La Femme Nikita

Title: Thumbscrews and Black Lace  

Author/pseudonym: Tinnean  

Fandom: La Femme Nikita  

Pairing: Exx/Wye (the Torture Twins) 

Rating: NC-17  

Disclaimer: They belong to Fireworks and WB. I’m just taking them out for a little airing.  

Status: new/complete  

Date: 11/99 This was right after the Con, so it had to be around that time  

Series/Sequel: This is the first in the Torture Twins Trilogy.                             

Summary: The Powers That Be are screwing with Section One. They really should know better.  

Warnings: m/f (this was before I discovered slash), AU, spoilers for Season 3, I believe  

Notes: There isn’t even harsh language in this one.    

Thumbscrews and Black Lace

Part One  

He stood at the entrance to the commissary, his restless glance seeking the one constant in his world. 

The large room was crowded for this time of day. Many operatives had come in from the field and were relieving some of the tension their work generated with an afternoon snack. Hot fudge sundaes were always in demand after a debrief, and if one did not move quickly, one was left with what the littlest pig got. So the cold ops got their sugar high before even showering off the stench of a mission. 

His tormented eyes searched the room, glancing off each operative, dismissing them one by one. 

At last he saw her, a cool blond, seated alone. The black-clad operatives gave her a wide berth, none venturing to sit too close. His heart lurched and he hurried to her side, her knight errant, ready to tilt at windmills, ready to slay dragons, ready to sweep her off to the nearest flat surface and have his wicked way with her. 

She, too, was indulging in a sundae. As he stood at her side, she delicately licked whipped cream off her spoon, lingering over the last little dollop. When she looked up at him, she found his gaze riveted hungrily on her mouth and her breath caught in her chest. 

He took the spoon from her suddenly boneless fingers and placed it carefully down on the table before she could drop it. "I must speak with you." 

She nodded jerkily and rose to her feet, her chair scraping back with a subdued squeal. In the suddenly silent room, it sounded like the cry of a tormented soul. Rather appropriate, considering these two were the ones Madeline called in when more strenuous persuasion was needed to convince the latest habitué of the White Room to reveal his deepest, darkest secrets. 

Covert glances followed them as they left the commissary. No one wanted to draw the attention of the Torture Ops. Gradually conversations resumed as the door swung closed behind the pair. 

He didn't give the appearance of bulk, although he towered over his diminutive companion. Encased in an overcoat was a body that was surprisingly muscular. His hair was a nondescript brown and the color of his eyes was hidden by the thick-lensed glasses he wore. Not an iota of emotion was permitted to cross his face, and he did his job thoroughly and relentlessly. He had come to Section six months prior, and found himself increasingly intrigued by the woman who was his mentor. 

The woman at his side wore her blond hair in a blunt bob. She also wore glasses, although they were merely for affect as her vision was excellent. Her overcoat concealed a prim black skirt suit. Sensible shoes of the same color were on her slender feet. She was a tiny woman, but housed in that petite frame was the ferocity of an Amazon. Few at Section One knew where she came from, or indeed, how she had come to be in their midst, but the commendations in her file attested to her ability to keep whomever she worked on alive until there was no further need for them. 

The two of them were ruthless, the more so because it was just business to them. It was never allowed to become personal.         

Part Two   

With exquisite care, his hand cupped her elbow and he led her to their wardroom. 

Here were kept all the tools of their trade, and all that was needed to keep those tools at the peak of their efficiency, along with other assorted sundries: cabinets where chemicals were stored in neatly labeled bottles; sinks; recycling bins; beakers for brewing up potions guaranteed to make a man's hair fall out, and laminar hoods to protect their own while they were doing it. 

They both drew in deep breaths, loving the scent of almonds in the afternoon. She rested her head gently against his arm, her gaze proud as it swept the tidy room where much of her life was now lived. A contented sigh passed her lips, and she gave his hand a squeeze. 

"I get such a feeling of home-coming whenever I enter this room," she told him. A soft smile curved her lips and she pulled his head down for a brief kiss. When she would have stepped back, his grip on her shoulders held her in place. She gave him an inquiring look. 

"There was nothing I needed to speak to you about, nothing regarding work, that is. I just had to see you again. Touch you." He followed suit. "Kiss you." His mouth lingered on hers. "Breathe in the air that surrounds you." His nostrils flared as he rubbed the side of his nose against the column of her throat. "Taste you." The moist heat of his tongue startled her, then set her blood to flowing like warmed honey. She tried to press close to him, but he held her still, a prisoner in his arms. 

"I know you don't like mixing business with pleasure, but there are no new prisoners in Section. All the operatives have returned from their missions, so we won't be in for any surprises. Let me have you now!" he begged. 

Fine tremors rippled through her. He could feel them, and thrilled to the knowledge that he could do this to her. That she allowed him to do this to her. When she attempted to take a step away from him, he released his hold on her, not wanting her to feel cornered. A wise man, he knew that if she were truly his and he let her go, she would return to him. 

His heart lurched as she headed for the door. Then it began to beat out a wild, reckless tattoo as she locked the door and disengaged the security scan as well. 

Perhaps she truly was his.        

Part Three   

With languorous motions, her fingers reached up and began unbuttoning the overcoat she wore during working hours. Mesmerized, he followed the movements avidly. Lips suddenly dry, he licked at them, realizing only then that she had silently agreed to his plea. She was going to let him make love to her. Here. In the one place in all the world where they were most at home. 

His fingers felt like sticks of wood as he forced them to work, shedding his overcoat and letting it drop unheeded to the floor. One article of clothing followed another; his eyes never left her. 

A sultry smile curved her lips. She removed her glasses and placed them on a counter. Then the jacket of her prissy suit came off and was folded neatly, to be placed next to her glasses. Her arms reached behind her and found the button at the back of her skirt. 

The heavy silence of the room was disturbed only by the male torture ops' heavy breathing, and the rasp of her zipper as it was lowered. The skirt slithered to the floor. She toed off her shoes as she undid the buttons on the jabot of her white blouse. A gentle shrug of her shoulders, and the blouse fluttered down to land next to her skirt. She stood before him, a black lace bra tenderly embracing the fullness of her bosom, a half slip concealing her figure from hip to knee. As she leaned over to push the slip down her legs, she afforded him a generous glimpse of her lovely breasts. 

His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He swallowed convulsively, unable to take his eyes off her. With a start, he realized his hands were frozen at his belt, and he feverishly began unbuckling it. 

The black trousers he wore got no further than his knees before he could bear it no longer. He lunged at her, catching her in his arms and bearing her backward to the wall. His lips fed ravenously on the sweet column of her throat. Impatient with the clasp of her bra, which stubbornly refused to yield, he tore the fragile material apart and tossed it aside. Holding her in place with his upper body, he frantically pushed down his briefs. A sigh of relief washed over her lips as he sprang free to nudge lightly at the vee of her thighs. 

His fingers slid under the edge of the bikini panties she wore, finding her already moist and hot for him. He began a gentle stroking motion that gradually grew in intensity until he had her moaning and twisting in his arms. His mouth feasted on the lushness of her breasts, leaving behind love bites that marked her as his. 

Her breath sobbed out as he drove her higher and higher. He grabbed a handful of hair and jerked her head back, positioning her mouth for his kiss. His lips descended on hers, roughly parting them, his tongue delving in to dally in the warm recesses of her mouth. At the same time, he fingers plunged into her and his thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden in the folds of her femininity. 

With a sudden sharp gasp, she came apart in his arms, shuddering and trembling as spasms of pleasure rippled through her. 

A drowsy state of contentment settled over her and she nestled her head against his chest. Idly she licked at the flat male nipple just within her reach. "That was very excellent!" she was murmuring when he stepped away from her. A whisper of desolation passed her lips before she realized he was merely divesting himself of the cumbersome trousers. 

Now free of them, he shredded her panties with one steady tug, hoisted her up in his arms and carried her to the spotless work table on which they created some of their most fiendish mixes. Laying her down on it, he kissed her reverently, and then began climbing up her body, spreading kisses hither and yon until he at last came to her mouth. 

As his lips settled on hers, he entered her with one smooth thrust and began the rhythm that soon had them both ascending to the peaks. Although they  fought to delay the climax for as long as possible, all too soon they reached the summit, and helpless, flung themselves off. 

Their descent was a soft, wafting glide, punctuated by gentle aftershocks that never quite let them settle. 

He raised himself up on his forearms and gazed at her flushed face. Her eyes were slumberous as she watched him watching her.  Each wore a satisfied smile and they sighed in repletion. She pulled his head down to hers and ran her tongue along the beard-roughened length of his jaw. "Want to try that again, cowboy?" she asked huskily. 

The lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled and his lips parted to speak. 

Just then the intercom squawked and a frantic voice intruded upon their solitude.

"I hope to God you two are in there! Madeline is on the warpath and needs to see you immediately!" 

The male torture op scrambled to his feet and began a desperate search for his scattered clothing. His mentor, on the other hand, leaned up casually on an elbow and enjoyed the show. He threw her a disgruntled glance, along with the remnants of her undergarments. Holding the destroyed panties between her thumb and forefinger, she laughed softly. 

When she had finished dressing, he found himself to be in a state of excruciating arousal. Although her outer clothes were primly in order, he knew that beneath them she was naked. Uncomfortably he adjusted himself and prepared to follow her to the depths of hell. Which their forthcoming interview with Madeline promised to be.                                                           

Part 4

It never failed to amaze him how the other operatives in this vast organization stepped hastily out of the way to let him and his female counterpart pass through their midst. While he was considerably taller than she, still, he was only average height. Many of the cold ops dwarfed him, both in height and musculature. 

And they were downright nasty. Most had been recruited from prisons around the world, and were not ideal co-workers. In fact, they were the kind your mother always warned you against, the kind who, if they weren't committing mayhem on the world in general, were committing it on you in particular. 

That they were so obviously wary of him tickled him pink! 

He kept his affect blank, not letting his grim gaze settle on any of them. He had learned, the hard way, in the place he had been  before Operations had him brought to Section One. Now, if he let his eyes meet anyone's, it was a sure bet that whoever it was would have to excuse himself and slink off for a hasty change of underwear. Such power was heady, but he strove not to abuse it. One could never tell when it would be needed.  

His companion turned her head slightly and tilted her chin up. Her lips moved, and to the casual observer, it would appear that she was imparting some noteworthy intel to him. Her eyes never ceased scanning the corridors they traversed, never ceased measuring and weighing the operatives who passed her. 

If they were on the alert around him, with her they were downright skittish. 

Housekeeping had let it slip a number of times the conditions of the remains of the terrorists she had dealt with. That such a physically delicate woman would wreak such havoc, and not apparently be effected by it, made her a force to be reckoned with. 

He angled his head toward her to catch her words. It was only by a supreme act of will that he kept himself from stumbling. 

"I want you to come to my apartment later tonight," she murmured. Her eyes narrowed as if the information she shared did not please her. "I want you to wear your overcoat. And nothing else!" She moistened her lips and he found himself staring helplessly at her mouth. 

They entered the corridor that housed Madeline's office. It was empty for the moment, and she lightly touched his sleeve. "That was unforgivable of me. I apologize." 

"Then... you don't want me to come to you tonight?" He was dismayed to find how disappointed he was. 

"Oh, no. You will come tonight! 

His eyes began to glow, and she gave his coat sleeve an impatient tug. "You must get yourself under control. Madeline sees everything, and she is not our friend. Are you together?" 

At his jerky nod, she turned, gave her coat a brief patdown and rapped efficiently at the door. 

Madeline's cool voice bade them enter. 

"And abandon all hope?" he breathed wickedly, to pay her back in her own coin. She cast him a startled glance, then gave an approving nod. 

Slipping back into character, she opened the door and together they crossed the threshold. Together they crossed the carpeted floor. Together they stood before one of the few people in Section that they respected. 

Together.

Part 5  

The two torture operatives stood before Madeline's desk, waiting for her to deign to notice their presence. Madeline, however, was not best pleased, and sought to show her displeasure by ignoring them in hopes of making them sweat. Industriously she scanned the report held in her slender fingers. 

The male op stood at ease, his arms folded neatly behind his back and his feet spread a comfortable distance. He had learned, in a hard school, to disconnect his thoughts, and his dispassionate gaze rested on the Rorschach-like painting on the wall behind Madeline's desk. He was giving absolutely nothing away. 

The woman beside him regarded the top of Madeline's head sardonically. Then she turned aside and strolled to the bookcase on the far wall. Idly examining the titles, she pulled one out, studied it, turned it carefully in her hands, flipped through it and then replaced it. She repeated this action a number of  times, ignoring, in her turn, the psych op whom many believed to be the true power behind Section One. 

This game of 'Anything you can do, I can do better' would have continued indefinitely, both participants being women of infinite patience. Then the shrill of a cell phone disrupted the silence in the room. 

All three operatives reached for their phones. All three flipped them open and pressed the receive button. 

Only Madeline's line was live. She was barely able to repress a smirk, although she did flash a triumphant glance at the female torture op, who sniffed delicately and turned back to the book in her hand. Under the pale fringe of her bangs she slanted a glance at Madeline, who was suddenly standing as stiff as if a poker had been rammed up her spine, scowling fiercely at her phone. With a snarled imprecation, she snapped the phone shut and hurled it away from her. 

Offering them a sickly smile, she murmured, "Wrong number." 

Madeline crossed the room to where a grouping of chairs was arranged and seated herself in an elegant move. With a regal sweep of her hand, she motioned for the torture ops to sit down. The male responded with alacrity, but the female gazed at Madeline thoughtfully for a long moment before joining them. 

Something was afoot, she would swear to it. Madeline was not the sort of woman to betray her emotions in such a blatant manner. A frison of disquiet crept through the fine hairs at the nape of her neck, like little mouse's feet. 

The feeling grew even stronger when she looked directly into Madeline's dark brown eyes. Things were not as they appeared to be. Ill at ease, she adjusted the frames of  her glasses, a signal to her partner to be on the alert. 

Then Madeline's lips parted. The smile that revealed her teeth would have looked at home on a shark.

Part 6  

The female op consciously forced each muscle group to relax. She leaned back in her chair. "My, my, we are theatrical today, aren't we?" 

Madeline scowled at her, knowing her ploy to intimidate them had not succeeded. "You always were too smart for your own good, Exx." 

Before she could speak further, the male op interrupted her. "Is this room secure, Madeline?" 

Her look decidedly affronted, Madeline snapped, "Of course this room is secure! Do you honestly think I would endanger the best torture operatives in Section? I need you, Section needs you, too much to allow you to be destroyed, Wye! I am extremely upset that you didn't realize that!" 

The male op watched her with steady eyes, ignoring her outburst, awaiting her unemotional reassurance. 

A reluctant grin kicked up the corner of her mouth. "Yes, Wye," she told him calmly, "this room is secure, and has been from the moment you knocked on the door. What is revealed in this room, stays in this room." 

"Well, now that that nonsense is out of the way, why exactly did you need to see us so urgently, Madeline?" 

The psych op sighed. "Oversight wants to make sure that Michael and Nikita never get back together again." 

Exx looked up sharply. The pain in Madeline's face made her vaguely uncomfortable. "We, everyone in Section One, believed that you were the one behind their estrangement." 

Madeline nodded. "That is what Oversight intended. A little payback for backing Operations' bid for control." 

The male op remarked, "But I thought Michael was George's fair-haired boy? Why would he do something so despicable to him?" 

Tired brown eyes that regarded him spoke of long nights with little sleep." George is not the only member of Oversight. They are a triumvirate, with George fronting for the other two. I haven't been able to tell if George is even aware of what's happening here, of what's been done to Nikita. Birkoff is working on that for me." 

"Why are you telling us this, Madeline? We have nothing to do with the day to day running of Section. And we care nothing for the politics behind the scenes. What does this have to do with us?" 

Again Madeline scowled. Exx was no one's fool, and she'd be wise to keep that in  mind. She scrambled to find a logical reason for bringing the 'Torture Twins', as they were known behind their backs, into this fiasco. In a bid to gain more time, she rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling the promise of an incipient migraine lurking behind her eyes. 

"When Birkoff learns who  has put this chain of events into effect, I will bring Michael into my confidence. He and Davenport will find an excuse to visit Oversight...." 

Wye leaned over and murmured to Exx, "No doubt disguised as crack-smoking leprechauns on unicycles!"

Eyes bright with shared laughter, it took them a moment to regain their professional aplomb. 

"If you are quite finished?" Madeline gritted out between her teeth, sounding for all the world like a constipated high school home ec teacher. 

"Sorry Madeline. You were saying?" 

"Basically, Michael and Davenport will escort the troublemaker here and we will deal with him, or her, on a very personal level!" 

"Ahhhh," said Exx, "so this is why you want us in on it." They could almost see her rubbing her hands in glee. 

Madeline shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Yes, well, please remember that this person is  highly placed in our organization. We don't want to do too much damage to him." 

"Or her?" 

"Yes Wye, or her." Madeline was not happy with his interjection. "I will leave the details to you. Just please remember that while we want to do a goodly amount of damage, we don't want to do anything permanent. Is that understood?" 

Exx rose to her feet. "Don't try to teach your grandmother how to suck eggs, Madeline!" A brief jerk of her head brought her counterpart to her side. "Just let us know when you'll want us. Right now I think it would be best if Wye and I did a little brainstorming." The smile curling her lips did not reach her eyes. She strode to the door and waited patiently while the male op opened it for her. 

For long moments after they had left, Madeline stared at the door. Then a convulsive shudder rippled through her body.          

Part 7  

The man and woman walked through the corridors of Section, he adjusting his pace to suit her shorter stride. Silence enveloped them like a well-worn cloak, masking the unease they both felt. 

Outside the door to their wardroom, Wye believed it was safe to speak. "Exx, what do you..." 

She reached up and adjusted the earpiece of her glasses, and he immediately fell silent. He was more familiar with Section now than he had been six months ago, when he had first arrived here, but she had lived and breathed this organization for much longer than he liked to contemplate. If she was giving him the sign to stay frosty, then it could only mean that she had picked up on something that had eluded him. 

"I think we might want to try just a scoche more of bella donna in that mixture next time, Wye," she said in a normal tone of voice. 

He raised an elegant eyebrow. She never discussed business outside that room. Never. Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice. 

He held the door open for her and they entered the room. 

He should have been expecting it. Afterwards he would berate himself for not sensing something was amiss. 

In an unconscious move, he put himself between his mentor and the weapons operative who lounged negligently against the table where only an hour before they had shared an incredibly torrid interlude. 

Walter cocked an inquiring eye at him, but it was to Exx he spoke. "Look what I just happened to find!" From his finger dangled the shredded remains of her black panties. 

"Now how in the world did they manage to wind up here?" she wondered as she nonchalantly took them from his outstretched hand. She could have given Madeline lessons in insouciance. 

"I'm sure I  haven't a clue, Exx," he said in his gravely voice. "Kind of interesting though, don't you think?" 

She smiled, and Walter backed up a step. "Why should I think that, Walter?" she inquired softly. 

Suddenly the thought of trying to coerce the 'Torture Twins' into helping him help his Sugar didn't seem like quite such a good idea. You'd think he'd have learned, especially after the dismal results when he and Birkoff had attempted to blackmail Operations. Disgusted with himself, he backed down. "Uhhh, never mind Exx. It was just idle conversation. I've got more important things to talk to you two about." 

Wye pointed toward one of the stools that were all the room offered in the way of amenities. "Sorry I can't offer you anything to drink Walter. It wouldn't be too healthy." 

Walter pulled a face and agreed with him. "Too right, Wye." He settled himself as comfortably as possible on the stool. From out of a deep pocket of the vest he wore, he pulled a small gadget, which he placed on the table. Then he pressed a switch. 

"I'm sorry about this c&d type stuff." At the torture operatives' blank stares, he hastily explained, "Cloak and dagger. You know, spy stuff? Jeez, doesn't anybody in this place ever go to the movies?" he complained and abandoned that topic as fruitless. 

"I couldn't risk asking you to deactivate your security scanner. It would get back to the PTB and then we'd all be in deep sh... sorry Exx. Deep trouble." 

Exx perched on her stool and regarded the weapons op with interest. "Stop beating around the bush, Walter. And stop trying to pass yourself off as a doddering old poop. We are quite aware that under that atrocious headband you persist in wearing, your brain is tarp as a shack." She offered him a somewhat warmer smile in hopes of putting him at his ease and encouraging him to get to the point. 

"I'm going to lay my cards on the table, Exx. I know you guys could have made things really miserable for me when Operations had me retired, and I appreciate the fact that you gave me some really nifty memories in place of what you actually did to me." He chewed worriedly on a thumbnail. "I need your assistance badly." 

He looked at them both, his eyes ineffably sad. "My Sugar is in such deep pain. So is Michael, for that matter." Moisture sheened his eyes. " I need to do something to help them. I need someone with your expertise in worming out secrets. I need someone who can do the people who are behind this a world of hurt!" 

"And you think we're just the team for that, do you Walter?" asked Exx. First Madeline and now Walter! If she was alone she would have wriggled like an excited puppy! People wanted her to do what she loved best in the world, push the envelope of pain! She began to feel rather...warm. 

"I tell you what. Why don't you give me a couple of days to think this over, see what I come up with? Does that suit? Good! 

"Well, I'm sure you have a lot of things to do, weapons that need  to be upgraded, fine-tuned, whatever. Let me just show you to the door!" 

She stood to hustle Walter out. 

The panties, balled up in her hand, were warm from the heat of her skin, which was starting to feel  too-tightly stretched over her body. 

She found she wanted, very suddenly, very much, to be alone with her associate. 

Thoughtfully, she eyed the table. Wye caught her glance, saw where it rested. 

To Walter's utter amazement, the male torture op blushed.                                                                                   

Part 8                                                                                                 

Wye licked his lips. His mentor was watching him feverishly. He could literally feel her eyes on his flesh. His mouth was suddenly dry. 

"Exx?" 

"Wye?" she countered in a half-mocking tone. She walked toward him, crowding him back toward the very wall where he had brought her such bliss only an hour ago. 

When he could go no further, she still approached, until finally she leaned her diminutive length along his solid frame. With a sigh, she reached up and eased off his tie. Then, with two hands, she gripped his shirt and tore it open, exposing a well-muscled, lightly haired chest. Open-mouthed, she nuzzled it, then began licking a path up his breastbone to the base of his throat. 

Lights began dancing in the room, and he suddenly became aware that it had been some time since he had drawn a breath. In the process of gulping down air, he choked as he felt her teeth close firmly over one of the major blood vessels in this throat: carotid, jugular; at this point his mind was so fogged in lust that he couldn't recall and didn't really care. 

"Yes!" he breathed as she lightly stroked the bite-marks with her tongue. She leaned back to observe her handiwork, then settled her lips over the same spot and began to suckle in earnest. 

"I'm going to mark you as mine!" she whispered. "No one will know you wear my brand, but you will! When we leave this room, when we pass all the operatives on their way to whatever it is that they need to be doing, when we talk to Operations or to Madeline, you will know, even if no one else does, that under your collar there is this mark. And you will never forget it!" She fastened her mouth to him again. 

His eyes unfocused, he felt her actions and words nudging him close to climax. "Exx!" he groaned. 

She stepped back from him and eased down his zipper. Carefully, she released him. He shuddered as she stroked him. 

He angled his head to watch her. Her hands reached for the hem of her prissy black suit skirt and she began to ease it up over her thighs. With a single movement, he swept her skirt up, had her back to the wall and was sliding into her welcoming heat. Muffled cries slid past her lips as he pounded into her. All too quickly satisfaction engulfed them. 

She wrapped her slender legs around his hips, content to let his weight keep her pinned to the wall, their wall. Her head fell back and she dreamily regarded the ceiling. 

Wye kissed the corner of her mouth. "We really need to do this in a bed! And maybe next time we can take longer. You just got me so hot!" His large palms supporting her buttocks, he carried her over to one of the stools and settled himself on it comfortably, keeping her on his lap. Unable to resist, he licked her lips apart, feeling himself begin to grow hard again. 

"Nooooo!" Her moan quickly turned to a sigh. "Yessssss! 

"No! We have to figure out what we're going to do..... 

"Oh, Wye!" 

He smiled against her hair. "I don't know why, Exx. You tell me!" 

She hit his shoulder gently, then settled bonelessly against him, replete for the moment. 

After a few minutes he said, "I've been thinking." 

"Oh? Should I be concerned?" 

He bit the finger she had been rubbing across his mouth. "Think you're so smart, do you? I love when we can be together like this! 

"Mmmm." 

"Wye, before you distract us again, why don't you tell me what you had in mind?"

"That virtual reality gizmo we've been working on. If we gave it a bit of a boost, we should be able to tap into the wearer's deepest fears. There would be no outward damage." 

"What about the lacerations under the eyes? I've been working on that aspect of the hood for the last three years, and I can never seem to get it quite right. I thought we nearly had it, with the Abby clone, but the marks appeared shortly after we removed the hood. You recall?"           

"Yes, and I think I've come up with something." He reached around behind her and pulled a sheet of paper and a pencil out of a drawer under the tabletop. "See, this is what I was aiming at." 

Still firmly joined to him, she craned her head to watch with interest as he began to sketch his ideas in quick, decisive strokes. 

Neither noticed when his hand began caressing the long line of her back. Neither noticed when she began fondling his earlobe. 

Despite their intimate connection, it was once again strictly business.                                                           

Part 9

It was a cavernous room, somewhere in the bowels of Section. Fluorescent lighting banished the veriest hint of shadows. In numerous cases, under glass, were implements of man's never-ending search to do serious hurt to his fellow man. Worth a king's ransom to those whose inclination vectored that way, they served as a reminder to the operatives who lived under Section's relentless thumb that they, too, could become fodder for the two who specialized in their usage. 

Nothing was actually spoken of. A whisper of a doubt. An op gone missing after returning from a botched mission. The presence of the torture operatives striding through the corridors of Section, the yellow boxes containing the tools of their trade swinging jauntily at their sides. This was enough to reduce the hardest of those recruited from the outside world to a quivering mass of gelatin. 

While the wardroom was where they concocted potions that would make Madame Ruth (you know, that gypsy with the gold-capped tooth) head for the nearest exit, here in The Dungeon was where the torture operatives worked on gadgets that would encourage visiting terrorists to spill their guts, figuratively speaking, of course. 

They stood at a worktable covered with bits and pieces of the virtual reality hood they had been working on. With a grunt of satisfaction, Wye tightened the last connection and held it for Exx's inspection. "What do you think?" 

Lightly running her fingers over his hand, to take the hood from him, she murmured, "You do excellent work, Wye. Most inspiring!" She slanted him a glance from under her lashes. 

He swallowed hard. "Well, it just needs to be tested out now." 

She cocked an inquiring eyebrow at him, and he cleared his throat. 

"I thought it might be interesting if you took it for a test spin, so to speak?" Despite himself, the statement he started out to make changed into a question. He looked into her eyes. No, she didn't seem too intrigued by the idea of becoming a guinea pig. He sighed. "Very well, I'll put it on." 

She halted his hands before he could settle the hood on his head. "No, Wye. I was just tormenting you a little. I'll test it out; that's my responsibility. Shall we do it here, or would some place secure be more suitable?" 

"Since we'll each be wearing hoods, a master and a submissive,  a more secure site would be safer." 

"Your place or mine?" She watched as a dull flush mounted his cheeks. 

"Um, Exx, I know Section is very big on tidiness, but that isn't my forte. My place looks like a bomb just went off in it." 

"Very well, we'll go back to my rooms. But I warn you, it probably won't be in much better shape than yours!" 

He waited until she began walking toward the door to politely hide a snicker behind his hand. The frat house from Animal House was in better shape than his quarters here in Section. 

**** 

Madeline regarded Michael dismally as he stood before her desk. "You understand what I'm telling you?" 

The dazed expression in Michael's eyes, normally so shielded, caused a tiny pang of regret in the bosom of the woman generally accepted by all in Section as having no heart. 

"But why, Madeline? Why would he do such a thing?" 

Madeline motioned to a chair and waited for Michael to seat himself. "Things have not been going well for him. His mother refuses to turn over the reins of power, as she has promised on numerous occasions. His ex-wife made him a laughingstock, and his mistress looks like Mr. Ed. I'd say he was ripe for indulging in a little mayhem. 

"He knew Adrian many years ago, and was exceedingly fond of her. Somehow he found out that we were behind her disappearance. He is especially bitter that Nikita let her feelings for you influence her decision to betray Adrian." 

"How Nikita felt about me had nothing to do with the choices she made that day. She chose the lesser of two evils!" 

Madeline shrugged. "He doesn't see it that way. He maneuvered Operations and me into a position where there was nothing else we could do but follow his plans to drive you and Nikita apart. And when that seemed to fail, he forced us to use drugs. And other methods." Unable to continue meeting Michael's eyes, Madeline suddenly found the jagged edge of a fingernail most interesting. 

"Does George know?" 

A tiny shake of the head was his only answer. He sighed deeply. 

"All right, Madeline, what would you have me do?" Depression was closing in on him, leaving him too weary to even sit up straight in his chair. 

If he couldn't get back the love of the only woman who meant anything to him, he just might seriously run amok and take Section, and everyone within its unholy walls down with him.                                                                                                                      

Part 10  

Exx hesitated at the door to her quarters. The last time Wye had come here had been just after one of her peripatetic cleaning frenzies. Although his nocturnal visit wasn’t in the all too distant past, the condition of her rooms had reverted to the norm: in other words, they looked like a disaster area. She found that she suddenly valued his good opinion, and that caused a frown to crease the space above her nose. 

How had that come about? She knew she lusted after his delicious bod, and had since he had first joined her as her trainee. She had not put any moves on him, believing such sexual activity would decrease her efficiency as the number one torture operative in Section One. Indeed, it was the distraction he had caused her which led to the increased amount of sodium in the mixture resulting in the unanticipated loss of hair in the victim they were interrogating. 

But nature had intervened, and one afternoon not too long ago she had suddenly found herself under him on the floor in their wardroom, mindlessly clawing his back as she sought to burrow her way under his skin.

She released a silent breath and opened her door, striding in briskly, endeavoring to conceal the sudden unease the nibbled at her confidence. This was what she was, and if he had trouble accepting her that way, then she would cut him from her private life as ruthlessly as a surgeon excising a cancer. 

Wye stood outside his mentor’s door, as surreptitiously nervous as she. The last time he had been there, he had been awed by the neatness of her compact rooms. They made him feel more like a clumsy oaf than he had since he was a boy and his mother had chastised him for a room that resembled nothing short of a pigsty. He liked to be comfortable, and his idea of comfort did not include dishes put away, clean clothes neatly hung up and dirty ones placed  in a hamper. 

He had been drawn to her from the moment Operations introduced them and informed him that she would be his mentor. That she allowed him into her private life left him amazed, and he silently vowed that he would do whatever was necessary to keep his place there. Even if that meant molding himself to a standard of order that left him decidedly uncomfortable. 

Taking a deep breath, he entered her rooms, determined not to put a single foot wrong. They were here merely to conduct a test on the virtual reality hoods. “You can do this. You can do this,” he murmured over and over under his breath like a mantra. Then he looked around. 

Exx was scrambling to conceal clothing under cushions of the chairs in the living area. He could see dished piled to overflowing in the sink in her tiny kitchenette. A half-finished meal lay congealing on the table. Her normally pale cheeks were flushed a dull red. 

She was actually blushing. 

The male torture op’s chest suddenly felt constricted, as his heart swelled with unfamiliar emotion. “Exx,” he whispered. 

Her head turned toward him, but her eyes were blind with distress. She didn’t see the tender look he gave her. She didn’t see him toss his hood onto a chair piled high with medical journals dealing with the nature of pain. She didn’t see him as he crossed the room to stand before her. 

It was only when he tilted her chin up and forced her eyes to meet his that she became aware that he didn’t care about the condition of her quarters. His mouth came down on hers with such force that her head was bent uncomfortably back. 

She welcomed the discomfort, biting at his mouth with frenzied kisses. 

“My sweet Penelope!” 

She jerked away from him, appalled that he would call her by another woman’s name, ready to smack his smug face, but he gathered her close to his body and whispered in her ear, “’And you, my sweet Penelope, out there, somewhere, you wait for me. With buds of roses in your hair, and kisses on your mouth!’” 

Poetry! He was reciting poetry to her! She stared at him, dumbfounded. Never, not even in the halcyon days before Section, had a man spoken love poems to her. And she felt her heart stutter. 

She had had lovers  over the years. Some had merely wandered out of her life; some she had had to cancel herself. It had never mattered. 

She could never understand the distress Michael and Nikita felt when Madeline issued her directive 1 prohibiting the two cold ops from being together. 

Now she understood. 

Now it would matter. 

Part 11

Dismayed to find her feelings involved in the affair with her counterpart, Exx sought to distance herself emotionally as well as physically. “We’d, uh, better get on with this, uh,  test,” she muttered as she turned away, impatiently yanking out clothing that she had stuffed into hiding under the cushion of her chair. Sinking down onto it, she settled the hood over her blond hair and flipped the eyepieces into place. 

“Whenever you want to start, Wye,” she said curtly. “I’m ready.” 

Wye pushed a pile of medical journals off the chair he had chosen and prepared to begin the testing. The premise of these hoods was deceptively simple. The one he wore was a master. It would pass subliminal messages to the  hood Exx wore, the submissive, sending her subconscious mind on a journey of his choosing. The eyepieces supplied appropriate visuals,  ranging from soothing to arousing to terrifying. Hopefully they had insulated hers enough so that the heat it generated would no longer sear the face of the wearer. 

Once they were certain their invention was working properly, they would inform Madeline. It was the psych operative’s decision as to which route they would then take. If she did, indeed, opt to have the member of the Oversight triumvirate who was plotting the disintegration of Section One brought to them, then they would turn their fiendish expertise on the hapless fool. One crossed Madeline at one’s own risk. 

Idly Wye wondered if Michael would do the victim much physical harm. He himself had seen, albeit only from a distance,  how wounded the cold op had been by his Nikita’s disavowal of love. If Exx ...if someone he cared about had ever given him her love, and then someone caused his lover to deny him, he knew the world wouldn’t be a large enough place to conceal the culprit: he would hunt him down and peel the skin slowly from his enemy’s bones. He would separate vital parts. He would rip off his head and .... 

Exx murmured in distress, lost in a world where someone she was attached to was in excruciating pain. 

Wye was pleased that the hood had transmitted his emotions, but upset with himself for somehow allowing them to seep through. He got himself in hand and drew deep, calming breaths, preparing to start the test in earnest. 

He had not had much time to decide on an appropriate venue. He did not want to terrify his mentor. She was professional to the core, but he had the feeling that if he ever sent her psyche through the dark corridors of virtual reality, for no reason but to test a piece of machinery, then she would hurt him in the most devastating way possible: she would banish him from her life. 

He did not want to sooth her. She could be so calm at the best of times that he doubted that would be a valid test. And he definitely did not want her asleep. He grinned wryly to himself. 

Well, that left only aroused, as if there had ever been any question to his choice. He wanted her hot. He wanted her uninhibited. He wanted her naked, right now. 

He sighed. The point of the test was to see if he could filter his suggestions to her through virtual reality, not let himself get turned on. Gripping the arms of the chair, he tried to ignore the way she was restlessly crossing and uncrossing her legs. 

He  leaned back and began to visualize the scene. 

Part 12  

~~~~ 

It was a sultry, moonlit night. The air was so heavy with moisture it was almost suffocating. Not a whisper of a breeze stirred the curtains that hung listlessly over her bedroom window. On bare feet, she padded across the plank floor. She parted the curtains and gazed unseeing at the dusty frontier street before her. 

Somewhere a horse stamped its hoof restlessly. 

Somewhere out in the desert a cougar screamed like a woman in torment, mourning her demon lover. 

Somewhere the sound of a tinny piano and shrill laughter added to the music of the night. 

She plucked fitfully at the white eyelet camisole she wore instead of her heavier nightgown. The heat was so stifling. A drop of perspiration wended its way down the shadowy valley between her breasts. 

Her hands raised the heavy fall of thick blond hair that tumbled down her back, easing it off her neck, seeking some relief. 

//A niggling thought interrupted her reverie. Something about her hair... Then, before she could truly capture the impression, it was gone.           

//With a silent sigh, Wye brought the experiment back under his control. She had nearly broken through his manipulation. He exerted a bit more pressure.// 

Perhaps it was a sixth sense, warning her she was no longer alone. 

Perhaps it was simply the high humidity making her uncomfortable. 

But most likely it was the fact that half hidden in the shadows, invading the sanctuary of her lonely bedroom, stood the tall, angular robber she had seen in the bank earlier that day. Her breath caught in her throat.  

He stepped into the fitful light cast by the moon. His tan Stetson was rakishly tilted over one eye. As he crossed the room, the Confederate gray duster he wore despite the heat parted to reveal the tied-down holster strapped to his lean hips. Spurs jingled musically. He tipped his hat back and fathomless, dark eyes gleamed hungrily at her, taking in the fact that she only wore undergarments of cotton so fine it was almost gossamer. 

The drawers, which ended just above her dimpled knees, were adorned with tiny bows. The camisole was joined in the front by jaunty little ribbons. The shallow breaths she took made them tremble and shiver. A pistol that seemed to her to be the size of a cannon lifted the hem of her camisole, lightly stroking the flesh beneath. 

She reached behind her, clutching the windowsill to keep from swooning. He stepped closer, so that the tips of his boots nudged her bare toes, and brought his free hand up to caress the curve of her bosom. Plucking lightly at the nipples that peaked through the fine weave of the material, he replaced his fingers with his mouth. Then he drew back and blew  softly on the damp cloth. 

Her knees buckled. He slid the gun into its holster and swept her up in his arms, carrying her to the bed. Setting her down gently, he shrugged off the duster. Buttons popped as he tore at his shirt, sounding like the patter of rain as they cascaded onto the floor. Wrestling with the buckle of his gunbelt, he finally got it loose and let it fall to the floor with a thud. 

She tried to scramble away , but he reached out and seized her ankle, hauling her back to him. He shoved down his britches and moved to cover her delicate body with his own. 

“Did you miss me Sweet Pea?” he asked throatily.

Part 13 

She flipped back the goggles. “Sweet Pea? Sweet Pea!!” she snarled. “You ruin a perfectly good fantasy by giving in to the asinine urge to call me Sweet Pea?!” She threw a shoe, the only thing handy, at him and surged to her feet. 

Dazed at the sudden attack, the male op could only gape at her. 

But she was coming at him, looking decidedly grim. He gathered his scattered wits and scrambled up out of the chair. 

“Now, Exx,” he tried to placate her, “this was just supposed to be a simulation of the old West. He would have called her Sweet Pea!” 

“I don’t care what it was supposed to be a simulation of, you Neanderthal! You cast me as a helpless young thing, start to work your wicked wiles on me, then call me Sweet Pea?! You blew it! You bloody well blew it!! Well, I’ve got news for you, Sweet Pea! You’re going to finish what you started!” she snarled. 

He backed  away from her. “Exx!” he exclaimed, “I’ve never seen you like this before!” He held up his hand as if to stave off her approach. “This has to be the hood causing you to behave this way! You don’t want to do this!” 

She grinned at him evilly. “Don’t I? Let me tell you something, Sweet Pea: I want you right now, more than my last hope of heaven!” 

Unable to comprehend the streak of wildness suddenly vibrating through her, Wye  watched warily as she stalked toward him. 

Taking him by surprise, she threw herself into his arms, bowling him over backwards onto the floor. Before he could even think of defending his virtue, she freed him from his trousers and straddling his hips, settled herself onto his length. 

A shuddering sigh of relief whispered past her lips, and immediately spasms began rippling through her as internal muscles gripped and caressed him. With a soft groan, she collapsed onto his chest, quivering with the aftereffects of such a mind-boggling experience. 

Raising himself up onto his elbows, Wye watched her with rueful humor. “’Scuse me, ma’am, but Ah reckon it’s mah turn now.” 

With a grin, he slipped out from under her. His large hand kept her on her stomach and he eased himself onto her back, sliding smoothly into her. He nudged her legs further apart. His fingers stroked up her sides,  intertwined with hers and he brought their hands forward. 

The leisurely pace he started with began to increase in steady increments as he hummed Ravel’s Bolero in her ear. “Have you ever seen how mink do it, Exx?” he growled, and suddenly he was sinking his teeth into the flesh at the point where her neck and shoulders met. 

His words and actions tipped her over the edge and she tumbled headlong into the abyss. As she trembled under him, he continued riding her hard until he too threw himself after her. 

~~~~ 

Long moments passed, the only sound in the room their ragged breathing. 

Then, reluctantly, they both removed their hoods. Straightening in the chairs they were still seated in, they eyed each other in amazement. Exx rubbed the spot on her neck where she could feel phantom bite marks. Wye rubbed a hand over his face, trying to hide his dismay. “Sweet Pea?” he whispered to himself. 

But when he got a closer look at Exx’s face, he threw himself at her feet, cradling her in his arms. Exx immediately stiffened. 

“What?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?” 

“The lacerations. 

“They’re still there!”            

Part 14

Encircling his neck with her arms, Exx sought to hold her lover as close to her as he would allow, but he leaned away from her, to hesitantly stroke the burns under her eyes. 

“Exx, I’m so sorry!” he whispered. 

She ran gentle fingers through his short hair, rubbing his scalp with the sensitized tips. “Wye, it doesn’t matter. I’ve had worse than this over the years I’ve spent in Section. It’s no big deal.” 

“It is!” He gave her a shake. “The powers that be know we were working on this; they’ll see the marks and know we’ve failed!” 

“And it concerns you so much that they will be aware of this?” she asked in a troubled voice. She pushed him away from her and rose gracefully to her feet. Gathering up her hood, she motioned for him to do likewise and began walking toward the door. 

He seized her hand, pulling her to a halt. “I don’t give a rat’s...I don’t care what they think of me. So many people, especially ones I’ve cared about, have thought me a failure; two or three more make no difference whatsoever. 

“I care that they will think you’ve failed. You worked so hard on this damned thing. If you should be in jeopardy because of this, because I wasn’t good enough to foresee any problems and mend them.... I just couldn’t bear that!” 

She walked back to stand before him, gently adjusting his glasses and tenderly cupping his jaw. He leaned into her caress, his eyes closed, unable to sustain the look of compassion she gave him. 

This time he stepped away from her. “I’ve got to.... I’d better get back to....” Distracted, his thoughts splintered, he couldn’t call to mind where he had to go, or what he needed to do when he got there. 

“No,” she said softly. “There’s nowhere else you have to be. No one will dare question why I choose to spend time with my trainee.” The smile she offered was a trifle lopsided, but it heartened him nonetheless. “These things,” she gestured to the hoods, “they’re just tools. Sometimes we luck out and they work. And sometimes they don’t. We can discuss where it all went to hell in a hand basket later, if you like.” 

He sighed and dared to embrace her. When she didn’t haul off and slug him for his effrontery, he smiled against her hair. “What I’d really like is food. I’m so hungry right now my stomach thinks my throat was cut!” 

She angled back and smiled up at him. “Food sounds good. These VR sessions usually leave me with the appetite of a longshoreman. Although, truth to tell, this is the most peculiar one I’ve ever had. We will have to brainstorm this after we grab a bite. 

“Just let me, um, put on some clean clothes, okay?” 

For a long moment he was puzzled. Then he realized she meant underwear. She had been without for a good part of the day, and she must be a little uncomfortable. A soft smile lit up his normally grim features, making her heart lurch 

“You don’t need to go to all that trouble just for me,” he told her. “I was thinking we could go back to my quarters. I  want to cook something for you, if you’d like?” 

“Oh, yes, I’d like, very much!” A sudden thought stopped her. “You actually want me to go to your place?” 

He shrugged and nodded. “I thought seeing the condition my rooms are always in would give you a disgust of me. I wasn’t willing to risk that.” 

“And you’re not worried about that anymore?” 

He tossed her a boyish grin and shook his head. “You see, I never thought I’d meet anyone who was as, well, let’s say relaxed shall we? as I am about housekeeping, no pun intended.” 

She brought his face down for a tantalizing kiss. Rubbing her parted lips over his, she unexpectedly took his lower lip between her teeth and gave a warning tug. “Are you saying I’m sloppy?” 

“No, ma’am! Relaxed. Casual. Informal. Comfortable.” He punctuated each word with a kiss that gradually grew deeper and longer. “Will you let me cook for you?” 

She leaned into his embrace. “I’d say you’re already cooking pretty good, cowboy!” 

Part 15 

Exx held back as he tried to lead her to the door. He cast an inquiring glance at her. 

“I really do need to get cleaned up a little,” she told him. “I feel so, what’s the French word for it? so yucky!” 

The ghost of a grin touched his lips and he released her hand. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.” 

She strode into her bedroom. Drawers could be heard sliding open and then slamming shut as she searched out clean clothes and laid them out on the bed. Then the bathroom door closed quietly behind her. 

The bathroom was much like any other bathroom in the private quarters in Section. Barely larger than a cupboard, it contained a sink, commode and shower stall. The walls were an unimaginative, institutional white. No other color enlivened the tiny room. 

Exx turned on the water with an impatient twist of her fingers. Thankfully stripping off the garments she had worn all day, through some decidedly interesting occurrences, she stepped under the pounding spray. Steam was already filling the cubicle, and she sighed. Once, long ago, the pleasure of a shower had been an indulgence denied her. Now, she allowed herself a few brief moments to luxuriate in the heat, then reached for a fragrant bar of soap and began to sensuously rub it over her skin. 

Suddenly, the utilitarian shower curtain was thrust aside and a very naked, very masculine body joined her. 

“I was feeling rather....yucky....myself,” he told her as he relieved her of the soap Working up a generous lather, he tossed the bar aside and began massaging her delicate flesh. Involuntarily she moaned, as he found all the right places. 

He turned her to face away from him and stroked long, supple fingers down her spine, curving to fit her waist, then reaching to shape her thighs. Leaning against her, he pressed open-mouthed kisses to her neck and shoulders while his hands wandered further afield. 

“No, Wye!” she moaned, “I can’t do this again! I can’t........” The thought trailed off as he brought her around to him and kissed her tenderly. 

“No, love, we don’t need to do anything just now, except maybe get dried off.” He rinsed quickly and shut off the water. The air outside the shower felt decidedly cooler and he enveloped her in a bath sheet before he grabbed one for himself and toweled the drops of moisture off his body. 

“Merde!” 

Started, he looked up. “Quoi?” he responded in the same language. “What?” 

“Why can’t they keep  the temperature up in this damned bathroom?” Her teeth were starting to chatter and her lips were turning an interesting shade of blue. 

He dropped his towel and vigorously rubbed the droplets from her skin. The friction began to warm her and she sighed in relief. 

Wye realized suddenly the reason for the overcoat she constantly wore, even within the confines of Section One: her physiological thermostat had been set a good deal lower than the norm. 

On his arrival at Section, he too had donned the coat, partly because he thought it was the uniform, and partly to honor her. Tales of the female torture op who dealt so competently, so expeditiously with the enemy had reached even the place where he had been. 

Color was returning to her lips and he found himself helplessly drawn to them, slanting his mouth over hers again and again. Then he gave a shaky laugh. “We’d better get dressed and get out of here, or I’ll have you flat on your back so fast you won’t know which end is up!” 

She cocked an eyebrow that dared him to try if he thought he could survive it. 

He hustled her out of the bathroom and watched appreciatively as she drew on her clothes. It was only her salacious whistle that jolted him out of his trance and had him scrambling to get dressed. 

They adjusted the glasses they were never seen without and retrieved the hoods, then left her apartment. 

They had a great deal to discuss. 

Ahh, who was he kidding? He just wanted to impress her with his cooking! 

Part 16

Section One was a sprawling, underground complex, but the quarters set aside for its onsite operatives were far short of roomy. Consisting, for the most part, of a minuscule bedroom, pocket sitting room, kitchenette and bath, they were basically glorified studio flats. 

Because Exx was a senior operative, her rooms were a trifle larger than average. Only Operations and Madeline had in-house quarters that surpassed hers, and that was due to their rank. Walter and Birkoff qualified for larger places, but each preferred his own work area and spent most downtime there. For them, the rooms they called home, tiny as they were, were enough. They were there so seldom either would be hard-pressed to describe his decor. 

Birkoff stood uneasily before Walter’s door. While they could be friendly rivals, and on occasion even plotted to put the bite on Operations, the difference in their ages precluded them from being bosom buddies. Birkoff could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had been inside Walter’s quarters. 

Walter had been inside his even fewer times than that. 

Rubbing his damp palms against the sides of his jeans, Birkoff firmed his resolve and rapped on Walter’s door. 

“Yeah?” the intercom growled. 

“Uhhh, Walter, you said you wanted to see me?” Birkoff grimaced as his voice cracked. The subtle tension that was invading Section was fast eroding his confidence. 

The door swung open and Walter glowered at the younger man. “Well, it’s about freakin’ time!” He grabbed his arm and hauled him inside. 

Futilely, Birkoff tried to shake off Walter’s grip. Fingers clenched like a vise around his biceps, pressing nerve to bone, causing his fingers to go numb. White-faced, Birkoff mangled his lower lip in his teeth, struggling vainly to keep from crying out. 

Walter turned to glare at him. The abject distress on Birkoff’s face had Walter dropping his arm as if he were burnt. “Birkoff, I’m sorry, man. I’m just so bent out of shape by this whole thing, I don’t know which end is up!’ 

Birkoff was stunned. He had never seen the older weapons operative so distraught. Rubbing the feeling back into his arm, he slouched to a chair and made himself comfortable. “Tell me what’s going on Walter. I’ve got a really bad feeling about Section, these days!” 

“Does the term FUBAR ring a bell?” 

Birkoff looked sick. “FUBAR?” he whispered. Suddenly he wheeled in his seat, casting panicked eyes around the room. 

“Naw, it’s OK, I’ve got the anti-scan activated. I couldn’t take a chance that any of this would get back to Madeline. She’s the one who ordered whatever ungodly thing it was they did to my Sugar!” 

“And Operations?” 

“He does whatever she wants,” he scoffed. “She leads him around by his......” 

Birkoff interrupted him. “But Walter. FUBAR?” 

The older man nodded tiredly. “Fouled up beyond all reason, to put it politely. I don’t know what’s going on, but I plan to stop it if it costs me my life! 

“Have you seen Michael or Davenport?” 

Birkoff looked uncomfortable. “Walter, I’m going to level with you, and if any of this gets back to Madeline, it will cost me my life.” He rubbed his face with the hand that still had feeling. “Someone in Oversight is behind all the crap going on here in Section One. Madeline needed me to hack into a high-level security system to verify, and it is The Man George answers to. From what I can tell, He’s found out that Madeline and Operations are behind Adrian’s disappearance and He’s out to hurt them in the worst possible way.” 

“But He’s destroying Section! The orders we’re getting are becoming so arbitrary that an insurrection is sure to start brewing!” Walter exclaimed. 

“He doesn’t care. In fact, He’d like nothing better. The head of Section Five holds some attraction for Him, and once we’re destroyed He plans to set that head over all the sections.” Birkoff slumped in his seat. “Madeline didn’t want to hurt Michael and Nikita. She was told that if she failed to cause a major rift between them, her mother’s life would be in jeopardy.” 

“That old lady? She’s got one foot on a banana peel already! And she still believes somewhere in the mush that’s left of her brain, that Madeline purposely killed Sarah, her sister. Why would Madeline put her life’s work in harm’s way for a dotty old woman?” 

Birkoff’s eyes looked ancient. “Because she is her mother?” he ventured. “Madeline knows, intellectually, that the old woman is so close to the end it would probably be a blessing to have it finished. But viscerally, she still holds on to the hope of forgiveness. 

“Ah, hell, Walter! I don’t know! All I do know is Michael and Davenport reported to Madeline after I had given her all the intel I had cracked from that system. 

“Michael and Davenport haven’t been seen in hours. 

“And Walter, where the f.... Where are the Torture Twins?”

Part 17

Exx was seated at the butcher-block table, watching Wye competently dice celery, the knife a blur as the rhythmic chop, chop, chop made its own music. He scooped up the pieces on the blade and deftly tossed them into a pressure cooker, then began to work on the carrots. 

Glancing around, she remarked idly, “Your kitchen seems to be larger than mine.” 

His hands froze and he held himself motionless. “Is this a problem?” he asked cautiously. 

“Devil a bit!” was her cheerful reply. “My living space is larger. It all evens out in the long run. I don’t enjoy cooking; you do. Makes sense your kitchen would be bigger. Yes?” 

Reluctantly he went back to the carrots. “Yes,” he agreed, still not sure if he should be worried by her comment. 

“So, I’m not even going to ask if there’s anything I can do to help.” 

It was well known throughout Section, although only spoken of in hushed whispers when she was nowhere in sight, that her cooking was the reason Madeline had originally recruited her. The psych op had discovered that those who partook of Exx’s culinary offerings did not survive the experience by very long. In the years since, the disasters she concocted, and those not only of the gourmet type, had become legendary. 

Terrorists who sneered at the threat of physical torture had been known to actually break at the mere thought of a dinner provided by Exx, pleading and weeping to be allowed to reveal everything they knew. 

The irony was in the vast array of cookbooks she had amassed. Pleasant hours could be spent leafing through them, planning elaborate meals. Meals that would never be prepared. Meals that would never be eaten. Exx had a curious blindspot there, and she could never understand why, on the infrequent occasions when she made the effort to invite anyone to dine, the offer was hastily declined. 

She cast a measuring look at the male torture op who was so industriously wielding the knife. Perhaps she would cook for him, one day soon. Test his metal, so-to-speak. 

A wry grin kicked up the corner of her mouth. Then again, perhaps not. 

He really was a keeper. 

Part 18

The male half of Section’s elite torture team chased a bit of gravy around his plate with an end piece of a baguette. “So.” He raised brooding eyes to his mentor. “Where do we go from here? If Michael and Davenport are on their way to Oversight, how much more time do we have to come up with a feasible solution to the lacerations caused by the goggles?” 

A smile ghosted across her features, and he found himself mesmerized by the sight. Daintily, her tongue flicked out and moistened her upper lip, and he felt his body tighten. Discomfort in his hand made him examine his clenched fist. Opening his fingers one by one, he discovered the bread he was holding had been crushed into a shapeless lump of dough. With a grimace of distaste he deposited it on his plate and brushed the crumbs briskly from his palms. 

Exx raised her glass of wine to the light, idly examining the glowing ruby color, and took a deep swallow. Then, setting aside all pretense of  unconcern, she got down to business. 

“You’re letting yourself get too restricted to a single option. We don’t really need to worry about eliminating the lacerations at this point in time. The virtual reality hood was just one possible solution to the problem presented us by this member of Oversight. Because Madeline insists that there be no physical marks left on him, we will just have to try another route.” 

“Perhaps you should cook for him,” Wye said, not entirely joking, and then he realized what he had said, and to whom. 

Her mouth never moved, but a disturbing smile lit her eyes, and Wye jerked back nervously. “Perhaps I shall,” she concurred as she stroked his cheek. 

“Exx....I...” He caught himself before an apology could spill past his lips. He would not grovel before her. He would be an equal partner, or as near to one as was possible. Clearing his throat, he chose his words carefully. “It is widely known that your experiments in the kitchen tend to be fatal. If you were to issue him an invite to dinner, perhaps....?” His eyebrow rose inquiringly. 

This time the smile in her eyes was warm and amused. “Wye, you are a wonder! Do you really assume my lethal culinary attempts are so widely known that even those in Oversight are aware of my disastrous repasts?” 

He felt as if something had snapped inside. Suddenly he was looming over her. “Don’t mock me, woman!” he snarled. “I’m not a little boy, to be patronized. I simply meant that when you cook the results are deadly, not that they are inept!  If my idea has no merit, tell me flat out. But don’t bloody well talk down to me!” 

His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her against his body. His fingers coiled in her thick, blond hair and he jerked her head back. For long, silent seconds their gazes tangled in a duel to get the upper hand. 

Then his mouth slammed down on hers, kissing her so fiercely that her lips were crushed against her teeth. She came alive in his arms, swallowing his groan and biting at his mouth, tasting his blood as well as her own. 

It was the coppery taste on his tongue that pulled him back from the precipice. “Exx!” he gasped as he tempered his embrace. He burrowed his face against her neck. All thoughts of equality fled as the very real possibility of being banished from her sphere loomed up to confront him. “I’m sorry!” he murmured brokenly. “I’m so sorry!” 

Confused and enraged by the sudden turn of events, she tore herself out of his arms and glared at him. Her hand came up and slapped him so hard each finger was imprinted on his cheek in bright red. Then she slapped him again, the force staggering him back. When her hand raised a third time, his own came up to seize it in a grip that threatened to splinter fragile bones. And he squeezed. 

“I ....care about you, dammit! I don’t want to lose you! And I am sick and tired of having to watch every single word I say, for fear it may be the one word that will get me banished from Section!”  

She fought to get her wrist loose. “And you think that if you cross me I’ll cancel you?” 

He laughed bitterly. “If I cross you, canceling me would be a mercy, and we both know you’re not merciful, don’t we,  you pocket-sized Madeline! No, you’ll have Operations send me back to... that other place. And I’ll be less than nothing, away from you, never seeing you again, never hearing your voice. I will not lose you!”  But he loosed his hold on her. 

She stared at him, aghast at the havoc she had wrought with his emotions. She scrubbed her make-up free face with hands that were not quite steady. “We cannot go on in this manner!” 

Wye felt as if all the breath had been knocked from his lungs. “Then....it’s over between us? You will inform Operations that you no longer wish to work with me?” 

The defeat in his voice tore at her, she who never allowed anything  to touch her; she who could hear pleas for mercy that had turned Operations pale and shaking, had left Madeline questioning their methods, and merely seek further means of extracting intel. 

Dismayed, she watched the imprints she had left on his cheek begin to empurple. For all her petite stature, she was a strong woman, and the fury she had felt at that moment had added impetus to the force behind the blows. She had been on the outside for so long, it was difficult to believe that an innocuous remark truly was innocuous and did not have some hidden agenda. Early on in her years at Section she had learned that being paranoid did not preclude the fact that they were indeed out to get you. 

So she had quickly mastered the art of feeling nothing, believing in nothing, caring about nothing, and had become the best torture operative that any of the Sections had ever produced. 

And now she was reduced to tormenting the best trainee she had ever been given the opportunity to work with. Because she could not resist him. Because she was so unused to the feelings he aroused in her. Not once, not  for one moment, had she let him know where he truly stood with her. Always the threat of being cancelled hung over his head. 

To her credit, she hadn’t realized that his feelings for her ran so deep. Never having been exposed to selfless caring, she did not recognize it, and kept waiting for the betrayal that experience had taught her to expect. 

A sense of wonder filled her as she watched him turn away from her, defeat etched in every movement. “Wye!” she breathed. 

He stiffened as he felt her arms encircle him. Her cheek rubbed softly against his back. “It’s not over between us; it will never be over between us!  I wanted you to think that when I marked you it was simply in the heat of passion, but I meant it: you are mine and I will not let you go!” 

He turned in her embrace, shocked to see a sheen of moisture in her eyes. Murmuring incoherently, he gathered her close to him and rested his chin atop her head. A silent sigh of relief whispered past his lips. Once more, by the skin of his teeth, he had somehow managed to avoid tumbling into the abyss. 

He wasn’t so naive as to believe that happily ever after was for the likes of them: witness the pain that Michael and Nikita were going through. 

But they had now, this moment. And for now, it would be enough. 

Part 19

Michael had acquiesced to Davenport’s offer to drive. Although he was competent behind the wheel, because of the goings on at Section, it had been some time since he had driven the Autobahn. Davenport’s casual mastery of the Mercedes, and the maniacal speed at which the other drivers hurtled past them on this treacherous roadway, made Michael offer a silent prayer of thanks that all he need do at this point was make sure his seat belt was securely fastened  and have a hand free to grab the OS bar if it should prove necessary. 

They had already been on the road for forty minutes, and it would take them another twenty to reach Oversight. It was by Operations’ decree that they drove rather than fly the jaunty little three-passenger heli that was reserved for his personal use. The senior staff at Section One all knew that this move was in hopes of giving the torture operatives every spare second needed to come up with something, anything, that could get The Man to turn His bleak vision  from them to another Section. 

Michael was afraid that nothing they could come up with would work, not without doing serious damage to The Man’s homely face. He was rather hoping they would fail so that he himself could rearrange The Man’s features.  

The legendary control of the man in black was fast eroding. He had often felt as if the tightrope he balanced on might snap at any time, spilling him into a cauldron of seething emotion. All that had kept him from throwing himself off had been the love he and Nikita shared. 

Whatever had been done to her had led to the repudiation of that love. If he couldn’t win back the affection of the blond cold op he had trained, then he would seek vengeance on The Man responsible for its loss. And he didn’t give a good Goddamn if that action brought down all the Sections and half of the free world governments in the bargain. 

Davenport tossed a brief glance at the too silent passenger at his side, and all color drained from his face. The look that Michael wore bode no good for anyone, and least of all The Man. Davenport felt as if someone had not only walked on his grave, but was dancing the Watusi all over it. Suddenly, he had a really bad feeling about this whole mission. 

**** 

At Oversight, George surreptitiously studied The Man while he poured Him two fingers of brandy. He wondered about The Man’s parents. While they were not handsome people, still their faces would not send little children screaming into the night. How their features could wind up on their heir in such an unattractive combination left him at a loss. Perhaps that was what had caused The Man to take such an unwholesome interest in the affairs of Section One. Perhaps it was His dissatisfaction with his life. Or perhaps it was simply because He was too self-absorbed to be allowed to live. 

Whatever it was, George was decidedly uneasy. Madeline had finally informed him that The Man was behind the estrangement of Michael and Nikita, and that serious unrest was brewing in Section One. 

George had long suspected that Madeline and Paul were behind the disappearance of Adrian, but he had chosen not to look into it too deeply, knowing that if he did the subtle shift in power just might bring about the collapse of the only thing left in the world that he cherished, his position in Oversight. 

Now The Man was using Adrian’s loss as an excuse to engineer the removal of Section so that He could elevate Section Five, and its intriguing head,  into the number one slot. The Sections were, for the most part, autonomous, but George had a strong feeling that if he permitted The Man to continue in His machinations, he would have an insurrection to rival the fall of Rome’s on his hands. 

The Man tossed back His brandy, not even taking the time to appreciate its fine bouquet, and George winced, then sighed. At the risk of toppling some heads of state, he just might have to order The Man’s cancellation. Although He thought He was George’s superior, He didn’t realize that He was merely tolerated for the cash cow He had once represented. George refused to allow the destruction of  all he and Adrian had slaved and sacrificed over the years to attain. 

The door to his office was flung open with such force it bounced off the wall. Two men stalked in, dressed in mission black, their faces blank of all expression. 

Despite the fact that France had not been a monarchy for almost a hundred years, centuries of inbred acceptance of the aristos held one of the operatives silent. He did not bow, but a tilt of his upper body acknowledged The Man. 

“Sir,” said the stockier of the two, nodding toward George, “we have been sent to escort Monsieur to Section One.” 

George offered The Man an insincere smile. “Of course. You will want to tour the site and plan for the changes You intend to instigate. These gentlemen are two of the best that Section One has to offer. They will take excellent care of You.” 

The Man examined them intently. They bore the stamp of the high tech security He was familiar with, and so He permitted Himself to relax His vigilance. “Splendid, old man, splendid! I look forward to it! Shall we go, gentlemen?” 

The pronounced upper-class accent rubbed annoyingly on George’s one remaining nerve, but he stifled the impulse to sneer until the three men left his presence. Then he poured himself a healthy shot of the whiskey he kept for dire emergencies and let it burn its way down his throat. 

Only then did a self-satisfied smirk twist his lips. No one, but no one interfered with his organization without facing his wrath.. Madeline’s interrogation operatives would deal with Him quite expeditiously. 

He poured another drink, and this time he savored it. 

Part 20

Wye had not been understating the fact when he labeled his quarters a disaster area. He scooped up their used plates, not even taking time to scrape them off, and slid them into the sink. There they joined other soiled crockery in water that had long since grown tepid and whose soapsuds had vanished. Most people would be nauseated by the resultant mixture. 

Exx merely regarded it with a disinterested eye, then picked up a cup of coffee that Wye had poured for her and sauntered into the sitting area. Removing a pile of books, reminiscent of the journals she kept in her flat, she settled herself comfortably in a chair that threatened to swallow her up. Wye dragged its mate next to her and slouched into it, cradling his coffee and watching her over the rim of his cup. 

For long minutes they continued to regard each other while taking cautious sips of the steaming brew. 

Realizing that this time Wye would not be the one to break the silence, Exx smiled into her coffee, pleased with the way his training was progressing. 

“Very well,” she acknowledged with a surprisingly sweet smile. “One horse to you, Wye.” Abruptly she changed the subject. “ I want to run this idea by you. You tell me what you think.” 

He nodded hesitantly. 

“You’ve heard some mention of the Caspar Project?” she inquired. 

His eyes widened and he swallowed convulsively. “Rumors filtered out ...to the place I used to work in. I assumed that’s all it was. Rumors.” 

“Oh, no. We’ve been progressing quite nicely with this particular aspect of it. Nikita was one of the first operatives to have it used on her out in the field, although she was not cognizant of it at the time. It worked to a point, but then she was able to access intel that made her aware she was being manipulated, which blew the test. That was some time ago, and I believe most of the kinks have been ironed out of it now.” 

“I’m not sure I follow. How will this effect our treatment of The Man?” Wye was concerned. If any physical damage was done to The Man, his counterpart could very easily face cancellation. As would he, but he considered that a minor detail, of small importance. If she was no longer a part of Section, than he had no desire to be there either. 

Her features fell into the cold, blank affect she wore when she was working. Or discussing work. “Put in a call to Birkoff. We’re going to need his lily-white butt in on this.” 

Wye reached a long hand over to snag his comm unit. A startling jolt of jealousy hummed through his blood. He resented her attention being drawn to a portion of anyone’s anatomy save his own, and he watched her broodingly as he punched in Birkoff’s code. When the senior lead of computers answered, Wye passed his unit to Exx. 

“Birkoff, this is Exx.” 

The dead silence on the other end of the line hinted at the distress the computer op was feeling. Exx did not call for amusement. She did not call at all. The fact that she had his code caused a faint sheen of perspiration to mist his brow. He tried to swallow the lump of unease in his throat and nearly choked on it. 

“Ummm, Exx. Hi. How are you? How’s it going?” He winced at the inanities coming out of his mouth and reached to loosen his collar, only to remember his shirt didn’t have a collar. Get a grip man! he urged himself. 

Exx ignored his obvious discomfort. “I need you in the Dungeon as soon as you can round up a CD compatible for the Caspar Project. Wye and I will be there within 15 minutes. If you should get there before us, just wait. And don’t touch anything! Oh, and see if you can find a spare burner. I don’t think my requisition for one has been processed yet. Thanks Birkoff.” And she hung up before he could do more than sputter a protest. 

Wye admired her handling of the skittish younger man. Birkoff would have kept her talking for more time than they had to spare, trying to convince her that he hadn’t the means to agree to her demands. Of course, she could have said the magic words, “This is for Nikita” and Birkoff would have given himself a hernia in his rush to be of assistance. But then, Exx did like to do things the hard way. He set his coffee cup down beside his chair and got lazily to his feet. Taking her hand, he pulled her up beside him and headed for the door. 

“Wye.” 

He stopped dead in his tracks at her tone of voice. Slowly, he turned to face her. 

“We’ve got at least 15 minutes, and probably a good deal more before he begins to question where we are.” She smiled winsomely up at him.  

He walked back to where she stood expectantly and tilted her chin up so that their eyes met. “No. I’m not going to touch you again until this whole mission is behind us. We need to be on our toes, and if you keep looking at me like that, my brains will turn to mush and all I’ll be able to think of is how much I want to strip the clothes off your luscious body. When we’re finished dealing with The Man, I promise you, I am going back to your quarters, stark naked under my coat, and I will make hot. Sweaty. Torrid. Intense. Passionate and endless love to you!”   

He punctuated each word with an all too tantalizing kiss. 

Then he hustled her out the door, before he could change his mind. 

Part 21

When the two top torture operatives in Section One arrived at the Dungeon, Birkoff was already waiting for them. So was Walter,  who was impatiently pacing nearby,  chewing on his cuticles. 

Exx and Wye stared at them, dumbfounded. Shaking her head in bemusement, she murmured, “All we need is Madeline and Operations down here. Then we could have the sextet from Lucia!” 

Four blank stares turned toward her. The head of Section and her senior operative had been doing some hovering in the shadows and now stepped forward to join the others. Wye choked on  a snort of laughter which he  managed to turn into an unconvincing cough. Exx glowered at him and pushed open the door to the Dungeon. “You could have waited inside,” she told them, motioning them to enter. 

Operations cleared his throat as he looked around with interest. Only on extremely rare occasions had he ever had cause to go there, and like everyone else in Section, it held a morbid fascination for him. “Birkoff told us you had already warned him not to touch anything in here. We thought it might be more politic to wait in the corridor.” 

“We might have been delayed,” she informed them, sounding a shade disgruntled. Desire was still fizzing in her blood, and she was somewhat resentful of the time restrictions imposed on her. “Never mind. Let’s just get this show on the road.” 

“You’ve come up with a solution?” Madeline demanded in her cool voice. 

“Did you doubt it?” Exx retorted, and everyone, including Wye, took a figurative step back from her. Exx in a sour mood was not one to be trifled with.           

“Of course not, of course not.”  Operations tried to pour oil on troubled waters. “It’s just that time is quickly running out. Michael and Davenport are already on their way back here. We’re not left with many options.” 

“We have two,” Madeline informed them. “George has been in contact with me, and he has reached the end of his tether. He has given us the go-ahead for any physical means necessary to get the job done. Outward condition of the subject is no longer a consideration.” 

“That’s only one option,” Walter said, stating the obvious. 

Madeline sighed. “The second option is cancellation.” 

Exx’s hands fisted until the knuckles turned white. “No! That will not be necessary!” She drew in a calming breath. “Walter, I told you I would come up with something and I have. You don’t need to be in on this. What I do need you to do is...” and she leaned over and spoke quietly into his ear. 

When the weapon’s op looked as if he would argue the point with her, she held up a silencing hand. “Either you trust me to help or you don’t; it’s as simple as that.” 

Walter worried his lip for a long moment, then nodded reluctant acceptance. Glancing at the others with deep misgiving, he left the Dungeon. 

“Operations, Madeline, there is no need for you, either of you, to be here. This is our job. Leave us to handle it as we see fit.” 

The head of Section and her pet operations operative shared a moment of silent communication. Then they too acquiesced and departed. 

Wye blew out a soundless sigh. He had a rough idea of what his mentor meant to do, and the fewer people aware of her plan, the greater the capacity for its success. 

Exx said nothing for long minutes, then shuddered and lost what little color she had. The logical conclusion to the train of thought Madeline had begun left her badly shaken. She would need to study all the ramifications very, very carefully. 

But for now, she needed to focus. They were on a deadline that had been severely truncated. And they had been given choices she did not care for. 

Therefore, she would ignore them and go with the plan that was still percolating in her brain. They would fly this one by the seat of their pants and hope for a soft landing. 

“Birkoff.” She crooked a finger to draw him near and began explaining what she wanted imprinted on the CD. 

Birkoff’s mouth hung open and his eyes threatened to bug out of his head. Then he snapped his jaw shut and those chocolate brown eyes began to dance with unholy glee. 

“Oh, Exx, if you weren’t who you are, I’d kiss you! This is the sweetest deal I’ve ever heard!” He pulled out the burner and placed the CD in it, then hooked it up to one of the spare computers that littered one corner of the Dungeon. Rubbing his hands in anticipation, he began humming under his breath. His fingers flew over the keyboard, typing in commands. Images flickered rapidly on the monitor, only to fade away almost as fast. 

He didn’t notice the black scowl that darkened Wye’s normally stoic face. He wouldn’t have understood it either. Wye took his words literally, which is not how Birkoff meant them. 

Birkoff did not see Exx as a sexual being. 

But Wye did. 

Exx watched the scene unfold before her,  unable to believe the reaction her counterpart had to such an innocuous phrase. It was like telling someone,  “I’ll kill you,” which did not necessarily mean you were actually going to... 

On the other hand, here in Section, if you said that to someone, you probably were going to kill them. A wry smile tilted her lips. When this was all over, she was going to carefully examine Wye’s reaction to Birkoff’s remark. 

When this was over..... The disturbing idea  that Madeline’s words had planted in her came back to haunt her like a bad meal. If this plan with Birkoff didn’t work, she had the uneasy feeling that it would not matter. 

The cancellation of The Man would bring down all of Section One, and Exx had to wonder: was this what George had been aiming for all along?

Part 22 

The  lounge Operations and Madeline waited in was decadent to the point it would have shamed ancient Rome. Antique settees and loveseats nestled in odd corners and sprawled in out-of-the-way spots. 

Potted ferns and out-of-season flowers were strategically placed to enhance the feeling of luxury. 

A permanent bar held place of honor against a far wall. 

An artificial waterfall was framed by subdued, softly colored lighting. The gentle sound of the water cascading into a miniature pool stocked with choi was soothing, relaxing, lulling one into a state of almost hypnotic lassitude. 

Sumptuous drapes of textured brocade hung gracefully from the ceiling, concealing the fact that there were no windows behind them, for this room was deep underground, in a part of Section that in the normal course of events, most operatives would never have an opportunity to visit. 

Operations was uncharacteristically tense. Michael had just notified him that they were on the final leg of their approach to Section. There had been no further word from his prime torture operatives. He took a hasty gulp of the mildly alcoholic drink that had been frosting his palm, nearly dribbling a trail down his chin.

“We don’t have much more time!” 

Madeline casually crossed her silk-clad legs, the fine hose making an almost sibilant whisper. Operations’ attention riveted onto them. A spike-heeled pump dangled from the toes of one elegant foot, swinging gracefully back and forth. Settling back in the chaise, she casually arched her spine, thrusting her breasts into prominence against the classic little black dress she wore. 

“Paul, we have nothing but time.” She smiled up at him, running her foot along the inside of his trousered leg. “Michael and Davenport will not bring The Man down here until they hear from us. In the meantime, He will be getting the grand tour of Section One, down to the last grain of rice in the kitchen. Relax, and come sit beside me.” 

“Madeline, this is neither the time nor the place!” But he sank down next to her and fumbled to place his glass on a conveniently placed end table. Running his hands through his silvered hair, he hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Everything has gotten so out of control!” 

He started as he felt Madeline slide an arm around his shoulders. She leaned against him, her breath warm against the side of his neck. “What...?” 

“Shhhhh,” Madeline hushed him, “let me make it better.” She slipped the jacket he wore off his shoulders, palming the muscles of  his upper arms. Angled into a corner, he was unable to get away from her, and had no real desire to do so anyway. Her fingers unknotted the tie at his throat and smoothed open his shirt, pressing stinging kisses to the flesh beneath, then soothing it with her tongue. 

“Madeline!” he groaned. 

“Shhh,” she told him again while her busy fingers found their way to his belt and unfastened it. Gently caressing the bulge that was disrupting the smooth line of his slacks, her other hand brought his head down to hers. 

His lips parted to gasp in much-needed air and she took advantage of his vulnerability to fit her mouth to his, running her tongue over the serrated edges of his teeth, before plunging in to toy with him. 

Opening his trousers, she set him free, fondling the length of him. His large hands clutched fitfully at the hem of her dress, tugging it up. Pale skin was lovingly framed by a black lace garter belt that suspended the silk covering her legs. This he discovered through touch alone. Long fingers stroked and probed, finding her deliciously hot and ready for him. 

Gently he settled her over his lap and nudged at the entry to her body. With a soft moan, she sank onto him, letting him fill her completely. Taking her head between his hands, he seized control of their kisses; now soft and sweet;  now deep and demanding. Rocking her against him, he wrenched sighs and whimpers from her, speeding up the pace of their lovemaking until the tension that bound them tighter, and tighter still,  had no choice but to snap. 

The aftermath was no gentle wafting but a breathtaking plummet. A comm unit shrilled irritably. Operations flipped it open. “What?” he snarled into it. “And this had better bloody well be an international crisis!” 

“Uhhh, we’re  ready to put the plan into action. If you’re ready for us to come down there sir?” 

Operations swore in six languages. “Yes, we’re ready, Birkoff! We’ve been ready for the last freaking hour! Now make sure you all get your asses down to the VIP lounge immediately. And that includes Exx and Wye!” 

“Excuse me, sir, but won’t The Man realize there’s something afoot if he sees them?” Birkoff asked hesitantly. 

“Tell them not to wear their work clothes. No one would recognize them dressed up. This is supposed to be a reception for Him, remember? Black tie, or as close to it as possible!” 

He could still hear Birkoff sputtering as he disconnected the line. Grinning evilly at Madeline, he said, “Well, that will give them all something to worry about. And we’ve gotten a little of our own back for being so rudely interrupted!” 

She smile softly, for the moment just a satisfied woman. “That was very bad of you. You know they had no idea we wanted them in on this! I’m not even sure they have evening wear.” Toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, she pressed one last kiss to his mouth then rose and set about getting herself in order. 

Waving a negligent hand Operations remarked indifferently, “They can borrow from Michael and Nikita.” He tucked himself away and righted his disordered clothing. “I had forgotten how stimulating these impromptu sessions could be. I’ll have to look over the new crop of operatives and see if there is one who would be willing to indulge me.” 

“Paul, much as I care for you, you are such a sleaze!” 

“But you love me in spite of  that, don’t you?” he asked boyishly. 

Shaking her head in mock despair, Madeline cast a quick glance around the room to insure everything was in readiness. Then she took a deep, steadying breath. 

“All right, Paul. It’s showtime!”

Part 23

The tattoo beat upon the door was the familiar ‘shave and a haircut”. Before either of the occupants of the lounge could open it, it was cracked open and a grizzled head adorned with a formal headband poked around it. 

“Everyone decent in here?” he asked with a wicked smile in his voice. His face fell when he saw both Madeline and Operations on their feet, their clothes in perfect order, not a hair out of place. “Well, shoot. Thought I was going to catch you inflagrente for sure this time!” 

Operations raised a supercilious eyebrow and Walter raised placating hands. “Just kidding! Ummm, I’ll pour the drinks!” 

He hurried across the room to slip behind the long, mahogany bar. Madeline examined his attire carefully. “You know, Walter, for a refugee from the ‘60’s, you clean up surprisingly well!” 

He smiled at her smugly, secretly proud of having taken the usually unflappable Madeline aback. 

The black suit he wore had satin touches that complimented his white-trimmed black bandanna, the only concession to his decade of love attitude. His shirt was somewhat of a surprise. A cascade of ruffles, edged with raspberry pink silk, tumbled down the front of it. On his feet were Harley biker boots, hidden for the most part by his elegant trousers. 

Madeline decided that perhaps the best place for him would be behind the bar where most of this glory would remain in unseen. 

“What’s your poison, folks?” Walter asked 

“Scotch rocks for me,” said Operations, “and a white wine for Madeline.” 

The barest flicker of emotion hinted that Madeline was not too happy with the choice Operations had made for her, but her facade regained its habitual composure so quickly that Walter couldn’t be sure if it had really slipped at all. 

Well, he definitely wasn’t going to get between those two! He filled the requests and cracked open a bottle of Elephant beer, grimacing as it went down. 150 proof! Man, that was real coffee! 

Then Michael and Davenport were escorting in The Man. Walter felt his jaw drop as he recognized him. He snapped it shut. “What’s your pleasure, gentlemen?” 

The two cold operatives requested tonic water with a twist, but The Man said, “I’ll have a siskey waawaa, old chap!” and guffawed. “Siskey waawaa, get it? Whiskey sour!” 

Walter offered him a sickly smile and began to bargain seriously with God. If He would just get them out of this situation in one relatively whole piece, Walter would give up booze. He would stop chasing women. And he would definitely give up those funny cigarettes he liked to indulge in once in a while. “Please, God,” he whispered under his breath, “please let their plan work!” 

The door burst open unceremoniously and Birkoff stumbled in, glaring at something behind him that had forced his entrance. He, too, was dressed formally, although the tux he wore was a trifle over-the-top. Chartreuse green, it had lemon satin stripes running up the side of his trousers and a matching cummerbund. The pale blue shirt was fairly decorous, but the tie, an out-sized bowtie, was deep, deep red. 

It was then that those present realized that Birkoff had to be colorblind. No one could put together an outfit like that and not accept the fact that it was somewhat outré. 

Operations cleared his throat. “Sir, this is Mr. Birkoff, head of our computer division. You’ve already met Mr. Samuelle and Mr. Davenport, and I believe you know Madeline from Oversight.” He deliberately avoided introducing Walter, hoping that if He thought Walter was the help, He might slip and reveal some intel of value to them. 

Then the biggest surprise of the evening occurred. Exx entered on the arm of Wye. Composed and outwardly relaxed, he paused and glanced casually around the lounge. Satisfied that no obvious danger lurked, he brought his companion forward to be introduced to The Man. 

All eyes were riveted on Exx. She wore a shocking red dress that ended about half way to there. Fringe trembled and swayed with each step she took. On her tiny feet were red satin pumps with four-inch heels, bringing her more nearly to shoulder height and emphasizing the curve of her calves. Around her throat was a  slave collar of gems that radiated color, and from her dainty earlobes dangled, almost to her shoulders, earrings of similar stones. Amidst all the somber hues in the room, she had the startling brilliance of a bird of paradise. 

Wye, on the other hand, more resembled a monochromatic watchdog. He was dressed in a sedate black suit that gave an almost pearlescent glow to his skin. Unfortunately the bruise on his cheek was all the more noticeable and The Man latched onto it avidly. 

“You seem to have run into a door, young man!” 

Wye bowed slightly from the waist and replied, “Not at all, Sir. My lady tends to be a bit short-tempered if she thinks my eye is wandering.” 

Before anyone could think of a reply, Madeline stepped in. “Sir, this is Exx, my number one associate, and Wye, her assistant.” 

Exx had been scowling at Wye, not sure she was ready to have their relationship divulged before the most important people in Section One, but she erased all hint of displeasure and extended an elegant, gloved hand to The Man, who actually raised it to His lips and caressed it with an open-mouthed kiss. 

Startled, she would have stepped back, but collided with the solid wall of Wye’s chest. Her eyes flew to his face. 

His face was carefully blank. There was nothing in it to take exception to, nothing in it to cause alarm. But his eyes blazed. 

And abruptly The Man decided it might not be the wisest thing to play games with the little blond. 

Behind the bar, Walter observed it all, struggling to keep a grin from giving away the game. The Man obviously thought that Wye was the alpha of the two. Ducking his head, he finished mixing The Man’s drink, and then added the little something that Exx had had chemistry whip up. 

Wiping the smile from his face, Walter approached the group and extended the glass. “Your drink, Sir?” 

Part 24

The Man was feeling pleasantly buzzed. Walter has slipped a hypnotic into the whiskey sour He had requested. Not an ordinary hypnotic, this was something Exx had encouraged Chem to develop. 

An encouragement from Exx worked quicker than an order from any other department head with the exception of Operations. So although there was grumbling about the short amount of time they had to complete it in, it was ready when Exx sent Walter to pick it up. 

Sprawled in a rather uncomfortable Queen Anne chair, The Man took a final sip from His glass and held it out to Walter for a refill. Receiving the go-ahead from Exx, Walter took the glass and retreated behind the bar. 

By this time, everyone else was getting decidedly tense. Davenport had Michael cornered at the far end of the lounge to prevent him from assaulting their guest. Operations was starting to work on the fingernails of his left had and Madeline had long since chewed off all her lipstick. Only Birkoff appeared calm, watching the proceedings with delicious anticipation. 

Exx had set herself to be nice to The Man. She flirted outrageously with Him, gave Him her complete attention, never took her eyes off His, and leaned toward Him often enough to give Him glimpses of the valley between her breasts. Her body language fairly shrieked, Ask me for anything! 

The Man wallowed in it, although He kept a sharp eye on Wye, not quite sure if he would retaliate for any unseemly action toward his blond associate. When Walter brought Him His second drink, he accepted it graciously and downed most of it in one gulp. 

That was when Exx decided it was time to make her move. Raising a finger in the prearranged signal to Wye, she pulled out the CD Birkoff had configured from the tiny purse that swung from her wrist. Wye presented her with a PDA that was so slender it hadn’t even made a bulge in the pocket where it had been kept and she inserted it. 

Then Exx flashed a smile at The Man that had Him sitting bolt upright, all His male antennae on the alert. “Sir, it is such a pleasure speaking with a man who knows how to discuss business with a woman. You have expressed such flattering interest in my work. Would You, perhaps,  care to see a sample of it?” 

Fairly drooling in anticipation, He snatched up the PDA avidly and fixed the monocle-like eyepiece to His eye. 

Long moments passed while the data was fed into His receptive brain. Programmed to loop, the pictures flashed by again and again. At the end of five endless minutes, it disconnected and shut off with a soft snick. 

The eyepiece fell from The Man’s eye and He just sat in silence, staring dazedly into space. Then He shook Himself and seemed to snap out of it. “Thank you so much, m’dear. That was truly most informative! I never would have dreamed!” 

Rising just a trifle unsteadily to His feet, He turned toward Madeline and Operations. His glance slid right over the psych op and settled on the man at her side. And He smiled, a very rapacious smile indeed. 

“Paul, old man, let’s go up and see how things are progressing on the Observation Deck, shall we? I hear you’ve been doing some marvelous things there.” And He twined His arm in Operations’ and drew him toward the door. 

Uncertain of where this was leading, Operations cast a panicked look over his shoulder. “Madeline?” 

Madeline shrugged her shoulders and gave a tiny shake of her head to indicate she had no clue as to what was going on. 

Next he sought Exx’s input, but she merely smiled enigmatically and touched a finger to her lips, advising him not to open his mouth for once. 

Helpless, Operations let The Man lead him out of the lounge, unaware of the interesting turn his future was about to take. 

Once the door was securely closed behind the pair, Birkoff finally gave way to the almost hysterical laughter that was building up in him. “Did...did you...did you see his....his face? Oh my sweet God, Exx, you are a freaking genius!” 

But for Exx it was back to business as usual. She poured a handful of tablets into Madeline’s hand and gave her the one-of-a-kind PDA. “The Man must have a constant stream of this in His system for this to continue to work. And He’ll need to see what’s on this CD frequently. Updates on it would be wise, I believe.” 

Madeline accepted the items. “How are we to insure that he gets these?” It was a rhetorical question, yet Exx decided to answer it anyway. 

“Frankly, Madeline, that is your problem, not this division’s. We have come up with a solution and saved Section’s collective asses. You know my price.” 

Madeline nodded ruefully. “Nikita will be restored to her full memory. It will be a reverse of what will be done to The Man I believe. The drug will be stopped and she will no longer view the tape that convinced her she had no feelings for Michael. Will this be satisfactory?”           

Relieved to have gotten away with such a dangerous ploy, Exx replied, “It will indeed.” 

“Davenport, “ Madeline raised her voice slightly, “you can release Michael now. Michael, you heard Exx’s conditions. There will be absolutely no retaliations towards The Man. Please remember that the status quo is quite shaky at this point. If I should hear of any attempt on The Man, or on any members of Oversight, I will have no qualms about canceling the perpetrators. I hope I have made myself very clear!” 

And with that, she strode out of the lounge, asking herself which of the operatives in Section One would be suitable for Palace work. 

“All right,” said Michael in a deceptively quiet voice, “will someone please tell me what the f...” He caught himself. No one ever saw him loose control. He was not about to let that happen now. “What just went on here?” 

“It was all Exx’s idea. She figured they were using a hypnotic, enhanced with subliminals to alter Nikita’s memory. Why not reverse it and use it on The Man? Only, Chem came up with something even more potent!” 

“That’s what I’ve been feeding Him?” Walter demanded. 

“Yeah!” Birkoff nearly choked on his laughter. “But that’s not the best part!” 

Patiently, Michael turned his blank stare on the young Comm operative. “I’m sure you are about to tell us what the best part is, aren’t you Seymour?”

Birkoff winced and got himself in hand. “Uhhh, sure thing Michael. You see, we found out that The Man apparently has...had a letch for the head of Section Five. I burned images on the CD he was viewing of a different head, and now He’s infatuated with that head.” 

And again Birkoff dissolved into unbridled laughter. “Oh my God, Michael, this is just so rich! The Man now thinks He’s in love with Operations!” 

The reactions were interesting to see. Walter’s jaw dropped. Davenport searched wildly for a chair before he fell down from shock. And Michael just smiled a very slow, very dangerous smile. 

“Exx, Wye, excellent work. I’ll make sure that commendations find their way into your files. 

“Now let’s get Nikita off that junk! I want her back to her normal, hard-headed, soft-hearted self as soon as possible!” 

And just that quickly, the lounge was emptied of everyone except Exx and the male torture op who was watching her with hooded eyes. She returned the look and then demanded, “You had something you wished to say to me, Wye?” 

He stalked toward her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her up against him.  “Yes, I do! 

“Where in the nine hells of Nergel did you find that dress? 

“And how soon can I get you out of it?” 

Part 25  

This day was finally at an end. The rats, the sleaze, the scum, the slime, the general population of Section One: they were all in their dens or their burrows or their holes. The corridors of Section were deserted. The security cams watched the passageways with unblinking eyes, only occasional movement bringing them into motion. 

Exx glanced at the clock that resided on an end table in her tiny living area. No, in the past five minutes it had not progressed much. In fact, it seemed to have stopped moving altogether! She ground her teeth and tossed aside a journal she had been trying to study. Finding new means of extracting intel had always been a sure fire method of calming her down whenever she was stressed. 

This night she wasn’t stressed. It was not her nerves that keep her stalking throughout her quarters like a caged predator. 

*He had promised to come to her!*  How many hours ago was that now? How long had it been since he had asked, “Where did you get that dress, and how soon can I get you out of it?” 

Incensed with herself for allowing any man, and most of all a trainee, to somehow make his way under her defenses and find a home in her heart, she snatched up the glass that had held the remains of the bottle of Johnny Walker Black that Operations had handed out to his operatives the past Christmas, and hurled it with all her might at the door just as a knock sounded. 

The knock halted in mid-rap, as if whoever was outside was having second thoughts about requesting admittance. Then, as if all rational judgment was replaced by unbridled emotion, the knock became a thunderous pounding. 

She  *knew* who it was, and if he thought he could just waltz into her flat whenever he felt like it, she was more than willing to show him just how wrong he was. She flung back the door with a snarl, her arm cocked, thumb tucked neatly atop her fist to avoid breaking it, ready to bring it into intimate contact with his charming smile. 

And his smile was charming, whenever he chose to gift someone with it, which didn’t happen to be right at that moment. Instead, a scowl darkened his face, and he shoved past her, leaving her standing, irresolute, by the door. 

“What took you so long?” she sneered at him in an effort to shield her vulnerability. 

“I was trying to be a gentleman!” he growled. “I was trying to give you time to celebrate with the upper echelon. You pulled Sections’ chestnuts out of the fire, and I thought they would wine and dine you!” 

“Well, you thought wrong! I’ve been sitting here waiting for you....” Oh no. That really hadn’t come out of her mouth, had it? She slapped a perturbed hand to her forehead, but that didn’t stop the revealing words from reverberating around in her brain. “...waiting for you, waiting for you.” In a desperate attempt to distract him, she demanded, “And didn’t I tell you to be naked under that damned coat you’re wearing?” 

But his smile was very much in evidence now. She had been waiting for him. And...she was still wearing that dress. 

“I am.” The coat had been secured to his chin, and he began to unbutton it, slowly revealing, bit-by-bit, his sleek, naked, chest. He tossed it aside as he toed off his shoes, taking care there was no broken glass in the vicinity. “I couldn’t very well stroll through the halls of Section without any pants on, so I did the next best thing. I had hoped you wouldn’t be too disappointed.” 

His thumbs hooked into the waistband of the soft navy sweats that covered his lower body. He turned slightly, to give her a view of his back, and eased them down over his tight buttocks and muscular thighs. 

Exx was frozen where she stood. Her mouth felt as if cotton was wadded up in it; she could barely swallow, indeed seemed to have forgotten how. Her pupils were so dilated that her eyes appeared to be black, and she couldn’t take them off his body. Breath stuttered in her chest as he shifted around to face her, and she could clearly see his arousal. Fine tremors caused the fringe that covered  her dress to shimmy. 

For once she was not so blinded by lust that she unable to see the scars that crisscrossed his chest and arms, curving around to his back. At some point in his disreputable past, he had been flogged. The rage she suddenly felt at the unknown perpetrators blindsided her, she who always kept her emotions so tightly confined. 

She reached out her hand, gently running her fingertips over the scars, and he took a step away from her. Her eyes questioned his, which dropped as if ashamed. 

“I’m sorry. I wanted to be perfect for you, but these will never leave, not even with surgery.” 

“Why would you imagine I would want you other than as yourself? These scars... Wye, I’m so sorry you were hurt, but I find them very arousing!” She stepped closer to him and rubbed her breasts against the marks of his survival. Her palms slid up his arms and her fingers stroked the nape of his neck, threading through the hair that barely reached there. A soft hum of approval told him that she truly did find him, with all his flaws, as fascinating as he found her. 

Soft, openmouthed kisses traced a path from his jaw to the corner of his mouth, her breath whispering on his skin. He shivered and for the first time moved to take her in an embrace. The dress shifted in his grasp, tantalizing them both as it rubbed against their flesh. 

Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her into the bedroom and set her down by the small bed where she spent her solitary nights. Well. they would not be solitary any longer if she allowed him his way! 

She turned on a bedside lamp, which cast a soft glow over them. Turning her back to him, she wished momentarily for waist-length hair, that she could have swept aside in an invitation for him to unzip her dress. 

He didn’t need an invitation, thought. He unerringly sought the tab of the zipper and eased it down carefully to avoid catching on any fringe. He parted the material and his breath clogged in his throat as he followed the elegant line of her back. 

She wore no undergarments under that sexy little dress. There were no panties, no bra, no garter belt. The thigh high silk stockings she wore were held in place by their elasticized tops. *She had been stark, staring naked under that dress, and he hadn’t even known!*  

Exx gave a shimmying motion with her upper torso and the sexy red dress slithered down her body to puddle at her feet. 

Wye's mouth went dry as his mentor cast him a slumberous glance from over her shoulder. His eyes grew hot as they caressed her petite form. Nude save for the sheer stockings that encased her legs, she turned to face him, casually tossing aside the glasses she didn't need. 

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you?" he asked hoarsely. 

"Tell me!" she ordered huskily. “Tell me how you want to do me!" 

And he proceeded to do so. In graphic, lusty detail, fogging his glasses with each torrid word. 

Exx's eyes widened and she only just prevented herself from backing away from him. Here was violence personified. This was the way her trainee had been before Operations first had him brought to Section One: wild, dangerous, unpredictable. She moistened her lips, drawing his attention to her mouth. 

Wye reached out with a long arm and seized her around the waist, yanking her flush to his chest, bringing her hard against his arousal. He could feel fine tremors coursing through her body. His eyes were fastened on her lips as they parted to draw in oxygen that was suddenly in short supply, and she watched him watch her mouth. 

Wye leaned over and licked her upper lip. It sheened with the moisture he placed there, and her breath clogged in her throat. He repeated his action, this time to her lower lip. Then he ran his tongue over his own lips, and brought them to hers. 

He kissed her gently, his eyes partially closed, savoring the taste of her. Pulling away slightly, he looked deep into her eyes, then brought his attention back to her mouth. With a groan he surrendered to his desire for her and took her lips fiercely, the long fingers of one hand splayed on her cheek to hold her in place for his kiss. 

His tongue swept into her mouth and began a mating dance with hers. Her upper arm was gripped so tightly that his fingers left marks on her skin. She slid free, and then her arms encircled him, her nails raking long grooves down his back, pressing against him as if she wanted to absorb him into her body. 

She must have spoken aloud, for he laughed grimly. "You are going to take me into you. I'll be so deep in you that you won't know where I end and you begin. Just as I wear your mark, you're going to wear mine! And you will *never* want another man in your bed for the rest of your life!" 

"Big talk, cowboy! Let's see you back it up with more than words!" She baited him purposefully, wanting to push him over the edge. 

In response Wye scooped her up and tossed her lightly onto her bed, following her down onto the soft cotton sheets, covering her petite frame with his larger, harder one. His teeth found the pulse at the base of her throat and he nipped and tugged at the spot. Softening the sting with a swipe of his tongue, he fastened his lips to the almost invisible mark he had made and suckled in earnest, determined to leave no doubt as to who her lover was. 

His fingers twined with hers and he held them prisoner beside her head, keeping her restless body immobile as his lips plundered the treasures of her mouth. Working his way down her body, he licked the slope of her breast, then took an eager nipple into his mouth, alternately nibbling and soothing it. 

Sighing in surrender, Exx managed to free her hands and tug demandingly on Wye's hair. "Oh, no, sweet lady," he told her. "This time I'm in charge!" 

Continuing his southward travels, he paused to explore her navel, that jewel the poets sang of; the indentation of her narrow waist; the intriguing curve of her hip. His kisses and nips and licks drove her to fever pitch and she writhed frantically to get closer to him, to make a space for him between her thighs. But this time he was not allowing her to take. This time *he* meant to do all the taking. 

Nudging her legs apart with his shoulders, he parted the thatch of hair that shielded the heart of her, and with a long lap of his tongue, his very educated tongue, he sent her toppling over the precipice, tumbling out of control. Before she could fully descend, he began pushing her up to the heights again, driving her wild with the movements of his lips and teeth. 

"Wye!" she moaned as his thumbs opened her and his tongue plunged into her moist core. 

"Wye!" she cried as two fingers replaced his tongue, which began tormenting the sensitive nerve endings just a hairsbreadth away. 

"Wye!" she screamed as once more she was flung into the ether. 

And barely giving her a moment to regain her breath, he began again, this time reversing his journey over her body. By the time he reached her mouth, she was sobbing from the intensity of his lovemaking. His lips crushed hers, forcing them apart, letting her taste herself upon his tongue. At the same time he slid easily, deeply, into her, filling her so completely that she came apart in his arms, her climax so powerful it triggered a conflagration in him, and he followed willingly after her. 

Boneless, demolished by the force of his passions upon her, she concentrated on getting her breathing right. In, two, three. Out, two, three. In, two, three. It would only take a lifetime or two, she figured, to be able to get it back to normal. 

"Wye," she murmured, "we fit together so well. Not just physically, but emotionally too. We're going to have to be very careful. Madeline does not enjoy seeing anyone here in Section have any kind of a personal life. If she realizes we have more than a professional relationship, she may try something to separate us, keep us apart, destroy us." 

"Do you want me to cancel her?" 

Just like that, Wye was willing to put his neck in a noose for her, for by canceling Madeline, he would surely sign his own death warrant. 

If he were caught. With Exx behind him, he would not even be suspected. She would see to it. 

Hmm. Like 'abra cadabra,' this was a thought to conjure with. 

But not right now, not this minute. Now was the time for them. 

She sighed into the darkness and reached for Wye's hand. 

A low rumbling sound came from his side of the bed. Damn! he was snoring! 

She turned toward him, but he was not asleep. Resembling nothing so much as a big, sated jungle cat, he sprawled there, his eyes gleaming in the shadowy light, smiling slightly at her. 

And purring! 

~End~

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