upon. As song that could very well become the ultimate love theme for our beloved duo forever more. A song that captured the heart and soul of their whole romance. A song of love.

'And sometimes when we touch
The honesty's too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you till I die
Till we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides'

And while this poignant song of love had been playing, Michael had once again grabbed Nikita's hand and they were back to doing that hand-dance thingy again. Michael was in ecstasy, as was Nikita. This hand-dance thingy was the best foreplay ever! And slowly, ever so slowly, they both hand-danced their way into Nikita's bedroom. The one with the really big bed that was close to the floor. Thank god she had remembered to change the sheets that morning!

As they finally entered her bedroom, the hand-dance thingy was almost at the crescendo and they were close to hand-dance peaking. It was too soon for such bliss, but the passion that they inspired in each other could no longer be denied. As their hands started to jerk and tremble, Michael lowered his head to capture Nikita's cries of joy, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, cause his hand jerks were causing him to cry out in joy too. And as their hands finally stilled, they lowered themselves down onto Nikita's bed. Well, they fell actually, cause did I mention that Nikita's bed was close to the floor?