“Sasha…” came the whisper.

“Sasha!” the voice called more loudly.

“Sasha!!!”

A pebble hit the door to the third-floor apartment that Sasha shared with his family. It cracked like a gunshot, but surprisingly, no one but Sasha reacted. Sey was lost in another world. A world of pain and loneliness that grew deeper day by day. Emmy lay on her stomach on the living room floor, pretending to watch TV. But Sasha knew that she was really guarding their father. If this was living, Sasha didn’t want to get used to it.

Sasha crept silently to the door and let himself out. No one appeared to notice.

***

“You have to do it, Sasha! You’re the only one of us who knows where the Bad Place is! You’ve been there! You’re the only one who could take us there!”

Sasha stared in disbelief at Faith. Little ringleader that she was, she was trying to convince all of the older children to take on a mission. A real mission. The kind that could get them killed.

“That’s not funny, Fee.”

“It’s not supposed to be funny, Sasha. We need you.”

Sasha’s dark brown eyes flickered, briefly studying Chris. “What’s your reaction to all this, Chris?”

“I think we have to do something, Sasha,” Chris managed to choke out before a fit of coughing took over.

“Are you okay?” Faith asked solicitously.

“Prolly just getting a cold,” Chris said dismissively.

Chris patted Sasha’s shoulder. “For once I agree with Fee, Sasha. You know the way there. You know something about how that place works. And you have almost as much computer expertise as your Dad.”

“What makes you think that’s where they went?”

“Maybe it’s not where they went. But whatever’s going on has something to do with that place. I know it,” Chris averred. His light eyes darkened as his face grew even more grave.

“But it’s a terrible place, Chris.” Sasha closed his eyes and swallowed. He didn’t want to go back there. God forgive him, his Da was in need of their help, but he didn’t know if he could bring himself to go there. Not even for Da’s sake.

Chris’ grip tightened on Sasha’s shoulder. His eyes looked almost grim. Almost…dangerous. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to go, Sasha. It’ll be that much harder. But I have to go. It’s like a…quest.”

Sasha wore reluctance like it was an old familiar piece of clothing. He gritted his teeth and thought of his father sitting upstairs, living that netherworld existence without Declan. If there was anything he could do to stop that downward spiral, didn’t he have a responsibility to do it? Whatever it might be?

“Okay…but we gotta get one thing straight.”

“Sure.”

Faith nodded, curiously obedient for once. She knew that they needed Sasha’s help…desperately.

“*I’m* in charge. What I say, goes. No backtalk. No discussion. If I say we give it up and come back home with our tails between our legs, that’s it. Got it?”

Chris blinked at the tone of command in Sasha’s voice. Where the hell had that come from? Maybe Declan had more influence than he knew. But he couldn’t argue with him. They needed him, and he was right.

Chris fought the urge to salute the older boy, settling for a noncommittal smile. “Got it.”

“Fee?”

“Um, yeah. Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Fee, if you’re not completely willing to do what I tell you, you can bail out right now. I’m not against taking a girl, especially one who can almost beat the crap out of me, but if you want to lead this little expedition, we’ve got major problems.”

“I’m in.”

“Okay…we should keep the group small. It’s a lot easier to keep track of everyone that way, and we’ll be able to blend a lot better.”

Sasha beckoned the twins towards the edge of the property, where there was less chance of being overheard by anyone. He crouched down in the grass, and one sharp look brought the other two down. “We can’t tell anyone about this. Not anyone. But especially not your Mom.”

“She’ll be upset when she finds out we’re gone,” Chris offered. “Maybe we should leave a note.”

Sasha shook his head. “I don’t think a note will help. She’s going to be pretty upset, no matter what.”

Chris nodded, albeit not entirely convinced that a note wouldn’t assuage some of the hurt. “So who goes and who stays?”

“Emmy can’t come. Someone has to watch over Dad. She’s been practically keeping a vigil anyway. She won’t mind.”

Chris agreed. “What about Connor? When he was kidnapped, they kept him inside the Bad Place.”

“I don’t know how much he remembers….”

“But he could still help,” Chris added.

“Okay. I want Jazz with us, too.”

“Jazz? Why? He’s not even involved in any of this.”

“But he’s got experience. Living on the streets. He’s tougher than he looks, remember?”

“All right,” Chris said, yielding to the leader’s decision. “When do you figure we should leave?”

“Get up tomorrow, just like it’s a regular school day. We’ll meet at the elementary school. It’s not that far and we can all walk it easily. But don’t go inside. Jazz will come up with a way to get us into the city.”

Faith couldn’t help herself. She knew her excitement was showing. This was such an adventure. Of course there were lives at stake, and every one of them had a very personal reason for wanting this mission to succeed. But it was undeniably exhilarating, this feeling of being able to do something constructive about their situation.

“Hey, we’re like the Musketeers again,” she quipped.

Sasha’s eyes echoed the burgeoning darkness surrounding them now. “Let’s not forget how they ended up. No point in being a hero if you’re dead.”

“We’re going where?”

Declan backed up, his bootheels crunching on the dirt-and-gravel road. “No way. I’m not going back into One, Michael. Not even for you.”

“We don’t have to, Declan.”

“But you said—“

“I said we were going to pay a visit to TPTB.”

“So you’re not talking about the new Operations? Whoever that is?”

Michael shook his head silently. “I’m talking about going to Center. That’s an entirely different thing.”

“Center. Jesus, Michael, you could give me a little warning. No one’s ever gone into Center and come back out. That I know of. It’s not like freaking Oversight.”

“I know.” Michael looked disappointed, but if he searched his heart, he knew that Declan had already given him more than he asked for. Blind loyalty. Until now.

“Dav? What do you think?”

I think I miss my wife. I think I might never see her again. Davenport drew a shaky breath and replied, “I thought Mr. Jones told you that he would contact you. Won’t this violate whatever agreement you have with him, Michael?”

“There is no such thing as an agreement between Center and anyone on the outside. If he thinks I don’t know that, he’s sorely underestimating me.”

Davenport scratched his head. “Still…you’re taking an awful chance, Michael. What if--?”

Michael let his exasperation show. Finally. The days spent away from Nikita, away from the rest of his family, his entire freaking life, were beginning to take their toll. “You can’t second-guess me! You’re either with me…or you’re not. You choose.”

Davenport dropped his gaze to his feet. He knew better than to question Michael that way. But he couldn’t stop his mind from repeating, over and over again, like a damned broken record, What if he’s wrong, What if he’s wrong?

To his surprise, however, what came out of his mouth was, “I’m with you, Michael. To the end.”

“Thanks,” Michael whispered. “Declan?”

“Bloody hell. I’m going to spend eternity regretting this, but if I have to go to Hell, at least I’ll be in good company.”

***

The mansion was surrounded by water. The only way in was by boat. Hardly unobtrusive. Unless….

Michael clubbed the boatman with the butt of his gun. As the man fell to the ground unconscious, Declan raised questioning eyes to Michael’s. “You’re not going to kill him?”

“No,” Michael answered softly.

“But he’ll give the alarm the moment he wakes up,” Declan protested.

“He won’t wake up for a while.”

Skeptically, Declan regarded the older man. “I hope you’re right.”

***

Michael had no idea whether or not Mr. Jones was actually at Center. But he was willing to risk everything to see the man again.

Once they approached the main door, Michael signaled the others to split up. As they went their separate ways, Michael prayed that they would succeed in saving Elena and Adam, but more than that, he wished for a speedy return to Nikita’s side.

Davenport strode to the left, Declan to the right. Michael resisted the urge to cross himself, telling himself that if God were on anyone’s side, it wouldn’t be his. Taking the stairs two at a time, he landed lithely on the landing of the second floor. No one in sight.

***

“Jason, be a love and go see what the perimeter looks like. I’m getting a psychic chill or something. I could swear that Michael must be nearby.”

Mr. Jones spoke and his commands were carried out without question. Jason Crawford worked for Mr. Jones. Once he had been the CEO of his own computer software empire, literally master of all he surveyed, at least in the virtual world. Still a young man, he was recruited after Seymour Birkoff left Section One. The slightly built man with the boyish face left Mr. Jones to ponder the wonders of his own universe.

When he turned the corner, seeking his own office, he found himself face-to-face with an irate Irishman.

If it were not for his close-cropped hair and his defiantly out-of-place Southern accent, Jason Crawford could be Birkoff’s twin.

In fact, he was.

However, though Jason was aware that he had a twin brother, Birkoff was not. When Jason first learned that he had a brother, he lost no time in searching for him. To no avail. His files had been sunk. There was no trace of him in the system.

But Mr. Jones, being the kind sort that he was, eventually took pity on the younger man and gave him just enough intel to satisfy his curiosity without allowing him to find Birkoff.

Now he faced that long-lost brother’s lover/life partner. It wasn’t exactly going the way he might have hoped.

“Sey! Bloody Hell! What the hell are you doing here? And what did you do to your hair? You freaking cut it all off!”

Jason would have been amused under different circumstances, but the truth was, he strenuously objected to having a gun waved in his face. Not unlike his brother.

“Pardon me? Are y’all talkin’ to me?”

Declan rolled his eyes. “Do you know how freaking dangerous it is here? What on Earth were you thinking?”

“You have now completely lost me. Do I know y’all?”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like that,” Declan said with considerably more emphasis.

“This is the way I talk. What do y’all mean, why am I talking like that? Y’all are the one with the funny accent.”

“*I* have a funny accent? You do like to live dangerously, don’t you, boyo?”

“Boyo? Now I really must protest. First of all, I don’t have an accent. You do.” Jason moved in for the kill, his long, slender fingers poking Declan square in the middle of his chest.

“And in the second place, you don’t evah call a Southerner boy. Got that?”

Much to Declan’s surprise, he found himself doing exactly as the stranger with Sey’s face asked. “Who are you?” Declan whispered.

“Jason. Jason Crawford.”

As if mesmerized by the uncanny resemblance to the man he loved, Declan moved in a circle around him, scrutinizing him right down to counting every strand of hair on his head. “You’re a brave man, Jason Crawford,” Declan whispered, his voice somehow more menacing than if he had shouted.

“W-why do you say that?”

Declan slid the barrel of the gun along the side of Jason’s neck. In response to the feel of the cool metal against his skin, Jason shuddered. “Um….”

“You’re not so freaking brave now, though, are you, boyo?”

“Are you…um…going to kill me?”

Declan shrugged. “Maybe. You should have thought of that before.”

In an effort to save his life, Jason said the first thing that came into his head. “But I’m his brother!”

“What?”

“I-I’m Seymour’s br-brother,” he choked out as Declan dragged the gun up his throat to his chin.

Declan seemed to be thinking it over. He had the scent of the younger man in his nostrils. Not unlike that of his mate.

“Are you now?”

Declan was so close, Jason could feel his breath on his face. “Y-yes,” he uttered in a tortured whisper.

That made Declan shake his head and pull back. His voice, when he whispered, was so like Sey’s. A sudden wave of longing came over him. He missed Sey. So much it hurt.

“What do you do here?” he demanded.

“I work for Mr. Jones.”

Declan smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile.

Michael had Mr. Jones clearly in his sights, his gun drawn more for intimidation than anything else. Try as he might, he just couldn’t get past his image of Mr. Jones as Mick. That might be a mistake, but Michael didn’t think so. His instincts said that there was a lot of Mick in Mr. Jones yet.

“Mick…” Michael said in a sibilant whisper, waiting for the older man to register his presence. Mr. Jones had his back to Michael, but Michael noticed a visible ripple through suddenly-tense muscles as he slowly turned around to face the former Section One operative.

Holding his hands up in the air, Mr. Jones said, “I thought I told you to keep me out of all this.”

“You told me a lot of things. Like not to trust anyone. Especially you.”

Mr. Jones sighed. “I could yell for help and in seconds, you’d be nothing more than a fond memory I should never have indulged.”

Michael smiled. That frightened Mr. Jones. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Michael smile. “If you wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. Tell me something…Mick. Why didn’t you send someone after us?”

All at once the older man seemed flustered. “I always liked you, Michael—“

Michael would have snorted, but it was hardly his style. Instead he settled for a slight raising of his right eyebrow as he looked askance at Mr. Jones. “You were always afraid of me, Mick. You’re still afraid of me. Why is that?”

Mr. Jones almost spat the next words into Michael’s face. “You were so freaking unpredictable, Michael. Loyal to Section, sure. But you had an agenda of your own, and anyone who got in the way of realizing that ended up gone. Do you think I don’t know that?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Mick?”

Suddenly Mr. Jones looked like a man beaten beyond the limits of his endurance. “She never saw me. Only you. When I found out where you were, I turned a blind eye. Not out of any great love for you, Michael. But for her.” A solitary tear trailed down the older man’s cheek. “Popsicle,” he whispered.

“You were in love with Nikita?” Michael exclaimed.

Mr. Jones nodded slowly. “It’s only fair that she should have the life she dreamed about.”

On the verge of feeling grateful to Mr. Jones for allowing them to live in peace for so long, Michael jerked back to full awareness with a start. “So I’m supposed to believe you’re just an old sentimental fool?”

“Something like that, Michael,” Mr. Jones said, managing to look as innocent as a newborn lamb. It was a look he had perfected as Mick, the erstwhile Lothario who was always more than just a neighbor.

“Why did you contact me?”

“About Elena and Adam?” Mr. Jones frowned. “I assumed that you would want to save them, Michael. Section kept them under scrutiny long after you left, simply because Elena’s ties to a known terrorist, no matter how unlikely, remained problematical.”

“Why didn’t Section eliminate the problem?” Michael asked coldly.

Mr. Jones gasped. “Michael, this is your wife we’re talking about! You expected Section to kill her, orphan Adam, just to protect itself from something that might never happen?”

Michael crossed his outstretched arms at the wrist, resting his gun hand on his free hand. “You knew there was only one thing that could draw me out of hiding, Mick. Adam. You brought me into this, Mick. But I don’t think you’re the altruist you think you are.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Michael. You think I wanted to get you away from Nikita? Steal your family? Hold them for ransom? So I could get you to do what?”

“I don’t know yet. That’s what worries me, Mick.”

A shout from the hall snapped Michael’s head around. “Michael!” It was Declan. He had one arm wrapped around Jason’s neck, the barrel of his gun pressing into Jason’s tender flesh just enough to make good his threat.

“I found this out in the hall,” Declan said, indicating Birkoff’s double.

“My God, he—“

“—looks just like Sey. I know.”

Mr. Jones used Michael’s temporary distraction to wrest the gun away from him, and soon enough the tables appeared to be turned. However, Michael merely crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared the older man down.

“I could kill you where you stand, Michael.”

“Not if I get you first,” Declan declared with the utter certainty that comes from long experience as well as a total lack of conflict over the target. The safety slipped off with an audible click. They all heard it. They all knew what it meant.

Mr. Jones knew it would be futile to try to call Declan’s bluff. He didn’t have firsthand knowledge of what Declan could do, but he knew that Michael would hardly surround himself with people he couldn’t trust to defend him to the death.

Michael offered the palm of his hand, waiting expectantly for the gun that Mr. Jones held to materialize there. But Mr. Jones was reluctant to give up what he thought was an advantageous position.

Declan shrugged. “Fine, I’ll just make a few holes in your second-in-command here, then, shall I? You don’t seem to care too much about what happens to him.”

“You wouldn’t kill a man in cold blood.”

“Really? Let’s see.” Declan’s tone was almost whimsical, as if he were completely unaffected by the drama that was playing out. In truth, his insides quivered at the thought of killing anyone, but especially killing someone who looked exactly like his lover. It would be so hard…terrible, even…but he would do it. And damn the consequences.

“Ready to die yet, boyo?” he asked Jason. Jason began twisting in Declan’s arms, trying desperately to dislodge the gun from its place against his neck.

“You can’t let him kill me, Mr. Jones! Please!” Jason screamed.

“Very well, Michael,” Mr. Jones said flatly, clearly annoyed by the way his inane young partner was carrying on. “What do you want?”

“The truth.”

“Ah, the truth. Which truth? The one that protects your memories of your beloved Elena and Adam? Or the one that guarantees the future of the family you’ve made with Nikita on the outside?”

“Are they two different things?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Michael knew one thing. He would dearly love to wipe that shit-eating grin off Mick’s face. He hated it back then, and he hated it now.

Declan released Jason, literally throwing the younger man at Mr. Jones. “I was thinking we should take this one as a hostage, to keep Jones honest, but now I think he’s just another liability we can’t afford.”

Mr. Jones’ dark eyes gleamed. “Jason, wouldn’t you like to meet your brother?”

Suddenly Davenport appeared in the doorway, panting. “I found Elena and Adam.”

Four pairs of eyes swung around in unison to fix Mr. Jones with a pointed stare.

Michael broke the silence first. “You have them here? You son-of-a-bitch--!”

Declan took a step forward. It wouldn’t bother him nearly as much to kill this one.

Davenport fairly yelled the next words. “You’ve got to come now, Michael! Elena looks ill, and Adam refuses to leave her side! They wouldn’t come with me—“

“Of course not, you fool! They don’t know who you are!” Mr. Jones hissed.

Michael looked poleaxed. Up until now, saving Elena and Adam had been more or less an abstract concept. Now it was real. He had thought he would have plenty of time to come up with an explanation for both his “death” all those years ago as well as his sudden reappearance. Now there was no time.

“Tie him up,” Michael told Davenport, indicating Mr. Jones. “We’ll bring this one with us,” he added, referring to Jason.

Mr. Jones started to protest, but he quickly shut his mouth at Michael’s scorching look. “Fine, fine. You will bring him back, though, won’t you?”

“We’ll release him once we’ve obtained safe passage home,” Michael stated flatly.

Michael started walking towards the door, only to stop moments later. “And you will leave us alone, won’t you, Mick?”

“I know you’ll find this hard to believe, Michael, but I really do want you and Nikita to be happy.”

Declan gave him an impolite sniff. “Yeah, you look like the soul of human kindness to me.”

Michael quelled the younger man with a fierce glare. “Don’t provoke him, Declan. We need him. Unless you really want to move…and keep moving…the rest of our natural lives.”

“You buy what he’s saying? Michael!”

“I don’t fool myself that he cares what happens to me, but I believe he cares about Nikita. That’s enough for me.”

“Thank you, Michael, thank you,” Mr. Jones gushed.

“Don’t thank me yet, Mick. You’re still tied up.” Michael turned to Davenport and said in that disaffected Section voice he utilized to his advantage, “If he moves, shoot him.”

“Declan, you’re with me.”

***

The hallway outside the heart of Center led to a huge circular room with several exits, each one branching off to a different destination. “Which way?” Michael questioned.

“Over there. Dav said that Elena was sick. She’s in what passes for a medical complex.”

“Why isn’t she in a regular hospital?” Michael muttered to himself.

Declan heard what Michael said and tried valiantly to bolster the older man’s spirits. “Security, maybe. You said she was targeted by terrorists.”

Michael nodded absently, obviously preoccupied. “Michael, if you’re not up to this, let me go. I can get them out.”

“No!” Michael almost shouted. “No,” he repeated, more softly, seeing the startled look in Declan’s eyes. “Sooner or later, I have to face them. It might as well be now.”

“Michael, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Which part? Marrying her at Section’s behest? Or fathering a child on her? Or perhaps you mean the part where I betrayed both my wife and my son, letting them think I was dead for the past thirteen years?” Declan had not heard such bitterness in Michael’s voice in years.

“You couldn’t have done anything else, Michael.”

“What do you know about what I could have done? There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about them.”

That was such a surprise that Declan was rendered speechless. He could understand Michael’s inability to come to terms with losing his child. That was a grief that went as deep as death. But Elena? Was he saying that he still had feelings for her? Was his entire life with Nikita built on a lie? Was Nikita right when she railed at Fate for declaring her second-best?

“D-does Nikita know?”

Michael’s eyes blurred with tears, making them look like mossy pebbles lying in a riverbed. “Know what?”

“That you still love Elena.”

Michael closed his eyes. “I do.”

“Of course you do. She’s the mother of your son. You’re not a freaking monster, Michael, no matter what your heart is telling you.”

Michael’s eyes flew open, bright green and damning. “But I’m not “in love “ with her, Declan! I never was! But I think I was…happy. I know I was. I had a life.”

“A nice, uncomplicated life. Where no one was shooting at you. Where people actually cared that you came home. How could you not care back, Michael?”

“I don’t miss that, Declan. What I have with Nikita is so much more.”

“The way it should be between two people in love.” Declan studied Michael, noting the anguish that he no longer bothered to hide from him. “You have to forgive yourself, Michael. For loving Nikita more. For loving your children more. For loving the life you chose, instead of the one that Section chose for you.”

Declan’s words hit Michael with a terrible force. They were true, and they echoed within his heart. Suddenly he felt lighter. “I gave them the best that I could. At the time.”

“Aye. And no one could ask any more. Not even you.”

It was hard to tell who was more stunned. Michael. Elena. Adam. Elena was still quite beautiful, despite the disease that ravaged her already-slender frame. Her dark eyes shone as they lit upon Michael. “Michael! Oh, my God!”

Covering her mouth with her hands, she patiently allowed a heartrending cough to wrack her body. Adam stood protectively at her side, almost totally unrecognizable to Michael. It had been so many years. He was no longer a little boy of 3, but a young man of 16.

His hair was dark brown, not unlike his mother’s, his eyes a similar color, though they could not be called a true black. He looked nothing like Michael, and yet…wasn’t the somber look one that once belonged wholly to Michael? Where had his shiny eyes and animated features gone? Leaving in their place an all-too-serious man/child? Had Michael’s “death” and desertion stolen Adam’s childhood?

Tears swam in Elena’s eyes, making it difficult for her to see. But she beckoned Michael closer. “Y-you’re real! Oh, Michael…you’re real,” she sobbed.

“Yes,” he answered tersely, seeking refuge inside himself, where old wounds tore open and bled freely.

“I thought it was the medication they gave me. It makes me so…I thought you were an hallucination. But my God, you’re really here.”

“Elena….” Michael stepped towards the figure lying in the bed, and Adam immediately blocked the path. Casting a sidelong glance at his son, Michael said, “We need to talk.”

Adam’s handsome face changed, acquiring a thoroughly unwholesome look as he sneered, “Well, we don’t need to listen.”

Michael steeled himself for the pain ahead and looked intently into his now-teenaged son’s eyes. “Yes. You do,” he clipped out.

Adam opened his mouth to object, but his mother forestalled any further animosity. “Adam! This is your father! You mustn’t be rude. You—“ Whatever she was going to say was cut off by another paroxysm of coughing.

Now Adam’s dark eyes gleamed wetly as he stared at his father. “She’s dying, you know. They brought her here to protect her, and the irony is, she’s already dying.”

Michael hid his pain well. It was a constant companion now. Reaching past his son to take Elena’s hands in his own, he knelt on the edge of the bed. “I’m…so sorry,” he whispered.

She reached up to stroke the side of his face, and Michael unconsciously leaned into her hand. So cool, so frail. She truly was dying, and it was almost certainly his fault. “You didn’t make me sick, Michael.”

“But I should never have gone away. I should never have let them involve you in their stupid intrigues. Not when I couldn’t stay…to protect you…a-and Adam.”

“I don’t blame you, Michael. Though I can see you blame yourself.” She coughed briefly, and Michael grasped the water pitcher, pouring out a fresh glass of water for her. She gratefully accepted the water, but she was too weak to hold the glass unassisted. Michael placed his hand over hers and helped her drink.

Declan watched the family in tableau, wondering not for the first time if this was what Michael needed. To seek forgiveness from those he had wronged most grievously. Granted, it had been through no fault of his own, but there was a part of Michael that bore the weight of all that guilt, even now.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, bending his head to hide the roiling emotions that threatened to bubble up to the surface. Elena could not help but forgive the abject figure before her. He was once her husband. She had believed him dead. But she had never remarried. She would always love him.

Reaching up to grasp his shoulders, albeit weakly, she pulled him forward, clasping his head to her breast. Michael was not a man to lose control easily, but this was clearly no ordinary situation. She held him as he cried silently, grieving both for what he had done and what he hadn’t. Her fragile fingers combed through his hair, for what would undoubtedly be the last time, and she looked up at her son. Their son. Adam.

All of Adam’s anger, all of his discomfiture in his father’s presence, flared with white-hot intensity. It wasn’t right. What Michael did to them. To him. Oh, it wasn’t like they lacked for anything material. They were accustomed to a very nice lifestyle, thanks to Michael’s forethought and careful investments.

But money alone could never make up for feeling like something was missing from his life. He remember lying in his bed, alone, dreaming that his father had come back home, only to wake up with tears on his pillow and rage in his heart. Rage that could never be expressed. Because Elena would not allow a single negative word to be spoken about Michael.

He would never forget her face when, at age nine, he had shouted, “If Daddy loved us so much, why did he die? Huh? Why did he leave us, Mommy?”

Elena could not doubt Michael’s death. She saw him killed before her very eyes. Along with the father she barely met. Her son’s rage seemed unnatural. As if he somehow, even then, sensed that his father was still alive.

And now, confronted with the implacable evidence of his existence, Adam could not help but feel vindicated. He wanted to scream, I was right, Mom, he didn’t freaking die, he left us! But his glee at being right was short-lived. He felt cheated. Deceived. Freaking manipulated. And his father’s own disproportionate display of guilt only served to reinforce those feelings.

Declan hated to interrupt, but time was growing short. If they stayed too long, they might never get out safely. “Michael…”

Michael raised his head slowly, painfully, as if he had aged in the few moments he had spent inside this room. “Elena…I want you and Adam to come with us. We can—“

Elena shook her head vehemently. “No, Michael. I’m dying. I don’t have much longer. Now that I’ve seen you…there’s no reason to stay anymore. Is there?”

“Don’t say that.”

Elena put a finger to Michael’s lips, a familiar gesture that was not lost on anyone in the room. “Michael…there is something you could do for me….”

“Anything. Anything, Elena.”

“Take Adam with you. Take care of him. I can rest easier if I know he’s with you.”

“How do you know that I can—“

“Michael…you’re a good person. You’ve always been a good person. I know he’ll be safe with you.”

She didn’t know him. She couldn’t see how her words struck cold terror inside him.

“I’m not going with him! Mom---!” Adam cried out.

Elena gathered what little strength she had and shouted, “Enough! He’s your father! You have to go with him! He’s all you have left!”

“No, Mom, I still have you. I still—“

“You don’t have me, sweetheart. Not anymore. It’s time that you accepted that.”

“No!”

Adam lunged across the bed to catch his mother up in a fierce embrace, but he couldn’t see how he was hurting her. Michael put a hand on his shoulder, and Adam whirled around, the urge to fight strong in his blood.

Michael regarded his son sadly. This was one of the hardest things he had ever done. “Adam, you have to leave your mother and come with me.”

“I don’t even freaking know you! How can I…leave her? Oh, God!”

Michael summoned all of his will and wrested the young man away from Elena. “We have to go now.”

“You aren’t even human!”

Michael would have winced. If he had been able to feel anything at all. Only the thought of never seeing Nikita or his children again kept him going.

Between Michael and Declan, they managed to subdue the overwrought Adam. Leaving his son in Declan’s capable hands at the door, Michael went back to say goodbye to Elena. Her eyes were closed. Her chest no longer rose and fell with labored breaths.

She was gone. And he knew it.

He leaned over her now-still form and kissed her cheek. “Adieu, ma chere.”