Declan kissed Chris goodnight and tucked in the little boy carefully, knowing he was only putting off the inevitable confrontation with Michael and Nikita. His hand still hurt, a reminder of what happened at the posh restaurant earlier. A forewarning of what was yet to come.

"I would do it again," he murmured almost inaudibly.

Birkoff blinked owlishly. "What did you say, Declan?"

"Nothing, Sey. Just mumbling to myself." Declan smiled far too brightly and too briefly.

"Declan...are you sure we should tell them the truth?"

"That’s the one thing I am sure of, Sey."

***

There was a sitting room on the first floor that Michael and Nikita used as a living room. It was a comfortable room. Cozy, even. Under normal circumstances.

Nikita’s conversation with Michael had mellowed her considerably. Michael was sitting in an overstuffed wing chair, Nikita on his lap, her arm around him. Her long legs were hanging over the side of the chair. She looked like a kitten about to drop off to sleep, her big blue eyes blinking every few seconds.

As for Michael, he was no longer tense, but relaxed. With the children safely asleep upstairs, he had only one person left to worry about, and she was right here, where he could touch her. Now he could move on to the more sensible members of the family. Birkoff and Declan.

But if Michael and Nikita’s body language indicated a certain degree of relaxation, Birkoff and Declan looked anything but relaxed. Declan was sitting on the edge of a chair similar to Michael’s. He was anxiously twisting the silver Claddagh ring around his ring finger. Over and over. It was bothering Birkoff. To the point where he wanted to wrench Declan’s hands apart and hold onto him until he stopped. Birkoff regarded Michael and Nikita with something akin to worry. Well, he wasn’t all that worried. If Declan left, for any reason, Birkoff would go with him. Declan was his life.

Nikita saw Declan’s fidgeting and took pity on the man. "Declan, this isn’t an inquisition. We just want to know what happened. That’s all." Her kind voice was nearly Declan’s undoing.

He took a deep breath, glanced at Birkoff, who grasped Declan’s hand firmly, and tried to explain. "I made an error in judgment."

Birkoff disagreed and he said so. "No, Declan. You weren’t wrong. I was there, remember?"

Michael put up his hands and said calmly, "Why don’t you start at the beginning?"

Declan cleared his throat. "We went to Chez Jacques."

Michael stared at Declan. "With the kids?" Michael caught himself before he blurted out, "What? Are you crazy?"

Declan caught the gleam in Michael’s eyes and cocked his head at the older man. "You’re familiar with it?"

Michael gave Declan an enigmatic look. "Sort of."

"The kids were pretty good, actually, weren’t they, Declan?" Birkoff nudged Declan’s side, but Declan demurred.

"Not really," Declan disagreed.

Michael almost grinned at the easy way Birkoff tried to support Declan, even to the point of lying for him. How very like him and Nikita.

"They weren’t that bad either, though, Michael. They weren’t running around like wild Indians or anything. They were just being active toddlers. Who...um...didn’t feel like eating."

Michael laughed out loud. "Chris didn’t feel like eating? We are talking about my son? And Faith? Who eats like there is no tomorrow?"

Nikita smiled mischievously. "So what were they doing besides not eating, Declan?"

Declan mumbled something under his breath. Nikita strained to hear him, but could not make out the words. "What?"

Declan repeated it equally unintelligibly.

"What? Declan, speak up, for God’s sake."

"I said, they were flinging food at us!" Declan roared.

Nikita stopped and stared at Declan. Then she collapsed into helpless laughter, her entire body shaking. Michael felt the vibrations running through him and wrapped his arms around his wife. "Kita, that’s very...distracting."

Nikita looked at Michael then, tears of laughter in her eyes. "Sorry, love, but honestly...a food fight in that place?"

Declan thought it was going well. Maybe they would not remember to ask about how his hand got bruised. It was just the ending to the story. That’s all.

"Some of the patrons were giving us dirty looks, Michael. So we left."

"Just like that? Without any, oh, I don’t know, managerial intervention?"

Michael’s wry expression took Declan by surprise. "You mean, did the management ask us to leave?"

"Yes."

Declan sank back into his chair, searching for Birkoff’s hand again. "Hold onto me, Sey," he whispered. "I’m going in."

Birkoff sat on the wing of Declan’s chair, placing his other hand on the back of Declan’s neck. At any other time, Declan would have taken it as a reassuring gesture. But right now, he was past feeling anything that simple.

"They did ask us to leave, yes."

"Did they say why?"

"The maitre d’ was..." Declan sighed heavily. "...a bigot and a jerk. He said the kids were too...active. I said something to the effect that we liked them that way."

Nikita almost applauded. "Good for you, Declan." She knew her faith was not misplaced. Declan was a staunch defender of the children. There had to be a reasonable explanation, and now she was beginning to understand what happened.

"Then what? How did your hand get bruised? Who did you hit?"

"The snooty maitre d’!" Birkoff blurted out, proud of Declan’s automatic defense of him.

Michael’s eyes narrowed. "That was a chance you took, Declan. If we call too much attention to ourselves, we could lose our chance to live out our lives in peace here." That was too terrible to contemplate. To have to split up, go their separate ways, find new places to live. Break up the family? Michael shivered.

Declan hung his head in shame, his normally pale face flushed. "I’m sorry, Michael. I wouldn’t jeopardize your lives for anything."

"Our lives? Declan, what about yours? And Birkoff’s?"

Declan drew in a shaky breath, but before he could speak, Birkoff interjected. "Michael, that’s who he was protecting. Me."

Michael blinked. "You?"

Birkoff nodded.

"Okay, you left out something, Declan. How did we get from protecting the kids to protecting Birkoff? And don’t forget hitting the maitre d’."

Declan winced, as if just remembering this part bothered him. Great, he’d spared Birkoff’s feelings once, and finally, Birkoff didn’t care what the maitre d’ said. But now...it was all going to come out anyway.

"Birkoff was trying to be supportive. He put his hand on my arm. That’s all. I swear."

Nikita frowned in puzzlement. "So what’s wrong with that?"

Declan looked down at his hands and twisted the Claddagh ring several more times. "I guess the maitre d’ took exception to our relationship," he said softly.

Michael sat up straighter in his chair, and Nikita moved out of his lap, sensing he might even want to get up. "What did he say?"

Declan laughed inappropriately. "Isn’t that the question on everybody’s lips?"

"Declan...I’m not asking if you had sufficient reason to hit the man. I assume you did. I want to know what he said."

Declan closed his eyes tightly and Birkoff squeezed his hand on the back of Declan’s neck. Birkoff could see Declan’s pain and it brought tears to his eyes.

"Tell him, Declan," Birkoff encouraged. Then he turned to Michael and said sadly, "He wouldn’t even tell me, Michael. I doubt if he’s going to tell you."

Declan whipped his head around, dislodging the thong holding back his long red hair. "You want to hurt like this, too, Sey?"

Michael stood, but not in an effort to intimidate Declan. He couldn’t sit still any longer. Now that he had told Declan that he was part of the family, in fact, like the brother he never had, he felt Declan’s pain as if it were his own.

Michael didn’t even think, he reacted. He knelt by Declan’s chair, trying to get Declan’s attention. "Tell me, Declan. Give your pain to me," Michael said in a low but commanding voice.

Declan stared at Michael, horrified that he was going to disgrace himself and cry in front of him. "Jesus! He called Sey a queer, Michael, and he said, it was no surprise to him that the children acted like little animals. Cause that’s what we were."

Declan buried his face in his hands, hearing the maitre d’s ugly voice in his head all over again. Birkoff leaned on Declan’s back, wrapping his arms around him as tightly as he could. Birkoff felt the tears bubbling at the back of his throat, but he refused to give in to the urge to cry. He wanted to be strong for Declan.

Michael felt Nikita behind him. Her kind heart couldn’t take the way Declan was crying. She knelt by Michael’s side, and soon, the three of them were hugging Declan, trying to surround him with their love and acceptance.

When Declan finally raised his head, he saw that there were tears in the others’ eyes, even Michael’s. That took him aback. He knew that Michael had said he cared about him like he would a brother. But until now, that had just been words. Pretty words, but words just the same. Now Michael was making his feelings real to Declan.

"I didn’t think, Michael, I just reacted. I could no more stop hitting that man than stop a train. And the worst part is, I would do it again. I know I would."

Declan regarded Michael tearfully, and the older man not only embraced Declan, but said, in a very emotional tone, "I would do the same thing, if someone attacked my Kita, Declan. There’s nothing different about what you did."

Declan losed his eyes gratefully, tears sliding out from under his eyelashes. Birkoff lay his head on Declan’s back, his own tears released at last. He rubbed Declan’s back with one hand, trying vainly to wipe away the tears with the other.

Long moments passed in comfortable silence. Eventually, things returned to normal, and the level of tension in the room dropped to a manageable level.

Michael slowly stood up, holding onto his wife’s hand, to help her up. He reached a hand out to Declan, tapping him on the shoulder. "This maitre d’...does he have a name?"

Declan grimaced. "You don’t want to go there, Michael. Maybe the whole thing will blow over if we just keep a low profile."

Michael pondered. "How come Birkoff didn’t know what he said?"

"He spoke in French."

"You understand French, Declan?"

Declan shifted uneasily. "Yes."

Birkoff chimed in helpfully, "He speaks it fluently, Michael."

Michael crossed his arms and smiled. "Now I know why Faith and Chris are picking up the language so quickly. It’s not just me, is it?"

Declan smiled crookedly. "It’s just...I thought it might please you..."

"It does, Declan. God, you have no idea." Michael beamed at Declan, even as he pulled Nikita into his arms.

Nikita turned to Michael, a mischievous look in her eyes. "How do you think he does with wives?"

Declan blinked curiously. "Excuse me?"

Birkoff glanced at Declan, then at Michael and Nikita. "Pretty damn well, if you ask me."

The men laughed, knowing what Birkoff was referring to, but Nikita was out of the loop. Still, she didn’t mind. She put her arms around Michael’s neck. "I mean, it would never do to have a French wife who couldn’t speak the language, would it?"

Michael sighed contentedly. He was lying in Nikita’s arms, his shaggy head against her chest. She lay her chin on top of his head, gently stroking his hair, pressing an occasional kiss to it. They were in their now-favorite place. The top of the hill, overlooking the chateau. Michael’s horse grazed peacefully nearby, tied to a lowlying branch of a majestic oak tree. Sometimes Michael felt so free up there. It was where he went to think, and where they went to dream about what was yet to come.

"Kita?"

"Yes, my love?"

"I brought us up here to renovate the chateau. But we don’t seem to be doing much in the way of renovations."

"Are you asking me or telling me, love?"

Michael smiled faintly. "I think somewhere along the way, our priorities changed, doucette."

"Is that a bad thing, Michael?" She kissed his hair, threading her fingers through the silky strands that curled at the back.

"Not bad, just different." He ran his hand along her thigh, and Nikita shivered in anticipation.

He looked up at her, turning his face up for a real kiss, and Nikita obliged. "Mmm, Michael...we would make love even if we weren’t trying to have another baby...so don’t fool yourself."

He laughed as he reached for her, pulling her face down to his for a longer, deeper kiss. "You know? I think I need to gather some more intel..."

***

Declan pulled a slouch hat over his head, in a perhaps futile effort to avoid the sun’s rays. His skin was too fair for the intensity of the sun up here, but as long as he kept his body well-covered, he would be in no danger of repeating his earlier mistake. Another bout with sun poisoning did not sit well with him. So he would be as vigilant as possible.

He wore a long-sleeved shirt, despite the heat of the day, but it did nothing to detract from his dangerously good looks. Birkoff admired Declan from a distance, watching him as Declan strode towards one of the many workmen now hired to help renovate the chateau.

Though Michael favored a hands-on approach to the renovation, he was willing to rearrange his priorities to those of an overseer. Getting Nikita pregnant had become the top priority in Michael’s head, and even restoring the chateau to its former glory paled in significance in his mind.

Declan stopped in his tracks, perhaps feeling Birkoff’s gaze on him, perhaps not. He shook his head and continued. The workman studied Declan, his eyes impudently raking Declan’s body from head to toe. Whatever the workman said to Declan was lost to Birkoff, who was too far away to hear actual words. But Declan laughed, his face transformed into a thing of beauty to behold. Birkoff leaned his face on his crossed arms and sighed. Declan was so beautiful. And he was his.

Declan continued to chat animatedly with the workman, and gradually Birkoff became aware that something else was going on. Some undercurrent he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Some feeling he couldn’t put a name to. Something like...jealousy?

Strangely enough, Birkoff could have withstood another attack on himself or Declan, if that had come. He and Declan had faced that crisis together, and when they came out on the other side of it, they were both far stronger for it. But this...this workman was coming on to Declan. He was sure of it. But he wasn’t sure what annoyed him more. That the workman was flirting with Declan. Or that Declan was apparently not only allowing it, but enjoying it.

Birkoff refused to call out to Declan and make his presence known. He simply stood there and continued to watch the two men talk...and talk...Birkoff sulkily removed himself from the scene a moment later, unable to watch the byplay any longer. That was too bad. If he had stayed on the scene, he would have seen that Declan was patting the man on the shoulder and taking his leave.

Declan moved on to the next order of business, not really thinking about anything but the work that still needed to be done. He flitted from one workman to another, passing on Michael’s instructions about the restoration work. It never occurred to him that Birkoff had been watching him. Or that Birkoff was now jealous.

At lunchtime, Declan went into the kitchen, surprised to find Birkoff up. "We had a late night. How come you’re up so early?"

"I hardly think 1pm is early, Declan." The frost in Birkoff’s tone was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Declan shrugged. "Okay. It’s your body."

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Birkoff glared at Declan, a frown forming between his eyebrows.

Declan should have paid more attention. He really should have. "Nothing much. Just that if you don’t get enough sleep, and then you feel lousy, it’s your problem, boyo. Not mine."

"If I feel lousy, maybe it’s not cause I didn’t get enough sleep, Declan. Ever think of that?"

Declan glanced at Birkoff, still not comprehending the source of Birkoff’s disaffection. He poured himself a glass of milk and began to drink it, not noticing how Birkoff stared at him. Hungrily. His dark eyes poring over the length of Declan’s throat.

Birkoff didn’t want to feel jealous. It seemed like such a petty emotion. He believed that Declan was faithful to him. But what if Declan were tempted? What if the workman had something Birkoff didn’t?

Declan put the glass down on the table and turned to open the refrigerator. Birkoff put his hand out and slammed the refrigerator door shut again. Declan glanced at Birkoff, more than a bit startled. "What was that for?"

"Don’t you know? Declan! How can you be so...so...smart about some things and so....dumb...about others?"

Declan blinked. "This is about something I’m supposed to know? Or am I supposed to read your mind, acushla?"

Birkoff almost screamed. "Don’t call me darling when I’m ticked off, Dec!"

"I guess this wouldn’t be a good time to mention that you look wonderful when you’re angry..." Declan offered with a gentle smile.

Birkoff simmered. Declan grasped at straws. "Uhhh...enlighten me, please, Sey..."

Birkoff leaned against Declan’s body, and Declan found himself trapped next to the refrigerator. He’d never seen Birkoff quite this passionately aroused, outside of lovemaking. It was a bit scary. Declan protested weakly, "Now, don’t make me hurt you, Sey."

"Declan!" Birkoff slipped his emotional leash, suddenly grabbing Declan’s groin. Birkoff slid one hand over Declan’s lower body, feeling Declan harden instantly beneath his grip. "This...belongs to me."

Declan winced slightly. "Well, not exactly, Sey. It belonged to me first. And I’m kind of attached to it, actually. It--" Birkoff’s grip on Declan’s arousal tightened.

"Then keep it in your pants, Declan."

Declan’s storm-grey eyes widened. "I do! I mean, it follows me wherever I go, Sey, it has to!"

Birkoff groaned in exasperation. "Declan, you can be funny any other time, but not now."

"Funny? You think this is funny?" Declan immediately turned the tables on Birkoff, not only releasing himself expertly from Birkoff’s grip, but slamming Birkoff up against the refrigerator. All without even breaking a sweat. Or breathing hard. Well, he was in fact breathing hard. Because what Birkoff did, albeit by accident, aroused him. Unbearably.

Declan shifted his leg so that his arousal pressed firmly against Birkoff’s groin. "If you want it, you can have it. Any time, acushla. But you have to ask first. And you’d better ask me nicely, too."

Birkoff closed his eyes and sank against the refrigerator door. "I’m sorry, Declan..." he whispered.

Declan slid his hands under Birkoff’s hair and kissed him. Far more gently than he was feeling inside. "You want to tell me what this is all about, Sey?" He said in a low voice.

Birkoff shuddered. "I can’t stand the thought of you being with someone else, Declan."

Declan nodded. "I gathered that much. But what brought this on?"

"Seeing you outside. With the workmen. You looked so beautiful, Declan. Your hair was like fire. Your eyes are like the rain."

"I’ve never known you to be so damned poetic, Sey." Declan released Birkoff from his embrace and stepped back, pulling off his hat and flinging it across the kitchen table.

"I was thinking about how glad I was that you were mine." Birkoff started to say, but Declan cut him off.

"Then what happened?"

"That workman out there...he was...appreciating you...too much."

Declan laughed shortly. "You’ve got to be bloody kidding."

Birkoff protested, more vigorously. "He was eating you up, Declan."

Declan grinned. "He’d never get close enough, Sey."

Declan leaned against the door of the kitchen, his booted feet crossed at the ankle, his arms folded neatly. "Funny you should have noticed that, Sey. It wasn’t me he was appreciating at all."

Birkoff gasped. "What?"

"He’s got a mad passionate crush on Michael. I tried to tell him Michael is straighter than straight, but he won’t listen. Want to be around when he confronts Michael with his feelings?"

"Hell, no! You got a nice big place to hide?"

Declan snorted. "Oh, come on, Sey, you know Michael isn’t like that. Grab a hold of yourself." Declan winked at Birkoff. "You should pardon the expression."

Birkoff laughed despite himself. He tentatively reached out to Declan, feeling reassured the moment he touched Declan, because Declan pulled Birkoff the rest of the way into his arms. Pressing his face to Declan’s chest, Birkoff whispered, "God, I was so jealous, Declan."

Declan wrapped his arms around his lover. "You know there was no need, Sey."

"My head told me that. But I kept feeling it just the same."

"I love you, acushla. Only you. You got that, Sey?" Declan felt Birkoff nodding against his chest. Declan grabbed Birkoff by the hair, pulling him back far enough to kiss him. Avidly. Repeatedly.

Declan slipped a hand inside of Birkoff’s jeans, unsnapping the top, feeling the zipper move under his fingers. Still, he never took his eyes off Birkoff’s face. "You want me to prove how much I love you?"

"Is that even possible?" Birkoff asked, his heart in his eyes.

Declan smiled slowly. "I can only try...."

"You two are like bunnies, I swear." Nikita’s voice sounded unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent chateau.

"Lost your thong again, Declan," Nikita chirped cheerfully as she entered the kitchen.

When she passed Declan, she gave a sidelong glance to Birkoff, who had his back to her and who was so obviously attempting to fasten his jeans. She smacked Birkoff on his backside. "Nice shorts, Sey-mour..."

Birkoff flamed bright red. "Nikita!"

Nikita winked naughtily at Declan. "Did I interrupt something? Oh, my, I guess I did."

Declan regained his composure as he belatedly remembered what Nikita called them when she first came in. "Bunnies? We’re bunnies? That’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?"

Nikita grinned mischievously at the two young men. "I know. Just call me the expert on splendor in the grass..." She wound her arms up over her head and laughed.

Even Birkoff laughed at that, forgetting his embarrassment at being caught more or less in flagrante.

Declan sighed. "You poor girl...not pregnant yet? What you must suffer through on an hourly--er, daily basis." Declan’s expression remained bland, but his tone was anything but.

Nikita giggled. "You calling me a slut, Declan?"

"If the shoe fits, princess..."

"Hmm..." she pondered, pausing as her husband wearily trudged through the doorway, his back slightly sunburned.

Declan whooped when he saw Michael’s back. "Well, now that’s a fine example to be setting the children, Michael. Going around outside without a shirt on." Declan snickered, and Birkoff knew immediately what he was thinking. This would drive that workman mad for certain.

"Where are the kids, Declan?"

"Down for a nap. They put up a good fight, but when they gave in, they went wholeheartedly, Nikita."

Declan waved at Nikita, beckoning her closer. She inclined her head and Declan whispered something that Michael could not hear. Michael looked mildly rebuffed, but waited patiently for someone to explain.

Nikita glanced at Michael, clapped a hand over her mouth and tried to stifle a burst of laughter that rose up in her throat. Michael looked from one to the other. Suddenly all three of them were hysterical, with only Michael left in the dark.

"What’s so funny?"

Michael’s query came about one moment too late. He was about to find out.

A workman, dressed casually in jeans and a faded T-shirt, stood before them in the kitchen doorway. "I knocked, but no one answered. I guess no one heard me."

The workman was good looking in a rugged way. His hair was fair and on the longish side, his eyes an indeterminate shade of brown. He was tall and muscular, the tautness of his body undoubtedly the result of hours of manual labor daily.

Michael studied the man, who was approximately his age. "Can we help you with something?"

The workman smiled. "Sure can. I was just wondering..."

Everyone in the room except for Michael took a deep breath and held it.

"Are you attached to anyone in particular?" His frank appraisal of Michael left nothing to the imagination.

Michael stared at the man. "Excusez-moi?" he said, so surprised, he lapsed into French.

Declan put his arm around Birkoff’s neck and whispered, "If he says, ‘Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?’, we’re out of here."

Nikita drew herself up proudly. "He’s with me."

The workman looked unperturbed. "Nice job on the make-up, sweetheart."

Nikita blushed and buried her face against Michael’s shoulder. Michael frowned. "Who are you calling ‘sweetheart’?"

"Your friend here." The workman flicked a thumb at Nikita.

Declan chortled. "Yeah, you’d never ever guess she wasn’t a real woman, would you?"

Birkoff stared blankly at Declan, then collapsed in a fit of helpless laughter.

Nikita smiled at the workman, as if he were a slow-witted stranger. "Yeah, ever since I had the operation, I’ve been a new woman."

Michael looked at Nikita like she’d lost her mind. "What operation?"

She met his eyes evenly. "The sex-change. Remember, darling?" she drawled.

Michael blinked. Suddenly grasping what the conversation was really about, Michael wondered why it had taken him so long to guess. He must be more tired than he suspected.

"Uh, what’s your name?" Michael addressed the workman.

"Marcel." The workman made no secret of the fact that he found Michael attractive, even desirable. It didn’t upset Michael. It made him laugh.

"Marcel...I have some people I’d like you to meet."

Marcel, undoubtedly anticipating something quite different from what Michael had planned, licked his lips, pondering having his way with both Michael and Nikita. Perhaps Declan, too.

Michael indicated that everyone should stay right where they were. He vanished from the room, but in a few short moments, he was back.

Holding one of the twins in each arm.

"These are my kids, Marcel. My son, Chris. And my daughter, Faith. Perhaps you would like to repeat your unsolicited invitation in front of them?"d

"Merde! What are you, some kind of a pervert or something?" The workman stomped outside in a clatter of boots and a jingling of his toolbelt. He was gone. Probably forever.

Michael smiled with equanimity. "I think that got rid of him, doucette. What do you think?"

Nikita stared at Michael in awe. "I think you’re completely crazy, but then, so am I, cause I love you."

Declan leaned on Birkoff’s shoulder. "Does this mean I don’t have to give him severance pay, Michael?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

Michael smiled. "You set me up, didn’t you?"

"No, no, we didn’t. He just told me that he had this mad crush on you, I swear. He put his own foot in his mouth, thank you very much," Declan said in a veritable flurry of words.

"He caused enough trouble this morning, flirting with Declan," Birkoff added as an aside.

"He was not flirting with me, Sey. I told you that. Remember?"

"You were, ahem, in the process of convincing me when we were so rudely interrupted."

"Well, hell, this is the bloody kitchen, though it’s beginning to look more and more like Grand Central Station, if you ask me."

Nikita whistled for quiet. "Listen! Let’s forget what I interrupted, let’s forget Marcel, who apparently has the finesse of a piledriver, and let’s remember the kids are here."

Declan flushed, as did Michael and Birkoff. Michael let the kids down, one at a time, but they didn’t go far. They rarely saw Daddy during the day. He was always working on the renovation of the chateau.

Faith grabbed her father by the leg of his jeans. "Daddy! Daddy!"

He crouched down on Faith’s level and smiled. "What is it, petite?"

"Go Donnells?" she asked hopefully.

"Let’s all go out to McDonald’s, Michael. We owe the children a treat. Hey, we owe ourselves one, too. What do you think?" Nikita rubbed the back of Michael’s neck.

Michael stood up and faced his wife. He kissed her lovingly, whispering in her ear, "Have I mentioned how much I love you today?"

She swayed in his arms, wrapping her arms around his waist. "You prove it to me every chance you get," she whispered back.

They laughed softly. Faith pulled on Nikita’s leg this time. "Mom-mom, go Donnells? Peas?"

Declan groaned. "It would seem that Sey started something. We’ll take the kids."

Nikita demurred softly. "No, no, Declan, we’ll take the kids."

Michael picked up Faith and Chris again, holding one on each arm. "Let’s all go."

He kissed Faith on the nose, and she giggled charmingly, like the little princess she so often was. Then she tried to tickle her father under the arms, like the little brat she so often could be. He nearly dropped his son, and he knew that Faith didn’t intend for that to happen. Still, he put her down, and wrapped his arms around Chris. Possessively.

Faith plotted revenge. There were french fries at stake here.

"It’s a small world after all...it’s a small world after all..."

Nikita cringed. "God, I hate that song." They were sitting in McDonald’s at one of the larger tables, there being six of them, including the children. She glanced briefly at the birthday party in progress nearby. Ten or twelve little girls were racing around the table in various stages of disarray. One lone father was holding the birthday girl, at about his waist level, trying to get the attention of the five or six women chatting amiably amongst themselves. "Ladies! Ladies! You’re not keeping an eye on the children!"

That had to be the understatement of the year. Nikita opened up her bag and began to divide up the food. When she had finished, Michael stared at her. "You’re not going to eat anything yourself?"

"I’m not that hungry, Michael."

"Ki-ta..." he said warningly. "You didn’t eat right during your last pregnancy and what happened?"

"But I’m not pregnant yet, Michael."

"You could be. You don’t know exactly when it’s going to happen, doucette. Why wait till the last minute to start?"

"Okay, I promise to eat something."

Michael was far from reassured. He and the rest of the family had heard this promise before.

Declan noticed it first. The disappearance of the french fries. It was eerie. As if they were being spirited off his napkin by ghosts. Birkoff looked down at his napkin and realized that his french fries were slowly disappearing, too.

One by one, the men at the table realized that someone was taking their french fries. Who was the thief?

Make that little thief. Never underestimate the power of a strong-willed little girl with the combined gene pool of two of the best field operatives Section One ever produced.

"Faith!" Michael shouted. He who never raised his voice. He of the even temper. He of the blank stare. Faith froze, her tiny hand clutching a french fry from her father’s napkin. "Daddy?"

"Please don’t steal food off other people’s plates, Faith. It’s a terrible habit." Declan shrugged even as he said this. He truly believed that Faith saw nothing wrong with taking other people’s food, and he doubted they would be successful in breaking her of this habit until she was much older.

Faith put the french fry in her mouth, as if testing her father. Trying to see at what point he would actually punish her for disobeying him.

Nikita unconsciously reached across the table and stole two chicken McNuggets from Birkoff’s container. Just as Declan and Birkoff swung around to catch her in the act. "So that’s where she gets it from, the little thiefette," said Declan with a grin.

"What?" Nikita said, her mouth filled with Birkoff’s chicken McNuggets.

Michael shook his head. Declan rolled his eyes. Birkoff glared at Nikita. "You stole my chicken, Nikita."

"Steal is such a harsh word, Birkoff." Nikita chewed on the evidence.

Declan commented wryly, "It’s obviously a genetic thing, Sey. Leave the poor woman alone. At least she’s eating something."

"But--"

Declan reached over and popped one of his own chicken McNuggets into Birkoff’s mouth. "There you go, Sey. Enjoy."

Birkoff closed his mouth around the chicken and began to chew. Very slowly. "You’re on her side."

"I’m on no one’s side. I’m like Switzerland. I’m neutral," Declan declared.

"You like her better than me."

Declan narrowed his eyes, catching the glimmer of laughter in Birkoff’s dark eyes. "She pays well for the privilege."

Nikita laughed shortly. "Declan, you’re hardly an employee at this point."

Declan smiled. "Grand." He turned to Birkoff, laughter turning up the corners of his mouth. "Your turn to buy fries then. I’m broke."

Birkoff’s mouth dropped open. "I’m the victim here, Dec. She stole my fries!"

"Get a grip, Sey. You’re almost ten times her age. Do you think you can act like it for a moment or two?"

Michael grinned to himself. They should eat out at McDonald’s more often. The food wasn’t that great, but the conversation was fascinating.

Chris took the opportunity, while everyone else was distracted, to empty Faith’s napkin of her prized french fries. When Faith saw what her brother had done, she screamed blue murder. "Daddy! Daddy! Mom! Mom-mom!"

Meanwhile, Chris quietly swallowed the evidence. When Michael investigated the charges against Chris, he noted the lack of evidence right away. He was in fact suspicious of his son, but secretly, he admired the little boy’s initiative. He was undoubtedly setting the tone for his future relationship with his sister. Adversarial at times.

Michael picked up a McNugget and eyed it with apprehension. "This came from a chicken?"

Nikita snickered. "Oh, don’t be a snob, Michael. It’s very tasty. Besides, if you don’t want yours, I’ll eat it."

He stared at her. "You refuse to order your own food, Kita, but you eat off everyone else’s plates. What kind of sense does that make?"

"The best kind, Michael. I make my own sense. You don’t like it?" she shrugged.

"Oh, no, I love the way your mind works, Kita. It’s like a Chinese puzzle. With a couple of pieces gone."

She stuck out her tongue at Michael, and he merely smiled. Moments later, he kissed Nikita, a deep open-mouthed kiss that stunned Declan and Birkoff.

Declan tapped Michael on the shoulder quite politely and said, "So sorry, sir. Kisses of that particular type are not allowed in our restaurant. They frighten the wee ones, you know."

If it were not for Declan’s bland affect, Michael might have taken exception to what he said. But no. Instead he laughed. "You’re right, Declan. The kids watch everything."

"Indeed they do, Michael."

As if to prove Declan’s point, Chris pointed to his father and giggled. "What? What is it, Chris?" Michael asked.

"Mouf." Chris giggled yet one more time. Upon reflection, and a really good hand mirror Nikita carried with her, Michael realized that Chris saw Nikita’s lipstick on his mouth. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Nikita blushed.

"Do we get that carried away, Declan?"

Declan pretended to ponder that question. "I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it might incriminate me."

Birkoff whistled. "Wow, I’m impressed, Dec. An Irishman who knows how to plead the Fifth Amendment."

"I studied, Sey. I always wanted to go to America." He shrugged, as if he no longer cared about that particular dream any longer.

"Maybe we’ll both go someday, Declan." Birkoff tried to think positively, but sometimes it was surprisingly hard to see the future for the black clouds obscuring the view from the present.

Declan sighed. "Too serious. Topic disallowed. Pick another one."

Birkoff just caught himself before he leaned on Declan’s shoulder. Sometimes it was hard to stay so guarded. He preferred being home to being out when it came to things like this. At least at home, they could express themselves as candidly as they liked. Within reason.

Faith climbed onto her father’s lap, evidently jealous of the attention he was paying to Nikita. Michael was feeding french fries to Nikita, one by one. Faith imitated her mother, opening her mouth like a tiny baby bird, and Michael smiled, placing a small french fry in her mouth. The only problem was, Faith simply did not know when to stop.

When Michael announced that it was time for the game to end, Faith protested vehemently. "No! No! No!" she shouted.

Birkoff raised an eyebrow at his beloved little princess, who was behaving more like the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz. "Fee! What happened to my little lady? My little princess?"

Faith stuck her tongue out, in an effort to imitate her mother, but all she succeeded in doing was looking like the spoiled and most likely overtired child she was.

"That’s enough, Faith," Michael commanded. She didn’t move, her tongue frozen like that, but her eyes shifted position to make eye contact with her father.

"Okay, Faith. Stop right now." Faith was certain she would get a spanking now. She tried to be good, but there were so many new things to explore, her brother to tease, her parents to thwart...well, occasionally.

Chris was good enough not to comment or laugh. It was really the brotherly thing to do.

The two figures stood so close together, one might be forgiven for thinking they were one. One was leaning against the side door of the Jeep, almost invisible in the darkness of night. The other was pressing hard against the first figure’s body, both arms resting on the Jeep. Mouths joined, the two figures touched each other intimately.

Whispers in the dark. Rustling. Stolen kisses. Sudden crunching of boots on gravel. Someone else approached the couple. Frozen like deer in the headlights of an oncoming car, the two figures could only watch and wait....

"I can’t trust you two alone for two seconds!"

Michael colored slightly, but it was impossible to see in the blackness of night. He turned and looked over his shoulder at his wife, who seemed more than comfortable where she was.

Nikita pressed herself against Michael’s chest and kissed him one last time, her mouth swollen from all those stolen kisses. Michael moved his arms from the Jeep’s door and gently pulled on Nikita’s neck, bringing her closer.

Declan covered his eyes with his hand. "Do you two at least have clothing on? Or should I send Birkoff back into McDonald’s for another five minutes?"

Michael chuckled low in his throat. Nikita ran her foot up Michael’s leg and he reluctantly disentangled himself from her tight embrace. Nikita clung to Michael, her fingers barely touching his mouth in a gesture that bespoke great intimacy between them. "Ki-ta..."

Declan stared at the couple for several moments. "Michael, do you want me to drive? You don’t look...capable."

Michael raised an eyebrow at that.

Declan sputtered, "...of driving! I meant, of driving!"

Declan walked around to the driver’s side of the Jeep without waiting for an answer. Muttering to himself, Declan fitted the key into the door. A moment later, two rough hands grabbed him from behind. Without even thinking about it, Declan whirled around and stabbed the car key into his assailant’s face, causing the thug to step back, shouting.

Hearing the altercation, Michael ran to Declan’s side, Nikita close behind him. There were two more thugs. Evidently preying on customers in McDonald’s all too dark parking lot at night.

"Oof!" said the first thug, as Declan’s already bruised right hand connected with his nose. The second thug looked at the third. "I thought you said they’d be easy. A couple. All alone."

Michael backhanded the second thug, stepping on his outstretched arm after he fell. "That would be us."

Nikita disarmed the third thug, pocketing the short knife he brandished at her within a few seconds. "Easy? I don’t think so."

Michael and Declan weren’t even breathing hard. Nikita kicked the third thug and dropped him with a sweep to his front leg. Michael joined his wife in standing over the bodies. "Is he dead?"

"Nope. I figured that would draw too much attention."

Michael nodded. "Let’s get Birkoff and the kids and then get the hell out of here."

***

"What’s the world coming to? You can’t even go to McDonald’s in peace." Birkoff thumped his fist on the dashboard.

He looked over his shoulder. The twins were asleep, securely tucked into their car seats. Declan was driving the Jeep, while Birkoff sat at his side, fretting anxiously about the melee he’d managed to miss by minutes.

"If I hadn’t stopped to change Chris’ diaper, we would have walked right into that, Declan."

"That scares you, Sey?"

"Not for me, but for the kids, sure. I’m not much on self-defense, Declan, but I’d die protecting them." Birkoff was really upset by this turn of events. Declan took his eyes off the road for a second and rubbed Birkoff’s shoulder.

"Hey, Sey. We’re all in one piece. We’re on our way home."

Birkoff crept over to Declan’s side of the car, resting his head on his shoulder. His eyes big and dark, Birkoff whispered to Declan, "And what if something happened to you, Declan?"

Declan smiled and wrapped his right arm around Birkoff, without taking his eyes off the road this time. "Nothing’s going to happen to me, Sey. I’ve got too much to live for."

***

Michael and Nikita lay in the back of the Jeep, their clothing in disarray. Moments earlier, they had been pulling at one another like teenagers under the influence of hormones. Michael kissed Nikita, his mouth managing to find hers, even in the utter blackness that surrounded them.

A sensual smile traced Nikita’s mouth. "You liked the element of danger, didn’t you, Michael?"

"If you’re trying to say that danger arouses me, don’t. We were already halfway there when those thugs arrived."

She stretched, running her fingers lightly down Michael’s bare arm. "Do you ever miss it, Michael? The adrenaline rush, I mean?"

"Is that what it felt like to you, doucette?"

"Sometimes. Most of the time, I think I was just plain scared. But things always happened too quickly for me to think about the fear."

"Me, too."

"You were never scared, Michael." She punched him lightly in the chest.

"Sometimes I was. Deep inside. Where I never let anyone see. Not even you." He kissed her, a long, lingering kiss, his mouth reluctant to leave hers.

"I always worried about you. I was so afraid that something would happen...and I’d be alone again." Michael’s harsh whisper took her by surprise.

His fingers slid over her breasts as he bent his head to the base of her throat. His mouth warm and pliant against her skin, she arched her neck, allowing him greater access. "You’ll never be alone again, Michael. I’ll always be with you. Always."

Michael covered her body with his, astounded that he even had the energy left to make love to her one more time. Nikita’s legs were already bare, from their previous lovemaking, so Michael joined their bodies slowly but easily, feeling Nikita’s immediate response.

"Be very, very quiet, my Kita..." he whispered in her ear.

They moved together, almost lazily, as if they had all the time in the world. The trip home was not a short trip, by any means, but they were in the back of the Jeep. Surrounded by blackness, but also surrounded by two sleeping children and two close friends.

"Kita?"

Michael licked her ear, his tongue flicking out to lightly caress her. His palms on her breasts, Michael concentrated on stroking hard and deep within her.

"Yes, Michael?"

"This kind of danger arouses me..."

Knowing exactly what he meant, Nikita bit his chin lightly. "I know. It makes me feel so..."

When Nikita couldn’t finish the sentence, Michael tried. "Hot? You are hot, my Kita. Hot all over. But especially here." He slid a hand down between her legs, between them, where they were joined.

She jerked under his unexpected touch. "Oh, God, Michael..."

He swallowed the sounds of her climax, even as his own wet heat surged inside her. Spent, he collapsed on top of her, panting now as he did not during the battle earlier. He rolled over onto his back, taking her with him, leaving their bodies joined. "I love you, doucette," he whispered.

She kissed him. As quietly as possible.

***

Declan stroked Birkoff’s cheek, his fingers gently strumming across his face. Birkoff sighed contentedly.

"If they don’t make a baby soon, it won’t be for lack of trying," Declan whispered.