Madeline lay quietly in Neil’s arms. Finally he was asleep. He was so dear, so over-protective of her, she wondered how she had ever gotten along without him in her life.

This was what had been missing. This feeling of overwhelming love and affection, safety and security. It was real. It was something an ordinary person could aspire to, and...with a little luck...and a lot of prayer...achieve.

She touched her abdomen, and though she was barely two months pregnant, she swore she could feel the baby growing inside her. Neil’s love and devotion had freed her to embrace the dream. She could almost believe he was right. This time it would happen for them. She closed her eyes, snuggling against Neil’s chest. In time, she even slept.

***

Michael hugged Nikita, his lips grazing the top of her head. There was no moon any longer, and the night had darkened completely to midnight blue. But he held the shining light in his arms. Nikita.

"Hey..." he whispered to her.

"Hey, yourself," she whispered back.

"We should go into the house before someone discovers us out here."

She sighed contentedly. "Anyone who comes upon us out here deserves whatever they get."

"Brave words, Kita. But think of someone like...Walter..."

She opened both eyes wide and yawned expansively. "I suppose the kind thing to do would be to move inside."

He kissed her, his lips warm and pliable over hers. "That’s my Kita. So sensible."

Nikita snorted in a totally unladylike manner. "Sensible? Me? You’ve obviously mixed me up with someone else."

He laughed softly. "I don’t think so, doucette." He hooked an arm behind her neck and pulled her closer. "Maybe you need to refresh my memory. Who are you again?"

She smiled against his neck. "How quickly they forget."

***

Walter moved restlessly back and forth in his bed. His hands were aching badly. He needed to break down and ask Neil for more medication for his arthritis, but he was stubborn. He had been hiding the pain from Michael and Nikita for almost two months now. The prescription that Neil gave him lapsed, and he was too pig-headed to go back. He knew what Sugar would say. He could just hear her now. Thinking about Sugar made him feel better. Whether it was the distraction of thinking about something else or Sugar herself, he had no idea. But it was working. Slowly but surely.

***

Birkoff woke up with a start. What a nightmare. Breathing hard, he tried to think what might have brought it on. It was rare for him to be able to recall his dreams, even if they were night terrors, but this was different. It had an emotional intensity to it, he couldn’t get out of his head. It wasn’t about the abuse. It wasn’t even about anything that specific. It was no use. He knew what it was not about, but he could no longer hold onto what it was about. Just the feeling. One of dread. Something bad was coming to visit them. He didn’t know what, but he placed a lot of faith in his intuition. He would guarantee that Nikita would have a similar dream soon.

***

Declan lay on his stomach, clutching the pillow to his face. Anyone else might find it an uncomfortable position, but not Declan. His gun was underneath the pillow. He had grown used to sleeping with one hand under the pillow, resting on the handle of the gun, when he was in Section. It made for a quicker draw, sharper aim, and likelier hit. It was a hard habit to break, but he finally had. Now he felt compelled to begin sleeping this way again. It worried him. He relied on intuition, as an operative, and he was not that long out of the field that his reflexes had started to dull, but this...urge...was very strong. There was something bad in the air. He just hoped he saw it coming before it saw him.

***

Nikita gasped, her heart in her throat. The covers fell away from her body, and she pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her pulse race madly. Michael blinked sleepily at her. "Kita? Is it the babies?"

"No, Michael, something much, much worse."

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "What? What is it?"

"It’s the man in black."

By morning, the feeling of dread had gone. Fled the house as certainly as if it had never been there. Still, there were questions to be asked. Michael sipped at his coffee carefully. "What does this man in black look like, Kita?"

"I dunno. I don’t remember."

Declan put a large pitcher of orange juice on the table, then wiped his moist hands on his jeans. "Do you remember anything else, Nikita?"

"Not really. Just that it felt...bad." She frowned. "I guess it was just a nightmare."

Birkoff shrugged. "Yeah, a nightmare." But since when do three people in the same house have the same nightmare? Birkoff couldn’t recall any more than Nikita, but it worried him just the same.

"It’s prolly nothing, guys," Nikita protested. Declan nodded. Michael shook his head.

"I’ll give the perimeter a look-see later this morning, Michael," Declan said, acknowledging the older operative’s gesture.

"I had a very stressful day yesterday. That’s prolly all it was." Nikita buttered her toast with too much butter. Michael watched as the melted yellow flowed down her chin, resisting the urge to lick it off. He handed her a napkin and sighed.

"It was a very...difficult day," Declan agreed, unconsciously rubbing his still-swollen cheek.

Birkoff glanced at Declan. "Maybe some ice would still help, even this late, Declan."

"Yeah, maybe," Declan said, smiling faintly.

Nikita dunked a Froot Loop in some milk and handed it to Faith, who held onto it until it successfully dripped all over the table, then plunked it into her mouth. "Good girl," Nikita encouraged Faith.

Michael frowned. "Birkoff is teaching you bad habits, too, Kita?"

She cleared her throat. "I hardly think dunking Froot Loops is corrupting the child, Michael," she said with a trace of a giggle.

Birkoff sniffed imperiously. "Hey, Froot Loops are nutritious, no matter how you serve them."

"Serve? Oh, my, Birkoff, you do have delusions of grandeur, don’t you?" Nikita kidded him.

Declan grinned. "That’s our Birkoff. He thinks Oreos are one of the major food groups."

"You mean they’re not?" Birkoff clutched his chest and fell over in a heap, making Faith giggle merrily.

"Buh-Buh," gurgled Faith.

Birkoff eyed Declan. "What was that you said a while ago about Buh-Buh was for bottle, not Birkoff?"

"Okay, okay, I was wrong." Declan laughed and re- entered the kitchen.

***

It was a standing joke for days about "the man in black". One of them would mention him, and the others would laugh hysterically, pretending to see shadows where there were none, lifting the pillows on the couch, as if searching for someone hidden. Eventually, life went on, and the nightmare that seemed prescient loomed no larger than a repeat of an old TV show.

***

Birkoff brought his laptop into Walter’s workshop, hoping that Walter had found an adapter for charging the battery. Walter glanced at Birkoff. "You seem awfully chipper this morning, Seymour. What’s up?"

"Nothing much. Just thought I would make the laptop more...portable."

Walter was immediately suspicious. "And why would that be? I might ask."

"You may ask. But I don’t know if I will tell you," he said, grinning.

Walter was sure that Birkoff was up to something now. "Okay, spill the beans, kiddo. I know you. When you get like this, there’s either a mystery waiting to be solved, or a girl..." He gasped. "You got a girlfriend?"

"Not exactly," hedged Birkoff.

"What’s with not exactly? Seymour, don’t play games with me, I’m an old man, I might not live long enough to see your grandkids."

Birkoff laughed. "Well, I’ve been cruising the Internet lately...and..."

"You found a net chick? Sheesh, Seymour, not for nothing, but what’s wrong with reality, boy? You got stuffing for brains or something?"

Walter’s niggling at him only made Birkoff feel more defensive. He kept thinking, I need to get out, make friends, get a life. I need something beyond these walls. Or I might never go outside. And then what would happen?

"Anyway," Birkoff said, trying to ignore Walter. "I was thinking, what I really need is a job."

"A job?"

Walter looked incredulous. "We finally escaped Section, and you want to go out and work for a living? When you don’t have to?"

"Well, yeah. I guess if you put it that way, it sounds strange, but I would like to have something to do. Besides feed Froot Loops to Fee. Who is still the cutest baby I’ve ever seen."

"That’s not a fulfilling job in and of itself, Seymour?"

Walter looked hurt and disappointed in Birkoff. Birkoff shrugged off the feeling and looked seriously at Walter. "I mean it, Walter, I need to get out and do something. Meet people."

"I got that part, Birkoff." Walter turned back to the laptop and overturned it, opening up the battery compartment. "Our company isn’t enough for you anymore."

"No, no, that’s not it at all." Birkoff grew frustrated, trying to make Walter understand.

Declan came into the workshop, a dysfunctional toaster in his hand. "Hey, Walter."

Walter shrugged and mumbled something under his breath.

"I’m doing well, thanks, and you? Sterling conversationalist that you are?" Declan chided the older man.

"By the by, what are you two going at, so hot and heavy, this early in the day?"

Birkoff explained his plans to Declan, who whistled when Birkoff was finished with his outline for the future. "Aren’t you the ambitious one, then?"

"Another one who thinks I can’t do it." Birkoff hung his head in despair.

"No, I didn’t say that, Birkoff. I just said you were ambitious. I think you’re right. You do need to get out and get some life experience."

"Thank you, Declan." Birkoff felt hot and cold all at the same time. He was glad that Declan understood, but he was a bit unnerved at the way Declan was almost pushing him out the door himself.

Birkoff studied Declan, carefully masking his own expression of interest. "So you think it’s a good idea?"

Declan nodded. "Sure. I mean, I’m only a year older, but there are light-years between you and me, Birkoff, in terms of how we’ve lived our lives. I’ve been out in the world, so much so I crave being home like this. But you...you’ve been sheltered, despite your years in Section."

Birkoff snorted derisively. "Are you trying to say, I need to grow up?"

"Only in a manner of speaking, Seymour." Declan regarded him coolly. "Depends on what you want to do with your life. And who you want to do it with."

Walter looked up at the two and scowled. "You two still here, chattering away? Go away, I’ll have this stuff for you when I’m damn good and ready!"

Declan shook his head at Birkoff. "Now there’s a man in dire need of pain medication, Birkoff. Maybe you can convince him to go to the doc. He sure as hell won’t listen to the likes of me."

Birkoff nodded slowly, still pondering Declan’s earlier statement. Food for thought. He certainly had enough.

Michael ran up behind Nikita and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling the nape of her neck. "Allo, doucette."

She continued to stack the breakfast dishes on the table, giggling as she glanced over her shoulder at Michael. "And to what do I owe this honor?"

"I’m finally going up on the roof, to clean the gutters and all." Michael licked her ear mischievously, whispering in her ear what he would like to do to her later. She giggled again, pulling away as if his breath tickled.

"Well, you be careful," Nikita warned. "In fact, why don’t you wait until Declan can go up there with you? It’ll just be another few minutes."

He shook his head. "I can do it myself, Kita. It shouldn’t take all that long. I’ll be back before you know it."

***

When Michael climbed up onto the roof, there was little wind and no clouds in the sky. He pulled his work gloves on and slowly began the tedious job of removing the leaves that clogged the gutters, making it difficult for water to drain off the roof and down the drainpipes.

Bit by bit, he was getting the job done. In fact, he was almost done when it happened. The accident. The near- tragedy.

Michael had just reached the end of the roof and was shifting his weight carefully in an effort to maintain his balance on the ladder. He was on his way down the ladder when a gust of wind swung the ladder around, hitting the edge of the roof. The force was just enough to push the ladder away from the house. Michael grasped at the edge of the roof, but with gloves on, he couldn’t use his fingernails, and the soft material of the gloves made it hard to gain purchase on the building.

It was easily a twenty-foot drop to the ground. Michael had done it before, as an operative. But with equipment, trained personnel, and back-up waiting on the ground. He saw what was going to happen moments before it did, and there was nothing he could do.

The ladder twisted yet one more time on its way down to the ground, and Michael was unable to jump free of it. It fell against his body, effectively trapping him beneath it. He hit the ground with a loud thump and an oof! escaped him before he lost consciousness.

Declan, who had come outside to help if he could, saw Michael fall. Horrified, he ran to Michael’s side and assessed the damage. He moved the ladder off Michael’s body, but he was reluctant to move Michael, even to examine him, for fear of hidden injuries. Leaving Michael where he was, Declan ran for the house, shouting to Nikita, "Call 9- 1-1! Michael’s hurt!"

She froze. Declan pushed her almost roughly into the kitchen, admonishing her to dial the phone. Right now. He turned and ran right into Birkoff. "Birkoff, stay with Nikita. She’s supposed to be calling 9-1-1. If she can’t, you do it. We have no time to waste! Michael’s hurt!"

Declan bolted out the door and back to Michael. He was still unconscious. That was not a good sign. Declan felt for a pulse. Good. It was slow and strong. Michael was a trained athlete, his pulse was naturally slow, so that was one less thing to worry about. For now.

He put his hand in front of Michael’s face. He was breathing. Even better. Thank God for small miracles.

Suddenly Birkoff was there, and Nikita was right behind him, her hair streaming behind her like a bright yellow banner. Pressing her hands to her mouth, she sank to her knees at Michael’s side. "Oh, God..." she managed to choke out.

She grabbed his hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. No response. She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. No response. She shut her eyes tightly, praying for him to be all right. The words came so fast and furious, no one could make them out, but Nikita continued to mutter under her breath.

She swallowed a tremendous wave of despair, which threatened to overwhelm her, knowing if she gave in now, it was all over. For both of them. Somehow she knew that Michael was depending on her to be there, to be strong, to be brave. She could do it. His life depended on it.

***

The ambulance arrived before Neil and Madeline did. By the time the ambulance left, with Nikita insisting she accompany Michael to the hospital, Neil determined that he would follow the ambulance and meet it at the hospital, so he could keep everyone informed of Michael’s condition. Walter wanted to be with Sugar, but someone had to stay with the twins, who were too young to be exposed to the hospital in general and this situation involving their father in particular. Madeline volunteered to watch the twins, finally, deciding it was more important for Walter to be with Nikita, who would need to draw support from everyone.

Declan tossed the keys to the Jeep to Birkoff and said off-handedly, "You drive. And step on it." Walter clambered into the back seat, barely managing to fasten his seatbelt before Birkoff launched the vehicle into reverse.

***

When they arrived at the hospital, they found a distraught Nikita, wringing her hands anxiously, as she paced in the ER. Neil had gone to find out what he could. Walter ran to Nikita’s side, pulling her into a rough embrace. She sobbed openly, laying her head on his shoulder.

Declan and Birkoff approached softly, trying not to disturb the would-be father and daughter. But Nikita looked up suddenly, her blue eyes wild with grief, meeting Declan’s uneasy grey gaze. "You!" she shouted at him.

She wrested herself away from Walter’s arms and pointed at Declan, screaming like a banshee. "If you’d gone up there with him, this never would have happened! This is all your fault! Your fault! Your---" Her screams disintegrated into fierce sobbing, and once again, she lay her head on Walter’s shoulder, but this time, she hid her eyes, as if the mere sight of Declan unnerved her.

Walter mouthed "I’m sorry" at Declan, indicating he could not control Nikita in such a grief-stricken state. Declan looked stunned. His grey eyes were filled with such pain, but his face was blank. As if he could not, or would not, allow himself to react.

He turned away from Nikita, equally unnerved by her sobbing and her incoherent accusations, moving in slow motion down the hallway. Neil saw him and clapped a hand to his back. "Great work, Declan," Neil said.

Declan stared at Neil as if he had gone completely mad. "What? Are you crazy?"

Neil said, "If it wasn’t for your quick thinking, Michael might be dead right now. We’ll know more later. But it looks hopeful." He sped away, leaving Declan staring after him in abject disbelief.

He felt a hand touch his arm. It was Birkoff. He closed his eyes, feeling another wave of pain go through him. It was a wonder he was even able to stand at this point. But he could not, would not show any weakness.

He glanced non-committally at Birkoff’s hand, but said nothing. What use did he have for words? If he somehow found himself responsible for destroying the one thing he had come to cherish above all else, his new family, he would walk away. For good.

Birkoff shook his head. "It’s not your fault, Declan. Nikita’s just upset. That’s fear talking. That’s all."

"That’s relatively insightful of you, Seymour. Thanks for pointing it out," Declan said with more than a trace of sarcasm.

Birkoff looked puzzled. "Why are you striking out at me, Declan? Easy target, huh?" He shrugged. "Whatever. If it makes you feel better, go ahead. Use me for a punching bag. I’m used to it," Birkoff said bitterly.

"You’ve been abused enough in your young life, Seymour. I don’t need to add to your pain," Declan replied, wishing he could take back the careless words, spoken out of his own grief.

Birkoff’s eyes filled with tears. "You know, Declan, you might not realize it, but you talk down to me. A lot. I’m not as dumb as you think I am."

Declan winced. "Seymour, I don’t think you’re dumb at all."

Birkoff blinked. "Then what was all that stuff about me needing to go off and grow up? You think I’m not mature enough?"

"Depends on what we’re talking about, Birkoff." Declan’s eyes darkened with sadness.

"Yeah, well...maybe you underestimate me, Declan." Birkoff met Declan’s eyes evenly.

"Maybe." Declan could only wonder.

As soon as Michael was stable enough to be moved, he was transported to a private room. No longer unconscious, he was in considerable pain. But he didn’t care about that. He only cared about finding Nikita. They had moved her from his side, involuntarily, when they did the CT scan. Neil tried valiantly, again and again, to explain to Michael what was going on and what they were going to do. But it was futile. Michael only had one thing on his mind.

"Where’s Kita?" he asked hoarsely.

Neil sighed. "Do you care that you just survived a fall that would have killed anyone else?"

Michael closed his eyes briefly, re-opening them a moment later. They were a brilliant green. "Where’s Kita? Please..." He reached for Neil’s hand and grasped it weakly.

"I’ll go find her and bring her to you, Michael. Can I get you something for the pain?"

Neil was concerned about Michael’s level of pain. It could cause muscle spasms, pull on the various joints and disks, moving them even further out of alignment. But he knew that Michael needed to see Nikita. It would help. Maybe even more than a good painkiller.

Michael shook his head gingerly, grimacing at the pain the movement produced in his neck. "Unh..."

"Stay still, or they’ll have to put you into an immobilizer," Neil warned.

Michael lay back on his pillow, wondering how everything had changed so quickly. One moment, he was kissing his wife, the next, he was falling off the roof, and the next, he was lying in the hospital. He was in pain. That was undeniable. But he needed Nikita. Here. Where he could see her. He needed her with a very real physical ache. He knew he was near tears. He couldn’t help that. It was a reaction to the pain.

***

Nikita broke away from Neil and ran to Michael’s side. Not even bothering to pull over a chair, Nikita saw that he was awake and alert, and her heart rejoiced. Thank God. She grabbed his hand and kissed it. She felt his answering tremble and promptly burst into tears.

Neil pushed a chair over and eased Nikita down into it. He waved at Michael, letting him know he was around, if he needed him, but he wanted to give the couple privacy.

Nikita lay her head on Michael’s chest and cried. He pulled his hand away from hers, albeit not with any real strength, and tried to stroke her hair. His efforts to touch her frustrated him. His eyes filled with tears. He knew how she felt. To see him like this.

She felt him touch her hair softly and she looked up, tears flying every which way. "Oh, Michael."

"Kita..."

It was enough. For now. They didn’t have to say the words. The words were always there, between them, hovering in the air.

***

Walter paced back and forth in the hallway, rubbing at his hands repeatedly. The repetitive motion caught Neil’s eye, and he finally stopped Walter. "So when were you going to tell me that the pain medication isn’t working anymore?"

Walter had the grace to blush. "Well..." he drawled slowly, trying to think of a good excuse. "It was...working, I mean. I just...um...ran out."

"Too proud to ask for more, eh?" Neil shook his head.

Walter dropped his eyes to the floor. Neil rubbed Walter’s shoulder, automatically absolving him of any guilt. "It’s okay, Walter. I know how hard it is for some people to ask for help."

His soft voice was Walter’s undoing. The combination of the pain and his worry about Michael and Nikita made him feel unusually emotional. "It’s just--" Walter broke off, biting his lip, a gesture that called Nikita to mind so vividly, they might have been a real father and daughter.

Neil smiled patiently. He could wait until Walter wanted to talk. He had nothing but time, and nowhere in particular to go.

***

Michael asked the question. Finally. It was amazing he had not asked it sooner. But when he did, it twisted everyone’s guts into knots. Nikita sat at his side, unable to let go of his hand. Neil and Walter stood in the back of the room, trying to remain relatively unobtrusive. As for Declan, he could not bring himself to enter Michael’s room, while Nikita was there, and since he knew that would be for the duration, he despaired of ever seeing the man again. Birkoff clasped Declan’s hand briefly, then released it, on his way inside.

"Am I going to be able to walk?" Michael’s voice sounded raspy and filled with uncharacteristic emotion he could not hold back. He had no defenses right now. He could only do one thing, will his body to heal. That took all his energy.

Neil nodded from the shadows at the back of the room. Realizing that Michael probably could not see him, Neil moved closer to the bed. "Yes. You’re going to walk, Michael. In fact, your body is already making an amazing adjustment to its injuries."

"Spare me the pep talk, Neil. I don’t have the strength to wade through the muck right now. Just cut to the chase."

"Most of your injuries are soft tissue. Sprains and the like. No broken bones. No slipped disks. You might feel like a truck ran over you..."

Michael almost smiled at that. "Make it two trucks."

"But aside from a bit of torn cartilage in one of your wrists, you came through this okay."

"Black and blue but unbowed," Michael said.

"Make no mistake, you’re going to hurt for a long time. But I imagine you know how to deal with pain."

Michael relaxed somewhat, some of the tension in his body easing at Neil’s news. "Yeah, I’m not unfamiliar with it."

Nikita kissed Michael’s hand, eventually relaxing her own tight grip on him. "I guess that means I’m stuck with you, huh?" she joked, tears still visible in her eyes.

Michael wiped at the tears with his uninjured hand. "I guess so." His eyes softened to a light translucent grey. "You going to be okay, doucette?" It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was suddenly hard to talk in front of everyone.

"Yeah," she whispered, understanding the unspoken message he sent her with his eyes. I love you, too.

Birkoff cleared his throat gently, forcing himself to come forward. "Michael, I just wanted you to know that we’re all here for you. Whatever you need. Just ask."

Michael smiled. "Thanks, Seymour. That means a lot."

"Oh, and one other thing." Birkoff paused, unsure how to proceed. "Declan is outside. I think he really needs to speak to you, but--"

Nikita’s entire face changed. "No, I don’t want Declan in here. He’s done enough."

Birkoff protested then. "He saved Michael’s life, Nikita."

Neil agreed. "It’s true, Nikita. His quick response was invaluable."

Michael tried to sit up higher in bed, but his body disagreed. He winced at the renewed pain in his neck and back, but dismissed it as necessary to the healing process. I’ll do whatever it takes to get better. And then some.

"What’s this about Declan, Kita?"

"He should have been up there helping you, Michael. If he had, this would never have happened." Nikita sounded angry, even hostile.

"It was an accident, Kita. A gust of wind blew the ladder away from the house. If you’re blaming Declan for not being with me, you might as well blame me for not being able to hold onto the roof."

Nikita blinked. "Oh." She looked decidedly uncomfortable. What had she done? She had overreacted terribly. In her grief and anger, she had lashed out at the one person who had done more to save Michael than anyone else.

Birkoff stared at Nikita, seeing the various expressions flickering across her face. He knew immediately when she realized she had wronged Declan. It was written plainly there for anyone to see.

"Would you ask him to come in here, please? I need to apologize." Nikita sounded noticeably subdued.

Michael understood. He could not reach her mouth to kiss her, but he pressed a kiss to her hand, telling himself it would suffice. For now.

***

Birkoff pulled Declan out of his seat in the hallway. Declan looked surprised. "What? Has there been a change?"

"Yeah, there has."

"What is it?" Declan’s anxiety escalated. He didn’t think he could stand another moment of waiting. As an outsider.

"You’re back in, man. Michael told her what happened was an accident, and she wants to see you. To apologize." Birkoff loved that he was the one to bring that smile back to Declan’s face.

"Birkoff, you’re a bloody magician, I swear." Declan almost laughed out loud.

"Thanks for noticing," Birkoff said with an unabashed grin.

"Oh, you’d be surprised what I notice." Declan’s eyes flickered warmly over Birkoff’s face, his relief so evident, it was nearly a tangible thing.

Madeline tried not to panic. She was alone, in Michael and Nikita’s house, with 9-month old twins. That in and of itself was enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She abruptly realized that she knew next to nothing about these babies. Hell, she knew next to nothing about any babies. She sighed. This could be an adventure. An exploration. A journey into Hell.

Resisting the urge to wring her hands, Madeline decided that first, she should study them carefully and get to know them. After all, she had not seen either baby since the day they were born. Okay, the boy was Luc Christophe. Chris. LC. Or Lucky. Depending on who she asked. He seemed tame enough. Blond hair, much lighter than Nikita’s or Neil’s. Blue eyes, deeper and darker than Nikita’s or Neil’s. Looked like Nikita, acted like Michael. He already had the blank stare down to a science. Uh-oh, was that the look right before he screamed bloody murder that his mother was gone?

Covering her ears, Madeline moved on to the other twin. Faith. Fee. Fairy Princess. She was an animated little thing. Always fussing and moving restlessly. Definitely not interested in getting to know another stranger. Her hair was like burnished copper, her eyes that changeable grey-green, like Michael’s. She was beautiful. She resembled Michael, but she acted like Nikita. Noisy. Vibrant. Impulsive. Oh, dear, had separation anxiety finally caught up with the erstwhile princess?

Convinced that two children could not possibly howl more loudly if they tried, Madeline wondered what would help. Obviously, talking to them was out of the question. What good was talking to someone whose idea of a sentence was Buh-Buh? Madeline sank into a chair, pondering if she was really ready for parenthood and all it entailed.

***

Babies were messy, sloppy, and noisy. She loved them. She couldn’t stop the grin that began at one corner of her mouth and extended itself all the way to the other corner. This wasn’t Hell. It was Heaven. They were amazing creatures. You knew exactly where you stood with them, they didn’t know how to lie, and they were refreshingly honest when they let you know what they liked and disliked. What a change from Section! Madeline was sorry it had taken an accident to get her into the Samuelle household at last, but she couldn’t complain about a single thing that happened since she came.

Thank God Michael was going to be all right. She knew the twins were missing their mother, but she sensed that they knew something else was wrong. They seemed oddly intuitive, for children so young, and she wondered if they shared a psychic bond, as so many twins did.

Feeling like things were under control at last, Madeline finished washing what few plates and silverware she used in mere moments. A mischievous smile crossed her face. She touched Faith’s nose with her fingertip. Faith giggled in response. She chucked Chris under his chin with one finger, and he gurgled happily. Either they were easy to please or she was getting the hang of things. And she didn’t think they were easy to please.

Picking up the phone, she dialed the hospital, asking for Dr. Neil Hunter to be paged. When Neil answered, he sounded somewhat breathless, as if he had run all the way down the hall. Maybe he had. Maybe she had inadvertently scared him. That wasn’t her intention.

"Neil?" she queried softly.

Neil caught his breath. "Is something wrong, Maddy?"

"No...I’ d say something is very right."

Neil could hear the relief and the joy in her voice. He had worried that taking care of the twins might be too much, in an emotional sense, for her to take on at this point. But she was fine.

"Is there something you need? Something I can do?"

She nodded, knowing he couldn’t see her. "Yes, Neil...is everything stable there now?"

He chuckled. "Yes, Maddy."

"Do you think you could leave for a while?"

That was so unlike Maddy. Was she asking for help in some convoluted way? Or did she have something else in mind?

"I suppose."

"Can you come home and play house with me?"

There was dead silence on the other end of the phone. Then the laughter began.

"Um..."

"Please...we have real babies," Madeline entreated.

"Are you overwhelmed, Maddy?"

"Not at all," she answered without hesitation. "I just want to share this with someone who will appreciate it as much as I do."

"I love you, Maddy."

"I love you, Neil."

Neil hung up the phone. His heart was filled to the brim with love and hope. I’ll be right there, my Maddy.