Birkoff typed in his password and hit the enter key. His laptop responded happily with an electronic chirp. He clicked on his mailbox and the words, "You’ve Got Mail," grated on his nerves. It was such a perky exclamation, he wondered what would be more satisfying, shooting the actor who donated his voice or shooting the author of the phrase itself.

Another e-mail from Lola. AKA MsThunder. She was pressing him, hard, to meet her. He was dragging his feet. Bigtime. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do. Or anyone else to see. Except Declan. Whenever he thought of meeting Lola, he remembered his promise to Declan, not to take advantage of his feelings and hurt him.

***

Michael laughed as Nikita tickled Chris’ tummy. Chris kicked his feet in the air and giggled. "So, my little prince," said Nikita, "you have a soft spot for females with....wiggly fingers!"

"I think he just has a soft spot for you, period, Kita. I’ve never seen anything like it before."

"Better look in a mirror, Michael," she pretended to growl, slipping her hand inside Michael’s shirt. "Should I check to see if being ticklish is an inherited trait?"

He backed up against the wall of their bedroom, taking Nikita with him. He ran his hands underneath her T- shirt, noting her lack of underwear. He groaned and froze, his hands splayed across her back. She kissed him, and his mouth automatically opened under hers. He closed his eyes as he held her against him, and they continued to kiss slowly and deeply for several minutes. Chris’ happy gurgle woke Michael from his reverie.

"Kita..."

"Michael, I like the way you’re recovering. You hide your unsteady gait by backing against the wall for balance, you hang onto me to keep from falling over, and you kiss the life out of me, for no apparent reason."

He grinned against her mouth. "Oh, there’s a reason, Kita, there’s always going to be a reason to kiss you."

"But seriously, Michael. You’ve been pretending to get along okay for a while now. When are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?"

Michael’s eyes darkened. "Kita, Kita, must we? It was so nice to have a moment alone, just to kiss you. The house seems so...full...these days." He framed her face with his hands, holding her still for another kiss, this one more tender than the others. "I’ve missed you."

"I’m not always busy with the babies, Michael."

"It feels like it, doucette." Michael’s expression was crestfallen, as if he’d just realized he might have lost something important.

"You’re trying to distract me by changing the subject, Michael. Nice try." Nikita pulled her hair out of his grasp, and smoothed it back into a long knot at the back of her head. His fingers closed on nothing, and he sighed.

"You’re wrong, Kita. It’s not a change of subject. I do feel left out. Like you have time for everyone else and their problems, but not for me." Michael didn’t sound bitter, he sounded curiously resigned, as if he expected this kind of treatment, even at the hands of the woman he loved more than life itself.

"Is that why you’re always pulling me away from something or someone?" She ran her hands lovingly over his face, lingering on his mouth. "You don’t need to stand in line for my attention, Michael, you’re always first," she said huskily.

He pulled her back into his arms, kissing her neck. "I need you, Kita."

Nikita blinked owlishly, her blue eyes bright and shiny. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "What’s wrong, Michael?"

He buried his face against her shoulder. "It’s taking so long, Kita...I know I’m getting better, but it’s moving so slowly."

"But Neil said you’re doing better than he expected, Michael." Nikita was puzzled at first. Then she understood. Michael had difficulty being taken care of. It was ironic, really, because on some level, it was what he wanted most. Always the one to lead, and never the one to lean.

He needed to sink into her arms and stay there. She felt so good, his Kita, and his heart already felt better for the brief moment of affection. Then he remembered. Sigh. She belonged to everyone. Not just him.

"Kita, Kita," he chanted her name, "I’m so afraid..."

That surprised her. "Of what?"

"Of not being what I was," he said with disdain aimed at himself. The perfect shot to take at the perfect operative, husband, father. He closed his eyes painfully. He hated that about himself. He always knew what his weaknesses were, it made him a stronger operative, but when his motivations became misdirected towards himself, it made him a weaker human being. Filled with fear at the fragility of it all.

She interrupted his litany of bad thoughts by kissing him. "I know what you need, Michael."

"No," he stopped her hands, which clung to his face. "I do need that, Kita," he frowned. "But I need something else, too." His eyes searched hers anxiously. "I need you to reassure me that even if I can’t come back 100 percent, we’ll be okay."

"Michael...oh, Michael..." She leaned her forehead against his, seeing how serious he was about this.

Her eyes gentled on his face. "I love you so much, Michael. There is no way you could disappoint me, in any way, no matter what happened to you. Don’t you know that yet?"

His own grey eyes misted over. "I know it, I just can’t believe it sometimes."

Chris burbled away, unconsciously diverting both parents’ attention away from the issue that presently divided them. "Da-da..."

Michael’s head swung around, incredulous. "He said Da-da, Kita!"

A beatific smile crossed Nikita’s fair face. "Yes, he did, Michael! It seems that your son knows what you need, too."

He kissed Chris on his tiny nose, murmuring to him in French. Nikita asked, "What did you tell him, Michael?"

"How much I love him...and his mother."

Nikita rocked gently back and forth in the rocking chair in the master bedroom, Chris sleeping in her arms. She often thought how lucky she was, and she glanced over at the bed, where the primary reason slept. Michael was stretched out on their bed, having finally learned to negotiate the staircase using a cane. Faith was curled up next to him, sleeping as well. When they were together like this, the resemblance between father and daughter was remarkable. Faith was strikingly pretty, even at this age, approaching her first birthday soon.

Never one to be outdone by her brother, Faith had appropriated Chris’ vocabulary, though it was only comprised of three words. Buh-Buh, Ma-Ma, and Da-Da. Still, she seemed to have a great deal to say, no matter how incoherently it was expressed. Nikita was afraid that once Faith really began to talk, she might never give Chris an opening to speak again. Nevertheless, as competitive as Faith appeared to be, she was strangely protective of Chris. Though she was only older by perhaps five minutes, she seemed to sense that she was his "older" sister. She also seemed to think she was royalty, just as her father called her, Fee, the fairy princess.

Nikita smiled. This was a rare moment of peace. Chris and Faith were learning to walk, and they were constantly getting into mischief now. They regarded the entire house as fair game, and Nikita frequently found herself worn out from chasing them all over hither and yon. No longer content to bang pots together for fun, Chris had discovered the joys of opening cabinets, and what he could reach, he touched. And re-arranged.

But Faith was the little mastermind behind the scenes. She would encourage Chris to do things, and then look on innocently, as if she had no idea that removing a dish in the middle of a bunch of carefully stacked plates would cause the entire stack to come crashing to the floor. Luckily, Nikita had child-proofed the kitchen, which was one of Faith’s favorite playgrounds. She didn’t want to curb the twins’ curious natures or inhibit their exploration of their environment, but she needed to know they would be safe wherever they were. It was either that, or she would be grey long before her time.

***

Birkoff allowed Lola to kiss him, but he remained passive. She drew back, puzzled. "Honey, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered. It was true, at least superficially. Birkoff didn’t let himself think deep thoughts very often anymore. They hurt.

Lola shrugged, as if used to Birkoff’s vague, uncommunicative manner. She smiled brightly. "Honey, Christmas is coming soon..." She wanted something. She always wanted something. Birkoff was getting a little tired of her constant demands. Ever since they had met in person, he had to admit that his life was a bit more interesting. Lola was like her name, bright, impulsive, and very, very sensual.

But she made it clear that she liked nice things. On a fairly frequent basis. She liked presents, and the fact that Christmas was looming on the horizon made her even more acquisitive than usual. She had been hinting about jewelry for days. Birkoff sighed. He hoped she wasn’t expecting a ring.

"You’re such a stick-in-the-mud sometimes, honey," Lola pouted, her ruby-red lips full and inviting. She pushed her raven-black hair off her neck with a carefully manicured hand, as if asking to be admired yet again. Birkoff was getting tired of having to compliment her every five minutes.

"I know," he replied with a weary smile. He wasn’t sure why he was still seeing her. It wasn’t as if they had anything in common. Well, he had money, and she liked to spend it, but that was about it. But Lola was clearly a high-maintenance type of woman, in every way that mattered, and while Birkoff didn’t dislike her, he couldn’t really think of a good reason to keep seeing her. Maybe he was getting used to her. Or maybe he knew it was irking Declan that he was still seeing her.

In the meantime, she was pressuring Birkoff for a more physical relationship, and he found himself backing off. He told himself that he wasn’t sure why, but on more than one occasion, he knew he’d been thinking about how hurt Declan would be if he knew. That just didn’t make sense. How could he betray someone he wasn’t romantically involved with? Declan wasn’t pressing him. Just because Declan was faithful didn’t mean that Birkoff had to observe the same rules.

Lola fretted over the loss of Birkoff’s attention. "Penny for your thoughts, honey." Birkoff winced. That was another thing. Lola was always calling him "honey" or "baby". It wasn’t her misuse of an affectionate term that bothered him so much as the way it made their relationship seem so superficial. Well, it was. It wasn’t like Michael and Nikita, or Madeline and Neil. Birkoff groaned as he realized that he wanted that kind of depth in his own relationship, but it would never happen with Lola, she was too self-absorbed. He wanted to belong to someone, like Michael did to Nikita, or the other way around. He wanted...

...to stop thinking about Declan.

"So, Christmas is coming, Lola," he said too cheerfully. But Lola didn’t notice. She sensed another gift was in the offing.

***

Nikita almost exploded with anger at Birkoff. "What do you mean, inviting that woman to the house for Christmas? Birkoff, it’s not like she’s your...fiancee...or something! Christmas is for the family! And she’s not family!"

Her tone suggested that such an occurrence might take place only over her dead body.

Birkoff cringed. Nikita in this mood was rarely reasonable. She was looking forward to Christmas this year. Last year, she was pregnant with the twins, and everyone was so betwixt and between, Christmas more or less fell by the wayside.

"Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat, please put a penny in the old man’s hat..." Christmas carols kept running a constant refrain through Nikita’s head. She had never really enjoyed Christmas in the past. To her, it was a fake holiday, when people who barely had the time of day for each other the rest of the year would suddenly act friendly and polite. When she was a child, she had spent most of her days, not to mention nights, on the streets, courtesy of her mother, who was, more often than not, drunk with one of a series of boyfriends.

But now, there was something happening, not just to her, but to everyone in the family. Last year, they had literally forgotten to celebrate Christmas, what with the excitement of welcoming the twins into the family. This year, they had much to celebrate. Madeline was now four months pregnant, and it seemed a certainty that she would carry this child to term. Michael was almost fully recovered from his injuries, though his wrist continued to pain him upon exertion.

The twins were eleven months old and would celebrate their first birthday in another month. Walter’s acute bout with arthritis had subsided to a more tolerable level, and he was able to resume most of his former activities. This was a boon for a man like him, who loved to create things with his hands.

Birkoff sighed. "It’s not like you to be so uncharitable, Nikita."

That much was true. Nikita frequently went out of her way to help people, whether she knew them or not. This sometimes led to interesting complications, as Birkoff was already familiar, but he wondered if she actively disliked Lola or if she was siding with Declan. No, that wasn’t possible. No one besides themselves knew about Declan’s revelation. It was one of the things they had agreed on.

Birkoff knew that Declan wouldn’t push him into a relationship that he wasn’t ready for, but he wasn’t sure about Walter. If Walter knew about Declan’s feelings for him, he would interfere. More than that, he would exert pressure on Birkoff, probably force him to turn his relationship with Lola into a physical one. Now there was a thought that did not fill his heart with gladness.

***

Nikita stood on a chair, holding up a long garland of silver bells meant for the Christmas tree. The chair began to wobble precariously and Nikita started to tip backwards, falling right into her husband’s waiting arms. She laughed like a child, amazed at his impeccable timing. "Michael!"

He smiled. "The tree looks pretty, Kita."

"Of course, I’m an artist, Michael," she joked, knowing that Walter picked out the tree, while Birkoff did most of the decorating. Actually, some of the ornaments were handmade by Declan, who seemed to find a perverse delight in making them, each one more intricate than the last. But when Nikita asked Declan why he had never become an artist, he merely shrugged and looked enigmatic.

Michael was reluctant to put Nikita down. "You’re a blessing in disguise, that’s what you are," he whispered to her, as he nuzzled her neck.

Her ears picked up at that. "Oh, why?" she asked curiously.

He lowered Nikita slowly to the floor, and their bodies touched briefly as she slid into a standing position. He kissed her, his breath warm and sweet on her face. He looked like a little boy with a secret. Could he be persuaded to tell? "I just met...Birkoff’s girlfriend," he announced in a low voice.

"Lola! She’s here? Now? In my house?" Nikita’s blue eyes cooled until they looked glacial.

He nodded. "And I couldn’t wait to get away from her. She’s a pretty little brunette, but she talks constantly."

"About what?"

Michael played with Nikita’s hair, twirling a length of pale blonde hair between his fingers. "She’s trying to run Birkoff’s life, from what I could see, and he’s letting her."

Nikita gasped. "You think it’s serious?"

"I hope not. That’s not a face I want to see at Christmas and every other major holiday."

"Has Declan seen her?"

"I don’t think so, why?" Michael frowned.

Nikita shook her head, and her long, blonde hair went flying loose from its careless knot. "Just a feeling I have about something."

Michael smiled and wrapped his arms around Nikita. "Speaking of feelings, where did you put the mistletoe?"

Nikita grinned. "I didn’t forget it, Michael." The grin left her face. "Birkoff asked me not to put any up. I don’t think he’s as fond of Lola as he makes out."

Michael kissed Nikita. "Well, I don’t need mistletoe."

They heard the couple approach the living room, and they turned as one to face them.

Although their voices sounded rusty and a bit hesitant, they pasted smiles on their faces and almost shouted, "Welcome!"

Birkoff looked stunned, to say the least, and the small woman beside him lit up, as if she’d received an invitation to join the family. Well, that wasn’t going to happen.

Declan literally walked into this charming scene moments later. Balancing a plate of hors d’oeuvres on one hand, Declan entered the living room. "I heard we had company, so I--"

Nikita saw Declan pale, then flush. That didn’t seem like a very good reaction to her. Michael felt Nikita tense, and reacting instinctively, he tightened his grip on her. He rested his chin on her shoulder, pressing his lips to her neck. "Ssh," he whispered.

Declan stared at Birkoff, unable to keep the look of condemnation off his face. He dropped the plate on the coffee table and turned on his heel, headed back the way he came.

Birkoff smiled weakly and disentangled himself from Lola’s all too grasping arms. "I’ll be right back."

Birkoff found Declan hunched over the kitchen sink. His eyes were closed tightly, but a tiny thread of wetness was seeping from one eyelid. Birkoff gently touched Declan’s arm, but his eyes flew open, accusing him, stabbing him with their steely-grey shards. "How could you do that?" Declan whispered hoarsely.

"You wanted a warning? I--"

"You really don’t care." Declan’s tone was as flat as his affect. Except for the lone tear that now trickled down his face, Declan looked completely and utterly shut down.

Before Birkoff could attempt to explain the unexplainable, Declan left. But his eyes haunted Birkoff. He wanted to run after him. He wasn’t sure what he could say, but he knew Declan was wrong about one thing. He really did care.

Nikita was furious with Birkoff. For bringing Lola to the house without asking. For creating a potentially awkward situation. But most of all, for hurting Declan. She didn’t know what was going on between the two, but she knew there was something.

She twisted restlessly in Michael’s embrace, but he refused to let her go. "Let them work it out themselves, Kita," he whispered.

She knew he was right, but she wasn’t sure what Declan might do, if driven to it. She was afraid they were going to lose him. When she mentioned this to Michael, though, he merely smiled. "I don’t think so, Kita. I think he has a very powerful reason to stay."

***

"Walter?" Birkoff knew his voice was quavering, but he was barely in control of his emotions right now. He needed a friend, and he knew Walter would always be there for him.

Walter whistled. "Whoa, boy, what hit you? You look like you’re in trouble."

"I am."

Birkoff took a seat on Walter’s bed, and Walter soon joined him, seating himself across from Birkoff. "What’s up?"

"You know about Lola?"

He nodded. "The Internet girl? Yeah. Though I can’t say I approve, Birkoff."

"Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter anymore. We broke up."

"Ohhhh..." he drawled knowingly. "So that’s the reason for the long face?"

"No." Birkoff tried to find a place to begin, but it was hard. This was the hardest thing he had ever confided in Walter. But he had to hear it from him. It wouldn’t be right otherwise.

"She’s been pressuring me to get physical."

"And?" he prompted.

"And I’ve been keeping her at arm’s length. I wasn’t sure why. Until tonight."

Walter smiled patiently. His craggy face caught all the shadows in the room, and Birkoff almost shivered, suddenly reminded of the man in black. "So what did you find out?"

"I don’t know if you’ll be able to understand, Walter." Birkoff’s eyes grew intense with pain and worry.

"Well, I take it, you discovered that MsThunder is all spark and no substance."

"That part I figured out a long time ago. Only my brain was too lazy to listen to my heart."

Birkoff explained what happened, excluding Declan’s reaction afterwards. That felt so intensely personal, he just couldn’t say anything about that now.

In the end, he suddenly knew how Declan had felt, when he took a chance on revealing his feelings to Birkoff. Vulnerable didn’t even come close.

He knew he was betraying Declan, and worse, he was breaking their agreement, but he figured that what happened had pretty much broken their agreement already, how could this be any worse?

"Declan told me something...he..." Birkoff finally just blurted it out. "Declan is in love with me."

Walter blinked. He wasn’t sure what he was prepared to hear, but that wasn’t it. On the other hand, he wasn’t totally surprised. He took a breath before he said anything. "And you didn’t want to hurt him by telling him about Lola?"

"Oh, no, he knows all about Lola."

"He does?" Walter looked puzzled. "Maybe it’s me, Birkoff, but I ain’t following this as well as I thought. Declan is in love with you, and?"

Birkoff looked tortured for a second, then his face cleared as he realized he was finally speaking the truth. To himself. "I think I love him, too."

***

Declan began slamming things into his suitcase, every which way, obviously not caring what went where. He was so intent on what he was doing, he never heard Michael come into the room. "So you’re just going to sneak out and leave us flat? Like you were never here?"

Declan swung around, his hair loose and falling past his shoulders. He’d been crying, that much was obvious, but his motives for leaving were less evident to Michael.

"I’m going to stay with Madeline. At least, until the baby is born. Then I’ll move on. Somewhere. It doesn’t matter where."

"You’ve thought this all out?"

Declan shook his head. "No, I’m making a decision based on purely emotional reasons. For the first time in my life. It’ll prolly be a horrible mistake, but bloody hell, what else can I do?"

"You could stay here, with people who love you." Michael’s patience and understanding flowed over Declan like a physical force, comforting him.

Declan couldn’t speak. He was voluntarily relinquishing the one thing he valued most, the one thing he feared most to lose, his new family.

***

"What did you say, Birkoff?"

"I said, I think I love him, too, Walter." Birkoff’s dark chocolate eyes were luminous, even in the low light in Walter’s room.

Birkoff shifted off the bed and began to pace anxiously. "The problem is, I’m afraid of being like Declan."

"How do you mean?"

"I’m afraid of what other people will think. I don’t want the label."

"Then don’t accept it."

"But if I don’t...I mean, can I love him and still be straight?"

Walter stopped Birkoff from pacing one more foot. He smiled avuncularly and pulled the younger man into his embrace. "You’ll still be Birkoff. No matter what. What’s in a label?"

"Some labels hurt, Walter."

"If people are gonna hate, they can always find a reason, Birkoff, the labels don’t matter." Birkoff rested his head on Walter’s shoulder, realizing he was crying.

"I think I do love him, Walter, but I want to be sure. I don’t want to hurt him any more than I already have."

Walter forced Birkoff to make eye contact with him. "If you can find someone who loves you...like Michael loves my Sugar...it doesn’t matter who it is."

"That’s so beautiful, Walter. I can’t believe you said it." Birkoff’s eyes filled with more tears.

"Yeah, well...I also think it was a damn dirty trick you played on Declan, showing up with Lola on your arm at the holidays, so get out of here before I smack you," Walter said gruffly, ruffling Birkoff’s hair.

***

Birkoff ran back into the main part of the house, searching for Declan. Spying Michael, he asked "Have you seen Declan?"

Michael looked grim. He shook his head and said, "Declan is gone."

"What?"

"I couldn’t stop him."

Declan. Gone. Birkoff didn’t anticipate this. He couldn’t believe it. Declan. Out there. Somewhere. Alone.

"Michael?"

"Yes, Birkoff?"

"Help." He closed his eyes and prayed.

Michael caught Birkoff before he collapsed. He was so distraught, Michael couldn’t reassure him. He pulled Birkoff into the living room and helped him onto the couch. Guilt was tormenting Birkoff. For bringing Lola to the house, for sending Declan mixed messages, for not having the same courage that Declan showed him in revealing his feelings. He held onto Michael’s arms, which were wrapped around his upper chest, refusing to let him move away.

"Birkoff, let me get Nikita," Michael said, certain he would prefer her to Michael. After all, even Michael didn’t see himself as a particularly comforting presence. But Birkoff clung to Michael’s arms, as if they were a lifeline.

"No, I want you to stay here with me, please..." Birkoff pleaded.

Tears poured down Birkoff’s cheeks. If he’d been himself, he would have felt embarrassed to be seen like this. But he wasn’t himself, he was a grief-stricken mess, filled with new and sometimes contradictory feelings.

Michael would have been uncomfortable with this outpouring of emotion, in the past, but he quickly realized that he liked being the one that Birkoff turned to. For Birkoff to have overcome his fear of being overwhelmed or intimidated by Michael was an important event. He shifted his weight. It looked like this could take some time to work through.

When Birkoff’s acute grief subsided, he gradually regained control of himself. Michael handed him a handkerchief, and Birkoff gratefully took it.

"I’m sorry, Michael. I didn’t mean to involve you in this," Birkoff said contritely.

"Don’t be, I was already involved. Through Declan."

Birkoff closed his eyes at the mention of Declan’s name. "Did he say anything? Before he left?"

Michael reached out and touched Birkoff’s shoulder. "What’s between the two of you is your business, not mine or anyone else’s. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell me."

"Did he mention where he was going?" Birkoff imagined that Declan simply disappeared. He would be untraceable by any means Birkoff now had access to. One of the drawbacks of leaving Section was leaving behind all that wonderful computer equipment, but then again, if he hadn’t left Section, he wouldn’t be enjoying his freedom, such as it was.

"Yes," Michael answered, uncertain if Declan meant for Birkoff to have that information or not. He listened to what his heart told him, feeling curiously like Nikita at that moment, and decided to tell Birkoff whatever he could.

Michael took another handkerchief and began to clean Birkoff’s face with it, carefully wiping away the evidence of his tears. He knew he was treating Birkoff as though he were his son, instead of a fully-grown adult, but it seemed to be what Birkoff needed right now.

"Birkoff...Declan went to Madeline’s."

He felt Birkoff react. Tension immediately made his body rigid. "I have to see him, talk to him. I need to explain. He doesn’t know everything." Birkoff stared at Michael, finding it hard to catch his breath now. Were anxiety attacks contagious?

Michael pushed Birkoff back down onto the couch. "Take a deep breath, Birkoff. You’re hyperventilating."

When Birkoff was calm again, Michael said, "Why don’t you let him calm down first?"

"Was he very angry?"

Michael considered that. "More like deeply hurt."

"He probably thinks I was playing games with him," Birkoff said bitterly. "I wouldn’t use him like that. I swear."

Michael blinked. "I believe you, Birkoff. But I’m not the one you need to convince."

Michael stood up. "Declan said he would stay with Madeline until her baby is born. You think you two can work this out in five months?"

Birkoff looked hopeful. "I hope so."

***

Birkoff picked up the phone several times during the night, knowing there could be no excuse he could give Declan to justify his behavior. Every time, he put the receiver back down, knowing he would only alarm Madeline and Neil if he disturbed their sleep.

But he wasn’t able to sleep. All he could do was ruminate about what he should have said or should have done. Considering the fact that he could not change the past, it was a futile effort at best.

***

Madeline was awake. So was Neil. Neil was waiting patiently in bed for his wife to rejoin him. When Declan arrived, he looked so upset, Madeline had immediately ushered him into her office. Neil wasn’t worried about Madeline being alone with Declan this time. Now that he had the facts, he realized that Madeline and Declan shared a closeness borne of their years together under circumstances far more dire than he would ever know. More important to Neil was Madeline’s health and the health of their baby. He knew it would be far more detrimental to argue with her about counseling Declan in the middle of the night than it would be to let her have her way. It would be quicker and less painful for everyone.

Madeline surveyed the damage. Declan was an emotional wreck. Intermittently tearful, Declan asked, no, begged Madeline for a place to stay, just until her baby was born.

"You’re not going back home?"

Declan looked anguished beyond belief. "I have no home."

"Declan, what happened?"

"I just want to be able to see your child, Maddy. That’s all I ask. Then I’ll move on, I swear. I promise not to get in the way. I won’t even talk to Neil, if you don’t want me to."

Madeline searched Declan’s face for clues to what happened. He was reacting as if someone had died. "Declan, of course you can stay here. For as long as you like. And don’t worry about Neil. He won’t bother you."

Declan dropped his head into his hands, and Madeline touched his face with her long, graceful fingers. "What happened? You need to tell me so I can help."

"No one can help me. The situation is beyond salvaging. If this were a mission, I’d cancel me and everyone else involved."

"Including Birkoff?" Madeline guessed intuitively.

"Especially him," Declan sobbed, breaking down completely.

Madeline held Declan while he cried. She knew he needed to vent. He was not just sad, he was intensely angry, and he felt safe with Madeline, safe enough to tell her the truth and own his rage as well as his despair.

When he was calmer, Declan thanked Madeline, knowing that dropping in on her this way was a tremendous imposition. "But if I hadn’t come here, I don’t know what I would have done."

"You wouldn’t hurt Birkoff, would you, Declan?" Madeline looked worried for the first time, afraid that Declan had gone over the edge.

"I couldn’t, Maddy. As much as he hurt me...I couldn’t hurt him back. Not like that."

Gradually, Declan was able to tell Madeline what happened. How Birkoff had totally surprised everyone by bringing Lola home. It wasn’t quite Christmas yet, thank goodness, but it was close enough. The holidays were mere days away, and Declan was separated from the only family he cared about.

Madeline wasn’t sure which bothered Declan more, losing Birkoff or losing his family. She thought the latter was probably closer to the truth, but she pointed out to Declan that leaving the family had been his choice, not Michael’s.

"I know. But how could I stay and watch Seymour, touching that obnoxious woman? She’s not even good enough for him." Declan shook his head, as if Birkoff’s lapse in judgment concerned him only insofar as it hurt Birkoff, not Declan himself.

Madeline reflected this back to Declan. "You want him to be happy."

"Bloody hell, Maddy, of course I do. I love him."

"That came out nice and easy, Declan. You’re getting somewhere." Madeline smiled cautiously, afraid that Declan was more fragile than he looked.

"I’m not the selfish bastard some people thought I was, Maddy."

"I never thought that about you, Declan."

"Some did." Declan closed his eyes against a wave of jealousy so strong, it made him ache. "God, Maddy, when I think about it, I could just---"

"Finish that thought, Declan. What would you do?"

"Never mind, it was just meaningless violence flashing through my brain," Declan said caustically.

"You want to hurt her, not Birkoff? You blame her?"

"I could blow her away without thinking twice about it, Maddy. If you think that doesn’t scare the hell out of me, you’re wrong."

"So you came here."

"Aye."

"Feelings are just feelings, Declan. They have no power unless you act on them."

Madeline was watching him carefully, as if she thought he might explode any moment. "Don’t worry, Maddy," he said, raking his fingers through his hair. "I have no intention of turning into a disgruntled postal employee. The feelings are still there, even after a couple of years, but I’m still in control of them. They’re not in control of me."

"Good." Madeline sat back, feeling more reassured. She knew how dangerous Declan could be, if provoked, and she wanted to make sure he was indeed under control.

"Now tell me something...why didn’t you give Birkoff a chance to explain?"

"Explain what, Maddy? How he was only playing games? Experimenting? At my expense?" He rubbed his eyes, which were bloodshot from temper as well as tears.

"Is that your gut feeling on this, Declan?"

"No," he whispered. "My gut feeling was that he really loved me, Maddy. That’s what hurts. Now I can’t even trust my own intuition."

"And how do you feel? Besides angry and hurt?"

Declan raised his storm-grey eyes to Madeline’s bittersweet chocolate eyes, and long moments passed before he answered. "I really love him, Maddy."

Nikita rocked gently back and forth in the rocker, but this time, it wasn’t her son she held, but Birkoff. Her arms wrapped around him, she stroked his hair, trying to assuage his fears and anxieties enough so he would be able to sleep. She rested her cheek on the top of his head as she listened to his breathing slow. Good. He was finally resting. He had been up all night long, not that he disturbed anyone but himself. But when Nikita saw him, she was shocked at how drawn he looked. Her fingers cupping his chin, she pressed a kiss to his hair, feeling very protective of Birkoff right now.

Oddly enough, her fury at Birkoff had dissipated, once she realized what happened between him and Declan. She knew that Birkoff was responsible for what happened, and that he had somehow violated an understanding he’d had with Declan, but his genuine contrition and obvious pain mitigated any residual anger she might have had.

Michael entered the bedroom, and Nikita turned carefully, putting a finger to her lips, indicating that Birkoff had finally fallen asleep. He nodded silently. He gestured to her, and Nikita understood that he wanted to move Birkoff onto their bed. Between the two of them, they were able to move him without waking him up. He was so emotionally exhausted, he might well sleep for hours.

Once outside the bedroom, Michael whispered, "I spoke to Madeline this morning, just to check on Declan."

"How is he?" Nikita asked, as they continued down the hall, away from their bedroom.

"He’s in much worse shape than Birkoff. At least, Birkoff has us. But Declan cut himself off from us, deliberately."

"Why?" Nikita looked concerned.

"She thinks it’s some way of punishing himself. Though it seems he left before the infamous MsThunder did. He’s still under the impression that Lola and Birkoff are together."

"Did you tell Maddy that Birkoff broke it off with her?"

He nodded. "She doesn’t know if Declan believed her or not."

"What a mess. This close to Christmas, and both of them so unhappy. Michael, we have to do something." Nikita had gotten the whiff of the innocent in her nostrils and she was champing at the bit to do something to help.

"I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Kita. I know you want to help, but we really shouldn’t interfere."

"They need our support, Michael. You can’t stop me from doing that. I won’t let you."

Michael looked surprised. "I wouldn’t stop you from supporting either of them. I will, too. I just don’t think we should actively intercede on either one’s behalf."

"It could take a long, long time to resolve that way, Michael." She stared at him, and Michael could see that a plan was hatching itself within her all too imaginative mind.

"Kita, I don’t like that look. I hate it when you get that look. Trouble always happens right after you get that look." Michael wagged a finger at Nikita, and she pretended to bite it.

"Michael, our Christmas as a family is riding on this. I don’t want to celebrate Christmas without Declan or Birkoff. Do you?" She beseeched him with her eyes, glittering like the twin sapphires they resembled. She grabbed his finger and kissed it, then rubbed it against her face, as if she were a kitten.

"Mi-chael...." she said, licking his finger. "I’ll be very good to you...if you’re good to me...."

"I’m always good to you, Kita." He smiled, knowing full well when he was being outmaneuvered by the best. Besides, he wanted to help Birkoff and Declan. It didn’t really have anything to do with what Nikita was offering.

***

Declan finally fell asleep around noon. Madeline let him sleep while she touched base with Michael. "He just got to sleep, Michael. Do you have any ideas?"

"I don’t, but Kita does. You know, this kind of thing is her area of expertise, not mine."

Madeline smiled at that. Michael almost sounded proud of Nikita’s compassion and humanity. Once those things had been denigrated, as things that could get her killed, if not by the enemy, by Section itself. But now, Michael saw that these were indeed wonderful gifts Nikita was given, and it would be a shame not to use them to their full advantage.

"So the plan is?"

"We’re going Christmas shopping this afternoon." Michael smiled at the simplicity of Nikita’s plan. It just might work.

***

Declan groaned and buried his head under the pillow. "Cripes, Maddy, you want to go where?"

"Christmas shopping, Declan. Neil has office hours, and he can’t take me. Please...I can’t go by myself, Neil won’t allow it." She smiled innocently as she indicated her growing abdomen.

"And so he shouldn’t. You’ve got no business taking risks like that." He sighed heavily. He couldn’t pull himself together quickly enough for Maddy. He dressed as fast as possible and met Madeline at the door.

"Let’s go."

***

Madeline approached the meet point with trepidation. What if Birkoff refused to go with Nikita? There was a huge line of children, waiting to see Santa Claus. She searched the area carefully, finally spotting Nikita’s pale blonde hair in the crowd. Birkoff couldn’t be far from her side.

She handed her shopping bags to Declan and asked him to watch them while she used the nearest ladies’ room. "You know us pregnant ladies, Declan, we know the location of every single facility."

Declan smiled faintly, remembering how Nikita had said a similar thing, when she was pregnant with the twins. He winced. He was better off not thinking about Nikita, or any of the others right now. Even the good memories felt painful now.

He watched Maddy walk away, and his heart grew heavy again. His time with her was limited. She didn’t really need him there. She needed to share this time with her husband. He was encroaching on their privacy. But he wanted to see the baby. He told himself that was the reason he was staying, and he refused to let himself examine it any further. It wasn’t as if he ever expected to see Birkoff again.

Nikita’s bright head disappeared into the crowd, and soon, she was indistinguishable from any other late- season Christmas shopper. Birkoff shifted anxiously from foot to foot. He didn’t like her being out of his sight. He knew he was clinging to Nikita and Michael, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Maybe one day, he would be able to get past this awful feeling of dread that welled up in him whenever he thought of Declan being out there in the world, without anyone.

Madeline approached Birkoff and smiled. "Hello, Birkoff. Merry Christmas."

Birkoff saw how advanced her pregnancy had gotten and he whistled. "Wow, you’re really showing now, aren’t you? You’re bigger than Nikita was at four months, and she had twins."

Madeline looked alarmed. "Don’t say that, even as a joke, Birkoff. Twins don’t run in either family, thank you very much."

Birkoff grinned, for the first time in a couple of days. Madeline leaned over conspiratorially and said, "I want to get Nikita something special. Can you help me, Birkoff? I want to show you something." He nodded, and the two linked arms, proceeding towards where Declan now stood.

Meanwhile, Nikita saluted Declan when she saw him. "Hi, Declan. Listen, I want to get Michael something special for Christmas. Can I show you something?" He nodded, and Nikita all but pulled him towards Madeline...and Birkoff.

When the two young men suddenly stood facing one another, they didn’t have time to guard their expressions or their words. Declan’s face reflected such longing, he couldn’t hide what he felt if he’d tried. Birkoff looked wistfully at Declan, wishing he could think of something intelligent to say, but his brain refused to cooperate.

Nikita pushed Declan towards Birkoff. At the same time, Madeline gently shoved Birkoff forward. Declan recovered more quickly than Birkoff. "Is this where we’re supposed to kiss and make up then? Not a bloody original idea, Nikita, and I’m sure it was your idea."

Birkoff looked hurt. But when both of them turned to look at Nikita, she was gone. Disappeared into the crowd again. As was Madeline.

Suddenly Birkoff grinned. "Looks like we’re stuck here without a way home."

"I’d sooner hitchhike than walk with you, Birkoff."

"Well, if we did walk home, we could talk," Birkoff offered tentatively.

Declan looked around, his eyes narrowing as he searched the crowd. "So where’s your all-important ladyfriend, Seymour?" Declan said sarcastically, a nerve twitching in his cheek.

Birkoff pretended that Declan had agreed to walk with him and started to walk slowly towards the exit. Declan fell into step without looking at Birkoff, his lanky strides almost outpacing Birkoff, who had to struggle slightly to keep up. "We broke up."

Declan stopped dead. "You really did? Maddy told me that, but I didn’t believe her for a second."

He nodded. "I wanted to tell you about her, Declan, but you never gave me a chance."

Declan shrugged. "Well, I was just--" He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to relax.

"Anxiety attack?" Birkoff asked kindly.

"Not if I can help it." Once his breathing was under control again, Declan continued. "I assumed...that you and she were sleeping together, Seymour, and I can’t even begin to tell you what that did to me." He looked away from Birkoff, as if he couldn’t bear to make eye contact with him.

"Declan, she was pressuring me...but I never gave in. A few kisses, that’s all. I swear." Birkoff didn’t want to beg, but he would, if he had to.

Declan’s head swung around, his long hair inadvertently brushing Birkoff’s chest. "You weren’t playing me, Seymour?"

"No, Declan, I swear it. I may be guilty of ignorance and a slew of other things, including not knowing how I really felt about you, but I swear to God, I wasn’t playing." Birkoff moved closer to Declan, unconsciously seeking contact with him. "Please believe me."

"Declan..." Birkoff moistened his lips. He was so nervous. "You said you wouldn’t settle for anything less than a commitment. That’s why I needed to be sure. I didn’t want to hurt you by raising your hopes up, only to break things off with you later."

Declan nodded. "That’s the most insight you’ve ever shown, Seymour. Thank you."

"But I ended up hurting you anyway. God, Declan, you don’t know how boring Lola was, I don’t know why I brought her home for the holidays. She was only in it for what I could buy her."

"I never asked you for anything, Seymour. Guess I’m a cheap date," Declan said with just a trace of bitterness still remaining.

"I don’t know...what you are...Declan...but you’re pretty wonderful...and I’m damn glad...you happened to me," Birkoff managed to get out before his vocal cords completely froze.

Declan frowned. "And you didn’t set this whole thing up?"

Birkoff shook his head. "No, I was just as surprised as you were. Couldn’t you tell?"

Declan turned and pushed open the exit door. Birkoff followed. When they were outside, Declan slowed down, so Birkoff could keep up. He stared at the ground, soundlessly, for a long time, as if he were thinking or deciding something.

"I don’t know if I should trust you, Seymour. You hurt me pretty badly," he admitted, avoiding eye contact again.

Birkoff stopped on the road, his boots kicking up a trace of dust. "I hurt us both pretty badly, Declan. And that’s the truth."

"We never really had a chance, Declan. You promised not to pressure me, and you didn’t. I was the one who screwed things up, Declan. Please don’t blame yourself. It was all my fault."

Declan shook his head. "No, Seymour, I should have known better."

"Why are we so busy blaming ourselves for not being able to make it work? We never even tried, Declan. And that’s a shame."

Declan stared at Birkoff, feeling a curious flutter in his chest that might or might not be his heart. "Why, Seymour?"

Birkoff reached out his hand and stroked Declan’s cheek. "That was what I wanted to tell you last night. Before everything went to hell."

Declan reached out and literally stopped Birkoff’s stroking by clamping an iron grip on his wrist. "You’re too affectionate by half, Seymour. What are you trying to tell me, then?"

"I love you, Declan."

Declan’s mouth went dry.

Birkoff smiled.

Declan released his grip on Birkoff’s hand. "Does this mean we’re back on for Christmas dinner then?"

Birkoff laughed, throwing his head back, noticing it was just beginning to snow. "Are you cooking?"

"Hell, yes! We’ve got to do some serious shopping, then, Seymour. It’s going to be the biggest family get- together yet."

"I know, Declan." Birkoff was usually the first one caught up in the enthusiasm of the moment, but he was strangely content just to watch the quick play of emotions across Declan’s face.

"Back to the mall, then. Oh, and Seymour?" Declan caught Birkoff looking at him and smiled. He looked both directions, and there wasn’t a person in sight.

Declan leaned over and kissed him before he could object. "Merry Christmas."