"Maddy! For Christ’s sake, you’re driving me crazy!"

Neil raked both hands through his dark blond hair, mussing it hopelessly. He flung his pen down on his desk and stared at her threateningly. "You weren’t like this when you were pregnant the first time!"

"Neil, we have to talk about this sometime. There isn’t much time left."

Neil stood up, glaring at his wife, who, despite her soft voice and her demure appearance, made him want to scream. "What is it with you? You’d think it was your wedding, not Derry’s!"

"Well, if I leave it to her and Davenport, Neil, they’ll never get married before the babies come." Madeline smiled smugly, as if she had proven her point beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Neil began to pace back and forth, his agitation increasing with every word his wife uttered. She was convinced that she was right, and everyone else was wrong. "That’s for them to decide, Maddy."

Madeline ignored Neil’s comment, returning to her obscenely long checklist. "Now we just need to find out what kind of flowers are available...."

Neil pulled Madeline into his arms. "Honey, you’ve got to stop this! Derry doesn’t want a big wedding! She’s basically shy!"

Madeline laughed. "Oh, Neil, that’s ridiculous! I’ve never met a Section operative yet who could be described as shy."

Neil looked at her aghast. "Really? I can name two right off the top of my head. Davenport and Derry. Not to mention Michael."

Madeline continued to chuckle uncontrollably. "Michael? Shy? Oh, Neil, that’s so funny!"

Convinced that his wife was under the influence of her wildly fluctuating hormone levels, Neil dismissed her sudden lack of insight. She was a trained observer, her perception legendary. But her normally crystal-clear judgment was definitely clouded.

With a huge sigh, Neil buried his face in his wife’s long dark hair. Pressing a soft kiss to her ear, he whispered, "Maddy, honey, I love you."

"I love you, too, Neil," she responded warmly.

Yet the moment he released her, Madeline smiled brightly and went back to checking off items on her list. "It’s going to be a beautiful wedding, Neil. Everything I’ve ever dreamed of..." Madeline’s dark eyes grew distant, and suddenly Neil realized that Madeline wasn’t doing this for Derry, but for herself.

"Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me?" Neil’s heart broke at the way Madeline was pouring herself heart and soul into planning the most lavish, the most elegant wedding possible for Davenport and his fiancee. He assumed, like everyone else, that because Madeline was married before, she had a white wedding with all the trimmings.

She wrapped an arm around Neil’s neck, brushing her mouth against his in the lightest of kisses. Playing with the hair at his nape, Madeline gazed fondly into her husband’s troubled blue eyes. He was so dear, her Neil. He worried so. No one had ever cared as much about her welfare and well-being as he did. "It doesn’t matter."

"Of course, it matters, Maddy. Everything about you matters to me." Now Neil felt vaguely upset with himself for yelling at Madeline.

"But sweetheart, Derry isn’t going to appreciate all your efforts. She’s going to think you’re meddling, and you are."

Madeline’s eyes grew wet. "But I wanted to give her something beautiful she would always remember, Neil."

Neil kissed the teardrops as they fell in a shimmering trail down her cheeks. "It’s the vows she’ll remember, Maddy. That’s the most beautiful part...and it can happen anywhere. Like it did with us."

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead on Neil’s. "I understand..."

"Maddy," he said, so low she had to strain to hear him. "If you really want this...do it for us. We can renew our vows. Maybe it’s a sign. Things are so much better now."

"Oh, Neil, I love you."

"I’m not having a freaking circus for a wedding, Jake! I don’t hate Madeline, I swear I don’t! Especially after all she’s meant to my brother..." Derry paused for a moment to catch her breath.

"But that doesn’t give her the right to plan *my* wedding!" With that said, she proceeded to flounce over to the couch that dominated their sitting room. Throwing herself down on her stomach with a harsh cry, she buried her face in the soft velvet material.

Davenport looked conflicted. He knelt by the side of the couch, not an easy feat for such a big man, and tugged gently on her chin, forcing her to make tearful eye contact with him. She was so beautiful, and he couldn’t bear to see her cry. "Derry..." he said quietly, claiming her mouth tenderly.

"Maybe you misunderstood--"

"Oh, Jake, it’s not that I mind her helping with the wedding, but it’s taking on a bloody life of its own!" Derry cried anxiously. "I’m so...so..."

"What, Derry? What?" He searched her pale grey eyes urgently, looking for some logical reason for such acute distress.

"Scared, Jake. I’m so scared." She collapsed against his chest, and he held her as she wept.

Terror struck his heart once again. What did she mean? "Honey, you’re not scared of me, are you?" Tell me that’s not it.

She looked stunned. "No, no, Jake. You’re my rock. Oh, God, I don’t know what I would do without you!" She clung to him, her tears saturating his shoulder now.

She sniffled and began to speak, slowly and haltingly at first. "It’s just that...Madeline has all these wonderful ideas, Jake, and they’d be perfectly lovely. If I were a guest. But the idea of parading around in front of all those people...having them staring at me, no matter how happy...or well-meant...they might be...frightens me."

"It’s not what I want, Jake. Honestly." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and Davenport suddenly remembered another time and another place when he offered her a handkerchief for the same reason.

"Can I tell you the truth, darlin’?"

She nodded tentatively.

His dark eyes glittered with some unspoken emotion. Love. Affection. Or maybe compassion. "It’s not what I want either."

Her pupils grew huge, making her silvery eyes look curiously dark for once. "Jake! You don’t mean it!"

"I do, darlin’." He stood up slowly, pulling Derry off the couch and into his waiting embrace. His arms tightly wound about her waist, he tucked her head beneath his chin. She slid her overheated face against his chest. Listening to his heartbeat never failed to calm her.

"Oh, Jake, what are we going to do?"

"The only thing we can do, sweetheart."

Michael snuggled closer to Nikita, his arms wrapped around her barely curved abdomen. He pressed a sleepy kiss to the nape of her neck. He could hear muffled voices down the hall. "Sounds like the neighbors are getting restless again, Kita."

Nikita pulled Michael’s arm up to her lips and kissed it. "Aren’t you glad we have all our problems solved, Michael?"

He blinked, still half-asleep, though he wasn’t quite sure which half of him wasn’t awake. "We do?"

"Yes," she said firmly. Michael didn’t have the heart to argue with her. He settled comfortably against her back once more. "Dat’s good," he said, his accent becoming more pronounced as he fell back into a languorous state.

She smiled, rubbing her cheek against her pillow. All was right in her world. No one else existed there. But them.

***

Nikita decided that something needed to be done about the growing distance between Madeline’s and Derry’s ideas about the upcoming nuptials. Taking the bull by the horns, Nikita invited Madeline and Derry to have coffee with her.

Madeline sat down at the kitchen table, managing to look graceful despite being four months into her pregnancy. She smiled at Nikita, grateful for the opportunity to clear the air of any misunderstandings between her and Davenport’s bride-to-be.

"Good morning, Nikita. You’re looking very well."

Nikita smiled easily, her earlier feeling of well-being carrying over into this impromptu meeting. "I feel good, Mom. I’m past the morning sickness now. I’ve even gained a few pounds."

Madeline nodded. "Neil couldn’t wait to tell me. He seemed surprised but delighted that you were finally listening to his advice." Madeline chuckled and assumed the tone of Neil’s lower voice, "It only took her four kids!"

Nikita giggled at her adoptive mother’s uncanny impression of her oh-so-British husband. "You sound just like Neil."

"You should hear Connor imitate his father. It’s positively frightening."

Nikita sobered. "How is Connor? Are things better between the two of you?"

"Yes, Nikita, they are." Madeline reached out and grasped Nikita’s hand firmly in her own. "I’m lucky I have people who care about me as much as you and Neil do. I needed that wake-up call. Badly."

She sighed and patted her own gradually increasing abdomen. "Thanks to you two, Connor’s going to have a little brother or sister."

Nikita gave her mother a startled look and laughed. "Oh, no, Mom, I had nothing to do with that! As far as I’m concerned, Neil did it all by himself."

Madeline blushed furiously. She looked up to find Derry McLaren standing over her. "I’d love a word with you, Madeline." Though there was nothing unusual about her choice of words, Derry’s tone was clearly hostile.

Nikita protected her mother, almost instinctively, beckoning to the younger woman to sit down. "Please, Derry...join us. For coffee." And sympathy, Nikita longed to add, but she knew the effort would be wasted.

"I’d rather stand."

Nikita shrugged. "Suit yourself." Nikita stirred her coffee almost idly, but her full attention was on Derry. "You know, you’re wound awfully tight, Derry. You need to...get out...loosen up a bit."

"Loosen up? In what way?"

In every way, Nikita said silently, willing herself to continue. Sometimes I can’t believe you’re Declan’s twin sister. But then, it’s obvious that the two of you were raised in completely different environments. This is what happens, Nikita thought bitterly, when Section is allowed to breed us like lab rats.

"Derry..." Nikita stood up wearily. "If you stand, I have to stand. I’m your hostess. Have a heart, sweetie. Okay?"

Derry flushed and sat down abruptly, a mulish look set on her lovely face. She didn’t want to argue with Nikita. Her issues were with Madeline, not Nikita. She owed Nikita. A lot. Still, she didn’t much care for being treated like a disobedient child. And she said so.

"Then stop acting like one, for God’s sake!" Nikita snapped, losing her patience finally.

Michael popped his head into the room, concerned when he heard Nikita raise her voice. "Is something wrong, doucette?"

"No, Michael. Go on to school." Michael pushed his way gently into the room, leaning over to caress Nikita’s hair and kiss her tenderly. Taking a moment to whisper into her ear, he said, "Are you sure you know what you’re doing, love?"

She merely nodded, pulling him close to kiss him back. "Don’t you worry about anything, Michael. We’ll be fine."

Michael doubted that, but he wisely kept his own counsel. He wasn’t about to utter a word against any of them.

He was outnumbered.

Nikita had the floor. Derry gave her the best blank stare she could muster, but she’d forgotten one important thing. Nikita lived with Michael, from the latter days of Section through the days when angst ruled their lives until the present. A mere blank stare didn’t faze Nikita. It was an open invitation to lay siege to that defense. And if she could take down Michael, what chance did Derry have?

None at all.

Derry frowned and leaped to her feet, as if ready to run.

Nikita commanded, "Sit."

"Who the hell are you?"

Madeline hid a bemused smile behind an elegantly manicured hand. Still, she couldn’t resist commenting. "And you thought I never taught you anything useful."

"Shut up, Mom!" Nikita snapped, then gentled her tone considerably. "You had nothing to do with it! I learned that from--"

"Ah," Madeline said with a smug look. "From Michael."

Nikita looked at her mother quite blankly. "Well, no, Mom...actually, I didn’t learn this until I had the twins." She gave Madeline a wry grin. "I think I perfected it on Faith."

Madeline snorted. "It works better on adults than kids then."

Nikita smiled sweetly, resisting Madeline’s subtle attempt to ruffle her feathers. "Ask Michael."

Derry almost laughed at this exchange, but caught herself in time. She couldn’t imagine Michael Samuelle giving in to anyone, even his wife. Unless she was his only weakness. "Does it make you feel powerful to bring a great man like Michael to his knees then, Nikita?"

Madeline glanced at Nikita, knowing how fiercely protective she was of Michael. Bracing herself for the inevitable explosion, she was astonished when it didn’t come.

Instead, Nikita slowly stirred her coffee, though by now, it clearly did not need any further stirring. Tapping her spoon lightly on the side of the cup, she took her time answering. But what she said made Madeline proud to call Nikita daughter.

"Loving someone doesn’t make you weak, Derry. It makes you stronger."

Derry dropped her gaze to the table directly in front of her. "I didn’t mean to suggest that Michael was under your thumb, Nikita. I’m sorry."

Nikita accepted Derry’s apology gracefully. "It took us a long time, Derry, but Michael and I finally realized that...we’re stronger together than we ever were apart. And at this point in our lives...nothing and no one...can ever tear us apart."

Madeline reached across the table for Nikita’s hand and held it. A somber look on her otherwise lovely face, Madeline said, "Nikita...for all the times we tried to stop you two from finding out just how much you belonged to each other...I am deeply sorry."

Nikita sensed her mother’s pain and heartfelt regret at the part she played, however unwittingly, in keeping Michael and Nikita from being together. However, Nikita was more than aware that they could never have had the relationship they had now. Not within Section. Back at Section, Michael would always have held a superior position, by right, by seniority, by experience. She would always have been his subordinate. Never his equal. And their personal relationship would have reflected this.

Here, where they were now free to become whatever they were truly meant to be...they had become equals. In the truest sense of the word. He gave her what she needed. She gave him what he needed. And they were indeed both stronger for it.

Moving on with a slight sigh, Nikita said, "Well, Mom, enough of this phiIosophical crap...I think what we need is a good, old-fashioned, girls’ night out."

Madeline looked vaguely surprised, but not unpleasantly so. "Hmm..." she said thoughtfully.

"So we can get over ourselves and bond, dammit." Nikita clinked her spoon loudly this time against the side of her cup.

"But Nikita," Derry seemed loath to say anything, but she felt compelled to point something out. "We’re all freaking pregnant. We can’t just go out and have a drink somewhere."

Nikita leaned forward eagerly, her blue eyes gleaming with unabashed enthusiasm. "We don’t have to drink to get loose."

Madeline interjected briskly, "It’s a moot point, Nikita, since none of us drink."

"I know. But there has to be someplace we could go. To talk. Listen to loud music. Dance."

Derry looked worried. "Loud music isn’t good for the baby."

Madeline and Nikita both stared at her.

"Well, I read it somewhere," Derry added feebly.

Nikita grinned. "Any child of mine better like loud music. Or they’ll never survive life as a Samuelle."

"Your house never seems all that noisy, Nikita."

Nikita laughed softly. "Now that James has them all over at Mom’s house, all day long, no..."

"Don’t you miss them, when they’re away like that, Nikita?"

Nikita smiled knowingly at Derry. "Wait till your own twins are born--"

Madeline finished Nikita’s sentence for her. "And you want a little time alone with your husband."

Nikita and Madeline exchanged warm looks before dissolving into a fit of the giggles. "That’s why God invented schools!" Nikita quipped.

Derry finally put aside her very natural misgivings and gave in to the inevitable. She liked Nikita. And she was starting to see a very different side of Madeline. "So...um...where are we going to go?"

"I know just the place," Nikita said with a wink.

"You heard Nikita’s planning a girls’ night out?" Declan asked, playing with a lock of Sey’s hair. Sey batted Declan’s hand away and returned to reading his magazine.

"What do you s’pose they’re all going to do then?" Declan said mischievously, obviously enjoying the thought of three pregnant ladies cruising for trouble.

"I don’t know," Birkoff said, his voice sounding a trifle annoyed.

Declan stood just behind Birkoff’s chair and wrapped his arms around his neck. "Maybe we should have a boys’ night out then."

"And do what?" Birkoff snapped.

Declan grabbed the top of Birkoff’s magazine and flipped it into the air. It landed on the carpet a few moments later, curiously none the worse for wear. "I was reading that," Birkoff said, glaring at Declan.

"Hmm...tired of me already?" Declan fluttered his eyelashes at Sey in imitation of an overly amorous butterfly. Sey frowned. "What’s wrong with you?"

"Why does there have to be something wrong, Sey? Maybe I just want a little...attention." Declan pouted, and somehow, he managed to look good doing so.

Birkoff sighed heavily. He got up and bent over to pick up his magazine. Declan followed him, sweeping him easily to the carpet with a subtle martial arts move. Birkoff lay on his back, looking up at Declan, who now straddled his body. "What?"

"You want to go out? We could grab Neil and Michael and James and--"

Sey dismissed that idea out of hand. "I want...to...read."

"Oh, bloody hell. You act like we’re not s’posed to go out and have fun anymore. Like we’re an old married couple." Declan slid off his lover’s body and onto his back, next to him.

Now it was Sey’s turn to hover alarmingly close to Declan, staring significantly at his mouth. "We *are* an old married couple, Dec."

Declan sighed. "Maybe you’d rather go out with the girls, instead of us."

Birkoff ignored Declan’s sarcastic wit and asked, "Now why would I want to do that?"

"Cause the wives are all going out together...and you’re my...wife," Declan bit off.

Birkoff considered that. Almost seriously. "So you’d like me to join them? And then what? I could spend all night telling the girls what you’re like in bed?"

"Maybe I’ll go out with the guys...and tell them what *you’re* like in bed, Sey."

Birkoff rolled his eyes and began to laugh at last. "You would, too."

"Damn straight, honey boy." Declan almost vibrated with excitement. He looked longingly at Sey’s mouth. He wanted to kiss him so badly, he could taste it.

Sey lay back on the carpet, his long dark hair fanning out behind him, his dark eyes half-closed slumberously. Declan smiled, just before slanting his mouth across his. He slid his tongue inside Sey’s mouth with a groan, and Sey threaded his fingers through Declan’s long unruly curls. His mouth opened under Declan’s sensual assault, allowing Declan free access to whatever he wanted.

When Declan broke away, breathless, Sey stared up at him helplessly. "Hey, no fair stopping," Sey said huskily.

"I thought you wanted to read," Declan retorted.

"You’d better tell ‘em I’m damn good in bed," Sey said with a fierce look.

"Prove it."

Before Birkoff could answer, a voice came from behind them. It sounded very amused. "What are you doing?"

Birkoff almost jackknifed into a sitting position, wondering vaguely if his arousal was visible. Picking up his magazine, Birkoff smiled weakly. "I dropped my magazine."

Declan knew he sounded like three kinds of fool, but he couldn’t let Birkoff go out on that limb all by himself. "Yeah, I was helping him pick it up."

"I see...you two do have a damned interesting relationship. You know that?"

Declan stood up, offering his lover a hand to help him up. When Sey regained a more upright position, Declan wrapped an arm around his shoulders, as if warning off all comers. This is my territory. Trespassers forbidden.

"Yeah, well...the way I see it, James, we need to find you somebody. That way, you’ll be less interested in what *we’re* doing."

James gave Declan an insouciant grin. "Maybe. Can you find me someone like Sey?"

Declan gazed affectionately at his lover. "There *is* no one else like Sey...he’s one of a kind."

Sey lay his head on Declan’s shoulder as Declan’s fingers caressed his face. "That’s why he married me."