Part 1
"All right, Michael -- what happened out there?  Were we ambushed?"  Operations
called out to Michael amidst the chaos of a mission returning with wounded.

Michael turned to Operations, weariness actually visible on his face.  He had
escaped relatively unscathed from the melee, but someone else had not.  "I don't
think it was an ambush.  Whoever gathered the initial intel missed a potential
fallback position.  We got hit as we were exiting."

"Did you take them out?"

"We got them all, but we took some pretty big hits."  Michael paused as one of
those "hits" tried to exit the van under her own power.  He caught Nikita before
she could fall down and commandeered a waiting stretcher to take her to MedLab.

"Nikita was shot?"

Michael nodded.  "They were able to sneak up on us while I was downloading the
information from their computers.  Nikita managed to take three of them out, but
one of them got her in the shoulder."

"All right.  Report to Madeline for debrief; I'll finish up here for you."

Michael nodded and left.  He finished debriefing with Madeline, and then was
finally able to check Nikita's status in MedLab.  He had been worried because
she seemed in such pain from the bullet wound.  He was not surprised to learn
that her shoulder blade had been cracked by the force of the bullet.  MedLab had
decided it was best to keep her overnight, just in case, but they let him visit
her.  He knew she was a little spacey from the pain medication, but it still
gave his spirits a lift when she smiled to see him.

"Hi, Michael!  They've got me in their clutches again."

"You should have ducked."  He began playing with the fingers of her good arm.

"Well, seeing as the shot would've then hit you in the head, I think I'll stay
with what I've got."  She squeezed his fingers in response.  "I'll be fine,
Michael.  Really.  Why don't you go home and get some sleep -- you look
exhausted."

"All right.  I'll see you tomorrow."  Under the constant monitoring by Section,
Michael knew he couldn't kiss her the way he wanted to, but from her expression,
he knew his eyes had given away his desire, and she winked at him.  He turned
and left the room.

Later that night, after he had finally gotten to sleep, he was not amused to be
awakened by his phone's ringing.  "Yes?"

It was Operations.  "Michael, I need you to come in immediately."

"I'll be right there."  Sighing, Michael got out of bed, and took a shower,
hoping the water would revive him a bit.  Finally, he got out, got dressed, and
went to Section.  He was surprised to find Operations in his office.

"I thought it would be better to meet in here.  Please shut the door, Michael.
Also, assuming you have some sort of surveillance-jamming equipment, it might be
a good idea to activate it."

Michael's apprehension was growing.  He did as Operations requested, and sat at
his desk facing the older man.  "What did you need to talk to me about?"

"I'm afraid I have to send you and Nikita out on a mission in about two hours."

"I know that, Michael!  Actually, that's why I need her on this mission.  I
thought you'd like to go along as well."

Michael just stared at Operations in disbelief.

"We finally have a shot at taking out Freedom League's Mindanao base."

"What happened?"  Michael knew that Freedom League's fortress-like base in the
Philippines was one of their strongholds.  Section One had become concerned that
the base was being used to rebuild FL's forces.  They had tried several times in
the past to take it out, but the surrounding jungle had made it impossible.

"About three hours ago, we received word from one of our contacts in New Order.
In some sort of retaliatory strike, they had gone after Freedom League.  They
didn't succeed, of course, but they did have one female agent seriously wounded
in the fighting.  They were eventually able to get her out, but more than
likely, Freedom League doesn't know this.  If Freedom League should come upon an
injured woman in combat gear ..."  Operations didn't need to finish the thought.

"So you decided to use Nikita."

"It was either use her, or line up one of our other female ops and shoot her,"
Operations said bluntly.  "With Nikita, the time frame for the injury is more
accurate, she is already over the worst of the shock, and she's probably the
best operative for this assignment."

Michael, not being able to sit still any longer, got up to pace.  In a small
corner of his mind, he appreciated that Operations was telling him in private.
He knew he didn't have to hide his feelings, although he did to some degree out
of habit.  The logical part of his mind agreed with everything Operations had
said; they *had* to take out that base, and Nikita was their best shot at doing
so.  As Nikita's husband, however, he shrank from having to inflict that kind of
pain upon her.

The past three months had been a period of adjustment for both of them, although
Michael was rather surprised at how easy a transition it was.  They still
weren't quite living together yet; even though Operations had removed the
surveillance on Nikita's apartment, *someone* would notice if she was never
there.  They were in a sort of domicilary limbo -- each had things scattered at
both places, although they spent most of their time at Michael's house.

Having Nikita take a bullet meant for him had been painful.  He had known she
had been shot almost as soon as she did.  When he tried to reproach her, she had
responded as she had in MedLab -- better her shoulder than his head.  Now he
would have to take the woman he loved out of a safe MedLab and into a sweltering
jungle specifically to be captured and tortured.  He didn't bother to hide the
pain he was feeling as he stared at Operations, "All right, we'll do it."

"Michael, I'm sorry, but you know this is our best chance."  Operations walked
over to Michael, and in a rare display of support, grasped Michael's shoulder.
"Unfortunately, that also means I need you to go to Nikita and make sure her
injury looks as if you'd dressed it in the field."

Michael stared at him in fresh horror.  This meant he would have to remove her
current dressing, take out the professional stitches the doctor had put in and
restitch the wound.  Slowly, he looked at Operations and nodded.  Seeking some
return to normalcy, he tried to focus his mind on the mission itself.  Something
occurred to him so he asked, "Do we have intel on what equipment the New Order
was carrying and how they were dressed?"

"What do you mean?"

"If we're going to be impersonating New Order personnel, I would prefer that we
be equipped the same.  For instance, do we know whether they were wearing all
black, jungle camoflage, or night camoflage?"

"I see what you mean.  I'll get Birkoff to find out.  In the meantime, I need
Nikita ready for a briefing in ..." he looked at his watch, "... one hour.  As
soon as I have any intel, I'll call you in MedLab."

"Michael!  What are you doing here?"

Michael walked over to her and brushed his hand along her face.  "Operations
called me in.  We have a chance to take down Freedom League's Mindanao base."

"And...?"  Nikita knew from his expression that Michael wasn't happy about this
mission.

"Operations is going to send you and me in to do it."

"Me?"

"Yes.  New Order ran an assault against the Mindanao base and had a wounded
agent almost left behind -- a female agent."

"So, I get to impersonate an injured New Order terrorist?  Lovely."  Now
Michael's buried look of guilt made sense.  He saw the logic of sending her in,
but personally hated the idea.  "Michael, it's okay."  She saw the denial flash
in his eyes.  "No, truly.  Operations' idea makes sense, and really, my shoulder
isn't all that bad."

"I have to redo your stitches,"  Michael stated baldly.

"Oh, for the 'authentic' look, huh?"

Michael nodded.  But before he could summon the orderly back for the necessary
equipment, Nikita grabbed his arm.  When he turned back to her, she motioned for
him to bend closer.  She then reached up and ran her fingers along his face.

"Michael, I know we have a job to do.  As I told you before, this won't affect
how I feel about you.  We will get through this together."

Michael held her hand against his face, and turning his head, pressed a kiss
into her palm.  Then he straightened and went to fetch the orderly.

Figuring it would save time, Michael didn't tell the orderly what he was
planning, but asked him to fetch Nikita's doctor.  As they were waiting, Michael
pulled out the standard first-aid kit he had brought with him and began readying
his supplies.

When the doctor came in, she was horrified at what Michael planned to do to her
patient.  "You can't *do* that!  This woman is injured -- she is certainly not
up for a trip through a jungle!"

"Would you rather be treating an additional female gunshot patient -- because
that's your only other option.  Operations wants a female operative with a
gunshot wound.  It's Nikita or someone else."

"But why do you have to remove the stitches?" the doctor asked rather
plaintively.

"Because anyone looking at those stitches would be able to tell they were not
done by a field op with the supplies from a standard first-aid kit.  It's got to
look real, or you might as well just kill us both now."

"All right.  What do you need me to do?"

"I'd like you to administer a local anesthetic.  Just because it has to look
real, doesn't mean it has to *feel* real."  He pointed to Kevin the orderly,
"While you're doing that, I'd like him to track down Nikita's gear from
yesterday -- we're going to need it back."

The doctor agreed and carefully removed Nikita's current bandages.  She then
gave her a shot of anesthetic.  The orderly, Kevin, came back shortly with a
pile of Nikita's dirty clothing from the day before.  While they were waiting
for the anesthetic to take effect, Michael sorted through everything.  He pulled
out her black t-shirt and took it over to her.

"Before we get started, I want you to go ahead and put this on first.  It'll be
easier now than later."

"Michael, if we were going into a jungle, that's not the shirt I would wear."
Nikita decided to contribute her two cents.  "I'd probably wear a tank top, and
it would work better over my wound."

"All right.  I'll be right back."

When Michael came back, he had a generic black Section tank top in his hands.
Taking some scissors, he cut away the left shoulder section.  He then slid it
over Nikita's legs and drew it up her body.  He then held her up while the
doctor slid the shirt over Nikita's hips and got her right arm through the
armhole, all the while trying to ignore the fact that he was holding his
half-naked wife in his arms.  Nikita gave him a small grin as she caught a
familiar look in his eyes.

Finally, the shirt was in place, and the doctor was able to take the old
stitches out.  Examining the wound, Michael felt a sick sensation in his
stomach.  "Doctor, I'm afraid you are much more proficient at removing bullets
than I am."  He turned to the first-aid kit for something he had hoped he
wouldn't need.

"What does that mean?"

"There is no way I could have removed a bullet from her shoulder with that
little damage.  I'm going to have to do some cutting."  He held out the
standard-issue scalpel.  "Could you sterilize this for me?"

"This is ridiculous!  I'm supposed to be making patients better, not helping
make them worse!"  The doctor yelled, even as she was sterilizing Michael's
scalpel.  Recognizing that this was just the doctor's way of letting off steam,
Michael ignored her and washed his hands with MedLab's anti-bacterial soap.

Taking the scalpel in his hand, he stared down at Nikita, gathering the strength
for what needed to be done.  She looked up at him, love and trust shining
through her blue eyes.

"It's okay, Michael.  Remember, with this anesthetic, I can't feel anything."

"At least I don't have to cut all the way down," he told Nikita and the doctor.
"I think just enlarging the wound's opening should be sufficient."  He did so,
wincing as blood began spilling around the fresh cut.  When the doctor would
have immediately staunched the flow, he stopped her, "We need to let it bleed a
little -- her shirt needs to show some blood stains."  He then began to stitch
the new wound closed.  Finally, he rebandaged the wound, in the process binding
her left arm close to her body to immobilize it.  In every instance, he was
careful only to use supplies from the first-aid kit.

"Now what?"  Nikita asked as she sat on the bed in part of a black tank top and
her underwear.

"Now I need to find out from Birkoff what the New Order terrorists were
wearing."  Michael walked over to the MedLab intercom.  "Birkoff!  Do you have
anything for me?"

"The intel is just coming through now.  What do you want first?"

"What were they wearing?"

"Night camoflage."

"All right.  When you have the equipment list, send it directly over to Walter.
I'll check in with him later."  He turned to Nikita.  "I think we'll just use
your gear from yesterday -- it's close enough to night camo gear, and it's
better than trying to fake a bullet hole."

He and the doctor helped Nikita put the rest of her clothes on, and they made it
to the briefing room with two minutes to spare.

"All right."  Operations brought up a map of the island of Mindanao.  "Freedom
League's base is *approximately* here."  He pointed to a spot in the interior
jungle.  "We have been trying to pinpoint its site for some time now; this is
the closest we can come.  You will be flown in to a point our contact gave us as
near the site of the assault.  From there, you will make your way around the
assault site until Freedom League finds you and picks you up.  After that, you
have two primary objectives and two secondary objectives.

"Your first objective is to convince them you are members of New Order.  They
may not have known the identities of their attackers; we want to make sure they
do.  A war between Freedom League and New Order would be doing us some favors.
Second, you will put this tracker in place and activate it."  He handed a small
device to Michael.  It was small enough that he should be able to hide it
easily.  "It will broadcast one short pulse when it is activated, then it will
wait for a signal from us before sending out a steady transmission.  Your
secondary objectives -- if you can accomplish these without risking your escape,
fine -- are to tap into any information you can download from their computers
and to destroy the base if you can.  Once we have this signal from the tracker,
you will have 24 hours to accomplish your secondary objectives and escape the
base."

"What happens in 24 hours?"

"Michael, once we know the location of their base, if you can't destroy it, I am
going to make arrangements with the Air Force to send in a B-1 bomber to take
the base out."

"You're bringing in the U.S. Air Force?"  Madeline, who had been quiet up to
this point, was shocked.  "Surely we don't want to bring outsiders into this
problem."

"I'm tired of fooling around with Freedom League.  I want them taken care of
once and for all.  I would rather we take the base out ourselves, but if we
can't, we might as well use the B-1 for something *useful*.  Any questions?"

"What's our travel schedule?"

"You'll leave here in an hour -- you'll take a supersonic transport to Guam.
There you'll board a standard transport to a secure strip in Mindanao.  Then
it's a helicopter to the drop point.  Once your mission is finished, call us
from the drop point, and we will pick you up."

"All right."  Michael and Nikita nodded their agreement.

"See Walter for your equipment.  I want you both out the door in one hour."

After watching Michael help Nikita out of the room, Madeline turned to
Operations, "You are asking a lot from both of them.  Do you think they can pull
this off?"

Operations sighed.  "That base has got to be taken down, Madeline.  They're our
best chance to do that.  We have no choice."

"You know what they're going to do to Nikita once they capture her."

"I know.  And I'm sure Michael and Nikita know also."

"I've probably gotten more rest than you have in the last 24 hours, Michael.  I
want you to rest as well."

"I will.  As soon as I finish scanning over the rest of the New Order intel
Birkoff got for us."

"It would make more sense to do that on the transport from Guam, since that's
going to be a short hop."  Nikita motioned for him to sit beside her.  "Why
don't you lie down next to me?  That way, we can both sleep."

Michael thought about what Nikita said -- as well as what she had not said.
This mission was going to take everything both of them had and maybe more.
Nikita wanted to feel him close beside her as long as she could.  He
acknowledged to himself that his reluctance stemmed mostly from habit:  the only
other people on the plane were the pilot and co-pilot in the cockpit -- and the
pilot, Dave, was another of Nikita's conquests who would rather cut off his arm
than hurt the pretty blonde.

He motioned for Nikita to lie on her right side facing into the side of the
plane.  He lay down beside her.  The bunk was narrow, but not too bad.  He
pulled her back against him, being careful of her left shoulder.  "Is this all
right?"

Nikita brought his hand from her waist up to her lips.  Kissing his fingers one
by one, she then replaced his hand just under her breasts.  "This is just fine,
love.  Now relax and go to sleep."  She snuggled her head slightly against his
supporting arm, and suited words to action.

Michael lay beside her, his lips pressed against her bright hair, and once again
reminded himself how lucky he was to have this woman's love.  He just wished
things could have been different...  And he drifted off to sleep.

Sometimes, he could almost feel the anger between them, either before or after a
mission -- the heat was so strong, he almost worried for the upholstery.
Occasionally, Nikita would respond to Michael's coldness with a coldness of her
own.  Always, though, there was the sexual heat between the two, varying in
intensity, but ever present.  He was glad to see them finally trying to work
things out.  He knew that the only reason Michael had probably allowed himself
to relax with Nikita like this was because he trusted Dave.  Feeling like an
intruder, Dave went back to the cockpit.

"Boy, that Nikita has some bod, doesn't she?"  Sam, a young pilot barely out of
his twenties had been recruited into Section only a short time ago.  He had only
seen Nikita once before around Section; this was his first trip transporting her
and Michael.  "I wonder how she is in bed?"

Dave, jolted out of his contented reverie, stared at his young co-pilot.  Not
getting the message, Sam nattered on, getting cruder and cruder as he went.
Finally, Sam happened to look up and see Dave's obvious disgust.  "Hey, what's
the problem?  You must have known her a while -- doesn't she put out?"

"I am going to tell you this just once:  a) she is a cold op, you are just a
pilot; b) she is Michael's.  If one of those doesn't scare you, the other
should."

"What do you mean by that?  I'm worth twenty of some street trash like that.
I've got valuable skills."

"You are an idiot.  I do not fly with idiots."  Dave opened a channel with
Section.  "Madeline!"

"Yes, Dave?"

"I would like to have Michael cancel Sam once we touch down in Guam."

"Why do you want to cancel Sam?"

"He is an idiot."

"Very well, then.  You know the usual procedure."  Madeline calmly signed off.

Sam stared at Dave in astonishment.  "You...you aren't *really* going to have me
cancelled?  Just because of some remarks I made?  This is a joke, right?"

Dave stared at him coldly.  "Since you are demonstrably too stupid to find your
butt with both hands, I certainly don't want you flying my planes.  I would have
Michael cancel you now, but it is a royal pain getting the blood stains out of
the upholstery."

"Please, just tell me -- what did I say?"  Sam was starting to get scared.  This
didn't feel like one of those "freak out the new kid" sort of things.

"You obviously have no concept of what we do here, or what a field operative
does.  If I really wanted to be sadistic, I would tell Nikita or Michael what
you just said about her.  Either of them is perfectly capable of breaking you in
half with one arm tied behind their backs.  That is one of *their* 'valuable
skills'.  Also, Michael is certainly a better pilot than you are -- he is just
*more* valuable as a cold op.  Get it out of your head that you occupy some sort
of privileged position here because you are a pilot -- you are a donkey, nothing
more.  If you keep your donkey-face shut the rest of the flight, and think about
what I've just said, I *might* consider letting you live to go back with me."

Sam shut up.

He disentangled himself from her and went up to the cockpit to check with Dave.
Dave told him about the transport change.  "Dave, how far away is the new
transport from our runway?"

"As I recall the layout, it's about a half-mile."

"Do you think you could arrange some transportation for us between the two
planes -- I don't want Nikita to have to walk that far unless she has to."

"So she really is injured?  I thought that was just part of a cover."  Part of
Dave was shocked that Section would send out an incapacitated operative; the
other, more cynical side, knew better.  He contacted ground control about
sending a jeep around.

"Yeah.  She took a bullet to the shoulder yesterday.  Profile calls for her to
be injured."

"Okay.  Ground control will be meeting us with a jeep.  That okay?"

"That'll be fine."  Michael left the cockpit.

Once they had landed, Michael and Nikita said their good-byes to Dave and the
curiously-silent Sam.  Then, taking the jeep, but not the driver, they set off
to catch the next leg of their journey.  The flight from Guam to Mindanao was
uneventful:  Michael and Nikita both studied Birkoff's New Order and Freedom
League intel and ate what they knew would be their last regular meal for awhile.
Once in Mindanao, they gathered their equipment, and boarded the helicopter that
would take them the last leg of the trip.

The helicopter dropped them off at a point whose only distinction was it was
sufficiently clear for the copter to land.  Now they were on their own.

Their next problem, which they discussed as they trekked, was where to hide the
tracker.  They were sure to be searched, and while the tracker was small, it
wasn't invisible.  Finally, Nikita had an idea, "Could you hide it in my
ponytail?"

Michael examined her hair.  At her request, he had pulled her hair back in to a
ponytail once they had started walking.  "Where would I put it?"

Nikita pointed at the portion of her hair in front of the scrunchy.  "If you
insert it before the tie against my scalp, it should stay in place and not bulge
too much, don't you think?"

Michael examined the tracker and then Nikita's ponytail again.  Yes, it could
work.  The tracker had been wrapped to keep it from being inadvertantly
activated; it should slip into her hair easily enough.  He certainly wouldn't
think of looking there.  He loosened the tie slightly, slid the tracker in
place, and then pushed the tie back.  "Shake your head."  Nikita did so,
vigorously.  Nothing flew out.

"That should work.  I can just barely feel it against my head."

They walked on together, sometimes in silence, sometimes not.  After an hour's
time, they had made it to the New Order attack site.  The New Order retreat line
was pretty easy to make out, so they started off in that direction.

After some time, Michael noticed Nikita was starting to drag.  He found a fallen
tree trunk and convinced her to rest on it.  She motioned for him to sit beside
her.  "Michael, we need to talk about what happens when we are captured."
Nikita knew they couldn't put it off any longer.

"What's there to talk about."  Michael did not want to discuss this subject.

"Michael, you know they're going to 'interrogate' us.  First, how do we make
sure they know New Order was behind the attack?  Obviously, we can't just go
around with 'property of New Order' written on our underwear."

Michael calmed a little bit.  This really did need to be discussed.  "My plan
was for us to maintain silence.  They will probably throw the name New Order out
as a matter of course.  We should allow ourselves to react to that just
slightly.  I think that would be best."

"I agree about the silence part.  Do you want to extend that to the torture
sessions?"  Nikita saw Michael wince, and knew he didn't want to discuss this
with her, and she knew why.  She also knew, however, that they needed to talk
about this *before* it happened.  "Michael, we *need* to be clear with each
other on this!  You know they will try to use one against the other, just like
Red Cell did.  We have to figure out a way to get around that."

Michael knew he couldn't avoid the issue any further.  "I know.  I'm just ... I
just don't know if I can take watching them hurt you."

"I feel the same way.  Remember, I was the one who broke and told Red Cell.
This time, though, I think it will be different."  She paused and gathered her
thoughts.  "This time, no matter what they do to me, I want you to focus on my
love for you -- knowing that no matter what they do, I will love you."

Michael thought he saw what she was driving at.  "We both know better than to
believe anything they say about being lenient if we cooperate.  All right, I
want you to do the same for me -- no matter what they do, remember that I love
you.  We will draw strength from each other to get through this.  Once we are
captured, I want us to maintain strict silence."  He brought her hand up to his
lips.  Then, rising to his feet, he drew her up as well and into his arms.
Knowing this could be the last time, he kissed her until their surroundings
faded away.  Finally breaking away, he traced a finger around her
slightly-bruised mouth and whispered huskily, "There will be no one in our
universe but us -- they can do nothing to us because they do not exist."  He
dropped his hand and backed away.  "Let's go."

They had only walked about twenty minutes, when they heard some rustling ahead.
Hiding themselves in the brush, they saw a group of men heading toward them.
Seeing that one of them had a thermal scanner, Michael knew they would easily be
found.  He motioned to Nikita, and they took off at a jog back along the trail
they had come.  The search party immediately locked on to their position, and
soon Michael and Nikita had been captured.

Michael and Nikita were herded back along the trail they had followed
previously.  Soon they were brought before Kennedy, the base leader, a
hard-looking man with a cruel twist to his lips.

"I don't suppose you'd care to tell me what you were doing out there?"  Twin
blank stares answered him.  "Very well.  Take the girl to a holding cell and the
man to the interrogation room," he motioned to the guards.

When Nikita was dumped into the small cell, she remained motionless until the
waiting guard became bored, and wandered back to his post.  She then removed the
scrunchy from her hair, managing to remove the tracker as well.  Keeping her
hand hidden from the occasional glances of the guard, as well as any video
surveillance, she managed to activate the tracker and hide it a corner of the
cell.  After some additional time spent trying not to think what might be
happening to Michael, she saw him walking/being dragged between two guards.  His
nose was bloody, and one of his eyes was swelling.  It was eerily reminiscent of
their capture by Red Cell.

They opened her cell door, and thrust Michael through.  They then grabbed Nikita
and dragged her out of the cell.  There was only time for a quick exchange of
glances with Michael, but Nikita saw that he was far from finished -- perhaps he
was even faking some of his weakness.  Comforted, she let herself be led away.

Michael noticed that Nikita's hair was down, so he assumed she had been able to
plant the tracker.  He had succeeded fairly well at convincing them he and
Nikita were New Order agents.  He had kept his reactions subtle, but he thought
they had picked up on it.  Their major objectives were complete.  He paced
around the cell a bit, studying it for any weaknesses.  Suddenly, his thoughts
were interrupted by a harsh scream.  It was Nikita.

Kennedy once again came over to her.  "You know, it might make your ordeal here
a little easier if you gave us some information -- perhaps your name, your
organization, their location.  If you don't, I'm afraid you may find your stay
with us to be a trifle ... unpleasant."  Nikita gave him her best Michael stare.
From Birkoff's intel and from her earlier short stay, she knew female captives
were considered "fair game" -- whether she talked or not.

The leader shrugged his shoulders, and motioned for five large "interrogators"
to take over.  They roughly pulled her legs apart and tied her feet to either
side of the table.  Then, one by one, they raped her.  She endured in silence
until the last one.  He was slightly more "creative" than his companions -- as
he forced himself on her, he jammed his thumb into the bullet wound, tearing the
stitches out with the force of his grip.  The pain finally tore a scream from
her throat before mercifully sending her into unconsciousness.

Once they realized she had lost consciousness, one of the interrogators untied
her and threw her over his shoulder.  As Kennedy walked beside him, he took
Nikita back to the cell.

When Michael saw Nikita being carried back to him, it took all of his
self-control not to cry out in rage.  While one of the guards held a gun on him,
the other unlocked the cell, and Nikita was tossed inside like some broken doll.
Michael wasn't able to keep from immediately going over to her, and Kennedy was
intrigued to see the glimpses of some strong emotion being brutally suppressed.
He decided to leave them alone for a bit and see what happened.

Michael carried Nikita over to the bunk and attempted to examine her.  First, he
had to wipe away the blood to judge the extent of her injuries.  Pulling his
t-shirt off, he poured water over it from the bucket of water that had been left
for them.  Washing her shoulder, he winced in sympathy as he saw the torn
stitches.  Then came the hard part.  Being as careful as possible, he gently
washed the blood from her legs and between her legs.  As soon as the cloth began
touching that area, Nikita began to stir.  Fearing he was causing her even more
pain, Michael paused.

Suddenly, Nikita's eyes opened.  She looked wildly around until she saw Michael,
whereupon she relaxed slightly.  Michael looked at her, hoping she would see all
the love he felt, as well as the regret and the anger.  He thought she did,
because she managed to raise her good arm and stroke his face.  While those
watching would not have seen an actual smile, Michael knew she was smiling at
him, saying she would be all right.

He showed her the t-shirt and motioned to her legs.  She nodded and lay back
again.  Keeping his strokes firm enough not to tickle, but still gentle, he
washed away the blood between her legs.  Since the guards had not taken away his
first-aid kit, he was able to rebandage her shoulder to try to stop the
bleeding.  He then covered her with both their jackets and sat beside her,
stroking her face and hair.  She turned her head into his caress and kissed his
palm.

Kennedy decided he'd seen enough.  Taking two thugs with him, he strode up to
the cell.  He was annoyed to see that both operatives were ignoring him.  They
were completely wrapped up in each other.  Well, he would change that!  "Since
you two seemed to miss each other so much, I think we'll let you stay together
this time."  He then had both of them taken to the interrogation room.

This time, Nikita and Michael were strapped into facing chairs.  Figuring Nikita
would break first, Kennedy started in on Michael again.  No matter what he did
however, neither operative made a sound.  They just stared at each other.  It
was really getting on his nerves.  Finally, he decided Nikita just wasn't going
to give in.

"All right.  If that's the way you want to play, now it's your turn," and he
roughly unstrapped Nikita from her chair.  This time, he tied her to a table
that had been tilted up against the wall.  Michael's chair was then positioned
across from her.  One man after another came through to rape Nikita; neither she
nor Michael kept track.  Their focus had narrowed to the other's face -- that
was all that existed for Nikita; that was all Michael allowed himself to think
about.

Eventually however, Nikita's strength gave out, and she became unconscious
again.  At that point, her tormentors ceased their efforts, and Michael and
Nikita were taken back to their cells once more.  As he again washed the blood
from her body, Michael let that small part of his mind that wasn't focused on
the mission or Nikita plot many ... interesting .. things to do to Kennedy and
his followers.

Kennedy was frustrated.  He was positive these two were from New Order; he had
communicated as such to his superiors.  They wanted more information, and so far
he had nothing.  "Murphy!  When is Simmons due back from Hong Kong?"

"Tomorrow, boss.  He's due in at around 1100."

Once Simmons, his chemical interrogation specialist, got back, maybe they could
make some progress.  It was getting late, so he might as well just wait until
morning for any further tries.

Michael saw the guard being changed, and guessed the base was bedding down for
the night.  He would give them a couple of hours to get settled, then he would
make his move.

He managed to make it to the data center *relatively* undetected -- those he
encounterd had been quietly eliminated.  After studying their computer equipment
for a minute, he was able to work his way into their system and download the
information Birkoff was looking for.  He also located the security codes that
would allow him to open the front gates of the base.  Sensing that his time was
starting to run out, he decided it would be better to get Nikita on his way to
the armory, so he stopped back by their cell.  His heart crept up to his throat
when he realized she wasn't alone -- Kennedy was with her.

As he got closer, he began to relax as he realized Kennedy was also unconscious,
gagged, and tied to their bunk.  He lifted his eyebrows in question.

Breaking their silence, Nikita answered, "He had decided to come by and have
some fun of his own.  When he got in the cell, he realized you weren't here, but
I got him before he could raise an alarm."

"What do you want to do with him?"  Michael figured he'd give her the choice.

"How much time do we have?"

"I was going to set the charges to go off in ten minutes.  I could delay that
slightly if you want."

"Do you have a knife?"

"Yeah, I picked one up earlier."  Michael handed her the Bowie knife he had
"acquired" -- its owner having no further use for it.

"Okay.  Come back by here after you set the charges, and I should be done,"
Nikita said in a hard tone.

Michael nodded, and left.  While he would have liked to take his own revenge
against Kennedy, he figured Nikita had the prior claim. Judging by the look on
her face, she would *not* be showing any mercy this time.

After Michael left, Nikita undressed Kennedy and then prodded his face with the
knife until he slowly opened his eyes.  He saw the knife in her hands and
blanched.  Nikita had thought about all the things she wanted to say to this
scum, but remembering how annoyed he had been by her silence, decided that her
silence would be more unnerving to him.

Slowly, she ran the knife down his front leaving a thin trail of blood.  When
she reached his crotch area, she could see his whole body tense up.  When she
drew the knife back up his body, he relaxed slightly.  Suddenly, she whipped the
knife down and castrated him.  As his body tried to jackknife in pain, she slid
the knife across his jugular, killing him.  She then turned to the corner and
threw up.

By staying along the edges of the walls, they were able to get to the gate
undetected.  According to Michael's watch, they had about thirty more seconds
before the charges he had set in the armory exploded.  Sneaking up to the front
gate, he took out the guards there and punched in the security code.  The night
lookout noticed the activity, and started ringing the klaxon.  Before anything
happened, though, a massive explosion rocked the compound.  Michael and Nikita
got away in the confusion.

One of the items Michael had raided was a GPS indicator.  Although he wasn't
thrilled with the idea of trying to navigate through the jungle at night, he was
too worried about the natural and unnatural dangers of being too close to the
compound.  It was a good bet not everyone died in that explosion, and the
survivors would be out for blood.

As they made their way through the dense foliage, Michael became more and more
worried about Nikita.  While she was trying hard to maintain a steady pace, he
could tell she was in pain.  He stopped to let her rest whenever they reached a
clearing, but she was obviously losing strength.  Suddenly, she doubled over in
pain, clutching her abdomen.

"What is it?!"

"I ... don't know.  Feels like a knife in my gut."

Now Michael was getting frantic.  He had to get Nikita to some medical
attention, but how?  "Nikita, we've got about another hour's walk before we
reach our rendezvous point."  Kneeling beside her, he confessed, "I don't know
what else to do.  Can you make it?"

"Whatever it takes, Michael." She flashed him a small grin.

Filled with love and admiration for her bravery, he kissed her forehead. Then,
helping her up, he put his arm under her good shoulder, and helped her along.

When they reached the rendezvous point, Michael was gratified to see the
helicopter already in place.  He had hoped Section might have detected the blast
and sent the helicopter in early.  Getting Nikita aboard, and then climbing in
himself, he asked the pilot to get them back to their base as quickly as
possible.  Once there, the physician's aide (all that the base boasted in
medical care) patched Nikita up as well as he could, but recommended that she
get some real care soon -- he was afraid there might be some internal damage.

Michael was torn.  The closest secure medical facilities were on Guam, but that
would involve explanations he had been trained to avoid having to make.  When he
saw that Dave had managed to wangle permission to pick them up in the supersonic
transport and would be there in thirty minutes, he made his decision:  he would
take Nikita back to Section.

"She was in pretty bad shape -- not life-threatening, at least not yet -- but
still badly hurt.  Essentially, she's got a couple of broken ribs, some internal
injuries, and a lot of internal tearing from her ... experiences.  In addition,
her initial bullet wound got infected, so we're having to deal with that as
well."

"But she will be all right?  Why is she in surgery?"

"The surgery is mainly to repair the tearing.  She'll be fine."

Michael thanked the doctor, and sought his office.  He tried to concentrate on
the debriefing paperwork Madeline had asked for, but it was impossible.  Now
that most of his concern about Nikita had been relieved, the rage he felt was
burning him alive.  With a muttered curse, he gave up, and went to one of the
more private exercise rooms.  He made it even more private with one of his
scramblers.  He changed into a tank top and some shorts and began pummeling the
weight bag.

Operations found him there after an extensive search.  Michael's face was
dripping with sweat, and his knuckles were bruised and bloodied.  Operations
could tell from the slight hitch to Michael's movements that his ribs were
paining him.  When Ops entered the room, Michael immediately turned in a
defensive stance.  Recognizing his visitor, he drew himself up in a form of his
usual quiet stance.  Operations could almost see the effort Michael was making
to appear normal, but his eyes were still dark with rage.

"I'm sure you know you're not supposed to be doing that sort of thing with
cracked ribs; why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

Michael turned back to the bag and began throwing punches again.  "Nothing's
wrong.  I just got back from a mission where my injured partner was brutally
raped and tortured, and I did nothing to help her.  No problem."

"Michael, I know this was difficult for you, but I'm sure you understand it was
vital we ..."

"Stop that @%#*#& crap!  I'm not in the mood for it.  You can't tell me anything
I haven't already told myself.  None of that changes the facts."  Michael had
given up on trying to keep his emotions out of his voice.

"Michael, I know it was hard.  We've all had to stand by ..."

"Oh, really.  Do you *know* what it's like to listen to your wife being raped
and then try to wash the blood off of her?  Do you *know* what it's like to sit
and watch as she is raped over and over again?"  Michael's punches were growing
in ferocity, until he finally lashed out with his leg and kicked the bag so hard
it broke.  The resulting pain in his ribs almost caused him to collapse.

"Your wife?!  You and Nikita are married?"  Operations asked as he helped
Michael up.

"Yes."

"How?"

"Stephen Winter over at the CIA."

"Oh.  My."  Operations could tell Michael was beginning to get himself under
control.  Michael would still carry his guilt around with him, but Nikita was
the one to address that, not someone who felt almost as guilty.  "Listen, the
reason I tracked you down is that since I knew this mission would be so rough on
both of you, I wanted to give you something of a reward when you got back.
Think of it as a belated wedding present."

"What is it?"  Michael's anger was being taken over by curiousity.  Operations
didn't seem that upset at learning he and Nikita were married; maybe there was
hope.

"I decided to give you both some time off together."

"Together?  When, and how long?"

"As soon as Nikita is released from MedLab, and four to six weeks."

"Is it four or six?"

"At least four, after that you're 'on call' for another two."

"How are you going to explain this to Madeline?"

"It may surprise many people around here, but I actually am in charge of
Section, not Madeline."

Michael raised an eyebrow at him, but not saying anything.

"Really.  I know Madeline pretty well after all these years.  I'll handle her."

Michael decided to let it go.  An idea had occurred to him.  "I'm assuming when
you say I would be on call after the fourth week, that I don't have to be on
site, just available?"

"That's correct."

"I'm also assuming that any decision to recall me would factor in how long it
would take me to get to Section from wherever I am?"

Operations could see where this was headed.  "That's right.  Just how far away
were you planning on going?"

"Montana."

"Oh, that's right, you own some property up there."

"I thought I'd show it to Nikita."

"I'm sure that's isolated enough to deflect all but the most important missions.
You *do* have comm equipment there?"

"Yes."

"Well, let me know as soon as you are ready.  I don't plan to mention anything
to Madeline until you are actually gone."

"For what it's worth, I *am* sorry you were put through all of this."

"What -- the surgery?"  Nikita purposefully misunderstood him.  When he glared
at her, she continued, "Oh, *that*.  Actually, the Red Cell torture was worse."

Operations drew closer to her bed.  In deference to her recent experiences, he
had remained just inside the door, in case his presence made her uncomfortable.
Although he watched her intently, he couldn't detect any discomfort as he came
closer to her.  Maybe she wasn't just putting up a front.

"I would've thought being raped would be worse."

"There are a few reasons it isn't for me:  this isn't the first time I've ever
been raped; I've also managed to classify it as just another sort of physical
attack; finally, Michael was there with me.  I know it was hard on him, maybe
even harder than it was for me, emotionally anyway."

"You are certainly taking this more calmly than he is."

"You've spoken to him?  Is he all right?"

"Well, when we spoke, he was in the process of punching the living daylights out
of a weight bag, which isn't generally the ideal exercise for cracked ribs, but
I think he'll be all right now.  I actually came to tell you what I just told
him -- as soon as you are released from MedLab, I giving you both at least four
weeks off."

"Both?  As in together?"  Nikita was astonished.  And suspicious.

"Together.  I figure you both deserve it -- you are going to be almost that long
healing, and I think Michael would like to take care of you."

"Wow!  That's great!"  She was excited -- four whole weeks with Michael and no
Section!

"I'll let you get some rest.  Good-bye, Nikita."

When Operations reached his office again, he made a little mental bet with
himself.  Within ten minutes of his visit to MedLab, Madeline walked, or rather
stalked, into his office.  Suppressing a smile at having won his bet, he turned
to her.  "Yes, Madeline?  Is there something you want?"

"You are actually going to let Nikita and Michael spend four weeks *together*?!
I thought personnel matters were my concern!"  Madeline was ticked.  She had
many plans for Michael and Nikita, but they depended on keeping the two
separate.

"I wasn't aware I had to ask your permission."  Operations lost all desire to
smile.  He had made some decisions about his life in the last few weeks; this
was one of the hardest.

Madeline took a deep breath.  This wasn't going as she had planned.  "I
*thought* you would have consulted me."  He wasn't reacting as he usually did,
and she was having a hard time reading him.  Hmmm.

"I didn't see the need.  Nikita was going to be on inactive status anyway, and I
felt it was important for Michael to be able to do *something* for her."

"But Section policy ..."

"*I* wrote Section policy," he said flatly.  "Look, Madeline, the decision
stands.  It is not your job to keep arguing with me about it.  Your job is to
deal with it."

Madeline was taken aback.  "What do you mean it's my job to deal with it?"

"I mean, I'm tired of having you act as if *you* were the one in charge of
Section, and I was just your little figurehead.  That is going to stop *now*.
You are my executive officer; you report to *me*.  If you can't accept that,
perhaps I should find someone who can."

Now Madeline was getting angry.  "I thought we had arrived at a good working
relationship ... a partnership.  You make it sound like I should be saluting you
or something.  Why the sudden change?"

"You're partly right.  You thought we had a working relationship; I allowed our
past ... emotional ... relationship to affect my working relationship with you.
That is going to change.  You've asked me to restrict myself to a professional
relationship with you, and that's what I'm doing.  I value your talents, and I
respect your insights and advice, but yours is not the final say."

"I still don't see any necessity for change.  You *are* in charge of Section;
I've never questioned that.  I don't understand why you feel this desire to cut
me out of the decision loop."

"I'm not necessarily cutting you out of the loop; I'm simply redefining its
terms.  You will be included in decision-making at *my* discretion.  You are
never again to come bursting into my office giving me orders.  If I don't
consult you on some issue, it means I have a damn good reason not to."

He paused, trying to figure out a way to get through to her.  "You basically
want it both ways, Madeline:  you want me to treat you as I did when I
considered you my partner (in bed and out), but you also want to hold me at
arms' length emotionally.  I can't do that anymore.  As you rightly pointed out,
I nearly killed Michael because I allowed my feelings for you to interfere with
my job.  Likewise, then, I shouldn't allow any feelings I have to affect the way
Section should be run.  That's the reason for the change."

They stood, staring at each other for a long moment.  Finally Operations broke
the silence.  "That will be all, Madeline."  Once she had left, he bowed his
head onto his hands.  Then, giving himself a shake, he went back to his reports.

Nikita looked up at her entrance, smiling slightly -- partly in greeting, partly
in amusement at the drama being played out in front of her.  "Hi, Madeline."

"Hello, Nikita.  How are you feeling?"

"Full of painkillers at the moment.  But the docs say I should be able to go
home in a few days."

"Are you going to have any problems dealing with the multiple rapes?"

"I don't think so.  I haven't experienced any discomfort around any of the men
I've seen so far.  Are you going to have any problems with the four-week leave
Operations just gave Michael and me?"  Nikita decided to sneak that in, just to
see what kind of reaction it would provoke.

Madeline's emotions were unsettled enough that she actually let Nikita see her
surprise that Nikita would ask, and her discomfort with the whole situation.
"How...how did you know I knew about your vacation?"

"It was pretty obvious to me that Ops was setting you up, so when you show up
outside my door, with a bit of a lost expression on your face, I figured that's
what this must be about.  You want to talk about it?"

"Actually, I would, if you don't mind.  I have no idea what is going through his
head right now, and I don't understand what he is doing.  Maybe you can help
me."

"I'm certainly not going anywhere.  What did he say?"

"I had gone in to protest yours and Michael's vacations.  It wasn't like him to
make such a unilateral decision.  He made some remark about not needing to ask
my permission, then when I pointed out it was against Section policy, he said
that *he* wrote Section policy, and it wasn't my concern.  My job, he said, was
to deal with it."  She stopped, still trying to figure out what had been going
on up there.

"And then ...?"

"He said he was tired of my acting as if I ran Section instead of him; he said I
was just his executive officer; he even threatened to find someone else if I
couldn't accept all of that!"  She was becoming indignant again, just thinking
about it.  "I tried to explain that I thought we had worked out a good working
partnership, but he just wouldn't accept that."

"You used to have more than a professional relationship with him, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, in the past.  Recently, he had been trying to start all that up
again, and I wasn't really sure I wanted to be a part of that.  I suppose this
could be some kind of revenge for that ... rejection."

"I'm not sure.  Did you tell him something like you wanted to keep your
interactions restricted to Section?"

"I had told him I thought we should have a professional relationship instead of
a personal one."

"I guess that's what he's doing then: giving you what you asked for."

"Having a professional relationship doesn't mean he should treat me this way!"
Madeline felt like beating her head against the wall.  Why couldn't Nikita
*understand*?

"Okay, Madeline, let's look at this.  You view your position here as roughly on
a par with Operations -- his partner, if you will.  Is that right?"

"I think that's a fair description, yes."

"Unfortunately, I don't think *Operations* views your position that way.  Just
as importantly, neither does the Agency."

"What makes you say that?"

"Let's look at just the facts of the situation.  First, when Operations went
down, and Petrosian took over, he *replaced* you."

"Well, yes, but Egran was ..."

"It doesn't matter!  The Agency let him replace you.  Next, now that Petrosian
is gone (I hope he's gone, anyway), I'm assuming that your name is *not* on the
list were Operations to go down again.  Is that correct?"

Madeline was beginning to see Nikita's point.  Funny, she had never thought
about her situation from this perspective before.  "Yes, that's correct."

"Now for my final argument:  does Operations have the authority to cancel you
without having to get permission from anyone else?"

"Yes, he does."

"If that doesn't tell you something, I don't know what would.  You're not in the
chain of command, and he can cancel you on a whim.  You should probably be glad
he considers you his exec, even if you aren't technically."  Nikita paused as
she saw Madeline trying to come to grips with this new interpretation.  "After
your...personal... relationship with Operations ended, I think he was just in
the habit of treating you as a partner.  That continued until you forced him to
reevaluate matters after your abduction.  I'm guessing he finally decided to
stop hoping for any other kind of relationship with you, and so he figured it
was time to put your professional relationship on a more normal footing -- as he
saw it, anyway."

"I guess that makes sense.  If I now know what my position is *not*, I only wish
I knew more what my position is.  What he expects from me."

"I may have something that could help you.  How much do you know about
Operations' military service?"

"I...assumed...he had served in the military, but I don't really know many
details.  He never talked about it to me."

"Suffice it to say, I know a little more than that.  One significant aspect of
that was he was in a Vietnamese POW camp for some time."  Nikita paused to think
of the best way to explain her possession of this information.  "Because of a
mission Operations gave me, I found out some things about his background.  After
that, I got curious, and did a little research on my own.  I did some interviews
of some of the men who were imprisoned with Operations.  I'd like you to read
one of the transcripts."

"Does Operations know about your research?"

"Yes, I told him.  The transcript I want you to read has been edited.  It's an
interview I conducted with the man who was Operations' executive office in the
POW camp.  I think you'll find it interesting."

Nikita stopped as one of the orderlies came through to check on her.  Once he
was gone, she continued, "To paraphrase something you once told me: Somehow I
don't think it's the change in status you're having a problem with."

"I think you're going to have to make a decision, Madeline.  One Operations
thinks you've already made, but I have my doubts.  Is a professional
relationship all you want from *Marcus*?"

Madeline started at Nikita's use of Operations' name.  She opened her mouth to
give an automatic answer, but then closed it as the meaning of Nikita's question
impacted her.

"You don't have to give me answer, Madeline.  In fact, I'd rather you didn't
just yet.  Before you make that decision, you'd better realize something: no
matter what you decide, Operations probably won't change his mind on your status
in Section.  Don't think you can manipulate him into doing otherwise, he's going
to be on his guard."

"Why don't you agree with Operations that I have already made this 'decision'?"

"You forget, I *saw* you fighting for his life when Petrosian had him shot.
Those didn't seem to be the actions of someone who was just being a good little
subordinate -- you *cared*."  She paused.  "Whether you care *enough*, I can't
really say."  She paused again.  "Look, I'm starting to wear down here.  Why
don't you read that transcript I mentioned, and think about what I've said?"

"How do I get that transcript?"

"Ask Michael to show you a file called OPSEXEC.  It's on his terminal."

"Michael knows about your research?"

"I just showed him some of the edited versions."  Nikita was finding it harder
and harder to stay awake.

Madeline saw Nikita's exhaustion and gave in.  "All right.  Rest now.  I'm sure
I'll talk to you later."  She turned and walked toward the door.  Before she
left, she called back over her shoulder, "And Nikita ... thank you."

As the doors closed behind her, Nikita answered, "You're welcome, Madeline."

He stood outside the doors to MedLab looking in at the peacefully sleeping
figure of his wife.  As if his thoughts had summoned her, she stirred and looked
out at him.  He entered the room and stood by her bed.  He lightly ran his hand
along the side of her face, relieved that she showed no signs of flinching or
uneasiness at his presence.

"How are you feeling?" he asked in a husky voice.

"Kinda wiped out, at the moment.  How are you?  Operations said you were
rather...upset."

Michael almost responded with a "I'm fine" out of habit, but decided to be
honest for once.  "I'm still angry.  Angry at Section for putting you in that
position, angry at Freedom League for what they did to you, and angry at myself
that I could do so little to protect you."

"Oh, Michael, I wouldn't have made through all of that if it weren't for you."
She tried to convey with her eyes all the things she couldn't say under
surveillance.  She saw from his expression that he understood.

"I'd better let you go back to sleep.  I'll check in on you later."  Then,
despite the watching cameras, he bent down and lightly kissed her forehead.

"Bye, Michael."

Michael had taken her home and instructed her to *think about* (not actually
pack because he wanted her to rest) what she would need for a month in the
mountains.  "We're going to the mountains?"

"If that's okay.  I have a house in Montana where I thought we could stay."

And here they were.  Michael had rescued their luggage from the clutches of the
airline, and was standing in front of a rental car counter.  She still felt a
little guilty that most of the luggage was hers, but Michael had said that he
didn't need to bring any clothes because he always kept some at the house.  She
was rather surprised to hear Michael request a jeep as a rental car, but that
sounded like fun, too.  Finally, all of the necessary paperwork had been signed,
and they were on their way.

As they started up I-90, Nikita exclaimed over and over about the beauty of the
mountains and the surrounding forests.  Finally, she asked one of the questions
she had been wondering ever since yesterday, "Michael, why didn't we leave
yesterday after I was released from MedLab?"

"I wanted to build a bit of a cover for us.  Even though Operations gave us this
time together, I didn't think he wanted us to advertise the fact.  He and I came
up with a fake recon mission that he assigned to me this morning.  This way,
we're not seen as leaving Section together."

"Oh.  I had wondered how Operations was going to pull that off.  Cool."  Now she
could ask the other question.  "How did you end up buying a house out here in
Montana?"

"It's rather a long story..."

"I'm not going anywhere -- at least not without you."

"About four years ago, we rescued a scientist who had been captured and tortured
by ... I think it was Rising Sun.  Anyway, he wanted to relocate and build a new
identity for himself.  Section was willing to underwrite the costs, but he
didn't want to accept 'charity' as he put it.  Finally, he agreed to sell me
this property in exchange for my work putting together his new identity.  At
first, I had planned to dispose of it the first chance I had -- what did I need
a house in Montana for? -- but when he took me out here to show it to me, I fell
in love with the place.  I haven't come out here as often as I'd like, but I
come when I can.  It's very...peaceful...here."

"And Section hasn't given you any grief over it?"

"Oh, they tried.  Finally, I challenged Birkoff to pinpoint my house's location.
He knows where the property lines are, but this place is remote enough that I
don't have an address, as such.  He tried for a week, off and on, one time while
I was up here, and he never located it.  He still hasn't.  That reassured
Operations and Madeline enough that they let it go."

"He couldn't detect it even using infrared?"  Nikita was astonished.  Usually
Birkoff could spy out any location he desired using the various military
satellites.

"You'll see, once we get to the house.  Jim, the man I 'bought' it from, wanted
a design that would be energy-efficient and would't suffer too much from
exposure to the elements.  So he built his house *into* the mountain.  Now it so
happens, that the features that make it energy-efficient, also make it very hard
to detect, even using infrared."

"Wow."  Nikita fell silent, drinking the gorgeous scenery around her (in and out
of the car).

After another hour's drive, Michael exited the highway and drove down the main
street of a very small town.  Pulling into a small grocery store, he turned off
the engine, and got out of the jeep.  Going around to Nikita's side, he opened
her door and helped her down so she wouldn't jar her ribs.

"We need to pick up some supplies.  Do you want to come inside with me, or do
you want to wander around a bit?"

"I'll come with you."

Nikita enjoyed grocery-shopping with Michael.  He obviously knew exactly what he
wanted, but he included her in on the decision-making process on a number of
items -- what type of cookies she wanted, did she think that was a good cut of
meat, etc.  Soon, they had their selections paid for, and with a friendly wave
from the nice check-out lady, they were off again.

Michael drove the jeep out of the town onto an even smaller road.  After another
few minutes, he turned off the road onto what might charitably be called a
trail.  After instructing her to hang on, he took the jeep seemingly straight up
the mountain.

Nikita was greatly relieved when the path started to level out a bit.  Finally,
they reached a sort of plateau where Michael stopped the jeep and set the brake,
but kept the engine running.

"I'll be right back," he called as he got out.

Nikita saw him walk over to a metal post that was slightly hidden from the road
-- she wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't been walking toward it.  Michael
lifted a cover plate on the pole and pressed his thumb against the pad there.
Closing the cover plate again, he returned to the jeep.

"You've installed *some* security devices, at least."

"A few.  That one doesn't do anything drastic; if a vehicle passes by without a
proper ID, it simply notifies the house of the upcoming visitor.  Just in case
it's merely a friendly neighbor.  I'll 'introduce' you to the security system
once we get to the house."

Nikita wanted to ask additional questions about his security system and his
house, but Michael had already started the jeep back up, and the path was no
longer level.  She decided she really didn't want to take a chance on
distracting Michael.  Finally, the trail leveled off again.  After a few more
twists and turns, Michael pulled the jeep to a stop at the base of a mountain.
Pointing his finger up the mountain, he directed Nikita's eye to a structure
that had been built into the rock face.

"Oh, Michael!  It's beautiful!"  Whoever Jim had been, he had certainly been a
gifted designer.  In addition to a comfortably-sized, shaded front porch, the
house's main features were its windows.  Almost the entire front of the house
was covered in them, including a bank of windows rising above the porch acting
as skylights.

"Jim wanted to insure that even though the house extended back into the
mountain, there was plenty of natural light.  The windows are double-paned, so
there is very little energy loss, even in winter.  He had the house built so
high up because he was worried about snow drifts in winter.  I like it because
it makes it that much easier to defend.  He also built it high because of the
view," and turning Nikita around, he showed her what the house overlooked.

"Your very own lake?!"  A pristine-looking, sparkling blue lake stretched out
before her.  Surrounded on all sides by the trees and the mountains, it was
small, but perfect.

"It's too small to appear on most maps, but it's fed by an underground river
that also provides us with our drinking water.  C'mon, I'll take you up to the
house."

He led her over to some steps that had been cut into the rock.  At the base of
the hand rail, Michael lifted another cover plate.  Pressing his thumb against
the contact pad, he waited until the indicator light turned green.  "That's my
first check-in point.  If anyone has tried breaking in the house, it would flash
red."  He motioned her to precede him up the stairs.  "They're a little steep,
so I'd rather be behind you, just in case."

Nikita was enchanted with the porch.  The rock base had been covered with boards
to make an even floor.  She could just picture sitting out here with Michael
watching the sun go down over the mountains.  The inside of the house was just
as cozy.  The front room had been constructed to take full advantage of the
light and the view.  A fireplace had been built along one wall of the room, the
kitchen was off to the other.  Along the back of the room, the rock had been
kept in its natural state.  It was definitely a masculine room, with dark
fabrics and fairly heavy furniture, but the room felt comfortable to her.

While Michael brought up their baggage and packages (all he had let her carry
was her purse), Nikita explored the rest of the unusual structure.  The bedrooms
(there were two) were smallish, but decent-sized.  The biggest surprise was the
two-person jacuzzi tub in the bathroom.  There was another room at the very back
whose door was closed, but before Nikita could investigate, Michael had brought
up the first load of groceries, so she busied herself putting things away in the
compact kitchen.

The first two nights she had done this, he had woken her up, but she didn't
remember what the nightmare was about.  Last night, he had tried not to wake
her, but her obvious pain had been too much.  Tonight, he had decided to try to
alleviate the pain without waking her.  So far, so good.

Suddenly, Nikita bolted upright, screaming, "No!!  Don't take him away!"  She
stopped, panting.

Michael sat up beside her, studying her face in the dim light from the
bathroom's nightlight.  She seemed to be awake, but tears were streaming down
her face, and she seemed to be staring off into the distance.

"Nikita?" he whispered.

"Michael?"  She turned and stared at him.  "Oh, Michael!  I thought you were
gone!"  She essentially fell on him, trying to get as close as she could.

His arms automatically closed around her, trying to shift her to a more
comfortable position for her ribs.  Finally, he had her positioned in his lap as
he rested his back against the pillows.  Slowly, he stroked her hair, trying to
calm her down.  He could feel the racing of her heart against his chest, and it
worried him.

"Do you remember the nightmare, love?  What scares you so?"

She sat in silence for several moments.  "I remember it.  It starts out as a
replay of the rapes in Mindanao.  Then Madeline walks in.  She unties you from
your chair, and when you try to come to me, she pulls you out of the room.  Then
I'm left with them, and they go on and on and ..." she broke off.

Michael held her in silence, trying to find the right words.  "Why do you think
I went with Madeline?"

A thoughtful look came over her face.  "Hmmm, I hadn't thought of that angle.  I
would guess she threatened my cancellation -- which is pretty dumb while I'm in
the middle of being raped, but still...  I think you *wanted* to come to me, but
Maddie had some kind of hold over you."  She tilted her head up to look him in
the eyes.  "*Does* she have some kind of hold over you?"

"Based on your current rapport with Operations, I doubt Madeline would try
anything so overt to separate us, but your life is only bargaining chip I know
Madeline possesses."  He paused and drew a deep breath.  "I don't think it's
really Madeline you're worried about.  You're scared about us...our
relationship."

Nikita drew in upon herself.  Michael's words had touched something deep inside
her.  Yes, she was afraid.  She had never been happier in her life than she was
with him right now, and she was terrified that something would happen.

Michael saw the fear in her eyes and knew he had struck home.  "What are you
afraid of, my heart?"

"I think ..."  Nikita paused to collect her thoughts.  "I trust you, Michael.  I
know that, crazy though it sounds, you'll always come for me.  You won't abandon
me.  I tell myself that your actions certainly prove you would choose me over
Section.  But in my heart, I'm afraid that if it came down to it, you would make
some excuse to yourself and that would be that."  Her voice broke.  "I'm sorry,
Michael."  She knew what she said had to hurt him.

He tightened his arms around her.  "I can't blame you for those fears, my love,"
he whispered huskily.  "I have them myself.  The promise I made not to lie to
you anymore was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but it may have been
the best thing.  It forced me to stop rationalizing things.  Reasons that
sounded perfectly fine in my head sounded differently when I knew I would have
to tell them to you.  My promise to you made me realize how much Section had
invaded my thinking.  I'm afraid it would be so easy to slip back into that
mode.  One little lie, for perfectly good reasons of course; then another, then
another."  He pulled away from her enough to look into her face in the dim
light.  "You brought me back to life, Nikita, and I am terrified of dying
again."  He buried his face against her neck.

After a few moments, he lifted his head again.  Drawing a deep breath, he said,
"You hold my heart.  You also hold my loyalty.  I will *not* allow Section to
tear us apart!" he continued fiercely.  "I know it may be hard for you to accept
after our last mission, but I will protect you all I ..." He stopped as Nikita
put her fingers over his mouth.

"I know that mission wasn't your preference, love.  I don't blame you -- I don't
even blame Section -- for what Freedom League did to me.  I was their best shot,
and they took it.  I also don't ask you to abandon your duty for me.  You
wouldn't be the man I loved if you could stand by and watch innocents die that
you could have saved.  There's an old quote I found the other day, 'I would have
loved you less had I loved not honor more.'  I thought of you when I read that."

She reached up and held his face between her hands.  "I will trust in your
honor, love.  That your fear of losing yourself in Section again will outweigh
any temptation to avoid telling me hard truths.  My only remaining fear would be
that Section would split us up."

"I will not let them take you from me!"

"Michael.  How would you stop them?  You couldn't stop them before."  Nikita
hated to bring up Simone, but she knew it was something they had to face.

"How so?"

"You and I are a better team than Simone and I were.  She was a good operative,
certainly, but we didn't mesh that well in the field.  I think my plan to
establish our worth to Section has worked very well.  Just as important, if not
more so, your plan (whatever it was) to reach Operations has certainly been
successful."

"You think so?"

"I am positive.  He deeply regretted sending you to Mindanao.  Granted, he still
did it, but a lot of the coldness seems to be gone.  There have probably been
more rescue missions in the last three months than in the last three years!
That sort of thing affects the whole atmosphere in Section.  Your plan could
have some far-reaching positive consequences.  Operations is another one who, I
would guess, doesn't want to go back to the old life either."

He gave her a long, deep kiss.  When he drew back, he looked in her eyes again.
"I don't know how you did it, but the man who came to me when I was enraged over
what you had been put through, that man was not the Operations I had known since
I joined Section.  He felt almost as much guilt as I did; he knew the pain I was
feeling.  That man would not harm *us*."

Nikita opened her mouth to speak, thought for a second, and then went on, "I was
going to ask, 'What about Madeline?' but I think I already know the answer."

"She certainly seemed unusually subdued before we left."

"Remember when I said I would work on Operations first, and then sic him on
Madeline?"

"I remember."

"I think Operations may have jumped ahead of me.  From a conversation Madeline
and I had, Operations gave her a pretty severe dressing-down for objecting to
our vacation."  She told him about her little "counseling session" with
Madeline.  "I guess we'll have to see how it falls out."  She yawned.  "I can't
say I'm never going to have that nightmare again, but I think you've cured the
major symptoms.  Let's go back to sleep."

Michael gently removed Nikita from his lap and lay down again.  Being especially
careful of her ribs, he pulled her close against him as he lay on his back.  She
snuggled up against him and rested her head on his shoulder.  He kissed first
her forehead, then her lips.  "Good night, love."

"G'night, Michael.  I love you."

"I love you, too."

And they slept.

"My ribs are just fine, love."  She moved her hips over his, and smiled as he
groaned.  "I want to feel you inside me," she whispered huskily.  "I've missed
you."

He pulled her nightshirt over her head.  Still being careful of the bandages
around her ribs, he drew her up his body until he could kiss her breasts.  He
then gently rolled her over until she was lying on her back.  He stripped off
her underwear, but stopped her when she reached for his pajama bottoms.  "No,
love.  Not yet.  Let me ... relax ... you first."  This would be their first
time to make love after the rapes, and he wanted to be sure she was truly
comfortable with him.

Slowly, he caressed her; everywhere he remembered one of them touching her, he
kissed.  The sight of her still-healing shoulder brought tears to his eyes as he
kissed around the bandage.  Then, using his fingers as well as his mouth, he
approached the place where she had been hurt most.  When she stiffened, he
stopped, afraid of hurting her.  Her hands in his hair soon encouraged him to
proceed, as he realized she had stiffened from want, not fear.  Soon, he could
hear her breaths coming more rapidly, until finally she screamed out his name.
Slowly, still so slowly, he kissed his way back up her body.

Nikita pushed him over onto his back.  She got those pesky pajama bottoms off of
him, and stared at him like a kid in a candy store.  As he had done for her, she
kissed and caressed his body.  He was definitely not lying passively through
this, and soon both of them were breathing heavily.  Finally, they could wait no
longer, and holding her by her hips, Michael brought her down on top of him.
Their bodies moved in perfect time, until nothing existed in their universe but
the other.  They were one.

"So, is there anything you'd like to do today?" Michael asked as they ate.  The
table was set up on the porch, so they could look out over the lake and the
trees.  The first couple of days they had been here, Nikita had still been too
weak to get about much.  Yesterday, Michael had given her a tour of the house,
including the locked room.  It contained his more valuable items -- his
woodworking tools, the laptop he kept here -- as well as several shelves of
books.  It also contained the concealed entrance to the small room that housed
his security system and communication setup.  Michael had "introduced" Nikita to
the system, and showed her where everything was.

"Is there a way to walk around that lake?"

"Yes, there is a trail that goes around it.  Are you sure you feel up to it?"

"I think so, as long as we take it slow."

"All right."  Michael began clearing the table. "Why don't you pack us a lunch
so we can stop somewhere and have a picnic?"

"That would be great."

Michael washed the dishes while Nikita dried them.  Without really doing much
talking about it, they had easily fallen into a comfortable routine -- whoever
cooked, the other washed.  Sometimes, Michael or Nikita would just stop in
wonder at their situation.  This wasn't "playing house" as they had done for the
Armel mission; they were actually on a vacation together as husband and wife
with no Section surveillance in sight.  They could say whatever they wanted, do
whatever they wanted.

As Nikita put away the last of the dishes, Michael came up behind her and
wrapped his arms gently around her waist, kissing the side of her neck.  She
pressed herself back against him, and was rewarded by hearing his breath catch.
His hands drifted up from her waist to her breasts in retaliation;
unconsciously, she began to move her body against his.

"If we keep this up, we'll never make it out of the house today," he whispered
into her ear, enjoying her slight shivers as he spoke.

Nikita turned in his arms to face him.  "There's always tomorrow, love.  The
lake will still be there."  She was surprised to feel him stiffen, and see a
slightly shocked look come over his face.  "What is it, Michael?"

"It's just so odd -- we have to live so much in the present, you and I.  I've
never allowed myself to think about our future, just today."  His eyes glistened
with unshed tears.  "I feel like I'm living one of my dreams -- holding you in
my arms, waking beside you each morning -- that I keep expecting to wake up.
The thought that this once, I can plan for tomorrow with you, and even the
tomorrow after that, is at once both overwhelming and terrifying to me."

"I can understand the overwhelming part -- I feel that, too -- but terrifying?"

"I'm afraid it could be habit-forming, and that could be fatal.  I know that
after this time is over, we have to go back to Section and fit back into our
roles there.  How will I be able to go back behind my walls, look at you only as
another operative, send you out into life-threatening situations?"

"Michael, from the gossip I've overheard, you've *never* looked at me as only
another operative, and whenever you've sent me into life-threatening situations,
you've always brought me home.  I trust you, Michael.  You're too good at your
job to fail at this."

He rested his forehead against hers.  "You have more faith in me than I do."

"I think I always have."  She gave him a hard, quick hug.  "Now, do you want to
shower while I pack the lunch?"

He gave her a gentle hug in return, always careful of her healing ribs.  "No,
actually, I need to cut some more firewood, or we won't be able to have a fire
in the fireplace tonight."

Eventually they both got cleaned up and dressed for their hike.  When Nikita was
packing (or rather when Michael was packing for Nikita), he insisted she bring
her good, Section-issued, hiking boots, and she was glad she had.  She also wore
an old pair of jeans and a tank top, although she carried a long-sleeved shirt
in case they had to go through some brush.

Michael's clothes were the biggest surprise.  Nikita had been amazed to see not
one scrap of black in his closet.  Since they had been there, he had worn jeans
or shorts and t-shirts.  Right now, he was wearing a long-sleeved chambray shirt
and jeans.  Nikita was really glad the other women in Section couldn't see them
right now, or she would've been lynched on the spot!

The scenery was as beautiful as she had expected.  The trail wasn't always
directly alongside the lake, so sometimes they were walking through a thicket of
tall trees.  She could hear birds overhead, and various rustlings of animals
around her.

"Oh, Michael, this is so beautiful!  Thank you for bringing me here."

He looked over at her and smiled.  He had thought he would never smile again
after Simone, but it was easy to smile at Nikita, with her love shining in her
face and her obvious happiness.  The smile vanished at her small wince as some
movement she made jarred her sore ribs.  Again, the rage filled him at what
Freedom League -- and Section -- had done to her.

Nikita saw his expression change, and guessed at the cause.  "Love, I know
you're upset that I was hurt, but honestly, I'm getting better."

"You are my wife.  I should have been able to protect you better."

Nikita held his face between her hands and forced him to look at her.  She saw
the mixture of rage, pain, and shame in his eyes.  "You are my husband.  I
should have been able to protect *you* better."  He started and tried to pull
away.  "No, hold still.  Don't you think *I* was angry at them for what they did
to you?  Remember, I had to watch while they beat you up, too.  I could have
stopped them, but I didn't."

"You couldn't have ..."

"Yes I could!  If I had 'cracked', they would've believed it -- I'm just a
'weak' woman.  I could've fed them all sorts of data on New Order, and they
would have stopped beating you.  Yes, they would still have raped me and
probably killed me, but I could have saved *you*.  You think that doesn't eat
away at me?"

"Why didn't you?"  Michael had been so caught up in his own pain, he hadn't
really considered the matter from Nikita's point of view.

"Because I knew our original plan was still our best shot at getting everything
and getting free.  If I had 'cracked' it's possible they might have killed us
then instead of waiting for their interrogation expert to return.  I had to keep
reminding myself of that while they beat you and punched you, and ..." her voice
broke.  Michael put his arms around her and held her close.  She took a deep
breath and continued.  "I'll make you a deal, Michael: you stop beating yourself
up over what happened to me, and I'll stop beating myself up over what happened
to you.  Deal?"  She looked up into his eyes, letting him see the shame that she
still felt.

Michael finally realized that by hanging on to what had been done to her, he was
constantly reminding her of what had been done to him.  "Deal," he told her
huskily.  "I'm sorry for not letting it go sooner, my heart.  I was only looking
at it from my perspective.  I hadn't realized how much you were hurting."  He
looked up and saw that they had stopped in a small clearing next to the lake.
"Does this look like a good place to stop?"

"Yes.  I'm hungry!"  Nikita smiled up at him.

As was usual for these things, nothing much needed his input, but he liked to
keep current on active missions.  One summary that did surprise him was a plan
to take down a medium-sized gunrunning operation in Europe.  Calling up the
mission profile, he discovered they were about to sell a major shipment to a
fringe IRA group that was trying to sabotage the new peace accords.  One team
had been sent out to gather intel on the gunrunners' base, but contact had been
lost, and they were presumed captured.

Thinking a minute, he remembered a contact of his that had dealt with this group
before.  Contacting the man on his cell phone, he arranged for him to upload
plans of the base to Section's secure FTP site.  He then e-mailed Birkoff that
the plans were en route.

Scrolling through the rest of the summaries, he saw one that Birkoff had
highlighted.  Curious, he read further.  A satisfied smile appeared on his face
as he read that Birkoff had been able to use some of the Freedom League data
Michael had obtained to wipe out their bank accounts.  Most of the money had
been transferred into Section's coffers -- covert operations had to be financed
too, and this was less of a burden on the taxpayers -- but Michael was amused to
see that Operations had authorized an anonymous donation of five hundred
thousand dollars to the Salvation Army and the same amount to the American Red
Cross. "More of Nikita's doing," Michael thought to himself.  As if the thought
had conjured her, he heard her come in the room.

"What 'cha up to, Michael?"

"Just checking on things at Section."  He smiled at her look of confusion.  He
told her of his arrangement with Birkoff.  He then told her about Birkoff's raid
on the Freedom League finances.  She gave him a matching evil grin.  "That bank
raid might actually do them more harm than a physical one."

"You think so, Michael?"

"It could.  Since Freedom League has been a global operation, they decided to
centralize their finances.  The intel we got out of Mindanao contained all of
the keys Birkoff needed to wipe out their main account.  They can't pay their
people, and more importantly, they can't pay their suppliers."

"And those types of bill collectors take care of the problem *permanently*,
right?"

"Exactly.  Some of them may settle for confiscating equipment, but I'm sure
quite a few of them may retaliate with more ... prejudice.  It should be
interesting to see the fallout."

"Cool.  Anything else interesting?"

"Not really."  Michael got up to start working on supper.

After eating, they spent the evening in the living room.  Michael had encouraged
Nikita to bring anything she had wanted to read or work on to occupy their time.
At first, she had been a little shocked, but then she had realized, that for
once, they didn't have to steal time to be with each other.  She was going to
spend four weeks with Michael in an isolated house, with only themselves for
amusement -- and she had broken ribs.  Of course, they were going to need
something to occupy themselves with from time to time!

Nikita had considered bringing her wire scuplture materials, but while the raw
materials were easy to pack, the finished (or unfinished) products were not.  So
she brought her other project.  She had been wandering around a craft store,
just killing time, when she was captivated by a particular quilt that was on
display.  The design consisted on interlocking rings and lines in what she was
beginning to recognize as a Celtic design.  She soon learned this was called
"Celtic applique", and she managed to find a book on how to do it.

She had made one small piece to see if she could and if she liked doing it.
When the answer was "Yes" to both questions, she began working on larger pieces.
Her current project was going to be a mat for a picture she had bought.  It was
very portable, and all she required was some good lighting.

Michael did woodworking.  Sometimes he whittled, sometimes he carved wood.  He
had the equipment to do large pieces -- in fact, he had made the frames of some
of furniture in the room.  Right now, he was working on a frame for Nikita's
picture.  He had seen what she was working on, and he was also fascinated by the
interlocking designs.  When she told him it was for a picture she was going to
hang, he had asked if she already had a frame in mind.  When she said no, he
decided to make her one.  She gave him the measurements, and he got to work.

His worktable was set up in a corner of the living room, near Nikita.  Both of
them liked to concentrate on their work, but didn't mind the occasional break
for conversation.  They also liked to listen to music while they worked, and
some good-natured teasing went on as they argued over what to play next -- from
Nikita's Sarah MacLachlan to Michael's Genesis or Police albums.

At first, both of them had felt awkward, "wasting" time like this.  Gradually,
they realized this was almost as special as if they had spent the time making
love -- these activities allowed them to pretend that they had a normal life
together.

Their days had settled into a quiet routine -- after breakfast, they would hike
together through the surrounding woods, with Michael increasing the distance
each day to allow Nikita to build up her strength.  They would spend the
afternoon either doing the few chores the house required or just sitting on the
porch, talking or remaining quiet as the mood struck.  The evenings were devoted
to working or reading, their nights to making love, although they were still
restricted by Nikita's healing ribs.

At first, Michael had been worried that they would grow bored spending so much
time together -- what if their relationship *was* merely based on physical
attraction and the lure of the forbidden?  As the days passed, when he stopped
to think about it, he realized he needn't have worried.  It was enough that they
were together.

"Michael, could we have a fire outside tonight?"  Nikita broke in on his
musings.

"If you like.  Any particular reason?"

"I want to roast those marshmellows we picked up the other day!  Also, I think
it would be fun just to sit out under the stars with you."  Nikita had an
additional plan in mind, but decided not to mention it yet.

"All right.  I'll get the wood together.  Why don't you get the tarp and some
pillows?"

"Okay."

Soon, Michael had a good-sized fire going on the small strip of grass between
the house and the lake.  He came back inside where Nikita had gathered the tarp,
the marshmellows, and was pouring some tea into a thermos.  He went into the
back room and came out carrying a thick book.  He took the supplies from her and
gave her the book to carry.  Together, they made their way back down to the
lake.

He spread out the tarp, positioned the pillows, and set out the other supplies.
Michael had found some wire to use for the marshmellows, and soon they were
enjoying the special sweet taste of roasted marshmellows, and laughing at the
ones that burnt or fell into the flames.  When they had eaten their fill, Nikita
poured them each a cup of tea, and she leaned back against him as they relaxed.

Michael picked up the book and positioned himself so that he had enough light
from the fire to read, without disturbing Nikita's position.

"Why did you want to bring the book?"  Nikita looked and saw it was a collection
of Edgar Allan Poe stories and poems.

"I thought it would be nice to read aloud out here.  I've always liked Poe, and
he seemed appropriate for a campfire story.  Do you have a favorite Poe story,
love?"

Nikita thought for a minute.  She didn't remember much of Poe from school, but
what she did seemed creepy enough for a good campfire ghost story.  "Wasn't
there some story about one guy walling up another in his basement or something?"

"Oh.  I think you're describing 'The Cask of Amontillado'.  Does that sound
familiar?"

"Yeah.  That sounds like the name.  Is that okay?"

"That's one of my favorite stories."  He found the story and settled down to
read.  "All right.  'The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne ...."

Nikita moved her head down to Michael's lap.  The language was a little archaic,
but Michael read well, and she could see the story unfolding in her mind's eye.

Nikita gave a little shiver.  "Ooh, that was a *good* story."  She sat up, and
gave Michael a kiss.  "Do you have a story you'd like me to read?  Fair's fair."

He smiled, handed her the book, and rested his head on her lap.  "How about 'The
Tell-Tale Heart'?  That's a good one."

Nikita found it in the table of contents, and turned to the story.  "I'm not
sure I can read it as well as you did, but here goes:  'True! -- nervous --
very, very dreadfully nervous I had been ...." she read on, getting caught up in
the story as she went.

Michael listened with half an ear.  He knew the story almost by heart, and while
it was refreshing to hear it in a new context, the most fascinating thing was
watching Nikita read the story for the first time.  He enjoyed watching the play
of emotions across her expressive face.  The story *was* a creepy one,
especially when the narrator described his efforts to hide his murder.

"... First of all I dismembered the corpse.  I cut off the head and the arms and
the legs."

Michael was amused at the look of fascinated horror that crossed Nikita's face
as she read this.  Finally, the story came to its conclusion.

"'... it is the beating of his hideous heart!'"  Nikita finished.  "Whew!  I
wonder if Madeline studied Poe?"

"I'm sure she did."  Michael sat up again and gave her a more thorough kiss.
"Have you ever read any of his poetry?"

Nikita struggled to think after his kiss.  "Uh...no, I don't think so.  I mean,
I've *heard* of 'The Raven' -- you know, 'Nevermore', and stuff, but I don't
think I've ever read any."

"I have a couple of favorites I'd like to read you.  All right?"

"Sure!"

He started out with "The Raven", since it was one of Poe's most famous poems.
Then he moved on to one of his favorites, "Annabel Lee", and finally, ended up
with one he especially associated with Nikita, "Eulalie":

I dwelt alone
In a world of moan,
And my soul was a stagnant tide,
Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride --
Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride.

Ah, less -- less bright
The stars of night
Than the eyes of the radiant girl!
And never a flake
That the vapor can make
With the moon-tints of purple and pearl,
Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curl --
Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless curl.

Now Doubt -- now Pain
Come never again,
For her soul gives me sigh for sigh,
And all day long
Shines, bright and strong,
Astarte within the sky,
While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye --
While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.

As her dress came off, she jumped up and walked toward the edge of the lake.  As
Michael watched in some astonishment, she took off her underwear, and calmly
walked into the water.  When she was about waist-deep, she turned around and
faced him.  His breath caught as he saw his wife standing nude before him, the
firelight causing her reflection to ripple in the water surrounding her.

He hurriedly stripped off his clothes, and walked out to join her.  He lifted
her up out of the water solely for the pleasure of letting her slide down his
body.  He carried her farther out into the lake until the water was level with
their shoulders.  Then, he lifted her up, and as her legs wrapped around his
back, he lowered down upon himself.  The buoyancy of the water gave their
lovemaking an almost other-worldly quality, and the slight chill of the water
contrasted with the heated flush of their skin.

Finally, they were exhausted.  Gently carrying her in his arms, Michael walked
back out of the water, kissing her as they went.  He laid her down upon the
tarp, and added more fuel to the fire.  He lay down beside Nikita and covered
them both with the blanket he had also brought down.  Holding her in his arms,
they slept.

On the last night of their four weeks, they walked down to the lake shore
without speaking.  As Michael built the fire, Nikita spread out the tarp, the
pillows, and the blanket.  They fed each other roasted marshmellows as usual,
but much more slowly as if trying to slow down time itself.  Eventually, they
could eat no more, so Nikita settled back against Michael, curious to see what
his reading choice was for this night.  She was rather startled to see that he
had brought a Bible down with him.

"A Bible, Michael?"

"There's a section I wanted to read to you."  Michael had bookmarked his place
earlier, and now he turned to it.  "It's from the Song of Solomon.  I'm not
going to the read the whole thing, but there are some passages I wanted to share
with you."  He began reading.  "You are altogether beautiful, my darling, and
there is no blemish in you.... You have made my heart beat faster, my bride; you
have made my heart beat faster with a single glance of your eyes, with a single
strand of your necklace.  How beautiful is your love, my bride!  How much better
is your love than wine, and the fragrance of your oils than all kinds of
spices!"

Michael continued reading from Song of Solomon.  He had chosen passages that
spoke of Solomon's love for his bride.  "... Your stature is like a palm tree,
and your breasts are like its clusters.  I said, 'I will climb the palm tree, I
will take hold of its fruit stalks.'  Oh, may your breasts be like clusters of
the vine, and your mouth like the best wine!"  He paused as he turned the page
and found the final passage he had marked.  "Put me like a seal over your heart,
like a seal on your arm.  For love is as strong as death, jealousy is as severe
as Sheol; its flashes are flashes of fire, the very flame of the Lord.  Many
waters cannot quench love, nor will rivers overflow it."  He closed the book and
set it aside.

"Many waters cannot quench love.  I like that, Michael."

He stroked her hair as she lay with her head in his lap.  "I know that things
will not be easy for us when we return, but I just wanted you to know that I am
determined to keep them from separating us.  We will find a way, my heart."

She reached up and pulled his head down to hers.  After giving him a long and
passionate kiss, she said, "Michael, I hate that we are going to have to leave
this place and go back into Section, but I feel we have grown so close over
these last weeks that I have every faith that we can take whatever they dish
out."

"As long as I have you, I can make it?" he asked, teasingly.

She giggled.  "You better believe it, buster!"  Then, more seriously, "What kept
me going, through everything those Freedom League animals did to me, was the
love I saw in your eyes.  By focusing on you, I could tune out everything else.
You saved me, love.  I wouldn't have made it otherwise."

He leant down and tenderly kissed her.  As he did, he began unbuttoning her
shirt.  Soon, both of them were undressed, and Michael lay beside her, tracing
the firelight shadows over her skin.  They made love slowly at first, then more
frantically, as if they could already feel the chains of Section reaching out to
them once more.  Over and over again, they came together, the intensity building
until finally their bodies could take no more, and they fell into an exhausted
slumber.

They were eating a somewhat late breakfast the next morning when a shrill sound
startled both of them.  It was Michael's cell phone.  Vacation was over.

By Sandra