Nikita decided to take the initiative with Michael. This couldn’t be allowed to go on any longer. It was tearing her apart. She was losing weight she could ill afford to lose.

The very next time Michael stepped through the front door to go out on his mysterious assignment, Nikita was waiting. "Michael? Where are you going?"

"Out," he said, quite cheerfully, not bothering to elaborate.

She grabbed his arm, which was encased in his leather jacket, despite the advent of Spring any moment now. "But where?"

He cocked his head at her, much like someone who didn’t understand English all that well might. "Hm?"

"I’ll be back soon, Kita."

"I know you will, Michael, but you didn’t answer my question."

"Was that a question, doucette? Sounded more like the Spanish Inquisition to me."

"Don’t try to distract me, Michael. I want to know where you’re going."

"And I told you. Out." He turned on his heel and left her standing there, flabbergasted at this turn of events.

Her china-blue eyes narrowed. She wasn’t about to let him get away with this.

***

Racing upstairs, she began tearing their bedroom apart, looking for everything and anything that might give her a clue to what was going on with her husband. Okay, so she wasn’t a super sleuth, and she wasn’t very adept at breaking into his laptop, but there had to be something somewhere that she was overlooking.

Wait, she thought, maybe I should follow him to wherever he’s going. She closed her eyes tightly. She knew he wasn’t cheating. She just knew it. But if she followed him...and he disappeared inside some strange woman’s apartment...she would die.

There! Buried under his socks and underwear. It was a black and white composition book. No title. Just his first name on the outside. Printed in big black letters. M-I-C-H-A-E-L.

Her hands trembled as she contemplated opening the book. There could be no going back once she did this. This was a serious breach of trust between them. Maybe Michael would never forgive her. Cast her out of his life.

But then again...hadn’t he already done that himself by refusing to tell her where he was disappearing to every week for over a month? She opened the book and gasped.

There, in black and white, in Michael’s very own unmistakable handwriting, was a mission profile. A Section One mission profile. It wasn’t a mission she was familiar with. She remembered every single mission she worked with Michael. It was virtually the only time she spent with him while they were at Section. Some people had romantic moments to recall. Nikita and Michael had missions.

She continued to turn the pages of carefully handwritten script. Step by step, it took her through the mission unfolding. This was heartbreakingly realistic. It made her want to stop to catch her breath. Wait...

It wasn’t finished. Did that mean that this was no nostalgic reminiscence? Did that mean that this was an ongoing mission?

Something current? Something deep cover? Necessitating Michael’s absence from their home every week? Necessitating Michael lying to her about his whereabouts?

"Oh, my God..." Nikita barely choked out, managing to sink down onto the edge of the bed behind her. This was definitely worse than cheating.

Michael was involved with Section One again.

"Okay, Nikita, take a deep breath," she said to herself. Right before she screamed blue murder.

Walter came running up the stairs, hitting the top of the landing with the fierce clatter of booted feet. "What the devil--? Sugar, are you all right?"

Nikita promptly burst into tears. "Oh, God, oh, God..." she kept repeating, like a litany that might ward off the evil spirits that she felt had invaded her home.

Walter wrapped his arms around Nikita, immediately noting how thin she was. "Sugar, you’re nothin’ but skin and bones. When’s the last time you ate something?"

She raised tear-drenched blue eyes to his. "I don’t know. I can’t remember."

Declan appeared in the doorway, followed by Birkoff. "What’s wrong? Is there something we can do?"

"I dunno yet." Walter turned back to Nikita, pulling out a hideously colored handkerchief the size of Montana to wipe her face. "Sugar, talk to us. We’re here to help, but we need to know what’s wrong."

Nikita stifled a sob, glancing quickly at Birkoff before pointing in his direction. "He knows," she said with a sniffle.

Birkoff looked surprised. Declan stared at him, clearly wondering what Birkoff was hiding. Walter frowned. "Well? Someone spill it! We ain’t got all day here."

Birkoff protested, "All I know is that Nikita said that Michael has been going out. Once a week. For over a month now."

"Where?" Walter asked gruffly.

"We don’t know. He never says where he’s going, and when she asks, he won’t tell her."

Declan grimaced. "Okay, Dec, what do you know about this? Nikita said both of you left the house at the same time every week."

"Nothing, Sey," said Declan, looking amazed. "It’s true we were both leaving about the same time each week, but that’s all. We never ended up in the same place, if that’s what you mean."

Walter shook his head. "Well," he drawled, "the way I figure it, there’s probably a logical explanation. Maybe he’s planning something special for your anniversary, Sugar."

Nikita rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "There’s more, Dad. Take a look at this."

She proffered the composition book to Walter. He looked suspiciously at her, then opened the book hesitantly. "Sugar, I don’t know if we should be invading his privacy this way."

"Just take a look, Dad, and tell me what you think," she said firmly.

His eyes skimmed the first page. Nikita could tell when he knew what he looking at by the way his eyes widened. "Crap."

He looked at Nikita, obviously stunned by this revelation. "Sugar, this sounds bad. Real bad."

"Just to be fair, Dad, hand the book to Birkoff. I want a second and third and fourth opinion, if I can get it. I’m not about to jump to any conclusions."

Walter did as she asked. Birkoff looked at the book nervously, as if he feared it might bite. "Open it, Seymour," Walter exhorted.

Birkoff made it halfway down the page before he gasped involuntarily. "Damn."

Nikita sniffled. "You think it’s real? Birkoff, you must know a real mission profile when you see one. How many thousands have you read?"

Birkoff nodded slightly. "I admit, it doesn’t look good. But maybe there’s a--"

Walter and Nikita chorused together, "--logical explanation."

Walter glared at the younger man. "Yeah, right, and I’m the Sheik of Burundi."

Birkoff offered the book to Declan. "You want to look at this, Dec? You were functioning at virtually the same level as Michael. What do you think?"

Declan reluctantly took the book from Birkoff’s hands, feeling vaguely trapped. He didn’t know where Michael was going every week. That much was true. Michael’s secret was just that. Michael’s secret. Even if he knew what it was, he wasn’t entirely sure he would reveal it. And then, only if Nikita continued to suffer for it.

On the other hand, if Michael had really returned to work for Section, it threatened all of their lives. And Declan protected the people he loved. Even if it meant betraying a friend.

He opened the book, turning to the first page. The words jumped out at him, forming an almost three-dimensional image in front of his eyes. He could see it in his mind’s eye.

Bloody hell. This wasn’t just real. It had to be happening somewhere. Right now.

The small family circle tightened its perimeters around Nikita, as if proximity would somehow lend her the support she needed. Walter took charge without hesitation. "Sugar, first things first. You need food."

"I can’t eat, Dad."

"You’ll feel better," he insisted.

"Nothing is going to make me feel better, Daddy, except Michael walking through that door and telling me he’s not working for Section." The acute horror in her eyes had faded, but clearly not to a comfortable level yet.

"Declan, go make Sugar some of your homemade soup."

Declan turned to go, but Nikita tugged on his arm. "Declan, I need you to go out and see if you can find Michael."

"No offense, Sugar, but if Michael doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be. As good as Declan is, how’s he supposed to know where to start?"

Nikita sighed. "The proverbial needle in a haystack."

"Exactly." Walter put his arms around Nikita and hugged her tightly. "What you need, Sugar, is some hot soup, some rest, and lots of TLC from your old man."

Nikita smiled despite her misery. "Dad, you do take good care of me."

"I try, Sugar. I don’t get as much chance as I used to, cause of Michael, but I do try."

Declan shifted from foot to foot restlessly. He didn’t like feeling in the middle. His sympathies lay with Nikita, probably because she was the one in the most immediate distress. But Michael was like his brother now, and he couldn’t bear the thought of betraying him.

Birkoff saw Declan’s visible agitation and pressed closer to him, instinctively trying to comfort him non-verbally. "Dec? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do," he whispered.

Declan rubbed the back of Birkoff’s neck affectionately. "Thanks, baby," he whispered back.

Suddenly the little group was interrupted by the arrival of Neil. "Hi," he said softly.

"I let myself in because the front door was wide open. I thought maybe something was wrong, so I came looking for someone. And here you all are."

He smiled a bit nervously as the group more or less gathered around Nikita, as if shielding her from any further intrusion.

"Guys?" he said, waiting impatiently for someone to say something.

Walter was about to explain what was going on when Neil spotted the composition book, lying open on the bedside table. "Hey, what’s this?"

"That’s the reason we’re here," Walter said, eventually telling Neil about Michael’s apparently mysterious absences.

Neil whistled appreciatively. "Wow. And what’s the book got to do with it?"

"The book’s the key," Walter said, handing it to Neil. Nikita watched anxiously as Neil opened the book. Up until now, only former Section operatives had perused its contents. This would be the first time someone never in Section looked at it.

Neil raised an eyebrow as he began to read avidly. Obviously intent on what he was reading, he almost didn’t hear the voices in his ear. "What? I’m sorry."

"I said, what do you think?" Nikita enunciated quite clearly.

"Oh..." Neil said with a grin that Nikita found blatantly inappropriate under the circumstances.

"I’m sure there’s a--"

"--logical explanation," chorused Walter, Nikita, Declan and Birkoff.

‘Yes, we know," said Nikita.

"No, that wasn’t what I was going to say."

"It wasn’t?" Nikita looked incredulous. "What were you going to say?"

"That this is the best damn spy story I’ve ever read. Who wrote it?"

"Story? You think it’s a story?" Nikita shouted.

"Well, heck, yes." Neil looked as puzzled as could be. "Why? What did you people think it was?"

Nikita stared at Neil as if he were an alien. "Fiction?"

"Yeah." Neil started to laugh. "You didn’t think it was real, did you?"

Nikita leaned on her father, weak from not eating, weak from contemplating what dangerous adventures her husband might be having. Walter wrapped both arms around Nikita, and she nestled her face against his leather-clad chest.

"I mean, this is the kind of stuff you only see in the movies."

Birkoff rolled his eyes. "Or in Section."

Neil gasped. "You do think it’s real! Do you know who wrote it?"

Declan’s eyes flickered over Neil’s oh-so-sensible ensemble. Always a conservative dresser, Neil was the epitome of good taste. No wonder he thought it was a piece of fiction. People like him rarely had the opportunity to rub elbows with people like them.

At least, not knowingly.

"Michael wrote it," Declan stated flatly. "It’s a mission profile."

"Are you sure about that?’

"Sure about what? That he wrote it? Yeah, it’s his handwriting," Declan snorted.

"No, no," Neil said, waving his hands. "I mean, are you sure it’s a real mission profile?"

Declan gave him a look of such utter disdain, Neil felt his lip curl into a sneer in automatic response. "Well....I hate to play the part of the resident scientist, but then, that’s what I am."

"Riddle me this, Batman," Neil said sarcastically, parodying the campy old TV show’s hero and villain. "If Michael went to all this trouble to elude you and your efforts to track him down...why would he leave a book that details what he’s been doing lying around? Where anyone could find it?"

Declan felt compelled to confess that that was the part that bothered him about all this. Michael was almost always a good half-dozen steps ahead of Section. He had successfully avoided capture by Nikita and the rest of the family for well over a month. Why would he be so careless as to leave a damning piece of evidence lying in plain sight? Or hidden in the most slipshod of manners?

Unless...

Declan couldn’t prevent his mouth from forming a small but significant smile. That was it, of course.

Birkoff nudged his lover, reminding him that he was there. "Hey, no fair having a flash of insight all by yourself, Dec. We gotta share."

"All right," he agreed.

Everyone turned towards Declan expectantly. Walter looked vaguely irritated. "Well?"

"Did it ever occur to any of you that Michael wanted Nikita to know what he was up to?"

"Now that doesn’t make a lick of sense, Declan, and I hope you don’t mind me saying so!" retorted Walter.

Declan smiled enigmatically and suddenly everyone saw the resemblance to their favorite cold op. Birkoff shivered. "I don’t know if I should feel glad or scared that you have that kind of insight into the way Michael’s mind works."

All at once, Neil grinned. "Oh, I think I know where he’s going with this."

"Do you?" Declan seemed amused by Neil’s assertion.

Walter could hear the rush of air as everything they said went whooshing over his head. "Okay, okay, for the benefit of us imagination-impaired, could you run that by us again? In English this time?"

"Well," Declan began. "You think it doesn’t make sense because you’re assuming that if Michael wanted Nikita to know, why wouldn’t he just tell her, right?"

Walter nodded. "Well, duh...."

Birkoff laughed at the older man’s expression. Walter’s mind was still unbelievably agile. He just didn’t think like a field op anymore. None of them did. Except for Michael and Declan.

"You’d be right, Walter, if Michael really was playing out this mission profile. We’ve all been in Section so long, we assumed it was real. Neil didn’t because he reacted like the average person would."

"Your point?" Walter said wearily.

"If Michael was with Section again, he’d do anything to keep Nikita out of it, wouldn’t he?"

"Yeah, I s’pose so."

"So he wouldn’t leave this book here for her to find unless..."

"Unless he wasn’t working with Section. If he was doing something dangerous, he wouldn’t play games with Nikita."

"But if he’s not working with Section, and the mission profile isn’t real, then why the hell doesn’t he tell Nikita what he’s doing?" Walter growled.

"Would you describe Michael as a straightforward, uncomplicated kind of guy, Walter?"

"Hell, no."

"Would you say that he’s more indirect than that? That he tends to shy away from confronting people and feelings?"

"Maybe he wants her to find out so he doesn’t have to tell her, Dec," chimed in Birkoff.

"That’s my take on it, Sey."

"I understand all that, Declan. I just wish I knew why he won’t tell me what’s going on," she asked in a tiny voice.

Michael came onto the landing so softly, no one heard him approach until he was suddenly amongst them.

"Because he’s embarrassed, Kita," Michael said, a dull flush creeping up both cheeks.

"Michael!" Nikita exclaimed, suddenly aware of the audience surrounding them.

Declan backed up, gently pulling on Birkoff until they were both outside the room again. Standing behind Birkoff, Declan wrapped both arms around his chest in a quick hug before he carefully pulled the hair away from one ear and kissed him there. "Let them work it out themselves," he whispered. Birkoff turned to face his lover and nodded.

Walter was more reluctant to leave his Sugar. But Nikita smiled wanly, patting her father’s arm. "I’ll be okay, Dad."

Walter glared at Michael briefly, but the younger man was clearly oblivious to anything but straightening out the current dilemma he found himself in with his wife.

Neil finally dragged Walter through the doorway. "I was going...I was going..." Walter muttered under his breath. Neil gave him a skeptical look. "Okay, eventually," Walter added.

Neil put his arm around the older man in an avuncular hug. "You’re a damn nice guy, Walter." Walter colored slightly. "Hey, man..."

***

Michael saw Nikita’s tear-ravaged face and sighed. "I didn’t mean to make you worry, doucette."

"I know."

Nikita moved closer, the need to touch Michael and reassure herself that he was all right too strong to be denied. "Michael...I thought we could tell each other anything."

"I didn’t lie to you, Kita."

"I know. But it hurt just the same every time you refused to tell me where you were going."

Michael’s cheeks grew hotter and redder. Suddenly he couldn’t meet her eyes.

"Please...tell me what’s going on. And tell me you’re not involved with Section again," Nikita begged.

Michael looked stunned. "Involved with Section? No! Why would you--?" He was positively dumbstruck. Then he realized. "Oh, the journal."

"It’s a journal?"

"A creative writing journal."

Nikita blinked. "I don’t understand."

"Kita...I don’t even know where to start." His eyes slid away from hers again, unable to make eye contact any longer.

He swallowed nervously. "I came back early because I forgot the journal. I have to turn it in for my assignment."

"Assignment?" Nikita looked completely lost.

"Kita...you’re so much younger, you wouldn’t understand."

"Try."

"I’m almost forty years old, doucette. I never finished University. I was 19 when I became involved with L’Heure Sanguine. Then I lost everything when I was arrested. My sister, my life. I never graduated, Kita."

He looked haunted. Perhaps he was. By the ghosts of the past that refused to stay dead. Or was it the shades of the future that he could not predict?

"You’re a very educated man, Michael. I’ve always thought so."

He laughed sadly. "Self-taught. Together with every bit of training I could get out of Section."

"What are you trying to tell me, Michael? she asked, her voice kinder and softer than before.

"I’ve gone back to University. To get my degree." Before she could say a word, for or against, he continued.

"I didn’t want anyone to know in case I couldn’t do it. Do you know what it feels like to be my age in a class full of kids?" Michael was so obviously uncomfortable, Nikita felt compelled to comfort him.

"I think you’re a very brave man, Michael, and I would still think you were wonderful, even if you never graduated from University."

"Oh, doucette," he murmured, right before he kissed her.

"Kita, I wanted to share this with you, but you know how much I value your opinion of me. If I failed..." He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

"Michael, you aren’t going to fail. We all read what you wrote. We all thought it was real."

"Except Neil," she added. "He thought it was the best damn spy story he’s ever read." She sounded so proud of him, he couldn’t help but notice.

"Kita, you thought it was good?" Sounding uncharacteristically uncertain, it was clear that Michael cared more about what she thought than ten compliments from someone else.

"I thought it was excellent. Now that I know it wasn’t real, I’m thrilled I got to read it." She chuckled, almost as an afterthought.

She cuddled closer to her husband, and she could actually feel when the overwhelming tension in him finally relented. He put his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her pale blonde hair.

"I was so scared, Michael. I thought you went back. I thought you gave us up." She couldn’t help but cry, she’d felt so beaten all day long, and she was so terribly tired.

"Never, doucette. I’ll never give you up. Not willingly, anyway. I love you and the kids so much." His voice husky with emotion, his declaration of love had never sounded more heartfelt.

"So...you have to go back to class?" Nikita bit her lip, trying to find a way to delay her husband for a little dalliance.

"I should. The professor wants to take a closer look at what I wrote. Maybe give me a chance to...I don’t know...get published."

"Michael! You’re kidding!"

"Anonymously, of course. I can’t afford to use my real name, but..."

"Oh, Michael!" She kissed him excitedly, her mouth gentling as soon as it touched his. "I do love you," she whispered.

"Doucette...."