The moment that Michael put the food down on the table, eager, grasping little fingers grabbed for it in a free-for-all that made him think of feeding time in prison. Michael stared at the offenders, knowing that he had to start out as he meant to go. "Connor, I’m surprised at you."

Just the comment alone was enough to give Connor pause. He was basically a good child. His fingers darted back to their place in front of him. Suitably chastened by Michael’s quiet tone, he resembled nothing as much as a monk in contemplation.

Sasha stared at Connor. "You’re gonna let him talk to you like that?"

Connor blinked. What on Earth was Sasha on about? Didn’t he have any idea how things worked in the real world? No, prolly not. Sasha didn’t grow up with a family that loved him the way Connor and the other kids did.

"Like what?" Connor honestly didn’t think there was anything wrong with what Michael said to him.

Neither did Michael. "Sasha, do you have something you need to share with the rest of us?"

Michael’s veiled warning was much too subtle for Sasha. Sasha glared at Michael, his tone too belligerent for a child his age. "No, I don’t. You got a problem with that?"

Only someone who knew Michael extremely well would have noted the sudden flash of green fire in his eyes. Michael was still fairly focused, thanks to their recent mission, or he might have been less firmly in control. Hooking an arm around his wife’s neck, he said in a deceptively soft tone, "Doucette, I defer to your judgment in this situation. You’re the humanist in the family."

Nikita smiled. "It’s not a killing offense, anyway, Michael."

"Only because of his age, love."

Sasha watched the byplay between the two adults with interest. He could see they were very close. He knew they were married. But he couldn’t quite understand why anyone would care that much about anyone else. How did that happen? Oh, he saw Davenport with Cassidy from time to time. But he thought that was just sex. Grown-ups could be just as confused about differentiating sex from love as he was sometimes.

Davenport sighed heavily. "Sorry, Michael." He turned to Sasha, reluctantly admitting that the boy had made a less than sterling impression on everyone thus far. He couldn’t help it if he found something likable in the kid. He honestly did.

Still, he owed Michael and Nikita a great deal. He couldn’t let Sasha be rude to them. "Sasha, I want you to apologize to Michael."

Sasha stared at Davenport as though he’d lost his mind. "You’re kidding, right, big guy?"

"No, I’m not." Davenport was loath to admit it, but he was probably the only one who could control Sasha right now, even if it was through intimidation and threat of brute force. He would never hit Sasha, and Sasha knew it. That was never part of their history together. But he was an undeniably big man, and he was not afraid to use that, if he had to.

He continued to gaze intently at Sasha, and he could tell the exact moment when Sasha decided to give in. "Ummm...okay. Sorry, um...what’s your name?"

Davenport interjected before Michael could respond. "That’s Mr. Samuelle to you, kiddo."

Michael said, "Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary, Dav. He can call me Uncle like the other kids."

Sasha grinned. "Thanks, Uncle Mike."

"Uh...but not that. Uncle Michael would be fine." Michael passed a hand over his eyes and exhaled. Whispering under his breath so only Nikita could hear, he said, "Why do I have the feeling it’s going to be a very long day?"

Nikita leaned even closer and kissed him. Their lips touched, gingerly at first, but Michael couldn’t keep his hands from touching Nikita’s face. He pulled her against him, burying his face in her hair. "I love you," he whispered into her ear.

Sasha grimaced. "Hey, are we gonna eat or what?"

Michael released Nikita, and Nikita rolled her eyes at the little boy. "You need to learn some manners."

"Oh, yeah, right, like what you just did wasn’t rude," Sasha sneered.

Nikita smiled sweetly, wondering, and not for the first time, how someone as amiable as Birkoff could have fathered a child like this. "Have some french fries," she said in an even-tempered voice, offering the boy a paper sack. What she didn’t say was, hope you choke on them.

Cassidy came out of the ladies’ room and walked slowly back to the table. "Did I miss anything?"

Davenport held out his arm for her to take, and she scooted into a comfortable position next to him. Giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, Davenport said, "Not a thing, darlin’. Not a damn thing."

Strangely enough, the rest of the trip home passed uneventfully enough. So uneventfully, one might think it was quite unremarkable. Except for one thing. The children in the backseat were wide awake and ready to play havoc with any plans the grown-ups might have made for their return. Frankly, Nikita thought she had left Hell far behind, but after nine rousing off-key choruses of "99 bottles of beer on the wall" and thirty (imagine! thirty!) questions that either began or ended with "Are we there yet?", she wasn’t so sure.

Leaning back on the headrest of the passenger side of the Jeep, Nikita glanced furtively at her husband. He looked so calm, so cool, so in control. She envied him at that moment. She felt grimy and frazzled and not a bit like her best, despite the long nap on Michael’s lap.

As if he felt her gaze upon him, like a physical caress, Michael turned his head slightly. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay. I’m...okay," she agreed readily enough. Truth was, her stomach felt a bit queasy. It must be the aftermath of being back at Section One, thinking about all the things that could have gone so wrong. Or perhaps it was the double cheeseburger she ate. She shuddered just to imagine what kind of mystery meat they really put in those things. It was enough to make her contemplate becoming a vegetarian. Or maybe it was just that time of the month. She was known to warn Michael to stay far away when she was under the undue influence of hormones because she was liable to live out the slogan, I have PMS and a gun, what was your question?

She nestled against the passenger door, deciding to block out the raucous children’s singing and try for another nap. Michael ran the back of his hand down her arm, and she smiled faintly as she drifted off to sleep.

Nikita’s dream began innocently enough. She was in the kitchen. At home. Baking cookies. Now that was odd. Everyone knew she could not cook, and baking was definitely out of her league. But the images were pleasant, and she did not wake. Suddenly a man in black appeared at the door. Her nostrils flared, as if she needed more oxygen. "Who are you?" she demanded of the man.

The man paid her no mind. Striding across the floor of the kitchen, the man, whose face was disguised by a mask of some kind, grabbed Nikita by both arms. In her struggle to get away, Nikita raked the man’s face with her fingernails, ripping the mask away. She recognized the face. She knew the intruder. It was....

Nikita moaned in her sleep, moving agitatedly against the door. Michael tried to wake Nikita, but she merely incorporated this into the burgeoning nightmare. Inadvertently hitting her head on the window, Nikita’s eyes flew open. Staring at Michael, unseeing, she screamed. He jammed his foot on the brakes as Nikita backed up against the passenger side door. It was as if she were deathly afraid of someone or something. Pulling the car off the road, Michael set the parking brake and faced Nikita.

"Doucette! What’s wrong?"

"It was a dream...about a man...in black." She clutched her aching forehead, feeling a dreadful headache forming there. "He wanted to kill me."

"Kita...," Michael spoke her name like the sacred thing it was to him. "Operations is dead. He can’t hurt any of us...ever again."

"It wasn’t Operations." Nikita was so pale, she looked as if she were perilously close to passing out.

Pulling her into his arms, Michael tried to reassure Nikita. "George is dead, too. The records are destroyed. No one knows where we are."

Nikita moaned, pressing her face against Michael’s chest. He was so warm. She felt so cold. Grasping the edges of his jacket, she clung to him. He was her lifeline. "Michael...it wasn’t George either."

Michael drew back, frowning. Now he was perplexed. "Then who, Kita?"

"Someone we’d never suspect. Someone with a deadly secret."

"You mean?"

"Yes, Michael. It was him. It was--"

A hand touched Nikita’s arm. She screamed hoarsely. A face loomed over her. A familiar face. A voice, too. A soothing voice. "Michael!"

A shudder wracked her slender frame. Nikita woke with a terrible start, a crick in her neck from the wicked position her body had taken against the Jeep’s door. Michael peered into his wife’s china-blue eyes, now wide with fear and anxiety. "You were screaming, doucette."

She was barely able to nod. Forming whole sentences seemed quite out of the question. "I had a nightmare," she said.

"We’re home, love. Let me help you out."

She shook her head. "I can do it, Michael. I’m all right," she insisted.

Michael sighed. Davenport glanced at Michael and shrugged. Putting a huge arm around Cassidy, Davenport asked, "Would it be all right if Cassidy and I used your bathroom? To get cleaned up and all before we move on?"

"Why?" Michael asked. "Where are you going?"

"Well," Davenport drawled, "I just assumed that we would find a temporary place to stay. It could be a long time before we find our..." Davenport stopped, feeling almost foolish saying something so obviously romantic in front of other people.

Then he saw the way that Nikita smiled at Michael, and he realized that he was with kindred spirits. "Our dream house," he finished.

"You’re welcome to stay with us until you do," Nikita offered.

Davenport traded looks with Cassidy. "What do you think, darlin’?"

Cassidy smiled brightly, her face completely lit up from within. She who never dared to dream was making up for lost time. "Could we? Please, Dav?"

The wistfulness of Cassidy’s tone wasn’t lost on Davenport. He kissed her without thinking, then watched her turn red, leaving him to ponder. Suddenly a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A welcome party seemed to be coming.

He knew that face. That grizzled old face. Ravaged by time and weather and a lifetime of hard living, no doubt. "Walter! Long time, no see, buddy."

Walter smiled. It was a grin that would reach around the world twice. "Davenport, my man!"

Michael looked confused. "Walter, why are you here?"

Walter hugged Michael tightly for several moments before releasing him finally. "Aren’t you glad to see me, Michael?"

"Of course," he said tersely. "Just wondering whose idea it was to move everyone back here, away from safety."

Nikita shifted uneasily beneath Michael’s implacable gaze.

"Ki-ta..."

Nikita felt a sudden, overwhelming compulsion to laugh. No, not just laugh. More like shriek hysterically. But then, her psyche felt like it had been twisted and turned more ways than a Rubik’s Cube.

"It was me, Michael. I called Walter from McDonald’s," Declan stated, moving toward the couple. "I thought it was safe to bring everyone back. I thought you’d want to see your kids. I thought Maddy and Neil would want to see Connor."

It was one of the longest speeches Michael ever heard Declan make. And it was as infuriating as it was accurate. Of course, there was now no reason for anyone to be hiding unnecessarily. Of course, he wanted to see his kids. And it went without saying that Maddy, in particular, would be wailing desperately to be reunited with Connor. But Michael guarded the way things happened to the family as though he were the sole arbiter of their lives. It said a lot about him. It said everything. For without control, there was chaos. When chaos reigned, there was not enough love in the world to prevent the bad things that inevitably followed.

But this was Declan. Calm, level-headed Declan. The man who shared the cool Section intellect with Michael. The man who was quite capable of drowning in a seething sea of emotion when things tipped out of balance in his world.

In the same breath that would have castigated Declan for daring to decide anything for anyone without consulting him, Michael forgave. They were safe. They were home. They were together.

Michael nodded imperceptibly to Declan, hanging back instead of leaping forward to greet everyone. There was only one person he wanted to see, to be with. His hand tightened on the back of her neck. She was right here, by his side, and yet she was not close enough. He needed to become part of her, as if only by absorbing her, could he then transcend her. They were both pieces and parts of the same whole, and they reinvented one another each time they lay together, coming back to the world in yet another combination. Different, yet always the same.

Let everyone else celebrate in their own ways. He had no quarrel with that. But the darkness that was often Michael called to the light that was often Nikita. "Kita," he whispered, "come with me."

He beckoned. She came. Moth to his flame. And yet...so much more.

Without explanation to anyone, they disappeared.

***

Aspacia straightened, a hand rubbing absently at a spot somewhere in her lower back. It had been a long day. A long, tiring day. But parts of it were well worth reliving in her mind’s eye. She had been part of something very, very special. She would never forget any of it.

She walked out of Comm slowly, taking yet another look around for anything that might jeopardize Michael and his family’s new lives. Seeing nothing, she left.

Hillenger sucked on his lollipop. It was cherry-flavored. His favorite. Virtually retracing Aspacia’s earlier steps, the toe of Hillenger’s shoe struck some object on the floor. Bending down, his lollipop firmly entrenched in one cheek, Hillenger studied the object. It looked like a mini-CD, a tiny rewrite-able CD. He blinked. Some people thought it lucky if they spied a penny to pick up. In this case, it was a mini-CD.

Holding it between thumb and forefinger, he turned it over carefully, unable to tell anything about it. Except that it did not belong where he found it. Oh, well. He had no use for it, but who knew? He put the object in his pocket. You just never knew when something might come in handy.

"Michael...they’re probably calling out a search party for us..." Nikita said huskily, her mouth next to his ear.

His answer was something barely audible. His arms were wrapped tightly around her shoulders and neck, as if he could not get close enough to her.

"Michael?"

He drew back at last, his eyes somewhat sad. "I don’t care."

Nikita groaned and stretched her arms over her head. She could feel the tense muscles in her lower back protest, and she must have made a sound of discomfort, for Michael immediately found the exact spot with his fingertips. "Would you like me to rub your back?"

She framed his face with her hands, looking intently into his eyes, which had somehow assumed the color of dark jade. "What I’d like...is for you to tell me why you don’t feel like celebrating, Michael. We’re free. God knows we’ve waited long enough to hear those two words."

He dropped his gaze, breaking eye contact with her, but she followed his retreat, her thumbs pressing against his cheeks. "Michael...talk to me."

They lay together on their bed, facing each other, their bodies in intimate contact at nearly every point. The tips of her still-firm breasts grazed his chest, the gentle swell of her femininity touched the sprinkling of hair arrowing down to his groin. When they first came upstairs, Michael locked the door behind them, and he made love to Nikita with what could only be called quiet desperation. Having assuaged that initial need, Michael then fell even more silent, if that were possible. It was this that both intrigued and perplexed Nikita.

"We have every reason to be happy, Michael." She stroked the side of his face gently, noting how he closed his eyes in response to her touch.

Suddenly her hands froze where they were. "Or is there something you’re not telling me? Something you’re holding back? For my own good?" She peered carefully into his face, looking for a sign, any sign, that he was trying not to lie to her by not speaking at all.

He shook his head. She didn’t see this so much as feel it, her hands still braced upon his cheeks. His eyes slowly opened and lit on her face. "My bright angel..." he whispered.

She could see the darkness that threatened to consume him. She just didn’t understand why. But maybe the why was not nearly that important right now. "I’m here for you, my love," she said huskily.

Michael gave a sharp cry and buried his face in the space between her neck and shoulder, his arms unconsciously tightening around her. She could feel the wetness of his tears upon her skin. She could feel the trembling of his hands.

"Is it the mission, Michael? I’ve never seen you react like this."

"It...wasn’t just...a mission, doucette.... It was...our lives."

"Michael, we put our lives on the line every time we went out. You know that better than I do. You trained me. You know how hard it was to convince me that my life was in real jeopardy...then how hard it was to convince me that my life was even worth saving."

Michael drew a shaky breath against her neck, his lips caressing her tenderly, as if he found the feel of her, real and warm against him, reassuring in a way that words were not. "That’s not what I mean."

"Then what?"

"It’s as if...everything we were...and everything we are now...suddenly collided... Oh, God, Kita, it was too easy to slip back into that other life. It would have been even easier to lose what we have."

"You can’t be mourning the loss of our Section lives, Michael. That’s a chapter that finally came to an end. A book that none of us wants to open again."

He nodded. "I was...so afraid of...losing you, doucette. So terribly afraid."

Ah, now she understood. Michael, even under the best of circumstances, hated feeling vulnerable. When things were beyond his control, he suffered. Sometimes greatly.

She rolled onto her back, taking him with her. He shifted gently, laying his head against the softness of her breast. She restlessly raked her fingers through his hair, and she felt his exhalation of breath against her chest. "When I saw the family here...at the house...."

"Declan didn’t do anything wrong, love."

"My head knows that, Kita." He raised tortured eyes to her face. "But all I could think of was...what if we’d been a Section team, coming in to finish the job of extinguishing our pathetic attempts at making a real life for ourselves? Wh-what if--?"

He buried his face against her breast. "I kept seeing our children...lying dead...on the ground..." Nikita gasped, struggling to hold onto her husband, overcome as he was by grief. For something that never happened.

"How dare we be so arrogant? How dare we think we matter?"

Nikita pressed a tearful kiss to the top of Michael’s head. "We do matter, Michael. That’s something Section took away from us, a long time ago, to keep us in line, but..." She choked back a sob, unaware of just how closely Michael was hanging on her every word.

"You gave that back to me when you told me you loved me. You give it back to me every time we make love. You made me someone important, Michael, and no one, not even Section, can ever take that away again..."

Michael rubbed his face against her breast. "You are...very important, doucette. Not just to me."

"And we all matter, Michael. Even you, my love."

His fingers sought hers, playing back and forth upon her palm until she responded in kind. Their hands danced together, lacing and threading and intertwining, until Michael stopped the captivating dance with a kiss.

Their lovemaking was slow this time. Tinged with the bittersweet ache that came with realization. Of their mortality. Of their finite life together. Of the fleeting nature of that life. That it could so easily be snatched away was very much on their minds.

His lips trailed along the side of her neck in a heartbreakingly slow fashion. Each kiss he pressed to her skin so tender, so precious to her. "Oh, Michael, I love you."

Slowly he kissed his way around her beloved face, from temple to forehead to temple. He nuzzled her neck, his lips pausing for only a moment under her chin. She loved the velvety feel of his mouth upon her, and she arched upwards, the peaks of her breasts grazing his chest. She whimpered as he began the journey down, his mouth touching first her navel, then the very heart of her.

She gasped, astonished at the way her body caught fire so quickly after being sated. Michael laced their hands together as his head bent over her lower body. His lips caressing the heat of her, his tongue soon slid its way inside. Her hands clenched tightly in his hair as she tried to hold back the inevitable. He released her hands. Seeking her breast, his fingertips finally closed over her nipple, as he continued to lave the center of her being. When she climaxed, her breathless cries echoed in his ears.

With a shudder, Michael joined their bodies, sliding into her wet heat. For a moment, he was content just to be there. Inside her. Part of her. Every time they made love this way, it was beautiful. She was the other half of him. But it was when they made love that he was able to actually touch that part of him that only she held. This was beyond mere union. It was a coming together of their life forces, their souls swirling restlessly before they became one entity.

It was a moment he always tried to hang onto. That one moment when they came together that way. Elusive. Ethereal. Just out of his grasp. Still, he tried. Every time.

His breath caught as he climaxed, pouring himself like honey into her waiting vessel. They entered freefall together, lamenting the brevity of the upward journey, but knowing it would be attempted again. Soon.

Michael’s weight comfortable and familiar against her body, Nikita savored the moments immediately after making love to him. "Michael?"

He kissed her lightly on the mouth, his slowly fading arousal still buried deep within her. "Yes, doucette?"

"At the risk of sounding philosophical...out of something that evil has to come something good."

Michael smiled faintly. "You mean, like saving Connor? Rescuing Sasha? Helping Davenport escape?" He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Or this?" He nudged her gently, his arousal hardening again.

"Well..." Nikita looked off into space, as if she were suddenly uncertain.

"Something else?" he queried.

She trailed a hand down his muscular arm, clearly preoccupied. "Yes," she finally answered.

"What, doucette?"

"When all this intrigue started, Michael, I was beside myself. I--"

"I know, doucette." Michael stared into her face, suddenly worried that something bad was going to come out of her beautiful mouth.

She blinked, then met his eyes evenly, her sky-blue eyes curiously lit from within. "Something didn’t happen that should have, Michael. I thought it was the stress. Fear. Anxiety."

Michael nodded uncomprehendingly. "I don’t understand, doucette."

"Michael," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I think I’m pregnant."

"Doucette!" With that tearful exclamation, Michael claimed her mouth possessively. His tears fell like welcome rain to the parched earth.

She laughed softly, and soon, he joined her. "Are you happy now, love?"

He pressed another kiss to her expectant mouth. He nodded silently, words seemingly escaping his control at the moment.

But when he found them, they were undeniably the right words. They always were. "I love you, doucette."

"I love you, Michael."

Davenport wasn’t surprised that Michael and Nikita disappeared. He saw them go, Michael’s hand in the middle of Nikita’s back, the intimate gesture not lost on him. He was just surprised it took them as long as it did. He’d seen the heated glances Michael surreptitiously cast her way, and he admired Michael’s restraint in waiting as long as he did to whisk her away upstairs.

He looked at Cassidy. She seemed uncomfortable amongst so many strangers. "Darlin’, I know you don’t know anyone, but trust me, they’re all good people."

"I know," she said quietly.

"You tired?" he inquired solicitously.

"Not really," she answered, not sure whether she should confess the real reason for her discomfort.

He moved closer, his huge hand enclosing her much smaller one. "What’s wrong, Derry?"

Her grey eyes slid away from his near-black eyes.

"Derry...," he said warningly.

Suddenly she blurted out, "We have no place to go, Jake," her accent even more pronounced than usual.

"Michael said we could stay as long as we need to, honey."

"Where? On the couch? Can’t you see how crowded this house is, Jake? What kind of privacy would we have?" Just as suddenly as she started speaking, she stopped, coloring furiously.

"What? Derry, oh, baby girl, what are you thinking?" He seemed equal parts amused and aroused.

Her eyes turned the color of white gold. Whatever she was thinking, it touched her deeply. She searched the room anxiously, checking to see if anyone was close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. Lowering her voice to a cautious whisper, she replied, "That it would be so nice to spend more than a few minutes making love. That it would be lovely to be able to sleep together, all night long, in each other’s arms. That it would be wonderful to have the luxury of making love in a bed, instead of a dark hallway."

"Derry, my darlin’ girl, I never knew you felt that way..."

She gazed at him morosely. "I’m sorry, Jake, I know you fell in love with me cause I’m strong, and independent, and full of myself. And now I’m acting like a lovesick fool, pining for something I can’t have."

Davenport didn’t hesitate. He kissed her, right there, in front of Walter and everyone else. "I love when you’re wrong, Cassidy. And you are. This time."

He moved so close to her, it felt like he took possession of her, heart and soul. His breath fanning her cheek, he said softly, "If you only knew how many times I’ve wished we could take our time loving each other. Or could hold each other, all night long, if we wanted to. Or make love in a bedroom with the lights on."

He kissed her again, his lips rescuing her from the chill that earlier threatened to overtake her being. "Cause you know what? I’ve never seen your beautiful body, darlin’ girl, though I could identify you by the feel of your silky skin, or the lemony scent of your hair...."

Her splendid silver-grey eyes misted over. "We want too much, Jake. We’re lucky we’re alive. We should just be thankful and keep on going."

Davenport smiled in a way that would have made the Cheshire Cat envious. "Boy, are you going to be happy...."

"Why?"

"Cause Michael gave us a room, sweetheart. With a bed and a door and everything."

"Oh, Jake...." She kissed him fervently, her hands massaging his scalp. "Mmm...I don’t understand why some women are hopelessly fascinated by long hair..."

Davenport laughed. "I have hair, darlin’! I just cut it all off!"

She frowned. "Whatever for?"

He smoothed a hand over his head, savoring the satiny feel of it. He was very much a man inspired by different textures. He shrugged. It was a difficult thing to articulate.

"Well, I love you just the way you are."

"Is this a private conversation, or can anyone interrupt?" Walter’s smoke-and-whiskey voice intruded.

Davenport shook his head slowly. "Feel free."

Walter said, "Hey, I got orders to make you two at home. But that doesn’t seem right. I mean, this place ain’t nothin’ like Section." He grinned at the two former operatives, bemused at how slowly they appeared to be adjusting to the most minute detail of real life on the outside. Well, hell, he knew firsthand how daunting that first glance at the real world could be. They’d get over it. They had each other.

"Walk this way," Walter commanded the couple, beckoning them to follow.

***

A few moments later, the three of them stood outside the door of the second-floor bedroom that once housed Madeline and Neil. Walter held up a hand to stop them from going inside. Davenport looked frustrated, the first trace of real emotion Walter noted. Walter could well imagine what it was like, being outside of Section, for the first time, with the woman he loved.

"Walter, I hate to say this, but could you give us the tour another time? We’re really..." Davenport glanced at Cassidy quickly. "...tired."

Walter’s bright blue eyes twinkled merrily. That wasn’t all they were. Unless he was very much mistaken, these two could give Michael and Nikita a run for their money in the romance department.

"Well, there’s one more thing I gotta do. Sorry, folks, you’ll just have to bear with me a few more minutes."

Davenport looked like a few more minutes might very well be the end of him. Walter took pity on him. "Hey, big guy, it’s just that, whether you realize it or not, you’re now living in the middle of Kids Central. There’s something you’ve just gotta have."

Davenport drew a longsuffering breath. "And what could that possibly be?"

"A lock."

Walter produced a screwdriver and a lock, and true to his words,a few minutes later, the door sported a trusty new lock. Davenport stared at the piece of metal. "You really think this is necessary?"

Walter whistled. "Trust me, you’ll thank me later." He chuckled as he started to walk back down the hall to the staircase. "Oh, and...so will your kids."

Cassidy burst out laughing as soon as Walter was out of earshot. "He’s quite the character, isn’t he?"

Davenport smiled. "He’s one of a kind, our Walter."

Cassidy would have gone through the doorway then, but this time, it was Davenport who stopped her. "Hey, darlin’. Wait one sec. We have to do this right."

She gave him a puzzled glance. "What?"

Without any warning at all, Davenport picked up Cassidy, cradling her in his arms. Cassidy was by no means a little person, but Davenport handled her weight as if she were nothing. She hooked her arms around his neck, and he looked down at her, as if he were memorizing this moment for all time. He was. He didn’t know it yet, but he would tell his children about this.

"I know we’re not married in the legal sense, Derry, but...in every other way that matters, we are. First chance I get, that’s something I want to remedy. Think you’re up to the challenge?"

"Oh, yes, Jake." They kissed, and the sunlight pouring in through the windows in the hallway suddenly seemed brighter.

"Hey, I just realized something. Here I am, kissing you, and it’s daylight."

Cassidy threw her head back and laughed wholeheartedly. "Aye, and isn’t it wonderful?"

Davenport stepped over the threshold, carrying Cassidy in his arms. It felt like a very necessary ritual. It felt ceremonial. It felt right.

Once inside the room, Davenport locked the door. Barely sparing a glance for the room, Davenport put Cassidy down, letting her body slide slowly to the floor. Still standing within his embrace, Cassidy kissed him, her love more evident with each passing moment.

Davenport touched her almost reverently, gently removing her clothing, bit by bit, until she stood before him, clad only in a thin white satin camisole and a pair of pale pink panties. Transfixed by the beauty that was his, by what he had possessed again and again over the past two years, without even knowing, Davenport sighed contentedly. "I never dreamed...you’re so beautiful, Derry."

She looked curiously shy. "Better than your imagination, Jake?"

"Oh, much better, darlin’. Much, much better."

He looked away from her, his expression almost pained.

"What’s wrong, Jake?"

"Oh, baby girl... How the hell did you end up with an old wreck like me?"

Cassidy’s calm vanished with the onset of her Irish temper. "How dare you call yourself that? Do you think I care anything at all about what you look like? I love you!"

Davenport groaned. "Despite the obvious damage to my various body parts...my age..." He mentally ticked off the elements that supposedly meant something to one of them.

"You look damn near perfect to me. C’mere, Jake."

He slipped out of his jacket, throwing it onto the bed. In fact, in a few short minutes, he slipped out of virtually everything. "Oh, God, Derry. I don’t think I can wait."

She took a step closer, and he smiled, his arms open and welcoming. He slid a hand slowly over her curves, he knew her body well. Suddenly he stopped, a puzzled look on his face.

"Daragh Cassidy! When the hell were you going to tell me?"

His hand frozen where it remained pressed against her abdomen, Davenport used the other hand to gently push up the thin white satin, exposing her bare skin. He stared at her in disbelief as his hand made certain of its discovery. The gentle swell of her abdomen was unmistakable. She was pregnant.

Tears came to his dark eyes as he stroked her skin possessively. "No wonder you were so scared of what George meant to do. Oh, darlin’..."

"I know it was a terrible thing to keep from you, Jake, but I didn’t want to force you into leaving if you didn’t want to go."

"Not want to--! Goddammit, girl, don’t you know how much I love you? Sometimes I think I live just to be with you."

"Then you won’t make me get rid of it?" she asked fearfully.

Suddenly Davenport had a glimpse into the personal hell that Cassidy somehow survived, only to end up in Section One. "No, baby," he breathed.

Cassidy smiled gratefully. "You haven’t changed your mind then? About marrying me?"

He shook his head in wonderment. "No."

She cast a wistful look at the bed that now seemed to dominate the room. "Are you going to take me to bed soon, Jake?"

He smiled enigmatically.

Davenport pulled back the covers on the bed. Cradling Cassidy in his arms, he slowly deposited her upon the bed. Handling her so gently, she might be made of spun glass, Davenport found himself loath to stop touching her. He sat on the edge of the bed, his large frame dwarfing Cassidy’s slender one. Leaning forward to kiss her, his hands unconsciously cupped the newly discovered swell of her abdomen. His child lay sleeping beneath his hands. God, he couldn’t believe it.

She reached up and touched Davenport’s cheek. "Come to me, Jake. I need you."

He opened his shirt, and his chest lay bare for her perusal. She started at his neck and spread both hands wide apart until his shirt barely hung on the edges of his shoulders. His hairless chest, each muscle well sculpted, gently heaved at the touch of her hands. His skin lightly flushed from excitement, he regarded her with eyes so fully dilated, they looked black. Tipping the ends of his shirt off his shoulders, Cassidy waited for him to remove it.

He stood up to unzip his pants, slowly shrugging them off lean, muscular hips and thighs. Dropping the pants to the floor, he eased off the last bit of clothing that remained. Now he was naked. No, Cassidy thought, he was beautiful. How could he call himself a wreck when he possessed a body like that? She twisted restlessly under his continued scrutiny, suddenly realizing that the entire time he had been undressing, Davenport never took his eyes from her face.

Momentarily hesitating, Davenport said, "Derry..." His palms skimmed lightly over her breasts, still covered by white satin. "I don’t want to hurt you, darlin’." His dark eyes fell to her abdomen. "Or the baby."

"Maybe you should lay on top of me, sweetheart. I don’t want to crush you."

Poor Jake. He looked so torn between worry and excitement. He wanted her so badly, that much was obvious. But every time they had made love, she had assumed the superior position. There had to be a way to show him she was not as fragile as he imagined.

"Jake," she breathed his name softly. "I won’t break. Just this once...please try it this way. Make love to me..."

At the moment she uttered her entreaty, she cupped her hands around his arousal, feeling him throb within the confinement of her embrace. Slipping the last vestige of his control, Davenport groaned, laying his head upon her breast. God, she was so soft.

He took her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, and she let her head fall back upon the pillows. Oh, there was definitely something to be said for making love in a bed. Her hands restlessly stroked his face and neck as he laved first one breast, then the other.

When his mouth left her breasts, she felt cold. Unconsciously seeking the warmth of his touch, she arched prettily, bringing her navel into firm contact with his mouth. He made his way down her body, trailing kiss after tender kiss in a straight line, ending at the very heart of her.

She gasped at the touch of his tongue on her most delicate skin, and soon she was nearly undone. "Jake! Don’t! I want you inside me! Please!"

Kneeing her slender legs apart, he braced himself on his arms, reluctant to allow her to feel his full weight upon her. His fingers slid inside her core, and her wet heat beckoned to him. "Please!" she cried out, flinging her head from side to side with abandon.

Slowly entering her, with almost painstaking care, he felt her body welcome him. Trying desperately to hold back, Davenport’s efforts were thwarted by Cassidy’s very real desire to be possessed. She opened to him, like the beautiful flower he so often compared her to, and he sank more deeply inside her. Unable to resist her attempts to establish a rhythm, he responded, letting go of the tension that had been undermining their lovemaking.

Overcome at last, he pressed his mouth to hers, letting her swallow his groan of completion. Spilling himself within her, he felt her muscles clench tightly, then unfurl, in synch with his own climax. "Oh, God, Derry, I love you, baby."

Her eyes closed, she smiled. His body even now relaxing against hers, his weight felt both comfortable and welcome. "Don’t let me fall asleep on you, darlin’. I’m too heavy for you..." he mouthed sleepily.

So he said. But he did fall asleep. Just like that. She wanted to rejoice at the wonderful way he had shared himself with her. Finally. Pressing a kiss to his head, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him within her body as he slept.

Though they had never been here before...this was homecoming.

Madeline was the last person anyone expected to show so much emotion. But she was Connor’s mother. She took one look at her four-year old son and broke down. Weeping, she ran her hands over every part of Connor’s body, checking for bruises and any other visible marks of his ordeal at Section One. "Are you okay? Connor, are you okay, sweetheart? Are you okay?"

If anyone was surprised by Madeline’s effusive reaction, they didn’t show it. But Connor himself appeared confused by such overt emotion and sympathetic emotion at that. "Mommy?"

"Oh, Connor." She knelt down at his level and hugged him tightly, inhaling the scent of his baby fine hair. "I’m so sorry."

Connor blinked. He didn’t really understand everything that happened to him since the bad man came. But Madeline didn’t know that. It took a hand on her shoulder from her husband Neil to bring her back to where she was and what she was doing.

"Maddy...," Neil said, directing her to look at him without even saying another word.

He helped her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her, using their closeness to make her aware of something she might otherwise miss. "Maddy, honey, Connor doesn’t fully understand what happened. He knows it was bad, but...," he swallowed his own anxiety at that moment, "...he doesn’t know how bad."

"I know how you feel, Maddy, but you’re scaring him."

She nodded, acknowledging the truth of what he said. But Neil’s lack of demonstrative emotion bothered her. "Neil," she whispered, not wanting Connor to hear, "He’s your son. Don’t you care?"

Neil turned pale. He and Maddy had their problems, but they always managed to work things through. Distancing herself from Connor for the past two years, though, was something he never understood. It was one of the few issues they had been unable to resolve to his satisfaction. Now, oddly enough, her guilt over that plus Connor’s abduction clearly drove her to smother him with this almost overpowering show of affection. But never, in all their years together, had she ever questioned whether Neil loved his son.

Blinking back tears, Neil stared at his wife without speaking. He didn’t even have words for this. His initial reaction was to run. Far, far away. Till he was somewhere he could lick his wounds in private. But he couldn’t leave Connor. He loved Connor. Connor was the best part of him and Maddy.

Madeline clapped both hands over her mouth. What had she done? "Oh, Neil."

Neil’s blue eyes dulled with pain. "You know what hurts most, Maddy? I’ve always defended you when the others couldn’t. I’ve always understood you when the others couldn’t." He shook his head sadly. "And now I can’t," he choked out.

Neil picked up Connor, trying desperately not to betray his own upset to his son. "I’m going home now, Connor. You want to come with me, or stay here with Mom?"

Connor wasn’t fooled. He wasn’t Neil’s son for nothing. He was very perceptive for a child, and he knew his daddy was upset. He could feel the tension thrumming through his body as his father held him just a trifle too tight.

He didn’t know which parent to choose. He didn’t want to choose sides. But he knew one thing. He didn’t want to be in the middle of a tug-of-war.

Deciding that his father needed him more than his mother right now, Connor clasped his arms around Neil’s neck. But it wasn’t an easy decision to make. He avoided his mother’s eyes. She looked like she was still crying.

After Neil left with Connor, Madeline seemed to shrink. Whatever motivated her remained a mystery. But Miranda, unable to stand idly by and do nothing, led the younger woman to a chair and made her sit down. Everyone was uncomfortably aware that Madeline was not herself, though Michael could have told them that was not necessarily a bad thing, and soon, they scattered to the four corners of the house.

Alone with Madeline, Miranda studied the woman everyone seemed to hold at a careful distance these days. Wondering if it was the result of Madeline’s own handiwork or some past conflict that could never be forgotten, Miranda realized that she was probably one of the few people who could still be relatively objective about Madeline. She didn’t share a history with her, like so many of the others, and what she knew of her, she knew from personal experience.

Madeline looked up, traces of tears hanging off her long, dark eyelashes like tiny ice crystals. If Madeline could have seen herself, she might have thought it was only fitting. Somewhere along the line, she had lost the person she once was. That was good. The woman who left Section One all those years ago no longer existed. But she had started to evolve into a warmer, gentler version of herself, fueled by the love and affection of the family Michael built. What happened to that woman? Therein lay the tragedy. That woman had disappeared as well.

Miranda interrupted Madeline’s melancholy reverie. "What’s wrong, Madeline?"

Madeline sniffled. "I’ve lost myself." She looked vaguely stunned to realize that she had admitted this to Miranda. Her dark eyes moistened further, the effect something like melting caramel. "I’ve lost my son...and now I’m losing Neil."

"What makes you think so?" Miranda carefully reflected back to Madeline, trying to help Madeline elicit the source of these feelings.

It was not in Madeline’s nature to confide. She had always been a loner, an entity unto herself. Part of this was her natural personality. Deeply introspective, she had grown used to hiding her real feelings, long before she joined Section. When she was recruited, this ability became an asset. When she was promoted through the ranks, eventually becoming Operations’ lover, then his second-in-command, it was even more important to hide what she felt. She couldn’t have done her job otherwise. But losing her humanity had its price...

She and Michael were very much alike that way. They both became adept at hiding their true feelings, to the eventual detriment of life and love. When Operations exclaimed happily over the way Michael had succeeded in overriding any feelings he had for Nikita...Madeline secretly grieved. She knew that somewhere, in his heart of hearts, those feelings still existed, and suppressing them was killing him. Bit by bit. That was why she had helped him and Nikita escape.

Nikita saved Michael. Neil saved Madeline. Or so she thought. "Things were going so well until..."

"Until when, Madeline?" Miranda asked softly.

"Until Connor was born..." she said, a little afraid of where this might lead.

Miranda touched Madeline’s arm gently. Madeline looked startled. She had never been a very demonstrative woman. She had certain needs, but even those were fairly well concealed. It wasn’t that she could not love. She knew she could. But the expression of that love was becoming hopelessly entangled with her past, and some of that past went far beyond her years at Section.

"You had problems bonding with Connor?"

"Not exactly. I--Oh, God, this is so hard." Madeline was torn between trying to regain control of her runaway emotions and trying to set them free once and for all.

"My mother never understood me." Madeline laughed harshly. "I know, I know how ridiculous that sounds, how stereotypical." She took a deep breath. "But it was true."

"For whatever reason...maybe the reasons don’t matter anymore...she favored my sister. Her name was Sarah."

Miranda silently encouraged Madeline, squeezing her hand very lightly.

"Sarah was...everything I was not. She was bright and sunny...and she loved to laugh. I remember that. She loved to laugh." For a moment, Madeline seemed lost in thought. Then she shook herself clear of the past.

Suddenly Madeline met Miranda’s clear hazel eyes with a directness that would have scared someone who recalled her Section ‘look’. "Does that remind you of anyone?"

Miranda refused to back off. They were finally getting somewhere, and Miranda had a feeling this was one journey Madeline needed to take. Or she would never be able to go anywhere else.

"I’m aware of your history with Nikita, Madeline, if that’s what you mean. Walter and I have talked at great length about it."

Miranda added, "Was that why your relationship with Nikita was so conflicted?"

Madeline’s face softened, abruptly losing its tense expression. "And still is."

Madeline sighed. "She’s a constant reminder of what I’m not, what I can never be. I envy her...ease of expression. I’ve never had that. I never will."

"Yet you’re drawn to her. You have strong feelings for her."

"Yes," Madeline said tearfully. "I love her. When she said that she wanted me to be her mother, the mother she never had...it was a validation of who I was becoming, the person I wanted so much to be..."

"But?"

"But when Connor was born...I had this...voice in my head, telling me I wasn’t a good mother. That I would never measure up." Madeline buried her face in her hands, and Miranda let her cry for a few moments.

"So you did what? Gave up? Madeline, I don’t know you that well, but even I can see, you’re hardly the type to quit this early in the game."

Miranda folded her hands in front of her. "I’m not a therapist like you, Madeline, but I think you’re a bit too close to things to be able to help yourself at this point."

Tears sparkled in Madeline’s dark eyes. "Miranda? Tell me how to fix this. I don’t want to lose my husband the way I’ve lost my son..."

"Well...the first thing you need to realize is that...Nikita is not Sarah. Whatever problems you had with your sister or your mother, revisiting them upon someone else never helps. Having said that, I think you need to let go of whatever pain you still have over the way your mother treated you."

"Miranda, that was a long time ago. I’m sure that’s no longer an issue--"

"And I’m just as sure it is, Madeline." Miranda smiled patiently. "You asked for my two cents, and you’re getting it."

"As for the rest, you’re right, Madeline. If you don’t do something now to reclaim the feelings you have for your son and your husband, you are going to lose both of them."

Madeline gasped. Miranda shrugged. "I’m sorry if you think that I should have sugarcoated that a bit more, but it’s the truth. Maybe if you face that, head-on, you’ll find the motivation to change."

"I want to change, Miranda. I don’t want to lose Connor or Neil."

"Then get yourself into therapy, Madeline. You’re very good at solving everyone else’s problems. Now it’s time for you to work on your own."

Miranda smiled and produced a hankie to wipe at Madeline’s tear-drenched face. "You look like hell, Madeline," she said, not unkindly.

Madeline smiled through her tears. "Why are you being so nice to me? No one is ever nice to me anymore..."

Miranda reached for the younger woman and hugged her. Madeline surprised herself by returning the gesture. "What-what was that for?"

Miranda pushed back an errant strand of dark hair off Madeline’s refined brow. "Be nice to yourself, Madeline, for a change. Enjoy your life. It’s the only one you’ll get."

There was a sound behind them, and they both turned towards the door. Miranda smiled at the man who stood there. "Glad you came back." Miranda hugged Madeline one last time before she left the man alone with her.

Madeline stared at her husband anxiously. "Neil, I--"

Neil played with his wedding band for several moments, the gesture oddly ironic given Madeline’s frame of mind. "Maddy--"

"I’ll go first, Neil."

He nodded.

She struggled for composure only a few more seconds, reconciling herself to being a different person, to finding that person she wanted to be. "There’s so much I want to tell you, Neil. Need to tell you, really. But the most important thing is..."

She took a deep breath and prayed for forgiveness. From Neil. From Connor. From Michael. From Nikita. From her mother and from her sister. But most of all, from herself.

"I love you, Neil. But more than that...I don’t think I can live without you." She raised dark, anguished eyes to his beloved face, waiting expectantly.

Neil was not a man driven easily to tears, but for the second time that day, he cried.

Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed her mouth, her cheek, and her temple. Pressing her face against his chest, Madeline closed her eyes.

"I love you, Maddy. I’ll help you get through this, whatever it takes," Neil said huskily.

"Whatever it takes, Neil," she echoed.

She would do whatever it took. She loved him that much. And with his love and his support, she would find her new beginning. Cause this was hardly the end.