Title: The Air That They Breathe

Author/Pseudonym: Tinnean

Fandom: La Femme Nikita

Pairing: Birkoff/Davenport

Rating: NC-17

Status: New/Complete

Email for feedback: Tinneantoo@aol.com

Series/Sequel: not really, but The Little Comm Op Who Cried Wolfe is an offshoot

Disclaimers: The boys don't belong to me (I should live so long!), I don't get a penny for this, but oh, boy! do I have a good time! (and I'd like to think they have fun too.)

Summary: Birkoff's got a secret admirer. How's he going to deal with it when he finds out who it is?

Warning: graphic m/m sex, first time, language

Part 1 

Birkoff was hunched over the keyboard of his computer. His fingers flew with lightning speed as his accessed the latest intel accumulated by his network of hackers.

Suddenly his head jerked up. The small hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. Someone was watching him. Again.

Birkoff had always been somewhat paranoid, but lately, the feeling that eyes were constantly on him had become stronger and stronger, making him fidgety, restless. Excited.

Warily he glanced around.

The only operatives around him were those whose shift it was, engrossed with their computer screens. The area surrounding Comm was empty.

But the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor that lead to the commons.

A frown creased Birkoff’s brow. Then he shrugged and leaned forward to study his own monitor.

******

The operative swore and ran a hand over his smooth scalp. That was too close. The fascination he had developed for the comm op was bordering on obsessive.

He had known since his teens that his sexual orientation was ambiguous, to say the least. So he bulked up, shaved his head, and developed a reputation for being a mean mother. He kept to himself. And if anyone tried to approach him on a personal level, the hard, cold look in his black eyes had them backing off in a hurry.

The level 3 cold op had sampled both sexes in the wild days before he was recruited to Section One. And he had enjoyed the encounters. But the aftermath of the affairs had been so messy that now he tended to shy away from any entanglements.

And fucking simply for its own sake was too emotionally barren to be an acceptable alternative.

He had always liked the young head of Comm. They had split a beer or two after debriefings, and had acknowledged each other when sharing a lift to their quarters, but they were coworkers, nothing more.

Somehow, in recent days, that had changed. The cold op found himself on the lookout for the comm op. He searched for occasions to be in the same room, share the same space. Breathe the same air.

He wanted to let the feel of the stubble that covered Birkoff’s head abrade his fingertips.

He wanted to stroke his thumb across the lush lips of Birkoff’s mouth, teasing them opened.

He wanted to follow his thumb with his own lips, forcing Birkoff’s to part, allowing his tongue access into the honeyed depths beyond.

But most of all he wanted to strip them both naked and bury himself in the body the younger man was at pains to conceal, fucking him savagely, wildly, taking them both to places they had never gone, bringing them pleasure they had never dreamed of.

He was disgusted with himself. He knew Birkoff had had some experiences with women. But not a whisper had ever indicated that the comm op might even consider dallying with a member of his own sex, much less someone as well-known for his ruthless dependability as the cold op was.

If he wasn’t careful, he’d wind up getting himself canceled. And Birkoff as well.

But he couldn’t resist the tantalizing allure that the comm op held for him.

Maybe the best he could hope for was friendship.

Friendship wasn’t bad. They could down some brews, scope some babes.

And Davenport would keep the fact that he was hopelessly infatuated with
Birkoff locked deep within his heart.

Part 2 

The head of Comm was deep in thought as he made his way into the lift that would take him down to the subbasement level that housed the commissary. He had run a double shift, trying to sort out the reason their latest mission had turned sour and blown up in their faces.

The result was Michael and Nikita were missing. Four operatives from the abeyance pool were toast. And three good men had come in with varying degrees of injuries.

One of them was Davenport, the bulky level 3 cold op. He had been wheeled into Section, his mission pants soaked with blood.

Right now he was in MedLab.

And Birkoff was concerned.

More than concerned.

He liked the hard-eyed Davenport. He was one of the few operatives who had treated the young comm op as a living being, rather than an extension of his computer.

Davenport even bought him a beer, once.

Birkoff had thought at the time that Davenport was watching him rather predatorily, a hungry gleam in his black eyes. Before he could consider how he should react to the operative coming on to him, Davenport had shuttered his glance and made an innocuous remark about one of the female operatives who was passing by.

And Birkoff concluded that, not being used to alcohol, the beer was making him see things.

He still wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

While he had had few affairs, they had not been as fulfilling as he had been lead to believe they would be, and he was starting to wonder if he might have better luck with a male partner.

But to Birkoff, just the idea of having some hot, sweaty neanderthal shoving his cock into his virgin ass made him want to gag.

Except when he had thought that it was Davenport doing the shoving. Then he had discovered the idea was not quite so repugnant.

In fact, it was kind of titillating.

His abdomen tightened. His nipples tingled.

The hairs on the nape of his neck stood stiffly. As did another part of his anatomy. Birkoff shifted uncomfortably in the lift and hoped no one else would call for the elevator. Most of Section thought he was eccentric. If he should be spotted with an obvious hard-on, in an empty lift, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to withstand the whispers that would circulate.

As luck would have it, the car came to a halt two levels before he was able to make his escape. The doors slid open, and a cold-eyed op waited impatiently to get on. His scalp smoothly shaven, his jaw covered with stubble, Davenport glared at the occupant of the lift, until he saw who it was.

To Birkoff’s amazement, a dull flush mounted the cold op’s cheeks and he hesitated for a bare instant before stepping forward. “Birk,” he nodded shortly, acknowledging the head of Comm. Davenport turned to face the front of the car.

“Da...Davenport!” Birkoff could hardly stutter the name out. “I thought you were dying!” And he blushed and hit his forehead for the gaucheness of his comment.

Davenport grinned sourly. “Section would never permit an unsanctioned death of any of its operatives!” He risked a glance at the object of his obsession, and felt himself hopelessly drawn into those chocolate brown eyes. “Ummm, sorry?” he murmured as he realized he had missed what Birkoff was saying.

“I said, the scuttlebutt was that you had been shot to ribbons!”

“Nah, as you can see, the reports of my demise are highly exaggerated!” Against his better judgment, Davenport found himself leaning toward the comm operative, breathing in the scent of soap and indefinable something that was uniquely Birkoff’s.

Birkoff was startled to find his personal space invaded. But he did not feel threatened. He looked up into the black eyes, normally so shielded, and drew in a silent breath at the hot, intent look.

“But you were covered in blood! They said!”

“Not my blood.” Davenport was becoming distracted. Birkoff had not backed off from him when he had moved closer. Could that indicate interest? He licked his lips, unsure of his next move.

Birkoff found his gaze drawn irresistibly to the sculpted mouth of the cold op. And his own mouth went dry. “Not your blood?” he repeated dumbly.

Davenport shook his head, wondering if Birkoff would slug him or report him if he dared to sample his lush mouth. The lure of those lips tempted him. “One of the abeyance ops died bleeding all over me. I knocked myself out when I slipped in a puddle of her blood. MedLab let me out as soon as they realized I wasn’t even concussed.”

That was the longest string of sentences Birkoff had even heard coming from the usually terse operative. “Davenport,” he whispered through lips that had gone dry. “Would you...”

The doors to the lift opened. Operatives coming on after a before-shift meal were waiting to use it to ride up to their respective levels. Thankfully, none of them noticed the air of tension that charged the atmosphere of the car.

Davenport took a step back. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee, amigo.”

Birkoff followed him into the commissary, confused. ‘Amigo’ was what Walter called him. Walter was his friend, kind of.

But Birkoff would never consider kissing the munitions op. He wasn’t curious as to how it might feel to press his lips against Walter’s. He didn’t wonder how he might taste.

He looked after the cold operative with muted longing, and followed slowly behind him.

Davenport had already gotten them two cups of coffee and had staked out a table in a far corner, isolated from the few members of housekeeping who were the remaining occupants of the commissary.

No one approached housekeeping during their downtime, not even Operations or Madeline.

And housekeeping approached no one.

Birkoff and Davenport were in effect on their own.

They sat across from each other, hesitantly conversing with their eyes.

<Would you...>

<...kiss me?>

<...kiss you!>

<Soon?>

<Now!>

<Oh, yes!>

And they rose abruptly and paced from the room, leaving the coffee to cool, forgotten, on the table.

Part 3 

On this particular day, at this time of day, the corridors of Section were deserted. Operatives who were still on site were busy catching up on much-needed sleep.

 The disappearance of Michael and Nikita weighed heavily on all who dwelt in Section. Operations had torn a strip off anyone who had the misfortune of being within his range. Madeline was disturbed by the disastrous results of the mission. And they all dreaded the very real possibility of what might occur should George poke his Oversight nose into Section One's affairs.

It was fast becoming imperative that the two operatives be found or be declared off-profile.

Before Birkoff had left his post, he had worked out the most logical scenario and programmed it into the system. Having completed his rotation, he was on downtime for desperately needed rest. Operations had selected Hillinger to carry the ball for this shift.

He knew that the young troublemaker would work at it especially hard, hoping to overshadow the head of Comm.

Operations couldn't resist letting his eyes run over the taut curve of Hillinger's backside as he bent over his desk. This was a win/win situation: either Hillinger came through for them and Michael and Nikita were safely returned to Section.

Or he failed.

In which case, Operations personally would have to discipline him.

His eyes became hooded and a feral smile curved his lips.

*****

Birkoff and Davenport entered the lift silently. Davenport punched the button that would take them to the level where his quarters were housed. Birkoff's mouth went dry, but he said nothing.

The burly cold op was silent also, and Birkoff began to wonder if he had misread the whole situation. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to ease the erection that seemed bent on displaying his interest in the other man to all of Section. Why would someone as strong as Davenport be the least bit interested in a computer geek such as himself? Someone who, once he was away
from his computer, was a gutless wonder? Someone who couldn't even attract a girlfriend on a more than sporadic basis?

By the time the doors opened to give them access to the third sub-level, Birkoff had convinced himself that he had read more into Davenport's glances than was actually there. Surprised at how depressed that conclusion left him, he looked at Davenport as he stepped out of the lift.

"Ummm, I'd better head on back to my place. It's been a long night and...you must be as tired as I am?" The statement ended as a question.

Davenport whirled around, his face darkened with anger. He stalked back into the lift, crowding Birkoff into a corner. "You little tease!"

The comm op stared at him helplessly. The doors slid shut and the car jerked into movement. With a vicious oath, Davenport stabbed at the panel, bringing the lift to an abrupt halt between floors. Then he programmed it to refuse all calls for it.

This was a risky move that could well see him canceled, but he was not about to let Birkoff renege on the promises his eyes had made.

Birkoff had backed as far away as he could, but there was no where he could escape to. The cold op approached grimly and suddenly it seemed as if there wasn't enough oxygen in the small space that enclosed them.

"I want you, Birkoff. I want your mouth on mine. I want your hands holding me. And most of all I want to be inside you, driving you wild with passion. If you don't want those things, you'd better tell me now!"

"And if I do tell you that?"

Davenport's eyes grew grim. "Doesn't matter," he shrugged. "I'm going to have you. And when I'm done with you..." He paused.

"...you'll let me go?"

Davenport grinned. A rapacious grin. "No. I plan to do it again. And again."

Birkoff's lips parted as he stared into ruthless black eyes.

Eyes of lust.

Eyes of lechery.

Eyes of devouring passion.

And with a moan he melted into the cold op's embrace, desperately seeking Davenport's hard lips, rubbing his lower body against the evidence of how much the cold op wanted him.

"I thought I was mistaken," he whispered against Davenport's neck, pressing kisses beneath his ear. "I couldn't believe you'd be interested in someone like me!"

He dragged the cold op's hands down his body to cover the arousal that was fast becoming painful, then pulled them around to grip his ass.

Davenport thought the top of his head would explode from excitement. His fingers flexed and separated the comm op's buttocks, rubbing the enticing cleft that begged for plundering.

He turned his head, his teeth nipping the column of Birkoff's throat, the stubble on his jaw abrading the tender skin. "I want to mark you!" Davenport murmured hoarsely as he pushed aside the turtleneck that concealed the spot where Birkoff's neck and shoulder joined and fastened his lips there, suckling ravenously.

"Davenport! Where can we go?"

"Well, we *were* on the way to my rooms when one of us chickened out!" he remarked wryly.

Birkoff gently ran his fingers along Davenport's jaw. "I still can't believe someone like you would want me!"

Davenport stiffened. "What do you mean by that?" He was extremely sensitive to his background. His half-breed heritage had often led to serious problems, with his peers as well as with authority figures. He hadn't come across it much in Section, and so was blindsided by Birkoff's attitude, never having expected it from him.

Birkoff could feel Davenport withdrawing from him. He could feel, oh how he could feel! the cold op’s loss of interest in him, and he closed his eyes, shutting out the painful sight of what he was sure would be before him: Davenport regarding him with pity. Or derision. Or disdain. Blindly he reached past him to put the lift back into service.

"I asked what you meant by that!" Davenport snarled, grabbing Birkoff's arm and whirling him around.

The tinted glasses sat askew, no longer shielding the wounded chocolate brown eyes, and Davenport was taken aback by the agony he saw in them.

"What was this, an experiment? One of Section's inscrutable tests? Did I pass or fail? Did you enjoy making a fool out of me?"

"What?" Davenport felt as if he had suddenly stepped into Wonderland. Then he wrapped his anger around him once more, a protective cloak guarding his feelings. "Don't try to confuse the issue! I don't know what tear you're going off on. If you're not interested in soiling your lily white body with a filthy 'Injun', then just fucking say so!"

"Huh?"

"Oh, come on, sweet cheeks, don't play stupid! Everyone here in Section
knows I'm a redskin!"

Birkoff searched his mind for a logical reference and could only come up with, "Football? Why would I care if you've played football? Davenport, you're giving me a headache! And I'm tired and I want to go to bed! Since you don't want to join me, then just get the hell out of my way!"

The lift had come to a halt and the doors stood open. Birkoff stormed out of the car, leaving Davenport to stare stupidly after him.

Somehow he got the feeling that he had committed a serious blunder. But could Birkoff be so naive that he didn't understand how people treated those who were in any manner different?

And then he realized that, despite having spent the majority of his life behind Section's walls, Birkoff knew better than anyone what it felt like to be different.

Davenport stepped out of the lift, his hands fisted at his sides, watching as Birkoff turned a corner and vanished from view. He started to follow, then stopped.

And sighed. If he had misjudged the comm op, then he'd hurt him. Birkoff would never want to talk to him again, much less let him near enough to his delectable body to demonstrate everything he had wanted to do to him.

Davenport was disgusted with himself. If he could have reached around that far, he would have kicked himself in the ass. After all this time you'd think he had more control. Now he had sabotaged what could have developed into something very, very special.

Well, he wasn't that much of a fool! He'd go after Birkoff and explain. He'd make him see reason. He'd...

Who was he kidding?

Everyone here in Section might think he was the hardest, coldest operative to come along since Michael, but he knew the truth. It was easy to be brave when only your life was on the line.

But when it was your emotions, well, that was another story.

Davenport looked into his soul. He didn’t like what he saw looking back.

He gazed yearningly down the empty corridor, wanting more than anything to find his way to Birkoff’s quarters. Then he turned and entered the lift.

Where Birkoff's scent still lingered faintly in the air.

Part 4 

Birkoff was almost running when he reached the corridor that housed his quarters. Tears blinded his eyes and it took two tries before he could successfully punch in the correct security code that gave him access to his rooms.

"Goddamned macho schmuck!" he muttered as he slammed the door shut behind him. He used the heels of his hands to wipe away the moisture on his cheeks and shuddered in an effort to control his emotions.

Exhaustion tugged at his senses, but he was so keyed up he knew he would never get the sleep he needed in the time Operations had allotted him. He had been going on caffeine and candy bars for over thirty-six hours and chemical assistance was the only way he would get any rest.

In the bathroom he resolutely avoided his reflection in the mirror as he downed the pills that Pharmacy made sure all members of Section had. Definitely not FDA approved, it would take less than ten minutes before he began feeling their effects.

Drained of all energy, he lethargically peeled off his clothes and left them lying on the floor as he turned on the shower and tried to adjust the water temperature to his liking. Unhappy with his attempts to get it just the way he wanted it, he finally surrendered and stepped under the spray.

The comm operative braced himself against the wall and let the pounding water beat against his body. "Fool, fool, fool!" he admonished himself bitterly as the scene with Davenport played itself out over and over in his mind. "Can't you ever learn?  The only thing you're good at is programming computers! When is that simple fact going to get through to you?

"Women don't want you! Even men don't find you attractive! What freaking good are you?"                                         
   
He bit back a sob and turned off the water. Roughly he toweled himself dry, amazed to find his erection as hard as when he had kissed the cold op. "Why are *you* still interested?" he demanded of his eager flesh. "It's obvious *he* isn't!"

Too weary to pull on the sweatpants he normally slept in, he peeled down the covers and crawled into bed. His hand reached down to fondle his balls and then closed securely around his cock. Before he could jerk himself off, the pills kicked in and he was sucked into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*****  

The dream started insidiously, to darkness.

It was so dark. The computer screen, which usually cast a green glow that lightened the shadows in his room, was turned off.

And there was someone in those shadows, watching him. He lay there, scarcely daring to breathe, his eyes tightly screwed shut. He knew that if he opened them, if whoever prowled in the dark knew he was awake, then he would be lost for all time.

The atmosphere around him changed as the lurker in the darkness approached the bed, disturbing the air currents. A whimper of fear caught in his throat and he struggled to contain it.

Above all else, he must not make a sound; he must not move.

And then, despite himself, he started as warm fingers caressed his calf, gliding up past the sensitive spot behind his knee, stroking the long muscles of his thigh to the thatch of curls where his cock nestled.

Panic exploded unexpectedly into lust and the bed creaked. He frantically twisted to escape as those fingers encircled his cock, coaxing it to fierce arousal. Heat flooded him and he spread his legs wide in silent offering.  A soft moan whispered past his lips, and then was trapped by the mouth that came down firmly onto his own.

Warm and wet, a tongue licked at the seam of his lips, teasing them apart, plunging in to parry and thrust. Birkoff tried to bring his arms around the shadowy figure, desperate to hold it close to his needy body, but found his wrists bound in silken restraints.

For a moment terror swept over him and he struggled mindlessly to free himself. The soft cords cut into his flesh, scoring it deeply.

"Shhh, baby. Shhh," a soft voice calmed him. Male? Female? He couldn't be sure, and he found he didn't care. "I promise I won't hurt you. Don't fight me!" And then that tongue was doing magic things to his ear, dipping into it, circling the rim, drawing the cool lobe into his mouth.

 For he discovered it was a man pleasuring him, hair-roughened thighs settling between his, pressing high against his balls, starting a voluptuous friction that quickly became maddening.

"Fuck me!" he demanded as a broad thumb rubbed the moisture beading the tip of his cock in lazy circles.

Teeth nipped lightly at his throat. "You're not ready for me, baby," the voice said. "I'd split you in two! I don't want to hurt you!"

Birkoff writhed, trying to get closer to the hot male flesh tantalizing him. "Hurt me!" he cried. "It doesn't matter! I need to feel that somebody wants me! Take me, please take me!" He was almost sobbing from unrelieved passion.

The body above his stilled. "I've given you a very hard time, haven't I?" Lips began a slow, sweet journey down the comm op's body, pausing to tease his flat male nipples to pebbled peaks.

Straining against his bonds, moaning at the sensations this unknown lover was showering him with, Birkoff could only endure mindlessly. The lips left his nipples, continuing on past his flat abdomen, pausing to explore the dip of his navel, slowly, ever-so slowly approaching the erection that was begging for its share of attention.

"I won't fuck you baby, not this time. But I'm going to love you like you've never been loved before! I'm going to suck you until you pass out from the pleasure!" the voice promised.

The words were enough to have Birkoff trembling and whimpering on the brink. And then he felt the tongue begin licking him, as if he were a popsicle, long broad swipes that started at his balls and went to the engorged tip of his arousal, then traveled the path in reverse.

And when that hot, wet mouth engulfed him he almost rose off the bed. The voice hummed encouragement, taking Birkoff deep into his throat, where the vibrations tingled along his nerve endings, and he began spilling himself before he even realized he was about to come.

Still that mouth suckled him, swallowing everything he could give until he thought there was nothing left. And then one inquisitive finger eased into his virgin opening, and then another, and he found himself hard and quivering again. His hips thrust up to fuck that knowledgeable mouth, and then wriggled down on the fingers that were fucking him.

Desperate for oxygen, his lips parted and he gasped and groaned and struggled against the cords that held him helpless, wanting more, and more and still more.

And then, as that voice had promised him, his system overloaded and his last orgasm saw him fainting from the exquisite sensation of it.

*****

Birkoff came awake slowly, feeling more relaxed, more refreshed, more... everything than he had in ages. He stretched luxuriously, to find himself tangled in his sheets. He unwound them from his arms and legs, then bolted upright as he realized he was naked.

Memory returned, and with it depression. He had made a fool of himself over Davenport, and to make matters worse, had sought refuge in the pharmacology Section offered.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat with his head braced in his hands.

And then snippets of the sexual fantasy he had dreamed began to flood his senses. The cool material binding his wrists, the hot mouth engulfing his cock, and those fingers, those witchy, wicked fingers, giving him more pleasure than he had ever imagined.

Tremors ran through him and he squirmed on the bed. His morning erection seemed even more prominent than usual. Tentatively, he touched it, wincing at its tenderness.

Come to think of it, his ass felt a little stretched. And his wrists were sore.
                                                                             
     
That dream!
 
That fantastic, vivid, oh-so-real dream!

He raised his wrists to eye level and examined them carefully. Pinkened abrasions, fast fading, circled them.

Birkoff moaned.

*Not* a dream!

Then who could have given him such a wonderful, caring first time experience with another man?

Who in Section could have gotten his access code?

Michael? No, he and Nikita were still missing as far as Birkoff knew, and while Michael would do whatever was required of him by Section, he respected the comm operative too much to take advantage of him while he slept.

Walter? That would have felt like incest. And besides, Walter was unregenerately heterosexual.

Davenport? Birkoff sighed. In his dreams, then bit off a laugh at the aptness of that thought.

Hillinger? The head of comm turned green. Something like this would be right up that little weasel's alley! The more he considered it, the more firmly it settled in his mind, and suddenly he found it necessary to clamp a hand over his mouth and race to the bathroom, where he barely had time to spill the meager contents of his stomach into the john, then sit huddled, shivering with dry heaves.

He couldn't reconcile the gentleness with Hillinger, but who else could it be? His brain was so fogged with despair that he couldn’t come up with another likely operative who would even consider tying him to his bed and using him like that.

He would sell his soul to think his midnight lover had been Davenport, but he was convinced that the cold op wanted nothing more to do with him.    
                   

So, it had to be Hillinger, his bête noire.

Birkoff could just picture Hillinger waiting in Comm, ready to throw this in his face, ready to mock him for pleading to be fucked!

Oh, God, he had actually begged!

Grimly he rose and turned to brushed his teeth, getting the taste of bile out of his mouth.

Then he showered and dressed and went in search of the pistol he kept secreted behind a panel in his bedroom. This was one weapon Section and Operations had no idea he kept. Walter had juggled his inventory and seen to it that Birkoff had it in his possession after a disgruntled recruit had threatened the comm op.

And Walter had never asked for it back.

Birkoff tucked the pistol into his waistband, making sure it was hidden by his pullover and left his quarters, determined to end Hillinger's career in computers. The thought of the younger man having him at his mercy made him want to puke up his guts again, but he clamped his back teeth down hard and headed for the lift.

It would probably cost him his own life, but he found he no longer cared.

He felt used, he felt violated, and when he found the guilty party, he intended to terminate him. With extreme prejudice. 

Part 5  

Davenport was lurking by the lift that accessed operative housing. It was the lift that had seen his abortive attempt to seduce Birkoff after he had been released by MedLab. Since it was the one closest to the comm op's rooms, Davenport assumed this was the lift he would take when he finally roused and was ready to make his way to the commissary.

He had been lurking, on and off, for a good portion of his shift. Fortunately, everyone was still concentrating on the disappearance of Michael and Nikita, and things were very quiet around Section.

Davenport was uncharacteristically nervous. After that fiasco in the lift, he had devised a scheme that in his more rational moments caused him to question his sanity. It was so obvious, Birkoff would be bound to spot his fingerprints all over it. How the comm op would react was what had the normally unflappable cold op unnerved.

Not only had he tied the head of Comm to his bed, but he had given him no option in the matter of his first homosexual experience. Davenport had played his tongue along Birkoff's turgid length. He had suckled him and finger fucked him until the comm op had exploded in a frenzy of completion and had passed out.

And, God help him, Davenport had been so lost to all reason that he couldn’t resist sliding his cock into Birkoff's unconscious body. Into that sweet, virgin territory. As if they had been lovers for years, his entrance had been smooth and easy. But Birkoff's passage had held him snug and hot, and just the memory of how they fit so perfectly together had him on the verge of
embarrassing himself by coming, right here, right now, in the corridors of Section.
       
And Davenport had to wonder: when he saw the cold up in the artificial light of Section's day, would Birkoff want to kiss him or kill him?
 
So Davenport lurked.

*****

Birkoff could not face the lift where Davenport had kissed him for the first time; he took one of the others. His ass felt decidedly used, and although he knew himself to be blameless, he still felt as if the whole incident in his quarters had been his fault.

The pistol nestled comfortably at the back of his waistband, Birkoff stalked Section. It didn't matter where Hillinger might be hiding. The head of Comm had all the time in the world. He would find that little worm and have his revenge; whatever happened after that, whether Section canceled him or transferred him or just ignored the whole incident, it was immaterial.

He would have dealt with the weasel who had taken such unfair advantage of him, who has taken what he had wanted Davenport to have, and that was what mattered most.

Hillinger was not in the commissary.

He was not in his own quarters, the ready room or van access.

The observation deck was deserted, as was the tower.

That left Comm.

Birkoff leaned against the entrance to the Comm area and watched sourly as Hillinger's fingers flew over the keyboard, Birkoff's keyboard. "Someone's been sitting in my chair!" he gritted, and Hillinger whirled around to face him.
   
The younger operative curled his lip and sneered at his section head. "Seems *I* found Michael and Nikita where *you* couldn't!" he gloated. And then he froze. Birkoff was pointing what looked like a cannon at his head. "Listen, Birkoff, it was your program!” Hillinger babbled. “It was just the luck of the draw that I was on deck when we found them!"

He dropped behind the desk and covered his head with his arms. "Don't shoot me, Birkoff! Please don't shoot me!" he yelled as loud as he could, hoping to get someone in who would divert his head's attention.

A number of operatives, and Operations, suddenly appeared, but Birkoff was backed against a wall and no one could approach him without getting into his line of fire.

This was a Birkoff no one had ever seen before. Cold. Colder even than that legendary cold op, Michael. They all were *very* nervous.

"I'm tired of you, Hillinger," the head of Comm said. "I'm tired of your snotty, snooty, smartass attitude. You care about no one, you care for no one and you care even less who you hurt. Well, it stops, here and now!"

Purposefully, Birkoff fed a round into the chamber. In the sudden hush, it sounded like the crack of doom.

"Operations!" Hillinger screamed.

The head of Section stepped forward. Or maybe it was just that the operatives around him took a step back. Operations scowled at them, then turned his attention to his senior comm operative.

"Mr. Birkoff, would you mind telling us what Hillinger has done to require such a drastic measure against him."

Birkoff shook his head. "This is between Hillinger and me." His glittering eyes flickered momentarily toward the others. "If you want to change that, I'd be more than happy to accommodate you!"

They didn't leave, but they distanced themselves even more from Operations and the two comm operatives. Operations whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "Someone get Walter!"

"Walter can't help," Birkoff told him. "Not this time! Y'know, some people are alive only because it's against the law to kill them. I think it's time to change that!”

The pistol was aimed carefully at Hillinger's head. He peeked up to see what was going on, and shrieked at the cyclopean eye that was staring him down. A faint hissing sound drew everyone's attention to him, and to the ever-widening puddle between his knees.

And then a large hand closed gently over the barrel of the pistol and forced it down. "It's okay, Birk. It's okay." Davenport's other arm supported the comm op as he slumped forward, but he kept a tight grip on the hand that held the pistol. "Sir, I'll get him out of here, if you have no objections?"

"No, no. This has been a trying time for all of us. Make sure he gets some rest. And someone get Hillinger to my quarters! He's got some serious explaining to do! And get him dry pants!" Operations strode away, pleased at having a more or less legitimate excuse to have the young comm op brought to him. The cleanup he would leave to his minions.

Once they were away from Comm, Davenport whispered furiously, "What the hell was that supposed to be about?"

Birkoff turned his head away, but the cold op grabbed his chin and forced it around. And saw the tears streaming down his erstwhile lover's face. Frantically he looked around. There was no one in this corridor, but that could change at any moment.

He hustled the comm op into a stair well. "Baby, tell me what's wrong!"

Birkoff struggled to regain his composure. "Sure. I'll tell you. Then you'll run as fast as you can from me!"

"Birk, you're scaring me. What the fuck happened between when I left you and now?"

Chocolate brown eyes filled with shame and pain looked deep into Davenport's. "I was...I was assaulted, in my quarters." He held up a wrist that still bore a faint bruise. "I was...tied to my bed and...and..."

"...and made love to!" Davenport snapped.

Confusion filled Birkoff. "No, it wasn't love. It was Hillinger! He got into my rooms somehow and took advantage of me while I was zonked out on sleeping pills!"

"Jesus, Birkoff, if that's how you react when you're sedated, I'm not sure I want to make love to you when you're alert!"

"Huh?"

"It was me, Birkoff! Not Hillinger! Do you think I'd let that little sleaze get anywhere near you?"

"You? It was you?" Birkoff repeated stupidly. And then it sank in and he launched himself at the burly cold op, beating at his chest. "You tied me up and fucked me senseless? And then left me?"

Davenport let the blows connect, but he was not by nature a martyr, and after one particularly painful one, he shoved Birkoff back against the wall, holding his hands prisoner above his head. His body pressed full length along the comm operative's, he knew Birkoff would be in no doubt about his feelings. His arousal was hard and needy, and with a moan he fastened his lips to the lush mouth that was hurling abuse at him.

Birkoff writhed and twisted and then froze as Davenport's tongue thrust into his mouth, beginning a rhythm that was echoed by their lower bodies.

As soon as Davenport felt the tension go out of Birkoff's body he drew back slightly. "I'm so sorry, baby! I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted you so badly, I had to have you! I wouldn't have left but my beeper went off and I had to report to my section head."

"But Michael is your section head!"

"Yeah." Davenport's grin was lopsided. "He and Nikita are back!"

"Later!" Birkoff breathed as he took the cold op's mouth. "Tell me later! Right now I need..."

Davenport groaned. "And so do I!"

And this time they took the stairs.

Part 6

The two members of Section pelted down the stairs, eager to find someplace private to consummate their passion. "Davenport!" Birkoff laughed breathlessly. "Where are you taking me?"

The cold op came to an abrupt halt and Birkoff barreled into him, nearly knocking him down the remaining stairs. "Birk...Seymour, if I take you back to your rooms, will you be all right?"

"Don't call me that!"

"What?"

"Don't call me 'Seymour'! I *hate* that name! It's a nerd's name, a geek's name!"

"But...what should I call you then? I want to call you something special."

Birkoff blushed. "You do? Well, I...I really like it when you call me Birk." He leaned back against the wall of the stairwell and crossed his arms.

"Do you?" Davenport asked.

The comm op smiled dreamily. "It sounds *so* macho!"

Davenport braced his hands on the wall on either side of the comm op's head. Birkoff's eyes widened behind the tinted lenses he wore, and then drifted shut as Davenport's breath whispered over his lush lips. They parted involuntarily and the cold op ran his tongue over first the upper lip, then the full lower one before dipping in to sample the sweetness that was
Birkoff's mouth.

"Mmmm," Birkoff hummed with pleasure. "Whose rooms are closer?"

Davenport drew back slightly. "Yours are, I think, but will you be okay with that?"

"You asked me that before. Why wouldn't I be comfortable having you in my rooms, in my bed?"

The cold op looked away from those melting, chocolate brown eyes. "Because of what I did to you there, in your bed."

"And you think that bothers me?"

"Well, you were very upset before. You were ready to kill Hillinger.”

"That was when I thought *he* had done all those things to me. When I first woke up, and I thought you had been with me, I was so..."

"You were so ... what?" Davenport wanted to know when the comm op hesitated.   

Birkoff sighed. "Oh, I don't know. Thrilled that you'd spent the night with me? Excited that it had been you in my bed, that you had tied me up? That you had taken me to places I had never been before? And where I'd like to go again, very, very soon!"

"So how did you go from being happy *I* had seduced you to concluding instead that somehow it was Hillinger?" Davenport was surprised to see Birkoff flush in embarrassment.

"I figured you wouldn't want anything more to do with me; y'know, after what happened in the lift? And, the more I thought about it, the more I couldn't believe that you would have come to me in the night. After considering everyone here in Section, Hillinger was the only one I could come up with who had the ability to get into my rooms. And his own agenda for doing so."

Davenport couldn't resist taking the comm op into his arms, drawing him up snugly against his solid frame. "And I wasn't there when you woke up. I wasn't there to soothe you. I'm sorry, baby. Were you very sore? I tried to be gentle, but I just couldn't help myself; I had to sample your tempting ass! Can you forgive me?"

"That depends, Dav." Birkoff looked up at him from under his lashes. "If you do whatever it was you did to me while I was sedated, again, without me being under the influence, I just may consider it!"

The arms around him tightened. "You'll let me near you?"

He took Davenport's hand and pulled him along after him.

"Oh yes!"

Part 7 

Davenport looked around Birkoff's quarters with interest. The night before he hadn't dared to risk a light, crossing the rooms instead in the dark, going by touch alone.

It wasn’t as large as a department head of his stature and experience had a right to expect, but Birkoff seemed content with it. A pocket-sized kitchen served his prosaic needs when he felt the urge to cook for himself rather than dine at the commissary. The living room was crammed with computers and peripherals, and one chair.

A door beyond the computers stood carelessly ajar, and through it was the rumpled single bed. Helplessly Davenport drifted toward it. He could see two strips of black silk, stark against the white sheets. A simple chest of drawers was in the far corner opposite the bed. On it sat an anomaly for these rooms: a 26 inch color TV with an elaborate video game system hooked to
it.

To Davenport's surprise, Birkoff turned a fiery red. The cold op couldn't stop himself from crossing the floor and taking the other man in his arms. "What, baby?" he asked, nuzzling the skin beneath his ear.

"I should be too old to play with video games!" he murmured, drawing in a deep, relishing breath of Davenport's earthy scent.

"Says who, babe? Whatever gets you through the night!"

Birkoff leaned into him. "You do, Dav. You got me through last night!"

The cold op shifted his grip and edged his fingers beneath the hem of Birkoff's pullover, raising it up as his palms swept over the smooth, cool flesh of his back. "I'm no good for you, Birk. You deserve someone better than I am, someone who isn't as soiled."

"What are you talking about, Davenport?"

"My past, Birkoff. I've done things...."

Birkoff took a handful of Davenport's shirt and gave him a shake. "We've *all* done things, Dav, every last one of us! Otherwise we wouldn't be here in Section!"

"No, you don't understand, baby. I...enjoyed those things. I hurt people. Badly, in the most thorough ways I could devise. And I've slept with people..."

"You mean you're not a virgin!" the comm op gasped, and it took Davenport a beat before he realized he was actually being teased. A surprisingly sweet smile parted his lips, taking Birkoff completely off guard. He groaned and seized those lips, biting at them, out of control.

Birkoff's fingers sought hair to wind in, and frustrated in their search, molded against Davenport's skull instead. His breath whispered into Davenport's mouth and he thrust his tongue in to meet and toy with the cold op's.

The burly operative went wild and backed Birkoff up until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he tumbled onto it. Davenport landed on him heavily. Birkoff moaned and rubbed his erection against the thigh wedged high between his legs.

Davenport dragged his mouth from those lush lips to run his teeth along the column of the comm op's throat. "Tell me what you want, baby!" he muttered.

Thrashing his head, Birkoff was awash in a world of sensation he had never before experienced. "I don't know! I want...I *need* to feel your skin on mine!" He reached up between their bodies and began undoing the buttons on Davenport's shirt, spreading it wide and running his hands over the sculpted muscles of his hairless chest. "Ohhhh, God! You feel so good!"

Davenport paused in his exploration of the interesting bulge in Birkoff's trousers. "So do you, baby!"  His busy fingers parted the front of the comm op's pants and eased them down over slender hips. Birkoff's cock sprang free and he almost wept with relief.

And then the other man was kissing his way down Birkoff’s torso, following the fine curls that arrowed past his waist to his groin. Heat, moist and shocking enveloped his arousal as Davenport’s hungry mouth closed around his turgid flesh.

Birkoff shook uncontrollably as the cold op’s teeth scored the length of his cock, as his tongue teased the tip, where a drop of his essence beaded. His lips parted and ragged gasps filled the quiet of his quarters. He could feel himself tottering on the brink, and panic suddenly rode him.

“Dav, no! I’m going to...”

“Come for me, baby!” the cold op growled. “I could eat you alive! I want you to come for me now!” Davenport worked a blunt finger past the tight ring of muscle that guarded Birkoff’s almost virgin channel and with a hoarse shout, the comm op found himself hurtling over the edge, his hips jerking, pouring himself into Davenport’s voracious mouth.

Restless hands stroked the cold op’s head, arching up to offer more of himself for his lover to devour. Davenport continued to suckle and lick him until finally, sated, Birkoff sprawled bonelessly under him.

 “Jesus, Dav, you need to grow hair!”

Davenport grew very still. Carefully he released Birkoff’s now flaccid cock. Was the comm op about to ambush him for his actions of the previous night? Holding himself tightly to prepare for the emotional barrage he expected, he managed to whisper past numb lips, “Why?”

Birkoff propped himself up on his elbows and looked into pain-filled, midnight eyes. “Well, I need something to yank on when you make me come like that, and your ears are sure gonna get sore if I have to pull on them!”

“You’re not sorry you let me make love to you?”

“I thought all the noise I was making made that clear.”

“Sorry, baby, I guess I’m just a paranoid son of a bitch. I was on the outside so long, I’m afraid to trust anyone with my...with my heart! There, I’ve said it! Now you can laugh at me and throw my emotions back in my face!”

Birkoff could see that Davenport was really upset. He reached over and drew the cold op up beside him, and kissed his mouth shut.

“Dav, you know what’s wrong with you?”

Davenport closed his eyes and braced himself. “What?”

Birkoff sighed contentedly. “Aside from the fact that you’ve got altogether too many clothes on? *Absolutely nothing*!”

Part 8

Birkoff stretched sinuously, his body brushing against the cold operative in his bed. "God, you make me feel good, Dav!"

Davenport groaned and held the other man tight to him. "Do that again, Birk. Make me so hot I have no choice but to come all over you!"

The comm op reached down and cupped Davenport's straining arousal. "Tell me what you want me to do for you, Dav. Tell me!" he murmured as his lips suckled the tendon at the side of his throat.

Davenport arched into the touch of that knowledgeable mouth, desperately dragging in lungfuls of oxygen. His brain turned to mush, he could only concentrate on the sensations that ran wild through his body.

Encouraged by the inarticulate moans he was drawing from his partner, Birkoff brought his hands between them and began working on the buttons that kept him from the warm flesh he needed to touch. As each button parted, he spread the shirt and followed the path with lips and tongue, until his questing fingers found a flat male nipple.

He paused to worship that hardening bit of flesh, biting down carefully, then sweeping it with an apologetic tongue. To his surprise, it hardened even more and he couldn't resist taking it between his lips and sucking it into the heat of his mouth. Involuntary whimpers from Davenport went straight to Birkoff's groin, making his cock swell to renewed readiness.

Birkoff sat back on his haunches, pulling Davenport up with him. He eased the shirt off his shoulders and tossed it aside, feasting his eyes on the solid, hairless chest before him. He seized a quick kiss and pushed his lover back down on the bed. His hands continued the task of baring the tempting body hidden by mission pants and his lips continued toying with those enticing nipples.

Pushing the pants down past hips and strongly muscled thighs, the comm op was forced to leave Davenport's chest and move lower, following the firmly defined contour of his abdomen, dipping into his navel. Birkoff stroked his cheek against the cold op's jutting arousal that begged to be engulfed. A quick swipe of tongue teased a drop of moisture to the tip of Davenport’s
cock. Another swipe, and that tongue was gone, traveling down to nip at the back of a knee, lick at the hollow of an ankle.

Finally socks and boots were discarded and those trousers were swept off, leaving Davenport blessedly naked. Before the cold op’s muddled brain could think of what move it wanted him to make next, Birkoff dragged his hot, yearning flesh back up over Davenport's body. Cocks touched and quivered, straining toward further contact.

Birkoff was almost sobbing with passion. "Dav, please! Help me. I don't know what to do next!"

Shudders rippled through the massive frame the comm op was wriggling on top of. Pulling the smaller man a little higher and nudging his legs apart, the cold operative couldn't resist rubbing his cock in the notch of Birkoff's thighs. "Do you want to fuck or be fucked?"

Birkoff froze. "You'd let me do that to you?"

"I'm yours, baby! I'll let you do whatever you want to me!"

A disjointed sound whispered past Birkoff's lips and he nuzzled the spot between shoulder and neck that drove Davenport wild. "Ohhh," he groaned, "fuck me! Please fuck me!"

Before Birkoff could change his mind, Davenport flipped him over onto his stomach and straddled his hips. He scrabbled frantically through the jumble in the night stand. "Lube, Birk, we need lube!"

"Huh?"

Davenport swore, realizing his partner would be unprepared for this type of lovemaking. He rolled to his side and buried his head in his hands. "We can't do this without some kind of lubricant. I'll tear you apart otherwise! Shit, shit, shit!" And he pounded his fists on his thigh.

"But last night...?"

"Last night I brought it with me." The cold op scowled at his lover, who had collapsed in uncontrolled laughter.

"And here I thought you were always prepared!"

"Birkoff, if you don't get yourself together, you're going to find out what it feels like to get your ass reamed!"

"Oh, I hope I will anyway!" His skin flushed, a fine sheen of perspiration coating it, the comm op stretched across the bed. He reached under to a concealed compartment. With a little crow of triumph, he waved a small tube of K-Y Jelly.

"I'm not even going to ask why you keep a tube of K-Y in your bedroom!" Davenport growled, and Birkoff blushed a vivid red.

His arousal had subsided somewhat, but the sight of Davenport liberally coating his own hard erection had the comm op vibrating with eager anticipation. His partner threw him a glance from under his lashes and motioned for Birkoff to resume his former position on his stomach.

Birkoff's mouth went dry. He knew the act that was about to be performed on him had been done the previous night, and so it was possible, but Davenport's cock was so large. With a start he felt gentle fingers circling the ring of tight muscle, then slip in and begin an easy stretching movement. The sensation was electrifying and he tried to back onto those clever fingers.

A hard arm slid around his waist and raised him onto his knees. He lowered his head to his folded arms and spread his legs further apart. Davenport delved further into the puckered opening, then removed his fingers. Before Birkoff could protest, Davenport's hard hands gripped the comm op's buttocks and separated them. Then he angled his cock at the almost virgin portal and began to push his way in.

The smaller man gasped and struggled to relax his muscles, allowing Davenport's arousal to enter easily. The cold op reached around and took his partner's erection in his fist and began a gliding rhythm, stroking from tip to balls, slowly at first, and then more and more rapidly.

He pulled his hips back until only the head of his cock was still within Birkoff's snug channel, and then drove in all the way, his balls slapping against the comm op's buttocks.

Davenport's other hand found Birkoff's nipples. Alternately, he pinched and plucked and rolled them, causing his lover to moan and buck against him, pleading to be fucked harder.

Deeper.

Faster.

Birkoff's hands twisted the sheets. His eyes were squeezed shut and he wallowed in the feelings that washed over him: the hard flesh pounding within him, the hard op leaning over him.

Davenport closed his mouth over the curve of Birkoff's throat and bit down. A keening whine signaled the start of the comm op's orgasm, and as his essence began spilling into his lover's hand, Birkoff felt Davenport come, filling his passageway with the hot, white liquid.

After endless, shuddering minutes the cold op slumped bonelessly over the back of the smaller man. Trembling both from the physical release and the not inconsiderable weight of his partner, Birkoff collapsed, gasping for air.

Pinned spread eagle beneath the burly cold op, Birkoff held himself as still as possible, determined to keep the other man deep inside him for as long as he could. Davenport must have felt much the same. Plastered along his lover's back, his arm was curled snugly around him, emphasizing his possession of Birkoff.

Birkoff felt Davenport's flaccid length begin to slide out of him. "I'm losing you!" and he clamped down tight with inner muscles.

The grip along his cock jolted the cold operative, and he found himself swelling to full arousal again. And rolling to his side, taking his lover with him, Davenport began a gentle undulating motion that drove him deep into Birkoff’s body, teasing nerve endings that had just been sated to unbearable excitement once again.

"You'll *never* lose me, baby! Never!"

Because of the cancellation of LFN, this has taken a slightly different
twist. Maybe Birkoff and Davenport will have a more fun adventure in the
future.


Part 9

The cold operative and the comm operative were nestled together in bed. Davenport lightly stroked Birkoff’s chest, toying with his nipples, trying to remain as deep inside him as was possible.

All good things had to end, though, and Birkoff sighed deeply as he felt Davenport’s flaccid manhood slide out of his narrow channel. “What time is it, Dav?” he asked as he ran his fingertips along the hand that fondled him.

Davenport leaned over the smaller man and squinted at the bedside clock. “Christ! it’s past midnight! We’ve spent all day in bed! Operations is going to have our asses!”

“Nah, I think he’s after Hillinger’s ass!” Birkoff chuckled and turned over to rub his length against the cold operative he had taken to his bed.

Davenport licked his lover’s lips and then settled onto them, pressing until they parted. He slid his tongue past the edges of the comm op’s teeth and began sampling the honeyed depths beyond.

To Birkoff’s disappointment, the burly cold op didn’t take their amorous play to its passionate conclusion. “I’ve got to get something to eat, Birk. C’mon, you must be starved too!”

As if they had been lovers for twenty-four years, rather than twenty-four hours, the two rolled out of bed and began searching for the clothing that had been scattered in their fevered haste to get at each other.

“Let’s hope Christopher still has the commissary open,” Birkoff murmured.

“He'll open it for me!” Davenport told him with supreme confidence.

“And why, exactly, is that?” the comm op demanded, starting to feel the green-eyed monster sinking its claws into him.

“Baby, you can’t be jealous!”

Birkoff scowled at him.

“You *can* be jealous! That is just so sweet!” Davenport was overjoyed that his lover was so involved with their relationship that he wanted exclusivity.

“I’m glad you think it’s sweet. Just get one thing straight, Davenport: I may have let you deter me from shooting Hillinger, but if you *ever* screw around on me, I will have no qualms whatsoever in shooting whoever is trying to take you from me!”

Now Davenport was getting curious. “Would you shoot me too?”

“Oh, no. I’d devise another punishment for you! I’ve let you fuck me, but if you ever start looking at anyone else, I’ll tie you to my bed and keep you there indefinitely! And *I* will fuck *you* until you don’t know which end is up!”

A satisfied grin curled the corner of Davenport’s mouth. “And what am I doing while you’re tying me to the bed?” He could feel himself growing hard at the thought of his shorter lover taking the dominant hand in their affair.

“You can’t stay awake all the time, Dav. And then you’ll be mine!”

“Baby, I’m already yours! Let’s go eat!”

“What about Christopher?”

“What about him?”

“Dav...”

“Okay.” The cold op could see Birkoff was still concerned about his friendship with the head of Dietary. “We came into Section at about the same time, and we danced around the possibility of an affair, but decided it just wasn’t worth the danger of exposure. Nothing happened between us. But we remained friends. Now, does that ease your mind?”

Birkoff shrugged. He chewed on his lip, and Davenport could see that something was still eating at him. He waited patiently.

Finally, the comm op burst out, “Aren’t you concerned about the danger to us?” He was hurt that his lover cared more about a friend than about him.

Davenport pulled Birkoff into his arms and held him tightly. “I’m concerned, but it doesn’t matter: I have to have you! If I get canceled for it, it will be worth it! Haven’t you realized yet, Birk, that I love you?”

“And that makes all the difference? Oh, Dav!” The smaller man melted against the cold op and nuzzled his throat. “But just to let you know, if anyone in Section cancels you, I will hunt them down like the slug-sucking, snail-barfing, weasel-wallowing scum they are and commit serious mayhem on their bodies!”

“’Slug-sucking...’ Oh my, remind me never to get you angry with me, Birk!” He hugged him once more, thrilled that he had found someone willing to fight for him.

They left Birkoff’s quarters and took a lift down to the commissary. Not surprisingly, it was crowded. Word that Michael and Nikita had returned had ricocheted around Section like a loose 357 magnum slug.

The news that Operations had called a major conference for 0100 hours was also being discussed. Not in anyone’s memory had a meeting of this size ever been convened. Nerves were stretched tight. Arguments broke out frequently, and trainers had to keep sharp eyes on their material: the fights could become deadly before the combatees realized just how skilled they had become.

Birkoff and Davenport took a couple of trays and visited the various stations, loading up with protein and carbohydrates. Reluctantly, they also added some salads and veggies at Christopher's urging. “Best to keep everything in working order, gentlemen. Things might be getting hairy!”

The two operatives took his advice and after getting some bottled water to wash down their meal, headed for a couple of empty seats. Walter was sitting nearby, earnestly conversing with a few members of Housekeeping.

They took their time eating, not wanting indigestion to interfere with whatever they might be called upon to do. Silently, they watched as more and more operatives came in and found seats. Soon there was standing room only in the large commissary.

Two figures entered. A man of average height and a petite blond woman, dressed completely in black, this time minus their small, yellow boxes. In spite of the crowd, suddenly empty seats were found for the two, and there was plenty of room left around them.

And then Operations entered, Madeline at his side, Michael and Nikita following. The quartet strode to the front of the room and waited patiently for silence. Finally, after numerous hissed “Shhhh’s!” they had everyone’s attention.

Operations took the floor. “Thank you all for being here on such short notice. A meeting similar to this is now taking place at each of the Sections. As you know, Michael and Nikita were off profile for almost forty-eight hours. Not, however, because the mission had gone sour, as was
announced, but because I delegated a specific assignment to them. I will let them give you their findings.”

Michael and Nikita stepped forward. It could be seen that Nikita was clinging tightly to the senior cold op’s hand. “We have spent the past two days with George in Oversight. Things on the outside have become decidedly...strange, and it’s possible that this being the dawn of the new millennium might have something to do with it.

“As some of you may have heard, the situation in Northern Ireland looks as if it will finally be coming to a peaceful conclusion. In the Middle East, in middle Europe, in Africa and South America, unexpected pockets of peace have broken out. For reasons no one can explain, the lion has lain down with the lamb, swords are being beaten into plowshares. There are no wars, no police actions, no nasty little attempts at genocide.

“No more terrorists.” He paused to let that sink in.

“How does that impact us, Michael?” Walter asked, his voice more gravely than usual.

Michael sighed and seemed to fold in on himself. Nikita squeezed his hand and faced the senior weapons op. “It means we that have become redundant, Walter. We are no longer needed. We have served our purpose, but our usefulness is at an end.”

A wave of disgruntled sound started at the back of the room and surged forward until the operatives at the front of the room were inundated by it.

“I love you honey, but the season's over?” one of the senior operatives growled.

Nikita looked at him with sad eyes. “Exactly. I see you all understand.”

“So what happens to us?” a disembodied voice shouted.

Madeline fielded that question. “You have all been faithful and hard working. You will each be given what you deserve, commensurate with your time spent here in Section. Those of you with less seniority are free to go as soon as you are debriefed. The senior members and the heads of their departments will be required to stay until Section is shut down, presumably sometime in the next three months or so. Of course, my door is open, as always, to any who have difficulty adjusting to this change in status. That’s all I have to say. Paul?”

Operations once more spoke. “This is a very sad day for Section. I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say how much this will be missed. As Madeline has stated, my door also will be open. We will be available to all of you. Michael, Nikita?”

They traded glances and shook their heads.

“Then that’s all for now. As we access any further intel, we will be sure to inform you. Good evening. Or rather, good morning.” The head of Section left, Madeline still at his side.

Walter joined Michael and Nikita. “So that’s it? We’ve all been retired?” He turned to leave.

Michael grabbed his arm. “Wait, Walter. Join us for a drink?”

“What’s happening?”

Michael nodded toward the doors which were crowded with operatives who were so dangerous that only an organization like Section could keep them under control. “Let them leave. You don’t want to be mixed up with them!”

The senior munitions operative broke into a cold sweat. There was silence as the last of the more junior operatives shuffled through the doors.

He could just make out the harsh cough of silenced automatic weapons’ fire. And then came the cries and moans of the dying. Scattered shots could be heard, for with its usual efficiency, Section would permit none to live.

The interrogations operatives stopped by the huddled group. “Is Operations expecting us to remain here, or go out to be executed?” Exx asked calmly. Death had never held any fear for her. She would miss her counterpart, but if her destiny awaited in the bloodied hallway, she would go forth to meet it.

Wye gripped her arm. “I go with you, wherever that might be!”

“Even to death, Wye?”

He tightened his hold and nodded. Exx blinked slowly and for the first time permitted herself to smile at him in the presence of others. They linked arms and leaned against each other, prepared to wait as long as it took.

Michael was surprised by that turn of events, and then surprised that he was surprised. He should have seen it coming. “Those of us who remained behind will be given the chance to live our lives in freedom.”

“And we’re really free?”

Birkoff and Davenport reached them in time to hear Walter’s question.

He continued to storm at the turn of events. “Just like that, after all these years, after being under Section’s control for so long? So what do we freaking do now?”

Birkoff and Davenport looked at each other and smiled.

“We’re going to DisneyWorld!”

End