Michael glanced around the Comm area. There was no one who did not belong there. When they first arrived, in the dead of night, there were few operatives around. Hence, their relative ease in moving throughout Section One. What operatives they did encounter, Declan or Michael rapidly neutralized. But when Michael arrived in Comm, he found a curious thing.

Not only were the operatives there supportive, they actively applauded Michael’s efforts to unseat the former Operations. Some of them remembered Michael from his days at One, and truth to tell, he was something of a legend. As one of the female Comm ops put it, "You and Nikita are like Robin Hood and Maid Marian. We always saw you as outlaws fighting for the common people. Us. You give us hope."

Michael was touched by their support. Not only were they on his side, they offered to help. But Michael declined, afraid of retribution on the part of both Operations and George. Still, he was grateful that they bought them the necessary time they needed by not raising a general alarm. Their meager resources would have been sorely tested.

"Birkoff, you can’t tell Declan about Cassidy being his sister. Not now."

Birkoff gasped. "Michael, I can’t keep something like that from him. He has a right to know!"

"Yes, he does. But not now." Birkoff tried to interject, but Michael overrode his objection. "I need him, Birkoff. I can’t afford him being distracted or upset. Tell him when we get back."

Birkoff’s dark eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "You mean if we get back, don’t you? This might be the last chance I have to be with him, Michael," Birkoff protested.

But Michael was firmly entrenched in mission mode, and there was no shaking him from his decision. "Birkoff, I’m ordering you to take both kids and go to the car and wait for us."

"But--"

"That’s an order." Michael pulled out an extra gun, fitted a clip into it, and handed it to Birkoff.

"What’s this for?" Birkoff frowned.

"Just in case."

Birkoff shivered. "You think I know how to defend myself?"

Michael moved closer to Birkoff, resting both leather-gloved hands upon his shoulders. Looking intently into Birkoff’s eyes, Michael said, "I know you can. But more importantly, you need to be able to defend those kids. Don’t worry about disappointing me. I know you won’t disappoint them."

Birkoff nodded slowly, glancing down at the boy who claimed him as father. "Sasha, come with me," he said, reaching out to hold his hand. Sasha looked puzzled at Birkoff’s gesture.

"Take my hand."

"Why?" Sasha looked suspicious.

"I want to hold your hand."

"Why?"

Birkoff groaned. "Oh, for God’s sake." With that, he leaned down and picked up the small boy, holding him in his arms. He could tell by Sasha’s rigidity that this was something new for him.

Birkoff wrapped his arms around the boy, pushing his head against his shoulder. "I’m not going to hurt you, Sasha."

Like a wary animal that had been beaten too many times to count, Sasha gradually accepted Birkoff’s embrace for what it was. Comfort. His head sank down onto Birkoff’s shoulder, his tight grip around Birkoff’s neck slowly relenting. He would never tell his father, but Birkoff felt good to him. Sasha had never felt like he belonged to anybody. But this was not a bad feeling.

"Where’s Connor?"

"With Nikita. I’ll go with you. I want her to go to the car with you."

"I’ll tell her, Michael."

Michael almost smiled. "No offense, Birkoff, but I don’t think she’d listen to you. She barely listens to me."

***

But Nikita refused to go. "I’m not moving, Michael. You’ll just have to think of something else."

Michael pulled out his gun, checked the clip and generally made a big show of demonstrating the gun was loaded. Nikita smiled sweetly. "And you’re not shooting me in the leg, Michael. You’re getting so predictable."

"Ki-ta..."

"Michael, no..."

Their eyes met and clashed in a fierce shower of sparks. Michael pushed Connor gently towards Birkoff. "Go with your uncle, Connor."

Birkoff held out his remaining hand to Connor, but Connor immediately grasped the significance of the outstretched hand and took it. After they left, Michael leaned on Nikita, staring intently into her eyes. She didn’t dare look away for fear she would miss something, and Michael didn’t disappoint her.

He nuzzled her cheek with his nose, his lips seeking, searching for her ear. "Kita, Kita, why do you defy me like that?"

"It’s not defiance, Michael. I want to protect you. The same way you want to protect me," she said huskily.

"Do you know how much it bothers me that you’re here?" he asked, his voice almost breaking.

"Michael--"

He kissed her, so lightly she might have imagined it, then buried his face in her hair. "You have no right to put yourself in such danger anymore... I can’t stand the thought of losing you." His anguished whisper carried more weight than a shout.

"Oh, my love..." Her throat ached with the force of unspent tears.

"Please go..." he begged.

"I can’t... I need to be where you are."

He closed his eyes slowly. "Oh, doucette, you’re always with me, no matter where I am."

***

Declan showed up precisely on time, Davenport and Cassidy guarding his flanks. When he saw Michael holding Nikita, he almost stopped where he was, the lump in his throat from missing Birkoff so great, he had trouble breathing. "Michael," Declan called out.

The couple moved apart, Michael wiping surreptitiously at his eyes, Nikita’s own eyes red-rimmed from crying. "Time to go?"

Declan nodded. "Aye."

"Let’s do it."

Operations waited impatiently for Michael’s arrival, never guessing that the man he sought was already inside Section One. As for George, it never entered his mind that anyone would dare defy one of his orders, much less consider insurrection seriously.

Michael went first. He was the one Operations expected to see. He was the one who had to be on point. Declan watched his back, taking second position, while Nikita took her usual spot in third position. He asked Davenport and Cassidy to stay back, out of sight, believing they would be far more useful not as back-up, but as an element of surprise.

With Aspacia’s help, the computer monitors all over Section One had been rigged with a taped feed. Both Operations and George thought that business went on as usual, never dreaming that their worst nightmares were about to come true.

Appearing at the end of the Observation Deck, Michael stood in the doorway, watching Operations and George. Preoccupied with each other, neither man took notice of Michael’s stealthy presence. George had no tolerance for Operations anymore. And it showed.

"I do not have to listen to you, Paul. I listened to you once. Six or seven years ago. And we lost both Michael and Nikita. Need I remind you that you no longer have any status within the organization?"

"Oh, I’ll get my former status reinstated, George. You don’t know what I’ve been up to. But tell me...you don’t seem too surprised to learn that I’m not dead. Why?"

"I’ve always been several steps ahead of you, Paul. But frankly, whether you were dead or not never mattered to me. You’re a fool if you think anyone at the Agency will care."

"Oh, they’ll care." Operations’ sardonic grin widened. He couldn’t resist the urge to gloat over George. He hated the man. He had always hated him. And now he didn’t have to care what George thought, as long as Operations could reach Oversight.

Operations flipped a switch on one of the monitors, trying to access the White Room surveillance. But Aspacia’s taped feed was on every channel. He flicked channels restlessly at first, then more and more anxiously. "What is this?"

George regarded his adversary, a silky half-smile in place, his voice condescending. "Are you looking for something, Paul?"

Michael had heard enough. He moved through the doorway, confronting the two men. "I’m here."

Operations whirled around, astonished that Michael managed to slip past Section One’s defenses without him knowing. He recovered quickly, however, realizing that the moment he had been seeking was at hand.

"So you are, Michael. Good. Then I don’t need to use my trump card."

Michael aimed his gun at Operations. "You don’t have a trump card."

"Sure I do. Your son--"

"--is at home, sleeping."

"Michael, don’t be stupid. He’s right here in the White Room." Operations wanted to feel completely confident, but the problem with the surveillance flashed through his mind, and suddenly he knew. There was no problem with the surveillance. The boy was gone. And Michael had help. On the inside.

Michael moved further into the room, beckoning Declan with a subtle hand gesture. Operations laughed malevolently. "This is better than what I planned. With both of you trapped here in Section, I can write my own ticket to Oversight and beyond."

"There is nothing beyond Oversight for you, Paul," said George, following the exchange between Michael and Operations with interest.

Nikita stepped inside the deck, her gun drawn. Operations fairly chortled with glee at having captured both Michael and Nikita. His life was turning around. Soon he would have all the power he required. "Oh, I think there is, George. I have both Michael and Nikita. Not to mention this fine operative over here," he added, indicating Declan.

"Very dangerous, this one. I thought I rid the world of you long ago."

Declan stared at Operations blankly, refusing to let his hatred of the man resurface and play havoc with his control.

Operations looked from Michael to Nikita to Declan. "So, what did you have in mind? You might as well put the guns down. You’ll never get out of here alive. George, call in the alarm. You’ve got plenty of back-up out there."

Davenport entered the deck from the other side, Cassidy flanking him, their guns drawn. "I don’t think so."

George stared at the one Level 5 operative whose loyalty was never in question. "You!"

"Yeah, me."

George scowled. "I misjudged you, Davenport. I didn’t realize the girl meant that much to you."

"You always reduce things to their least significant parts. You really need to work on that."

"Are you saying there are others behind you? That there is insurrection in the ranks?"

Cassidy drew a narrow bead on George, her lovely face contorted in anger she could ill disguise. "Oh, hell, Dav, just let me shoot him and be done with it."

George contemplated the slender female operative before him. "You can’t do that!"

"And why not? You bloody well deserve it!"

Declan blinked. Cassidy’s accent was distinctly Irish. Her hair was reddish brown, more brown than red really, but her eyes... Declan’s eyes grew huge. Her eyes were a beautiful soft shade of silver-grey, like his own. There were so few people in the world with those eyes. He wondered...

But Declan never got a chance to wonder further. Operations snarled at Michael, drawing his own gun. "It doesn’t matter if you have your son back, Michael! I know where you live! I can pick off your children, one by one! You’ll never be able to hide from me again! You might not care if you die, but I imagine she does!" he shouted, waving the gun in Nikita’s direction.

Nikita aimed carefully, never taking her eyes off Operations’ face. "Michael? Just tell me when I can blow away this monster."

George looked at Operations with real menace in his time-ravaged face. "You’ve become a real liability, Paul. As I always say, it’s best to do these things personally." He pulled out his own gun. "I’m afraid I’m not a very good shot anymore, but at pointblank range, even I can’t miss."

Nikita watched the two men turn on one another. Perhaps they should have shot them dead the moment they saw them. Perhaps not. But in the end, it didn’t matter.

Operations was furious. If there was one thing he cared about, it was not a person or a place. It was an entity. Section One. "You’re destroying Section, George! I can’t let you do that!"

"Who are you, Paul, but just another failed bureaucrat with an agenda? You should have stayed dead! No one wants you here!"

Michael took a half-step back, his gun still drawn. Nikita did the same, as did Declan. Davenport withdrew, Cassidy at his side. Operations and George were arguing ferociously, and with both their weapons already drawn, sooner or later one of them would act on that fury.

"You don’t have what it takes to do my job, Paul! Working in Oversight requires finesse! You don’t have any!"

"You’re a deeply troubled man, George! You’re acting out your own fantasies here in One!"

"There’s one fantasy I would love to act out, Paul! Your death scene!"

"You don’t have the balls! You wouldn’t dare!"

Shots were fired. More or less at the same time. When the smoke cleared, neither of them was standing. George lay in a pool of blood, a precise shot to the head the cause of death. As for Operations, he gasped his last life’s breath a full minute later, thanks to George’s poor aim.

Michael closed his eyes briefly. It was over. There would be a new Operations soon. Someone who didn’t know Michael or Nikita. Section could no longer hold their lives for ransom. It was time for the family to take back what was rightfully theirs. The lives they created out of love.

Nikita ran to Michael, burying her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, his hand still clenched tightly on his gun. They’d made it. Now it was time to go.

Everyone stared at the two bodies in shock. It was the end of an era. Two eras. One the reign of a despot. One the reign of a madman. Michael held onto Nikita as they edged their way out of the deck. Now the alarm could be called. For the two who lay dead. Victims of their own arrogance. Those who dared to play God earned His wrath.

"Let’s go," Michael said softly to the others, now feeling a strong compulsion to go home.

"Birkoff’s virus will destroy all our records. It will be...as if we never existed. Can you live with that?" Michael asked Davenport.

Davenport put his arm around Cassidy. "Hell, yeah."

They walked in silence down to Van Access. Before Michael pushed the button to open the doors that would let them out, Nikita stopped, gazing around her in wonder. "I can’t believe we’ll never see this place again, Michael."

"Believe it, doucette." He kissed her cheek, his lips warm and moist. "I want to take you home," he whispered.

Nikita smiled. "There’s no place I would rather be."

As they approached the back of Michael’s Jeep, Birkoff’s head suddenly popped up in the rear window. So did his gun. Michael reached into the car and disarmed Birkoff without even breaking stride.

"Don’t point that thing unless you mean to use it," Michael said calmly.

Birkoff flushed. "Jesus, you guys scared the hell out of me. I could’ve blown you away. Next time you should yell or something."

Michael waited patiently until Birkoff finished speaking before saying, "There won’t be a next time." Pause. Michael checked to see what Connor and Sasha were doing, and he was relieved to see that both boys were fast asleep in the back seat. "Operations and George are dead."

Birkoff literally gasped. "Who’s running Section?"

Declan stepped out from behind Michael. "Who cares? No one we’ll have to worry about."

Nikita leaned on her husband, apparently unable to resist touching him at every possible opportunity. "Birkoff, why don’t you ride with Declan?"

Birkoff jumped up, exclaiming, "Sure!" He realized that his enthusiasm might be construed as meaning that he didn’t care for Michael’s company, so he was quick to ask, "Are you sure you don’t mind going back in the Jeep?"

Nikita gazed at her husband lovingly. "I want to sit next to Michael." That was what she said, but her tone was clearly, "I’m not letting Michael out of my sight for the next hundred years or so."

Michael was intuitive enough to read between the lines. He smiled, pulling her more tightly against him.

Davenport and Cassidy piled into the backseat, careful not to disturb the sleeping children. It was tight. But that didn’t bother them. It was the first time in years that either of them had been outside Section without being on a mission. Davenport put his arm around Cassidy, inviting her to nestle against his broad chest, but she colored, obviously uncomfortable betraying their closeness in front of near-strangers. And near-strangers of legendary status at that.

Sensing her discomfort, Davenport leaned closer to Cassidy and whispered, "It’s okay, darlin’. They know about us, remember?"

His fingers found her cheek, stroking it softly. "It was our passage out, sweetheart."

He smiled gently before he kissed her. "You’re a very important person, didn’t you know that?"

Cassidy, for all her brashness and quick intellect, was overcome by an uncharacteristic wave of shyness. Hiding her face against Davenport’s shoulder, she prayed that Michael and Nikita would not notice her discomfiture.

She need not have worried. Michael and Nikita were lost in their own world. A world that, at that moment, consisted only of the two of them. Michael settled into the driver’s seat, almost wishing he didn’t have to drive. He wanted to hold Nikita in his arms. Hold her until the sun came up on a new day.

As if she were reading his mind, Nikita brushed Michael’s lips with her fingers, looking intently into those changeable grey-green eyes she loved. Glancing quickly at the backseat, she saw that Cassidy had fallen asleep with her head on Davenport’s shoulder. She smiled. Another couple who met in Hell and fought their way to Paradise. The two little boys slept on, snuggled against one another like puppies.

Nikita lay down on the front seat, putting her head in Michael’s lap, her cheek against his thigh. She felt his hand in her hair, playing restlessly with the pale blonde strands. As they drove away from the place they had come to know as simply another word for prison...Nikita slowly fell asleep, Michael’s fingertips stroking her face.

Birkoff waited impatiently for Declan to finish putting on his helmet before he donned his. Declan started the motorcycle with a roar. Birkoff climbed onto the bike behind him, wrapping his arms around Declan’s waist. Pressing his face against Declan’s leather jacket, he inhaled his scent. "God, I love you."

Declan smiled enigmatically as he felt his lover’s familiar touch. Kicking the bike into gear, he followed Michael’s Jeep to the highway.

Aspacia would be raising the general alarm right about now. But no matter.

They were going home.

The more distance they were able to put between themselves and Section One, the more intensely they felt their newfound freedom. The sun had been up for a good hour now, and the kids were beginning to stir in the backseat of the Jeep, their appetites apparently awakened with the new day.

Connor rubbed his eyes sleepily and leaned as far forward as his car seat would allow. Reaching for the back of the front seat, he called, "Uncle Michael?"

Michael didn’t take his eyes off the road, but instead glanced in the rearview mirror at Connor. "Are you hungry, Connor?"

"Yes. Are we gonna be home soon?"

"Soon enough." He examined Connor’s image in the mirror again. "Do you want to wait till we get home? Maybe we could stop somewhere..."

Michael had absolutely no idea why he was offering to spend additional time on the road when all he really wanted to do was go home and make love to his wife. But he suspected he felt vaguely guilty about what happened to Connor, even if Connor himself didn’t seem to comprehend the seriousness of the situation at the time.

Connor brightened. "Can we go to McDonald’s?"

Michael smiled. "Of course."

Sasha looked mildly surprised to find himself where he was. It was as if he had never been in a car before. Suddenly Michael thought, maybe he hadn’t. There were going to be a lot of first times for Sasha. Born and raised in Section One, Sasha never had a chance to encounter anything remotely typical of real life. Well, his first glance of McDonald’s would be interesting.

"What’s McDonald’s?" Sasha asked Connor.

"You’ll see," replied Connor with a knowing smile.

Later, Michael might wonder if he would regret the detour with a relative unknown like Sasha aboard. But the idea of eating their first meal amongst "real" people without the threat of Section One looming over them any longer was simply irresistible.

"Wait till you meet the others," said Connor.

"What others?" Sasha asked, a puzzled frown on his presently innocent face.

"There’s other kids at home," Connor explained.

"Like me?" Sasha inquired hopefully.

"Well, like me," Connor answered, obviously a budding diplomat already.

"Who are they?"

Connor counted off the other kids in the family, not wanting to leave out anyone. "There’s Faith, we call her Fee, but her real name is Faith..."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you call her Fee if her name is Faith?"

Connor cocked his head quizzically at the older boy. "Well, why do we call you Sasha when your name is Alexander?"

Sasha nodded as if that indeed made sense to him. "Does she have a mom and dad?" It shouldn’t have surprised Michael that Sasha seemed preoccupied with mommies and daddies. It was actually quite logical, given the circumstances of his birth and subsequent childhood.

"Uncle Michael is Faith’s daddy," Connor said helpfully, pointing at Michael. "And Aunt Nikita is her mommy." Nikita sat up, her blue eyes still blurred from sleep, and smiled at Sasha.

"She has a brother. His name is Chris."

Sasha digested this carefully. "Who else?"

"There’s me..."

"You’re Connor, right?"

Connor nodded. "My mom is named Madeline. My daddy is Neil. He’s a doctor. He fixes people’s insides."

"And then there’s Skye. She’s only three. She’s Fee’s baby sister."

"That’s all?"

"Oh, no, the last one is Emmy. She’s a little older than Skye." Suddenly Connor looked quite excited. "Hey, Sasha, Emmy’s your sister!"

Sasha blinked in disbelief. "I have a sister?"

"Well, sorta." Connor thought hard for a moment. "Emmy’s ‘dopted. Uncle Dec is her da, and Uncle Sey is her daddy."

"What’s ‘dopted mean?"

Connor looked at Nikita for help. Nikita nodded encouragingly, and Connor continued.

"Well...Uncle Dec isn’t her real father. Her real father was Uncle Dec’s brother. But he died. So Uncle Dec ‘dopted her."

"She doesn’t have a mommy?"

"No," Connor shook his head sadly. "Her mommy’s dead, too." He broke into a big grin as he remembered something. "But she’s got an extra daddy!"

"Uncle Sey?" Sasha asked, trying out the name on his tongue.

Connor nodded. "He’s your real daddy."

Sasha wasn’t sure he liked the sound of having a sister. He had never had anything that belonged exclusively to him before. He thought that his daddy was going to be his now. Sorta. He was kinda getting used to the idea. But he had to share him with a sister? And the other father? Potato Man? His chocolate eyes narrowed. He wasn’t sure he liked Declan. Declan kinda scared him. Maybe Declan didn’t want him to live with them.

Thirty minutes later, Michael pulled off the highway into the parking lot of McDonald’s. Declan was so preoccupied with thoughts of the future, he almost missed the fact that Michael turned off the main road. Moments later, Declan parked the motorcycle next to Michael’s Jeep.

Michael removed the key from the ignition and put it in his jacket pocket. Stretching his arms overhead, he yawned. Adrenaline had been pumping through his veins for several hours now, he was just beginning to feel the inevitable letdown. Nikita moved closer and nuzzled his neck playfully. "Mmm...," she said, running her fingers along the inside of his thigh.

Michael placed his hand over hers, effectively trapping it. "That’s not a good idea."

Michael glanced over her head at two pairs of fascinated young eyes. They couldn’t see what Nikita was doing to Michael, but Michael suspected that Sasha, being the precocious type that he was, undoubtedly knew more than he was letting on. "We’re not alone, doucette."

She rubbed her cheek against the shoulder of his leather jacket. "Promise me we’re going home right after we eat, Michael."

He gave her a smouldering look that barely hinted at what might be in store for her once they were alone. "I swear you do this on purpose, Kita," he whispered, pulling her hand against his growing arousal.

She leaned forward and kissed him, the kiss becoming passionate far too quickly for either of them. There was something to be said for a near-death experience as an aphrodisiac. He slid his tongue into her mouth, unconsciously responding to her touch upon him, before remembering where they were. They broke away breathlessly, and Connor, observing his aunt and uncle from his vantage point, giggled.

"Don’t mind them, Sasha, they’re always hugging and kissing. Mommy tol’ me that people in love do the huggy-kissy thing all the time. Even your daddy does it. With Uncle Dec. Cause they’re in love, too."

Connor sounded so insightful, and at the same time, ingenuous. He didn’t understand how Declan and Birkoff’s relationship was different from a traditional relationship between a man and a woman, only how much it seemed the same to him.

Sasha grimaced. More and more, he was beginning to dislike this Declan. He seemed to have some strange claim on his recently discovered father. If Sasha had grown up in a family, he might have understood that what he was feeling was jealousy. But he didn’t.

Declan removed his helmet, shaking his head so that his long red curls fell all about his face and spilled halfway down his back. Hooking the helmet onto the handlebars of the Harley, he swung himself off the bike in one smooth movement. Leaning on the driver’s side door of the Jeep, Declan rapped impatiently at the window, indicating that Michael should roll it down.

An insouciant grin on his face, Declan regarded Michael and the rest of the family. "McDonald’s...hmm...you’re a cheap date, Michael. I was sure you were the fluted champagne glasses and chocolate-dipped strawberries type," he said, winking at Nikita.

Nikita laughed merrily. "He is. He’s just here cause he loves the atmosphere."

Davenport sputtered as he suddenly came awake with a start. "Wher--? Oh...never mind."

Cassidy purred contentedly within Davenport’s embrace, loath to leave him, even to savor the taste of french fries for the first time in many years.

Declan tapped the door of the Jeep. "Well, I have my own plans, Michael. So try not to miss us too much. We’re about to disappear from your rearview mirror." Declan snapped his sunglasses into place, and his all-too-expressive eyes were hidden from view.

He strode into McDonald’s, Birkoff nipping at his heels, not unlike a small dog, anxious for his master’s attention. Within a few minutes, they had their order. Two big Macs, two large orders of french fries, a Coke and a chocolate shake. In a move that took Birkoff completely by surprise, Declan took the food back to the bike. Placing the food inside one of the bike’s compartments, Declan smiled faintly at Birkoff.

"Never let it be said that I don’t feed you."

Birkoff chuckled. "You’re in such a good mood, Dec, I can’t believe it’s you."

Declan trailed his hand along Birkoff’s jawline, feeling the beginnings of stubble there. "Believe it, Sey." Leaning against Birkoff before he returned to his perch atop the bike, Declan groaned approvingly of the effect Birkoff had upon his body.

Michael opened the Jeep door, amused at the sight of the two former Section ops standing so close together, Declan running his fingers through Birkoff’s now luxuriant long hair. "Ahem," Michael cleared his throat in warning. "We’re taking a little detour to get something to eat."

Declan’s storm-grey eyes, hidden by dark glass, nevertheless peered quite intently into Birkoff’s velvety chocolate eyes. "You take your detours your way, I’ll take ‘em my way."

Birkoff stared back at his lover, completely helpless to move. "Where are we going?"

"Ah, but that would be telling...."

Somehow managing to sound both excited and reluctant at the same time, Birkoff said, "I should probably be with Sasha, you know, getting to know him."

Declan looked at Birkoff, his eyes turning dark silver, his gaze simultaneously hot and tender. "Get to know him later," he said softly.

"But--" Birkoff began to protest, albeit feebly.

Declan stepped closer, ostensibly to whisper in his lover’s ear, his lips grazing the skin there, like the barest of caresses. "This is a kid you never knew existed till a few hours ago, Sey. One more hour here or there couldn’t possibly make a difference."

There were any number of things that still needed to be dealt with and resolved. But all of them could wait. Because the priority right now, the overwhelming priority, was to reaffirm life and love.

"But I feel--"

"Guilty?" Declan clipped off. "No guilt, Sey. Not today." Declan raised his arms to the heavens and stood stock still, as if waiting expectantly for something.

A moment later, Declan turned to Birkoff, his face more animated than he had ever seen before. "God listened, Sey. He set us free! Finally and forever! Doesn’t that make you want to celebrate?"

Birkoff stared incredulously at his lover. This was a Declan he was not completely familiar with. Then he realized that Declan was right. The deaths of their former captors released them all. In a way that nothing else could have done. He bit his lip, feeling a curious bubbling in his chest. Suddenly he knew what it was. It was laughter. Unbridled laughter. Brought on by mere existence.

"We’re really free, Dec." Birkoff was doing better. He was starting to sound as if he almost believed it. Declan didn’t mind how long it took Birkoff to get used to the idea. This was heady stuff, this freedom.

"Aye, love, we are." Declan leaned against Birkoff, and without laying a hand upon him, brought him to an instant state of arousal. Aching to make love to him, Declan drew back, abruptly conscious of the amount of scrutiny ordinary people were subjected to. Well, at least, in a McDonald’s parking lot.

Declan sat down on the seat of the Harley, feeling his own arousal pressing hard against the tight leather he wore. Praying that it wasn’t nearly as obvious as it felt, Declan donned his helmet again. Birkoff settled against his back with a contented sigh, wrapping his arms around Declan.

They didn’t go far. Once they reached the main highway again, they drove for about a half hour before Declan found a place that appealed to him. Birkoff wanted to ask what he was up to, but he had a feeling Declan was enjoying being mysterious in a totally non-Section way, for a change.

All at once Declan pulled the Harley off the road. Parking it as hurriedly as possible, he jumped off the bike, shedding his helmet at the same time. Grabbing the bags of fast food, he beckoned to Birkoff to follow. When Birkoff unexpectedly hesitated, Declan shifted the McDonald’s bag to his other arm and pulled Birkoff to his feet with the other. Grasping his lover by the hand, Declan literally pulled Birkoff behind him, moving faster and faster, until finally, they both tumbled onto the grass.

Declan sat up, laughing happily. Removing his leather jacket, he folded it neatly, placing it on the grass. Birkoff followed suit. Declan handed Birkoff his meal before setting his own food down on the grass. It was clear that this was indeed a rare day. The sun was shining, the air still a bit cool for fall, but Declan didn’t care. He was young and in love, and suddenly he could see their entire future stretching out in front of them, as it was meant to be.

Birkoff reached for a french fry, glancing at Declan from beneath his improbably long dark lashes. Declan slipped his boots off, eventually opting to sit cross-legged as he ate. Birkoff pulled his long hair off his neck, untying the thong that held it in place, sighing pleasurably as it fell loose to his shoulders. As incredibly aware of each other as they were, it would have been madness to pretend otherwise. But they did. For several long moments.

They ate in silence. Then Declan smiled, a sensual smile that made Birkoff catch his breath. "What?" Birkoff asked, almost forgetting to chew. Declan offered Birkoff a piece of his burger, and Birkoff nipped at it gingerly with his sharp white teeth. Chewing absently, Birkoff then fixed his sloe-eyed gaze upon Declan’s mouth.

A tiny trickle of sauce at the corner of his mouth, Declan felt his lover’s eyes on him. His tongue crept out and swept along his lower lip, seeking the sauce. Birkoff was positively mesmerized. "Let me get that for you," he offered helpfully. Putting down his own burger, Birkoff leaned forward on both hands, reaching the corner of Declan’s mouth with his own tongue. He licked the sauce, but long after the sauce was gone, he continued to lap gently at Declan’s mouth.

"Mmm...you taste delicious," Birkoff said, uncharacteristically seductive. Declan raised an eyebrow, then slowly blinked, acknowledging the compliment.

"Do you know how much I want you?" Declan asked, his voice never rising above a whisper.

Birkoff never took his eyes off Declan. Not even to automatically check to see if they were visible from the road. Not even to note that they were secluded well off road, the height of the grass in some spots more than adequate to hide their willing young bodies.

Birkoff smiled. Reaching for Declan’s chest, he felt Declan’s flat nipples, sharp and hard beneath his black T-shirt. "Are you cold or are you just glad to see me?" he asked coyly.

"Baby, you have no idea." With that, Declan claimed Birkoff’s mouth, his tongue swirling restlessly inside until it found its mate. Their food forgotten, Birkoff would have been shocked to learn that he hadn’t finished a meal. For as hungry as he was, Declan gave him something mere food could not. This was sustenance on its most basic level. Declan’s love fed Birkoff’s heart and soul.

Yes, it was cool, even chilly. But their bodies were too overheated to notice. Declan rose to his knees, pulling off Birkoff’s shirt. Folding it neatly next to his jacket, Declan pushed Birkoff back, slowly, bit by bit, until he lay on his back in the grass. His tongue licked a fiery path down Birkoff’s chest to his abdomen. Pulling open the snap on his lover’s jeans, Declan slid his hands inside, warming them on Birkoff’s body.

Birkoff struggled to rise when he first felt Declan’s tongue touch the very heart of him. "Umm..." He sounded conflicted. In fact, he was. Torn between wanting to make love to Declan and wanting Declan to make love to him. Declan sensed his inner agitation and quieted Birkoff with one touch of his hand. And a few special words.

"You belong to me, Kieran," said Declan, invoking the secret Gaelic name he had bestowed upon his lover. He paused in his task of making love, reaching for Birkoff’s left hand. Rubbing his fingers restlessly over the silver Claddagh ring that bound them together as one, Declan looked at Birkoff’s hand, then his face, which was wreathed in a beatific smile.

"This," he said, touching the ring again, this time with his lips, "means you belong to me. You’ll never belong to anyone else, Kieran."

Declan loomed over Birkoff suddenly, unable to resist kissing him. Birkoff grabbed several curling strands of Declan’s long red hair, tangling his fingers with the unruly tendrils, holding Declan fast. They kissed softly, tenderly, then more urgently, their need for each other building until it could no longer be denied.

Birkoff groaned as Declan resumed his careful ministrations to his lower body. "Mmm...Declan?"

Declan could feel his lover’s heat, rising off his body like a tangible entity. "Aye, love?"

"I love you. Sometimes..." he gasped for breath, "I think I’ve always loved you. Even when we were just...you know...dancing around the idea..."

Declan froze for a second, hope warring with his usual, clear-headed perspective.

"I was too scared to admit what I know now, Declan. In my heart of hearts, in my deepest, most secret place, I know I did love you," he whispered, tears edging his voice. "From the moment we met."

"Oh, y chree," Declan breathed, rubbing his cheek against his lover’s most tender skin.

"We were meant for each other...weren’t we? I was never one for believing in Fate, but...I just know we were meant to be together this way."

Birkoff sounded quite breathless by the time he finished, more from emotion than from any passionate exchange between him and Declan. This time, when Declan’s mouth returned to his ardent flesh, he let go of all thought and succumbed to the feeling. With no one and nothing to distract or interrupt them, the two young lovers pleasured one another, their fervent cries reaching to the heavens.

When they were sated, Declan held his partner in his arms, his fingers threading through Birkoff’s long brown hair. "I love you, acushla. And I’ll love you till the day I die," Declan declared. "Which now...is going to be a helluva lot longer than I thought yesterday," he added wryly.

"Thank God," said Birkoff, nuzzling the base of Declan’s neck.

"I already did."