"Declan! No!"

Birkoff’s excited voice rose above the ordinary din of everyday life in the Samuelle home. Everyone in the immediate area turned to look at the couple.

"Come on, Dec! Let’s tell ‘em!" Birkoff coaxed.

Declan seemed a bit shy about making an announcement, but he eventually acquiesced. "Tell ‘em, Dec. Or I will," Birkoff said, chewing on his lower lip.

Declan smiled a bit sheepishly before addressing the rest of the family. "What my overanxious partner is trying to say is...I’m going to be teaching this semester."

Nikita gasped. "Declan, that’s wonderful! Isn’t that great news, Dad?" she asked Walter.

Walter nodded, his bright blue bandana in place around thinning gray hair. "So, you’re gonna be a professor, huh?"

Declan colored slightly. Birkoff’s enthusiasm, as usual, lead everyone to jump to the wrong conclusion. "Well, not really. I still have two more years to get my degree. But they like what I’ve done so far. Enough that they offered me a spot as an instructor."

"Not bad for someone going into his junior year, is it?" Birkoff beamed proudly.

"When I started this two years ago, I never dreamed something like this could happen." Suddenly Declan was the one who was overcome with emotion.

Birkoff hugged him tightly, his dark eyes misting over. "I’m so proud of you, Dec," he said, his voice muffled against Declan’s chest.

"Thanks, acushla," Declan whispered into Birkoff’s ear. "I couldn’t have done any of this without your support."

Birkoff drew back, wiping at his eyes surreptitiously. Chuckling softly, he said, "You’re just saying that cause it’s true."

Declan gazed at his lover fondly. "Did you tell everyone your own news, love?"

Birkoff shook his head, completely tongue-tied when it came to promoting himself.

Declan laughed. "My turn to do the honors! You’re looking at the new manager of the Arcadia Bookstore. Sey’s worked hard for this. He could have done it the easy way and bought a bookstore to run, but no...he wanted to work his own way up." Declan ruffled Birkoff’s long wavy hair, which was loose, the way Declan liked it.

Birkoff smiled shyly as everyone offered their congratulations. Walter clapped Birkoff on the back. "Well, son, you’re making a liar out of me. I said you were a lazy sonuvagun who was just as apt to sleep through the new century, and here you go turning into a management type."

Walter harrumphed playfully, and Birkoff could see both pride and affection in his twinkling blue eyes. "Thanks, Walter."

Michael rubbed Birkoff’s shoulder with one hand, genuine regard for the younger man warming his green eyes. "With both of you working, who’s going to take care of Emmy?"

Declan smiled. "Sey’s going to take Emmy to work with him most days, and when he can’t take her, I’ll take her to class with me."

Michael nodded his approval. "Sounds like you have things worked out."

Birkoff put his arm around Declan’s waist. "Either way, it’s not a bad environment for a three-year old."

Declan glanced at Michael. "How’s your writing coming along? Anything promising on the publishing front?"

Michael’s mouth curved into a half-smile. Nikita locked her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Mi-chael...tell everyone what happened to your latest story..."

Once Nikita knew that Michael’s mission profiles were nothing more than extremely well-written spy stories, she wholeheartedly embraced his ideas. Many a night, he would stay up, reading to her, and she would lie on her stomach, on their bed, listening, imagining...and of course, letting him know the moment he took a false step. Which, admittedly, was *not* very often.

Yes, he would read...and she would listen. He would idly rub her back while he read aloud, his softly- accented voice gently abrading her senses. They had come such a long way. From Michael’s initial embarrassment at going back to University to a gradual feeling of pride in the attempt itself. From a fear of failure to a feeling of achievement. From loss...to well-being.

"The very first mission profile you read? Two years ago?" Michael took a deep breath. "They want to publish it. At Christmas."

Birkoff cheered wildly, and Walter whooped like a youngster. "Wow! I can say I knew you when, huh?" Walter chortled.

Michael gave Walter a skeptical look. Walter giggled merrily. "Okay, well, maybe not. But hey, that’s great!"

Birkoff crossed his arms and leaned on Declan. "Well, we’ll certainly carry your book, Michael."

Michael looked at Nikita, his eyes warm and soft on his beloved wife’s face. She kissed him tenderly. "See? We’ve already sold one copy."

Declan looked around, as if searching for someone. "Anyone seen Maddy lately?"

Nikita shifted uncomfortably within Michael’s arms. "She’s spending way too much time working, if you ask me. The practice shouldn’t have been that hard to build back up."

"How’s Connor doing?" Declan couldn’t help it. He had a soft spot for his little namesake.

Nikita looked conflicted. "Sometimes I don’t think he’s really happy, Declan. But it’s not my place to say."

Michael frowned. "Who better than you, Kita?" He ran a finger down her cheek first, then down her neck. "We all know how much you love children. You’re their best advocate."

"But how can I tell her that she’s neglecting her son, Michael? You wouldn’t stand for her interfering with raising Faith, remember? Well, what makes you think this is any different?"

Declan nodded. "I understand, Nikita. But it’s hard to just stand by and watch what it’s doing to Connor."

"If it’s any consolation to you, Faith..." Nikita paused to smile gently, reflecting on the growing bond between the two children. "Faith more than makes up for what Connor’s missing. He’ll never go a day thinking he’s unloved, Declan."

"Speaking of kids, where are the rest of them?"

Nikita glanced at Michael, a mysterious smile springing to her lips. "Uh-oh, Kita has a secret," Michael laughed.

"It won’t be a secret for long, I’m afraid," she said wryly, spying the twins hovering nervously in the doorway.

"Come on into the living room, Chris, Fee. We won’t bite," Nikita encouraged.

The now five-year old twins strode into the room, Faith only slightly taller than her brother, as he began to catch up. Michael sputtered as he noted the way they were dressed. "Kita! What the--?"

Faith and Chris bowed to their parents, their crisp white uniforms snapping as they moved. At Nikita’s nod, they assumed a more "at-ease" stance with their hands behind their backs.

"What’s all this?" Michael demanded.

Nikita’s smile grew broader. She wasn’t worried. She knew how to handle her husband. "You want them to be able to defend themselves, don’t you?"

"Yes, but..."

Michael couldn’t think of a single thing to say. His first-borns, his twins, had turned into ninja wannabes while he wasn’t looking.

"Michael, say something," Nikita chuckled.

After a long moment, Michael slowly smiled, the effect transforming his entire face. "Well, at least, they’re not wearing black."

Birkoff held his daughter, balancing her on one hip, as he fitted his key into the door of the Arcadia Bookstore. Flicking the main light switch, all of the lights came on inside the store, illuminating row after row of paperbacks and hardcovers. It was a sight that never failed to thrill him. To think that he was responsible for all this.

Putting his daughter down on the floor, he said, "I’ve got your coloring books and your crayons in my bag, sweetie. Do you want them now?"

Emmy looked up at her father, chewing on her lip in a manner that was utterly Birkoff. "Daddy, when we gonna eat lunch?"

Birkoff blinked. "Sweetheart, we just had breakfast, remember? "

Emmy sighed. "Oh." Scuffing the toe of her shoe against the floor in a rhythmic movement that threatened to unnerve her father, Emmy frowned. "There’s nothin’ to do."

Birkoff rolled his eyes. Emmy never went through the ‘terrible twos’ the way the twins did. But she had a rather unique perspective on being three. Most of the time, she was a happy child. But she disliked being separated from Chris. Intensely.

It didn’t seem to matter that it was only for a few hours a day, a few days a week. Emmy appeared to think that she owed Chris all her days. Her ‘f’ver’ as she called it. Birkoff was actually relieved that things had worked out this way. Emmy’s attachment to Chris was growing, and he thought that a little separation might do both of them good. If only because when Chris started school the following year, Emmy was going to be understandably devastated.

Birkoff pulled out his trump card. The stuffed animal Emmy and Chris called ‘George’, the camel with the wrinkly knees. "Here you go, sweetie. Your favorite."

Her mouth curved into a delicious pout. "Daddy, George wants to go home."

"I’m sure he does, Emmy. But George has to be brave, just like you, for a few hours, while Daddy works." His tone was loving, but firm. The truth was, he hated to deny her anything. But realistically, this was the best solution he and Declan could come up with that was fair to all three of them.

Birkoff ran a hand over Emmy’s bright red curls, so like Declan’s. He missed him already. Emmy looked up at her father, a brilliant smile lighting up her petite face. "Dad-dy," she said in a singsong voice, recently cultivated, or so he believed, by exposure to Faith.

"What, honey?"

"When Chris goes to school, can I go?" Her tiny face so hopeful, Emmy would never be able to withstand the news that she must wait two years to follow Chris to school.

"Uh...gee, Emmy, that’s a tough question to answer." Mostly cause I know how you’re going to feel, and it’s going to break both our hearts.

"Why, Daddy?" Emmy’s face puckered into a moue of dissatisfaction. Her world was normally sunny. Never stormy. But when it came to Chris...

"Well, you and Chris aren’t the same age, Emmy."

Emmy stared at him in disbelief. What did age have to do with anything? Boy, grown-ups made stupid rules. Who invented this one?

"Besides, Chris is going to learn to do things, like read, and count, and--"

"I can count, Daddy."

"Yes, sweetie, I know. But--"

"And, and, you gots lots of books...right here. You could teach me to read." Emmy was making mincemeat out of his pathetic argument against her going to school with Chris.

Birkoff knelt down on Emmy’s level, putting his arms around her waist. Looking deep into her silver-grey eyes, he tried desperately not to think of Declan at that moment. "I can’t teach you to read, Emmy. I’m not a teacher."

"Da’s gonna be a teacher. He said." Emmy looked quite triumphant.

"Yes, he is. But not that kind of teacher, honey. Da’s going to teach Art."

"What’s Art?"

"Um...like drawing pictures."

"Oh." There was a brief silence while Emmy digested this piece of information.

Just when he thought she would give up and say nothing, or that she completely misunderstood about Chris going to school, Emmy spoke. "Daddy?"

"Yes, Emmy?"

Her lower lip trembled alarmingly. Suddenly Birkoff saw that Emmy was dangerously close to tears. She did understand.

"When Chris goes to school...will he forget me?" One fat tear slid down Emmy’s cheek, and Birkoff’s heart ached.

"Oh, no, sweetie, no," he whispered. "He’ll miss you, just like you’ll miss him. Just like I miss your Da. When he’s in class, and I’m here at the store."

"Really?" Emmy brightened slightly. She knew how much her parents cared for each other. It didn’t occur to her that there was anything different about them. Or that it was unusual to have two fathers.

He didn’t feel compelled to point out that Chris would undoubtedly meet new people at school and make new friends outside the family. She would discover this on her own. Eventually. Without any help from him.

"Can I have my coloring book now, Daddy?" she asked softly.

Birkoff handed the book to her, adding a handful of colorful crayons. "Did I miss any of your favorite colors, Emmy?"

"No, Daddy," she said, smiling finally. "You always get the colors just right."

Towards the end of a very long day, Birkoff helped an elderly woman find a long-cherished copy of a now out-of- print book. She showered him with gratitude, eventually taking note of the beautiful little girl sitting quietly nearby. Her bright red head bent over her drawing, Emmy was concentrating so hard, the tip of her tongue protruded from between her teeth.

"What a lovely little girl," the woman effused. "Is she yours?"

Birkoff couldn’t help but beam, despite his imminent state of near-exhaustion. "My daughter. Her name is Emmy."

The older woman glanced from Birkoff to Emmy and back again. "I must say, she doesn’t look like you at all. Perhaps she resembles her mother?"

Birkoff’s smile all but disappeared. He didn’t want to have this conversation, but he couldn’t afford to be less than pleasant to his customers. No matter how difficult they might be.

He made a noncommittal noise low in his throat, trying to shrug off the woman’s overly personal question. He wanted to shout, No, actually, she looks just like her father. But that would only complicate things more.

Birkoff finished the sale and handed the woman her package. Quietly. Emmy looked up at her father, her grey eyes suddenly gleaming like silver. "Daddy, is Da coming to pick us up?"

"No, sweetie, we drove here, remember?"

Emmy frowned. "Da’s at school?"

"Da’s waiting for us at home," he explained patiently.

"No, he’s not. He’s right behind you, acushla." The tall, lean man with the long red hair leaned against the counter near the cash register.

"Dec!" Declan’s name burst from Birkoff’s lips involuntarily. He was so glad to see him.

"Da!" Emmy cried, holding her arms out, begging to be picked up and hugged.

The elderly woman looked from Emmy to Declan and smiled. "Ah, you must be the real father."

"Excuse me?" Declan’s voice was chilly, something even someone who didn’t know him would recognize.

"She looks just like you. You must be her father."

Birkoff hid his hurt feelings. It wasn’t Declan’s fault. Some people were just naturally thoughtless. This woman was one of them. She had no idea what effect this was having on Birkoff.

Declan reached for Emmy and picked her up. When he had one arm securely wrapped around her, he held her on his hip, staring at the woman. Birkoff willed his lover to let it go, but he had a feeling that nothing he said would make any difference.

Declan was cautious these days about revealing his or Birkoff’s sexual orientation to strangers. Frankly, there was no reason for anyone outside the family to have that kind of information, and it didn’t impact on what they did in their day-to-day lives. But he felt compelled to defend Birkoff in some way. He couldn’t let this pass without a word.

"She is my daughter, yes," Declan said slowly, as if he were mulling over his next words.

"But she’s also his daughter," he said firmly, as if daring her or anyone else to contradict him.

"Oh?" The older woman never blinked an eye.

Declan put his arm around Birkoff. He could feel Birkoff’s resistance, but he pulled harder until Birkoff relented. "He’s my..."

Birkoff held his breath. Please, please, don’t let him say ‘lover’. He lives in a different world than I do. Creative people are different from everyone else. More open. He wasn’t ashamed of his relationship with Declan. He just knew that there were some things that other people didn’t need to know. Otherwise, they made certain value judgments that Birkoff just couldn’t live with.

The woman regarded the couple kindly. Raising her eyes to meet Declan’s forthright gaze, she waited expectantly.

"...significant other."

The woman smiled. "Well, I knew that. Right away. I could see the bond between the two of you, plain as day." She leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially to Birkoff, "I’m sorry, dear, if I embarrassed you. That wasn’t my intention."

She placed her package in her oversized pocketbook. "I know what you must be thinking. You’re surprised by my attitude. Well, not everyone would understand. But then, I’ve never been one to judge a book by its cover. You might do well to remember the same."

She nodded knowingly, as if she had imparted something of great importance to them. Upon reflection, Birkoff wasn’t entirely sure that she hadn’t.

After she left the store, Birkoff glanced at Declan helplessly. Declan shifted Emmy into a slightly more comfortable position, enabling him to kiss Birkoff. "I missed you, baby."

"Is that why you came to the store?" Birkoff asked shyly.

Declan nodded. "I couldn’t wait till you got home. Are you almost done here? Want some help locking up?"

Birkoff smiled. "Okay. I have a box of books I need to move into the back, first, though."

Declan put his daughter down. "I’ll get them for you. Where are they?"

Birkoff pointed to the box on the floor, near where Emmy had been drawing. "Over there."

Declan walked over to the box, his mouth dropping open when he saw the picture Emmy had drawn. "Sey, did you see this?"

"See what?"

"Emmy’s picture."

Birkoff shook his head. "No...why?" He locked the cash register and pocketed the key. When he came to stand next to Declan, he too was stunned.

"Umm...Emmy, honey?"

Emmy beamed proudly at her work being appreciated by the two people whose opinions she valued most. "Yes, Daddy?"

"Did you mark all the inventory like this, sweetie?" Birkoff swallowed.

"Yep, those my special marks. I wanted to help, Daddy."

Birkoff tried not to react in anger. Perhaps in time, with a little perspective, things wouldn’t seem quite so...outrageous. Like, maybe in the next millennium or so.

Emmy had drawn a picture of her family. Including George, the erstwhile camel, her two daddies, and Chris. Unfortunately, she had given up coloring within the lines in her coloring books. Equally unfortunately, she had given up the coloring books, choosing part of Birkoff’s box of books for her picture.

Oh, well, Birkoff sighed, inventory could be replaced. It was only money. Actually, if he stopped to think about it, it was kind of funny. The latest Tom Clancy novel now had bright pink lettering instead of white. The camel was in residence on the title page, while Chris had a special place of honor on page 1. As for the two daddies, they were pleased to see that Emmy had chosen to immortalize them within the pages of the new Stephen King book.

Declan smiled wickedly. "I guess you can’t watch her all the time."

Birkoff chuckled. "I guess not. But hey, it’s not like it’s a major disaster."

"You are too understanding by half, Sey. If I did something like that, when I was her age..." Declan trailed off, never finishing the sentence. That way led into a path he would rather not travel.

"Da?" Emmy tugged on Declan’s jeans-clad leg. "Can we go to Mc...Mc...McDonnell’s?"

"Hmm, I dunno," Declan drawled, pretending to think about it. "What do you think, Sey?"

"Daddy’s always hungry, you know that. And I hear they got a new Oreo shake." Birkoff’s dark eyes lit up, contemplating the very idea.

Declan blanched at the thought of all that sweetness. "Ugh. How do you eat stuff like that?"

"It’s what makes me so...sweet." Birkoff giggled, grinning as Declan gave him a quick kiss.

"Mmm...I approve." Declan gave Birkoff a pat on the butt. "Okay, let’s go. First one to the parking lot gets to ride with Da."

"Dec, we’ve got two cars, and Emmy can’t drive."

"Okay, first one to the parking lot gets to ride with Princess Em."

"You lose." Birkoff chortled as he dropped the box of books, grabbed Emmy and headed for the door, keys in hand.

Declan caught up with Birkoff at the door, his silvery eyes sliding lovingly over his partner’s face. "Oh, no, Sey. Either way, I win."

Birkoff’s eyelashes softly fluttered down as Declan kissed him tenderly. Sometimes he didn’t mind losing at all.

Michael’s breath hot on the back of her neck, Nikita smiled sleepily, still trapped by his arm reaching across her chest. He was very possessive in his sleep. It was a habit he developed early in their sleeping together, even before he was able to articulate just how deeply he loved her.

"Michael?"

"Hm?" he mumbled against her neck, his early-morning beard abrading her skin.

"I love you."

"Mmm..." Michael’s sleepy noncommittal noise turned into a sound of contentment. His arm tightened around her, renewing his claim upon her. "I love you, too."

She rolled over to face him, his arm still around her. Rdeaching out a finger to softly touch his lips, she gazed at him tenderly. "We have a few minutes before we have to get up. You want to show me how we’re not turning into some old, settled, married couple?"

He broke into a slight smile. "You mean we’re not?"

Nikita smiled mysteriously. Michael thought she didn’t know that his fondest wish had been realized when they finally married. He didn’t mind being half of an old, settled, married couple. Not one bit. In fact, he loved being her "old man", as incongruous as that title might be.

He stroked her bare shoulder with his fingertips. His eyes fell to her shoulder, and he seemed transfixed by the sight of his fingers moving gently against her skin. "When I think of all the times I thought...you might never belong to me...."

He raised his head, his vivid green eyes seeking out hers. "But I’m so glad you do." His voice sounded uncharacteristically husky, as if some hidden emotion held him in its grip.

She pulled his hand to her cheek, turning her face so she could kiss the palm. For long moments, they were satisfied to simply stare at one another wordlessly. Then, her gaze dropping to his mouth, she kissed him. Their mouths met again and again, first slanting one way, then the other. Michael’s hands slid from her temple to her jawline, as if tracing the outline of her face. When they finally broke away from each other, quite breathlessly, Nikita said, "Do we have time to make love?"

Michael had just started to answer when a tiny voice piped up, "What’s make love mean?"

It was Skye. Skye, the quiet one. Skye, the one who rarely if ever asked an embarrassing question. Skye, who developed a sudden fascination for whatever it was her parents were doing.

Or not doing. Nikita rolled her eyes and flopped onto her back on the bed. "She may look like me, but she’s your daughter right now, Michael."

Michael groaned and lay on his stomach, pulling the pillow over his head. "How long until Faith and Chris go to school, Kita?"

"A year, Michael. A whole year," she said, sympathizing with his frustration. There was nothing like small children to quash an arousal in the making.

All at once, he pulled the pillow away, peering at her with bright green eyes. "And then another two years till Skye goes?"

Nikita nodded.

Michael sighed heavily, pressing the side of his face into the pillow. "Would it sound selfish if I said I wanted you to myself sometimes, doucette?" he whispered, so low that Skye couldn’t hear him.

"Yes," she replied, secretly enjoying the fact that Michael still felt that way after the number of years they had been together. She kissed him lightly, rubbing his mouth with her thumb, and he closed his eyes, feeling guilty for wishing all his children were already in school.

"But...I feel the same way," she said, her cerulean blue eyes twinkling. And with each twinkle of her eyes, she banished a bit of guilt straining Michael’s already over- burdened soul.

***

By the time they redirected Skye, bathed, dressed and made their way down to the kitchen, it was getting late.

Nikita put a wedge of buttered toast to her mouth, smearing a sheen of grease across her lips that Michael ached to kiss. "You’re staring at me," she chided.

"You’re tormenting me," he retorted.

"Am not."

"Am, too."

"Am--" Nikita blinked in surprise. She moved closer to the curtain, albeit in a circuitous fashion that reminded Michael of Section. Peeking through the sheer lace, she stared at something across the street from the house.

Michael frowned. "Kita, what is it?"

"Michael, have you seen that car before?"

Michael joined her at the window, automatically making sure he could not be seen from the street. "That one?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "Not that I remember. Why?"

"I’m sure I’ve seen that car parked across the street several times this week. In different places. But always in a place that makes a good vantage point."

"A good vantage point for what?"

She turned to face Michael, a stunned look on her face. "To watch this house."

Michael didn’t even stop to drink his morning coffee. He didn’t need caffeine. He was wired enough just thinking about the possibilities this brought to mind.

Michael said tersely, "I’m getting Declan," as he shrugged his way into a black leather jacket.

Nikita looked at him with her heart in her eyes. "Michael?"

He turned to glance back at her over his shoulder. "What, doucette?"

"Be careful."

"Always."

Suddenly he strode back to where she stood and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. If his arms were just a trifle too tight, his breathing just a trifle too erratic for control, his manner bespoke a quiet desperation he refused to voice.

"We’ll be okay, doucette."

But it was hard to tell just who was being reassured. Him or Nikita.

Davenport lay on his side, gently stroking Derry’s long chestnut hair. "Good morning, darlin’."

She opened her grey eyes slowly, gradually coming awake in the arms of the man she loved. The man she had chosen as her mate. Whether it was ever sanctioned by Section or not.

She smiled mischievously, her tongue flicking out to moisten her lips. "This is an anniversary of sorts, isn’t it, Jake?" she asked in her softly-accented voice.

Davenport’s expressive eyes widened. He never expected her to remember. She didn’t seem like the sentimental type. But then again...she loved him. And that was about all the sentiment his poor ol’ heart could stand.

"Two years. We’ve...been together two years." Davenport seemed slightly surprised himself that their relationship had lasted so long. He, the original loner. He, the one who did not do one-night stands. Too hard on the nerves...and the heart.

"Darlin’, I..." Davenport was never one to waste words, but he grew even more quiet, if that were possible.

Cassidy smiled understandingly, touching his face with one slender finger. "I know you love me, Jake. That’s all I need to know."

Davenport’s eyes blurred. He, who never cried, felt so close to tears. "I do love you, Derry. I...I wish I could marry you."

"It’s okay, Jake. I’ve given up wishing for things I can’t have."

That she so casually accepted the edicts that came down from above bothered him. Upset him. He wanted to rail against fate. It wasn’t fair.

But he didn’t argue with her. He couldn’t. She was right. She would keep her sanity long after he lost his. Fighting battles that could not be won.

They so rarely had a chance to sleep together in a bed. Davenport managed to make it happen every so often, making sure to keep their meetings random so as not to alert anyone looking for patterns. But he could not imagine anyone being interested in the two of them.

He was, of course, wrong. There were always any number of people interested in the two of them. Chief among them was the new Operations. Or George, as he was more commonly known in Oversight.

After the debacle of losing Michael and Nikita, Oversight blamed George. One of the perks of an administrative job within the Sections was having all that authority. One of the downsides was the same thing. All that responsibility... The same person who took the credit when things went smoothly, took the fall when things fell apart. And there was no question that Oversight considered Michael and Nikita being allowed to escape the clutches of Section forever a blunder of monstrous proportions.

George was demoted. With Paul’s death, he became the new Operations of Section One. To say he was displeased with the situation would be a tremendous understatement. It had been nearly six years since Michael and Nikita left One. George never made the adjustment.

In fact, some said, he was a bit mad.

They might be right.

***

The message blared over the intercom. "Cassidy, Operations needs to see you."

She exchanged a brief look of anxiety with Davenport, willing her nerves to settle within her stomach. She was never nervous around anyone. But that man... He could unnerve the dead.

***

He turned those dead eyes upon her. Her skin crawled almost involuntarily. She was well able to control her reactions to such things, under normal circumstances, and it vaguely frustrated her that she could not now. What was worse, she sensed that at least some of what she was feeling was on her face.

"Miss Cassidy..."

"Yes, sir?" She was quick to adopt a tone of deference to the man, hoping to forestall whatever criticism he might want to bestow on her.

"You’re a very valuable operative."

She got the impression that George disliked her intensely. Even more, he especially disliked the fact that she consistently did so well, he could find little reason to cancel her. But he was working on it.

"I’ve issued a new directive."

"Yes, sir?"

"It concerns you."

"Me, specifically, sir?" She just knew her voice squeaked. She couldn’t stand one more moment of this kind of tension. If he didn’t cut to the chase soon, she was going to slit his throat and take orders later.

"Not you, specifically, no...all female operatives in the field."

Cassidy’s eyebrows shot up. That was pretty damn interesting. Where was he going with this?

George slowly walked to the other end of the observation deck. This was not a man who paced. This Operations was never restless.

"As of Friday, which is two days from now, this directive will take effect. All female operatives who work in the field are to be sterilized."

"Excuse me?" She was certain she hadn’t heard him correctly.

"You will be responsible for informing the female members of your team."

"Excuse me, sir, but could I know the reason behind this directive?"

"No, you may not. Suffice to say, you women have entirely too many things distracting you in the field. Mood swings, hormonal urges of a most distasteful kind. All of this leads to an emotional component I have deemed unnecessary. Therefore, it shall be eliminated."

Before Cassidy could say another word, he waved his hand imperiously and dismissed her.

***

She waited anxiously in the hallway on sub-level 4. Moments later, out of the darkness came a disembodied voice. A familiar voice. Security.

"I can’t be gone long, darlin’. They’re watching me close today."

"Dav...Jake, I have to tell you what Operations told me." Cassidy was almost agitated.

"What is it, baby?" He moved closer, his body unconsciously seeking its mate.

She turned tearful grey eyes up to look at her lover. "Jake, he wants to ‘fix’ all of us women, like we were a bunch of cats he can’t drown."

"Fix? What do you mean, fix?"

"Sterilize. Medlab is going to perform complete hysterectomies on all female field ops. Starting Friday." Her voice broke.

"The man’s delusional, darlin’. He can’t do that." Davenport was just as outraged as Cassidy, but he couldn’t quite get his mind to accept that George, he refused to call the man Operations, was serious.

"He can do it, Jake. He will." Her grey eyes turned silver as tears bled freely from them.

"I’m the first one under the knife. Friday morning."

Davenport gasped. "No! I won’t let him do this! There must be something we can do!"

"What, Jake? Go to Oversight? They don’t care what happens to any of us. As long as missions go on, as long as targets continue to be acquired, what do they care how many of us are maimed or killed?"

Davenport’s heart sank. He dreamed of escape more and more often. He dreamed of making a new life for himself. Himself and Cassidy. Outside Section’s walls. Out of reach of its tentacles.

He didn’t want to scare Cassidy off, but he hungered for the day when he could call her wife. More than that, though they never spoke of it before, he always assumed that they would have kids. Maybe not a lot of kids. But a family. He wanted that. He especially wanted it with her.

"Derry, we can’t let him do this."

Cassidy turned her back, unwilling to let him see her fall apart any more than she already had. "Oh, Jake, I’m so sorry. I just can’t stand the thought of Section poking its ugly way inside my body. Raping me. Crippling me. For life."

"I know I never said anything to you, Jake. But one day..." she whispered harshly. "I hoped we would have a child."

Davenport spun Cassidy around, holding onto her shoulders fiercely. "Whether we do or not, darlin’, it’s our decision. Our choice. Not his. Not anybody else’s. He’s got no right."

Her lower lip trembled. Davenport stared at her mouth for a second before kissing her. "I love you, Derry. And all of you belongs to me. I’m not letting that bastard have any part of you."

"But how can you stop him?"

Davenport laughed. "We can’t. But we can do something else."

"What?"

"Escape."