Shifting Tides

Written by Kimberly and One Lobo

       "You want me…to do…what?"  Kristie couldn't believe what she was hearing.  Madeline stood across the room from her, smiling as she tended to the beautiful orchids in the lighted towers.  She had known that Kristie would be surprised, and disbelieving in her next assignment.

       "You've proven yourself very capable early on, and we believe you have enough knowledge to be able to take on the training of a new operative.  And, there is your other strength in that area as well…"  Madeline turned slightly to face her, smile growing broader.

       "And what might that be?"  Kristie kept her voice level, but inside, she was vibrating with anger.

       "Your ability to detach your emotions from your physical feelings.  It is imperative to have someone who can do that in these situations.  Nikita, of course, is not suitable, and with her and Michael's impending marriage, she would not be a choice regardless.  Alexandra is still entangled with Carlson, and Darren is also under instruction to rebuild her trust in him, partially damaged by that incriminating video of you two."

       "Isn't there anyone else Madeline?  I mean, I'm not trying to shirk responsibility, but I'm just starting to get my life…"

       "This is your life.  And you are the most qualified, most proficient, and most honest choice that I have.  You will do a through job, and report your findings, questions, and concerns back to me.  Any questions?"

       Kristie couldn't move, her nerves felt as if they were lying on top of her skin . . .what would Stephen do and say to her?  Madeline watched her, gauging her reaction, and observing the way she paused, the way she could see the emotions flowing across her features.

       "And Stephen, nor anyone else has the inside on this, and you will keep it that way.  It will appear to everyone else that you are attracted to this new man, and you will make it believable.  Only you and he, along with Operations and myself will actually know that this is training.  If you don't have any questions, you may go."  Madeline paused for only a moment, then turned her back.

       Kristie stood slowly, gathered her crutches, and made her way up the stairs, somehow . . . without losing it.

* * *

       Stephen and Darren were standing in munitions, talking to Walter and Brianna.  They could already see the beginning undertones of attraction forming between the teacher and his new assistant.  Walter took every opportunity to get closer, to show her one more conductor under the microscope, anything to touch her.  They noticed that she wasn't pulling away.  

       Kristie noticed the new woman standing beside Walter as she hopped up on her crutches.  She was pretty, in a dignified and mature way, and looked like a good match for Walter.  Stephen turned to look at her, feeling more than seeing or hearing her approach.  He noticed how she met his gaze for only a second, before looking back to Walter and Brianna.  Strange behavior for Kristie, who's eyes normally locked and held his, sometimes for minutes at a time, communicating without words.  

       "Hey Walter, who's your better-half here?"  Kristie grinned at them both, and maneuvered herself and her crutches into Walter's embrace.  He patted her shoulder, and turned her to face Brianna.  

       "Wild thing, this is Brianna, she's my new assistant.  I was just getting ready to explain the five-percent club to her, and here I stand with three of the members.  Brianna, this is Kristie, resident wild child and cold-op."  Walter watched Brianna's smile, then saw her brow furrow.

       "Wild child?  I don't understand."  She looked at them, puzzled.

       "We gave up trying to understand her a long time ago Brianna, just enjoy her company.  It's like a non-stop merry-go-round of fun."  Darren smiled and gave Kristie a playful punch on the arm.

       "Better than an E-ticket ride at Disneyworld!"  Walter beamed.

       "I'm not EVEN going there!"  Darren's eyes met Kristie's, and they both blushed.  He excused himself, and left to find Alexandra.

       Kristie looked up quickly to Stephen after Darren had left, and found him still studying her.  It was a quite unsettling feeling, brought on by a conscious made guilty by something she had no control over, and she once again averted her eyes.

       "Well Walter, I need to get home.  Brianna, it was really nice meeting you, and don't let Walter give you too hard of a time."  Kristie was already backing away, ready to get out, to be anywhere, but inside Section.  All three of them watched as she waved to Birkhoff as she made her way around the corner.

       "Go get her son.  Something is wrong with her, you know it as well as I do."  Walter reached across the table and patted Stephen on the arm.

       "Walter, I shouldn't . . ."  Stephen started, but was cut off quickly by Walter.

       "Do you remember hearing about Belinda, my wife of one day?  In this place, you don't just let stuff go if you care about someone.  You take everyday for everything you can get out of it.  They may not come back from where they're sent.  Now go on, and let me get back to my instruction on my new assistant."  Walter winked at him slyly, and moved closer to Brianna.

       Stephen took the hint, and left munitions to see if he could catch Kristie before she left.  If not, he'd be paying a visit to her apartment tonight.

* * *

       Michael sat in his office, Nikita curled up on the small leather sofa in one corner, looking through a bridal magazine.  They shared a companionable silence, she reading, he watching her read.  His laptop remained untouched, and forgotten for the time being, as he marked these moments precious in his memory.  Time inside of Section, together, when the world seemed to have slowed down at least for now, was not something to be wasted.  The glare from the overhead florescent lighting, normally harsh, played on the strands of her hair, giving it a silken glow.  She brushed her fingertips over a photo of a dress, as if she could feel the material through the paper.  A few pages later, she repeated this gesture over a photo of a cake, and Michael smiled as she unconsciously licked her lips.  A small laugh escaped him, and she lifted her eyes to meet his.

       "What's funny?"  Nikita was still surprised anytime she heard a laugh from Michael.  It just wasn't a common sound…yet.  She planned to change that.

       "Nothing.  I'm just enjoying watching you."

       "You know, you've done that for years, but I never knew I was so humorous to you before.  I'm stressed over all of this wedding stuff, and you're so cool, I see icicles.  How do you do that?"

       "I delegate, which is what you should be doing.  We need a wedding coordinator to take care of these things, and take the pressure off of you."

       "Michael, when do I have time to pick a wedding coordinator, when we barely had time to run to the church?"

       Instead of replying, Michael typed a few lines on his PC, picked up his cell phone, and dialed the number that he had brought up.  Two minutes later, he hung up, and looked at Nikita once again.

       "We have an appointment at two this afternoon.  You've already done the hardest parts.  You have your gown, and you've picked the ladies' gowns out.  Everything else is just pomp and circumstance.  Let's leave the show to someone who's used to dealing with putting them on."

       "Michael…I love you."  Nikita's mind, for once in the past few months, was at ease about the wedding.  And when the coordinator saw the budget that they were working with, it should go even smoother.

* * *

       Stephen made his way to Kristie's quarters and found her sitting on the bed, her crutches laying on the floor against the opposite wall.  She was already trying to get by without using them.  He had known that she wouldn't tolerate them slowing her down for long, but she needed  to be reminded about how she could re-injure herself.  She looked up from the PDA that she was studying, but only for a moment before shutting it down, and placing it carefully onto the table near her bed.  

       "I was just getting ready to bail.  Just had to stop in and gather up a few things, and fumble with those damn walking sticks over there, and I …"  Kristie realized that she was rambling.  She also knew that Stephen would pick up on it as nervousness and evasion, so she tried to rein herself back in.  Too late.

       "What's wrong?"

       "What do you mean?  I'm just not used to getting around on those things.  They've given me a whole new respect for Kim, not that I didn't have tons of respect for her anyhow.  At least I know for a fact that I'll be off of the damn things…"

       Stephen dropped to one knee in front of her, capturing one hand in his.  He watched the nervous way that her hand sifted through her hair, and the way she still averted her eyes from his steady gaze.  Her hair had gotten longer over the last few months, and he thought of the way it looked in the shower, water making it cascade over the swell of her breasts.  He let his own hand caress a tendril that twined over one shoulder.  

       "What's wrong Kris?  You have to talk to me.  I thought we were making some progress," Stephen kept his voice low, as he continued playing with her hair.  He now kept his eyes away from hers on purpose, hoping to draw out whatever was bothering her.  Whether it was him, or her conscious, she didn't know, but in the back of her mind, Madeline's voice echoed.  "No one has the inside on this . . . keep it that way"

       "I'm really beat, I guess that's what's wrong.  Can I talk to you tomorrow?"  Kristie pleaded with her eyes, just for a little repose.  

       Stephen knew pushing her would get him nowhere.  She had to be treated like a wild animal that you wanted to train.  You couldn't force her into something.  You just had to make her think it was her idea of doing it that way to begin with, and count your blessings when it all turned out good.

       "Okay, maybe you should stop by MedLab and get something to help you sleep tonight.  Do you need a ride home?"  He let his fingertips graze over the soft skin of her cheek, encouraged when she nuzzled against his hand, eyes closed, a small smile on her lips.

       "No, I'll be fine.  It's just a good thing that the car I have now isn't a stick.  I'd have a hell of a time."

       "You know if you need me . . ."

       "You'll be right there.  I do know that.  No matter what I do, I do know that."  Kristie stood slowly, steadying herself with a soft hand on Stephen's shoulder.  She started to walk toward her crutches, but his hands on her hips stopped her.  

       "And, you need to take it easy on that leg.  Don't make it so you have to walk to get them, put them down near you.  If you strain that injury, your recovery time could be a lot longer.  And I know how you love working in comm now that you're used to cold op work.  What would Madeline say if you weren't field ready when she expected it? You'd blow her whole record for estimating recovery down time."  Stephen smiled as he said this, but felt the sudden tension in the hand that rested on his shoulder at the mention of Madeline's name.

       "Maybe I should just crash here tonight.  I have some stuff in comm to work on anyhow.  I could wait till everyone else goes to bed, and get some real work done.  That seems to be the best time for Birkhoff, Kim and I to work anyway. Less questions, and no silver-haired demon hovering over us from his upstairs roost."

       "You're working too much too.  That's what down time is.  You have things to do in comm, but you still have to get rest.  Come on, lay down . . . I'll help you relax."

       Kristie knew that after he left her later, sated from using all of his skills as a Valentine Op, she could go to Comm and study the pad on this new operative.  She paid more attention to the words that Stephen used, the way he used his hands, the way he made her body pulse with feeling, building her up slowly to her orgasm, and caressing her as she relaxed afterwards.  He left her, his own release withheld, happy just to know that he had pleased her.  He kissed her gently, watching her eyes drift closed, and her breathing deepen.  Standing at the doorway, he just watched her for a moment longer, enjoying the chance to watch her in repose.  He closed the door quietly and started toward munitions.  He needed to tell Walter that they had talked, or at least, started talking.

       Kristie heard the door click shut, the lock engaging, and sat up.  Feigning sleep until she was sure he was gone, she now was free to finish looking at the PDA, and later, when she knew he would be asleep in his own quarters, she could head to comm.

* * *

       Nikita unlocked the door to her apartment and stepped inside, kicking off her shoes as she went.  Michael followed her, pleased in the way she scanned the room, even though she seemed oblivious to everything but her own need for comfort.  He locked the door and armed the security system on his way inside.  She had made it to the couch, the simple black portfolio still clutched in one arm. Michael watched as she arranged pillows into a huge pile at one end, lay the portfolio down, and started to shed her clothing in the middle of the floor.  She stood now clad only in a pair of French lace panties, and smiled as she noticed him watching her.  Stopping long enough to gather the small pile of clothes, she started for the bedroom as Michael settled on the end of the sofa.  A few moments later, she reemerged into the living area, clad in a black silk pajama top, and holding the matching bottoms.

       "You left these here, and since I'm holding you hostage until we make these final decisions tonight, you should be comfortable,"  her smile beckoned him, and spoke of pleasures still to come.  

       Michael rose from the couch and crossed to her in long languid strides.  Nikita thought that she could spend days just watching the man move. It wasn't a totally unconscious grace, rather a study in training and a measured ability accomplish the most with the least amount of movement.  His breeding, his training with Madeline, the martial arts, and the innate ability to know what to do and when . . . all added up to Michael's precision  panther like grace.  Nikita appreciated it all, fully.  

       One of his hands went to the buttons on the front of his shirt, and began to undo them one at a time, slowly, letting the material separate and fall away from his skin.  He shrugged the shirt over one shoulder, let it drop off and behind his back, before lifting his other arm to finally remove it from his wrist, where it had stopped, and let it fall to the floor.  Nikita felt her mouth go dry, at the same moment, she felt herself growing wet farther below.  His hands were at the button on his pants now, he still coming toward her oh . . . so . . . slowly, pausing slightly with each step. He stopped when he was about five feet from her.

        The button was undone now, the zipper making a raspy growl as it was drawn down.  Black silk boxer shorts came into view, the front of them tented by his arousal, as the pants dropped around his ankles.  He stepped easily out of them, closing the distance between them in two more steps.   He let his arms hang to his sides, not attempting to touch her, waiting . . . anticipating her next move.  He anticipated incorrectly, as he saw her not slowly reaching for him, as he had thought she would, but instead, she touched him only with her tongue.

        The first taste was from the soft skin near his collarbone, a heady combination of salt, and the tangy sting of aftershave on her tastebuds.  She moved her mouth a slight bit higher to run her tongue over the slight bristle of whiskers on his throat and chin., feeling them tickly on her lips.  Now, downward to move from one nipple to the other, encircling them slowly, before enclosing them in her teeth, biting gently before releasing them.

       Michael was being seduced.  He started this . . . but it was out of his control now.  Keep your target off-center, do the unexpected, never let them turn the game on you.  His training, drilled into him over years, forgotten in a moment.  The silky blond hair that he adored fell over her shoulders, as her head dropped lower still.  

       Nikita let her tongue, lips, teeth, play over the tight ridges of his abdominal, straying to the muscles that jutted above his hipbones, drifting into the hollow made there, licking slowly, lovingly.  Her hands finally grazed the outside of his legs, grazing the soft hair that grew there, as she reached for his boxers.  She drew them off him slowly, following the path of the material down with her kisses, licks and nips of her teeth.  

       His arousal jutted prominately in front of him, bobbing with her attentions, straining to be touched.  The boxers made it to his ankles, and Nikita started her way back up, just as slowly as she had descended.

       What sweet torture . . . Michael could feel the blood rushing through his veins, his body temperature fluctuating, his heart hammering in his chest.  How could one woman have captured him so completely, heart, body, mind . . . and soul.

       Nikita was at hip level once again, still taking her time, enjoying the taste of him, his scent, clean in her nostrils, soap, aftershave, and Michael.  She watched as the length of him throbbed in the air beside her cheek as she lingered on the sweet patch of skin where his hip and leg joined.  The pulse was prominate here, and if she stilled for only a moment, she could feel it beating wildly under her lips.  Just knowing that she could have this much effect on him, urged her on.  Her right hand played at his hip, before drifting behind him to caress his firm buttock, the tight muscle of his inner thigh, scraping the skin with her nails as she brought her hand back around to close around him.  She stroked him slowly, and was surprised to feel him rock back slightly on his heels.

       Finally, he felt her touch him where he needed it the most, and the tension both drained and increased in him.

       Her soft hand slid along his length, as his head fell back, eyes closed, his every thought blasted from his brain.

       She touched just the tip with her tongue, tasting the drop of pearly nectar that she found there, before letting her thumb swirl around the head, and follow the ridge on the underside of him.  Licking her lips, she placed noisy kisses up and down his entire length, still stroking with one hand while the other had now captured his sac, gently massaging there.  Returning her attentions to just the tip, she flicked her tongue repeatedly over the hypersensitive area just under the head, isolating these nerves, and stopping all other motion for only a moment.  

       Michael's hand grasped her shoulder to steady himself.  He had never felt this type of euphoria before.  The nerves under his skin sang under her talented tongue.  

       Nikita felt him growing even harder, the skin stretching, blood coloring him, and she took him wholly into her mouth.  She vaguely heard him gasp, feeling the hand on her shoulder tighten, as she let her tongue swirl over the head on every outstroke.  Sometimes, she let her teeth just barely graze him, sometimes she sheathed them completely with her lips.  Her head glided back and forth, back and forth, establishing a rhythm, using her tongue, both hands, growling deep in her throat, knowing the vibration would send him . . .

       Over the edge, crashing, fireworks exploding behind his closed eyelids, totally abandoning all control, he could only hold on to her.  All of his energy concentrated on the area where she had teased, tortured, and delivered him into ecstasy, and still she didn't stop.  Michael felt his orgasm continuing, still not done, still pumping into her sweet mouth, as she suckled and swallowed.    

       She felt him explode in her mouth, swallowing quickly, redoubling her efforts, sinking her nails into his buttocks to hold him to her, as he tried to pull back, then push forward again.  She kept the motion going, moaning now,  her tongue stroking him, feeling him gushing down her throat, his hand gripping her shoulder, making it last . . .

       He began to relax as he felt her movements slow, her nails that had gripped him tightly, now turned to caresses, one last lick given as she leaned back onto her heels.  Gazing at him like a contented cat, the sweetest smirk he had ever seen curled her lips.  Michael felt his own smile growing as he offered her his hand.  She shook her head instead, now grinning at him at she sat in her place on the floor.  Michael looked at her confused.

       "You have all night for that, right now, we have to make some decisions.  It's a good time, now that you have a clear head . . ."  Nikita laughed, knowing once again, she caught him off balance.

       The menu was nailed down. Hor'duerves, meat and cheese trays, fruit trays, vegetable trays, little seafood snacks, pastas, various breads and crackers . . . enough food to feed an army. Michael had already approved the wine list. The coordinator had swatches of fabric to match the napkins too - Rich emerald green, mint green and peach. The napkins would have Nikita and Michael, and the wedding date printed on them in silver.

       The Palisades gave them a choice of types of dinnerware to use. Two designs of China, or Crystal plates in two designs. There was also stemware to match the Crystal plates. Michael favored one of the etched Crystal designs, Nikita immediately agreed.

       The cake they chose was six layers, alternating vanilla and chocolate cake, white icing with the wedding colors in designs on the tops of the layers of cake.

       There were three options they had for music. Two different DJ's - one of which specialized in a wide range of music, another which leaned towards classical music. They also had the choice of a band which could perform classical pieces as well as most of the current top 40 style of music, country, adult contemporary, etc. They chose the band.

       They picked out a guest book, and little tiny plastic jars of bubbles instead of rice or birdseed. All of the tables would have candles in the wedding colors on them. The largest ballroom had been reserved, and the ballroom had an enormous terrace that the festivities could spill out onto.

       That night, they would spend in the honeymoon suite at the Palisades hotel - and then next morning, they would fly to the Bahamas for a week.

       "The last fittings will be done next week," Nikita told Michael, "Then the dresses will be really done - and I'm told all the tux's are fitted."

       "Yes," Michael replied softly, stroking a lock of hair between her thumb and forefinger, "I've got 319 RSVP's. I'll let the coordinator know to plan for 330, to be safe."

       Nikita laughed softly, "That's an awful lot of people. Do we know 319 people total?"

       "Between the two of us - Section One, the Agency, some contacts . . ." Michael's voice trailed off, "Wait until we have to send out thank you notes."

       Nikita groaned, "I'll draft my trainee's again. I'll let them live if they help me address the envelopes!"

       They awoke to the ringing of cell phones - two of them. Nikita felt a little twinge of worry well up inside. If they were calling both of them in at the same time, it couldn't be something good. But this was Section One. Nothing they were involved in was good. She glanced at the clock as she flipped open the phone. It was 2:00 am.

       "Josephine . . ." Birkhoff's voice was heard in Nikita's ear.

       Michael made sure his demeanor, his body language, his face betrayed none of his anxiety. The briefing was being held in secret in Madeline's office. Nikita was by his side. Madeline was with them of course. They'd been strategizing for hours. To make things more difficult, they were doing things the old fashioned way. On paper. Birkhoff had managed to print off maps for them. They had to erase the holo projection records. If someone went hunting through the system - they'd know that things had been erased. Birkhoff had handled everything himself, for security reasons. There had been two many breaches lately.

        The door chime went off, and when Madeline checked her screen, it was Alexandra and Darren that appeared. Alexandra had Pepe tucked under one arm. She hit the button to open the door.

       Michael took in Alexandra's appearance quickly. He was supposed to be monitoring her after all. Her hair was still wet, she wore jeans and tank top with her thigh high boots. Michael had learned to hate those boots  - and she wore them all the time. She hadn't bothered with makeup, and only one single chain hung around her neck. The look was tamed down - but not much. She'd been in a hurry though. They all had. Pepe was snuggled into her side, obviously content to sleep.

       Darren was clad in jeans and a soft material shirt with collar, and sneakers. His hair was still damp too. They both looked tired.

       They were all going to be very tired by the end of this week.

* * *

       "This briefing is being held under the tightest security. When someone looks up your records, you'll be listed on active status, but the details of the mission will not be on file. There were no sims ran. We've planned everything on paper," Madeline told them, "I'm sure you're both aware that there have been serious breaches of security in the recent past that we have been unable to decipher."

       "Oh yeah," Alexandra said softly.

       Darren only nodded.

       "There are two men impeding the peacekeeping process in Kosovo. There have been several incidents in the area to suggest that there are intelligence cells still operating within the Kosovo borders. Oversight wants these two cells taken out, completely," Madeline told them.

       "Isn't this more in the realm of something that the NATO troops should be handling?" Darren asked.

       "NATO cannot and will not sanction assassinations," Madeline replied crisply, "They would have to arrest them and hold them for prosecution. The process is slow and tedious - and Oversight wants to send a very clear message. You will go in two man teams. Michael and Nikita will take out the cell located in the North. Darren and Alexandra will take out the cell located in the South. There will be no back up teams. You'll have minimal contact with Section One. You'll report directly to me. You'll come out when the mission is complete. The local peacekeeping troops will think you are relief workers. You'll be going in with medical supplies, food stocks. Your gear will be hidden in the bottom of the crates. The contact that Michael and Nikita will meet Faik Fisic in Pec. They will enter Kosovo from Montenegro - at the border near Pec. Darren and Alexandra meet Svetac Hannaka in Urosevac. They'll enter Kosovo through Macedonia. Michael and Nikita will be dealing primarily with American troops. Darren and Alexandra will be faced with German troops. The Germans are allowing the Russians a lot of leeway right now - and the Russians are sympathetic to Serbs. You will both need to make sure you stay as neutral as possible. You'll be flying out to Paris, where you will split up. The supply trucks will go with you to Paris. At Paris one of the trucks with the medical supplies and foods stocks will board a separate plain with a two of you. You'll fly to Macedonia and Montenegro - and begin your missions from there. These packets contain the phone numbers you'll need to reach your contacts, as well as detailed maps of the major cities, and the country side. The transport is waiting for you now. You'll have two changes of cloths in a backpacks - and Identification waiting in the van. That is standard for the relief workers. The van is waiting. All of you have 5 minutes to change cloths. I'll take Pepe."

       As if he'd been listening, Pepe lifted his head, and yawned, a tiny squeaking sound escaping his throat. He licked his lips, and blinked several times.

       Alexandra pressed a kiss to the back of his head, and spoke first to Pepe, then to Madeline, "You be a good boy for Madeline!. . .Walter has food and litter box at his work station - and there are supplies in my quarters - I'm sure you can get in if you need to."

       Madeline's fingers started to rub the back of the Chihuahua's neck, "Of course."

       * * *

       Alexandra dressed in Jeans, a plain T-shirt, and hiking boots. She even put on a bra, and grabbed up a jacket. She felt . . . muted somehow. But the goal wasn't her usual 'in your face' style. It was to not stand out.

       Darren showed up dressed much the same way, as did Michael and Nikita. They climbed into the van, and it pulled away.

       Nikita started to go through the backpacks, finding out which pack belonged to each person. They had no comm gear. No cell phones. They were totally alone on this.

        "Guess it's a good thing that last fitting was dead on," Alexandra commented as Nikita handed her a ruck sack, "How was yours?"

       "I'm good," Nikita told her, "What about your shoes?"

       "They fit," Alexandra told her, "The Onyx Pearls haven't come in yet - but you probably new that."

       "That's the least of my worries," Nikita told her, "Michael and I just nailed down the last of the details for the wedding coordinator late last night. I had to give our choices to Madeline, so she could deliver them to the coordinator."

       Alexandra nodded slowly, "So what are we eating at your reception?"

       Nikita knew Alexandra was curious, but she was also making conversation. This mission was too important, and so dangerous . . .

       "Lots of seafood Hor'duerves. Shrimp snack, crab snacks, lobster, salmon, cod, deli style meat and cheese trays. Fruit trays, vegi trays, some pastas, chips and other junk food items of course. A few different kinds of bread's and rolls. Michael ordered the wine list - and I can't pronounce half of it, but I know it will taste good. Someone donated a few cases of Champagne. One of Michael's contacts donated a hard liquor bar. We picked out matching crystal and flatware for the reception - the napkins will match the colors, the flowers should come pretty close. An actual band will do the music - a little bit of everything in fact."

       "So when do you leave on the honey moon?" Alexandra asked her.

       "The next morning," Nikita told her, "We're staying our first night at the Palisades - the honeymoon suite no less!"

       "My my my!" Alexandra laughed with her, "Not to put a damper on the happy event - but what about security?"

       "Madeline is coordinating it with Dante and a team of operatives she's picking out. You two will not be on that team - because you're in the wedding party."

       Alexandra laughed, "I could fit a gun on my thigh . . ."

       Darren groaned, "Michael - be real careful when you do the thing at the wedding where you pull off the garter belt - god only knows what these two will do!"

       Michael actually cracked a grin, "I know to look before I reach."

* * *

       The soft chime on Nikita's watch woke both her and Michael. They'd be landing in Montenegro soon.

       They'd spent hours each studying their maps. They were going into hostile territory, with no comm support. That meant the no one would warn them when hostiles were sneaking up on them. It meant that they'd have no forewarning of troop movements, no new intel, nothing. They'd be at the mercy of fate - with the same resources as the refugee's returning, the same resources as those who were now running for their lives.

       Nikita glanced over at Michael. His eye's had a far away look to them. She knew what he was thinking about, the same people she was. Darren and Alexandra.

       "They make a good team," Nikita told him gently, "They'll be allright."

       Michael nodded gently, his eye's warming as his gaze shifted to hers, "We'd have no way to get to them if something went wrong, no way to find them."

       "They have no way to get to us - and they did rescue us once too, remember?"

       Michael nodded. He remembered. That whole rescue had been a stroke of just perfect circumstances for them. Michael didn't believe in luck - but if it existed, it had definitely been with Darren and Alexandra then.

       Michael hoped that it was with them this time too. They were young. The horrors they'd see would weigh heavily on their minds. It could distract them. Michael knew that Nikita was only a few years older than them, she'd come to Section much more naive than either Darren or Alexandra, but she'd managed to find a balance for herself. She'd learned to stay focused. This mission would be difficult for all of them.

       The crate that their supplies were in was the cab of the broncho, behind their seats. If soldiers searched a few boxes near the back of the truck, they'd find medical supplies, some food stocks. If they opened the crate that was in the cab, they'd find medical supplies again. It was the bottom 3 inches that had their supplies.

       "Hopefully we won't have to walk across the border this time," Nikita commented quietly, as Michael started the truck down the road.

       Michael remembered that mission all to well. Nikita wasn't about to leave the two children they'd found in the refugee camp. Michael found he didn't have the heart himself. It was the first chink in his armor Nikita had found  . . . children. He'd known when they'd come close to the border that he and Nikita had a better chance of crossing the border than the parents. But he'd felt his heart being torn to pieces when their parents hadn't made it across the border. The young boy, Sascha, hadn't turned to look  back. Michael had been relieved, and felt so guilty at the same time. Was their life in America so much better? He knew that the little girl would get the medical attention she needed, she'd be taught ways to cope with her disability.

       Nikita had confessed to Michael that she'd had nightmares after that mission. She'd dreamed that the parents had gotten out, that the children had been reunited with their parents. What nightmares would they have from this mission?

       Nikita had been watching the world pass by out the window, lost to her own thoughts about the last time they'd been in the Balkins. Children with guns - children who knew how to use machine guns, and defended what was left of their home. She knew it would be just as bad this time. A refugee camp had spread over the field off to her left. There were some tents, thousands upon thousands of people, dispair written on their faces. They looked so lost, weak, and helpless. It was mostly woman and children. Very few men. They'd heard the stories about what had happened to the men. Most of them were killed, rather than be allowed to live and possibly fight back. People lined the road, walking back. There had been reports of people returning in droves. Reports of Serbs leaving in droves.

        This will never end, will it? Nikita thought to herself.

* * *

       Darren had given the keys to Alexandra. While they were flying from Paris to Macedonia, she'd French braided her own hair down, to keep it out of the way, and so she didn't stand out quite so much. He'd pulled his hair back into a pony tail, and Alexandra had wrapped two leather cords around the length of the tail, to keep it contained. They both knew what kind of area they were going into. A chance to bathe would be few and far between. It had been a wonderfully erotic experience, having Alexandra work on his hair. He would have smiled if the sites around him hadn't been so terrible.

       This must be what hell looks like, he thought to himself. They'd just passed the checkpoint at the border. The guards had just looked into the back, and waved them through. Hundred's of people walked along the road, going back. Darren wondered if they knew what they would find. How would they cope? He would eventually go back home - home to a warm bed, clean cloths, decent food. A home where he didn't worry so much about someone burning his home down. He didn't worry about soldiers breaking into his home, pulling his family out, lining them up against the wall and killing all of them.

       Family . . . Alexandra would be that family, Darren guessed. She was all he had really, her and a Chihuahua. Sure, he had other friends, but none of them made him feel what Alexandra did. The intense feelings of completeness, of passion, hope - and sometimes jealousy, fear and even anger. Their relationship would always be stormy. But what a ride! This was his life, and what a life it was! Would he have ever experienced so much with out her? She'd gotten him through the hardest part of Section when he first came, and he knew he'd seen her through her worst parts - at least he'd tried too. Then there was life in Section. Darren knew that he'd lost a lot being in Section, but he'd gained to much too. He saw the world in ways he never would have, seen places he never would have, learned things he never would have. He had a chance to make a difference too. That's what he kept telling himself when it got to be to much, that - and at least he had Alex.

       "You're awful quiet," Alexandra said softly.

       He felt her hand reach out, brush his thigh. Darren slid his fingers into her, "I was thinking deep philosophical thoughts. Life, Section, the world, you . . ."

       She groaned, "Be careful - you'll get depressed!"

       "No," Darren squeezed her hand, "I won't. Life for us isn't so bad Alex - not when you compare it to this place."

       "Yeah," she agreed softly, "I was thinking the same thing sort-of. Sometimes I wish I could show Lora the places I've seen - and then I'm glad she isn't around to see this."

       Darren looked over at her. She didn't talk about Lora much at all. Darren had only been able to get a  few things out of Alexandra about Lora.

       "I haven't heard you say that much about Lora in all the time I've known you," Darren commented.

       Alexandra managed a resigned smile, "I . . . I guess I'm getting . . . resolved . . . to things. I don't know why - but she'd been on my mind lately. She'd have been outraged so often - eager to run out and save the world other times . . . you would have liked her."

       She looked over at Darren for a brief moment, "She would have liked you - a lot."

       Darren grinned, "Always good to know you can pass the best friend test."

       Alexandra laughed with him.

* * *

       Michael had been driving for hours. They'd been quiet, content to be near each other. It felt good, to have Nikita working by his side again. This was how it was supposed to be. Somehow, it took the edge off the horrors they were seeing

       They'd passed deserted fields, the crops left to die of neglect. Homes were burnt out. Some people stood in shock, having just come back. Some were picking through the remains of burnt cinders blocks and timbers. Some dug graves.

       Black smoke started to drift into the sky ahead of them, it's origins hidden by a hill. As they crested the hill, they saw flames licking at the sky at the end of a village. The closer they got, they saw people looting the houses.

       "It's a Serb village," Michael told Nikita quietly.

       "I know," Nikita said quietly, "the Albanians are doing exactly what the Serbs did to them. I'll never understand Michael."

       "I hope you never do," he said gently.

       Nikita knew what he meant. He didn't begrudge her the knowledge of other cultures, he knew she'd studied it well. He didn't want her to ever know that kind of life - for it ever to be OK with her. For Nikita, it would be her own death, the death of what made her Nikita

       She knew that this had gone on for hundreds of years. She'd read history from both sides of it. Everyone here had grown up in a different cultural structure. They reasoned differently than Nikita did. Their values were shaped by that culture. Here - it was their means to survival. The only life they'd known. Do it to them before they do it to you.

        What they saw before them now were people looting - looting for items that had been taken and destroyed when they were forced to leave. Looting for food to eat, and looting out of revenge. Only one home was burning. Had someone considered that these buildings could be shelter for them perhaps?

       A chicken ran out, away from some children. Those same children chased after it, a game of fun erupting from the chaos. Nikita had to smile. Children could find light in the darkest of hell's.

       "Pec should be an hour away," Nikita finally said.

* * *

       "Hey, anyone seen Michael, Nikita, Darren or Alex?" Kristie asked, hopping on her crutches up to Comm.

       Birkhoff was there of course, Kristie often thought he lived there. Kim was there, with Tony standing next to her. Walter and Brianna were there as well.

       "They're out," Birkhoff told them, "I can't find any record of why. Madeline told me to direct any inquiries to her."

       "Pass!" Kristie commented, "No mission profile - nothing?"

       "Nothing," Birkhoff said quietly, "I think Madeline sent the four of them on something - and didn't use our normal procedures and resources because of the security breaches lately."

       Kristie sighed, "Oh I know all about security breaches - Security breaches, Tornadoes . . ."

       She looked down at her casted leg meaningfully.

       Kim leaned forward, to speak quietly,  just to their small group, "I've been thinking about these little problems with intel leaking out - it's going to random organizations. There's nothing to suggest that Red Cell, Black moon, or that Neo-nazi group are even connected - nothing at all - and I've run it at every angle I could think of - tried some random stuff. No connection what so ever."

       "It's gotta be more than one person," Birkhoff said softly, "Someone with enough clearance to get data on missions - so it's someone level 4 or higher."

       "That puts me in the clear," Kristie joked.

       "It may not be an Operative," Walter mentioned.

       Everyone turned their gaze towards him.

       "Think about it - Michael's missions have been hit, Nikita's - Darren and Dante's, Jeremy's, Lloyds - There's probably just a handful of cold ops at this station that haven't been involved in a mission that had some kind of security problem. Whoever it is, isn't concerned about the lives of cold ops. They're not concerned about being on the team that gets screwed."

       Tony's eyes darted around, "You got any candidates?"

       Walter shook his head, "Profilers have access to the mission files, Madeline, Operations - but I doubt the two of them would give up Section."

       Kristie looked at Walter, "You forgot Jonathan."

       Walter raised an eyebrow, "I wouldn't outright accuse him . . . but he does have access to the mission profiles."

       "What we oughtta be doing is looking at motivations," Tony said, "The station itself hasn't been hit - so chances are the person doesn't want to risk themselves - so it's probably inside."

       "Revenge?" Kim offered.

       "Against who?" Birkhoff asked, "The breeches are random."

       "Section - Someone who hates Operatives, someone who feels like they're on the outside looking in. Someone who gets off on major control power trips," Kim explained.

       Kristie gave a short laugh, "Guys - not that I distrust any of you - but I heard my own words come out of Madeline's mouth once - because somewhere there was a microphone in Section. We should discuss this outside sometime. Just in case. Otherwise, we could all find ourselves in the midst of one of those security breaches."

       Walter nodded, "I hate to say it, but she's right. I can't think of a really safe place in Section right now - no place that all of us would fit into without drawing attention at least."

       Everyone started to turn back to their tasks, or walk away from comm. Kristie started down the hall. She had to start working with Casey today - Casey was the new cold op she was doing the Valentine training with.

       "So you're Kristie," he said, standing back as she hopped into his room on her crutches.

       "The one and only," She replied dryly, "Did you watch the video's?"

       He groaned loudly, "Sex education 101. Did they honestly think I didn't know that stuff?"

       Kristie sat down on one of the chairs, "You'd be surprised what some people don't know. If you know the physical aspects of it, you've got half the battle conquered. The other half is charm - and you failed already."

       Casey balked, "What? You've been here all of one minute! You don't even know what I can do!"

       "A woman comes to your door, on crutches, and sits down in a chair in your room - you don't ask how she's doing, offer her a soda, anything?"

       He groaned, "I took deportment already lady -"

       "Then you obviously need a refresher course," Kristie told him, "You'll never get around to having sex with a target if you can't get their attention. Pretty boy looks aren't enough. Even if you don't care a bit about playing to your targets emotions - what appeals to them - you do it. And you do it convincingly. From here on out - you treat me - your trainer - and any targets I select for you, as if you are totally enraptured with them."

       She dropped a piece of paper on the small table, "My address - Pick me up at 8 for dinner. You take care of the dinner reservations - someplace where we need to dress for dinner."

       She stood up, and hopped out of the room, not giving him a backward glance.

       Kristie had on a black satin full length gown, with a split up one leg - the leg that wasn't broken. The top had a deep V cut the accentuated her cleavage, and she had on a necklace with a frilly diamond encrusted pendant and matching earrings. She gazed into the mirror, wondering if the stones were cubic zichrona or diamonds. One never knew in Section One - and that was where she got the dress, and the jewelry.

       She glanced at the clock. He had three more minutes, or he was late. According to his file, he needed polish - a lot of polish. He knew the basics of the physical act - but lacked finesse.

       Her doorbell rang. She looked at the clock. One minute to spare.

        She hopped over, and looked through the peep hole. He stood there, dressed in a tux, looking all washed and polished up. She almost had to laugh.

       Instead she pulled the door open.

       "You look . . . great . . ." his voice trailed off.

       "Thank you," She replied, "You look good in a tux."

       "I clean up pretty good," he joked with her, "Feeling up to this - with your leg and all?"

       "Leg's doing fine," she told him, "Where are you taking me?"

       The Condor was another fancy restaurant on the far side of town -  it's only rival the Palisades. The host seated them, a bottle of wine was ordered, and they were left alone to ponder the menus.

       Kristie knew what she was going to order before she'd gotten the menu. She'd eaten here with Stephen twice - the Lobster was her favorite. Better yet - it came already shelled - so she didn't have to wrestle the tender meat out. While Casey continued to read through the menu, she let her gaze wander around the restaurant. She had two reasons for this dinner. One - because it was a social setting, and getting to know your partner/target over food and drink was easier, two - because they'd be someplace where she could point out other 'couple' things - things people did when they were seducing, wooing.

       Casey put his menu down, "Do you know what you want to order?"

       "The lobster," she told him, "I love lobster."

       The waiter came by, and Kristie looked pointedly at Casey, expecting him to order for her. He did, getting the hint quickly.

        "So you do remember some of the class," she teased him.

       He rolled his eye's, "I didn't exactly grow up in this lifestyle."

       "Neither did I," she told him, "So you learn. See the couple over there, by the window, she's got a red dress on - watch what he does - see how he looks at her, how he reaches across the table, and brushes his fingers across hers - he's telling her he wants her, likes her - but he's being suave about it. That's the kind of behavior you need to master. Tonight, you just watch. Tomorrow - you have to re-enact."

       They left the restaurant hours later. Casey opened the car door for Kristie, and helped her settle herself into the seat, taking her crutches and laying them across the back seat. He asked her if she had a nice time.

       Kristie looked over at him, and calculating - hesitated for a moment. "I . . .yes, I did have a nice time.  I just meant that you did well by asking me that.  Sorry, guess I'm still in trainer mode."

       "Well trainer, where to?  My Section quarters are a little cramped for a nightcap, how about your place?" Casey's grin told her he wasn't thinking just an evening drink or coffee either.

       Kristie's smile faded, "If you weren't sitting down right now, I'd be one of those women who kicked you in the 'nads.  You should never assume that just because a woman had a nice time, that she's ready to sleep with you."

       Casey rolled his eye's, "I'm sorry, this is the problem that I was talking about.  I never know when to keep my mouth shut."

       "It's okay Casey.  Just calm down a little, and go with the flow.  It was all going good, till you screwed up the mood," Kristie shrugged it off, not wanting to scare away her student too quickly.

       "Sorry.  I guess I really am new to this side of it.  All of the girls that I've dated have been so easy.  They think I'm cute, they want me to sleep with them, and  I do it.  It's an easy deal," he told her, gloating.

       Kristie fleetingly wondered if the same cockiness she saw in Casey was what Stephen and Michael had seen in her, "Well, that may have been the case in the past, but some of the targets that you will be told to seduce will not be so willing, you have to use finesse to get them in bed, and to make them give up the intel."

       "Kristie, I'll be honest with you.  I've been told that I'm great in bed, but I have no clue what to do when a woman refuses, so I just give up and wait for a willing ones."

       Kristie reached out, slowly raising her hand to the side of his face where she placed it gently on his cheek.  Stroking with her thumb, following the line of the high cheekbone, down to his full bottom lip. Kristie watched for his reaction.  It was almost instantaneous, as she watched his eyes drift closed.  

       "You are beautiful Casey," she said, her voice soft, husky, sounding longing.

       His eyes flew open, and he searched her face for honesty, and he thought he'd found it, "Thank you."

       Kristie pulled the hand away just slightly, maybe five inches, made her flat palm rigid, and struck him in the same spot she had just caressed.

       Her gaze went hard, lips set in a hard line.

       "What in the hell was that for? You bitch!" Casey swore, looking at her like she'd just gone insane.

       "Lesson two...targets can lie.  With a look, a touch, a compliment, and most importantly, with the intel that you are after...they can and will sometimes lie to you.  And, I am a bitch.  But being a bitch or a bastard in this place just comes naturally after a time.  It's all about survival Casey, just like sex.  You either want it, or you don't."

       Casey sighed deeply, his ego obviously deflated, "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean it.  You just caught me off guard.  This is all just so confusing, and I feel like I should have known this stuff already."

       "Casey, the easiest way for me to explain this to you is to tell you how I came to be in Section.  And since it isn't a short story, we should go somewhere where we can talk.  Section is not the best plan for that type of discussion, but, thanks to my buddy Birkoff, I know that surveillance in my apartment has been discontinued for now.  Start driving, and I'll give you the directions as we go."

       "Surveillance in your apartment?  For what???"

       Kristie smiled, "Ah, do I have a lot to tell you."

       The rest of the evening was spent talking over hot chocolate and oreos, a vice passed on by Birkoff. At two in the morning, Casey left, thinking it was the first time he'd enjoyed spending the evening with a woman when it didn't involve sex.

* * *

        "Why are you calling me, instead of Alex?!" Brian Carlson's angry voice came through loud and clear on the phone.

       Madeline maintained her smooth, calm tone. It hadn't been her decision to greenlist Carlson. Madeline would just as soon have seen him destroyed. He'd sell them out if he could find a way without endangering Alexandra.

       "She's on an assignment out of the country," Madeline told him, "I anticipate her return in two weeks. I'll send someone else to meet you."

       He hesitated for a moment, "How do I know you haven't done something to her?" Carlson asked.

       "You don't," Madeline told him, "Ask yourself this. Why would we dispose of her. She's a very effective operative, and very loyal."

       There was a moment of silence.

       "Tell her to call me when she returns. That was the deal, she was my contact. You want my information, she comes for it," Carlson snapped, and hung up.

       Madeline sighed deeply. Carlson would be a problem. But who to send after him? Who could effectively convince him. Would it be better to bring him in, or have a chat with him outside of Section One? If he had intel that would go stale, chances were he would give it to them. Perhaps the phone call was social, more than business.

        * * *

       Stephen watched Casey walking along with Kristie as she made her way through Section on her crutches. Casey was a new operative - one of Michael's. His behavior with Kristie had been very affectionate - more so than was really acceptable in Section. Worse yet, as he watched, Kristie responded in kind. Stephen felt like a knife had been stabbed into his gut, then twisted. He'd just barely put his doubts aside after that whole mess with the tape of Kristie and Darren together . . . and now this?

       Kim cleared her throat, effectively drawing Stephen's gaze away from Kristie, and down towards her.

       "If you stare hard enough, all of Section, instead of just half of it, might notice," Kim told him.

       Stephen managed a tight smile, "You got my sim's ready?"

       Kim handed him the disk, "I've seen Kristie going in and out of Madeline's office a lot lately too. Just something to consider."

       Stephen took the disk, turned, and walked away without saying anything. Kim resisted the urge to throw something at him. How dense could the man be? Couldn't he see that Kristie had obviously been assigned to this or something? Any idiot could figure out that while Casey was sweetheart, he simply was not Kristie's type.

       She glanced down at her watch. One hour until she was off. They were all meeting outside of Section One - in the park, by the water.

        Walter and Brianna had taken up a seat on the park bench - after Walter had thoroughly tested it for any bugs. Paranoia had served him well.

        Now they sat, watched, and waited. The sun hung in the sky, warming the day to an almost too hot 80 degree's. Children played about 50 yards away. Birds chirped in the tree not far from them. Brianna seemed to relax when they were outside of Section. It was almost like a real date . . .

       Except they were here to discuss something they were afraid to discuss inside Section One. Someone was selling them out.

       "You think this Jonathan person is behind this?" Brianna asked Walter after a few minutes.

       Walter sighed, "Brianna . . . Jonathan is dangerous. I can think what I want, I just can't say it outright in Section One. He's just one of my top candidates of people capable of it. That doesn't mean he did it."

       Brianna was quiet for a moment, "Will I ever have to work with this Jonathan?"

       Walter grimaced, "I hope not. He's not . . . friendly. He has some other talents too. I don't know if I believe in it myself - but they say he's a touch empath."

       Brianna frowned, "What is 'touch empath'?"

       Walter had to smile. English was not her first language. It shouldn't surprise him that some of the terms wouldn't be familiar to her.

       "They say he can feel what you are feeling, when he touches you - he can read your feeling when he touches you. That's what they say at least. I don't know if I believe it myself. I know he bothers the Be-Jesus out of Alex though."

       Brianna wrinkled up her nose, "He's a Witch."

       Walter nodded, "It could be a rumor too."

       Kim and Tony had started towards them from one direction, and Kristie was walking towards them from the other, with Birkhoff.

        Walter couldn't help but remember another time, when they'd all gotten together outside of Section One. Then it had been to discuss usurping Operations - but they'd all learned what was really happening eventually. It had been a close call, a really close call.

       Kristie and Birkhoff got to them first.

       "No Stephen?" Walter asked, raising an eyebrow.

       "He's knee deep in mission prep," Kristie told him, "I figure we got an hour before they call us back in."

       Walter shook his head. So much for taking Brianna out to dinner. If a mission was going to go out, they'd have to be back in Section.

       "Is this all of us?" Tony asked, as he and Kim came to the designated spot.

       "It is for now," Walter told them, "Stephen is prepping a mission. What do we know for sure?"

       "There have been 6 confirmed security breaches," Birkhoff told them, "3 more possible breaches. Possible meaning it could have just been bad luck - but I doubt it."

       "The 6 confirmed breeches were from different organizations. Two of them were

Red cell. One with Black moon. One with that Neo nazi group, one with a small faction of the freedom league, one with a start up out of Russia - looked like Russian Mafia," Kim added, "And it's been different teams too."

       "Level 4 and up are the only folks who could have pulled mission profiles for more than just themselves - so we know it's a level 4 cold op - profilers - or Admin."

       "Or someone in comm," Birkhoff ventured, almost hesitantly, "I monitor what's going on . . . but if they were good - I might miss it. I do have missions to monitor."

       Kristie shook her head, "I'm not voting for it being someone from comm Birkhoff. The personalities you have there . . . . I just can't see it. I'm with Walter. It's gotta be a Level 4 or higher - or someone in Admin."

       Brianna cleared her throat, "Why is everyone afraid to accuse this Jonathan - when so many of you think it might be him?"

       Kristie glanced at Walter for a moment, then her gaze shifted to Brianna, "Jonathan's a dangerous enemy to make. You've met Alex I'm sure - He's almost gotten her canceled. He's arranged for her to be sent of mission she never should have been sent on - when Madeline was out. No one here can point the finger at Jonathan unless we have proof."

       Kim shivered involuntarily, "He gives me the creeps. Reminds me of a pedophile or something."

       Kristie smirked, "He's a try-sexual. He'll try anything."

       Everyone laughed and giggled.

       "It could be more than one person too," Walter pointed out, "If we're going to find out who - we need to go back and look at the breaches - and work backwards."

       Birkhoff drew in a deep breath, "We've got four cold ops out of Section, on active status with no mission files. I think Madeline is already working on it. I'd hate to trip over wrong thing."

       Walter nodded, "Birkhoff is right. We should keep our eye's open and just watch for now. We don't discuss this inside Section One. Agreed?"

       Everyone agreed.

* * *

       Michael saw Nikita rubbing her thumb across the inside of her ring finger on her left hand. She'd left her engagement ring at home - it was safer there. Nikita looked over at him, and smiled, "I'm getting used to having a ring on."

       "I could have had a beer tab mounted," Michael told her softly.

       Nikita reached inside her top, and withdrew a thin leather cord, the beer tab he'd proposed to her with in Australia on the cord, "I hardly ever take it off."

       Michael's eyes glittered, conveying more emotion than she once thought him capable of. She grinned back, then turned her attention to the street outside.

       Nikita kept her eye's up and roaming while Michael dealt with their contact. It wasn't that she couldn't, but the contact had deferred to Michael. Their situation was tenuous. Why rock the boat? All around them, People were getting on with the business of getting back home, getting back into their homes, trying to find homes. People scavenged for everything. Furniture, clothing, bedding, even food. She heard some Albanians taunting and threatening a Serb shop owner. The shop was deserted, except for the owner. If there hadn't been security patrols, Nikita was sure the shop owner would be dead - or would have left. As it was, he looked nervous. Nikita imagined a lot of Serbs were pretty nervous right now.

        Their contact gave them a location that was three block away - on the edge of the city where the looting had been the worst. He was sure there was almost always someone there. They gathered early in the morning it seemed.

       Nikita and Michael went back to their broncho, and climbed in.

       "We should scout out the surrounding area's," Nikita commented, "Then stake out the building. Find a place to hide the broncho."

       Michael nodded quietly as he drove slowly down the street. The street lights weren't working. People walked across the street without even looking to see if someone was coming. Garbage had started to rot and smell, as no one was there to collect it and dispose of it. The city was in ruins.

       He drove them around the general area for a little while, then drove the broncho onto a side street, and parked there.

       The streets criss crossed at 90 degree angles. Most of the building were empty, deserted. People had started to come back though. Most of the buildings had the glass broken out of the window's. Their target building had the window's boarded up. They could hear the sound of a generator going. There wasn't any electricity in this part of the city now.

       "They're not exactly trying to hide that much, are they?" Nikita commented, "I guess the Albanians think that there are Albanians in that building."

       Michael nodded. This was not going to be easy at all. They had no way to communicate if they separated. They'd have to stick together. There was only one door that wasn't boarded up. Michael and Nikita took up a hiding place where they could see the broncho, and see the door, who was coming, who was going.

       * * *

       Their contact had provided them with the location of the building the intelligence cell was meeting in. Now, all they had to do was wait.

       "That building looks pretty deserted," Alexandra commented softly. She could feel Darren next to her, the length of his body up against her back. A smile crept across her lips as she felt his hands rest on her hips, his breath warm on her neck.

       "This is the pisser with not having Birkhoff or Kim and all the Section One technology. We gotta wait, and watch . . ."

       Alexandra leaned back into him, and his arms slipped around her waist.

       "I could stand here like this for hours," she said quietly.

       His lips brushed she shell of her ear, "I guess this is the one and only plus for not having the technology at our backs - no one is gonna yell at us for cuddling while we watch."

       Her fingers curled around his, "I do love you, you know that - don't you?"

       Darren felt something go off in the back of his mind, some kind of warning bell, "Yeah - I know . . . . Querrida, what brought that on?"

       She sighed, "Guilt I guess . . ."

       Darrens arms tightened around her, "Clean slate Querrida. I did the same thing in your shoes once - don't worry about it."

       "Darren," Alexandra began, "What happens when I have to go meet up with him again?"

       Darren drew in a deep breath, "That's business Querrida - it doesn't have to do anything with us."

       He felt her whole body relax into him, and knew he'd said exactly the right thing. He didn't like that she may have to sleep with Carlson again - but he knew he had something Carlson would never have - Darren had her heart, her soul. There was no way to compare what Darren had with Alexandra to the little bit of pleasure Carlson gave her.

        "You know," Darren began, "We never talked about the baby you lost."

       Alexandra closed her eye's, just for a moment, her mind taking her back momentarily to that day when they'd made love, when Darren had told her if things were different, if they weren't in Section, he'd have given her a baby.

       She swallowed hard, "I . . . They tell me it was nothing I did."

       "Querrida, that's not what I was thinking," Darren reassured her, "I keep thinking that I wish I could have been there for you - with you . . ."

       "Nikita came to visit me - secretly," Alexandra told him, "It made my day. As horrid as this sounds - that child was never meant to be. Maybe we were lucky. It might have destroyed us both if we had to abort it."

       "It would have been painful, but it wouldn't destroy us Querrida," Darren said softly in her ear, "I think we're stronger than that - or masochistic enough to come back for more, one of the two!"

       Alexandra managed to smile a little, "Boy or girl? If we were out of Section, leading a real life - boy or girl?"

       Darren drew in a deep breath, "Girl - With your eye's and your red hair - I'd probably change my mind when she was 16 and discovering men of course."

       Alexandra laughed a little, "I've always thought that a woman with your silky black hair and eye's would be stunning - heck it's stunning on you!"

       Darren laughed with her, "And in the real world - a different life - I'd marry you in that old stone church just a few miles from my grandparents farm, and the church would be full of your favorite flowers - white roses."

       Alexandra's fingers stroked Darrens, "You know, I don't envy Michael and Nikita - not the kind of marriage they'll have. Half of Section resents them for it - I don't want to know what favor Michael did for George - and they'll hardly have a normal marriage - they'll never have children . . ."

       "They'll have what they've always had - each other," Darren told her, "If we ever get out of Section Alex - would you marry me?"

       "In a heart beat," Alexandra said softly, but we'll never be free of Section . . .

       They were quiet for a while.

       "You know what's been bothering me," Darren said quietly, "They're being so public about this wedding. They've invited contacts even . . . anyone who knows about Section is going to know about this wedding. It just seems . . . staged almost."

       Alexandra thought about it for a few moments, "You think it's not real?"

       "It seems real when I see Nikita and Michael . . . but I can't see either one of them inviting as many people as they did - politics or not . . . I'd lay money on there being something else going on . . ." Darren told her.

       Alexandra drew in a deep breath, "Neither one of them works undercover stuff on some of the bigger terrorist organizations anymore."

       "Yeah . . .but . . ."

       "I do see what you mean," Alexandra told him, "Something else might be going on - but I'd bet money that at least the wedding between Nikita and Michael is real."

       "There's a pool going on, on whether Operations will go. It would be political suicide if he didn't, but he's a cantankerous old bastard," Darren told her.

       "How much are you in for?" Alexandra asked him.

       "Fifty bucks that he'll go," Darren told her, "Another fifty that He'll dance with Nikita at least once."

       Alexandra laughed softly, "He better. God knows she's saved more than one mission that in the end saved his political ass."

       "What do the dresses look like?" Darren asked her.

       Alexandra smiled, "Long, split up the hip, form fitting. Very elegant. draped neckline. Whomever dyed the shoes screwed up - they gotta be done again."

       "Send the torture twins," Darren chuckled.

       "Michael got a wedding coordinator because Nikita was pulling her hair out," Alexandra told him, "And their serving a damn feast of course. Live band, all kinds of music."

       "Should be a good party. What are you all gonna do for the batchelorette party?" Darren asked her.

       "Go out, arrange for a male stripper probably," Alexandra told him, "We might have it at my place. What are you all doing for the bachelor party?"

       "Same thing. Go out, Stripper - Walter say's he knows this club that's almost tasteful," Darren told her.

       "You know those two don't have eye's for anything but each other . . . but Madeline almost insisted," Alexandra told him.

       "Madeline? Where'd she get the stripper? From the Valentine ops group?"

       Alexandra shook her head, "Nope - some place in town."

       They fell silent for a while.

       "You know this is gonna be a straight assassination mission, don't you?" Alexandra asked him, drawing their conversation back to the mission at hand.

       Darren sighed, "I know."

       More silence.

       "I'd say we should just blow the place - except I'd hate to leave anyone to just die slowly in the rubble - enemy or not."

       * * *

       Michael quietly popped the lock on the door, and they slipped inside. The morning gathering had come. Now was the best time to take them all out.

        Nikita felt the sickening twist in her stomach. She hated missions like this - it was murder, and she knew it. The only way she could live with it, was knowing that if she didn't, they'd just murder more and more people.

       Of course, the group that NATO had chosen to protect was now doing the same thing pretty much. The world was a sick twisted place . . .

       They followed the sounds of voices, and within moments figured out that they had all gathered in one partitioned off room. Nikita gestured to the catwalk on the far side of the building. Michael nodded and watched her take off. They would pick off their targets from above.

       While Michael waited for Nikita to get into position, he watched, and listened. The cell discussed how they had forwarded troop movements, they'd gathered reports of who was supporting the KLA, who was financially assisting them, supplying them. They laughed and bragged about what little was left for the Albanians to come back to. Their callousness, the cruelness of their words made it very easy for Michael. Even if he couldn't express his opinion so much, he still had one.

       Nikita nodded to him from the other side. Michael held up three fingers, then folded one, then another, and . . .

       They both fired on their targets below. There were 7 men in all. The targets weren't expecting an assault, they didn't know where it was coming from. When they figured it out, it was too late.

       Before Nikita had a chance to draw a second breath, it was over.

       She silently gestured to Michael that she would go down, and enter the room. Michael wanted to protest. It was dangerous. He would rather put himself in the line of fire than her . . . but he couldn't protect her any more - not like this.

        So he nodded, knowing he would cover her.

       She quietly crept in, checking pulses as she went. Michael watched a she shuddered as she moved from body to body.

        Nikita felt numbness creep over her as she found the last body was definitely dead. When had she become so good at this? When had she developed such a thick skin that she could do it? On automatic pilot, she started to download files onto a disk to take back to Section One, all the while, keeping a watchful eye around her. She trusted Michael - but Michael was human. She might see something up close that he wouldn't from above.

       The download finished, and she slid the disk into a jewel case, and gestured to Michael that she was heading for the door. They had to leave quickly. The gunfire was bound to draw attention.

       Michael watched the alleyway carefully as they slipped out. They'd go up a few block then come back. It wouldn't do to have a NATO peacekeeping force detain them.

* * *

       They'd spent two hours discussing the best way to go in. They elected to stay together, rather than find themselves shooting in each other's direction. Alexandra had gone through the door first, shooting as she rolled. Their targets were unprepared of course. Well armed yes, but taken by surprise, they only managed to get off a couple wild shots.

       Darren stepped past what he thought was a dead body, but didn't check. It would cost him. He felt the knife go in, he felt it the burn from the slice, and side stepped, staggering back.

        The man held his chest, staggering at Darren. Darren lashed out with his booted foot, connecting with the targets chin. The targets head snapped back, a sickening 'crack' sounded loudly. He dropped like a sack of potatoes. Darren didn't feel his stomach turn. It would be hours later before he'd contemplate what that meant.  Right now, he was pissed.

       "Fuck!" Darren swore, "That fucker really cut me good!"

       Alexandra chewed her lip, "How bad?"        

       "Not life threatening - but it hurts," Darren muttered, shoving a disk into the drive, "There had better be something good on this damn thing. I need a shower, I want a decent meal, and clean bathroom."

       Alexandra suppressed the urge to smile. Darren probably primped more than she did. If she didn't know better, she'd wonder if he was having PMS or something now. It was his way of burning off stress.

       "I'll share a bottle of tequila with you when we get home, in my clean apartment, with my clean bathroom, and we'll have a wonderful meal," she told him, keeping her eye's up and moving, "How long?"

       "Almost done," Darren told her.

       They heard sounds in the street.

       "How almost?" Alexandra asked him.

       Darren popped the disk out, "Somehow I don't think we should leave by the front door."

       They made their way to the back of the building, where they'd seen a window on the second floor that was busted out. It wasn't a bad jump. They quickly disassembled their weapons, and tucked them into the knap sacks, Alexandra climbed out of the window, dangled for a moment, and let herself drop down. She landed easily, and stepped back, watching the street.

       "Gonna catch me?" Darren asked her, teasing as he eased his leg over the sill.

       "Don't I always?" she teased back.

       Darren made sure she was well clear, and let himself drop. His arm was really throbbing, but he wasn't going to tell her until they were well clear of the site.

       "We gotta dump our supplies - it would look odd if we went back across the border with them," Alexandra told him.

       "That little area that's totally destroyed," Darren suggested, "Where we saw all the women and children gathering."

       Alexandra nodded, "I'll drive. You clean your arm up."

       Alexandra glanced over a few times as she slowly drove through the streets. Darren's arm was a lot worse than he'd let on. She felt her stomach twist a little as she heard him gasp and groan when he squeezed the antibiotic ointment into the wound. She pulled over to help him wrap it up.

       "I didn't think that knife was this big," She teased him, trying to lighten up the mood, "At least he got your arm, and not something more important."

       Darren looked over at her, rolling his eye's, "You'd have to replace me."

       "You'd be getting a prosthetic," Alexandra teased him.

       "What would be worse to lose, my dick or my tongue Alex?" Darren asked her, suddenly serious.

       She sighed deeply, and thought for a few moments . . . . "Your tongue."

       * * *

       "We're in Montenegro," Nikita told Madeline, "Targets were eliminated. We were able to retrieve files."

       "Any exposure?" Madeline asked her.

       "Nothing substantial. We were seen in the area as relief workers, nothing else," Nikita told her, "Have Darren and Alexandra reported in?"

       "No," Madeline told her, "Their contact has reported that the facility was raided, several men who we presume were the intelligence cell were found dead yesterday though. Local reports are blaming the KLA. NATO isn't convinced because of the precision of the strike."

       Nikita drew in a deep breath, "They'll say that about the cell Michael and I hit as well."

       "You're contact has disappeared," Madeline told her, "But he has a habit of dropping out of site for a while."

       "We could fly out to Macedonia," Nikita began.

       "The mission was completed," Madeline told her, "Transport will be at the airport in six hours."

       The line went dead.

       Nikita shook her head, and looked at Michael, "Their cell is destroyed  - yesterday - but they haven't reported in."

       Michael remained silent. Nikita knew he was thinking, looking for answers, a solution.

       "It's a long drive, they're not terribly late . . .but there are rumblings in NATO that the strike was too precision for the KLA," Nikita told him, "Our transport will be on the runway in six hours."

       Michael drew in a deep breath, "There is no way we can there and back in six hours."

       Nikita nodded, "I know . . . we don't have any options do we - they're really on their own."

       * * *

       Alexandra looked down at the fuel gage despairingly again. They were too low to make it back. The local gas stations were empty.

        "Darren," she called to him softly, reaching over to shake him.

       He sat up slowly, "What?"

       "We've got to find some fuel - and everyone here is out  . . .  I'm fresh out idea's."

       He looked at her for a moment, not saying anything. Alexandra frowned. Something wasn't right. His eye's were glassy. He blinked a few times, as if trying to understand.

       "Hey," she started, "How do you feel?"

       "Like I haven't had a shower or a decent night sleep in 3 days," he snapped at her, and instantly felt guilty.

       She laid her hand on his forehead. He was hot to the touch, burning up, "Shit! You're running a fever - pull up your sleeve."

       Darren fumbled with the hem on his sleeve, and after a moment, manage to get it up. Alexandra pulled over, loath to waist the gas, but . . .

       She unwrapped his arm, and hissed. The skin around the would was an angry red color, a nasty yellowish greenish thick puss oozed from the wound.

       "Damn," Darren swore quietly.

       Alexandra looked up at him, "We gotta clean that wound - and  it's gonna hurt - a lot."

       "Let's find ourselves some NATO troops - see if they got a medical kit or something more established than what we have - I know it's kind of breaking profile, but . . ."

       She nodded, and pulled out form the side of the road, "We got another problem. No gas, in fact, we are running low - real low. All of the gas stations are empty. We gotta work some kind of a deal with someone."

       "We gotta lose the weapons Alex," Darren told her, "They could be traced back to Section eventually - and if they look to closely through the broncho . . ."

       She reached under the seat, and pulled up the knap sack, "Got any great disposal ideas?"

       Darren rolled down the window, and pulled one piece of the broken down weapon out, and chucked it out of the window.

       "Wide disbursement," He told her, "I have no clue where we are - how far till the next NATO check point?"

       "45 Miles," Alexandra told him, and looked down at the gas gage. She knew they wouldn't make it that far.

       An hour later . . .

       The engine sputtered, the broncho started to slow.

       "We're out," she sighed in resignation, and looked over at Darren.

       He looked terrible. His fever was still raging. He was awake, but barely. The toxins could spread more and more too, if he had to walk. But they didn't have a choice either.

       "Clean the wound here - with what we got," Darren told her, "It might get me a little farther."

       She gingerly unwrapped the wound, and used the old bandage to wipe out as much of the infectious puss out of it, all the while trying to block out the groans coming from Darren.  She cleaned out the wound with the an antiseptic swab, and then used a different tube of antibiotic ointment, and re-bandaged it. When she looked up at his face, he looked ready to pass out from the pain.

       "We can rest for a while," she told him.

       "I might not be awake if we rest," Darren told her, "Lets just go. How many more miles?"

       "About 6," she told him, and shoved the first aid kit into the knap sack, along with all the water She could fit in her knap sack, and Darrens. She handed him one bottle, "Here. Drink all of this."

       He nodded, and they started walking along the dirt road.

       Hours later . . .

       Alexandra felt nauseated just looking at Darren. He was flushed. He looked like he was ready to collapse.

       "We got about another mile, can you keep going?" she asked him.

       "For you - I'd crawl the rest of the way there," Darren murmured.

       Alexandra slipped her arm around his waist, "Lean on me if it helps."

       He did, a little. It was hot - too hot for close contact really . . . but if it got him there . . .

       She'd cleaned out the wound twice now. In the back of her mind, she worried that he might lose his arm. His earlier question still haunted her - what would be worse . . . they didn't consider his arm - she'd been teasing him when she told him, his tongue would be the worst loss.

        They were slowly trudging up a hill. As they crested the top, Darren leaned on her more and more. They paused at the top, Darren saying he had to rest, just for a moment.

       Alexandra nodded, and looked ahead of them  - towards the next hill top . . . and saw a NATO checkpoint - several troops and a jeep.

       Alexandra stood back while the medic cleaned out the wound. Darren's teeth were gritted, and she heard a groan escape past his gritted teeth. One large man held his arm down, while the medic was treating the wound.

       Alexandra had told them their cover story. Relief workers, they were delivering supplies. She told them that they had been attacked, and the remains of the supplies stolen., their vehicle taken by some desperate people. They'd started hiking. Their base of operations was in Montenegro.

        One of them had a base phone, and Alexandra dialed a number - Madeline.

* * *

       Nikita and Michael stepped out of mission loading, to find Madeline standing there, waiting. Nikita handed her the disk.

       "Any word?" Nikita asked.

       "Just a few hours ago," Madeline replied, "Alexandra called from a NATO checkpoint. Darren was injured, he was treated by a German medic - and then Alexandra talked them into driving them to Macedonia."

* * *

       Alexandra had turned over the disk, ran to the shower and then back to MedLab. It was the middle of the night at Section. The halls were almost deserted. So far, she hadn't been asked where she'd been for the last week. Her foot falls sounded loud to her ears, they echoed off the walls. It was like a bad dream, a nightmare . . .

       She rounded the corner, and almost slammed into Michael and Nikita, who were waiting just outside the MedLab room.

       "What are they doing?" Alexandra asked, the worry evident in her voice.

       "They're just going to put him on IV antibiotics," Michael told her, "And rest."

       Alexandra cocked her head to once side, "In other words - I can't see him right now."

       Michael shook his head.

       * * *

       Nikita woke up, gasping for air, tears in her eyes. She felt Michael next to her, his hand sliding across her back, a soft caress.

       It had been a nightmare. They didn't know who the enemy was. None of them really were the enemy, but they were still killing, still fighting.

       She swallowed hard, wishing the visions would leave her head. Most nightmares went away, they weren't real. Once she woke up, she felt better.

       This time though - she knew the nightmare was real. The Albanians were doing what the Serbs did to them. All that NATO had done was change the direction of the tide. It had been happening for decades before, it would happen for decades more.

       "Are you OK?" Michael's asked softly in French.

       Nikita almost smiled. Did Michael realize he lapsed into French sometimes when they were alone, in bed at night?

       "I was dreaming about Kosova," Nikita replied, in French, settling back down on the bed and curling her body around his.

       Michael didn't need to ask what the nightmare entailed. He had a pretty good idea.

        She was quiet for a few moments.

       "How do you think Darren is doing?" Nikita asked, a few minutes later.

       Michael drew in a deep breath, "He's young, strong, he'll fight off the infection. There will be a small scar."

       * * *

       Alexandra had picked out red roses, a dozen of them. A rich dark red. Wrapped with some baby's breath and some other kind of greenery, she strode into Section, and headed straight for Darren's room in MedLab. By now, he'd had a good night's rest, and he was probably bored out of his mind.

       She rounded the corner, and found a team of engineer's and tech analysts had opened up part of the wall - pieces of equipment were strewn all over the floor, and they all looked frustrated. Alexandra gave them a sympathetic smile, and changed her direction. She'd go into MedLab, the back way. There was a supply entrance - and she could just navigate through the back hallways to Darren's room.

       Alexandra heard Madeline's voice as she approached Darren's room through the back hallway. She paused for a moment, her training and experience here telling her a little eavesdropping was definitely in order. Besides, Darren would never tell her when he was in trouble with Madeline unless it was bad.

       As she listened, she heard Madeline ask about Alexandra's relationship with Darren. It soon became obvious that Madeline had told Darren to seduce her, win her confidence back when she'd come back from the mission involving Carlson. He assured Madeline that Section had Alexandra's loyalty, not Carlson. Madeline told him to continue the relationship, do whatever was necessary to deepen the bond, and keep her posted.

       At that point, Alexandra felt completely betrayed, and lost her temper.

       She strode into the hospital room, and threw the roses on Darren's lap, while he lay in the hospital bed.

       "You should be nominated for an Emmy Darren!" Alexandra snarled at him, "You had me fooled! I won't make that mistake again!"

       Then Alexandra turned her hostile gaze on Madeline, "Brian Carlson was someone Section didn't have a prayers chance in hell of getting too - unless they got to him personally. If you were worried about loyalty - then you shouldn't have sent me in! The way he felt about me - I could have pulled that tracker out of me and Pepe, and we'd have been gone before comm knew what was happening. I could have disappeared during the Alton mission - but I didn't. This isn't about loyalty Madeline - it's about your sick need to manipulate everything!"

       Alexandra turned on her heel, and started for the back hallway she'd came in through. She stopped, just before she disappeared into the hall.

       "And Darren - next time you get horny - go fuck Madeline. Maybe that will keep her out of my hair!"

Continue on to The threat from within

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