Immortal Longings

By: Michelle Fields

Copyright 2000

Revised August 2004

This story contains third season spoilers from "Beyond the Pale" through "I Remember Paris."

Chapter One

Nikita was passing Munitions when she noticed the fixed stare on Walter’s face. The weapons’ master was wearing a worried scowl as he leaned against one of his workbenches. She followed his gaze upward to see the object of his scrutiny: Mahleah, who was apparently in discussion with Operations and Madeline.

"What’s going on?" Nikita asked.

"I don’t know, sugar," he admitted, "and that’s what’s worrying me."

"Mahleah’s performance has been exceptional," she tried to soothe him. "I’m sure nothing’s wrong."

He snorted with derision, "What do superb numbers have to do with anything? How many times have those two screwed with you and Michael? No, they just like the rush they get by having complete control over everyone in their domain."

He tore his gaze away from Mahleah long enough to look at Nikita, "The better I know Mahleah, the more she scares me. If they ever get to understand the real her, the rebel that’s buried only surface deep, they’ll cancel her."

Nikita put a hand on her friend’s shoulder, "Walter, Mahleah can take care of herself. I’ve seen her confront Madeline before – she gets as blank as Michael."

He grinned for a moment, "Yeah, she told me about that. She says she pretends to be Spock confronted by Romulan interrogators: cool and flawlessly logical but revealing nothing."

Nikita chuckled, and then looked up towards the perch, "Well, business must be over, Walter. She’s leaving now."

When Mahleah entered the perch, Madeline eyed her curiously. As a recruit Mahleah had provided Section’s top strategist with a fascinating puzzle: one that still bore exploring. She was dressed in a cream-colored silk shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans. A black suede vest matched the boots she was wearing, and of course, as always there was the long braid trailing down her back. Interesting choices, she reflected.

"Mahleah," Operations greeted, "I’m glad to finally meet you."

The woman stared at him attentively but calmly, choosing to remain mute to his salutation.

"I wanted to personally commend you for your excellent work since you’ve joined us," he continued. "You show enormous potential that I grant we will see fulfilled since you are now being promoted to Full Class One status." He paused, waiting for her to comment, but when silence was forthcoming, he continued, "It is extremely rare for an operative to conclude training so quickly, but Madeline feels and I concur that to hold you back would be both redundant and counterproductive."

"Congratulations, Mahleah," Madeline smiled at the new operative.

"Thank you," Mahleah finally responded.

"You’ll be given a day to enjoy your new position, but tomorrow report to Madeline for a special assignment," Operations told her.

"Of course, sir," Mahleah told him politely.

"That will be all," he announced. "I hope you continue to perform up to the standards we’ve come to expect from you."

She nodded slightly, "As you wish, sir." She turned and walked out of view.

Operations turned to his second in command, "Is she always that reserved?"

Madeline’s lips twitched upwards, "No, it seems that is her best professional act. She has made many friends since her arrival; in fact, it seems that she and Walter are dating."

Operations choked slightly on his cigarette, "Walter?"

"Yes."

Operations frowned, "How serious is this attachment?"

"It’s hard to be sure," Madeline reluctantly admitted. "Mahleah is very hard to read and Walter knows only too well the penalties of getting involved with a cold op."

"After Belinda you’d think he’d have learned his lesson." He shook his head in amusement. "Well, it seems there’s life in the old dog yet. I can’t fault him in his taste. She’s a beautiful woman."

"There’s a danger, I think, in his taking the relationship too seriously," Madeline warned. "Considering her obvious charms and the fact that this will be his first long-term attachment since his wife’s death, we may have trouble controlling him."

Operations frowned, "Mahleah is needed for the Copperhead profile. If Walter is wise, he won’t get in the way of her work."

When Mahleah joined her friends in Munitions, Walter started running his hands all over her. She slapped at him playfully and scolded, "Walter honey, whatever do you think you’re doing?"

"I’m making sure you’re still in one piece, darlin’," he told her. "I’m especially worried about knife wounds in the back."

"I’m fine," she told him cheerfully. "In fact, I just got promoted. I’m now a full Operative. I’m off probation, folks."

"Congratulations!" Nikita told her warmly. "You certainly deserve it."

Walter heaved a sigh of relief, "So that’s why the brass wanted to see you?"

"Yep. I’m getting some kind of new assignment tomorrow, but the night’s mine and I plan to make the most of it."

Walter waggled his eyebrows, "What did you have in mind?"

She sighed exaggeratedly, "We’ll get around to that later on, you insatiable satyr. I was thinking more of a little dinner party – informal, of course. I’ll cook y’all a nice Southern meal at my apartment. We’ll invite Birkoff, and Musashi, too of course," she added with a grin towards Nikita. "What do you say?"

"Sounds like fun," her neighbor agreed. "Need some help?"

"Sure," Mahleah agreed. "Everybody gets to take a turn in the kitchen. I’ll need some time to prepare, though. So," she leaned in and gave Walter a quick kiss, "I’ll see you later, okay."

"Can’t wait, darlin’," he told her.

Chapter Two

Mahleah wandered through the open market at the Rue d’Aligre looking for the ingredients for her dinner. So far, she had managed to find fresh corn, green beans, and new potatoes. While she searched for the perfect carrots and cabbage for coleslaw, she realized that she was going to have difficulty in finding one special item on the menu. She frowned.

She wanted this meal to be as perfect as possible. Her comrades deserved a good meal and jovial company and she was looking forward to this evening. She still needed to pick up a few things from more conventional stores, but she had always been impressed by the selection at Le Marché d’Aligre. In an odd way, it was rather like being home. Farmers selling produce by the roadside was a common sight in her part of Virginia.

Still, all the déjà vu in the world was not going to help her with dessert!

Nikita was looking down from her balcony when she saw Mahleah, loaded with shopping bags, struggle to get out of a taxi. She hurried downstairs so that the other woman had barely made it inside before she was there to help her.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Mahleah exclaimed. "I thought I was going to drop something for sure."

"Well, you didn’t have to buy out all the stores in Paris you know," Nikita laughed.

They reached Mahleah’s door and stumbled inside. "We lead uncertain lives and never know from one day to the next if we’ll see each other again. I believe in having memories that last forever, don’t you?" Mahleah asked pointedly.

Nikita ignored the remark and followed Mahleah into the kitchen area of the apartment. After stashing away all the refrigerated goods, Nikita inquired, "So what can I do to help?"

Mahleah turned to her with a grin on her face, "Oh, I love eager assistants. Don’t worry, I’ll put you to work. First, though, go find some music to put on will you?"

"If we’re going to have a Southern meal, should I put on some country?" Nikita asked doubtfully, scanning the CD collection.

Mahleah looked at her patiently. "I don’t think so," she replied. "I’ve never been fond of that genre other than of course the great Patsy Cline. She has an astounding voice, but I can’t listen to her for a long time without wanting to slit my wrists. She’s a little too effective in singing about heartbreak. Then of course, there’s Johnny Cash who’s forever cool, but not tonight I think. No, let’s get something a little more upbeat, huh?"

Nikita found Ella Fitzgerald and decided that was what the doctor ordered. As soon as the strains of "Anything Goes" began floating from the speakers, she returned to her hostess.

"Now, what do you want me to do?"

"I need to make pie dough first," Mahleah told her, "because it needs to chill before I use it. You can work on peeling these," she handed her a bag of apples.

The blonde picked up a knife from the rack on the counter and sat down, "So, are we having an apple pie?"

"Not exactly. I searched all over Paris for fresh peaches, and managed to find the last batch of the year. Hopefully they won’t be too ripe. I want you guys to have something a little better than just dodgy peaches though, so I’m also going to make a couple of loaves of apple bread."

"Wow," said Nikita watching as Mahleah swiftly laid out the ingredients for her crust. "Who taught you to cook?"

"Well, my dad wasn’t much for the culinary arts. A neighbor made sure I never got hungry, but his tastes tended to be a little cosmopolitan for our area. If I wanted down-home food I went over to my best friend’s house, or visited my grandma."

A ribbon of apple peel curled down towards Nikita’s lap as she spoke, "So, your gran was a good cook?"

"Oh yeah, she was fabulous. Ironically, she taught me self-sufficiency when she thought she was providing me with husband-snagging skills."

Nikita laughed, "Really?"

"Sure. She always made sure that if she was preparing food, I had a hand in it. Looking back, I’m grateful now. I don’t often cook large meals but when I do, I always think of her. She is an incredible lady."

"She’s the one that taught you to shoot, right?"

"Uh-huh, she has a sharp eye. My grandparents were an interesting couple. He loved musicals and screwball comedies and she loved westerns and detective stories. Whenever the TV was on, though, they would pretend that whatever they were watching was for the other one. If I came in and Grandpa was watching "Singing in the Rain", it was because Grandma loved it. If Grandma wanted to sit down to a John Wayne movie, she always claimed it was Grandpa’s favorite. They didn’t fool anyone, but the proprieties were maintained."

"Are they still alive?"

"Grandpa died several years ago, but I think Grandma will live to be a hundred – she’s far too ornery to die."

There was a knock on the door. Mahleah frowned, "I wasn’t expecting anyone this soon."

"Maybe Walter wanted to sample the cook before the other guests got here," Nikita told her with a small smirk.

Mahleah shook a spoon at her neighbor, "Be nice, Missy, or I’ll put you on KP after dinner as well."

Opening the door, she didn’t find her other invited guests. Instead, Nikita heard with a wince the sounds of Mick Schtoppel.

"I thought I heard you two lovelies talking about making dinner, and I wondered if I might join you?"

Mahleah stared at him for a couple of seconds and shrugged her shoulders, "Sure, do you chop nuts?"

Chapter Three

Nikita watched with amusement as Mahleah sat Mick down with a package of pecans and a chopper. She peeled steadily on her apples wondering what the others would think about the new guest. Tonight could definitely be interesting.

As Mahleah began working on her cobbler filling, Mick chuckled. "What a package! Brains, beauty, and bullets plus she can cook. You’re amazing, Mahleah!"

She worked on as she replied, "Mick, I don’t like to think of myself in those terms if you don’t mind."

"But you truly are, doll," he protested.

She paused, "As I’m not made from porcelain, cotton, or plastic please don’t call me that, if you don’t mind." She resumed stirring, adding spices to the peaches. "People have often made me feel like a freak of nature, so I don’t like compliments very much, Mick."

"What do you mean?" Nikita asked softly. She remembered Mahleah making similar statements a short time after they’d met.

"Well, all my life it wasn’t enough that I had to struggle with being different physically. I’ve already told you that I was the tallest girl around, I matured at a young age, and I had a bizarre education, but that’s not everything. All my life I’ve had these strange feelings – call them déjà vu if you like – that I had been somewhere before or read something before or known something before. It was crazy. My teachers were all astonished by the fact that they could show me something once and I could usually do it. When I was learning martial arts, each move I was shown was as familiar as if I’d been doing it my entire life."

"How strange," Nikita commented. "Did you ever figure out why?"

"No," Mahleah shook her head. "I used to have the strangest dreams, too. I had a hard time holding onto them, but it seemed like I was talking to myself. When I was little, I thought it was my mom because the other person was an adult and looked like her. It wasn’t until I was much older that I realized that it was me and not mom. I wish I could remember what I said to myself, but it’s all fuzzy now."

"Do you still have these dreams?" Mick asked.

"Not for a year now. Although a few weeks ago, I had one that was rather similar to them," She added a tiny touch of almond extract to the mixture and stirred.

There was another knock. Mahleah sat her bowl back down on the counter and licking sweet, sticky peach juice off her fingers went to the door. It was Walter and Birkoff.

"How’s dinner coming?" Walter asked.

"Great," she replied. "Glad you two are here."

She led them to the kitchen and handed Birkoff a sack of potatoes and a peeler. Turning to Walter, she said, "You get to string and break the beans."

"Break? String? What kind of beans are they?" he grumbled.

"They’re half-runners like we have back home, and I really hate having strings go down my throat as I’m eating, so do a good job."

They all found a place around the table and she looked at them thoughtfully, "So where’s Musashi? Didn’t anyone invite him?"

"I did," Nikita offered.

"What did he say?"

"He was, big shock, working on a mission. He said he’d come if he could find the time."

Mahleah frowned. Walter swallowed and then volunteered, "I asked him before Birkoff and I left if he was going to join us."

"And what did he say?"

"He thought it unlikely that he would be able to make it since he had so much work to do."

Mahleah stared at him with fire in her eyes. Nikita raised her head from her apples long enough to say, "Well, you know he’s trying for a promotion to Head Strategist."

"I don’t care if he’s auditioning for the Royal Shakespeare Company!" Mahleah reached for her telephone. "Nikita, what’s his number at Section?"

All eyes went to Nikita as she dutifully rattled off the numbers. She glared at them, daring them to say a word and wisely, they all returned to their chores.

Mahleah punched in the digits and waited for the call to go through fuming the whole time. When the telephone was answered, she was startled to hear a recording.

"Voicemail -- who the hell has voicemail at Section?" she declared. Putting the receiver back to her ear, she waited for the requisite beep and then left her message, "Michael Samuelle, pick up that phone right now or I’ll tell Madeline that considering our last mission together I think you could use a refresher course in Valentine training…. Oh, Musashi, you are there," her voice turned to a dangerous purr. The others took a collective gulp.

"What’s this I hear about you not being able to come to my dinner? Work, smurk, I don’t cook this way that often and if you miss tonight I won’t invite you to the next one. Trust me; you don’t want that to happen. Not to mention the fact that I will take it as a personal insult, and will exact my revenge in the most humiliating way I can imagine. I think you know me enough by now to realize just how wicked my imagination is. Oh, you think you’ll be done in a couple of hours. That’s great. We’ll see you then. Oh, and Musashi, could you please pick me up a carton of buttermilk? I have homemade biscuits to make."

Chapter Four

As Michael hung up the phone he could hear Mahleah tell Nikita, "Oh, Nick those apples really should go in water to keep them from turning brown. Add a little bit of salt and a little bit of lemon juice and we’ll rinse them off before we add them to the mix."

He shook his head: this was definitely someone you didn’t refuse. He really hadn’t meant to insult her by not coming to dinner. In fact, it wasn’t her at all that he wanted to avoid this evening – it was Nikita.

Sighing, he looked back at his computer screen without really seeing its contents. Operations and Madeline had met today to discuss the Head Strategist position and he already knew what the result would be. His superior had taken him aside a month ago and explained this profile: Zalman was suspected of being a mole for Red Cell but had Oversight’s favor. They had to set a trap for him in order to prove his complicity with the enemy, which involved him pretending to escape Section. Unfortunately, he had orders to involve Nikita in this charade.

He knew that the only reason Nikita would accompany him on this little adventure would be her feelings toward him, and he was sick at heart to be asked to use that against her yet again. It was the reason he hadn’t wanted to see her. He wanted to be as honest with her as possible about the whole mission, but how would it seem to her after enjoying what, he was sure, would be a pleasant evening with all of their friends, to then put on the pretense of a relationship. Undoubtedly it would benefit the profile for him to be seen with her tonight. It would make her accompanying him more plausible, but how would she feel about it? He had no desire to spend his evening playing games.

He assumed that his hostess would not permit him to do such a thing anyway. Mahleah had little tolerance for the sort of mind games Section played. He had a sneaking suspicion that if she ever decided to seriously join in office politics, Operations and Madeline would be in trouble. Interestingly enough they still regarded her as the perfect agent. He wondered how long that would last.

When Mahleah opened the door, he held out the grocery bag with her buttermilk but she ignored it and gave him a hug. He could smell wonderful aromas wafting toward him: a tantalizing mixture of peaches, apples, and various spices.

"I’m so glad you came," she told him and kissed him on both cheeks.

Amused, he kissed her hand and let her lead him into the kitchen. "Would you mind shredding some cabbage?" she asked sweetly.

He looked over into Nikita’s dancing blue eyes and strangely, his burden seemed to lift.

Chapter Five

Birkoff had been amazed all evening at the effect their hostess seemed to have on all of his friends. Walter was exuberant, Nikita was practically giddy, and Mick was jovial while toeing the line. Hell, even Michael seemed relaxed. He wasn’t sure how Mahleah had managed to do it, but she had seemingly forged them into a family unit – an odd one to be sure – but the warmth that permeated the room had little to do with the building’s heat pump.

Mahleah had bullied them, bossed them, teased them, and fed them. Oh my God how she had fed them. Although she’d had plenty of help, she had put together a meal he wouldn’t soon forget. There had been country-fried steak with mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, green beans, coleslaw, fried green tomatoes, and homemade biscuits. They had all eaten way too much and he suspected that Michael and Nikita in particular would regret the extra pounds later, but after all as Mahleah had informed them, "There have to be reasons to want to come back from cold ops, right?"

He had heard her sing for the first time tonight and that memory would be seared into his brain. She’d been humming ever since he got there, but while she was putting the biscuits in the oven Nikita had put on a CD of old U2 music. When Mahleah heard "Pride (In the Name of Love)" she came around the counter, with a small smudge of flour on her cheek, and started singing lightly. As the song grew more intense, she began singing out more and at the end she was belting out the chorus full-throttle with Bono.

After dinner, Mahleah and Nikita turned to him and asked him to dance. He was flabbergasted. The two most beautiful women in Section wanted to teach him to dance in front of their respective "partners" no less. They found some medium tempo music and he took turns learning to lead them around the room. He was on his third dance with Mahleah when Walter came up to them exclaiming, "All right, all right. It’s my turn now."

He gave Nikita a couple of turns, then called, “Switch”, and neatly changed partners. Mahleah laughed at him but didn’t protest. Birkoff watched their playful manner and thought, "Walter, you are a lucky, lucky man."

He felt a little sad for the first time all evening. Watching them reminded him of how empty his own life was. He loved being here with all of his friends, but why couldn’t he find a little romance all his own? How much more fun could he have if he had brought a date to this little get together? Walter and Nikita had been telling him for years that he needed to get out more, and he now agreed.

Nikita, swaying in Birkoff’s arms, glanced across at the other dancing couple and smiled. Odd as the match might seem to others, Walter and Mahleah appeared to fit well together. Her irresistible sassiness complemented his irrepressible flirtatiousness. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen her old friend look quite so happy. Now, if she could only steal a little slice of their pie.

She hoped that Michael would take a cue from Walter and cut in, but he never did. Mick danced with her and yes, his hands did roam once but a slug on the shoulder and a stern glance from Mahleah caused him to cast an anxious eye in Michael’s direction and apologize.

"It wouldn’t have been me if I hadn’t tried once, love," he pointed out, but for the rest of the night he was remarkably well behaved.

Michael sat back and watched as everyone enjoyed the party. He knew that Nikita was hoping he would dance with her, but it would, to him, put a blemish on what was otherwise a perfect evening. Tomorrow the mission would begin playing itself out, and he didn’t want Nikita to have any confusion about his true feelings. If they danced, he wanted it to be about them, and not have her worry that he was again trying to seduce her on behalf of Section. After this is all over, he promised himself, I’ll take her somewhere and we’ll dance all night.

The party broke up about midnight and Mahleah saw everyone except Walter to the door. He looked up at her from the couch and declared, "I thought they’d never leave!"

"Hush," she scolded. "Be good. You know you enjoyed yourself tonight."

"Yeah, but it’s not over yet, darlin’."

Mahleah didn’t answer him as she was looking out of her peephole into the hall. She saw Michael walk Nikita to the door, tell her good night, and walk off.

"Not even a good night kiss!" she fumed. "That boy is killing me. I think I’m going to have to take the two of them, tie them nose-to-nose, and lock them in a dark closet somewhere for a week."

"Give him time," Walter advised walking up to her. "He’s coming around. I don’t remember ever seeing him as relaxed as he was this evening. But enough about Michael and Nikita – what else do you have planned for this evening’s festivities?"

His hands reached up under the T-shirt she had exchanged for the silk blouse before going to the market. She grinned and leaned toward him.

"Something as sweet as a peach and as tart as an apple that will last a hell of a lot longer than that cobbler did."

Chapter Six

She was staring in the window of Duncan’s barge, transfixed by the sight before her. From her place on the deck, she had a clear view of Mac’s bedroom and the couple passionately entwined under his sheets. Her fingers traced the glass, wishing it were the muscled back on the other side that she was stroking. Another woman’s fingers were caressing the back of his neck, though, another woman’s lips were tracing the curve of his throat, and another woman’s voice was calling his name, "Duncan."

She felt a hot wet river running down her face, but what had she expected? She was dead to the outside world, which for the moment, had to include him as well. If they both were lucky and kept their heads, they would see each other again. She should be glad that he could find comfort in the arms of an old friend.

Yet, a small part of her heart wept bitter tears as she heard him cry out, "Amanda!"

Mahleah gave a gasp and sat up in bed with a jerk. Her heart was racing and she couldn’t breathe for a second. She impatiently brushed her hair back from her face and found it was sticking to the tears she had cried in her sleep. She wiped the remnants of them away and looked down at Walter. He was a sound sleeper and remained blissfully oblivious to her distress. Leaning in she kissed his forehead, then laid on her side watching him sleep, grateful for his presence.

Chapter Seven

Madeline looked up as Mahleah entered her office and smiled. "Won’t you have a seat?" she suggested.

Mahleah sat down and gazed impassively at Madeline wondering just what kind of mission she was going to be given.

Madeline adjusted her monitor so that Mahleah could see a man’s face. "This is Shawn Williams, one of the most dangerous assassins in the world. His presence is usually felt more than seen, with deadly results. You are being assigned a profile designed to allow us to acquire Mr. Williams. It is a long-term cover but will not interfere with your other Section duties. In fact, you will still maintain your current address."

"What will I be doing?"

"We recently ascertained that Mr. Williams has two living relatives: his father, Anthony, and his sister, Teresa Williams. They operate an establishment known as "The Copperhead" which is a restaurant/bar. The family is originally from the United States and Anthony Williams, in particular, is interested in American music. He keeps a house band and your first assignment is to join it anyway you can. I’m sure that someone with your musical experience should have no difficulties."

Mahleah raised an eyebrow, "Joining a band demands a certain amount of commitment, especially if I’m the lead singer. There are rehearsals during the day and performances at night. What happens if I’m needed halfway across the world for a month’s time? Mr. Williams will fire me."

"You will explain up front that you are an artist and frequently get the urge to travel, but you will be back once your wanderlust is satisfied. I admit we are placing a great deal of faith on your abilities to ensure that he wishes to retain your services. You have to want him to keep you at all costs."

Mahleah frowned slightly. "I foresee another problem. If I’m to keep their interest so intensely, I can’t be halfway in my performances. I’ll have to focus completely on the music, which could be problematic, if Shawn actually makes an appearance. Actually there are two problems: I can’t draw decent stick figures."

Madeline blinked. It was obvious to Mahleah that Madeline had assumed her to possess an artistic competency that blanketed all genres. Too bad, it didn’t work like that.

"We could have your work done here at Section." She suggested.

"No, what if someone wanted to see me actually draw something? It’s too risky. I propose changing the scenario to that of a writer. I’d have no problems with that."

"Agreed," Madeline approved. "Also, I’ll draw up a profile that will allow Michael to drop into the club on occasion to provide backup."

"Good," Mahleah rose. "I assume I should secure this position as soon as possible?"

"Yes."

"Then, I’ll coax Anthony Williams into giving me an audition today."

"Excellent. Further details will be on your panel."

Chapter Eight

Walter and Nikita were wearing sad faces when Mahleah walked up to them. "Hey, what happened?" she asked with concern.

"Michael got passed over for promotion," Nikita explained.

"What? Has someone around here been smoking crack? Who got the position if Musashi didn’t?"

"Zalman," Walter said bitterly.

Mahleah had encountered the man once and he’d made an unfavorable impression. She shook her head, "I still say someone’s been using dope."

"So, what dirty detail have they stuck you with?" Walter asked.

"Well, for now it doesn’t sound too bad. I’m supposed to go undercover in a nightclub in hopes of catching an assassin." In an effort to cheer up Nikita, she added, "Whatever shall I wear?"

Walter caught on immediately, "Yeah, sounds like a shopping trip is called for. I mean, you can’t run in here every night looking for something new out of wardrobe."

They saw a spark of interest in blue eyes and were relieved. She’d taken the bait. Now, maybe Mahleah could distract her for a couple of hours.

Mahleah was beginning to regret inviting Nikita on this little excursion. Her tolerance for looking at and trying on clothes was much shorter than her friend’s was. Just when she was getting really bored Nikita tried to get her to buy a short spandex outfit.

"I don’t think that’ll work, Nick," she protested.

"This is a nightclub, right?" Nikita insisted. "It’ll fit right in. Besides if you’re the singer you’ll want to stand out."

"From what I can tell from his profile, Anthony Williams is not going to hire a woman wearing that," she pointed to the offensive garment. "He’s more interested in actual musical talent."

Nikita opened her mouth to argue some more, but at that moment, Mahleah felt a warning tingle. She hastily ducked into a dressing room and pulling the curtain, knelt on the bench. She didn’t want whoever it was to see her feet, but she wanted to keep an eye out in case it was someone dangerous. She thought Nikita would be fine as long as they were not seen together, but if it turned out that the Immortal was psychotic, she’d step in.

"What are you doing?" Nikita demanded.

"Ssh, pretend I’m not here," she hissed.

When she heard the woman speak, she almost wished it had been a stark raving lunatic. It would have been far less painful. Instead, she distinctly heard the voice of Amanda saying, "I’m looking for something very special. I need to cheer up a dear friend of mine who’s here on a visit. He’s been awfully depressed the poor darling and I’m planning a very special night for the two of us."

"Oh God, no," Mahleah thought. "Let her be talking about someone else -- Connor, Methos, even Joe."

"Of course," the saleslady replied. "Are you looking for a dress or something a little more ... intimate?"

"Well, if everything goes according to plan, both," Amanda laughed, but she was looking around her for the Immortal she sensed nearby. She spotted Nikita and smiled, sizing her up. The blonde operative did have a powerful presence and was standing very close to Mahleah’s location, so Amanda was a little uncertain.

The saleslady directed the female Immortal to the far side of the room to show her a dress and Nikita edged closer to the dressing room.

"Who is she?" she asked very softly.

"Someone I used to know," Mahleah replied in an equally quiet voice. "Knowing Section’s rules about fraternizing with former acquaintances I’d rather she didn’t see me."

Nikita nodded accepting the explanation as the truth, which it was – sort of.

Now, the customer and clerk moved back toward the Section operatives.

"That’s perfect," Amanda declared. "I’ll take it. Now, for the fun stuff."

"Does the gentleman have any preferences?"

Amanda gave an amused smile, "Nothing too outlandish, I’m afraid. Duncan’s the original Boy Scout."

Mahleah closed her eyes. A catty little voice inside her head responded by saying, "Well, when we were together he had a definite preference: me without any clothing whatsoever. Put that in your scout pipe and smoke it!" She ruthlessly repressed any further commentary and prayed that the torture would be over soon. It was, but not soon enough, unfortunately.

Suddenly, there was a male voice – deep, rich, accented and as familiar as tourists in Paris -–saying, "Amanda, how much longer are you going to be?"

She couldn’t resist peering out just a little to catch a glimpse of him. It had been so long since they’d been able to talk and then she’d been in jail. Her eyes drank in the sight of him: the tanned skin, broad shoulders, and narrow waist. He was standing in profile and she could make out the strong bones of his face. She was sad to see that he’d kept his hair cut short. She’d always loved it long enough to run her fingers through. Right now, he was more than a little irritated and worried. He kept glancing in her direction, clearly torn between invading someone’s privacy and knowing just who was in his vicinity.

"We need to leave, now," he informed Amanda.

"Can you deliver these?" she sweetly asked the saleslady.

"Of course," she was reassured, "but there will be a fee."

MacLeod sighed and handed the clerk his credit card.

"You won’t be sorry, MacLeod." Amanda promised.

He gave her a doubtful look that made Mahleah smile. He hadn’t seen the purchases yet, but it still made her heart sing to know that Amanda was still a double-edged proposition for Mac. He cared for her but she drove him bananas. They couldn’t stay around each other for long.

Once the clerk returned his card and handed Amanda a receipt, Duncan took her by the arm and steered her out of the shop. Mahleah ran to the window to watch him walk off.

Nikita saw the sadness in her friend’s eyes and instinctively knew that she was feeling more pain than seeing an old acquaintance again. Walking up behind Mahleah, she nudged her, "Hey, are you all right?"

"Yeah," came the response, but Nikita could see that the brown eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

"That was a good-looking guy," she ventured.

Her fishing expedition paid off when the response came softly, "He’s a lot more than that."

Chapter Nine

A subdued Mahleah found herself that evening in the Place Stalingrad in the north of the city. It was a neighborhood of immigrants looking for cheaper lodgings. Many were from North Africa and she wondered absently how a man from Kentucky and his daughter had ended up running an establishment there.

When she arrived at "The Copperhead" its friendly atmosphere pleasantly surprised her. She had witnessed a couple of drug deals going down en route, so this was not the sort of place she had expected. Actually a restaurant, it just happened to have a bar and a band.

A sandy-haired teenage girl escorted her to a table in the corner next to the band and smiled in relief when Mahleah told her she spoke English.

"Oh great," she giggled. "I speak French but my accent is so bad that people who don’t know me have trouble understanding what I’m saying."

Mahleah smiled at her, "Well, your American accent is familiar to me. Where are you from? Let me guess: West Virginia?"

"Nope," the girl shook her head.

"Tennessee?"

"’Fraid not."

"Ah, I have it now: Kentucky!"

The girl looked impressed, "Right! How did you know?"

"I’m from across the mountains in Virginia," Mahleah told her. She was letting her own native accent filter through her words ever so slightly.

"Well, it sounds like you’ve been gone for a long time," she was informed. "You barely sound southern."

"I’ve traveled a lot," she admitted. "So," she looked at the girl’s nametag, "Teresa. What time does the band get started?"

"Oh, it won’t be long now," Teresa promised. "They just have to coax Seth into singing tonight."

"He doesn’t want to?" Mahleah asked with amusement.

"Well, he’s the guitar player you see, but we can’t seem to keep a regular singer."

"Really, that’s interesting." Mahleah thought Madeline’s timing was perfect on this profile.

"So, what can I get you?" Teresa asked.

"Well, I was out for a walk and saw the sign in the window advertising live music and that’s really what I’m here for. I’m not that hungry actually, but if it’ll keep you from throwing me out before I get to hear the band I’ll order something light. Do you have any fresh fruit?"

"Sure, we make a fruit salad, if that’s all right."

"Perfect."

"And to drink?"

"I’ll stick to the healthy stuff – could you bring me a glass of orange juice?"

"Ok, a fruit salad and a glass of OJ coming up."

Mahleah sat back and watched the activity around her. It was obvious that Teresa and her father didn’t do much business. It was her guess that the few patrons were regulars. Well, they were in need of a lead singer. She just had to get Anthony Williams to give her an audition and hope she could wow him enough to give her a job.

Teresa had disappeared into the kitchen and Mahleah suspected she was making the salad herself. She saw a middle-aged man behind the bar and recognized him as Anthony Williams. He was a handsome man with an athletic build and distinguished gray temples. He saw her gazing at him and nodded to her. She smiled.

The band appeared before the salad, so she sat back and listened. They had some talent but seemed a little lost with Seth as their lead. He was so obviously uncomfortable at the mike that it made them sound tentative. His voice wasn’t bad, she thought, but he would probably do better and be happier as backup.

When Teresa finally arrived with the fruit Mahleah thanked her.

"No problem," she said cheerfully, her hazel eyes sparkling with good humor. "We’re a little shorthanded around here at the moment, so service is a little slow. Dad keeps hoping that we’ll draw in more customers through the music and then we could afford to hire more people. We’ll never get there though with Seth singing! He looks like he’d rather be dipped in flour and fried, doesn’t he?"

Mahleah nodded in agreement, then leaned forward conspiratorially, "I sing a little myself. Do you think I could get a shot with the band?"

Teresa pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I don’t know. Dad’s not real keen on strangers, but I’ll see what I can do."

"Thanks, I’d appreciate that," Mahleah told her with genuine feeling.

"Oops, I forgot your juice. I’ll be right back."

Teresa was gone so long that Mahleah suspected she was squeezing oranges by hand, but she reappeared and giving Mahleah a wink walked up to her father. She talked to him a few minutes, nodding in the operative’s general direction. Anthony frowned, took the glass of juice, and made his way to Mahleah’s table.

Handing her the drink, he sat down across from her, "Teresa tells me you’re looking for work – that you want to sing with the band. Is this true?"

"That I want to sing, yeah, it’s true enough if you’ll give me a chance."

He studied her intensely, "I’m afraid what I pay these boys barely keeps them in guitar strings."

She smiled reassuringly, "That’s okay. I’m not looking for money."

"What are you looking for then?"

She looked him in the eye and replied, "Experience."

His brown eyes bore steadily into hers for a long moment and then he shook his head, "I don’t think so. Seth’s doing a fine job. Give him a little more practice and he’ll pack the house."

"But--" Mahleah tried to protest, but he was already on his feet and moving away. "Well, this doesn’t bode well," she murmured to herself.

She realized the band had taken a break. When she looked up, Seth was looking at her sympathetically. He was a big guy with blue eyes and a kind face.

"Tony can be a little rough," he told her.

"So, I noticed," she said.

"Did I overhear you telling him that you sing?"

"Yeah," she frowned. "Not that he seemed to care."

"Ah," he shrugged. "You’re so pretty, he probably figures you’ve got no talent."

She raised an eyebrow, "Well, that’s rather judgmental."

He grinned, "No, that’s Tony. Like to prove him wrong?"

He was offering her his hand. She took it and standing looked him in the eye, "Can I borrow a guitar?"

Chapter Ten

Mahleah attempted to brush off the negative thoughts that had haunted her all day. Music had always been an important part of her life – there was no need for her to get nervous, but she was. Today had seemed to be a perfect example of Murphy’s Law and she had no desire to screw up or be shot down again.

Thank God, she had been coaxed into picking up a guitar again several months ago, but what exactly should she perform? While adjusting her fingers to the strings of the acoustic that Seth was letting her borrow, memories of Amanda and Duncan flooded into her mind unbidden. She couldn’t stem the tide of images. She could see them as they were in her dream and she could hear Amanda’s voice say, "I want to cheer up an old friend."

She shook her head trying to clear it and focus on what she was doing to no avail. Oh hell, she thought, I might as well use this. I won’t exactly impress Tony Williams by doing my best Vulcan impersonation. She turned to the other band members and told them what she wanted to try. They nodded and let her begin to set the pace.

At the bar Tony Williams wiped off the counter and watched the proceedings with an interest he tried to hide. His daughter made no pretense. She sat at one of the stools and eagerly waited to hear what this newcomer had for them.

Mahleah’s fingers picked out a familiar rhythm and she leaned into the mike.

Tonight I feel so weak, but all in love is fair.

I turn the other cheek:

I feel the slap and the sting of the foul night air.

And I know you’re only human…

And I haven’t got talking room,

But tonight while I’m making excuses –

Some other woman is making love to you!"

All the frustration, jealousy, and anger she’d been feeling poured out of her and the band fed on her energy.

Somebody bring me some water.

Can’t you see I’m burning alive?

Can’t you see my baby’s got another lover

And I don’t know how I’m gonna survive.

Somebody bring me some water.

Can’t you see it’s out of control?

Baby’s got my heart and my baby’s got my mind,

But tonight the sweet Devil, sweet Devil’s got my soul.

Tony forgot the rag under his fingers. She picked the right song, he thought with amusement. Her voice was scorching the room. His few customers were on their feet clapping.

When will this aching pass…when will this night be through?

I want to hear the breaking glass.

I only feel the steel of the red-hot truth,

And I’d do anything to get it out of my mind.

I need some insanity…that temporary kind.

Tell me how will I ever be the same

When I know that woman is whispering your name?

With each chorus, her singing and his band got more intense. So, that’s what the guys sound like when they’re inspired, he thought.

His daughter was thrilled. "Dad, you have to keep her," she informed him.

"Oh, do I?" he teased her.

"Listen to her."

"She’s about to melt the paint off my walls," he replied. "I’d have to redecorate every day."

She swatted him on the arm while the band obeyed Mahleah’s signal and wound up the song. The regulars clapped and whistled for nearly five minutes. When the roar subsided, Tony walked up to the tall woman. She gave the guitar back to Seth and looked at him expectantly.

Jerry, the drummer, stood up from his kit and informed his boss, "This one’s a keeper, Tony."

"Is that so?" came the reply.

"Yeah, in fact if we pass up talent like that I don’t want to work here anymore," Jerry, who seemed to have a short fuse, told him.

Seth put a hand on his friend’s shoulder but spoke to the man making decisions, "I think we all kind of feel that way, Tony. She’s terrific."

"Yeah, she’s not bad," he finally let her off the hook.

She was relieved. "When should I start?" she inquired.

"No time like the present," he cheerfully answered. "You and the guys will need to get used to each other."

"Sure," she agreed. "I’ve got all night."

"What’s your name, anyway?" he asked, with a smile. "In all the excitement no one thought to ask."

She returned his smile, "I’m Mahleah."

"Well, Mahleah welcome to ‘The Copperhead.’" He extended a hand to her.

She shook it, idly noting his expensive gold watch. It had a wide band and must have been a reminder of better days. She settled in with her new band mates as they eagerly talked shop. She rehearsed with them until the wee hours of the morning, then begging for mercy, told them she needed to get some sleep.

"Make sure you come in tomorrow," she was told. "We have more work to do before we’re ready for a real audience."

She nodded, waved goodbye to Teresa, and walked out the door. A figure in the shadows pushed itself off from the wall and silently followed her through the streets of Paris.

In Tony Williams’ office, the owner of "The Copperhead" was on the telephone.

"Yes, there’s been an interesting development here. You might want to drop by some day."

Chapter Eleven

Birkoff wasn’t exactly sure what had drawn him here. He sat at the bar of a sophisticated nightclub and thought, "I’m out of my mind."

He had started the idea with a vague notion of talking to Mahleah about how to get a social life, but she hadn’t been home. He recalled that she was beginning her new profile and so started to turn toward Nikita’s door. On second thought, however, he left and went for a walk alone. He knew Nikita was ticked because Zalman got Michael’s promotion and had no desire to hear about it all night long.

His steps had led him to Christophe’s and his lonely seat in front of the bartender. He sipped gingerly at his martini and glanced up into the mirror in front of him and into the dark eyes of a woman sitting on the opposite side of the bar. His heart almost stopped. She was looking right at him…well at his reflection anyway, and smiling.

She had long chestnut-colored hair that flowed down the back of her elegant black dress. She looked sophisticated down to her toenails and he wondered why she was looking at him, of all people, and not the handsome man sitting closer to her.

She glanced down at her glass of wine and then back up at him. He swallowed. Her smile was hesitant, but in a shy sort of way, not snobbish at all. Gathering his courage, he walked over to her and introduced himself.

"Hello, Seymour," she said warmly. "My name is Claire."

Wow, he thought, who needs Mahleah or Nikita?

Chapter Twelve

Jesley came to a dead stop. Where had Mahleah gone? One minute she had been walking several feet in front of her and the next she had vanished. Joe would be upset if she couldn’t monitor the Immortal better than this. He was quite anxious to know where Mahleah lived and what she was doing in Paris.

She walked faster, trying to determine if Mahleah had entered one of the doorways ahead. She was completely unprepared for the arm that grabbed her and pulled her into one of those passageways. She felt a hand close over her mouth as she was pushed against a wall. With more than a little fear, she looked into the dark eyes of her missing Immortal.

Mahleah studied the small figure, shaking her head. "What on earth is Joe up to, sending a kid like you to follow me around at night?"

Jesley tried to say something, but Mahleah shook her head, "Listen to me. I know who and what you are and I want you to send Joe a message: stop following me. It’s much too dangerous both for you and for me. If anyone was to find out where I live, many lives could be in jeopardy. Do you understand me?"

Jesley nodded her head.

"Good, now I’m going to leave and if I catch you again I’m going to tie you up and leave you on Joe’s doorstep." She backed off and started down the street.

Jesley stood in place. From everything she knew about her assignment, she wasn’t bluffing. Mahleah would never harm Jesley but she wouldn’t hesitate to fulfill her threat either. She sighed. She’d have to report to Joe and find out what he wanted her to do next.

Exhausted both physically and emotionally, Mahleah went home. She had kept an eye out for Watchers and was glad to see that the small woman had taken her seriously. The last thing she wanted on her conscience was the death of half of Joe’s friends because Section got overzealous in its security measures.

In the hall outside her apartment, she fumbled with her keys. Dropping them, she restrained a curse and bent down to pick them up. As she rose, she became aware that she wasn’t alone. Michael was walking down the hall. She walked towards him.

"Musashi," she greeted him with a tired smile. "What are you doing here?"

To her surprise, he looked a little confused. "Where have you been so late?" he asked in return.

"Oh, it’s my new profile. I had to secure a place in the band at this club in the north part of town."

He nodded thoughtfully. In his focus on his current mission, he’d nearly forgotten Madeline apprising him of this situation.

"How did it go?"

She sighed, "Well they made me work for it, but I’m now their new lead singer. I’ve been rehearsing and they expect me in rather early tomorrow too, considering how late they kept me tonight. I’m exhausted." Her fingers tugged on her braid, loosening it from its tight plait. "I’m so tired, my hair aches."

"Get some rest," he advised softly, watching the long strands fall across her shoulders.

"Yeah, I intend to." Suddenly her brain kicked in. "You’re here to see Nikita right? Oh, Michael, I’m so glad."

To his astonishment, she gave him a big hug and his nose detected the familiar, comforting scent of vanilla before she pulled away and unlocked her door saying, "It’s about time the two of you got your act straight. I’ll see you tomorrow." She gave him an impish smile, "Enjoy yourself, Musashi."

He stared after her for a moment wishing he could tell her the truth. Sighing he let himself into Nikita’s apartment. Mahleah, along with the rest of Section, would find out soon enough.

Nikita came out of a peaceful sleep when her ears detected the sounds of someone in her room. She pulled a gun from underneath her pillow and pointed it at the figure before she realized it was Michael. That was nothing compared to the shock she received when he explained his presence by saying words she never expected to hear coming from his mouth, "We’re getting out."

Chapter Thirteen

Mahleah slept in late the next day oblivious to the excitement in Section One as Michael and Nikita used a stolen field router to elude detection. As they were making their way to a cabin in the woods, she was deep in rehearsals and getting to know the people at "The Copperhead" better. During a break she wandered over to Tony’s bar and sat down next to him.

"Bottle of water?" he offered.

"Thanks," she took it gratefully.

"So what do you do when you’re not jumpstarting bar bands, Mahleah?" he asked.

"Well, I’m trying to write a novel," she told him. "It’s rough going though, my characters don’t want to cooperate with my plot."

"Yeah, I hear they do that sometimes," he agreed, smiling. "I guess you have money then. I mean, if this is your first book you’re obviously not making anything from that."

Here was the tricky part, Mahleah knew. "I have a little money of my own," she explained. "My mother left it for me in a trust fund and I don’t have extravagant tastes so I do okay."

He nodded. "How’d you end up in Paris?"

"I travel a lot. My grandmother would say I have wandering feet. Paris seemed like as good a place as any to write a book, and better than most. How about you, how did you and Teresa end up at ‘The Copperhead’?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "Running from old memories, I guess. After my wife died, I wanted a fresh start in life. An old friend was kind enough to lend me the money to buy this place and here we’ve been ever since."

"Well, I’m glad you are." She raised her water bottle, "To displaced travelers: may they always find warm company and good music."

After another late night, she returned home – always keeping an eye out for Watchers. Yawning she looked over at Nikita’s door and smiled. Maybe she couldn’t be with Duncan but if Michael and Nikita had finally taken the plunge, things were looking up in the world. She went to bed wondering how Walter was doing. She missed his company.

Chapter Fourteen

In Michael’s cabin, Nikita paced nervously. She knew now that this was not a real escape attempt. He had explained things to her last night when they went to bed. She had been wondering all along, as the whole business seemed out of character. She could see him being annoyed at losing the promotion but not to the point of leaving Section. It hadn’t made any sense. Now she understood.

She understood as well that he was making every attempt to be honest with her. The time was when he would just have arranged things and left her completely in the dark. Manipulation was considered one of his specialties, so what did it mean when he told her the truth rather than using seduction to get his way?

Neither of them could deny that there had always been an attraction between them, but did it run any deeper than that? He certainly had not taken advantage of them sleeping in the same bed together. She had reluctantly wondered about the nights he had spent with Mahleah, but if his behavior toward her last night were any indication, she could certainly believe her friend’s chaste reports. She wondered if he had managed to sleep at all knowing what he had to do today.

She sighed. Waiting was bad enough, but waiting knowing that someone you cared about was probably in a great deal of pain right now qualified as torture itself. In any reasonable organization, she wouldn’t have worried, but she knew that Michael would be treated ruthlessly in order to catch one Red Cell double-agent. If Zalman was in charge of his interrogation personally Michael would be in the White Room right now undergoing procedures she didn’t even want to contemplate – it made her feel dizzy and her chest hurt.

Now she had to stay here until Michael finally "broke" and revealed her location. They were gambling on the hope that the router would prove too much of a temptation to Zalman and he would have to take the chance to retrieve it for his real masters. If she could get him alone, she was nearly certain he would compromise himself and they would have him. If she survived the encounter, that is.

Chapter Fifteen

What had started as a routine mission for Seymour Birkoff rapidly escalated into chaos and descended from there into madness. It had all started off so well that his mind began drifting off to thoughts of the woman he’d met last night, Claire. Then suddenly, communication with Michael and Nikita ceased and he realized that two of his friends were trying to escape from Section.

After that, hell would have been a prettier sight. Zalman, to cover his own incompetence, focused on Walter. Birkoff honestly didn’t think his best friend had anything to do with Section’s best operatives disappearing. He had been as shocked as the rest of them by this unexpected mutiny.

From there things had rapidly gotten worse. Walter had spent most of the night with Zalman and the operatives he and Nikita referred to as the Torture Twins. He’d finally been released and Birkoff had insisted he go to medical and be treated.

They were back at the computer station now, but Birkoff was worried about his friend. He was still pale and shaky, and the computer whiz wasn’t doing much better himself. Why oh why could they not have given that promotion to Michael? He and Nikita would still be here and no one would be torturing his friends.

Walter turned on a monitor and they both froze. On the screen was Michael sitting in the White Room undergoing the same horrific interrogation techniques that Walter had been subjected to.

"I don’t need to see this," Walter muttered. He turned away which allowed him to spot a tall figure striding toward them with a smile on her face. She walked up to him and gave him a kiss.

"Hello Walter honey, miss me?" she asked huskily.

"More than you know, darlin’, more than you know," he wrapped his arms around her tightly.

She returned the embrace but then sensed something was wrong, "What’s going on?" she quizzed him, pulling back. The more she looked at him, the more an acrid feeling in the pit of her stomach built up. She looked at Birkoff and Walter moved with her to block her view.

Birkoff swallowed, "Michael and Nikita have run off together."

She smiled, "Good for them. It’s just what they needed."

He shook his head, "No, they left Section."

"They’re trying to escape, Mahleah," Walter told her.

She was a little stunned, but then she laughed, "Lord, I knew that Musashi was a man in the most desperate need to get laid, but DAMN! I never dreamed it would take him this far."

Walter frowned. The seriousness of the situation wasn’t getting through to her. Before he could speak, Birkoff interrupted him.

"Mahleah, they took a field router with them. Operations won’t stop until it’s located and they’re back in Section."

She raised an eyebrow, "As we say back home, Operations is old enough that his wants won’t hurt him."

Birkoff continued, "Walter spent all night in the White Room with Zalman because they think he helped Nikita steal the router."

The feeling in her stomach grew worse and began moving upwards into her chest. She examined her lover more closely and saw how tired and pale he looked.

"They tortured you?" she demanded.

He swallowed and said, "Yes, but Operations broke up the party -- never thought I’d be glad to see him."

Mahleah walked a few steps away from him and gripped the back of a chair. A muscle in her jaw jumped involuntarily.

Walter took a deep breath. This could have dangerous consequences, but she needed to know the full story. "That’s not all, Mahleah. They found Michael a couple of hours ago. He’s in with Zalman right now."

Her head snapped up, and he moved aside so she could see the figure on the screen. She stared at Michael’s face, white with smudges under his eyes. He was grimacing in pain.

Her friends held their breath as they saw her skin turn as pale as a sheet of paper. Her fingers clenched the top of the chair in a death-grip, and she bit her lip so hard they could see a drop of blood. Her eyes were dark suns, blazing in fury.

"Is that what they did to you Walter?" she asked in a low voice.

"Yes, but darlin’ you can’t do anything…"

His voice trailed off as she stalked away with long strides.

Birkoff stared at the top of the chair she’d been gripping. Indentations were left in the metal. He whistled. "I don’t know who to feel sorrier for: Michael, or Zalman when he encounters Mahleah."

Chapter Sixteen

Mahleah stormed down the corridor, trying to regain her composure to no avail.

She'd known that Section was ruthless, but witnessing brutality never came easily to her. Walter had said Operations had stopped his interrogation. Why? Was it possible that Zalman’s actions, or merely his waste of resources disgusted him? After all, Walter had known nothing about the escape attempt and Zalman was therefore being inefficient in pursuing that line of action.

She wondered how she could help Michael. Thank God Nikita was still free somewhere and it wasn't her sitting in that chair facing the torture twins. Options ran through her mind. Was there someway she could bust Michael out of here and let him join Nikita?

Just then, she spotted Zalman, who had just exited the interrogation room very smug. Of course, Operations was the one to actually gave him the key to breaking Michael, but in the end, he had gotten the information he needed. He saw Mahleah and gloated a bit. She was a member of the group that had wanted Michael to have his promotion, now she would see who had power in Section and who didn't. After all, she was barely a class one operative.

"Mahleah," he greeted her.

She wasn't interested in pleasantries. "Where's Michael?" she demanded.

"About to be cancelled," he told her with a smirk.

"What?" She couldn't believe her ears.

He stepped in close to her, invading her space. "How the mighty have fallen," he chuckled. "Michael just gave me Nikita's location. So much for his infamous resistance, although he did last a lot longer than Walter. That poor old man folded like a gypsy camp…."

Mahleah had heard far too much before he started with the racist remarks. Looking into his smug, cruel face something in her snapped. He had stepped too far into her kill zone and made himself an easy target. Her left hand reached down, grabbed his privates, and twisted as her right hand grabbed his throat, pushed him against the wall, and squeezed. He started turning interesting shades of red and green at the same time.

"Now you listen to me, little man. I happen to care a great deal about both Walter and Michael so maybe I'll just strike a bargain with you: any pain they receive you get back double. How does that sound? Of course, you've already run up quite a tab, haven't you? Is this a good start?" Her left fist clenched and squeezed tighter. He would have squalled but his air was rapidly running out.

Suddenly a voice behind her commanded, "Mahleah, let go of him now!"

Mahleah turned her head to see Madeline standing nearby. She appeared perfectly calm but perfectly firm. Mahleah sighed and released Zalman.

He fell to his knees gasping for breath. After a few seconds, he was able to wheeze, "You're dead. I'll kill you for this."

She mockingly bowed to him. "Anytime you think you're ready."

Madeline spoke again, "Come with me, please, Mahleah."

They left Section's Head Strategist lying in the floor.

Chapter Seventeen

Madeline was in a thoughtful mood. Something had been wrong about this entire situation from the start. She had suspected that Michael would be a little resentful about losing the promotion to Zalman, of all people. She had observed the new Strategist carefully and concluded he was inefficient, weak, and debilitated by the cruelty of the insecure.

Michael knew he was the better choice, but she had never expected the actions he had taken. Why had he run now when he had endured the loss of Simone twice and the loss of Nikita for six months? Even when he was separated from his son, he had taken no steps to leave Section. No, something was wrong with the plan and now she knew the answer.

She was a little annoyed with Paul for playing this mind game with her, but she supposed in the end that it only lent credibility to the scenario they were presenting George with both their personal and professional relationships. Still, it was a nuisance to waste her time looking in the wrong direction.

In the end, though, this profile had presented her with some interesting data about her favorite enigma, Mahleah Brennan. She stared at the operative before her with fascination. For once, the woman's mask was down and raw emotion ran across her face and through her eyes.

Madeline liked Mahleah as she possessed so much talent, so many skills, and had seemed to let trivial concerns slide away. Now it appeared that beneath the surface was a woman even more complex than she had suspected. The genie was out of the bottle briefly, and she wanted the chance to study it before Mahleah's self-control kicked in again.

Mahleah refused a seat. She knew she needed to restrain herself, but she was angrier than she had been in quite some time. It was one thing to put on a mask and pretend to be what Section wanted: it was a role to her, a part like Lady Macbeth. It was another to ignore the fact that two of her friends had been severely hurt and a third was in great danger. Just when she thought that her grasp on her fury was starting to cool it down, her mind would flash back to the sight of Michael in the White Room and Zalman's sneering face.

"You seemed to have lost control of yourself in the hallway," Madeline pointed out.

Mahleah lifted her chin, "I was expressing my displeasure with Mr. Zalman's gratuitous descriptions of the way he questioned Walter and Michael."

Madeline nodded, "A very effective display, I must say. Communication is a skill you seem to have mastery of – with or without words. I find myself a little concerned though. Previously you have shown no sign of such emotional outbursts. Is this the beginning of a new trend in your behavior? We encourage operatives to establish friendships with each other. It promotes cohesiveness and efficiency when acting as a team; however, if such bonds become too entrenched they can make you lose perspective."

"Perspective?" Mahleah's eyebrows rose.

"Yes, remember you are not normal people leading normal lives. We fight terrorism and cannot afford to have anyone lose focus on the goals we set. You should concentrate on the Copperhead profile. If your personal involvement with Walter is getting in the way of your objectivity, I'd suggest you break it off before serious repercussions ensue."

Mahleah stared at her, "You want me to stop seeing Walter romantically and if I don't you'll punish us?"

"We would hate to lose an operative with as much potential as yours, but ultimately anyone who cannot obey our commands and put Section responsibilities first becomes a liability."

"Fine," Mahleah stared at her, becoming calmer by the moment. "Cancel me."

Madeline blinked. It usually took operatives years to develop the courage to take this route, but then Mahleah had been ahead of the timetable in everything else as well. Of course, she could be bluffing. Taking a long, hard look into those dark eyes, Madeline knew she wasn't.

"Before you do something rash, perhaps you should consider a few things. For instance, we might decide to keep you and cancel Walter." She saw the fear and fury flash through Mahleah's eyes and smiled inwardly. She had won this round and they both knew it. "Also, while your anger towards Zalman is understandable, it might help you to know that Michael and Nikita's escape was not real."

Mahleah jerked slightly. Madeline saw her processing the information and come to the right conclusion. "You're after Zalman," she stated flatly.

"Yes, we believe him to be a mole for Red Cell."

"So, Michael and Nikita are safe, then?"

"As far as Section is concerned, yes, but the mission is not over yet. Nikita is still out there with the field router and I believe Zalman wants both of them badly. Hopefully, Michael will be able to catch our double-agent in the act."

"He'll need help," Mahleah stated. Her composure was returning, the older woman noted.

"You wish to accompany him?"

"Yes."

Madeline smiled, "I think that can be arranged."

Chapter Eighteen

As they sped toward the cabin together, Michael noticed Mahleah studying him.

"What?" he finally asked.

"Nothing," she said with a sigh. "It’s just been a hell of a week. You don’t know what I felt when I saw them torturing you."

"It had to be done."

"You’re still not used to the friendship concept, are you? You sound surprised that I care."

"I’m sorry you were upset. You should never have seen the interrogation."

"Walter’s the one you should apologize to. Zalman spent half the night warming up on him before he got his hands on you."

Michael turned to her for a second, and she realized that he hadn’t known. Part of her anger thawed but something was still bugging her.

"The other night when I saw you at Nikita’s: was that part of the mission?"

“Yes."

"And you let me believe it was personal. Does Nikita know the truth?"

"Yes."

"Well, at least you’re improving in that respect."

Silence descended upon them for a time, before Michael spoke again, "I wish I could have explained the mission to you the other night."

She studied him as she said, "Forget about it. I’m just disappointed that the two of you haven’t gotten together yet. Especially since..." she stopped herself.

"Since?" He prompted.

"Nothing, I just wanted the two of you to be happy, that’s all."

He was quiet for a moment and then replied, "I’m trying to follow your advice: always tell her the truth, be more open about my feelings, and take things slowly."

Her jaw dropped open, and then she composed herself and said, "Good," with a great deal of satisfaction.

When they reached the cabin, things went according to plan. Zalman’s team had played dead, he had confessed to Nikita that he was Red Cell, and Michael was in time to prevent him from hurting her. Mahleah had been present for backup and felt a little sorry she wasn’t needed. As they escorted Zalman from the building, she looked at him and said, "I hope they let me debrief you."

Michael saw Zalman turn pale, and knew this would be an effective threat to use against the man. He’d heard about Mahleah’s actions in the hallway and if Zalman weren’t cooperative, he would take great pleasure in asking Mahleah to join him.

Chapter Nineteen

Madeline and Operations were having dinner, and Madeline decided the time was right to chastise him just a little for his actions during the recent Zalman profile. They bantered for a few moments and he complimented her by saying that she always exceeded his expectations. That concluded, she informed him of the interesting effects his profile had on their newest operative.

He frowned, "If she’s going to let her emotions get in the way, this relationship needs to be nipped in the bud immediately."

Madeline smiled at him, "It’s already arranged. Mahleah knows how we feel about it, and just to make sure I had a talk with Walter."

"What did he say?" Operations asked with curiosity.

"He wasn’t pleased but faced with the unpleasant alternatives he agreed to end the relationship." She almost laughed. "Of course, I was told in no uncertain terms that despite any orders to the contrary he would always be friends with her."

"Do you think it will be enough?"

She was thoughtful as she answered, "I believe it will. Their attachment is based upon mutual respect more than passion. It was more a matter of two lonely people finding companionship than a whirlwind romance."

He nodded, "Good. I’d hate to see her lose momentum. Do you foresee any other problems with her loyalties?"

"As I’ve said before, a bond between operatives can be beneficial to Section if handled in the right way. I think her budding friendships with many of our essential personnel will prove advantageous in time. For instance, she seems to have become friendly with Michael."

"They made a good team on the De Longis mission," he admitted.

"Yes, they did," she agreed. "Michael is the frontrunner to replace you – I think it’s not too early to say that she could become his second in command."

Operations smiled, "He might prefer to give that job to Nikita, but I agree. Mahleah would be the better choice."

"It will be tricky, but we should begin to clear that path," she suggested.

He nodded, and then laughed, "Presuming of course, that she wouldn’t rather have my job than yours."

Chapter Twenty

Mahleah left the White Room with a smug grin on her face. Zalman had tried to give Michael a lot of bravado, which ended when the class five operative calmly invited her to join the proceedings. Of course, it helped that she brought Tora with her. Oddly enough, the prisoner couldn’t tell them enough about Red Cell after that.

"Nice job, Musashi," she thought, "Truly devious."

Her smile vanished as she thought of the disagreeable task before her. She wandered into Systems and spotting Birkoff decided to give herself a few minutes’ reprieve before speaking to Walter.

Birkoff grinned at her when she walked up beside him. "I see Zalman broke," he commented.

"Yeah, he just needed a little persuasion," she said nonchalantly. "I need to get out of here soon. They’re expecting me at the club tonight."

"Yeah, well, before you go could you give me some advice?" he asked a little shyly.

"What’s that?"

"Well, I met this woman the other day and we’re supposed to go out tonight and I was wondering if you had any suggestions on where I could take her?"

She sat down in the chair beside him triumphantly. "You have a date? Tell me all about her? What’s her name? Where did you meet her?"

"Her name’s Claire and we met at Christophe’s the other night," he admitted. "She’s twenty-two years-old and an art student at the Sorbonne. Mahleah, she’s incredible. Smart, beautiful, cultured…. I’m doomed."

"What do you mean you’re doomed? She must have liked you or she wouldn’t be going out with you tonight."

"I don’t know -- maybe she felt sorry for me, or something. I don’t know where to take her. I mean she’s so sophisticated."

Mahleah waved her hand airily, "So you’re looking for something romantic to do with a sophisticated art student, but you want it to be fun…something both of you can enjoy, right?"

"Exactly," he said eagerly. "Do you have any ideas?"

"It just so happens that I do. There’s a Cary Grant film festival going on this week and tonight they’re showing His Girl Friday. Take her to that: it’s funny, clever, and romantic without being the least bit sappy. If she likes it take her to see Indiscreet tomorrow night, which is much more hearts and flowers."

He looked at her doubtfully. She smiled, "Trust me Birkoff, Cary’ll win them over every time, but if she doesn’t like it find out what she likes to do."

She glanced toward Munitions and saw Walter. She took a deep breath and patted her friend on the shoulder, "Let me know if it works out, huh?"

She rose and walked over to talk to Walter. He looked at her sadly and said, "We need to talk."

Oh Lord, he’s going to break up with me first, she thought. Madeline must have talked to him, too. Maybe it’s better this way.

"What about," she asked.

He swallowed, "I don’t think we can keep seeing each other…romantically I mean. After all, I’m far too old for you and we don’t want this thing to get too complicated. We said friends with benefits, right?"

She gave him a small smile, "Yeah, friends no matter what."

He sighed in relief that she’d taken it so well and disappointment for the same reason.

"If you think it’s best, then that’s what we’ll do," she told him.

"Yeah, I—I think so."

Both of them had wet eyes but refused to cry.

"Do I get a farewell kiss?" she asked.

He blinked back a tear and said, "Sure, darlin’."

She leaned in and their lips met in a sweet goodbye.

He pulled away and said, "Now, maybe I can get some rest. You’ve been wearing me out."

She recognized his joke for what it was -- an attempt to let them walk away with both their dignity and their closeness intact. "Balderdash," she scoffed. "Who wouldn’t let who get any sleep?"

She began walking away, and he turned to his workbench not really seeing anything on it. She stopped a few paces away, "Hey," she called softly.

He looked up and she continued, "You know, Madeline can be a real bitch sometimes."

He chuckled and nodded. The truth now acknowledged between them, she left to pursue her cover at "The Copperhead."

Chapter Twenty-One

Nikita was uncomfortable. Michael had come over to have dinner with her tonight and seemingly enjoyed the meal. He gave every indication of finally wanting to take a step toward a relationship and now she felt like backing down. So many times, she had imagined this moment, and so many times through the years she’d known him had Michael seemed to be taking that leap only for her to discover the whole situation was a Section ploy. She realized that it was for real this time. His complete honesty with her about the Zalman mission reassured her of that. Yet, that scared her even more.

Michael could see her nervousness and understood the reasons for it. He intended to keep to his plan though: let her see how he felt and give her the time she needed to accept it. He poured them a glass of wine.

She looked at him and decided to put her cards on the table, "You know it can’t be casual between us?" she asked.

He agreed and raised his glass in a toast. She wasn’t ready, though and sat hers down. He decided to give her a break and went out on her balcony. The wind was blowing briskly, and the air was decidedly sharp. He looked at the sidewalk below them and saw Mahleah standing in front of the building as if uncertain whether or not to enter.

Nikita joined him and saw their friend, "Poor Mahleah," she said softly.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Didn’t you hear? Walter broke up with her today. We all think it had something to do with Madeline, but does it really matter why? She looks so lonely."

Worse than that, Michael thought, she looked lost. As they watched she tucked absently on the end of her braid and let her hair escape into the wind. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her long coat and began walking away.

"Where is she going at this hour?" Nikita wondered aloud. "It looks like it could storm any second."

"I’ll find out," Michael told her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Duncan MacLeod had had about as much of Amanda as he could take in one day. Ever since he had come to Paris she had been practically inseparable from him: helping him run down leads in the search for Mahleah, trying to cheer him up when he grew frustrated and depressed, expressing her love for Mahleah in every way she could and her claim on him just as often.

Really, it was amusing. Amanda had always been a little territorial but had never seen fit to see Mahleah as a rival until now. Suddenly for whatever reason, that had changed, but the interesting thing was that she still cared for her competition. They had been friends since Mahleah was eight years old and had caught Amanda robbing the hotel they had been staying in while on vacation.

The two of them had a genuine bond and Amanda had passed along to the young pre-Immortal tips both expert (and illegal), about picking locks, and amateurish in belly dancing. Amanda liked to brag about being a dancing girl in Constantinople but MacLeod remembered her being the worst dancer in the palace prized for her other skills. Luckily, he had been around to counteract any impulses towards thievery she might impart to the young girl and Mahleah’s Oriental dance instructor purged her of any bad habits left over from those days while performing.

Yes, Amanda sincerely loved Mahleah and wished her the best – as long as it was away from his bed. Her warring psyche was causing havoc with his nerves. Despite the inclement weather he had found himself drawn outside on the deck to lose himself in one distraction she would neither resent nor interfere with: his katas. So, he concentrated on the discipline of the forms, which freed him temporarily from anger, grief, guilt, pain, sorrow, and frustration.

Mahleah stood far enough away that Duncan couldn’t sense her but she could still watch him flow from movement to movement. She hadn’t consciously realized where she was going when she left her apartment and let her wandering feet lead her eventually to the barge. The very sight of him made her heart constrict.

Tonight she had found a small measure of success at the club. They had managed to double the normal audience from a dozen to two. She had found satisfaction in losing herself in the music, letting her soul "drift away" as the song goes.

It wasn’t until after the last note died that she realized what bad shape she was in tonight. Their last number was the Springsteen classic "Backstreets" and in rehearsals, they had tried it repeatedly until she was satisfied. It was a favorite and every time the guitar made its first entrance before the lyrics began, she felt her breath catch and her eyes moisten.

Tonight had been no exception and she found herself pouring every ounce of herself into the song. When the echo of the last line and chord faded away, she found that she felt numb. She was beyond drained – more like empty.

She said her good-byes and started walking home, refusing rides from the guys. She didn’t really want any of them to know where she lived, and besides she preferred to walk. Unhappily, walking also led to thinking and that wasn’t pleasant tonight.

She and Walter had broken up because of some idiotic Section rule or possibly even worse because of a whim or mind game of Madeline’s. It wasn’t that she was in love with him, although she cared for him dearly – it was the fact that he made her day a little brighter, always encouraged her to be herself and reminded her of the goodness that could be found in the human heart. She would miss him, not as a friend because she knew that was remain, but as a lover. She would miss their intimacy and his presence in her bed. He was a tender, thoughtful lover and she treasured watching his sleep at night when all the anxieties of the day were gone. Yet, in the end her feelings for him were comfortable not passionate, friendly rather than romantic, companionable not soulful. And so, feeling lifeless and aching with a terrible longing, she’d gone aimlessly from place to place until she found herself here.

Watching Duncan, she wondered if Madeline hadn’t done the right thing for the wrong reason. She had sensed that Walter’s feelings for her were growing more intense, so perhaps it was better, after all that they end that side of their relationship now before he got hurt even worse than he had.

With the clouds hiding the moon she stood in the dark and gazed at Duncan, remembering. Each fierce move he made on the deck of the barge brought forth a corresponding memory of gentleness from her mind. She could feel the softness of his hair as it slipped through her fingers, could smell his familiar, strange strawberry odor. She didn’t care if the smell was only in her head; it was always associated with him. She recalled the way he would catch his breath when she touched him, whisper soft words in her ears before he kissed her, call out in Gaelic when they climaxed…the way he would wrap his arms around her for the rest of the night and wake her in the morning with sweet kisses that were better than any alarm clock ever made.

Involuntarily, she took a couple of steps forward and realized that she couldn’t resist going to him tonight. Her mind told her she was insane but with trembling hands, and shuddering breath she knew she was going. Just as she started to take the inevitable step that would most likely put her within range of his Immortal senses, she saw a figure come out on the deck. It was Amanda.

MacLeod finished his workout and came out of his last stance to find Amanda behind him, holding two cups of hot coffee.

"A peace offering?" she mildly asked.

He smiled and took it. His mind felt clearer and his heart more at peace for the moment. He sipped the coffee and was preparing to follow Amanda into warmer quarters when something stopped him. He was never sure why he turned around, but just as he did the wind shifted a cloud just enough for a small beam of moonlight to briefly illuminate a figure walking rapidly away.

His heart sped up. Was that long hair blowing in the breeze?

"Mahleah?" he said aloud.

"Where," Amanda looked but saw nothing. Coffee left behind, Duncan ran off the barge and into the night following the unknown shadow. Unfortunately, he was not the only one….

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mahleah’s favorite spot in Paris was in the small square behind Notre Dame. Ever since she was a child and had visited the city for the first time, she would go there if she felt troubled and sit on one of the benches to think things through. At night, the gates were closed but as they were not very high, she’d never had trouble getting over them. She usually had to share the spot with lovers who sought its romantic atmosphere but tonight the weather had kept them all home.

For once, it brought her no peace. Her emptiness had been filled with pain and a sorrowful rage. She slipped off the bench to her knees screaming, "No!" Then she repeated it again and again as she beat her open palms against the ground.

A dark-clad figure came over the fence and quietly made its way towards her, but her hearing was still very sharp. She rolled herself to the side and confronted the intruder with a knife drawn from a boot, only to discover a friend.

"Michael?" she asked blankly. "What are you doing here?"

He pulled her gently to her feet. "I could ask you the same question," he replied.

"I-I’m just out for a walk," she stammered.

He said nothing, but examining her battered hands, pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped it around her bloodiest palm. She trembled and when he’d finished tried to pull away. He caught her again and held her near him. He saw the first tears fall and brushed the hair off her face. The tears fell faster and he wrapped his arms around her. The storm inside her broke loose and he felt her shake with great racking sobs against him.

He said nothing, but gently stroked the long hair and sitting her down on the bench, rocked her against his chest. The fury lasted for some time, but eventually a wet face raised itself and hiccuped as it said, "I don’t know what’s the matter with me, Michael. I don’t normally fall to pieces like this."

"It’s okay," he said simply, and since he’d already used the handkerchief, wiped her wet cheeks with his fingertips.

Behind the fence, MacLeod watched with a sick fascination. He had been horrified to see Mahleah in such an agitated condition and had been about to go to her, when the stranger appeared. Mahleah had known him and trusted him enough to comfort her through the emotional maelstrom.

"Michael," she’d called him. Duncan examined the newcomer closely. He was tall and well built with thick brown hair and beautiful green eyes. He strained to make out these details without realizing it or his motive for doing so: Mahleah was a hair and eye girl. He was examining this man to discover his relationship with his former lover.

He saw how gentle Michael was with her – the way he bound her hand, the way he held her closely while she cried, instinctively doing all the things Duncan knew Mahleah found most comforting.

Bryson’s report had mentioned that Mahleah had been undercover with a Michael and his description had reported them as being very close. Duncan closed his eyes wearily. It seemed he had found her too late, then. Her heart was already spoken for.

As he watched, Mahleah reached awkwardly for her hair and attempted to gather it for a braid unsuccessfully. Michael turned her around and began plaiting it for her. Duncan swallowed and walked away. He had seen enough. He would return to the barge and Amanda.

On the bench, Mahleah licked her lips nervously. She was unaccustomed to other people braiding her hair. Michael’s fingers were gentle and skillful, handling the thick tresses with ease. She knew he was doing it to help set her to rights. With her hair back, her armor would be in place and she would be ready to face the world again, yet what she had told him before about the intimacy of this act for her was true. There was no way for him to know that having her hair stroked was usually a sensuous experience for her, and that a certain spot on the back of her neck was one of her most erogenous zones. When his fingers accidentally brushed it, tingles went down her spine. It was everything she could do not to jerk her hair out of his grasp and yell, "Don’t do that, you big dummy! Don’t you know it turns me on?"

She forced herself to be still and concentrate on her breathing. In and out, in and out…regular not ragged. When he finished, she handed him the ponytail binder with a sigh of relief.

He helped her to her feet. She put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Thank you, Michael. I’m glad you were here. I’m not sure why you were, but I needed a friendly shoulder." She took a breath then continued, "So, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d rather you not do my hair anymore, please."

He looked into her eyes for a very long moment and understood. He nodded. She smiled and as they started walking home, she said lightly but seriously, "Some roads, Musashi, were never meant to be taken."

Well, the night had sent her a friend. Perhaps not the one she was looking for, but he was special nonetheless. Oddly, though, a little tingle at the back of her brain was trying to tell her that she’d missed something….

Chapter Twenty-Four

After the movie, Birkoff and Claire decided to walk to her apartment. The wind was just starting to pick up and she shivered as she held his arm and pulled herself closer to him.

"We could take a cab," he suggested.

"No," she shook her head. "The evening would be over too quickly."

"You can always invite me in," he suggested and his heart sped up.

She smiled a little shyly, "I could but I have a roommate."

"That’s okay, introduce me."

She shook her head, "Not yet. I’m enjoying having you all to myself."

He felt a flush creep slowly from the back of his neck. "I’m glad," he told her.

"I really enjoyed the movie, too. I’m glad your friend recommended it."

"Yeah, I’ll have to give Mahleah a big thank you," he said fervently.

She looked at him curiously, "Mahleah? That’s an odd name."

"Yeah, I guess."

"How strange, I used to know a Mahleah years ago. We went to school together. Surely it couldn’t be the same person?" she exclaimed.

He swallowed. What had he gotten himself into accidentally? "I really doubt it," he replied.

"She was a good friend of mine," Claire mused. "Is she American?"

"Yes, I think so."

She gave him a funny look at that response, but then asked, "Small, petite, short red hair with freckles and blue eyes?"

"No," he laughed in relief. "Mahleah’s very tall -- probably about six feet, and her eyes are brown."

"Oh, she said with disappointment.”I’d liked to have seen her again."

They had reached her building by this time and she turned to him with a smile, "I guess this is good night then."

"Would you like to see Indiscreet tomorrow night?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, I would," she said to his vast relief. She leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Goodnight Seymour."

She ran up the steps to her building as Birkoff stood there with his head swimming. Tomorrow -- he could hardly wait.

Chapter Twenty-Five

First Team was on its way back to Section from a flash mission, and they were exhausted. They had all been called in at 3:30 in the morning, flown for several hours, waited until the target was tagged and then obliterated his headquarters. Now that the mission was successfully concluded, they were on their way home.

Nikita, while as fatigued as everyone else, was glad that for once she had not been the bait for the profile. Instead, Mahleah was to be the one to slip the tracker into a convenient place. The mark had wanted to engage in a little rough and tumble and Nikita thought a member of the team would have to retrieve her, but Mahleah had been fine. The class two operative looked over at her neighbor.

Mahleah had changed out of her trashy clothes into Mission gear. Nikita knew she had to be exhausted, since she had only gotten in from her other assignment at 3. Remarkably, she was holding together well for someone with half an hour’s rest, but after debriefing she had to sing tonight. Nikita didn’t know how she would manage.

Mahleah looked around at her sluggish teammates. She was just tired enough to be incredibly wired. She knew she should probably try to take a nap before they got back in Section, but she knew she’d never go to sleep. Realizing that she was also feeling a little loopy, she decided to run with it. Her comrades looked like they could use some fun, and she could stand to warm up her voice.

"Hey, didn’t anyone bring any music?" she inquired loudly.

Davis, the operative normally in charge of smuggling rock on board their flights, shook his head. "There wasn’t any time," he told her.

She shrugged, "Oh well, we’ll just have to make our own fun, won’t we?"

They looked at her curiously. She stood up and began pacing. "You know I was going through my music collection the other day and I ran across some songs that would fit into a collection entitled ‘Section’s Greatest Hits.’ You know songs that sum up the mood and attitude of our superiors so superbly. For instance, the old Eurthymics’ tune, ‘Would I Lie to You.’ Do y’all remember that one?"

She saw nods and a few smiles, and said brightly, "Good, ‘cause we’re going to sing it."

Startled looks met her statement and she continued to work on them. Nikita walked over to Michael and sat down beside him. She looked at their mutual friend with amazement.

"What is she up to?" she mused.

"She’s re-channeling her energy in order to perform tonight," he informed her, as his fingers flew over a laptop keyboard. "She’s also tired enough to be a little silly."

"I don’t know whether to cheer or be scared," Nikita said with amusement.

"Both probably," he told her, and then looked up briefly. She was startled to see a flicker of something in his eyes – could it be laughter?

Mahleah came over to them. "Okay, I need your services," she said sweetly. "Oh, don’t panic, Musashi, I know you’d rather be boiled in oil first, but Nikita you’re coming with me."

Nikita found herself amongst her other team mates…all of them looking a little dazed. Michael put down his laptop to enjoy the show. Mahleah raised her hands and directed them: "Would I lie to you? Would I lie to you honey? Now would I say something that wasn’t true? I’m asking you sugar, would I lie to you?"

Mahleah cut loose with her part and the people who had never heard her before let their jaws hang open. Michael was rather impressed by the fact that she was a cappella, singing without the benefit of music, and doing a fine job. Her voice inspired the other Section ops to put forth more energy. In fact, she stirred them into a small frenzy.

Michael let a small smile form on his lips as he wondered what Operations would make of all this.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Several days later, Mahleah was having lunch at "The Copperhead" and trying to get to know her target’s sister a little better. They had been discussing music and Teresa confessed that she wished the band would play a different kind.

"Not that I don’t think you’re great," she hastily added. "I’d just like to hear something a little more modern, you know?"

Mahleah laughed, "Modern, as relative to what exactly?"

Teresa blushed, "Well, you know join the nineties or something. Spice things up a little."

"If you mean with electronic music or hip hop I’m with you, but I don’t think anyone else would be very enthusiastic," Mahleah told her. "Your father likes his music straight-up, old-fashioned, rock and blues."

"I know," the teenager said with a frown, "but there’s so much more out there. Although," she brightened, "I love the way you rock. You’re so cool. All the things you see guys normally doing in a band, you do too. I love it."

"Thank you," Mahleah replied. "I guess they need to remember your age more often. I guess to you someone like Madonna is considered a classic pop artist?"

"Sure."

"And in your mind U2 and Bruce Springsteen are as old as the Stones?"

"Well, aren’t they?"

"Not hardly, sweetie, not hardly."

Teresa studied the singer for a moment and then hesitantly asked, "Am I making you feel old?"

"Yes, but I suppose I’d better get used to it. For the record I remember when U2 were a group of teenaged boys from Dublin trying to get people to listen to ‘I Will Follow,’ but I digress. I’ll see what I can do to update the lineup."

Teresa brightened, "How?"

"Well, no one’s likely to turn hip-hop, but maybe I can coax a little trip-hop out of them. I’ll at least try to add a few dance numbers to the repertoire."

"Oh, that would be great!" Teresa was enthusiastic.

Mahleah looked up and saw Tony watching them carefully. He smiled and turned away. She turned her gaze back to Teresa and cautiously asked, "Teresa, why is your dad so mysterious sometimes? It seems like he wants to keep his life story a closed book."

Teresa moistened her lips, "I think he just doesn’t want to think about the past. It hurts too much. It’s only been a few years since Mom died and it was a pretty traumatic experience."

"What happened to her?"

Teresa swallowed, "She was murdered."

"I’m so sorry," Mahleah automatically said, her mind whirling. How did this fit in with Shawn? "Did they catch the killer?"

"No," Teresa squirmed in her seat. "Things have never been the same since, really. My brother fought with my dad then ran away from home and we eventually moved here."

"Why did he run away?"

"I’m not really sure," Teresa looked behind her. "I think I’m needed in the kitchen. I’ll catch you later, okay? And work on those new tunes!"

After the girl had left, Mahleah sat there wondering what had happened to Teresa’s mother and whether those circumstances had caused Shawn to become an assassin. She saw that Tony was watching her again with a small frown. She smiled at him and he smiled back, but his eyes were thoughtful.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Birkoff noticed Mahleah strolling by and called out to her, "Hey, just the person I wanted to talk to."

She smiled and sat down next to him, "How are things going, Birkoff?"

"Great," he told her.

"I gather the relationship with what was her name, Claire, is working out, then?"

"Oh yes, it’s great. In fact, I wanted to invite you to dinner with us tonight."

"I’m sorry, Birkoff, I can’t. I’m singing tonight."

He looked at her thoughtfully, "You need some rest. It seems like you’re always busy lately."

She nodded ruefully, "Yeah, if I have downtime, I still have to perform and if I have a day off from the club, I’m sent on a mission. Well, it could be worse. I love to sing, so that’s not a big hardship. They could have me working as an exotic dancer or something."

He laughed, "True. I wish you could come though. I invited Nikita to meet her and I would have invited Walter, but…"

"He’s not back from his month’s downtime, I know. I wish I could come. Bring her by the club some night. I’d like to check her out – see if she’s worthy of you."

He colored faintly then remembered, "Oh yeah, I thought you had a rather unusual name, but Claire thought she might know you. She went to school in America with a Mahleah."

She studied him intently, "Really, I don’t seem to remember knowing any Claire’s. I thought you said she was twenty-two. That’s a few years too young to have gone to school with me."

"Oh, it wasn’t you," he chuckled. "The girl she was talking about looks nothing like you. She was short and small, with red hair, freckles, and blue eyes. That couldn’t possibly be you."

"No," she agreed, "that’s not even in the ballpark." Her eyes were thoughtful, though. "Why don’t I see if Michael is willing to go with you?"

He looked at her dubiously, "I don’t know, Mahleah. That might not be such a good idea."

She grinned, "Afraid he’ll steal your girl? Don’t worry, his mind will be on Nikita."

"But Michael would never come," he protested.

She stood up, "Leave it to me. I’ll convince him."

She walked away toward the class five operative’s office and Birkoff swallowed. Michael tended to be quiet and reserved, (which would kill the mood) or charming (which usually meant he was handling a Valentine target). Either way, he wasn’t sure how well Michael would fit into this little group.

Mahleah knocked on Michael’s door and entered when she heard, "Come in."

He looked up and asked, "Yes?"

"Are you busy?"

"I can take a break."

"Hmm, well I’ve come to beg a favor from you," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

He sighed. When people normally came to him for favors it usually involved complicated Section business -- with Mahleah, however, it could be just about anything. "What do you want?" he asked.

She sat in the chair in front of his desk, letting her long legs dangle over the arm. "I want you to go on a sort of double date tonight."

He stared at her, silently demanding an explanation.

"Birkoff has a new girlfriend by the name of Claire. He has invited Nikita to have dinner with them tonight. He asked me to go as well, but since I have to sing, I had to decline."

"You want me to fill in for you?"

Her mouth twisted mischievously. "Oh, I hope you do much better than that!" Her face grew more serious. "Yes, I’d like you to attend, but there’s another reason. Claire mentioned to Birkoff that she used to know a Mahleah in school. Now, she’s too young for us to be old classmates and her description didn’t match me, but I wonder…"

"What?"

"Her description…not one feature came even close to matching me. It was if someone picked my complete opposite physically speaking."

"You think she does know you someway," he stated.

She frowned, "I’m not sure, but I’d like you to meet her for me, give me your opinion of her character, tell me what *she* looks like."

He examined her face as he asked, "Does this have to do with ‘your people’, like Kassim?"

She pursed her lips, "I don’t know, and that’s what worries me." She shrugged. "I could be paranoid, but I’d rather have Birkoff safe then be wrong."

"I’ll see what I can do," he promised.

She rose, smiling, "Thanks, Musashi. Hope it won’t be too much of a hardship to spend the evening with Nikita."

She went to the door, but before she opened it glanced back slyly and said, "Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."

Straight-faced, he replied, "That leaves me plenty of options."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"If I’d realized Michael was going to be here, I would have worn something else," Nikita thought. Birkoff had told her Claire was a little shy and so she’d dressed rather conservatively in order to make the girl feel at ease. Now she thought of a little red dress hanging in her closet and sighed. Oh well.

Oddly enough, Michael was still in his basic black although he’d changed his dress shirt for a more casual sweater. She would have thought he’d take the opportunity to add a little color to his ensemble, but apparently not. Not that he looked bad in black, she admitted, in fact no one else wore it half as well. He was doing his best to make Claire feel comfortable, too, even if his warm glances at herself were causing her to feel decidedly uncomfortable.

Birkoff was relaxing as well. His fears about Michael joining the party were proving themselves groundless. Instead of being overly smooth, or politely distant, Michael was friendly and interested. He took the pains to draw Claire out without making Birkoff feel threatened. It had been an interesting evening.

Michael, himself, was a bit confused. Claire remained a puzzle to him. She seemed in every respect to be just what she said, a shy young Art student from America. He had casually dropped Mahleah’s name into the conversation, but she didn’t rise to the bait. She had told them about her friends back home, her family, and her ambitions. He intended to check some of the verifiable details, but everything seemed to be completely genuine. Why, then, were his instincts telling him she was hiding something? Could Mahleah’s suspicions be right?

They rose to leave and Michael hailed a cab. Birkoff and Claire decided to walk. Nikita expected Michael to get in with her, but when he didn’t she got back out and asked, "Aren’t you going to see me home?"

Oh, how he longed to say yes and more, but he had a promise to keep. Besides, what if he got to her apartment and she decided again that she wasn’t ready for more? He sighed, and brushed his thumb lightly across her cheekbone and down the side of her face.

"Not tonight," he told her with regret. "I have something I have to take care of."

She nodded, sensing he wasn’t telling her everything. Maybe he was supposed to be back in Section and he’d taken a break just to be with her? Probably wasn’t true, but that’s what she would tell herself.

"I’ll see you tomorrow, then," she said wistfully, and got into the car.

Michael watched as it drove off, wondering if he was a complete idiot. He saw Birkoff and Claire in the distance and silently headed toward them.

"I like your friends, Seymour," Claire told him, as they walked hand-in-hand to her apartment.

"I’m glad," he responded, then added, "Um, you don’t like Michael too well, I hope?"

She laughed, lightly, "No, he’s too good-looking."

"You have something against good-looking guys?"

"Obviously not, I’m with you," she teased. "No, I mean he’s too good-looking. I’ve had a couple of bad experiences with men who looked like that. They’re usually hiding something and break your heart."

He noticed sadness in her tone, and asked about it.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, "Yeah, I was in love with a man named Jean once. I thought it would last forever but he left me."

"Why?"

She smiled bitterly, "Another woman of course."

They had reached her building. He walked her to the door and said, "Well, Jean was incredibly stupid. I can’t imagine leaving you for anyone."

She smiled slightly but he saw tears glistening in her eyes, "Thank you," she whispered.

He bent and kissed her, hoping to alleviate her pain through his touch. Her lips were warm and responsive, but when he leaned in to kiss her again, she stopped him.

"Much as I love this, I have an early class in the morning," she said regretfully, "Rain check?"

"Absolutely," he promised, and kissed her hand lightly.

Michael watched everything from the shadows.

Hours later, he walked into "The Copperhead." Mahleah was onstage, finishing a number. She brightened at his entrance, and when the song was over, came to his table. Teresa was there taking his order.

"Michael!" she exclaimed, and gave him the ritual Gallic kisses on each cheek and sat across from him. She looked at the teenager who was regarding him with wide eyes. "Teresa, this is my best friend Michael. He was the first person I got to know in Paris. Michael, this is Teresa."

He shook her hand and she gave a little sigh, and then hurried to get his drink.

"So, what did you find out?" Mahleah asked him.

"She seems harmless enough," he told her.

She frowned. "You don’t sound completely convinced."

"I think she’s hiding something, but it may be innocent. Perhaps she is seeing someone else on the side?"

"Only a Frenchman would consider that innocent," she scolded. "What does she look like?"

"Tall, about 5’9", thin, long dark hair, brown eyes."

"Nearly any of that could be faked," she mused.

He handed her an electronic device and punched a button. She saw a dinner table and a young woman fitting his description. She looked at him questioningly.

"I thought it might help," he said.

"Leave it to you to wear a camera at dinner," she chuckled, then turned her attention back to the small screen. She examined Claire’s features intently, looking for any sign of recognition. There was none.

She sighed and looked at him, "I’ve never seen her before in my life."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

When Mahleah heard a knock on her door, she found Nikita on the other side.

"Hey," she greeted her. "Come in, I was just fixing myself some breakfast."

"I didn’t know if you’d be up yet," Nikita told her.

"Yes, and wonder of wonders, I actually don’t have to go into Section today," Mahleah smiled.

"Well, I’ve been there already and decided to leave for the day. Operations was in one of his moods." Nikita settled herself, along with a large pad of paper, into one of the kitchen chairs.

Mahleah finished slicing up strawberries for her cereal, poured milk over it, and asked, "What happened?"

"The woman we were supposed to be working with killed herself," Nikita sighed. "Operations seems to feel we’re responsible somehow."

"Glad you’re out of it for a while then," Mahleah said cheerfully.

"Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a while now, and never got around to it."

"What’s that?"

"I draw, well, I sketch a little anyway, and I was wondering if you’d let me sketch you."

Mahleah raised an eyebrow, "Seriously?"

Nikita waved her sketchpad, "Seriously."

"Sure," came the response. "I’m honored. I’ve only been an artist’s model two or three times, I think and once was by accident."

"How did you accidentally become a model?" Nikita asked with interest.

"Oh, I was just sitting on a bench one day and it turned out this guy was drawing me. He came up and asked me out and we did the town up proper."

"So what happened with him?"

"Someone else got to first base before him," Mahleah said in a dismissive fashion. "So, how do you want me?"

"Do you know you’re always doing that," Nikita said with exasperation.

"Doing what?"

"You start an interesting story and then refuse to tell the end."

"I did tell you the end. I started out with one man and ended up with another."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Details, details, I want to hear more. Why do you have to be so mysterious all the time?"

Mahleah sighed. She walked over to the picture window and stood in the sunshine. Nikita loved the pose and surreptitiously opened the sketchbook and began drawing.

"I met Tim when I was mourning the death of an old friend. He convinced me to slip into a little black dress and go club hopping with him. We drank a boatload of champagne and danced. Eventually another old friend of mine dropped into the club we were at and grew concerned with my condition."

"Because you don’t drink," Nikita pointed out. "Normally, that is. Hey, is he the guy you ended up spending the night with? You only gave me a few details before."

"Yes, Tim left – I never knew why, and to tell the truth barely noticed – and I finished another bottle of champagne with Mac."

"Mac?" thought Nikita. "Wasn’t that the gorgeous guy in the dress shop?" She refrained from asking…guessing that to do so would cause Mahleah to end her tale.

"He took me home, his home as it happened, and I revealed some feelings that I had been suppressing for him. He was a little hesitant about making out with me since I was so tipsy, but I changed his mind in a hurry. Unfortunately for him, just when things were getting exciting, I fell asleep. There, end of story."

"I’m sure there was more to it than that," she was informed, "but I’m also sure that you’re not going to tell me, so I’ll leave it."

Mahleah turned, "Bright girl." She saw Nikita was drawing and sighed, "What is it with people sketching me on the sly?"

When Mahleah arrived for her gig that night, she saw a familiar face at the bar. Walking up to the bearded man with a cane, she greeted him, "Hello, Joe. I’ve been wondering when you’d show up."

Chapter Thirty

Immortal and Watcher sat at a table together.

"So, how did you find me?" Mahleah finally asked.

"I have my sources," he said evenly.

"I’ve met one of your sources, and while she seemed sweet enough I wasn’t very impressed with her surveillance skills. Surely, she didn’t track me here."

"No, I’ve removed Jesley from your chronicle. She was a little spooked by her encounter with you. Would you really have tied her up and left on my doorstep?" He shook his head, "Never mind. Forget I asked."

"So, what are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? Do you have any idea what we’ve been going through since your disappearance and supposed suicide? Obviously, we didn’t believe the suicide part, but you completely vanished from the face of the earth. We were about to think that someone had taken your head only no one had found the body yet. Why didn’t you let one of us know where you were?"

"I couldn’t," she responded calmly, "not without putting you in danger. I told Jesley to explain that to you."

"She did, and from what I’ve gathered you’ve been recruited into some sort of anti-terrorist agency, right?"

She gripped his arm fiercely, "How do you know that?"

"Kassim’s Watcher."

She thought about it for a moment and laughed, "Bryson."

"Bryson," he agreed.

She resumed her grip on his arm, "Listen to me, Joe. The place I’m working for is extremely paranoid about outsiders even knowing of its existence. They would kill you without hesitation just for being here and having this conversation with me. That’s why I haven’t let any of my friends know I’m in Paris. It would create dangerous situations for all of us."

"Even for MacLeod?" he asked softly.

She ducked her head, not meeting his glance.

"Mahleah, you don’t know what he’s been through since all this started. If he were mortal his hair would be white as snow right now."

"I’m sure Amanda is cheering him up," she commented, still not looking him in the eye.

"Is that what this is all about, jealousy? Lord, you two are killing me. First him, now you," he groaned.

"What are you talking about?"

He grew cautious, saying only, "Bryson reported that you were very intimate with your partner. What was his name, Michael?"

She smiled, "Of course I was. According to our cover story we were lovers – we had to appear intimate."

"And since then?"

"What do you mean since then? Not that it’s any of your concern, but we’re friends. He’s in love with my neighbor."

Joe heaved a sigh of relief. Apparently, MacLeod had misinterpreted what he had seen the other night. If he could only convince Mahleah to leave this organization, things could get back to normal.

"So why don’t you just leave?" he asked.

"I can’t."

"Why not?"

"It’s not that simple, Joe. The only way any one leaves this place is feet first."

"So, let them kill you. I doubt they’ll cut your head off. You’d be free." He frowned as she shook her head, "Why not?"

"No Joe, I’m trying to make up for a little of the havoc I created last year. Besides, the people I’ve met need me, I think."

"And Mac doesn’t?"

She laughed at him. "Duncan MacLeod lived for over three centuries without me. He can make it a few years more."

"Don’t you miss him at all?"

She sighed and her eyes looked at him with an acute sadness. "Of course I do, but now is not the time. I wish things were different, but c’est la vie."

He rose, and looked down at her, "If you change your mind, you know the number of my club."

"Maybe someday, my friend," she promised.

Chapter Thirty-One

"Come in," Michael said to the knock at his door.

Mahleah entered and sat down in her usual chair, propping one foot in the seat and letting the other dangle.

"I was wondering if you’d found out anything more about Claire," she asked.

He nodded and handed her a panel. She skimmed through the information: Claire Emily Westcott, age 22, originally from New York. Everything seemed aboveboard. She frowned. To all outward appearances, Claire Westcott was an innocent American studying abroad. Of course, to all outward appearances, Mahleah was a struggling writer who made ends meet through a small inheritance and spent her time singing at a small club on the poor side of town.

"There’s another name on her lease, a Samantha Stuart. Have you heard Birkoff mention her?" Michael inquired.

"No, but I’ll find out," Mahleah told him.

"Why does this girl have you so on-edge?"

She shrugged, "Intuition, I don’t know. How about you -- you told me yourself you think she’s hiding something."

He mimicked her gesture, "I’m not sure why."

She smiled faintly, "Well, Musashi, the two of us have survived as long as we have because we listened to our instincts. I’ll reserve judgment on Claire until I’ve met her. I’ll see if Birkoff can bring her by the club."

He nodded in agreement. There was another knock at his door and Nikita poked her head in.

"Hope I’m not interrupting."

"No, we just finished our discussion," Mahleah told her.

"Good," she led a pale, dark-haired woman into the office. "I wanted you to meet Sarah. Sarah, this is Mahleah."

Mahleah smiled warmly at the newcomer, "Nikita’s been telling me about you, Sarah. I’m so glad to finally meet you."

She studied the woman surreptitiously. Nikita had indeed told her about a woman whom Section was using for her uncanny resemblance to a terrorist. Nikita had said she was dying of cancer and Mahleah thought Sarah looked rather tired and a little withdrawn.

She managed a smile and a weak handshake with the Immortal.

"Madeline has suggested I come see you tonight," she said quietly.

Mahleah raised an eyebrow and looked at Nikita who responded by saying, "Sarah’s a little shy and Madeline thought a night out on the town might make her feel more comfortable with her assignments." She looked at Michael, "Would you like to join us? The more the merrier."

He understood her unspoken message, "The more people there Sarah knows the better she will feel."

"Of course," he answered.

Nikita brightened. "I’ve already asked Birkoff and he said he’d like to bring Claire."

"Oh good," Mahleah exclaimed. "I’ve been dying for a chance to meet her."

Chapter Thirty-Two

Mahleah sat at the bar of "The Copperhead" waiting for the customers to arrive and the show to begin. Tony sat a glass in front of her and poured a bottle into it.

"I got this in just for you," he told her.

She looked at it suspiciously, "What is it?"

"Try it."

She took a sip of the fizzing liquid cautiously and her eyes widened in surprise, "Wow that’s great!"

"Well, you don’t partake of my usual brews so I imported a few bottles of Clearly Canadian water for you."

She was touched, "I admit I have a weakness for Canadian imports. What flavor is this?"

He held up the bottle, "Peach mango."

"I like it," she took a larger drink.

"You seem rather thoughtful this evening. Anything I can help you with?"

She gave him a brief smile and shook her head. "I’m afraid not. I’m expecting some friends in tonight."

"Well, that should make you happy."

"It does, but the reason they’re coming is to give an evening out to a new acquaintance – a young woman named Sarah – who is dying of cancer."

"Oh, I’m sorry," he said quietly.

"So am I," she replied and took another large swallow of her fizzy peach-mango flavored water. "So am I."

He regarded her thoughtfully, "It’s rough isn’t it? Watching someone die so young when you’re so strong and healthy?"

"Yes," she said with a little surprise. He had captured her mood precisely. She was still trying to grow accustomed to the fact that she would live on -- never aging, never getting sick -- barring the moment someone struck her head from her shoulders. Never would she have to face the specters of cancer, heart disease, Alzheimer’s or the indignities of aging in general, personally. She would have to watch, though, as those around her suffered in ways she could never imagine. What had she ever done to deserve the life she led, and not Sarah? She sighed, knowing that such questions would haunt her for an extremely long time.

"There’s nothing you can do about it," he chimed into her thoughts perfectly. "It’s not your fault that you were blessed with uncommonly good genes."

She stared at him, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I’ve never seen you sick a day since we met. Even when everyone else around here caught Teresa’s cold, you stayed healthy. You’ve never lost your voice though you keep a rough schedule. There are a lot of people who would kill for your constitution."

"Yeah," she agreed with gallows humor. "I’ve met a few of them."

She saw Michael and Nikita enter with Sarah and an unknown blonde. She looked carefully but saw no sign of Birkoff or Claire. She walked over to the party.

"Hey," she gave Michael and Nikita hugs, smiled at Sarah, and extended her hand to the unknown, "I’m Mahleah."

The blonde gave her hand a firm shake and offered, "I’m Samantha, Claire’s roommate."

Involuntarily, Mahleah glanced at Michael as if to say, oh, so she exists after all. Actually, she already knew that since she had spoken to Birkoff earlier. He had mentioned Samantha with a little despair. Claire, it seemed, was very shy and wouldn’t ask him to spend the night as long as Samantha was in the apartment. He was hoping she could find romance herself tonight and allow him some privacy with his girlfriend.

"So, where’s Birkoff?" she asked the others.

"He and Claire are outside," Nikita told her. "She insisted on paying for their cab ride here."

"Oh," Mahleah said noncommittally. "I can’t wait to meet her."

"She’s been wanting to meet you too," Samantha said.

"Really, how nice."

She caught Michael giving her an amused look, and arched an eyebrow at him. The eyebrow descended when she felt a tingle throughout her body. She stared at the door with anticipation. Birkoff entered laughing and holding hands with the woman Mahleah had seen previously in the recording Michael had made at their dinner. The brunette was staring directly at her. Mahleah looked into a pair of startled brown eyes and calmly stuck to tradition.

"I am Mahleah Brennan." The words rang out with invitation and challenge.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Claire stood her ground, "I am Claire Westcott, and I am pleased to meet you."

Michael watched the two of them. Unless he was mistaken that was the same way Mahleah and Kassim had greeted each other. She had mentioned that her people had many rituals perhaps this was one of them.

Teresa popped up, "Hey, your friends made it. I’ll seat them near the stage."

Tony came up behind his daughter, "I’ll seat them, Teresa. Why don’t you go help out in the kitchen?"

She looked at him quizzically, but obeyed. Mahleah spared a moment from her scrutiny of the new Immortal to wonder about this strange request. She gave him a questioning look.

"I’m Tony, bartender and owner of this establishment," he told them all, directing them toward the table in question. "We’re happy to welcome any friends of Mahleah’s."

He looked at Claire with a small frown. Mahleah examined him. He looked a little pale, and his hands were shaking ever so slightly. What was going on? She could almost believe that he knew…. She glanced sharply at his wrist. He caught the look and deftly moved it to his side. She could see nothing but his wristwatch, but maintained her suspicions.

Everyone was sitting down. Claire was chattering nervously, "So, Mahleah, Birkoff told me you were from the Appalachian Mountains. I hear there’s good hunting there, if you care for the sport."

She looked at the visibly tense woman and replied, "I’m not a hunter, I’m afraid. The only reason I’d go out stalking something was if it was looking for me."

Claire relaxed, "Oh, that’s not likely to happen."

Mahleah laughed, "Glad to hear it."

The others were looking puzzled, but Michael thought he understood the subtext: a truce had just been established. He wondered how they had identified each other. Well, if Mahleah accepted Claire, he would too.

The band went up onstage, and Seth beckoned to Mahleah. She rose, saying, "Duty calls. Sarah, I hope you enjoy the show. Claire, Samantha it was nice to meet you."

She went up to the mike, humming as she went. The band settled in and she picked up the acoustic guitar. "Earlier I was doing some reminiscing and I realized it was an anniversary of sorts for me. On this day several years ago I met someone that would have a big impact on my life. You could say I owe him for saving both my body and my soul. So, these first two songs are for him wherever he is…"

Nikita leaned forward in anticipation, waiting to hear the name. Mahleah grinned slyly and said, "I miss you, Liam."

Nikita sat back stunned. Liam? Who in the hell was Liam? She had been so certain that Mahleah was going to say Mac. She shook her head with amusement. Just when she thought she had figured out something new about her friend, she was thrown a curve ball.

Onstage, Mahleah laughed inwardly at Nikita’s consternation and began strumming the guitar. Luckily for her musical career, both her father and Duncan had emphasized the importance of being able to do two things at once and she felt comfortable singing while she played. She began singing "Wonderwall." By the time she hit the chorus, she’d forgotten all about Nikita, Claire, and Tony.

Because maybe,

You’re going to be the one to save me,

And after all, you’re my wonderwall.

Birkoff and Claire got up and began dancing which put Michael, as the only male at the table in a dilemma. He wanted to dance with Nikita, but that would leave Samantha and Sarah at the table alone. Nikita saw his predicament and came to his rescue.

"Michael, why don’t you dance with Sarah, while Samantha and I get to know each other better?"

Sarah’s eyes grew round and she started to say no, but Nikita eyed her firmly, "Go on out there and have some fun."

Michael gently led the woman from the table. He hoped this would be good for her. She was afraid of people in general, but men more specifically. Madeline had already had him talk to her to ease some of her fears. She trembled as he put his arms around her, but didn’t resist.

I said maybe,

You’re going to be the one to save me,

And after all, you’re my wonderwall…

The ballad finished, they all sat down and waited for "Liam’s" next song. Mahleah put down the guitar as the band struck up something rather pop-sounding Nikita thought.

You found hope, you found faith –

Found how fast she could take it away.

Found true love, lost your heart.

Now you don’t know who you are.

She made it easy, made it free.

Made you hurt ‘til you couldn’t see.

Sometimes it stops sometimes it flows,

But baby that is how love goes.

You will fly and you will crawl.

God knows even angels fall.

No such thing as you lost it all.

God knows even angels fall."

Mahleah saw confusion spread across Nikita’s features again. Sorry, Nick, she thought. I haven’t told you much about this one, and you wouldn’t believe me if I did. She remembered a special night when she was taken to a Shakespearean-themed double feature at the movies. She’d gotten to see "Shakespeare in Love" and "10 Things I Hate About You" that night for the first time and felt old wounds begin to heal. This was her dedication to the man who had soothed those wounds and the song came from "10 Things." Overall, she found it the perfect choice. She still had unresolved feelings for “Liam” that she felt she had no right to possess. God knew she had enough problems to deal with now without rummaging through the closet where she buried her most confusing emotions.

Turning her attention back to the present she watched the delicate juggling act Michael had to perform with such an uneven ratio of males to females. Birkoff occasionally did dance with the other women, but most of his attention was on Claire. Mahleah chuckled as she saw Michael finally get to dance once with Nikita.

At the end of the night, she rewarded her patient friend with a song she’d rehearsed with him in mind. The party had all settled back down at their table and she noticed that Tony was allowing Teresa to refill their glasses. She looked over at the bar. She was going to have a little chat with him after everyone left.

She turned back to her mike, "As some of you may know, I’m a big Springsteen fan. This is one of my favorites and please don’t lynch me for singing it because I’m a woman." She picked up a harmonica and blew into it experimentally. Lowering it a fraction she said, "Oh yeah, by the way, Musashi, this one’s for you."

She launched into a lively rendition of "Promised Land." Michael listened and Nikita grinned.

Oh the dogs on Main Street howl,

‘Cause they understand

If I could take one moment into my hands

Mister I ain’t a boy, no I’m a man,

And I believe in a Promised Land…

For a moment, Michael allowed himself to believe, too.

Chapter Thirty-Four

After the show Samantha wandered over to the band and struck up a conversation with Seth. Ultimately he offered to drive her home and she accepted. Michael and Nikita left to take Sarah back to Section and Claire and Birkoff wandered off into the night together.

As the other band members wished her a good night, Mahleah sat down at the bar and looked at her boss.

"We need to talk," she told him.

"What about," he asked cheerfully.

"Oh, shoes and ships and sealing wax…."

He grinned, "Sure."

"I have two questions for you Tony. First, why were you so nervous when Claire showed up this evening? Second, how did Joe Dawson know I worked here?"

He frowned, "Who’s Joe Dawson?" He paused, thinking. "Wait a minute; didn’t you call the man with the cane Joe?"

"Cut the crap," she said pleasantly. "You know exactly who Joe is. Why’d you freak out when Teresa tried to seat Claire?"

"I just got a little nervous. I mean, we need all the customers we can get and I certainly want to make sure your friends come back."

"Uh-huh," she smiled, and then grabbed his wrist. "Why don’t you take that watch off and show me what’s underneath?"

They stared at each other for a long moment then he slowly removed the wide gold band from his arm and held up his wrist. She saw scar tissue where a tattoo had been removed.

"So, when did you leave the Watchers?" she asked softly.

"When my wife died," he told her. "She was a Watcher, too."

Pieces started coming together most unpleasantly in Mahleah’s mind.

"She was killed by an Immortal?"

"Yes," he said simply.

She let out her breath noisily. "I’m so sorry, Tony. Who was it?"

"His name was Jakob, perhaps you remember him? He was a friend of MacLeod’s."

She shook her head, "I never met him."

"Neither did I, but he killed Maria in the mistaken belief that she posed some kind of threat to him."

She bit her lip. Jakob had killed several Watchers in a self-described war. His wife, Irena, also Immortal, had been killed by a gang of renegade Watchers – people who believed that Immortals presented a danger to the rest of humanity and therefore took heads at any opportunity. Jakob, in turn, saw Watchers as enemies of Immortals. Lives were lost on both sides, including Jakob’s, before hostilities died down. It seemed that Tony’s family had been caught in the crossfire. Is this what had driven Shawn into becoming an assassin?

"His wife died too, you know," she said ever so delicately.

"I know," Tony’s eyes were moist. "That’s the tragedy of the whole thing. We both lost the women we loved for no reason. I wanted to hate him, but I knew exactly how he felt. My son didn’t share my views, unfortunately. He and I had huge fights about it until finally he left."

"How did you end up here?" she wondered.

"As you said, Joe Dawson is an old friend. After Shawn left, he helped me and Teresa find this place." He smiled wanly at her. "So, when you walked in the door, the least I could do was give him a call. He’s been frantic for the last few months trying to find you. He considers you a friend not an assignment and besides his worry over you, he’s been desperate to help MacLeod, who it seems, is lost without you."

Now, her eyes were moist, but she still had one question, "But why did you get so excited when Claire came in this evening?"

He shrugged, a little embarrassed, "When two Immortals meet for the first time, you never know what could happen. I didn’t want Teresa caught in the middle."

She nodded, "I don’t blame you."

"I’m still a little edgy being around Immortals and knowing the back-history between you two I didn’t know if sparks would fly."

"Back-history, what are you talking about? I’ve never met Claire before."

He sighed, "You don’t know then? When I was a Watcher my assignment was Jean Samuelle, remember him?"

"Of course I do, he wouldn’t leave me alone until I fought him. The jerk cost me my fiancé, although really I suppose I did that myself." The thought of Jean was irritating. She’d had no desire to fight him, but he refused to leave her alone. He was dying to create a name for himself and in the end, it had cost him. It had cost her as well. Her fiancé, Mark Fleming, had witnessed the fight. She had not figured out a way to tell him about her Immortality until it became a necessity. He couldn’t deal with the concept and left her.

"So, what does Jean have to do with Claire?" Really, the only other emotion Jean sparked in her was amusement at the odd coincidence of his having the same last name as Michael.

Tony stared at her, "Oh Lord, you don’t know. Jean was Claire’s lover. He found her when she first turned Immortal and became her teacher."

Chapter Thirty-Five

Mahleah froze for a second, then grabbed her cell-phone and hit the speed dial. She had learned in the past few weeks it was better to have certain numbers pre-programmed. You never knew when time would be a precious commodity.

She walked away from Tony as she spoke, softly but intensely, into the telephone, "Michael, I’m sorry to interrupt your evening with Nikita, but I need you to do something for me, immediately. Call Birkoff in…I don’t care what you tell him it’s for – say you need your boots spit-shined for all I care. He can hate us later. Yes, I know he’s with Claire. That’s sort of my point here, Michael. Call him in. Actually, if you can go pick him up that would be even better. I can’t explain right now and how would you feel if I questioned your orders when lives were on the line? Right, bye."

She closed the phone and hoped it would be enough. Looking at Tony she said, "Let’s get Joe over here, now. I need to know everything about this girl."

Seymour Birkoff was blissfully unaware of any of the fear his friends were feeling right now. He and Claire were taking a, by now, usual walk back to her place. Holding hands, they gazed at the moon and chatted about the evening.

"So what did you think about Mahleah?" he asked.

Claire sighed a little, "I don’t think she was quite what I was expecting from the stories I’ve heard. She’s rather nice, isn’t she?"

He laughed, "I was going to say cool, but nice works too. What was all that business about hunting?"

She shrugged, "You know the crazy things you hear about that part of the world. I guess I just wanted to know what kind of person she was." She hesitated and then added, "I like her. Well, I like all of your friends. They seem so warm…so comfortable with each other – all except Sarah, that is."

"Sarah is different," he admitted. "We haven’t known her long and may not for much longer."

She stared at him, "What do you mean?"

"She’s dying from cancer," he explained.

Tears sprung up in her eyes, "Oh, I had no idea, but she’s so young."

"Yeah," he loved that she could be so touched by the plight of someone she barely knew and wrapped his arm around her.

When they reached her apartment, he walked her upstairs. When she unlocked the door, they saw the lights were still out. Claire laughed.

"I thought Sam seemed taken with that guitar player. I doubt she’ll be back tonight," she turned to him and his heart sped up. "It looks like we’re finally alone."

He closed the door and cupped her face in his hands, "At last." He leaned in and kissed her softly. She responded hesitantly but with growing eagerness.

They backed into the room. Her hands began roaming down his back. He nibbled her earlobe and lost himself in her neck and the cascade of hair trickling down her shoulder. His right hand, at her waist, slowly began creeping upward. She sighed happily. Just as his fingers reached interesting territory, his telephone rang. He froze unbelievingly. It continued to chime.

"Who would be calling you at this hour?" Claire asked with a frown.

"I’m sorry; I’m on call all the time. This job has crazy hours," he tried to explain. In fear that he might be keeping Madeline or Operations waiting, he answered.

Michael didn’t know where the danger was exactly, but he recognized its flavor in Mahleah’s voice. He had sent Nikita and Sarah on to Section and called a cab with his own cell-phone. As he spoke to Birkoff, he was moments away from Claire’s apartment.

"Come in," he told the younger man.

"Now," Birkoff couldn’t help but protest.

"Yes. I will be there in three minutes. Make your good-byes and meet me in the street."

Birkoff sighed and put away his phone. "I’m sorry," he told the woman in front of him. "They need me to come in."

Her mouth twisted in a half-smile, "That figures, doesn’t it? We finally get a chance to be together and you have to leave."

"We’ll have another time," he promised and kissed her again. "I have to go."

Kissing her knuckles, he backed away and made his way, sadly, out the door.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Mahleah drummed her fingers on the counter until her telephone rang. She grabbed and impatiently said, "Yes."

Michael’s voice told her, "He’s coming out the door now."

Relief washed over her. "Thank God," she breathed.

"You will tell me what all this is about," Michael warned before he hung up.

Tony looked at her anxiously, "Is your friend okay?"

"Yeah," she told him. "He’s fine. Now, where the hell’s Joe?"

On cue, the bearded Watcher walked through the door and made his way toward them. "This better be pretty damn important," he growled, "to get me out of bed at this hour."

Mahleah grinned at him, "What’s the matter Joe, late hours finally getting to you? I thought you blues men loved the wee hours of the morning."

"Only if we’re playing or loving, sugar," he told her as he sat down. "This doesn’t qualify as either unless there’s something you need to tell me."

She chuckled, "I don’t think I need any more complications in my love life, thank you."

"So, what’s so important," he asked.

She sobered up quickly, "Didn’t Tony tell you?"

"He just said that you’d figured him out and needed info on Claire. What’s the big rush?"

"I met her tonight," she informed him.

He raised an eyebrow, "Hardly anything to worry about, I should think."

She was puzzled, "Nothing to worry about? Joe, I killed her teacher and now she’s dating a friend of mine."

Now he saw where the concern came from. He touched her arm reassuringly, "He’s perfectly safe. I doubt Claire would hurt a butterfly."

Her eyebrow rose skeptically, and he laughed, "Don’t give me that look. Surely, your instincts told you that Claire’s harmless. It’s true you took Jean’s head, but really you did her a favor."

"A favor," she frowned.

"Yeah, Jean was a real bastard. He kept her completely under his thumb. The poor girl hasn’t been Immortal for very long and until recently really hasn’t been able to enjoy any of the benefits."

Mahleah sighed, "So you’re telling me that she wouldn’t want to avenge Jean’s death?"

He shook his head, "I find that very unlikely. All the reports I’ve had lately indicate that she’s turning her life around. Since you sent Jesley packing, I’ve had her watching Claire as a nice change of pace. She says that Claire is in love with the guy she’s dating. He’s your friend, huh? I didn’t know. I’ve been relying on Tony here to keep me up-to-date with you. It seemed the safest thing to do."

Mahleah groaned, "If Claire’s on the level, Birkoff’s going to kill me!"

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The next day Mahleah made her way into Section knowing that if she didn’t, she would get a "kensei" call from Michael to come in and explain her actions. She saw Walter in Munitions and hesitated. She hadn’t seen him since he had returned from his month of downtime. She saw him look up and decided to walk over to him.

He smiled upon her approach, "Hello Mahleah, darlin’."

She returned the smile, "Hi Walter honey, did you enjoy your vacation?"

"Heavenly," he pronounced. "Sun, sand, and senoritas – doesn’t get any better than that."

"No, I guess not," she said.

He looked at her, "not a one of them held a candle to you, darlin’."

She swallowed, "I missed you too."

He waved a hand, "Ah, you can replace me anytime, gorgeous. There are lots of young studs running around Section."

She gave him a hug, "Maybe so, but there’s only one of you."

He hugged her back, then let go, "Thanks for noticing. Yes, well," he cleared his throat. "What’s up with Birkoff today? He seems rather ticked off."

She bit her lip, "I’ll go see if I can cheer him up."

Birkoff was indeed scowling at his computer screen when she approached him.

"What’s your problem?" she asked, as if she didn’t already know. "You seemed to be having a great time last night."

He rolled his eyes. "I was," he agreed. "Until I got to Claire’s place. Samantha was gone for the first time since I’ve known them, but before I could enjoy the situation Michael called me in."

She winced, "I’m sorry, that’s terrible. What did he want?"

"Nothing," Birkoff pronounced. "He wanted me to run the sims again for Sarah’s mission today. Nothing had changed. I don’t know why he thought the results would be any different."

"Well, he’d just spent the evening with her, maybe he wanted to make sure she returns safely," she offered.

His scowl softened, "Maybe. I guess I’ve been here long enough to know that Section always comes first and social lives last." He glanced at her, "Thanks for pointing that out. I was about to accuse him of getting a little revenge on me."

"Revenge, for what?"

He gave a crooked grin, "Well, over the years I’ve inadvertently interrupted some interesting scenes between Michael and Nikita. I thought maybe he was getting a little payback."

She patted him on the shoulder, "Maybe a small part of him was, but I think his main concern was the safety of someone he’s come to regard as a friend."

His brow straightened as he considered her words, not knowing they had a more personal aspect. She rose to head toward Michael’s office when she saw Nikita and Sarah coming toward her.

Sarah looked full of trepidation, but spoke first, "Wish me luck, Mahleah."

"Absolutely," the Immortal responded cheerfully.

"Any advice you could give me about acting? Nikita tells me you have a lot of experience."

Mahleah considered what to say to the frail, shy woman who was being thrown into the lion’s den. "Remember that while you’re out there, you’re not Sarah you’re Jan. That gives you an enormous amount of freedom. You’re not bound by the inhibitions that Sarah possesses. Jan is confident, determined, and devil-may-care. You may not be any of those things, but for a few hours you get to pretend that you are."

Sarah looked thoughtful, "Thanks, Mahleah. I’ll try to keep that in mind."

"Good luck," the operative repeated, as Nikita and her charge moved away.

"Now to brave the lion’s den myself," she thought as she knocked on Michael’s door.

When he saw her enter, he punched in the code that would give them privacy.

"I’m glad you came in," he said. Unspoken, she heard the words, now what is going on?

She sighed and sat down, "I’ll try to explain Michael, but it will be tricky. Why don’t you ask me specific questions and I’ll try to answer them."

He raised an eyebrow then asked, "Claire is one of your ‘people’, isn’t she?"

"Yes."

"How can you tell?"

"I just can. Fish got to swim, birds got to fly, and my people have got to be able to identify each other in a crowd."

He realized she was touchy about this and moved on, "Is she dangerous?"

"No, I don’t think so." At his look of surprise, she added, "I thought so when I called you."

"What changed?"

"My information -- a new source tells me she’s as harmless as a kitten. I’m sorry, I didn’t know that when I asked you to go get him."

"Why did you sound so panicked last night?"

She licked her lips, "I had just been informed that she was connected to someone I’d known briefly in the past."

"Someone you killed?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why did I kill him, or why was she connected to him?"

"Why did you kill him?"

She looked at him with sad eyes, "I had no choice. He stalked me and forced me to fight him. I told you before that it’s the way of my kind. I don’t like it, but in order to live, I sometimes have to kill."

This was a concept that he understood better than most. The requirements of a level five operative were strict and often deadly. It left him with uneasy choices to make.

"How was she connected to him?"

"She was his lover."

His eyes widened slightly. He was beginning to understand her fervor last night. "Yet, you say now that she is harmless."

"Yes, my source says that he treated her shamelessly and I, in effect, freed her from a sort of slavery."

He nodded, then asked one last question, "That’s all you’re going to tell me, isn’t it?"

She nodded in return, "That’s about all I can tell you, Michael. Other things either aren’t my secrets to tell, or would put your life in danger to know."

She rose to leave, but his voice stopped her, "May I call in my favor?"

She turned around, "Of course, what do you need?"

He looked down at his desk, "Some help with Nikita," he reluctantly admitted.

She repressed a laugh, "So, you’re finally coming clean about being in love with her?"

He remained silent.

"All right, Musashi, all right. You know I’ll help any way I can. Do you have a plan?"

"Yes."

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Mahleah sat watching children sailing toy boats on a pond. Around her life in the Gardens flourished. Elderly men played chess, and workers on their breaks strolled by refreshing their souls with sunshine and fresh air before returning to their duties. Students ate their lunches and fed lots of bread to the ducks while lovers strolled by hand-in-hand, ignoring everything but the beauty in each other’s eyes, and tourists with guidebooks wandered through for a relaxing excursion before embarking on another museum journey.

She sighed softly, seeing herself in years gone by. Once she had been one of those children sailing a boat, had learned chess at one of those tables, had walked those paths oblivious to everything but the man she loved. She’d had adventures in the Gardens both good and bad. One had started unpleasantly but ultimately brought her closer to Tessa and the aftermath of another had brought her and Duncan to a blissful six-week idyll on his barge.

She was tempting fate by being here. It was dangerous, in fact, for her to go very many places in Paris while he was here. She was seeking solace in the familiar but it was a hazardous road if she wished to avoid meeting Duncan.

He had brought her here for the first time – had introduced her to nearly everything in Paris actually – back in the days when he was her mentor. She honestly didn’t want to meet him now. It would be far too painful. She preferred to be separated from him until she was free of Section. Anything less would be unthinkable. They would have to hide their relationship for fear her superiors would find out. He would be considered by them to be a weakness that could be used against her, totally underestimating his strength.

No, she wanted him completely, or not at all, she decided. Yet a small nagging voice inside her head called her a coward. When she had refused to reconcile with him, she had declared she wanted to be independent, to discover what life was like without him, and to become her own person. Well, the world was different when he wasn’t there. There had been highs and lows, joys and pains, loves and hates in the days since their parting but none of them were as sharply bitter or as sweetly ecstatic as the time they had shared together. With him, life was more vivid; without him, she felt as if she wore a veil between herself and the world, which filtered every experience.

Was she simply afraid to let her protective camouflage drop again? Love of that intensity required a sharing of the self on its most intimate level. After the hurt her most vulnerable parts had suffered before, was she now unable to lower the barriers she had erected for protection?

She watched the children, marveling at their freedom and innocence: truly two concepts that life in Section was barren of. She stayed in Section because there were people there who needed her help. Without nurturing, the fragile spark of humanity that existed in people like Michael and Nikita, Walter and Birkoff would be extinguished forever.

When Madeline had given her an ultimatum to break up with Walter, Mahleah had found her true battleground. She would fight tooth and nail with every skill and resource available to her until she saw that she had won this war: the rewards of victory were far too precious: not power but souls.

Unfortunately, one gentle life was rapidly going beyond her reach, and Mahleah recalled the reason she sat here in the Luxembourg seeking the soothing balm of past memories: Sarah was dying.

Incredibly, she had taken Mahleah’s acting advice to heart. When she met Marco Ashe, she had let him seduce her in an attempt to experience, for a few hours, all the things she had shut herself off from previously. Sarah also had discovered that in life, especially Section life, pain accompanies pleasure. Ashe had been canceled, yet Nikita’s fierce dedication to this woman who was never meant to be an operative, made Sarah realize that in her last days she had achieved something she had denied herself previously: friendship.

Mahleah recognized with a start that for quite some time now she had unconsciously felt a pair of eyes watching her. She glanced around quickly and felt the tingle of an Immortal approaching. To her right, she saw a tall, dark figure approach and relaxed.

"Claire," she said warmly.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Claire carried an open sketchbook with her and Mahleah now recalled she was an art student.

"What are you up to?" she asked curiously.

Claire looked a little hesitant, "Actually, I was trying to draw you."

Mahleah groaned and put her hands over her face, "Oh no, not again. Tell me something. Why do people want to sketch me on the sly all the time? You’d think I was the Venus de Milo or something. I know some people think I’m kind of pretty, but I know I’m not all that."

Claire studied her with interest, "You don’t think you’re beautiful, why not?"

"Oh, don’t get me started. I’m too tall, my hips are too wide, my bottom lip sticks out, and I have entirely too much hair."

"You don’t sound too broken up about it," Claire laughed softly.

Mahleah shrugged, "They’re my faults…they’re a part of me…make up who I am. I wouldn’t know myself without them."

"Besides some people might argue that your height is graceful and commanding; your figure is slightly voluptuous, not fat; your lower lip pouts sensuously; and your hair is your crowning glory," Claire pointed out.

"Some people might," Mahleah agreed with a twinkle in her eye, "but they wouldn’t be me. It still doesn’t explain the surreptitious sketches. Surely there are plenty of commandingly tall, voluptuous, pouty-lipped women with glorified hair to go around?"

Claire laughed again, "I won’t argue with you because despite its pull, your beauty wasn’t what attracted me."

"What was?" she had Mahleah’s interest now.

"It’s seeing you in one place for any period of time. You have a restless spirit that always seems to be in motion. Even when you’re still, you suggest activity. Hundreds of thoughts and emotions creep across your face when you’re deep in thought. It’s as if your body’s at rest, but your brain has taken flight. You pose an irresistible challenge for any artist near you."

"What a lovely compliment," Mahleah was touched. "I’ll take that over pretty any day."

"Your name fits you know," Claire observed. "You are unusual, even for an Immortal."

Mahleah was startled. Not many people actually knew what her name meant. "Why do you say that?"

Claire looked away as she spoke, "When I look at you I see things I’d never thought possible in one of our kind. Warmth, humor, kindness, compassion, friendliness – I’ve never met an Immortal who had those before."

"Hey," Mahleah touched her hand. "There’s a lot more of us out there than you think."

When Claire turned back, her face was wet, "I want to believe that, but it goes against everything I’ve known."

"How do you truly feel about Birkoff?" Mahleah asked. "He possesses all of those qualities and more."

"I know," she wiped at her face. "I’ve never been with anyone like Seymour. I love him, I think."

"You think?"

Claire swallowed, "Jean nearly killed any feelings in me besides fear and helplessness."

"How did you meet him?" Mahleah asked.

Claire was silent for a long time and Mahleah was worried that she had begun to close herself off, but eventually she drew a breath and began speaking.

Chapter Forty

"My parents were rich and desired a large family, so when Mother was told after the birth of Henry and Emma, my older brother and sister, that she would have no more children, they adopted me. Ironically, she got pregnant three years later and had my brother Jonathan.

"For some reason the twins always resented me. They never wanted me to forget that I wasn’t a real Westcott – I only became one through a piece of paper. Fortunately, Jonathan and I bonded and for years, he was my closest friend.

"When I was old enough, I was sent to the boarding school that Emma also attended and her hatred of me doubled. She was athletic while I was artistic. She hated the fact that I performed more strongly than she did academically while the school resented me because I was shy with no talent for sports.

"My teenage years were mostly an amplification of everything I’d already been through until I turned eighteen. I wanted to study art, but my parents insisted that I major in pre-law at Columbia. One day I was returning to my apartment when I was mugged. I was dragged into an alley and left for dead. Jean found me."

Claire’s hands were shaking as she spoke and Mahleah put an arm around her shoulder to remind her she was safe now.

"I wasn’t quite dead then, but since I was nearly there, he helped me on my way. When I revived, he told me what we were and took me with him. We traveled across the country and he taught me the basics of swordplay, but I wasn’t the greatest student in the world. I became dependent on him to protect me and he began to feel that I was his property."

Her breath was catching in her chest and Mahleah could tell that she was struggling to go on.

"It’s okay," she tried to provide some comfort for what were obviously overwhelmingly painful memories.

Claire sniffed, "He desperately wanted to be respected by other Immortals and thought the only way to gain that respect was to make a reputation for himself as a fighter. He challenged younger Immortals since he was only about fifty, but he tried to make them the best he could find. That’s why he was so obsessed with you. You were MacLeod's student and had already taken a few heads. If he could defeat you, he would gain a lot of power as well as prestige."

"Unfortunately, it backfired on him," Mahleah softly said.

"Yes."

"What happened then? How did you wind up in Paris?"

"After Jean’s death, I went back home. My parents had thought I was kidnapped, which wasn’t far from the truth. They hired counselors and therapists to help me through my ‘shock’. When my brother Jonathan learned that I really wanted to study art, he talked our parents into sending me here to the Sorbonne." She smiled briefly, "I think they believe Paris will eventually heal me enough to return to the law, but that’s not going to happen."

Mahleah studied her intently, "Claire, did your fighting ever improve?"

"I’ve studied fencing some since I arrived, but I’m afraid other things seemed to get in the way."

Mahleah frowned, "Survival takes precedence over other things. You don’t have a sword with you now, do you?" When the younger woman shook her head, Mahleah’s frown became a scowl, "Lesson number one: never ever leave yourself unprotected. How would you like to train with me?"

Claire’s face brightened, "That would be wonderful."

"Consider it done. We’ll work it in between the time I get up and rehearsals."

Mahleah’s cell-phone rang and she answered it expecting to hear Michael’s voice saying, "Kensei." Instead, it was Nikita on the other end asking her to come over as soon as she could. "Of course, Nick, but what’s wrong?"

"Sarah passed away an hour ago."

Chapter Forty-One

Nikita stood in the cemetery in front of Sarah’s small tombstone. She felt so empty inside. Up until the last moment, she had refused to give up hope that one of the Section doctors might miraculously discover something that would send the cancer into remission.

"I’ve been watching too much television," she thought with grim humor. "It’s a wonder I didn’t ask Madeline if there was a chip we could implant in Sarah’s neck that would heal her."

It seemed so unfair that just when Sarah’s life had opened up, she would lose it. She had a small consolation in the fact that every friend the dead woman had made was now gathered at her graveside.

Section gave no funerals, only burials, and so the little band of mourners constituted the entire memorial service. With red-rimmed eyes, Nikita looked over at her neighbor. For lack of any other ceremony, she had asked Mahleah to sing a couple of songs. She nodded now to indicate the other woman should begin.

Mahleah cleared her throat as the others looked at her, "This is a song I always associate with the death of a close friend. I hadn’t known Sarah long, but in that time, she grew dear to my heart."

She paused and then began singing softly.

I close my eyes only for a moment and the moment’s gone.

All my dreams pass before my eyes a curiosity.

Dust in the wind – all they are is dust in the wind.

Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea

All we do crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see.

Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind…

Nikita trembled and Michael gently rubbed her arm. She saw his worried look and knew he thought the song too depressing for her but she found it appropriate. If Sarah’s death had taught her anything, it was that the sweetness of life should be savored while you had the opportunity. If only she didn’t feel so numb.

Now don’t hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky.

It slips away and all your money won’t another minute buy.

Mahleah finished the Kansas song and the little group shifted uneasily to discover her last choice.

She gave them a faint smile before she said, "In a time of grief we need songs of healing, and this song possesses more power than any I know."

She cleared her mind of all thought and let the music pour through her.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost but now I’m found;

Was blind, but now I see.

"Dust in the Wind" had been performed almost in a hushed whisper but on this, the most familiar of hymns, Mahleah’s voice rang out strong and clear. The sounds of her childhood flowed through the notes combining the mountains and the south powerfully. The Sundays when she attended the local Baptist churches, both white and black, cried out in her tone.

Nikita began sobbing both from the pain and the beauty she felt around her. Michael pulled her to him and she buried her head on his chest, emptying her soul of the grief.

The others cried as well, including Mahleah who had tears streaming down her cheeks but kept singing.

Through many danger, toil and snare I have already come.

‘Twas grace that brought me safe thus far and grace will lead me home.

She sang all the verses of the song that she knew and fell silent. Through a silent consent, they moved away from the grave. Michael kept an arm around Nikita, while Claire and Birkoff clutched each other’s hands tightly and Walter wordlessly offered Mahleah his arm. She accepted it and they walked away.

Chapter Forty-Two

"Mac, you really ought to go to her," Joe told the Highlander.

They had spent the better part of an hour arguing about this very topic.

"She doesn’t need me right now, Joe. She’s got her own life."

"Doesn’t need you? She lost a friend the other day MacLeod. She could have used…"

"…A shoulder to cry on? She’s got that already."

"Oh for crying out loud…that shoulder was a little preoccupied consoling a very pretty blonde in case you’re interested." Joe told him.

"What?"

"Yeah, her so-called boyfriend is strictly platonic. He was just a good friend who was worried about her and stepped in when he saw she was upset."

"It doesn’t matter," Duncan told him.

"What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?"

"It doesn’t matter if he’s romantically involved with her or not. She’s moved on. She told me she wanted to live without me and she is. I can’t go to her now. We’ve had this argument before, Joe, many times."

Joe stared at him, "This is all about hurt pride, isn’t it?"

"What? No," MacLeod sputtered.

"You’re afraid that if you go to her, she’ll turn you away again and your ego couldn’t take it. The great Duncan MacLeod, beloved of ladies for hundreds of years, has met his match."

"Joe, don’t be ridiculous," Mac snapped. "This has nothing to do with ego and everything to do with respecting her wishes."

"If you love somebody set them free and see if they come back to you, huh? You know, the two of you were made for each other. I’ve never seen two people who are more stubborn, pig-headed, short-sighted, and self-defeating!"

"Are you done?" Mac asked with a lifted eyebrow.

"No, I think I might need to knock both of you in the head or kick you in the rear. Maybe then your brains would catch up with your hearts. You claim this is about her wishes and seem worried that she’s involved with Michael. That’s crap. This is about L.A. Get over it."

MacLeod sighed, "I’ll think about it, Joe. I can’t promise anything else."

Joe turned to leave, but paused at the door to the barge’s cabin. He wasn’t leaving without a parting shot.

"Have you realized yet that the reason she was sobbing her heart out when you saw her was because she’d seen you with Amanda?"

He walked out leaving behind a brooding Scot.

Chapter Forty-Four

Claire gazed at herself in the mirror. Normally, she didn’t care what she wore but tonight was special. She’d found a midnight-blue slip dress that complemented her long dark hair. She’d left the hair loose and brushed it until it glowed almost as much as her eyes.

Finally approving of her reflection, she checked her overnight bag. It seemed she was forgetting something important, but couldn’t for the life of her think what it was. She had all the staples: toothbrush, comb, deodorant, and change of clothes for their departure…she wasn’t really planning to leave the room until checkout time. Shrugging she zipped it and headed for the door.

She was running a little late but Seymour knew to expect that. It was a delayed reaction from her days with Jean who had always been on time wherever he went. She figured she was unconsciously rebelling and that was fine.

She had for the first time in her life found a man who treated her with respect. Seymour was passionate but gentle. He had never lost his temper with her although she knew that he had wanted to make love to her for some time. She had always found Samantha’s presence comforting and allowed it to limit her romantic options so she didn’t have to sleep with anyone she went out with.

It was only lately that she regretted the arrangement, and realized that her days of hiding behind her roommate were over. She had booked their room herself and asked Seymour to join her for the weekend. Finally, she would be able to say the words “I love you” out of passion and not fear.

She wondered how he would react if she told him about her Immortality. It was far too soon to spring a surprise like that on him, but she knew that if she were to have the relationship she dreamed of, she would have to tell him the truth eventually. She had seen many lives based on lies and that was not for her.

Picking up the bag and her purse, she surveyed the room once more. Well, whatever she’d forgotten would have to wait until she returned she decided, and walked out the door.

Chapter Forty-Five

Mahleah had let Teresa cajole the boys in the band to try some different material and tonight they were presenting the results. Michael sat at a table near the band enjoying the spectacle but wishing Nikita was here as well. The sight of Teresa and Seth performing backup vocals to TLC’s song "No Scrubs" would have certainly cheered her up. The trio made an unusual but oddly pleasing harmony together.

At a separate table, Joe shook his head over the odd team. Still when Mahleah began the Madonna song, "Power of Goodbye" he paid attention.

Your heart is not open so I must go.

The spell has been broken I loved you so…

To him the words were for an absent party that had stubbornly refused to come.

There’s nothing left to lose.

There’s no more heart to bruise.

There’s no greater power than the power of goodbye.

He hoped that the words remained inside the club and stayed out of her real life. He noticed Michael sitting near her drinking in the music in his own quiet way. Joe wondered where the blonde was. Maybe it was just as well that Mac hadn’t come. He still regarded the other man with suspicion and jealousy.

He chuckled as Mahleah and Teresa traded off verses on Bare Naked Ladies’ song "One Week." The band was more comfortable with the music, but Tony was obviously flabbergasted by the rap-style delivery of much of the lyric.

When Mahleah concluded with a wink and a nod to her handsome friend, making the comment, "That was for you Musashi. You’re in worse need of a rug burn than anyone I know," Joe pursed his lips. Yep, maybe it was a damn good thing that Duncan MacLeod hadn’t been here for that little banter.

Teresa went over to the bar and her father gave her water to drink. Mahleah smiled at Tony and said, "I know tonight hasn’t been easy for you boss, but you like this one."

She began singing "Waterfalls." Tony smiled and relaxed.

Joe, too, let his mind drift away until the sound of his the telephone behind the bar broke his reverie.

On stage, Mahleah saw her boss answer the ring and call over to Joe. Her old friend took the call, and then spoke softly to Tony. He slowly made his way to the stage as she finished the last chorus.

Don’t go chasing waterfalls.

Please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you’re used to.

I know that you’re gonna have it your way or nothing at all,

But I think you’re moving too fast….

Chapter Forty-Six

Birkoff was feeling a little dizzy. He really should have waited to open the bottle of champagne he’d brought until Claire arrived; however, she was running late as usual and he was getting nervous. The later she became the more jittery he got, so one glass became two, then three, and soon the bottle was empty.

His apprehensions increased with the alcohol. What if she changed her mind? What if Mahleah was wrong and she’d lured him here only to send a message saying, "Sorry, this isn’t working for me." A hundred possible disasters flooded his brain and he decided he needed to lie down for a few minutes. Within seconds, he was asleep.

He awoke to find the last of the candles he had romantically arranged around the room being blown out. In the darkness he felt soft hands gently caress his face.

"Claire?" he asked softly. "You’re awfully late."

She whispered, "Sorry, I had some unexpected business to take care of, but nothing was going to keep me from meeting you tonight." Leaning in she gave him a long kiss.

He chuckled, "You’re forgiven."

Her hair fell around him and he breathed in the wonderful scents of vanilla and peaches as well as a faint but clean smell of sweat as if she were as nervous as he was. He tangled his hands in the silky tresses and pulled her down to his mouth again.

Finding no end in sight to the locks of hair, he removed his fingers and felt the satin of her slip, or was it her dress, under them. He slipped the straps off her shoulders and with her aid pushed the garment down her body.

His hands slid slowly up from her waist until they were cupping her breasts. He was a little surprised at what he had discovered beneath the clothes. She was a little curvier, a little more voluptuous, than he’d imagined. He softly outlined her full breasts, and then rolled her under him.

He began kissing her again as his hands found long, shapely thighs to caress. His lips left her mouth and began tracing across her chin, her throat, and her collarbone. When his tongue made its way even lower, he heard her moan softly and call out his name.

The dawn saw Seymour Birkoff in the deep sleep of the truly happy and satisfied. The woman beside him slipped out of bed and pulled on the clothes she’d arrived in. Going to the desk in the corner of the room, she soundlessly opened drawers until she located some hotel stationery. She wrote steadily for ten or fifteen minutes then folded the letter and brought it to her lips.

Going to the bed she left it on her pillow and then as softly as she had entered the room, she left.

When daylight hit the windows, Birkoff twitched and reached out for Claire. When he found the space beside him empty, he opened his eyes groggily and fumbled on the nightstand for his glasses.

"Claire," he called with no response. He saw the note and grabbed it to read the following:

Seymour,

Please, please forgive me. I didn’t have the heart to tell you that circumstances have forced me to return to America. I only learned late today that my family has suffered a personal crisis. My youngest brother, Jonathan, was involved in a car crash and may not live. My parents have begged me to return to New York to be with them. I doubt I will ever return to Paris.

I want you to know that last night was the most magical of my life. I’ve never been with a man as sensitive and thoughtful as you. You have restored both my faith in men and my faith in me. This is not the message I had planned to give you this weekend. I confess I wanted to tell you how much I love you although it seems selfish of me now to say this when I am gone. Regardless, I could not leave things between us so unresolved – thinking of it left my soul heart-broken and restless. I saw a chance and grabbed it with both hands. Please remember me kindly and know that a part of me will always be with you…always.

I leave this beside you in my place. ‘Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!’

Love,

Claire

A subdued man gathered his things and prepared to return to Section while on the pillow, unnoticed, a long hair caught the sunlight and glowed as warm as amber.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Monday, Nikita was moving through Section when she saw the gloomy look on Birkoff’s face. She came over beside him, "Hey, what’s wrong Birkoff?"

He licked his lips, "Nothing, I just got dumped again."

"Oh no," she sat down beside him. "What happened with Claire?"

He shrugged, "She said her brother was in the hospital back in New York."

"How do you know he wasn’t?" a voice behind him spoke up.

Swiveling in his chair, he saw Mahleah. "I don’t think she would have lied to me but she also said she’d never be back."

Mahleah looked at him with empathy, "I’m sorry. I’d hoped you’d have a fabulous weekend."

Involuntarily his mouth curled upward, "Well Friday night was pretty spectacular, but she disappeared Saturday morning. I mean she didn’t even wake me up to say goodbye. I found a note on the pillow. I don’t understand how she could spend the night and then just disappear. "

"Maybe she thought it would be easier that way. It would have hurt to much to say goodbye in person so she poured her heart out in writing instead," Mahleah suggested softly.

"Yeah, maybe so. It was a pretty nice letter," he admitted.

"So maybe she’ll come back," Nikita told him.

"Do you think so?" he asked them both.

"Sure," Nikita responded.

"I think Claire would like nothing in the world better than to return to Paris and you. If she doesn’t I think it will be because of events beyond her control," Mahleah told him.

At that moment, Operations came over. "What’s Madeline learned from Tyco?" he asked Birkoff who frowned.

"She’s still in with him.”

Operations didn’t like the sound of that and walked over to monitor the interrogation. What he saw made his blood chill in his veins: Madeline was lying on the floor of the White Room unconscious. Pandemonium broke out.

***

When Mahleah was sent home during Section’s evacuation she found herself pacing the floor until she heard a knock at the door. Opening it she discovered Mick Schtoppel who brazenly walked in without being invited.

"Why am I always the last one to hear about these things?" he demanded. "I mean I provide Section with valuable Intel. You’d think they would at least give me a call to say ‘Mick old chap, we’re incinerating Section and as we speak someone may have cracked the code on our directory.’ You tell me, would that be too much to ask?"

She slammed the door, "Come in Mick and make yourself comfortable."

"Thanks, do you have anything to eat? I’m starved and you’re such a marvelous cook."

At first, Mahleah’s nerves found Mick very grating, but eventually she was glad he invited himself over. He was company of sorts, and distracted her from thinking too hard about her friends and their possible fates. She suggested they play a game of chess to pass the time. He’d stared at her incredulously but agreed.

She listened to his stories, grateful for the diversion. At one point he looked at her and said, "Do you know that your hair is the exact shade as…"

She interrupted him by finishing his sentence, "…a jar of honey, yes I know. I’ve been told that many times. Why can’t people just say amber and be done with it? What I want to know, and no one ever bothers to get that specific about, is what kind of honey – lynn, sourwood, poplar?"

He looked at her with puzzlement, "Huh? Honey is honey."

"Oh no," she shook her head. "I’m no expert but the color and flavor of honey depends on the type of pollen the bee gathers. Back home the three most common are lynn, sourwood and poplar. Poplar honey is dark, kind of like molasses, with a stronger taste. The way people gush about my hair, I figure it must be about lynn honey color. What do you think?"

He closed his mouth and looked at the board, "I think your king’s in check," he announced.

Her chin nearly hit the table. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d lost a game of chess to a mortal. She sat back recalling her own words to Nikita the first time she’d met Mick, "There’s more to him than there seems." He was certainly proving that. She rescued her king and prepared to enjoy the rest of the evening.

Chapter Forty-Eight

When Mahleah stepped into "The Copperhead" Teresa ran up to give her a hug. "Oh, I’ve been worried about you!" she exclaimed. "Where have you been?"

"Here and there," Mahleah cheerfully evaded the question. It had taken several days for Section to recover from its forced relocation. She had not had time to call in and make her excuses for missing performances. With surprise, she saw Joe, guitar in hand, sitting on the small stage next to Seth.

She sat down in front of Tony, "It seems you found a good replacement for me."

"Yes, I did," he said evenly.

"So, does that mean I don’t work here anymore?"

"Well, it would be nice if I had a singer who I knew would be here every night," he told her lightly.

"No one can guarantee that," she responded, "and especially not me. You knew that when I walked in the door."

"True," he agreed. "Next time it would be nice to get a warning before you disappeared, but I know that’s not always possible. Still," he teased her, "tell me again why I should keep you?"

She tilted her head, studying him with amusement, and then walked over to the stage. "Hey guys," she greeted them. They all looked at her a little dubiously except for Joe who was visibly relieved by her presence.

"I’m glad to see you," he said. "I was afraid there’d been some sort of crisis."

She smiled at him, knowing he had been worried, "Nope, crisis averted. It seems I have to refresh the boss’s memory about why he can’t do without me. Care to join in?"

"Absolutely," he instantly agreed. "It’s been a long time since we’ve jammed together."

She picked up an electric guitar and began warming up her fingers.

"What are we playing?" he asked her.

She gave him an evil smile, "What was the first song you ever heard me play?"

He paused, "It was a Sam Cooke song wasn’t it?"

"Was it? Think back, Joe, to our younger days."

Suddenly the memory clicked, and he chuckled, "How could I have forgotten?"

The first time he had ever heard her sing or play she’d been a girl, desperately trying to show her father she could hold her own and she had mesmerized the small crowd at "The Pink Room," the gyp-joint David used to frequent every night.

She saw in his eyes that he had figured it out, and looked back at the band, "Feel free to join us if you can keep up boys."

After a soft countdown, they launched into a blazing version of "Crossroads." Tony and Teresa listened with wide eyes as Mahleah tore into the song with ferocity. She made no hesitations in playing as she belted out the lyrics, and Joe matched her lick for lick. After a few bars of stunned appreciation, the band kicked in wanting to be a part of the magic. In the middle, she and Joe had a bit of a duel and he quite effectively one-upped her. When the song came to a crashing end, she walked back over to Tony, leaving the boys awed and exhausted.

"So, are you keeping me?" she asked.

"Well, I think our old guitar player may have a bit of an edge on you, but you’re better looking than he is," he teased. "I guess I’ll have to let you stay."

"Great, now I need to talk to you about someone renting this whole place including the services of the band tomorrow night…."

Chapter Forty-Nine

Michael looked at Nikita from across the table in her apartment. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was nervous. All of his plans were in order, but everything was up to her now. After the chaos of the last few days, she might have decided to pull back from him again. God knew his mind was whirling from encountering Errol Sparks again. It took everything he had to maintain his composure and bring the man in, but when Sparks was being interrogated, he made sure to be present.

It gave the condemned man one last moment of pleasure to tell Michael that although he had survived the explosion at their last encounter, Simone had not. Michael bowed his head now remembering the incredibly mixed emotions he had felt upon hearing this news. He really wished she were alive even if it would have put him in a strange position. Everything in him yearned to be with Nikita now, but he would have rejoiced to know that Simone wasn’t completely lost to him. Fate had spared him that decision it seemed, and it was time to leave the past behind. Simone, Elena, Adam – they were no longer his and he had finally come to terms with those losses. Now, his heart was free to begin again.

Looking up again he said, "It’s been a strange week."

"That’s one way to put it. I don’t know what was more unusual: Operations blowing up Section or you coming for dinner again," she responded.

"I didn’t choose to stay away," he told her.

"But you did. So what’s changed?"

"Maybe enough time has passed."

"Maybe too much time has passed, Michael," she countered, and his heart sank for a moment. Had he waited too long? He knew she had loved him once, but maybe she had lost those feelings and what he was mistaking for romantic feelings was merely friendship.

"I hope not," he refilled her wineglass.

"Thank you," she said but didn’t drink. "So why are you here now?"

"I missed you," he said as simply and as warmly as he could.

She stared back at him, looked down, and then back up.

He decided it was time to put the plan in motion. If she had no feelings for him, he would find out tonight.

"I’d like to take you somewhere," he told her.

"Where?"

"It’s a surprise." He looked at the severe, dark-blue outfit she was wearing, and added, "You might want to change clothes."

She studied him for a long moment, and then came to a decision, "Okay, what do you suggest?"

A twinkle appeared in his eye as he said, "Something a little more fun."

Nikita smiled at the way he said "fun." From his lips, it sounded more like the word "romantic." Tonight might well be the strangest day this week, but she had a feeling it could also be the most pleasant.

Chapter Fifty

Inside "The Copperhead" Teresa had stationed herself at the door as a lookout for the expected couple. The lighting was softer, most of the tables had been moved off the floor, and candles and flowers placed on the few left. Roses decorated the one strategically located near the band, but in the shadows.

Mahleah was ready. Wearing an ankle length dress made of soft strawberry red velvet, with spaghetti straps, she stood near the stage. Instead of her usual braid, her hair was swept up in a myriad of curls that were caught on top of her head and cascaded downwards. For once, she was actually wearing makeup and her lipstick matched the berry color of her dress. She glowed with anticipation.

Suddenly Teresa called, "Here they come!"

Everyone took their places as Michael and Nikita entered the club. Nikita had pulled the hitherto neglected little red dress out of her closet in hopes that Michael would like it. She and Mahleah smiled to see they were both wearing red, although Nikita’s was a brighter shade.

Mahleah stepped onto the stage as the band began playing.

Tonight the moon is playing tricks again.

I’m feeling seasick again

And the whole world could just dissolve into a glass of water.

I’ve been good, ‘cause I know you don’t want me to.

Do you really want me to be as blue as you?

It’s her daylight that gets me through.

Michael took Nikita by the hand and led her out on the floor. His green eyes burned into her blue ones as he pulled her to him in a slow dance.

We’ve been here before.

Last time you scratched at my door.

The moon was naked and cold.

I was like a two-year-old just wanting more.

If you wear that velvet dress,

If you wear that velvet dress…

Michael’s fingers trailed softly down Nikita’s arm, but she was lost in his gaze. She’d never seen it look as open before. Love, longing, and lust were all present, but so was a bit of fear. She realized that he was uncertain of her reaction to him and lifted a hand to slowly caress his jaw.

Tonight the moon has drawn its curtains.

It’s a private show.

No one else gonna know.

I’m wanting.

Mahleah saw with satisfaction that her first song had been an unqualified success. Her favorite couple was dancing ever closer and their looks were growing tenderer.

Tucked away as unobtrusively as possible Tony, Joe, and Teresa watched the proceedings with interest and approval. While they didn’t know the back-history, Mahleah had told them that she was helping a couple of friends who needed a serious romantic push. Joe thought that description fit Mahleah herself as well as anyone.

The strains of a new song began as Mahleah began to scold the lovers a little.

You only see what your eyes want to see.

How can life be what you want it to be?

You’re frozen when your heart’s not open.

You’re so consumed with how much you get,

You waste your time with hate and regret.

You’re broken when your heart’s not open."

If I could melt your heart, we’d never be apart.

Give yourself to me, you hold the key.

Nikita felt as if the secrets of her soul lay exposed to Michael’s eyes. Their bodies were swaying together without conscious thought. She moved forward until their faces were touching, closed her eyes, and lost herself to the overwhelming sensations of the music, Mahleah’s voice, and the proximity of his body. As he turned her around at the end of the first chorus, she happened to glance up at the singer and was surprised to see a strange expression come over Mahleah’s face.

A figure slipped into "The Copperhead" unnoticed by the dancing couple and for several minutes by Joe and his companions as well. The expression on Mahleah’s face tipped the Watcher off that something unusual was happening. As she sang, "Now there’s no point in placing the blame, and you should know I suffer the same – if I lose you, my heart will be broken," she seemed to be directing it to a corner of the room instead of her dancing friends.

Love is a bird she needs to fly.

Let all the hurt inside of you die.

You’re frozen when your heart’s not open.

Joe peered across the room, and his breath caught. "Tony, my friend," he said softly. "Pay close attention for the chronicles. Tonight is history in the making."

You only see what your eyes want to see.

How can life be what you want it to be?

You’re frozen when your heart’s not open.

Mmmm, if I could melt your heart.

By the time that the band began playing Massive Attack’s "Unfinished Sympathy" Mahleah was barely aware of Michael and Nikita’s existence. Her attention was completely fixed on the man sitting quietly in the corner. Her eyes drank him in -- from head to toe, he was, to her, physical perfection. As she’d once said to Michael while in a much more frivolous mood, he was the standard by which she judged all other men.

As she sang the refrain of this song, she felt truer words had never been spoken.

Like a soul without a mind

In a body without a heart,

I’m missing every part.

She followed his gaze as he looked over at the dancing couple with interest and then resumed looking at her. Her eyes laughed at him. He had been jealous. She could tell by the relief on his face. Somehow, he’d gotten the mistaken impression that she and Michael were romantically involved.

"Oh Duncan," she thought, "What are you doing here?" Obviously, Joe had informed him of her presence here tonight. Her situation was rapidly becoming tenuous.

He kept perfectly still, tranquilly absorbing the room’s atmosphere but the looks he gave her were electric. The last notes of "Sympathy" ended and she found herself being nudged back to reality by a discreet throat clearing from the dance floor.

She saw Nikita had finally noticed the newcomer’s presence and was a little unnerved because she recognized him from the dress shop. Michael, too, identified the man in the corner as the martial artist living on a barge that Mahleah had watched so carefully.

She returned their pointed looks with an unspoken plea: “Please leave this alone. I’ll deal with him. Don’t report his presence here tonight.” She saw that they understood and smiled. It was time for another one of the surprises Michael had planned for Nikita. She nodded to the band. As the music started, Nikita jumped. The song was very familiar to her.

Hold tight, if I had only known it could rain inside.

Keel over, take a stand, trying to keep my head on my shoulders.

Overflow, undertow, trying to keep my head above water.

Believe me, I’m a fighter ‘til the end.

Look into my eyes. It’s all on fire. My life needs fire.

I want roses strewn at my feet.

Nikita said Michael’s name softly but questioningly. This was the song that they had danced to over a year ago when he had amnesia. She had protected him from Section and felt helpless as Michael with no memory proceeded to fulfill one of her deepest-held fantasies: he was completely open with her. In fact, he was too open and she had feared for his safety. The return of his memory had been a double-edged sword. He was once again able to take care of himself, but he had professed not to remember anything that had happened between them at that time.

Moving in, moving out, the current pulls me.

Stay buoyant.

I tumble doing deep-sea cartwheels.

Outside it’s dark; I catch my breath and scream, scream.

It’s all on fire. My life needs fire.

I want roses strewn at my feet.

Michael ran his fingers through Nikita’s hair. She shivered, but her face still held a question, and he answered it, "Yes, I remember."

She shuddered again and he pulled her back into the dance. This was it, she realized. He had finally decided to stop hiding his feelings for her behind thick impenetrable walls.

Soundlessly I fade away

I sail I float far away.

A thousand clues and second thoughts lie deep in the belly of my heart.

If I listen so close…

One of his hands began caressing her bare back. She felt his breath on her face as he whispered into her ear, "No more secrets between us." His lips brushed her ear.

Meanwhile I float on the sea, sea yeah, sea.

Moving in, moving out, outside it’s dark again.

Still I realize what a fine line you walk along.

Tightroping between sink or swim or fall or stand

I sit here, I stare, and still I see it’s raining.

Hard to say, hard to see, hard to know, hard to tell.

It’s raining…

Michael’s mouth moved from Nikita’s ear, nipping the lobe as he went to her cheekbone and down her jaw before reaching her mouth. Here he hesitated for a moment with a scant millimeter between them. Nikita took the plunge, crossing the small space. Their lips met briefly, teasingly, before pulling away again.

This time Michael followed through and kissed her again with a little more pressure. His tongue flicked out briefly to touch her lips, and then he pulled back and looked in her eyes. They were a blue deep enough to swim in, and he took the final plunge. When their lips met, they explored each other.

Mahleah smiled at the embracing couple – mission accomplished. She and Tony had used part of Michael’s money to rent some extra musicians for the evening and she made full use of them now. They began the beautiful strains of an old Jerome Kern song and Mahleah’s eyes involuntarily traveled from the couple before her to the corner where Duncan sat.

Someday when I’m awfully low

And the world is cold I will get a glow

Just thinking of you and the way you look tonight…

Nikita unlocked her door and Michael followed her inside. She frowned as he walked away from her. He headed toward her stereo and hit the play button to start the CD Mahleah had made for him. The mood this evening had been both perfect and delicious and he wanted it to continue. Mahleah had promised that the first song was the most sensuous and sacred she could think of. He had planted it earlier this evening while Nikita was changing clothes.

Now Marvin Gaye’s "Let’s Get it On," filled the room. He grinned inwardly. Leave it to Mahleah to leave them an unsubtle hint.

Nikita listened to the music and watched as Michael walked back toward her. She lifted an eyebrow, "Are you trying to seduce me?" she asked.

"Yes," he said simply.

She nodded, "Good." Conversation ceased.

I’ve been really trying baby,

Trying to hold back this feeling for so long

And if you feel like I feel, baby, c’mon…let’s get it on….

Mahleah refused to go to the barge for fear that Section might discover Mac’s Paris residence. So, instead, they went to the Hôtel Récamier, a quiet place near the Luxembourg Gardens.

After they entered the room, she looked at him and awkwardly said, "You seem to make a habit of walking in on my performances."

He laughed, but his lips promised mischief, "That’s because you’re the most seductive siren I’ve ever met."

Five long seconds later they surrendered to their impulses. Michael and Nikita’s first kisses of the evening may have been tentative but these were searing. The fire that had been smoldering for many years finally ignited and engulfed them both as he pulled the pins out of her hair and let it fall down between them.

We’re all sensitive people with so much to give –

Understand me sugar.

Since we’ve got to be here, let’s live. I love you.

There’s nothing wrong with me loving you,

And giving yourself to me could never be wrong if the love is true.

Don’t you know how sweet and wonderful life can be?

I’m asking you baby to get it on with me.

I ain’t gonna worry. I ain’t gonna push.

I won’t push you darlin’.

She decided he was wearing too many clothes and grabbing his sweater yanked it over his head. He groaned as her lips ran over his collarbone and slipped down to lick at one of his nipples. Her fingers slid up his thigh, and then unfastened his pants. When her hand dipped into his waistband, he pulled her into a bruising kiss and returned the favor by discarding her dress.

You don’t have to worry that it’s wrong.

If the spirit moves you, let me groove you.

Let your love come down…

Above their heads their fingers entwined as below the sheets their bodies rocked together. Foreign words lilted softly through the night air as she cried out with joy.

Girl you give me good feelings, so good.

I’ve been sanctified….

Finally, after hours of passion left them sated, she heard the words she’d waited a lifetime it seemed for, "Mo gràdh ort, mhurninn. I love you."

Epilogue

Nikita sat on her balcony in Michael’s sweater, rubbing her lips and thinking. She still couldn’t believe the events of the night before. Michael had crossed the boundary he’d set for himself so long ago between being friends and lovers. They’d gone slow dancing for half the night and made love the other half. He’d promised there would be no more secrets between them. It was a fantasy come true, but how long could it last? Even if he were committed to the relationship, how would Section react?

She tiptoed back into the room, hating to wake him up. If she needed any proof of his sincerity, the fact that he was still in bed asleep spoke volumes. On the few occasions they had made love in the past, he was always so conflicted that he couldn’t sleep. Now he looked as peaceful as she’d ever seen him.

When she sat down on the edge of the bed, he opened his eyes. He could tell that she was still having doubts: not about him but about the response of their superiors. He didn’t know what that response would be and frankly, he was tired of caring. He sat up and reminded her why this relationship was worth fighting for.

***

Mahleah woke with a start and raised her head from MacLeod’s chest. He was breathing peacefully and she allowed herself the luxury of watching him at his most vulnerable. The situation reminded her of a poem by one of her favorite writers and she softy whispered:

Wonderful was the long secret night you gave me, my Lover,

Palm to palm, breast to breast in the gloom. The faint red lamp

Flashing with magical shadows the common-place room of the inn,

With its dull impersonal furniture, kindled a mystic flame

In the heart of the swinging mirror, the glass that has seen

Faces innumerous and vague of the endless travelling automata

Whirled down the ways of the world like dust-eddies swept through a street,

Faces indifferent or weary, frowns of impatience or pain,

Smiles (if such there were ever) like your smile and mine when they met

Here, in this self-same glass, while you helped me to loosen my dress,

And the shadow-mouths melted to one, like sea-birds that meet in a wave –

Such smiles, yes, such smiles the mirror has reflected;

And the low wide bed, as rutted and worn as a high-road,

The bed with its soot-ridden chintz, the grime of its brasses,

That has born the weight of fagged bodies, dust-stained, averted in sleep,

The hurried, the restless, the aimless – perchance it has also thrilled

With the pressure of bodies ecstatic, bodies like ours,

Seeking each other’s souls in the depths of unfathomed caresses,

And through the long windings of passion emerging again to the stars…

Yes, all this through the room, the passive and featureless room,

Must have flowed with the rise and fall of the human unceasing current,

And lying there hushed in your arms, as the waves of rapture receded,

And far down the margin of being we heard the low beat of the soul,

I was glad of those others, the nameless, the many,

Who perhaps thus had lain and loved for an hour on the brink of the world,

Secret and fast in the heart of the whirlwind of travel,

The shaking and shrieking of trains, the night-long shudder of traffic;

Thus, like us they have lain and felt, breast to breast in the dark,

The fiery rain of possession descend upon their limbs while outside

The black rain of midnight pelted the roof of the station;

And thus some woman like me waking alone before dawn,

While her lover slept, as I woke and heard the calm stir of your breathing,

Some woman has heard as I heard the farewell shriek of the trains

Crying goodbye to the city and staggering out into darkness,

And shaken at heart has thought: "So must we forth in the darkness,

Sped down the fixed rail of habit by the hand of implacable fate –

Mahleah broke off. There was more to the poem, but her normally photographic memory was being clouded by emotion. As much as it was going to rip her insides apart, she couldn’t stay. Aside from all the reasons, she’d had before, she now had an additional one, – she couldn’t risk Michael and Nikita’s lives for her happiness. They had both seen Duncan and if Operations or Madeline found out about it, they could be in as much trouble as she was.

She knew if he woke up he would never let her leave, and he would use his considerable powers of persuasion to prevent her from doing so. She had no choice but to go now while he was sleeping. The last two lines of the poem returned to her, "Thus may another have thought; thus, as I turned, may have turned to the sleeping lips at her side, to drink, as I drank there, oblivion." She brushed her lips ever so softly over his and murmured, "I swear this isn’t over."

Rising she put her clothes back on, and donned her coat. Taking one last long look at her lover, she quietly went out. As soon as the door shut, Duncan’s eyes opened.

Nikita and Michael were having breakfast together on her balcony bathed in the rosy bliss of newfound passion. For once, Nikita found herself comfortable with Michael’s familiar silence. She was beginning to understand how much lay beneath that cool exterior. They were both a little startled to hear the sounds of a singing voice floating up to them from the street below.

Going to the edge and looking down, they spotted Mahleah coming down the sidewalk slowly, even dreamily. Her hair was spilling messily down her back, and Nikita recognized the dress as the one she’d been wearing the night before. Her voice, husky and low, bubbled uncontrollably out of her throat.

Oh listen sister,

I love my mister man

And I can’t tell you why.

There ain’t no reason

Why I should love that man.

It must be something

That the angels did plan.

Mahleah knew she should be worried, but now all cares seemed irrelevant. There were problems to be faced: reconciling her mission to capture Shawn with her affection for his family, the odd looks she’d been getting from Operations lately which made her suspect something was up, and making sure that Section didn’t cancel Michael and Nikita for succumbing to their love for each other. All of them dissolved for her temporarily. She could concentrate only on the memories of the night before.

Fish got to swim and birds got to fly.

I gotta love one man ‘til I die.

Can’t help loving that man of mine….

When he goes away, that’s a rainy day,

And when he comes back that day is fine.

The sun will shine.

I’m in the middle of one of Grandpa’s old Technicolor Gene Kelly movies she thought dreamily. This bears no resemblance to real life and I’m acting as much like a moonstruck calf as Kelly’s character in Singing in the Rain, but I don’t care. She walked into her building.

He can come home as late as can be.

Home without him ain’t no home to me.

Can’t help loving that man of mine…

Across the street, Duncan MacLeod watched her go inside with a smile. He’d known what would happen last night, but the risk had been worth it. Listening to her, he knew that she wouldn’t give up on him, and he damn sure wasn’t going to give up on her. Gazing at the building that he now knew was her home in Paris, he vowed, "I’m not letting you go so easily, cariad."

Continue to The Power to Hurt I

Author’s Acknowledgments: Many song lyrics got used in this one including,

1. Melissa Etheridge’s "Bring Me Some Water"

2. Oasis’ "Wonderwall"

3. "Even Angels Fall" from the 10 Things I Hate About You

4. Bruce Springsteen’s "Promised Land"

5. U2’s "If You Wear That Velvet Dress"

6. Madonna’s "Power of Goodbye" and "Frozen"

7. TLC’s "Waterfalls"

8. Mimi’s "Fire and Roses"

9. Massive Attack’s "Unfinished Sympathy"

10. Jerome Kern’s "The Way You Look Tonight" and "Can’t Help Loving That Man"

11. "Amazing Grace"

12. Kansas’ "Dust in the Wind"

Also, Edith Wharton’s poem "Terminus" is used in the Epilogue.