Declan surveyed the faded gardens that had caught Nikita’s eye on her initial visit to the chateau. "They must have been magnificent."

Michael looked at Declan with real gratitude in his brilliant green eyes. "Thanks for seeing what I see when I look at them."

Declan smiled crookedly. "There’s so much here to appreciate. Still, you have your work cut out for you."

"Would you like to help?" Michael waited with something akin to impatience, wondering why Declan’s answer suddenly seemed so important to him.

"Aye, Michael. I’d love to." Declan couldn’t explain it himself, but there was something here that appealed to the artist in him. It was almost like it was a beautiful painting that had aged and discolored over the centuries, and they were the careful historians who would study its every angle, hoping to restore it to its former glory.

He so rarely thought about that. Being an artist. It was what he’d once dreamed of being. Till his life, as he knew it, was over. He’d left school at 15, to follow in his older brother Justin’s footsteps, as a terrorist. For over a year, he tried to emulate Justin. No, not emulate him. He wanted to be him.

Everyone admired Justin. He was smart, so smart, he could have gone to university if he’d wanted. But he didn’t. Instead he stayed at home and plotted anarchy with his mates, never realizing the terrible legacy he was bequeathing to Declan. If he’d known, would it have stopped him? Declan always stopped thinking about Justin at this point. A big fat tear squeezed out from under Declan’s right eye and landed with a plop on his hand.

Michael studied the change of expression on Declan’s face. His face was indeed expressive, when it was unguarded like this. Michael suddenly realized how little Declan normally revealed of himself. Again, he was struck by the similarity between Declan and himself.

He didn’t wish to embarrass the younger man. He carefully moved on to the walkway, which clearly needed repair. Though Michael was normally as agile as a mountain goat, he faltered here.

Here was the entrance to the chateau. His chateau. It belonged to him at last. He thanked Birkoff and all the technological wizardry he used to produce this result. At last, it was back in his family.

***

Nikita held her sleeping son, his head down on her shoulder. Birkoff held Faith in much the same manner. They were tired. It had been a long day. For all of them.

Suddenly she smiled, and Birkoff saw the intensity of a million stars going nova in the brightness of that smile. It transformed her, that smile. It was so breathtakingly real. Like everything else about her.

His dark eyes met Nikita’s light eyes. "You love this place. As rundown as it is."

She nodded. But before she walked away, she leaned over and managed to whisper something to Birkoff. It made no sense, but the fierceness with which she spoke lent the words a gravity they might otherwise have lacked. "Take Declan to the wishing bridge."

***

It was much too late for anyone to do anything other than find their respective beds and climb into them. Michael claimed the best rooms for his family. The ones in need of the least renovation for civilized living.

The suite where Michael and Nikita had stayed originally was theirs for the taking. It had an adjoining room, which Nikita wanted to use for the children. She didn’t want them down the hallway or too far out of her sight. In a chateau as old as this, restoration or no restoration, danger lurked around every corner for incautious children.

She lay Chris down on the bed. There were twin beds in the smaller room, as Michael had requested, for Chris and Faith. He stirred slightly in his sleep, his mouth partly open, his small fists clenched. She leaned over her son and kissed him, stroking his hair back from his face the way Michael did to her. "You’re going to like it here, Chris. This is where your father spent his summers as a boy. Maybe we can teach you to ride a horse. You’d like that, I think."

Michael held Faith in his arms and listened to his wife tell their son what few details he had shared with her about his past. Perhaps this summer he could be more forthcoming, more accessible. To his children, certainly. But to his wife, who had waited so long for so little in the way of revelations...

***

Declan raised an eyebrow at the sight of the suite he would share with Birkoff. "Sweet Mother of--!" He caught himself before he completed that thought.

It was old. The walls were covered in gilt wallpaper, undoubtedly specially made for the chateau. Many years ago.

Depictions of a luxurious lifestyle. The splendor of ladies, in all their wondrous altogether. Wasted on Declan, of course, but he couldn’t complain. It looked like great art. Even if it was a bit Rubenesque.

"Well...it’s very colorful."

Birkoff broke into a fit of laughter. "That’s an astute observation, Declan!"

Declan’s eyes softened as they lit upon Birkoff’s face. "Come here," he commanded softly.

This time Birkoff responded positively to Declan’s command. His lips parted in anticipation, he looked at the face he loved more than himself.

They moved into an embrace as one entity. Declan grasped his lover’s face between his two hands and gently kissed him. Slowly he wrapped his arms around Birkoff’s neck, locking his hands together behind him.

Birkoff gingerly stole a hand upon Declan’s cheek, his fingers splayed along the curve of his face, kissing him back with equally powerful intensity. "I love you," he whispered.

"Always and forever?" Declan held back just a moment before committing to another lengthy exploration of his lover’s mouth.

"Always and forever," he repeated, mesmerized by the spellbound look in Declan’s eyes. Now the soft grey of a mourning dove in the early morning.

Michael was on the phone, speaking to Walter. Nikita stood behind him, her palms massaging his bare back and shoulders. He was so tense, her husband, especially when he was in planning mode. He hid it well, if you only considered his face and body language, but she could see beyond the blank stare and the minimalist gestures.

He hung up the phone, turning to face his wife. "Everything is fine at home. Walter’s wearing himself out, making love to Miranda, the cat is hiding, and the dog hasn’t run away. Yet."

Nikita giggled. "Sounds normal for our house."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head down to hers for a kiss. "Are you feeling better today?" she asked cautiously, afraid to refer to his nightmare more than indirectly.

He smiled, his green eyes darkening with passion, not anxiety. He slid his mouth across hers, gently at first, then more insistently. "I’ve made a complete recovery. Want me to show you?"

"I think I need a total debrief...step into my office...." she purred. "Oh, and Michael...be convincing...."

He laughed, his eyes glinting mischievously.

***

Birkoff lay on his back, contemplating the myriad full-figured women on the walls and the ceiling of the suite. "Declan?"

Declan opened one eye cautiously, peering at Birkoff. "Aye?"

"Could your first project be to...um...camouflage the art in this room?" Birkoff asked tentatively, not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings, in case it truly was great art.

"Why? Does it bother you, Sey?" Declan crept closer to his partner, wrapping his arms around his bare chest possessively.

Birkoff kissed Declan’s hands. "Well...it is a bit...."

Declan suddenly laughed, a twinkle appearing in his soft grey eyes. "Hell, go ahead and say it, Sey! They’re bloody awful!"

"They are! I mean, you think so, too?" He looked up at Declan expectantly.

"Just because it’s old doesn’t make it great art, Sey. Just ask Walter."

They both laughed at that.

***

Nikita nipped gently at Michael’s lower lip, drawing it almost into her mouth. He didn’t resist. He liked to be in control, but sometimes, when Nikita was especially assertive, he let her have her way. He wasn’t prepared for what she said next, though.

"What’s a girl have to do to get fed around here?"

He stopped kissing her all at once. "You have an appetite?"

"Mmm...I do...but I was thinking more of food right now."

"So was I." But the way he was staring at her mouth gave the lie to those words.

She ran her hands across his chest. "If you feed me, I’ll reward you later."

He licked her lips, nudging her mouth open. "Reward me now, we can always eat later."

***

Declan lay on his back, Birkoff sprawled partially across his chest, his head under Declan’s chin. Declan’s arm stroked his partner’s back slowly.

Birkoff opened his eyes sleepily, playing with a long red tendril of Declan’s hair. "Hey...who’s a guy gotta sleep with to get breakfast around here?"

"You expect me to cook, too? You are a cheeky boyo this morning, Sey!"

"I’m not putting down your other...talents...Declan. I’m just hungry."

"I noticed." Declan smiled wickedly.

He raised himself up on one elbow so he could peer down at Declan. "And Nikita said...I should take you to the wishing bridge."

"The wishing bridge? What’s that?" Declan asked, intrigued.

Birkoff traced a finger over Declan’s lips. "If you feed me, I’ll find out...."

***

An hour later, Birkoff stood outside Michael and Nikita’s suite, knocking on their door. Casually dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, Birkoff was anxious to explore the immediate environs. He was particularly interested in the whereabouts of the wishing bridge.

Nikita came to the door, a huge towel wrapped around her body. Her body was wet with something, whether it was water or sweat, he couldn’t tell. She glanced at Birkoff impatiently. "Yes?"

Birkoff grinned. He felt a bit like Mick Schtoppel, intruding on an obviously tender moment. "Are the kids okay?"

Nikita rolled her eyes. "Birkoff," she hissed, "the wishing bridge is in the woods, past the big tree with our initials on it. There’s a stream beneath it. Now go, before Michael decides to grab Declan for his work party or something."

"Thanks, Nikita. I owe you." Birkoff smiled gratefully.

"You bet," she quipped.

After Birkoff left, Nikita locked the door. She walked back to the four-postered bed in the center of the room, dropping her towel somewhere along the way. Michael stared at her, in awe of her near-perfect beauty.

"Now, where were we?"

Michael reached for her, and she settled comfortably against his body. They fit in all the right places. He was so easy to distract sometimes. But she didn’t mind keeping him trapped here, while Birkoff and Declan enjoyed a much-needed day off. Alone. She was willing to make the sacrifice.

Oh, yes...it was sweat. Not water.

Nikita slid into Michael’s waiting embrace, and his arms closed around her, automatically enfolding her. "Mmm..." she murmured against his chest.

"I thought you wanted to get something to eat..."

"You said we could always eat later..."

"Come here..." He kissed her, his mouth moving lazily over hers, as if they had all day to lie together in bed.

"With our luck, the kids will wake up any moment," she sighed against his mouth.

He groaned, his aching need to be with her barely assuaged. "I don’t suppose Declan or Birkoff are anywhere to be found..."

"I gave Birkoff a push in the direction of the wishing bridge, love." She looked suitably chastened, but Michael took pity on her, giving her a quick but thorough kiss. He knew her good heart, it was one of the things he loved most about her. So he couldn’t fault her for being kind to Declan and Birkoff.

He gently stroked her arms with his fingertips, roughly abrading the tiny hairs, making her shiver inside. "We could take a chance...or we could wait till later..."

"Mmm..." She raked her hands through the hair at the back of his neck, feeling the wet curling tendrils slip through her fingers. He closed his eyes, looking curiously content for someone who had yet to satisfy or be satisfied.

"Or we could do both..."

His eyes flew open, their emerald fire shooting right through her. He smiled desultorily. "I like the way you think, doucette."

"Then why are we wasting time talking?" Nikita curled her body around Michael’s, feeling the answering pulse that emanated from him.

***

Birkoff was not much on trailblazing. He never had a chance to be a Boy Scout. But he managed to find the path through the woods that Nikita indicated led to the wishing bridge. Declan smiled bemusedly, his boots crunching the occasional twig. He grabbed Birkoff’s hand in his and laughed. "Why do I suddenly feel like we’re Hansel and Gretel?"

Birkoff chuckled. "You think we should have left a trail of bread crumbs? Nah, we can find our way back to the chateau."

Declan chortled. "Find our way back? We haven’t even gotten to wherever it is we’re going yet!"

Birkoff stumbled over a hidden tree root, but Declan caught him and helped him back up. "You find Mother Nature a challenge, don’t you, Sey?"

His partner glared at him. "I don’t imagine you did much hiking yourself, Declan."

"Hey, boyo, if you want an argument, can it wait till we get out of this freaking forest? Cause I’ll be the first to admit, take me out of the city, and I couldn’t find my way out of a paper bag."

Birkoff stared at Declan uncertainly. He could be even more sarcastic than Birkoff when he chose. Or was he telling the truth?

"How did you survive so long in Section without a sense of direction?"

Declan shrugged, his long red hair tied behind his head with a black leather thong. "Well, Sey, I was just so damned good at killing things, Section more or less looked the other way when I would get lost."

Birkoff burst out laughing. "Okay, okay, I guess I deserved that one!"

"Hey..." Declan pulled Birkoff closer, his eyes intent on Birkoff’s mouth. Lowering his head, he kissed him, so slowly and yet so tenderly, it made both of them ache.

"Let’s go find your bloody wishing bridge then. Maybe we can wish we’ll find the way back."

***

Michael lay on his back, allowing Nikita free reign over his body for once. She kissed her way down the center of his body, pausing a moment as she neared his arousal. Grinning brazenly at Michael, she made her way back to his mouth. Suddenly she wrenched both his arms over his head, effectively trapping his mouth beneath hers. She ground her mouth against his until he opened for her, allowing her tongue entry.

She traded open-mouthed kisses with Michael, as was their custom, abruptly breaking off to pant for a few moments. "Oh, my love..."

He trailed a finger down her body, touching her between her breasts, then abrading each nipple in turn until it sharpened to a chisel point. Her tongue flicked out and caressed the side of his face. He pushed her back so he could have greater access to her breasts, scrupulously attending to each one with his mouth. His palms replaced his mouth so that she could sit astride him, and he cautiously eased inside her. She sank down on him, her insides already beginning to clench in anticipation.

"Oh, no..."

Michael froze. When he stopped, Nikita opened her bright blue eyes, taking in Michael’s perplexed expression. Blushing, she tried to hide her face from him, but he held her gaze, despite her best efforts. "What is it, Kita?"

She laughed at herself. "It’s all going to be over way too soon, Michael. I just wanted to slow things down a little."

He smile enigmatically. "It’s not like it’s something we can use up, doucette. There’s always more."

"I don’t want to wear you out, love."

"I’d like to see you try, doucette. It hasn’t happened yet, has it?"

She leaned over him, her long pale hair shimmering as it fell in a curtain-like wave across his face. When she kissed him, he began to move within her. It didn’t take long for her to reach the place she’d reached before. "Ummm..." she gasped.

He pulled gently on her nipples, then her hips, in an effort to get closer and closer to her. He could feel her approaching climax, and it excited him, enough that he unconsciously picked up the pace. "I don’t...want it...to be over..."

"It’ll never be over between us, doucette. Never." He arched his back, surging into her wet heat repeatedly until he was spent. Whether her climax triggered his, or his triggered hers, was unclear. But it was too close to call.

She fell across his chest, her breasts still at rigid attention. "I love you."

She continued to breathe erratically for a few moments, and he used that time to edge closer to her ear. "Me, too."

She giggled captivatingly. "You love you, too?"

His beautiful green eyes softened to what seemed like an impossible degree. "You know who I love, doucette. And that’s for always."

***

Declan found the tree with Michael and Nikita’s names carved into it. "That’s one of the nicest things I’ve ever seen, Sey."

"Oh? And what’s the nicest?"

"Your smile."

Birkoff blushed. "What a silly thing to say, Declan."

"It’s not." Declan sounded highly offended. "I love your smile...and your eyes...and your mouth."

Birkoff considered that. "Well...as long as we’re comparing notes...I love your eyes, too. And your hair." He colored furiously. "I mean it, I really love your hair. I have dreams about your hair."

"You do?" That seemed to arouse Declan more than it amused him. He bit his lip, looking strangely vulnerable for a second.

Birkoff reached over and untied the thong that kept Declan’s hair captive. He pulled it out and away from Declan’s face. He whispered, "I like it this way. All loose and...and wild."

Declan’s long red curls spilled over his shoulders and across his back in riotous disarray, having been released from their prison. Suddenly Declan began to shout. "You know what this feels like, Sey? Like I’m finally free!"

All at once, Declan looked younger. As if some great weight that usually held him down had vanished. He rubbed his head vigorously, disturbing the curls even further. He looked up at the sky, glad it was a sunny day, and he laughed. "I feel like I can breathe freely for the first time in, I dunno how long it’s been, Sey!"

Declan’s mood was infectious. Birkoff couldn’t help but think that when they remembered to celebrate birthdays and holidays and the like, that was wonderful, but this overwhelming sense of being liberated that claimed him now, that was something else entirely. They had tried to celebrate their escape from Section, but things were difficult during those early days. In a way that often defied current description.

"Look! Over there!"

Birkoff’s head swung around in the direction to which Declan pointed, and suddenly he saw it, too. It was a lovely stream, nestled here in the heart of the woods, and its waters looked clear and pure.

Just beyond the stream was a small bridge. A white, wooden bridge. The wishing bridge. It spanned the two banks of the stream nicely. The water itself was not deep enough for anyone to drown in. But it would be a pleasure to splash within its cool, clear confines.

Declan gave a whoop and suddenly ran towards the stream, waving the thong in his hand. Birkoff followed at a clip.

When they reached the stream, Birkoff didn’t know what he expected Declan to do, but this wasn’t it. Declan gave a cry to the heavens and thanked God for giving him his freedom, at long last.

Then he stood right in the middle of the little stream and laughed until he was near tears. But soon enough, his soft grey gaze sought Birkoff. "Sey! Come celebrate with me, love! Cause that’s what you bloody well are, y’know! My love!"

"Sweet Jesus, Sey! You started this, come celebrate!" Declan’s face and indeed, his entire being, was ecstatic. Transformed. By love.

"Celebrate what, Declan?"

"Anything! Everything! God, I love you!" Declan suddenly stopped shouting, looking as if he were waiting for something.

Birkoff looked puzzled until all at once, Declan laughed. "I told God I love you, Sey! And He didn’t strike me dead with a lightning bolt! Isn’t that grand?"

Birkoff could no longer stand idly by and watch Declan. So he did the only thing he could. He joined him.

They splashed each other with water from the stream, giggling like playful children. And when they were both soaked, Declan showed Birkoff the way to the bridge. Declan stripped off his sodden T-shirt and stood there, bare-chested, his hair all loose and unruly, curling about his shoulders. He looked...beautiful.

He sank down to his knees, feeling the sun’s healing rays on his back. Birkoff fretted. Declan’s complexion was so pale, he would surely burn. He stripped his own T-shirt off, meaning only to cover Declan’s back from the sun, but Declan grabbed the shirt away from him and flung it into the stream below.

"Declan, I’m glad you’re happy, but this is getting a bit crazy!" Birkoff protested weakly.

"Aye, I feel a bit crazy right now. But I mean every word I said, Sey." He sat all the way down, leaning against the railing of the bridge. "I love you. I do." He crawled towards Birkoff, on his hands and knees, and stopped in front of him. "Make love with me here."

"L-like Michael and Nikita did?"

"Aye, just like that," Declan whispered, his grey eyes shadowed.

Birkoff suddenly felt shy, though there was no one around for miles. "I don’t know if I can."

"I do. I know you can. Love me, Sey. Please." Declan’s entreaty faded into a distant echo before Birkoff gave his answer.

He never spoke. His hands shook visibly. But he framed Declan’s face with those two hands and kissed him, tenderly, gently, achingly slowly...

Like a prayer spoken aloud, the words finally came... "I promise to love you as long as I’m with you, Declan...and I’ll always be with you. Forever."

Declan reached out with one hand and pulled Birkoff to him. "I dunno what I did that God decided I deserved someone like you, but I’m damned glad He did."

Body to body. Soul to soul. They became one person, under the sun, above the little stream. Just like Michael and Nikita. Always and forever.

Declan lay on his back, dreaming, underneath the noonday sun. He would be hopelessly burned by the end of the day, but he did not care. He and Birkoff had spent the entire morning together, and he for one did not regret one second of that time. If the world ended tomorrow, he would die happy.

Birkoff’s hair fanned out across Declan’s abdomen. He was not asleep. He was just content to be there. Declan’s hands were hopelessly entangled in his hair, slowly but inexorably stroking the silken strands.

With a sigh, Birkoff sat up, dislodging Declan’s loving hold on him. "I wish we could stay here."

Declan caught the wistful note in Birkoff’s voice and reluctantly pulled himself into a sitting position. "You want to tell me what’s bothering you?"

Birkoff shook his head. "It’s stupid."

"Nothing’s stupid where you’re concerned, Sey. Tell me."

Birkoff wrinkled his nose and looked down at the wooden planks of the bridge. Suddenly he felt impossibly young and inexperienced and vulnerable. "Some people are so happy when something this good happens to them. But me? I worry...that something this good will never happen to me again." He shrugged. "See? I told you it was stupid."

Declan leaned forward and scooped Birkoff back into his embrace, resting his head on Birkoff’s shoulder. "That’s not stupid, Sey. It’s just bloody sad. That you have so few good memories in your young life is a tragedy."

Birkoff closed his eyes, willing himself to relax against Declan and to forget the intrusion of bad thoughts forcing their way into his brain. "No one has ever loved me the way you do, Declan. I’m scared. What if it all just goes away one day? What if I start to count on you, and then someday, you’re not there anymore?"

The panic in Birkoff’s voice was real. Declan knew enough not to dismiss Birkoff’s fears as unrealistic. Coming from someone with his history, Birkoff’s fears might very well be justified in his mind. Birkoff opened his eyes, their velvety depths even darker than usual. He turned to face Declan, almost in tears. "Everyone I love leaves me. They always go away. The more I love you, the more it’s going to hurt when you go."

"I’m not going to leave you, Sey. I’m going to stay right here with you, and I’m going to hold onto you until you feel safe again, okay?" Declan’s voice was soft and soothing, but most of all, it was reassuring.

Birkoff buried his face against Declan’s neck and cried. Declan never paused in stroking the back of Birkoff’s head, not even when his own tears nearly blinded him. "You promised me forever, dammit, I’m never going to let you go, Sey," he whispered, his breath ruffling Birkoff’s hair.

"Everyone else did," came the muffled reply.

"I’m not like everyone else, Sey. Haven’t you figured that out yet?" He pulled Birkoff’s face up, his fingers unconsciously splayed across both cheeks, and kissed him gently.

"Look into my eyes and tell me what you see. Tell me you don’t see the one who’s going to love you till the day you draw your last breath on earth. Cause that’s who the bloody hell I am. And I’ll fight for you and for us with the last breath in my body, if that’s what it takes to undo all the bad programming in your head." Declan spoke with such ferocity, he never registered that his own tears had spilled onto his cheeks. It wasn’t until Birkoff touched his face that Declan knew he was crying, too.

"God, Declan..."

"And I won’t let you ruin the beautiful memories we just made here, Sey. You’ll just have to break my heart some other day."

Birkoff shook his head, his lower lip quivering. "I don’t want to break your heart, Declan. I love you. Can you heal what’s wrong with me?"

"We have to heal each other, Sey. I don’t see any other way for it to work." Birkoff clung to Declan, as if no amount of prying would ever turn him loose, and Declan wondered if he’d succeeded in breaking through to his lover. He hoped so.

***

Nikita blinked. The color of the paint she was using was smeared all over her face. And hands. And T-shirt. How did that happen? Oh, yes. The twins were helping her paint Declan and Birkoff’s suite. Glaring at her husband, who reclined quite peacefully on the bed, watching his family work, Nikita said, "Tell me again why I thought this was such a cute idea."

"You agreed that the Rubenesque nudes were de trop, Kita. You said that Declan and Birkoff would be, let me see, how did you put it? Exhausted. Or sunburned. Or both. " Michael smiled crookedly at his children.

Faith giggled, her hand barely big enough to hold the small paint brush. "Mom-mom, look me."

She had smudges of blue paint all over her. She would require several days’ scrubbing to remove all that. Despite that, Nikita laughed at her daughter. She was so like herself at that age, at least, as much as she remembered. But it was rather disconcerting to see herself in someone who, on the outside, resembled Michael.

"Blue baby," said Faith, demonstrating remarkable insight by pointing at herself.

"You certainly are," Nikita commented. She put down her paint brush and picked up her daughter. Faith chortled happily. "Blue!"

Feeling something like the Grinch, Nikita suggested a bath. That idea met with immediate disfavor. Faith squirmed in her arms, trying to get free, and suddenly Nikita felt blue. All over. Faith had decorated Nikita’s face. "Um, Michael, this paint is washable, isn’t it?"

Michael chuckled. "Eventually, Kita. It might take a couple of days to wear off."

"No!"

"I’m kidding, Kita. Of course, it’s washable. Non-toxic, too. So the kids can’t hurt themselves."

She sighed with relief, wiping her face with her hand, not realizing she’d left yet another streak there.

Michael grinned. It was probably not a good idea to mention that right now.

Chris looked at Faith, being held by their mother. That didn’t sit well with the little prince at all. His blue eyes, so like Nikita’s but a shade darker, turned surprisingly stormy. Not one given to temper tantrums, as that was his sister’s province, nevertheless the heir apparent had something to say. "Mom! Up! Me too!"

"I don’t think so, my love. Mommy’s got her arms full."

Chris looked at his mother as if to say, I can see that, and I don’t particularly care for it either. He opened his mouth, clearly intending to shout or scream or something, but Michael scrambled off the bed and scooped his son off the floor. Chris stared at his father, as if he knew this was nice, but it wasn’t exactly what he’d asked for.

Michael found himself looking intently into Chris’ eyes, so like Nikita’s in color, but their expression was definitely his. It was like looking into a mirror. Michael buried his face in Chris’ baby soft hair and nuzzled him affectionately, trying to provoke some reaction other than the disconcertingly adult-like blank stare. Suddenly, as if he’d decided something, Chris hugged his father, yelling in his ear, "Dad-dy! Me!"

Chris was claiming his father for himself, and to heck with Faith. Daddy’s girl, indeed.

***

Declan held Birkoff for a long time, rocking him in his arms gently, back and forth. He thought he slept. Maybe they both did. All he knew was, when he regained some sense and sensibility, Birkoff was his again. He needed unconditional love. Hell, so did he. Didn’t everyone?

They helped each other get dressed, Declan wincing as his now-dry T-shirt pulled at his sunburned skin. Birkoff stared at him. "Jeez, Declan, you’re the color of a cherry tomato."

"Guess you won’t be touching me tonight, Sey. I’ll be lucky if I don’t come down with sun poisoning."

Birkoff looked vaguely alarmed. "I’m sorry."

"I’m not. I wouldn’t trade this sunburn for a single moment today."

Birkoff blushed interestingly. "Um..."

Declan refused to let Birkoff get away with that this time, holding onto his chin with his hand. "What we have is special, every bit as special as what Michael and Nikita have. If you don’t believe that, like I do, you’re lying to yourself."

Birkoff smiled, affection very clearly in his eyes, but his attempts to find a non-sunburned spot on Declan’s body to touch met with failure. "I’d show you how much I care, Dec, but there’s no place left to kiss."

Declan’s expression enlightened him without saying a single word.

***

When they finally headed for the chateau, shadows were beginning to appear in some areas of the forest. Declan leaned heavily on Birkoff, careful not to let any of the more sensitive areas of his body touch him. He felt like he was on fire. And it was a little too much of a good thing, at this point.

Birkoff just wanted to get something to eat and lie down, in that order. It had been a totally unique day, but he was both hungry and concerned about Declan. Sun poisoning was a very real possibility.

How would they explain some of the places he was sunburned?

***

Michael surveyed the walls and ceiling of the suite. The blue that Nikita had chosen was a shade not unlike Wedgwood Blue, the color made famous by the designers of the English china. It was a major improvement. But the smell...he didn’t think that anyone could sleep in here tonight. He would see that Declan and Birkoff were moved into another room for the night.

Birkoff had all he could do to help Declan upstairs. He was in a fair degree of pain. Michael took one look at Declan’s blistered lips and called for a doctor. He didn’t ask what the two of them had been doing, the expression in his eyes curiously sympathetic.

Declan said, "I’ve been abroad in the noonday sun."

Michael looked askance. "I thought that was only mad dogs and Englishmen."

"Aye, but apparently bloody thick-headed Irishmen as well. Sey, next time I get the brilliant idea of taking off my clothes in the heat of the day, you have my permission to thrash me soundly. I’d do better to go dancing with the banshees by the light of the full moon."

Declan glanced at the walls briefly before saying, "Nice color". Then he collapsed in Birkoff’s arms.

***

When Declan came to, he was in bed. In a different room. No amply-endowed naked women leering down at him. Just a worried-looking Birkoff sitting by his side, clutching his hand.

As Declan gradually focused his eyes, he realized that it was the same room. But without the nude ladies. The walls were a different color than they had been.

"How long have I been sleeping?" he asked sleepily, expecting the answer to be somewhere around a couple of hours.

"Two days."

All at once Declan realized that it must be true. He no longer felt as hot. His body didn’t feel as though his skin was about to peel off anymore.

"You had an IV for the dehydration for about 24 hours."

Declan finally registered how worried Birkoff looked. "Was it that bad then?"

Birkoff nodded. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob.

"Oh, come on, surely not."

"You’ve been here the entire time?"

He nodded again, a tear sliding out from one dark chocolate eye. "I was afraid maybe you were going to die on me."

Declan grabbed Birkoff’s hand and kissed it. "I told you I wasn’t going to leave you, Sey. Damned if I don’t always mean what I say."

Since Michael achieved his heart’s desire by regaining the chateau, he had sent all of the paying customers away, turning the chateau into a strictly residential summer home for the family. Unfortunately, for the family, that meant that there was no longer a cook. Equally unfortunately, due to Declan’s sudden incapacitation, he could not cook. That left the unthinkable.

Nikita told Declan not to worry about a thing. She was going to fix everyone breakfast. Michael regarded his wife with something akin to a cross between horror and amusement. "But Kita, you haven’t cooked anything since Declan came."

She stuck out her tongue at Michael, simultaneously donning a pink apron decorated with ladybugs. "How hard could one meal be, Michael?"

Michael muttered to himself and shook his head. It was somehow agreed then that Nikita would cook, or try, while Michael watched the twins. That was a task easier said than done. Faith and Chris were full of energy this morning. They were racing back and forth, playing hide and seek with Michael’s legs at the moment. Giggling and shrieking gaily, the twins were a blur of constant movement as well as a source of some of the world’s most high-pitched sounds.

Faith screamed at Chris, "Look! Look!" Chris always seemed mildly perplexed by his sister’s commands. Sometimes they made perfect sense to him, sometimes he could hardly guess what she meant. Perhaps communication would improve as their vocabulary and language skills expanded.

Chris raised an eyebrow at Faith, in a gesture that made him look like his father, despite the difference in their coloring. Michael chuckled. He’d never known a toddler could achieve a perfect look of disdain like that. "Kita," he called, "do I look like that?"

She turned, pushing her hair back from her face with a suspiciously white hand. After she touched her nose, there was a white spot there, too. It was flour. There was flour involved? Oh, no, this was dangerous territory for Nikita. Her exploits as a non-cook were well-documented.

"You did, Michael. When we were at Section. You used to do that a lot."

"But I don’t anymore?"

"Well, hardly ever."

He nodded, opening the newspaper, but actually lost in thought. He was so preoccupied, when the twins finally settled down and behaved, he barely noticed. That must have been why he failed to notice they were missing right away.

***

Something smelled like it was burning. Nikita shouted, "I need a fire extinguisher!"

Michael’s head snapped up at once. He dropped the newspaper and grabbed the extinguisher from under the sink. Within seconds, breakfast lay smoking lifelessly on the stove. Nikita was near tears. "It was going so well...I only turned my back for a moment..."

Michael put the extinguisher down and wrapped his arms around his wife. "It’s okay, doucette. You tried," he said kindly. "We appreciate the thought."

She wiped her eyes and looked into Michael’s affectionate green eyes. "Michael?’

"Yes, love?"

"How come the kids are so quiet?"

Michael’s eyes widened just enough that Nikita could tell she’d taken him by surprise. "Merde!" He whirled around and stared at the place where he’d seen them last. They were no longer there.

Or anywhere in the kitchen.

***

"Michael!" Nikita laced into her husband. "You were supposed to be watching them!"

"I was." Nevertheless, he looked terribly guilty. He was watching them. They were playing under the table where he was sitting. Faith kept trying to climb into his lap, and Chris kept pulling her off. They started to yell at each other, and then at him, presumably for mediation of their dispute. Until he separated them. He made them play in opposite corners of the kitchen, certain that they could not get into trouble that way. Now they were gone. He should have anticipated this.

"They were harassing me and--" Michael began to explain, but Nikita cut him off sharply.

"They’re just babies, Michael! And you, you’ve got the patience of a saint normally! What happened?"

"Well, I don’t usually have both of them coming at me at the same time, Kita! They’re just starting to play together, instead of apart! And they were double-teaming me!"

"Don’t yell at me, Michael!" Nikita shouted, her face flushed from the heat in the kitchen as well as anxiety.

He stared at her helplessly. "I was doing the best that I could, Kita." He turned away from her, worried now that his children were missing, and it was all his fault.

"I’ll find them," he vowed, not knowing where to look first.

"You don’t even know where to look," she cried.

That was true. Michael’s eyes blurred with tears. He didn’t like feeling powerless at any time, but this situation was tearing him apart. He needed help. Declan was out of the picture, but he could use Birkoff’s eyes and ears.

***

His wife’s accusations still ringing in his ears, Michael ran upstairs to the suite Birkoff shared with Declan. Pounding anxiously on the door, he was met by a very surprised Birkoff, who immediately took in Michael’s demeanor and opened the door wide. "What’s wrong?"

Michael told Birkoff what happened, omitting nothing, not even sparing himself in the telling. "One minute they were right there, and the next..."

Declan sat up slowly in bed. "You need to stop blaming yourself, Michael. I’ve taken both kids at one time, and let me tell you, they’re quick and they’re mischievous. They’re prolly hiding right now, listening to their parents going crazy."

"They’re not old enough to do that sort of thing, Declan."

"Wrong. They’re very precocious, Michael. I dunno why you haven’t noticed that." Declan climbed out of bed, and when he started to sway woozily, Birkoff was at his side in an instant.

"Declan, let me help Michael. You need to stay in bed."

Michael nodded at Birkoff. "You’d better stay here, Declan."

Declan shrugged. "Okay, but do me a favor, Michael. Don’t underestimate those two. Faith, now she’s the ringleader, little anarchist that she is."

"Declan!" Michael’s mouth dropped open.

Declan laughed. "Sorry to disillusion you, Michael, but your daughter is no longer the precious fairy princess. Except maybe when she’s asleep."

Michael sat down shakily on the bed. Birkoff looked at him, concerned. "Are you all right, Michael?"

"Yes," he said tersely. "Only it would seem that I don’t even know my own kids anymore."

Declan rubbed Michael’s shoulder. "I didn’t mean to make it sound that way, Michael. I’ve never seen any man as devoted as you are to his kids. I mean that. But if they’re missing, we need to be as realistic as possible and know exactly what we’re dealing with here."

Michael nodded. "What about Chris?"

"Chris will follow Faith. I know he’s your son, Michael, and I had such high hopes for him developing into this wonderfully autonomous little boy, not unlike you. But he seems content to follow, not to lead." Declan shook his head. "Sorry," he added, as if he knew this information would somehow disappoint Michael.

Michael considered that. But then, Chris and Faith mirrored their parents’ personalities in so many ways. If Faith was like Nikita, she would lead, or try to, but if Chris was like him, he would follow her, but only up to a point. Love only took you so far. At some point, their paths would diverge for some reason. And he just knew that Chris was more like him than even Declan believed. Chris might take the path of least resistance right now, but if he were challenged...

***

Some time later...

Nikita was in tears. She refused to let Michael hold her or even touch her, apparently blaming him for what happened.

Michael paced back and forth, his booted feet making a soft thump every time they hit the floor.

"Would you please stop that?" Nikita said, gritting her teeth angrily.

"Stop what? Breathing? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?" Michael’s eyes glittered dangerously, tears threatening to spill over at any moment. He was damn worried about the kids, but he was more worried about Nikita’s reaction. It wasn’t just her blaming him, but the way she pushed him away. They always stood together in a crisis. Even if one of them was to blame. Which was usually the case.

Nikita suddenly sank down to her knees, sobbing, and Michael disregarded her feeble commands to stay away. "I won’t stay away, Kita. I need you. And you need me. Whether you like me right now or not."

She leaned against the wall, her knees drawn up against her chest, as if she could somehow make herself smaller. She fought with herself for several moments, but she knew Michael was right. "Oh, Michael...." she said, reaching out for him. In a heartbeat, he had her in his arms, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, clinging to him.

He rocked her back and forth, as they sat on the floor, near the table where Michael had been sitting when the children disappeared. He closed his eyes, and his own tears merged with Nikita’s.

Suddenly his eyes shot open. Down here, on the floor, they were on the children’s level. They could see things that an adult wouldn’t see. He noticed the fine line that traced its way down the wall and wondered out loud.

"Nikita...I think I know where they are."