Love and Sacrifice

"Yes, it's been hard. Especially the decision to leave Paris. It seems unfair taking them away from their friends and home, such as it was. But I think this is for the best" she replied, the cheery note in her voice too obviously artificial With a sigh she looked out the window.

"It's just around the corner from here, then you'll be able to tuck them into a proper bed. She's gone to a lot of trouble to set things up, though she won't admit it to you. It's kept her busy for the last month, since she found out. It was just like the old days, with Adrian barking orders at the painters, the delivery men … and me" he chuckled. "I had to bite my tongue a couple of times not to offer you fathers standard reply of 'yes dear'."

They drove in silence for a while before George turned the car into the driveway of large, sprawling house. The ground floor was surrounded by a wide verandah, dripping with wisteria and jasmine. The garden was myriad of flowers nestled between large, graceful trees.

Madeline sat for a moment, watching as the front door opened and a figure emerged to stand on the verandah. She felt her stomach churn in trepidation at the familiar stance, perhaps a little older and more fragile, but unmistakable nonetheless.

"Darling" she whispered, slipping into French, "wake-up, we're here." She laid a soft kiss against his cheek as eyelids fluttered and slowly opened. "Come on, wake-up, you only have to make it inside then you can sleep as long as want."

"These are my sons" she said softly, "Michel and Adam." Placing a hand on Michel's back she urged him forward. Adam slept soundly against his shoulder, resting on his hip. She brushed a finger down his cheek. "Michel, this is your grand-maman."

Madeline sat at the table nestled into a corner of the huge kitchen. Around her, floor to ceiling glass windows held the promise of a magnificent vista of the garden. Adrian had always been proud of her garden, she had made it her sanctuary, her place to escape, to forget. Perhaps it was where Adrian had spent time trying to forget her, and her family.

With a sigh she stared absently at the darkness beyond the window, hands nursing the steaming cup of coffee sitting on the table before her. The ceramic of the cup warmed her hands in the cool, utter quiet of the house.

She had watched as the words hovered in the air between them, seeming to make him fold in on himself as protection against the sting of their delivery. She had seen him do it when his father had been in one of his moods, this was the first time she had ever seen him do it with her. With a deep sigh she smoothed the hair off his face, watching the slight tremble of emotion in his lower lip. She gathered him against her, he didn't resist, but nor did he participate in the embrace.

"I know you're unhappy about the move, Michel, but it's done now. So let's just make the most of it." She kissed him softly on the forehead. "Please try to understand why I made this decision. Adam and I need you."

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Thank you" she whispered. She put her hands on his shoulders and moved him towards the bed. "Now, into bed, you're exhausted and it's very late" she said in a brighter tone, pulling the covers back and waiting for him to lie down. "Adam's in the room next door, I'm just down the hall." As she pulled the covers up around him, she sat on the edge of the bed.

What have I done? The thought bounced painfully in her head as she gazed into the darkness. She'd done what she thought was best for all of them. Get away from that place that held so many unhappy memories. An indifferent husband and father, an unhappy marriage, a son she could barely communicate with, another who craved nothing more complicated than love and attention. And as for her … She sighed, rubbing a hand wearily over her face.

How was she going to make this work? With a sigh she reached up and flicked off the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. She felt the first sob bubble up in her throat as tears started streaming down her cheeks. Before she knew it, the emotions she had been holding so carefully in check for the last few days, weeks, months, years came spilling out. She laid down on the bench seat by the window, giving in totally to her misery and doubts. Crying herself into an exhausted sleep.

Madeline woke with a start, momentarily disorientated, before placing the unfamiliar shapes in the muted light. With a groan she eased herself up off the bench, stretching her cramped limbs as she stood. She rubbed at her face, feeling the puffiness of her eyes from her crying. But feeling somewhat better for having unleashed all that emotion.

Her mother had moved into the guest bedroom on the ground floor so they could all be together in the upstairs bedrooms. The generosity and understanding behind this simple gesture had nearly brought tears to her eyes, again. Her mother, of course, had waved off her gratitude. Asserting that climbing up and down the stairs all the time was putting too much strain of her bad hip, and besides the children would be too noisy. George had grinned and nodded at that comment, earning him a stern rebuff.

Whatever interpretation you put on it, it was clear that Adrian was not seeing this as a fleeting visit, a few days accommodation until she could find them a house of their own. As George had mentioned, it was obvious she had redecorated the boys rooms in anticipation of their arrival. The smell of fresh paint still lingered, faintly, in the air. The furniture too appeared new. Reflecting the needs of a teenager and young child rather than those of a retired couple, such as a large, colourful toybox and painting easel for Adam, a magnificent wooden desk and bookshelves for Michel. There was even a beautifully crafted timber chair sitting by the large window in his room, a music stand to its side. She had no idea how Adrian had found out that Michel played the cello. It made her wonder how much else she might know.

She pushed open the door to Adams room, a moment of panic at seeing the empty bed before she moved down the hallway to Michel's room. Opening the door she looked in on what had become a familiar scene over the last few months. Michel was lying on his side, balanced on the edge of the bed, fast asleep. Beside him Adam lay sprawled, his small body taking up most of the space in the generously proportioned single bed. He also laid claim to most of the sheet and comforter, she observed with a grin.

It had begun within days of her and Charles talking to them about their intention to divorce, amidst the turmoil of arguments and recrimination. After years of showing them barely any attention, other than insisting his family follow him around Europe to wherever his latest posting was, Charles had suddenly decided he wanted the boys to go with him following the divorce. It had been unpleasant, to say the least.

That Adam could seek such comfort from his brother made her ambivalent. Happy that Michel was willing to provide it. She often heard Michel playing his cello at Adams bedtime. To help him drift off to sleep and, no doubt, to cover the sounds of she and Charles fighting. But it also made her sad that events of the last few months had robbed her of the opportunity to give Adam the attention and comfort he so obviously had needed.

She crouched down by the bed, feeling the tears well up in her eyes again. Enough she thought, pull yourself together. She leaned across and reassembled Adams limbs so he took up less room. With a gentle push she moved Michel into the space, he mumbled and rolled onto his stomach, head retreating into the soft pillow. After laying a soft kiss on each beloved head, she pulled the covers over them. Smiling in the knowledge that, within an hour, Adam would have Michel perched back on the edge of the bed.

On the rare occasions when he had come to seek solace from her during the night, he would move around her queen size bed like a propeller. Taking up as much space as he could find. She found it impossible to sleep with his constant activity, content to just lay there and watch him in his spellbinding, child slumber.

After one such night, feeling exhausted and bleary eyed as she prepared for work, she had asked Michel how he coped. He had just shrugged in that placid, resigned manner of his and replied that it was Adam's way. As was the way of things between them, she had imagined a note of reprove in his voice. Some sort of message there that he could accept this strange nocturnal behaviour in Adam, and so why couldn't she. If she really wanted to be hard on herself, she could imagine that the message was one of blame, that this behaviour in Adam was her fault, so she should just accept it.

Don't go there, she told herself. It was time to put things behind them, start anew. She would make this work, feeling the surge of the ruthless determination that had helped keep them together over the years. Prepared to do whatever was needed to protect and renew these two precious beings, the focus of her life and love from the first instant she held them in her arms.

"Dad … phone" Nikita screamed at the top of her lungs for the third time. With an impatient shrug she took her hand off the mouthpiece and held the reciever to her ear again. "Nope Birkoff, I can't find him" she said.

"Why can't you go and look, like any normal person would, instead of standing there screeching in my ear. God damn you do it every time" his voice echoed back at her. She could imagine the big grin on his face.

"I think your screeching was torture enough, but thanks for the offer princess" her father replied, trying, but not succeeding, to look stern. The look of amusement in his blue eyes quickly spread into a smile.

"Don't call him that" her father replied, serious this time, "he doesn't like it, and neither do I." He put the phone to his ear and then added, "see Jerkoff, I mean Birkoff, I do tell her, she just doesn't listen."

Nikita dived into one of the lounge chairs, swinging her legs over the armrest as she watched her father talk quietly to Birkoff. They'd been here now for going on six years, it was the longest stretch she'd ever had in one place. Moving from one navy base to the other had seemed OK while her mother had been alive, but after she died they sort of lost the spirit for all that change. They'd coped as best they could, clinging to each other to get through each day.

She never stopped missing her mother, but in a way, the time since her death had brought other things she would never had thought possible. Like getting to know her father. She had always thought him too authoritarian, everything had to be done just so, following his rules. He seemed disinterested in the humdrum of her life. But the pain that followed her mothers death had forced her to depend on her father to fill the emotional vacuum left behind. That he had filled that vacuum with such ease and unquestioning love had been a revelation, forcing her to reasses the relationship he must have shared, in private, with her mother. Full of love and warmth and quiet humour. She had missed so much, or maybe she was just too wrapped up in herself to see the obvious. What-ifs, they drove her crazy.

"Yes Sir" she laughed, giving him a quick hug and running to the door. Yup, things were pretty darn good, she thought. All she needed to do now was get him to start going out again, with someone other than her or his navy buddies. Easier said than done, as her recent efforts had proved.

"If you two are done" Carla interupted before Mick could get another word in. "We have five days left of the holidays and I intend to make the most of it. Enough of the pathetic dribble, Mick, and Niki, I don't know why you always take his bait."

"Mmmm love" he murmured. "Now if only we could get our Niki here interested in the concept, instead of spending all her time chasing bugs and bouncing balls. Not that there's anything wrong with that Niki baby, I love watching you bounce balls, as long as their not mine. The tomboy image can be very alluring."

Mick groaned as two elbows dug into his ribs from either side. "Ouch … OK, OK, I'm only stating the obvious, you know. Speaking of which. David Fanning and his neanderthal clan of followers were heading up to the lake today" he announced.

She sighed as she waded in, the water cold and refreshing against her warm skin. With a small jump she dived underwater, surfacing and stretching out into long, slow strokes. She swam until she was a couple of hundred metres from the shore, then slowed, turning over to float lazily on her back.

She loved it here. Her Uncle Walters' cabin was on the far shore of the lake, nestled in the woods with a dazzling view of the water and mountains, and the ocean in the distance. It was like a little oasis she could escape to, sometimes her father would come along, sometimes she went out there by herself. She never grew tired of his company, or her fathers.

Her mind drifted to the conversation they'd on the way here. Love, huh! Big woop. Having some animal drool in your ear, meaty fists groping in your bra, saying ohh and ahh baby as they rub their sweaty crotch against you. Gross. It wasn't as if she hadn't tried it before, just to see what all the fuss was about. Only problem she kept encountering was that she didn't like it, and so she never let it go *that* far. Having a tongue thrust down your throat while being poked and prodded by hands and a heat seeking sausage was hardly her idea of a life defining moment.

She wanted more than just sex. And she didn't want sex until she understood what that something more was. Maybe it was as simple as someone whose face would light up when she walked into the room. Or someone who would listen happily when she babbled on about some strange bug she'd found while planting something in the garden. Or someone who would hold her hand and whisper that everything would be OK when she felt bad. Someone special, who thought she was too. It's not like she was a total loser, so why did she keep attracting total losers? It was depressing to think she was a bum magnet.

"Well, it's been real, as usual, but I have to get home and clean out my sock drawer. See ya." She turned and stretched out, starting a stroke towards the shore. Before she had managed a second stroke she felt his fingers grab her ankle. She kicked back violently, feeling his grip loosen then drop.

"I'll speak slowly, Fanning, since you seem to be suffering from an excess of dense, it's a wonder you even float" she moved in closer to him, treading water. "I don't like you and I don't want you near me. Grow up and face the facts. Oh, and Fanning, just in case you're still clueless, a hard-on does NOT count as personal growth."

She turned suddenly and started sprinting for the shore, feeling her anger slowly ebb as she focussed on each fluid stroke. By the time she reached the shallows she felt back in control, wading in slowly, getting her breath back. She glanced across, satisfied to see that she had beaten him in. Her gaze picked up the petulant glare of Lisa, Fannings girlfriend, as she watched her progress into the shore. Nikita looked away, dipping her head back to get the hair out of her face, as she left the water and picked up her towel.

"On est allé dans la forêt and we saw a bunny rabbit et il y avait un lac and we swam with no clothes on at all and Michel a attrapé un poisson et we met this old man and he had a snake skin and said Michel was a girls name and ..."

"Slow down Adam, slow down, what language are you speaking" Madeline laughed as she extracted him from her leg and lifted him into her arms. "You had a nice time, then?" she smiled, kissing his grubby face and plucking a leaf from his hair. "Where is your brother?"

"Oui" Michel shrugged in acknowledgement, the smile disappearing from his face for an instant. He stepped out of his boots and socks and left them outside, wiping his hands on his jeans as he closed the door behind him.

"Adam" he called, "come and wash your hands." Adam grumbled and then let out a satisfied giggle as he poked his head through Michel's legs where he stood at the sink. Michel picked him up with one arm and held his hands under the water. "Wash them properly" he urged, rubbing his free hand over Adams grubby fingers. He put Adam back on the floor and Madeline dried his hands. She waited with the towel until Michel had finished and started drying his hands.

"Yes, yes, yes" Adam announced eagerly as he ran to the kitchen table and climbed on the chair next to Adrian. He picked up the knife and fork, using them to trace the outline of the place mat in front of him.

"Merci maman, Adam's stomach and mouth have been grumbling for food all the way home" he responded, gently squeezing her hand. "I am glad you are enjoying your new position. You deserve this, maman" he added quietly.

Madeline put the last dish on the table then sat with a contented sigh. As Michel poured the wine, she and Adrian served Adam and then themselves. Finally Michel filled his plate and they all started eating.

There was an awkward silence at the table. Michel stared at her resentfully, before standing and clearing some plates from the table. Adam watched him and then turned teary eyed towards Madeline, too tired to remain unemotional after angry words from his mother. Madeline sighed and reached across to him, pulling him into her lap.

Adrian's eyes passed over each of them as she took a final sip of wine from her glass. "It's alright Michel, don't be sorry for doing what comes so naturally. You should be free to speak your native language in your own home, and maybe it's time I brushed up on my high school French. How about this for a plan? Every second dinner we shall eat and speak French. You'll all have to help me, of course, but it might be fun - teaching an old dog like me new tricks. What do you think Michel?"

"Venez sur Adam, sortez maintenant" she directed, slipping easily into French now that it seemed Adrian would be comfortable about it. He was sitting on the floor of the shower, playing with the soap and a face washer.

"I am a wriggly worm, see how I can squirm, watch me dig my burrow…" Adam started to sing as he wriggled out of Michels hands and laid down on the floor of the shower again, bending his body backward and forwards.

"If you would just stand still little one" Michel whispered. "There, done" he finally announced, turning off the water and sliding open the shower door. He pushed Adam out into the towel Madeline had ready. She reached over and handed him another. Michel shook his head and grinned, securing the towel around his hips shaking the water from his hair.

"For such a little boy, you are a lot of trouble" Madeline smiled at Adam, punching each word out in a gruff voice as she wrapped the towel around him and started rubbing him dry. "You're lucky you have such a patient brother who will wash your hair while you pretend to be a worm."

Michel detached him by grabbing his arms and lifting him up till he was at eye level. Letting Adam kiss his cheek, he then deftly flipped him up and over in a mid air somersault, catching him by the legs and lowering him to the ground as Adam squealed with fear and delight.

"No, no-one other than Walter. He invited me to drop by anytime I wanted to 'chew the fat with an old codger'" Michel said the last phrase slowly in English. "I don't know what this means, was he asking me back for a meal, or perhaps … ?" he asked with a troubled frown on his face.

"Ahh… I thought …" he shook his head, "… doesn't matter." He reached for another towel to dry off his hair as he sat down next to her. "I was hoping I would have enough English to understand everyone here. It seems I was wrong."

"Your English is good, don't be so hard on yourself. Perhaps next time you could swallow your pride and just ask. You might find that's easier that misconstruing the conversation, or not following it because you don't understand a word or a phrase. Give people a chance, Michel."

Madeline grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down. "At some stage we have to Michel. Whatever is going on in your head about all that has happened, you have to let it out. I see what it's doing to you and it's breaking my heart" she whispered softly.

Madeline watched as he let out a deep breath. "It has been a long day, Adam has fallen asleep" he noted quietly, bending down to pull the towel around his brother where he was curled up on the bathmat on floor.

How could he forget? The image of the sun reflecting off blonde hair as the girl had stroked effortlessly. Alone, at least for a short while, on the glistening, still surface of the lake. No, I won't forget, he thought.

"Let's see" Paul replied, folding his paper and picking up his coffee. "He would be very handsome, though unassuming, intelligent and committed to his schoolwork, of course, sensible and wise beyond his years, goes without saying, a good driver, though he'd probably prefer to walk most places, excruciatingly polite to and slightly afraid of me, you'd like him but he would always fall short when you compared him to your father, and …. hhmmmm, let's see. Oh yes, and not the least bit interested in sex."

Paul smiled, gazing across as his daughter, pulled, as he always was, into memories of the past. He saw Robbie in her every move, every gesture. At first it had been painful, being reminded every waking moment of what he had lost when she died. But time passes, and he was no stranger to loss. More than thirty years in the navy had taught him how to cope with loss.

But as the saying goes, when the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window. And the chance to really get to know this precious young girl their love had brought into the world was like a fresh breeze energizing his life. Giving it a purpose he thought he might have lost with the death of his adored wife. He wanted only the best for her, and he would make whatever sacrifices were needed to ensure she got it. That included, however difficult, dropping his protective instincts to give her the space to be a normal teenager.

"I don't know" Nikita frowned, looking out into the distance. "I've thought about it a lot lately, its been driving me crazy. But the only answer I can come up with is that none of the boys I know interest me in that way." Nikita turned to face her father, blue eyes meeting blue. "Maybe I want too much" she mused resting her chin on her hands. "Maybe they offer too little."

Madeline looked at her watch, yet again, five minutes to three. She looked up and down the road, impatient, bordering on furious. Where was he? He should have been here ten minutes ago. If there was one thing she hated it was being late. He knew that.

She sighed and headed up the path towards the front doors of the School, mind racing over this mornings staff meeting at work and the irrational image of Michel slumped over the steering wheel of the car, blood pouring from a wound in his head. Every mother's nightmare, she rationalised, he's just late, nothing more, nothing less. Testing her patience, as he loved to do.

Reaching the bottom step she heard the quiet hiss of brakes behind her. Turning she saw Michel climb gracefully off his push bike and rest it against the bike racks. He avoided her gaze as walked up to join her, passing his forearm over his face, wiping at the sheen of sweat that glistened there. Dressed in jeans and a tshirt, her irritation grew. This morning, before she left for work, she had set aside the clothes she wanted him to wear for this meeting. "Fine maman" he had replied absently, curled up in bed with his head buried in a book, she gave him instructions about what to wear and what time to meet her.

"Don't push your luck, Michel" she replied drolly, unable to hold back a smile. Taking his hand where it rested on her wrist she gave it a squeeze. "Now tidy your hair, you look like you just stepped out of the shower."

Madeline sat in one of the comfortable chairs opposite his desk and crossed her legs, resting her bag in her lap. Michel remained standing for a moment, evaluating the layout of the office before taking the seat beside her, as though he were planning his battle strategy.

"Thanks for coming in" Davenport said breezily as he sat behind his desk. "I wanted the opportunity to get to know you and answer any questions you might have about Norfolk High or the subjects Michael will be taking, before school starts next week."

"Thank you for the opportunity, Mr Davenport" Madeline replied. "As you know, we flew in from France only the week before last. I would have like to have arrived earlier to give us more time to settle in before I started work and the boys started school. But …" With a shrug of her shoulders she left the sentenced unfinished.

"I'm sure will. We're meeting with his teacher next week, he starts on Wednesday. He's very gregarious, I'm sure he will fit right in with no problems." Madeline raised her eyebrows slightly as she glanced from Michel then back to Davenport, to make sure he understood the parallel she was trying to draw with her last comment.

As the silence stretched out, Madeline looked across at him, seeing the familiar signs of him disengaging and shutting down from the discussion going on around him. Ohhh… this was going to a long half hour she sighed.

"So Michael, if you read the information I sent you you'll know we have quite a few international students here at Norfolk. Most of them have parents stationed at the NATO Base in Hayfield. As a result, we've developed a comprehensive language program to cater for a range of needs. We can offer you some special courses in English, if you need it, that is."

"Good. I'm pleased to hear that. I hope you'll let me know if you're having any trouble" Davenport said amiably, with something close to an ironic smile on his lips. He glanced at the paper on his desk again. "I see from your enrollment forms that you're also fluent in Spanish, Italian and German, will you wanting to be taking any courses in these."

Davenport gave out a small laugh. "Some international students take electives in their native language as an opportunity to practice their language skills … as well as keep their grade averages, up." He smirked and then continued, "I guess that's not an imperative in your case. The academic records your mother sent us from your last couple of schools are very impressive." Davenport skimed over some details on the page in front of him, fully aware of two intense pairs of eyes watching his every move. He felt like he was under a microscope. "I see you've enrolled in the music program, do you play an instrument?"

"Michel plays the cello" she said briskly. "And, despite all evidence to the contrary, his English is excellent. His father insisted both he and his brother be fluent in English. The curriculum you have here is very comprehensive, Mr Davenport, it's one of the reasons he chose this school. I think Michel will be fine, once he has adjusted to the new environment."

"Of course, I expect there will be a settling in period" he concurred, smiling knowingly at Madeline. He rested his hands on the desk, turning to Michel. "I hope you'll be happy here Michael, I'll do everything I can to ensure that. We operate an open door policy. You're welcome to come and see me anytime to discuss any questions you might have or any problems you might encounter."

"Yes, thank you" Madeline smiled, feeling very much comforted by his words despite Michel's response. She rose from her seat. "I'm sorry but I have to get back to work. Thanks again for this opportunity to meet you and discuss Michel's placement here."

"My pleasure" Mr Davenport replied, standing also. He looked from mother to son, then shuffled again through the papers on his desk. "There's just one more thing" he said, looking up at Michel. "I noticed your mother refers to you as Michel, rather than Michael. What would you prefer?"

"Yeah well, my dream is an office where there's not a piece of paper, or even a pen, to be seen. Just a computer on every desk and people trained to use them." Birkoff sighed and started rearranging the piles on his desk according to urgency.

"Yes. He took over a couple of days ago from Bauer. What a freak that guy turned out to be. My friend Mentz, works Operations Division in HO, said they found all this weird equipment and videos in his home. Guy apparently stared in his own porn movies." Birkoff shook his head, "security at Head Office seems to be a little careless at the moment."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have lasted long as your Adjutant if I didn't have a few angles for getting intel from the common masses." Birkoff suddenly looked up, a cautious expression on his face. "Ummm … I didn't mean to include you in that reference Sir."

"Of course" Paul replied, "though I wouldn't underestimate your abilities in that particular area, Birkoff, and as you correctly point out, you wouldn't have lasted long without those skills." He took off his glasses and rubbed them absently against his shirt. "Get Mowen to initiate a security review of my command" he ordered as he sat in one of the lounge chairs arranged near the bay windows of his office.

"That's a big job" Birkoff replied thoughtfully, suspending his paper shuffling and gazing across at the Admiral. "Perhaps I should read Zalman's report" he continued slowly, "or …. you could save me some time and tell me what's going on, Sir."

"There's nothing in there about the project itself, but he appears to have been given the names of all the right people to talk to if he wants to find out" Paul responded. "I don't need to tell you what the implications of this would be if it got to the NAC before the project was finalised."

"Yes, that was the line I was considering" Paul replied, glancing at his watch. "Arrange a briefing with Mowen for 0800 tomorrow at my home. Apologise for calling him out on a Sunday." He stood and started piling papers into his briefcase. "I have to get going, Nikita's making dinner, Walter's coming in, we're going fishing tomorrow."

Michael sat by the window, plucking scales on the strings of his cello. His eye's glazed in concentration as he stared vacantly out through the window to the leafy green of the backyard. In what had become a depressingly common routine after such a short time, his ears and eyes scraped over the sounds and scenes from the neighbouring houses as his fingers moved mechanically over the strings. The shouts of laughter and the splash of water served only to remind him off his isolation in this strange new world his mother had brought them to.

It wasn't as if this was a new sensation, he had followed his parents to new places many times. He had coped because they were together, his mother the constant in a world of continual change. The focal point that anchored them to each new location. But all that had fallen apart with the death of his sister, Charlotte, four years ago. After that everything changed. He fought back the tears that threatened whenever he thought of that terrible day.

They had stayed mostly in the house in Paris after her death, his father traveled alone. They would move to the apartment in Zurich for a few months when he had a long stint at the office there. But his fathers sharp words and constant criticisms drove them back to Paris each time. The moves became irregular and then finally stopped. His father would come to visit them in Paris, the tension in the house was palpable during these short stays. He often heard them late at night as he lay in bed, his fathers voice raised in anger, his mothers softer but edged with steel. His mind working hard to shut out the words and the pain they caused. Adam would crawl into his bed and the two of them would cling to each other as the storm raged around them. It had been a relief when they finally told he and Adam that it was over. A relief until his mother announced a couple of months later that they were moving.

He sighed, laying the cello down on the floor as he rested his elbows on the window frame. School started on Monday, only one day away. He was dreading it with the same sense of fear he had felt just two weeks ago when he had sat on the floor of his empty room in their home in Paris. Two weeks. It seemed like forever since he had been surrounded with the familiarity of his home, his friends. He wondered what they might be doing, Rene, Elena and Simone.

Simone. There had been tears when he told her he was leaving. Her tears, that had left him despondent and confused. And surprised that she would mourn his departure. He had tried to comfort her, but his clumsy words seemed hopelessly inadequate. Before he knew what was happening their fingers had been fumbling with clothing, his mouth was on her hot skin, fingers were tugging on his shirt. Her mouth finally found his and then frenzied, reckless sex. Simone had leant across after they had finished, resting her chin on his chest as her fingers traced some unseen pattern on his skin. "This is what I will miss" she had whispered, smiling. The comment had left him strangely empty.

His mother had caught them one night. Simone had come over to study. It started out innocently enough, he sitting on the floor and she lying on his bed as they worked through some maths problem due the next day. They were all but finished when her arm drifted lazily over his shoulder, sliding slowly down until it came to rest in his lap, pressing hard against him. Adam was fast asleep, his mother was working a late shift at the hospital, or so he thought.

Instead she had walked in a short time later, arms balancing freshly washed and folded laundry. The smile poised on her lips had rapidly dissolved as she had taken in his naked body on the floor, Simone perched on top of him, back to the door, in the same state of undress, their hastily shed clothes strewn about them. Simone's brown eyes had seemed to enlarge to twice their normal size as she looked down at him. He hadn't known what to expect, but what he didn't expect was his mothers cold calm.

She had greeted Simone in what could only be described as a pleasant voice, and then placed the washing on his bureau, reminding them it was a school day tomorrow before she closed the door behind her. His heart had been hammering in his chest, its frantic pace spurred on by the adrenaline rush of lust and fear. She hadn't mentioned it until a couple of weeks later, but the very next day after coming home from school he had found a box of condoms perched conspicuously on the foot of his bed. The next morning as he left for school he had left the box, along with the one he had already purchased, on the end of his bed. When he came home, both boxes were discretely tucked away at the back of his top drawer.

"Up here Adam" he called out the window, slightly irritated that English still did not come naturally to him. The familiarity of French made English seem too cumbersome. He would have to try harder. His father had insisted they learn to speak English, sometimes forbidding any French at home for weeks at a time. It had been confusing, but he had managed.

He had noticed that his mother and grandmother had started calling him Michael, following the disastrous meeting with the Principal of his school last Wednesday. He accepted it, as he accepted everything, with studied ambivalence. Knowing this is what he would now be called by all those outside his small family, he had been working hard to think of himself as Michael. Michel was a creature he would store away, bury deep with the other memories that both sustained and tormented him.

He was sure this change of title was one of the little tests his mother frequently subjected him to. Her attempts to goad him into reacting, 'externalising his emotions' she called it. It was a mystery to him why she still bothered.

"No, grand-maman thinks they may have been out collecting strawberries for dinner. Did you know fairies ate strawberries for dinner Michel?" Adam whispered his question, a deep frown on his face as he sought confirmation on this new piece of information.

"Yes" he replied, nodding his head slowly. He smiled as Adam mimicked his action. "I think I read that somewhere. For dinner they like to eat strawberries and ice cream, sprinkled with rainbow dust. I think I also remember papa telling me that fairies liked to play the harp as they eat their dinner."

Michael smiled sadly, smoothing his finger over the worry lines wrinkling Adams brow. How typical of his father to dismiss Adam with such a cursory remark. How often had he felt the sting of similar comments not to know the scars they could leave in their wake.

"Papa must have been confused. Of course fairies are real" he grinned. "Here" he said, pulling some strands of hair from his head and placing them in Adams palm, curling his small finger over them. "Fairies collect the hair of the people they live near to use as the strings in their harps. It's so they can play special music to help us sleep at night. Put this on the ground near the home you found, if it is gone in the morning you will know if there are fairies living there."

"Most fairies like blond hair, but this will have to do. If only we could have asked the angel we saw at the lake last week for some of her hair" Michael smiled, his head swimming for a moment with the thought of the girl he had watched swimming.

"You will have to learn to look closer, Adam, or you will never see fairies and angels for yourself. Didn't you see the way her hair shone as bright as the sun, and with one smile the wind stilled and the clouds disappeared. She was an angel" Michael sighed.

Adam tugged at his sleeve, pulling him back from the scene that had been playing over and over in his head since their camping trip last week. "I did watch her Michel, you made us sit there forever just watching her. She was just a girl, I didn't see any of those other things. Now it's my turn, I want them to use my hair in the harps too Michel" he urged, leaning his head forward.

"I'm not sure Adam, something happened a very long time ago, before I was born, before maman and papa were married even. It was something very sad, and maman left their home to be with papa. We should just be glad that they have this chance to make up for all that has happened" he smiled, smoothing the hair off Adam face.

Michael followed his progress as he ran down the hall, then heard the clomp of his feet as he raced down the stairs. Wishing, not for the first time, that he could summon the same enthusiasm that Adam engendered for even the most simple things in life.

"Awwgh … don't feel bad sugar, it could have happened to anyone. We should just be grateful that no one was hurt" Walter said reassuringly as they found a parking space and Paul eased the car in. "And grateful that the smoke alarm worked" he added with a grin.

Paul had to suppress a laugh, thinking of the scene of chaos they had just left behind. The dinner Nikita had spent the whole day preparing lay in ruins in the sink. They had been sitting in the lounge room chatting when the smoke alarm in the kitchen sounded. He and Walter had burst into action, racing into the kitchen to find flames erupting from the grill, encircling the pot she had simmering on the stove, too late to save the curtains. After they had doused it all in water, the noxious smell had driven them from the kitchen. Nikita had stood watching, incredulous, then burst into tears.

Paul had eventually managed to calm her down and work a smile out of her, after promising for the hundredth time not to tell Birkoff. Walter had suggested he would treat them for dinner and, leaving the windows open to let the smoke escape, they had ended up here, down at The Pier, Walters favourite restaurant. Walter greeted the manager effusively as soon as they stepped in door, letting loose with a few phrases of very bad Italian. They were being shown to their table when Walter suddenly stopped, shaking his head.

"Thank you for helping with their language development Walter" Adrian smiled dourly. She turned and gestured towards Madeline, "this is my daughter, Madeline, and, of course, you've met my grandsons, Michael and Adam."

"Great" Walter responded, rubbing his hands together and giving Nikita a nudge forward with his elbow. "What a bit of luck your dinner didn't turn out Niki" he winked at her, following the exchange of looks between her and Michael.

"Yeah" Walter agreed, "how's that for a series of coincidences, meeting the boys last week, then running into Adrian and the family tonight, and Michael starting at Niki's school on Monday. Sure is a small world sometimes."

"I met her husband, Roger, and his best friend George, while I was stationed in the Pacific in the '50's. He was working with the RAF Intel unit on our post, closest thing to James Bond I'd ever seen. We struck up a friendship, kept ending up in the same places. We stayed in touch after he left the Service and went to work for the UN, he served as an honorary on a few NATO committees. He and Adrian were living in London, then Montreal. They moved he and Adrian out here about 10 years ago, when he retired from the UN. They wanted to keep him on as a consultant to the NATO Oversight Committee. George is the current Chair."

"I wasn't chatting her up" he scoffed, "we were just talking." He glanced in the rearview mirror, catching Nikita's huge smile as she sat looking out the window in the back seat, curiously silent. "So where's Roger now, I haven't seen his name on the Oversight list since I've been stationed here" he asked, getting the conversation back on to more comfortable territory.

"There was another daughter, Sarah, but she died just after Madeline finished high school. Some freak accident at home, I'm not sure of the details. Madeline married some guy and went to live in Paris, went to university there. Roger and Adrian didn't have much to do with her after that. Not really sure what happened, Roger rarely talked about it, but I know he was pretty cut up about it all. Guess it must have been Adrian's decision rather than his. He got George to keep a watch on her through his network." Walter sighed, about to say more but then thinking better of it. There where some things he needed to find out for himself, if he was so inclined. "Anyway" he continued, "it's nice to see them back together again."

"It's good there'll be someone there he knows. Starting school in a different town can be daunting, let alone in a different country" Paul observed. "Maybe you should have offered to pick him up on Monday morning, on your way in with Carla and Mick."

One of the curses of being single she would have to get used to again, Madeline thought. Everyone looked at you as though you were a predator, your only mission in life to capture and secure a mate. She wasn't ready for anything other than friendship. Not yet, maybe not ever the way she was feeling just now. Twenty years of marriage to Charles had left her emotionally drained and empty. All she wanted to do was find a way to get some balance back in their lives; Michael, Adam and her, that was her world now, perhaps Adrian too if she let them. Though Paul had certainly held her attention for much of the evening and he seemed very charming. Not now Madeline, she sighed.

She walked quietly into Adams room. Michael was undressing him, fumbling with his shoelaces and then giving up in frustration and pulling the shoe off. She had been entranced watching him with Nikita tonight, how he smiled and listened attentively as they discussed school and what Nikita had been doing over the holidays. He hadn't said much, but then he hadn't really needed to. Nikita seemed more than happy to do all the talking and her effervescence seemed to hold him spellbound. She knew he had been fretting about starting school, and her fear that this worrying would just exacerbate his self imposed isolation had been eating away at her ever since the meeting with his Principal. When she had overheard the two of them making plans to meet on Monday morning it had almost made her cry, and give Nikita a big hug.

"Bon nuit darling, sleep well" she whispered, brushing the back of her hand against his cheek. She felt the warmth of his skin and seized his arm as he turned to go out the door. Placing a hand lightly against his forehead she whispered "your skin is very warm, are you feeling alright?"

"Good night" she whispered, turning her attention back to Adam. She quickly removed his clothes, then slipped his pyjamas on. He was like a dead weight, fast asleep. She tucked him into bed and kissed his soft pink cheek. Feeling, as she always did at this precise moment, a sense of utter contentment with her life.

She sighed and headed back down the hall. Hearing the shower still going she went into Michael's room and turned back the covers on his bed, leaving the soft cotton singlet and boxer shorts he wore to bed folded neatly on his pillow. She turned on his bedside light and with a quick glance around made her way to her own bed.

The sensation of small fingers tapping on her cheek brought her instantly awake to find Adams face looming above hers in the gloom. She fumbled for the light switch and blinked as the soft light illuminated the space around them.

Madeline nodded. "That's OK honey, you can use my bathroom" she whispered, getting up and leading him over to the door of her ensuite. "In you go, I'll wait here." She directed Adam in and then waited by the door until she heard the toilet flush. She opened the door and turned on the tap for him to wash his hands.

"Well don't you worry about it, darling. You just go back to sleep now, I'll check on him." She kissed his forehead and smiled, stroking her finger slowly down his nose and across his eyebrows. His eyes closed and after a few minutes he had fallen back into sleep.

With a weary yawn and stretch, Madeline stood and pulled the door to Adams room ajar behind her. The bathroom door was still closed, light spilling out in a narrow strip from underneath to cast shadows in the dark hallway. Turning on the light, she peered into Michael's room. His bed was empty, the covers tossed in a heap on the floor. She wandered over and felt the sheets, damp and cold as though he had not been in bed for some time. Gazing around the room again she went a stood by the bathroom door. She put her ear to the door and after a moments hesitation rapped lightly.

There was no verbal answer, just the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up. She burst through the door to find Michael heaving over the rim of the toilet. She threw a hand towel under the tap in the bath and then ringing it out went and knelt beside him, wiping it over his pale face and neck. She pushed the soggy hair off his forehead and placed her hand there, feeling the heat and moisture pouring from his skin. His arms and legs jerked slightly as he shivered uncontrollably, skin shimmering with sweat.

She kissed his forehead then ran back into the hall and pulled a cotton blanket from the linen cupboard, stopping in her bedroom on the way back to retrieve her medical bag. When she returned to the bathroom a few moments later, Michael was slumped against the wall, pressing his face on the tiles as he tried to control his ragged breathing. Wrapping him lightly in the blanket she reached behind and put the plug in the bath, turning the taps to fill it with warm water.

Opening her medical bag she removed the thermometer and placed it in his mouth. Grabbing at the pile of towels on the shelf by the sink, she spread a couple behind Michael and then, keeping the blanket wrapped around him, eased him down onto the floor. Her fingers gently probed his abdomen, searching for and thankfully not finding any obstructions. Underneath her fingers his muscles were knotted tight as springs. While trying to be as gentle as possible, he still let out small, panting breaths as she examined him.

"I'm sorry darling" she whispered, finishing up and wrapping the blanket around him. She reached for the thermometer in his mouth. "101, you're running a fever" she commented. Wetting the towel again she wiped his face and neck, noticing the bruise emerging on his forehead. "How long has this been going on?" she asked.

He shrugged and closed his eyes, completely exhausted. "A few hours" he murmured, "maybe less, I'm not sure." He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, "I think I fell asleep for a while after the first time."

"I don't know, I just woke up, on the floor here. I was …." He suddenly clutched at his stomach as his other hand reached for the rim of the toilet to pull his body up, dragging his head over the rim as his body shook again with the dry heaves.

Michael nodded his head slowly. "Yes, just this" he whispered shakily. He lifted his head up and turned towards her. "I don't feel very good, maman" he whispered through a pathetic smile, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

"No" she smiled in agreement, "you don't look very good either." She wiped his face again and then pushed the blanket off his shoulders, tugging at his singlet. "Come on, you can't stay with your head in the toilet all night, get these soggy clothes off and get in the bath. It will help to relax you and you'll feel better if you're clean before you go back to bed." She helped him off with his clothes and then maneuvered him into the bath.

"I won't bother asking why you didn't call me hours ago, it's just lucky Adam had to get up" she admonished. "Honestly Michael, you think you can handle everything yourself. Why can't you ever ask for help when you obviously need it?"

Michael shrugged his shoulders, leaning back into the warm water and closing his eyes. Madeline passed him some soap and a face washer and he made a half hearted attempt to wash himself. While he was doing that, she went to his room and found a soft tshirt and a pair of boxers for him. Then back in the bathroom she emptied a sachet of glucose and electrolyte solution into a glass of water and mixed it up, then prepared an injection of a sedative that would help relax his cramping muscles.

"Here darling, drink this" she urged, passing him the glass and helping steady his hand as he lifted it to his mouth. He drank it down in slow gulps. "Do you think you could drink some more?" she asked hopefully when he had finished. He shook his head. "That's OK, you can have more after you've had some sleep."

She picked up the soap from where he had left it on the rim of the bath and finished washing his back, then rinsed his hair where it was sticky from sweat and vomit. She held out a hand to steady him as he stood up slowly. Draping a towel around his shoulders and his waist, she helped him dry himself with another, then steadied him while he pulled on the clothes she had brought in.

Madeline smiled. Grabbing her medical bag and a towel in one hand, she slipped an arm around his waist. "Come on, we can make" she smiled encouragingly, as she urged him slowly forward. "You can sleep in my bed" she insisted softly as they walked slowly down the hall, "yours is a mess. I'll fix it up in the morning. Lets just hope Adam doesn't wander in to sleep with you tonight" she chatted lightly as they finally made it into her bedroom.

Michael stumbled beside her, one hand moving to his mouth and the other to his stomach as a wave of nausea hit him again. Madeline sat him on the edge of her bed and held a towel under his mouth, rubbing his back as his body shook with the effort of vomiting up the glass of water and rehydration solution he had just drunk. She cursed silently under her breath that she hadn't given him the muscle relaxant beforehand to avoid this, but she hadn't been sure she would be able to carry him back to bed on her own if it affected him quickly. When he was finished she placed the towel on the floor and went and retrieved another from her bathroom. She mixed up some more rehydration solution in a glass of water and carried it out with her.

Michael was curled up on his side on the edge of the bed, looking deathly pale and exhausted. She felt his cheek and was pleased to note that at least his skin felt cooler. She lifted up his shoulders and held the glass to his lips.

"Just a little" she coaxed, putting it back to his lips. He swallowed a couple of mouthfuls and then collapsed back on the bed. Retrieving the syringe she had prepared and a sterile swab from her medical bag she rolled him gently onto his stomach then pulled down the waistband of his shorts and rubbed the swab on a point just below his hip. She inserted the needle smoothly into his muscle with well practiced efficiency, then withdrew it and rubbed the swab over the needle mark and pulled his shorts up.

"That's just to help you relax, darling, now you need to get some sleep" she whispered soothingly, tucking his legs under the bed covers and pulling the covers around his chin. She sat beside him on the bed, running her fingers through his damp hair and gently rubbing his back, just as she used to do when he was a baby.

"What a night its been for you" she spoke softly, watching as his eyes blinked slowly then closed and his breathing relaxed, "running into Walter again, and meeting Nikita. She seems very nice, I think you thought so too, and now you'll have a friend at the school and maybe you won't feel quite so alone." She sighed, feeling the tears start to drift slowly down her cheeks. Feeling the need to keep talking to him, even though he was asleep, she continued on. "Maybe, just maybe, in time you'll put away the sadness of the past and rediscover what its like to wake up each day to a happiness that doesn't fade under the shadows of memory. I wish you would let me help you, but maybe you're right, maybe you have to do it by yourself. You're the most frustratingly stubborn person." She let out a quiet laugh and leant down to kiss his cheek, "just like me, just like my mama."

"Do you remember, we used to sit and do this when you were a little boy, just the two of us, lost in our own little world" she said quietly, staring into the distance. "You would sit so peacefully on my knee, holding my hand, and I would rub your back, just like this. Your father used to joke that I was hypnotising you. Perhaps I was, just as your placidity and devotion used to hypnotise me. We would talk to each other, our voices soft so only we could hear, about anything and nothing. Making even the most trivial things seem special." She closed her eyes for a moment, blinking back the tears. "They are beautiful, perfect moments of memory that I will always treasure. I wonder do you remember them that way?"

Nikita leaned casually against the wall opposite the doorway to the Administration Office. Well, she had to admit, it had started out as casual. No, maybe not casual, more like indifferent. No not indifferent, she just wanted to look cool. Cool as a … cucumber. What a stupid expression, cucumbers weren't cool, they were just dumb green chunks hanging off a bit of lettuce in a bowl. She was way more cool than cucumber. Even if she did feel like a dumb green chunk hanging off the wall. Why didn't she go with the black skirt instead of this stupid green one that made her look like she should be twirling a baton and doing the splits. It did show off her legs, so much leg that she had to be careful she didn't take too big a breath or her panties would show.

That's what had cinched the green skirt from the dozen other outfits she had tried on this morning. The Admiral had finally given up on calling her down for breakfast and brought it upstairs to her. One look from him and she knew she was on a sure thing with the green skirt. He had raised his eyebrow then looked at the pile of clothes on the bed and then looked back at her and scrunched his other eyebrow and muttered "that's it?" in reference to her skirt. Poor daddy, he just didn't understand.

Nope, cool was definitely the look of yesterday she decided, glancing up at the clock again as the bell for classes screamed over the noise in the corridor. How about angry. Yeah, that was a look. What a jerk! She should have known. Even a cute jerk is still a jerk when it's all said and done. Maybe he didn't understand her when she said she'd meet him here. Maybe he just nodded and smiled that dreamy smile because he hadn't understood a single word she'd been saying. Oh god! That was it. He's probably been wandering around the corridors looking for her. Wandering the corridors and being scoped by every skanky predator looking to accessorise with a face just like his. Just perfect!

Waiting for this gorgeous French guy who's turned my brain to mush. Probably not the best response if you were thinking of answers to impress the School Principal with your intellectual capabilities. Nope, try again.

She was about to finish her sentence when a familiar, irritating voice said, "why Mr Davenport, she was waiting for yours truly, of course." David Fanning sidled up beside her and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close.

Yuck! She couldn't help the sensation that being near David Fanning was like swimming in raw sewerage. No wonder Lisa always walked around with her nose in the air. One thing was for sure, this outfit was going in the bin as soon as she got home.

"You say that as though it's a bad thing" she purred, ducking under his arm. She opened the door, then paused. "Be a man, David, get over it!" she hissed at him before she closed the door behind her and took her seat, mumbling an apology to the teacher.

"I was telling you some juicy snippets I heard in the boys locker room this morning and all you can say is 'huh'?" Mick replied sullenly. "This is quality information I'm passing on, Carla, talk to the girl, she's obviously lost it."

"I can't get through, she's been like this all day" Carla said distractedly, reading from a piece of paper in front of her. "Dr Karsov for physics, that's good. Hey, what's this? Can you believe they put me Shey's history class. The guys a complete loop. Belinda told me he told his class last year that aliens had abducted him and given him an anal probe, that's why they all scored low on their mid-terms. Something about residual effects? He better not try that crap with us."

"I give up" Mick moaned, "see you after school. I think I'll go and find a mirror and seek comfort in the familiarity of someone who's always there for me. Poor Mick." He stomped off, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"What's up with him?" Nikita asked, resting her chin on the table. Her neck was starting to hurt. She was never going to find him. He was a jerk. A dumb jerk. A, big, dumb French jerk. A big dumb, sweet, charming, handsome, French jerk. With nice eyes, don't forget the eyes.

"A few problems with security" he murmured, patting her hand. He smiled at her, feeling cheered by the fact she was interested. He rarely shared any of the details of his work with her. "Someone's been passing on information" he found himself blurting out.

"Yes, he seems much better this afternoon. He was disappointed I made him stay home from school today, he was worried that you might have been waiting for him this morning. I hope you weren't inconvenienced?"

"Come on Admiral, let me make you dinner while I tell you the story of this beautiful, brave princess who, against all odds, actually summoned the courage to call a guy. A real cute guy, if she does say so herself."

Nikita ran down the corridor, checking her watch, fixing her hair, pulling her skirt down where it was riding up on her hips. Don't panic, she told herself, there's still time. As luck would have it, the Admiral had left at 0600 this morning and she'd gone back to sleep after her alarm had gone off. And, of course, she had told Carla she'd get the bus today. Why did these things always happen to her?

As she rounded the corner to the Administration Office she saw him. Leaning casually against the wall, gazing at some papers in his hand, his school bag and leather jacket resting by his leg. Looking good, she thought, in jeans and tshirt that seemed to animate each smooth curve as he shifted his position. She slowed to a walk, wiping the perspiration from her face, taking big gulps of air as she rearranged her clothing and tried to look like she hadn't just slept in a sauna overnight, fully clothed.

Nikita looked down and pulled awkwardly at her black skirt and top. Hot? Sheesh, two minutes into the conversation and he was already acting like that jerk Fanning! Hot! Her blue eyes blazed into his confused green eyes. Hot!?

Michael grinned, glancing down at his boots for a moment before looking up at her, his eyes glistening with amusement. She noticed they were like the colour of a stormy sea, sort of green and grey and blue, full of emotion and rolling over you until you had to struggle to the surface to breathe.

Yup, you have the stuff, she thought. She angled herself so she stood beside him, her arm briefly touching his as she read from the piece of paper he held in front of him. His arm felt warm, and soft, and hairy. She moved her arm back so it touched his again.

"Your first class is Physics with Dr Karsov. My friend Carla is in her class. Come on, I'll show you where to go and introduce you to her. After that you have math with Mr Hillinger, he's a jerk but he knows his stuff. I'm in that class."

She led him down the hall, pointing out where things were and the classrooms he would be in later in the day. She had the impression he didn't hear a word she was saying, he was just staring at her with this dopey, wide eyed grin on his face. She sort of liked it, she felt a bit dopey herself. And hot, just being near him.

"Thanks for letting me meet you here Sir. Sorry I had to be so cryptic on the phone" Mowen replied, pulling a disc and some papers out of his briefcase and laying them on the coffee table in front of them. He pushed a bundle of papers across until they rested in front of Paul.

"I finished the primary sweep, the results are in front of you" Mowen began, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "It's taken longer than I would have liked, but your directions were to be discrete."

"Some grey zones in his background file, seems he did a stint in Special Ops. The records look like they've been sanitised. The file indicates he did his tour in Air Command Italy, but we have him on the grid in Prague and London over that time. His cycle here has coincided with some deep channel cables we identified from this office to DPC HO. I have people working on it now, but it seems he's broken protocol and set up a secure line outside SOP. Traffic seems to be infrequent. I'm advised we should be able to intercept and decode within the next 48 hours. We could use Birkoff's help on this, Sir."

"Ahh … no, not quite Sir, and this comes to the reason why I asked to meet you in your home, rather than the office. We found listening devices planted in your office and a tap on your utility line. Nothing on the secure lines, though it looked like they had been tampered with in an attempt to divert."

"There was some active surveillance on the Command hub and Analysis, but we routinely find tags on those segments of the network" Mowen grinned. "As you always say Admiral, nothing is foolproof to a sufficiently talented fool."

Birkoff leant forward and quickly scanned the papers on the table. He scratched his head, looking up at the Paul. "Knowing that you're the target could work to our advantage Sir, it means their attention is focussed, offering us opportunities to find a back door."

"Provided we can find the back door in time" Paul considered, hands moving to his pockets. "But your points taken Birkoff" he continued. "We can use the devices they've put in place to our advantage. As I also say, if you can't beat them, arrange to have them beaten."

Paul sat down again on the lounge, leaning back, crossing his legs. "If they want to bring me down over the P15 then let's start giving them some problems to work with. Birkoff, put one of our people on the project team, Taylor perhaps? Initiate a leak the project's fallen behind schedule because of poor results in the beta testing. The NAC review is in four weeks, that should give us a couple of weeks to play things out. Schedule a briefing for Thursday, in my office, we'll work up the profile tomorrow. Mowen, I'd like you to be in on that."

"I know, it's bizarre, isn't it? She's been like that for the last few weeks, ever since school started" Paul smiled, sitting down and picking up the papers Mowen had left behind. "She's taking French as an elective this year" he added vaguely, "she keeps reading me phrases and muttering that it's the 'language of love'".

"I think that will be enough, darling, if you invite any more we'll have to move to a bigger house" Madeline laughed as Adam crawled into her lap, letting out a yawn as he snuggled back against her. She pushed her chair out a little from the table, giving him more room.

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Let's see, we have fourteen of your friends from school, and Larry, Rosie, Susan, and Holly from your music class. And then there will be grand-maman and George, and Michael and I. I haven't been able to get in touch with Walter yet, you still want him to come along?"

"Yes, he's looking forward to it" Adrian replied, putting her book down on the table. "Michael close the fridge and use a glass" she directed as she strolled over to where he stood by the open fridge, drinking from the bottle of milk in his hand. She pulled a clean glass out of the cupboard and passed it to him.

"Michael will you be around on Saturday morning? I need you to pick up an order from the bakery and grocers for me" Madeline asked, smiling at their exchange. She shifted slightly, feeling Adams weight slump against her as he fell asleep. She turned him around in her lap so he faced her and settled his body against hers, wrapping her arms around him.

"Really" Adrian smiled, "that's nice." She turned to Michael where he stood at the sink. "Won't Nikita think it's rather strange if she's the only one not invited" she said, more as a statement than a question.

"You know, you don't have to keep thanking me Madeline" Adrian responded, a touch of frustration in her voice. "Anything I do, I do because I want to, not out of some misplaced sense of guilt or duty. I'm too old to play games any more." She sighed and reached out to take Madeline's hand in hers. "I have done many things I regret, but I can't change those things or what happened as a result. All I can do is make my peace with the world as best I can."

Adrian reached up with her free hand and placed it gently under Madeline's chin. "Yes" she whispered in response, "you do, and those two precious souls you've brought into the world, and, finally, happily, into my life."

"So am I, more than you'll ever know. You've helped me to realise your fathers dying wish, and the magic of that has brought me a contentment I thought I would never know again." She smiled and wiped gently at the tears on Madeline's cheek. "It is I who should thank you, Madeline. You were the one who came to me, I can be such a stubborn old fool. I have nothing but admiration and love for the person you have become."

Paul waited patiently in the foyer, hands clasped in front of him, eyes wandering lazily over the photo's mounted on the wall. The dark timber paneling gave the room a solemn, gloomy feel, matching his mood as he took another deep breath, trying to calm himself for the meeting ahead. The meeting would only take a matter of minutes, but the outcomes would be measured in years, his years, his future.

He had been shocked by how easily Petrosian had infiltrated his defences, threatening all that he had worked so hard to build. He had always imagined himself invulnerable to the politics of personal ambition, even though his rapid elevation through the ranks had earned him his fair share of enemies. Petty jealousies had never concerned him, only doing the job and doing it well. There was no question that he would find a way through this, just as he had through all the other obstacles life had thrown in his path.

Life. All things considered, he had nothing to complain about. Nothing at all. Maybe he had just become too complacent? While he had never expected the same exacting code of honour and duty in those around him that he set for himself, he did expect a certain loyalty to their common cause. And their cause was an important one, even if the lines of defending that cause sometimes blurred right and wrong. The ends justify the means, an uncomfortable 'ism' to live with at times, but a necessary evil to get the job done.

Paul nodded and entered the room, standing to attention as he waited for the Secretary to finish his quiet discussion with one of his aides. He'd been in this room many times, though perhaps never with this much trepidation. It was bright and sunny, compared to the outer office. A large desk, remarkably uncluttered, small conference table and chairs to his left, a closed door that led to a private bathroom. He stood still, waiting, feeling a slight wave of irritation before the man before him finally turned, smiling effusively.

"The beauty of having that many, is that nothing and no-one ever takes you by surprise any more. Good training for this job" he laughed. "So" he continued, sitting down and gesturing for Paul to do the same. "I read your briefing note, Paul. I must say, combined with what I've been hearing back at the office, it doesn't look good."

"Good. Before we get started on that, I hope you can clear up something for me. There's been some disturbing palavering in the corridors back home about problems with the P15 project. I'd like to hear you reassure me, Paul, that it's all just a decoy to blow smoke up Petrosians' ass. Though Lord knows the guy's a big enough asshole already" he laughed.

"Well, good, I'm mightily pleased to hear that. I've got a lot resting on this, Paul. We drop the ball on this one and we loose three years of good will, not to mention a billion dollar contract. And as much as I hate to point out the obvious, it's your head on the chopping board, not mine, if this gets away from us."

"Never liked him, I always believe in first impressions" he lectured grimly. "They've breached your security, Paul. Not a good look for the CID, you're the one's that are supposed to be watching them, cleaning up other peoples' messes. You're going to have to pull a rabbit out of the hat to wipe this one from your record."

"No problem. What's the point of being Secretary of Defence if you can't reward your hardest working officers, or cut them some slack when it's needed" he smiled magnanimously. "I've got 72 hours before I have to brief Oversight on all this, I suggest you get moving."

"You always do Paul, that's why we get on so well. Keep my office updated on your progress. Let's cut protocol. In the absence of a demurrable, I'll assume all your answers are in the affirmative" he said briskly, holding out his hand and shaking Paul's hand vigorously.

Well, that could have gone better he thought to himself as he slid into the cool interior of his staff car. Then again, it could have gone a whole lot worse. He settled against the leather seat as he was driven to the airlift that would take him back to his base. He was still in the job, at least for the next 72 hours.

72 hours! He gazed out the window, staring blankly at the shapes and colours as they glided by. Looks like he was going to miss that birthday party. The thought brought a smile to his lips. He had been surprised to see her, even more surprised when she had asked him to come along to such a private, family event. The look on her face after she had asked suggested she had been just as surprised as him. And it was a nice face, a very nice face. Perhaps there was reason to hope, after all.

Michael leaned against the back wall of the gym, pulling distractedly at a hole in his tshirt as he waited for Nikita. Beside him Mick babbled on about something to do with one of this afternoons classes, as best he could guess. Michael nodded politely every so often, too preoccupied to summon the concentration he needed to follow Micks conversation.

For three days now he had been trying to find the right opportunity to ask Nikita to Adams birthday party tomorrow. But each time, someone would interrupt them or he lost his nerve. It was frustrating him beyond belief, he had never had trouble talking to girls before. He had never had any trouble do just about anything with girls before. But Nikita … Nikita left him feeling like an imbecile, he could barely string together a coherent thought when she was near. Lucky she was only in two of his classes.

In a last ditch effort he had dedicated this afternoon to the onerous task, arranging for someone else to collect Adam after school and ditching his music lesson, only to find that she had organised a work-out in the gym with Mick after school today. And so here was, feeling very much like the tag along. The sudden silence drew his attention away from his thoughts. He looked across to see Mick staring at him.

"I sometimes think Michael, that the lights are on but no-one's home. I can't tell yet if it's because you're a couple of sausages short of a barbeque, or you're just yanking my chain." Mick leaned across and stared up into Michaels face. "Ohh Michael" he sing-songed, "parlez vous Anglais?"

Nikita grinned and sidled up to join them, wearing only a tiny black sports bra and lycra shorts. She leaned up against the wall next Michael. "Sorry, I ran into Alison" she offered. "Well? Shall we?" she smiled, trying to catch Michaels eye.

Michael followed as Mick set Nikita up at the bench press. He slid into the machine beside them, adjusting the tension and weights then securing his feet under the padded bar. He lifted his legs slowly up and down against the weights as Mick led Nikita through a series of lifts on the bench. With a sigh he listened to them talking, each word moving him further away from his purpose.

"Hey Meecheel, this is my machine" he grinned viciously, kicking at Michaels feet and taking a step closer. "In fact" Fanning continued in a slow draw, "this is my gym. You shouldn't even be in here when me and the rest of my guys on football team are here to work out."

"Give it a rest, Fanning" Nikita called out as Mick took the weights from her. She sat up, swinging her legs off the bench and folding her arms angrily across her chest where Fanning's eyes where glued. "We can use the gym on Fridays, you and the sweathogs get it the rest of the week."

Michael's head snapped back for a moment, absorbing the blow. He heard Nikita let out a gasp as he regained his composure, setting his feet slightly apart. "I don't think you want this" his whispered in a low voice so only Fanning could hear.

"I don't think so" Michael said evenly, circling around him. He kept his eyes fixed on Fanning as fists swung out again. Michael easily ducked and blocked the blows launched wildly in his direction. He moved his arms slowly in front of him, seeing the frustration and anger building in his opponent's face.

"Yes Sir" Nikita agreed, catching Micks look of relief as he turned quickly, heading towards the locker room. Michael made no attempt to move, instead standing perfectly still, his arms dangling at his sides. "C'mon Michael" she urged softly, taking his hand and tugging him towards the door. To her relief he turned and followed behind her, head hanging down. They were almost at the door when Davenport called out.

"Alright, get yourself tidied up before you go home and Michael … I don't want to see you doing that again" Davenport commanded. He had enough experience in the martial arts to recognise that focussed, deadly look in Michael's eye as he had squared off against Fanning.

"We'll, I must say Michael, you are quite the man of the hour" Mick grinned. "Seeing Fanning tossed so delicately on his namesake has made my day. I don't need to tell you, my boy, that you will now be entering the hallowed company of those mythical creatures that have decked one of the football team. Legends, Michael, legends. I bow humbly before you." Mick gave a flourish of his hand, bending low in front of Michael.

"Yeah, seeya" Nikita replied distractedly, turning back to face Michael. She removed the towel, inspecting the bruise forming on his cheek and eye. The small cut above his eye had stopped bleeding. She traced the cut and bruise with her finger, feeling the heat and swelling in his eyelid. Michael closed his eyes as her finger moved slowly across his face. "It looks painful" she whispered.

"It will be a birthday party with five and six year olds, Kita. I'm not sure that qualifies as a 'date'. It would just be nice if you were there … with me" he whispered the last words, looking into her eyes.

Nikita leaned up impulsively, her lips brushing against the bruise on his cheek and eyelid. She heard Michael let out a soft moan as he closed his eyes again. When he opened them he leant forward and pressed his lips gently against her cheek, moving them slowly across until they rested against her lips.

Michael pressed his lips against hers, moving them slowly as his tongue cautiously traced the outline her lower lip. She opened her lips slowly as her eyes closed, feeling the exquisite sensation of Michaels tongue tentatively exploring her mouth as his fingers wound through her hair to gently pull her closer.

Michael sat perfectly still, his eyes blinking slowly as her gentle touch left a searing trail across his skin. "Is this what you want?" he asked, his body seeming to shudder with the intake of each breath.

"I like you, very much" he mumbled, that big dopey grin emerging slowly on his face. "Ever since I saw you at the lake that day. It was like looking into the sun, I have been blind to everything and everyone ever since."

Nikita grinned self-consciously and continued to stroke his face. She felt a sudden urge to touch him, everywhere. The thought made her giddy. Michaels eyes followed her every move, so animated they seemed to illuminate his face in the fading light of the locker room.

"Yes, they're awaiting your inspection" George grinned. Catching the withering glance Adrian directed at him he quickly changed the subject. "Speaking of Michael, was that a black eye he was wearing when he arrived home last night? It was getting dark when we met outside as I was leaving."

"No, actually, he's doing very well" Adrian said proudly. She sat on the lounge and began tying a string on the remaining balloons on the floor. George gathered them up so she could reach them. "It was just a silly incident that happened after school while he and Nikita were in the gym with some others."

Adrian allowed a small smile in response. "Adam's usually quite useful, but this time Madeline scooted him out from Michaels room before their 'discussion' started." She let out a quiet laugh. "They speak too softly when they're angry with each other, it's very frustrating. My hearing isn't as good as it used to be."

"Adrian my dear, your hearing is better than the new phased array sonar systems we're installing on our subs." George remarked. "I'm told they can pick up the sound of a copepod breaking wind in the Marianas Trench."

Walter grinned and slapped him enthusiastically on the back, "ahhh, George old buddy, you kill me with those plum-up-your-ass wisecracks. I'm already visualizing the duct tape over your mouth, when she's done with you."

"I agree it looks damaging on the surface, but I doubt it will hold up" George said quietly. "I received an interesting report from my people in Rome. It seems one of the people on the NAC has been providing Committee members with inaccurate update reports on the project progress. I can only assume that either the agent they have positioned in the CID is incompetent or Paul is feeding them faulty intel. Do you know if he's found the leak in his office yet?"

"Well, that's that little problem solved" Walter smiled, slumping back in the lounge and putting his feet on the table. "It was a lucky day that Nikita burnt that roast lamb and we ran into you and your family" he reflected.

Walter chuckled and put his feet back on the table. "Adrian, I'm just priming you. In four hours an invasion force of 15 or so six year olds is gonna come sweeping through your house. I think scuff marks on the coffee table will be the least of yours worries."

With another enthusiastic nod of his head, Adam started tearing at paper. Nikita moved to stand up and felt a warm hand slip gently under her elbow to help her. She turned her head to find Michael standing close beside her, smiling.

"Yes, thank you Niki, that's lovely" Madeline said warmly, bending down to admire the box of watercolour pencils. "Put them on the table with your other gifts, darling, then you should go back out and join your friends" Madeline instructed.

Madeline looked slowly from Nikita to Michael, taking in the absorbed expression on Michaels face as he watched the attractive young girl. She grinned and headed towards the kitchen, calling behind her "that would be great Niki, the natives are getting restless for food. I'd be grateful for an extra set of hands to help."

After several trips, Michael carried the last of the food outside, laying the platter on the low table set under the weeping tendrils of a willow tree in the corner of Adrian's garden. He glanced across to where Nikita stood, talking to Adrian and Walter. She glanced across at him and a radiant smile floated his way.

A group of children came running by, calling for Adam, searching under the table before running off towards the greenhouse amid shouts and laughter. Giggles erupted from above Madeline and Michael as Nikita joined them. She glanced up into the tree as Adam put a finger to his mouth.

"They get on very well, don't they?" Nikita said whimsically. "A lot of kids I know don't have anything to do with their younger brothers and sisters unless they're forced to. But Michael seems to like spending time with Adam, picking him up from school, playing with him and helping him with things. It's nice."

"Yes, it is" Madeline smiled proudly, "I'm lucky, although sometimes I think I rely on him too much. It's not always easy to juggle things with work. My mothers been a godsend as well." Madeline moved a little closer to Nikita, reaching across to grab a handful of cutlery and setting it out beside the napkins. "I hope you don't think I'm being a busybody Nikita" Madeline said quietly, glancing back to see that Michael was still busy with the boys, "it's just … I was very upset that he got into a fight at school yesterday. Would you be comfortable telling me what happened? It's just that I'm worried Michael may not be 'fitting in'. It's been a big change for him, coming here."

"That's what happened, Dr Binoche. David Fanning is a jerk that's been trying to get me to go out with him and he came in and just started picking a fight with Michael, just to get at me. Michael did everything he could to stop it before things got out of hand." Nikita looked closely at Madeline as she relayed this information, wondering where this was heading.

"No" Nikita replied quickly, finally realising what Madeline's concern was about. "Michael's doing really well at school, Dr Binoche. He's real smart and all the teachers think he's some kind of genius or something. And even though he's pretty shy he's making plenty of friends, everyone likes him. Some people like him too much" Nikita mumbled the last part, her cheeks colouring with a slight blush.

Madeline let out a happy sigh and reached across to take hold of Nikita's hand. "Thank you Nikita" she smiled. "I worry too much about him. I'm glad he's made friends so quickly." Madeline released Nikita's hand with a gentle squeeze and leaned in closer. "I don't think you should worry about him liking others 'too much', I'm pretty sure you have his complete attention." Madeline gave a soft laugh at Nikita's puzzled expression. "He likes you Nikita, take it from me" she grinned and patted Nikita's hand again, "and I like you too" she added softly.

"No, that's alright darling, Walter's rounding them up. He seems to be having as much fun as the children. Can you just let George know we're ready to eat and then I think you and Nikita should get some lunch and relax. I can take it from here."

"That's OK, I know what you mean" Michael smiled encouragingly, "it is 'old and nice'. My grand-maman told me it was built over 200 years ago. It was a farm house on one of the original estates ..." his voice drifted off self consciously. "I guess you don't need to know all that" he smiled, lying on his side on the floor, resting his head on arm.

"No, it's kinda interesting. All the houses around where we live are new. I like this" she confirmed, looking around. "So this is where you practice?" she asked, nodding towards the chair and the cello in the corner.

"Yeah, OK, so that was pretty dumb too. Lets get it over with, huh? I guess that's where you study and that's where you sleep" she smiled, glancing around the room. Her eyes turned back to Michael and she smiled at the look of amusement he returned. "Let me guess, it sounds like English, but you can't understand a word I'm saying?"

"I like how you call her that or mamie, and what you call you mum. My mother was Australian, I could never think of her as 'mom' like they do here. It's not much different but it still sounds … well … not right."

"It's OK, I don't mind talking about her" Nikita replied, stretching out on the floor beside him. "I was ten, my dad was stationed in the Philippines at the time. She had really bad asthma, had it ever since she was a little. She managed to do most things, but we always had to be careful."

Michael sighed and grabbed her finger, pressing it to his mouth in a soft kiss. "I'm sorry" he breathed, "you must think I am a baby, crying like this." He continued to hold her finger to his mouth as he turned his head away from her.

Michael stood up suddenly and went across to his desk, grabbing a small photo frame and then returning to lie down next to Nikita. He slipped his arm back under her neck and held the photo clutched against his chest. Nikita waited. When Michael made no move to show her the photo she gently prised it from his hand and held it above her head. It showed Michael, several years younger, a wide smile on his face as he and a younger girl made an elaborate sand castle by the waters edge.

"Oh" was all Nikita could manage in response. She nestled back against his shoulder. Beside her Michael laid utterly still, the only movement the gentle rise and fall of his chest. "How?" she finally asked, unable to curtail her curiosity.

Michael pulled her closer, resting his cheek against her hair. "I'm sorry Kita" he sighed. He wrapped a hand against her head, running his fingers through her hair. "It's on the coast, in south eastern France" he breathed against her hair.

Michael opened his mouth to her, running his hands lightly down her side and across her buttocks. She let out a soft moan as his hand move back up and brushed tenderly against her breast, lightly teasing the fabric of her shirt. Before she realised what she was doing her hand was on Michaels, guiding it under her shirt to rest against her bra. Michael let out a deep breath as his fingers caressed the warmth and softness he found there.

Nikita pulled away for a moment, leaning her head back. She ran her hand down over Michael's chest and abdomen, letting it drift further down until it rested against the fly of his jeans. Michael eyes seemed to grow huge, absorbed, his body still. Her hand caressed the bulge she felt there, rubbing slowly against the soft, worn denim. As though they were being controlled by someone else, her fingers slowly undid the button and eased the zipper down. She slid her hand slowly inside as Michael let out a moan, his eyes half closing.

At that declaration Michael's hands seemed to suddenly come alive, slipping inside her bra, lifting her skirt to caress her cotton panties, pressing her hard against him. She felt him everywhere, and it felt so good, so perfect.

"We can't do this now, Kita" he whispered against her ear, his breathing hot and rapid against her sensitive skin, "someone will come up here. My maman has a sixth sense when it comes to this" he smiled, pulling her on top of him.

Nikita smiled and squatted down on his hips. She wiggled provocatively against the firm bulge beneath her, then leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips. "I don't think you're going to be down any time soon" she whispered.

"No, I think you're right" he smiled, kissing her. "What about you?" he asked softly, reaching down between her legs and letting out a groan of discomfort and pleasure as his hand brushed against her as he pulled up his zipper and refastened the button on his jeans.

"I like that" she grinned, gently releasing her hand from his and rubbing the back of it against her cheek. She stood and wandered slowly to the door, pausing for a moment to look back at him. "Did you ever get to say goodbye?"

Nikita looked him over where he lay stretched out on the floor, the peacefulness in his body betrayed by the look of utter anguish on his face. A look so powerful she had to turn away. "Don't be long, I'll see you down stairs" she said gaily, giving him one quick glance before she wandered off down the stairs.

Michael stayed exactly where he was for a long while, the thoughts swirling in his head so fast they forced his eyes close and made him dizzy. An image emerged in the vortex, waves pummeling his body, turning him over and over, pale fingers slipping through his into the gray, roiling depths. Always so close, but no way to say goodbye.

Walter let out a loud guffaw and slapped George on the back, "sausages? I'll have to remember that. See you in the morning Paul, bye Maddie." They heard his raucous laughter as he made his way out the back door to the car.

Madeline retrieved the bottle from the fridge and passed it to Paul as she collected some glasses from cupboard. She led him out to the front verandah, gesturing to high-backed cane chairs by a table in the corner.

"That I love my daughter, and then I love my job. For a while there I was quite sure which order they came in, at least in terms of my time." Paul shuffled slightly in his seat, momentarily distracted by the sound of a lawnmower starting up down the road.

"Well I believe in it. When I think of all the good things that have already come from meeting you, and Adrian and your sons …" he shrugged, holding the bottle poised above his glass. "It's hard not believe."

"Yes, I knew about it" Madeline answered, deciding to keep that particular story for another time. "I trust Michael, Paul. He is very circumspect in his personal relationships. Has Nikita been involved in many relationships?"

"She's very lucky, it sounds like a very happy, trusting relationship." Madeline took a sip of her champagne, staring out into the garden. "When Michael first started showing an interest in girls, I asked his father to have a 'chat' with him. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall for that. Charles' had a very … traditional … approach to sex." Madeline let out a soft sigh and turned back to Paul. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you this. It's probably more information than you're comfortable with."

Madeline sighed. "I think I'd be kidding myself if I denied that I'm attracted to you Paul, and of course I enjoy your company very much. It's just, well, I think we have to manage this situation carefully, especially given Michael and Nikita's friendship and what that might turn into. I'd hate to see us turn into an X rated version of the Brady Bunch."

It was Paul's turn to burst out laughing. "Yes, yes, I see what you mean" he managed between snorts of laughter. Paul calmed down, took a sip of his drink. "You umm... you don't think that Nikita and Michael have ... well, umm ...."

"Goad damn yes, I'm going to have a problem with it" he said indignantly, taking a sip of champagne as he waited for his pulse to slow down. "But short of locking her in her room, what the hell can I do about it."

Madeline left out a soft laugh and sipped the last of her champagne. "I'm not sure I'd describe it as calm, it's more like resignation. It scares the shit out of me too. But our children growing up and learning to make their own decisions is an inevitable part of life. Every day I treat people who have been on the receiving end of an attempt resist this natural progression. Learning to relinquish control from ourselves to those we have nurtured and protected doesn't come easily."

Nikita wound her way through the corridors, long strides eating up the distance to the library. Her brain was feeling blissfully numb as all the information she had been cramming in over the last couple of days slowly seeped out. Three tests this afternoon and she was feeling smug. Man! She had aced those suckers. Oh yeah! She glanced at her watch and realised she was running late. Michael was waiting and he'd have to leave soon to pick up Adam from after-school care.

They had slowed things down a bit following those frenzied moments in his bedroom a few weeks ago. She needed to catch her breath. The strength of her feelings had taken her by surprise. A pleasant surprise, a scary surprise. She was glad Michael had given her the space to work things out. He seemed as overwhelmed as her by it all. Granted it was like pulling teeth trying to get him to talk about his feelings, but when he did open up it was like the sun emerging after days of rain. So dazzling in intensity and the atmosphere soooooo steamy. She heard herself sigh.

The weird thing hovering over all this was her dad and Michael's mum. They'd been out at night a few times, a couple of times she and Michael had gone back to his place to study after school to find the Admiral and Madeline laughing over a cup of coffee or glass of wine in the kitchen. A smug look, that didn't even feign embarrassment, on his face as he greeted her. She and Michael had all but run to his room, laughing convulsively once the door closed behind them. Michael had been the first one to stop, moving to lay next to her where she was flopped on the bed. "Do you think …?" he had started, the question dying on his lips as he shook his head in wonder. They had left it there because Adam had suddenly burst into his room, babbling on in French about something as he launched himself onto Michaels stomach. He and Michael had talked for a while. She loved listening to these conversations, even though she only understood bits and pieces of what they were saying. One word she was always understood, though. Michel.

Meecheelle. She whispered it in his ear sometimes when they were making out. It was like a trigger. He'd let out a soft moan and then his hands would be everywhere. Smooth and enveloping, driving her crazy. His voice like velvet caressing her ear, telling her all the things she wanted to know, needed to hear. Michel. Sometimes it seemed like he was two different people.

Because Lisa was perched on the table in front of him, giggling like the cranial vacuum she was, her legs crossed in front of her so that her skirt rode up all the way to her lap. Karen leaned over him, almost rubbing her surgically enhanced chest in his face. Nikita felt the blush creep up her cheeks. They were like sharks circling a seal pup. Only difference being sharks were probably more intelligent. At least the little run-in with Fanning a few weeks ago had got him off her case. And Michaels. She didn't know what Davenport had said to him but whatever it was, it had worked. The rumour mill had been working overtime ever since the 'fanny goes plop' incident, as it was now being called. The only down side was that Fannings skanky girlfriend and her equally slimy friends had taken to hanging around Michael at every opportunity. Looks like opportunity had knocked this afternoon.

Her anger was just boiling at the surface when Michael looked over to her. A huge smile emerged on his lips and his eyes took on that glazed, dopey look she had come to adore. A smile for her, and only her. The room seemed to fade into the background as she was caught in his tractor beam, propelled slowly, but inescapably, towards him.

Michael gathered his books and shoved them into his pack, mumbling goodbye as he took her hand and led her out into the crisp afternoon air. They walked a short distance and then tugging her hand he whirled her around and backed her up against the wall of the library building. Her hands circled his neck as he kissed her, meticulously, thoroughly.

Michael leaned in and kissed her, a kiss that made her feel like she was in one of those high speed lifts that take you from the ground floor to the stratosphere in three seconds. When his mouth finally released hers she leaned back against the wall for support, wondering if her bones had suddenly dissolved, the answer to her question the only thing clear in the steaming wasteland of her mind.

A cool breeze skimmed across the surface of the ocean, mutable patterns of glassy stillness and chequered ripples charting its movement. It caught in the trees surrounding the playground, a lazy rustle of leaves and sway of small branches. Madeline smiled as she looked around, the sun warming her bare arms, the wind tousling hair about face. It had been a long time since she had looked out on the ocean and felt this happy and contented. Down closer to the water, a couple of families sprawled out, eating a picnic lunch on gaily coloured towels. Two of their children, school friends of Adam, playing by the waters edge, a castle taking shape in the sand in front of them. She let out a happy sigh as the high pitched sound her son's ecstatic laughter drew her attention immediately.

Michael pushed the swing aside, bending down to help Adam stand. "A bit later, you go ahead now" he replied, dusting the sand off Adams hands and clothes. "Go on" he urged, looking down to the waters edge and placing his hand on Adams back.

Adam's hand reached out and clutched at Michael's shirt, a frown forming on his face as he looked down towards the water. Michael waited patiently, unsure of the reasons for Adam's hesitation in joining his friends.

Madeline glanced across at him, then turned back to Adam. "Then do you believe me then when I tell you there are no monsters that live in the sea and swallow little children. It is just water and plants and animals, just like here" she smiled, gesturing around them. "The are no monsters, just fish and wriggly wriggly worms."

"No, no … of course not" she whispered, turning to face him, feeling his pain as keenly as her own. She closed her eyes for a moment, regretting bringing this painful subject up, ruining what had been such a perfect day. She took a deep breath, placing her hand again on his. "There is no-one to blame, there is no searching for fault. You did everything you could, and more."

Madeline had tried many times to get him to talk about the day Charlotte had died. But as with many things that had happened since, he resolutely refused. It was a fundamental difference between them. She was always probing, wanting to discuss and dissect things to get them out in the open and dealt with. He, on the other hand, controlled his emotions so tightly, bottled things up inside so much, it frightened her at times. Afraid of what it would do to him if he ever broke down and unleashed them.

Numerous times she had tried to force him into opening up, the anger and frustration she had observed bubbling under the surface had made her back off, try a different approach. None had worked. This behaviour had started after Charlottes death. It was almost a different child that had emerged from that small room at the police station. Looking so lost and forlorn, wrapped in a blanket that made him stumble as he was ushered brusquely forward by his father, into her arms. The hand propelling him quickly removed as though his father couldn't bare to touch him.

She closed her eyes, biting back the tears that memory always aroused. Wether intentionally or unintentionally, Charles had blamed Michael for the circumstances surrounding the tragic death of his favourite child, and their relationship had been fraught with difficulty ever since. Driving Michael further and further inside himself until he had perfected the art of withdrawing completely to block out the pain of his fathers rejection. She had begged Charles to ease up on him, her pleading soon changing to anger as he obstinately refused to acknowledge what he was doing, not only to Michael but to all of them. While it had made her feel guilty and sad for his loss, getting Michael and Adam away from their father had been the right decision.

Michael seemed more relaxed and content here, there was no question about that. Perhaps all he needed was time. She watched as his attention suddenly focussed and he returned a wave to Adam, who was looking up towards them. Madeline waved as well, smiling in response to the beaming grin on his face.

Michael let out a soft laugh and shrugged. "I don't know … it's just strange, of all the people around, that it's Nikita's father." He turned to her, resting his cheek on his hands where they lay folded on his knees, his eyes glassy and brimming with amusement. "I wonder what your friend Dr Freud would have to say about this?"

Madeline burst out laughing, hearing Michael's laughter joining with hers. As her laughter died down she drew her legs up under her chin, wrapping her hands around them. "I'll have to think about that. It's enough now that we have friendship, a little bit more on occasion. I don't think either of us is looking for more than that at the moment."

"Yes, he makes me happy" she smiled whimsically, reaching across and rubbing her hand against Michaels cheek. "Nikita makes you happy" she said softly, running her fingers through his wind tousled hair to push it off his face.

"Maman, Michel" Adam called as he raced up the beach towards them. Spraying them with sand as he came to a sudden halt, he plonked himself heavily into Michaels lap, eliciting a grimace from Michael as he moved Adam into a more comfortable position.

Michael wrapped his arms around him, patting Adam's belly. "You are always hungry, it amazes me how such a little boy can eat so much. You must have hollow legs." He started tickling Adam, finding all the right places to send Adam into a fit of hysterical laughter.

Looping her arm through Michaels they wandered slowly back to the car. Adam droning "feed the beast" as his legs swung lightly against Michael's chest, small fingers patting his head as though it were a drum. The wind carried their laughter, swirling gently across the wind tossed waves, floating like so much flotsam, out to sea.

Nikita traced her finger across Michael's torso, following the outline of the sun as it filtered through the leaves above them. Under her fingers his skin felt deliciously warm, vibrating with the gentle rhythm of each deep breath. She felt the mesmerising caress of his fingers on her back, drifting backwards and forwards to the same beat as his lungs.

"No" Nikita laughed self-consciously. "No, it feels sort of strange, what we just did, being here, with you, with no clothes on. It's not like its something I do every day." She laughed, playing with the hairs on Michael's arm. She sighed contentedly. "Let's sit for a little while, like this, it feels sorta special and I love it here, with you."

"I'm not really sure what I was expecting" she continued, wrapping her hands around his. "It was … " she paused, her fingers absently rubbing against his, "I don't know … I guess I'm just blabbering on."

Nikita smiled and tilted her head back, searching for and finding Michael's lips. He kissed her tenderly, running his tongue soothingly over her swollen lip. She opened her eyes, watching him as he kissed her. The emotion in his half-lidded eyes like a caress, featherlight touches that drifted lazily over her sensitive skin. The sensation was exquisite, too much and yet not enough.

"It's more than that" she mused, struggling to find the right words. "After today, after this, it's like the connection I felt the first time I saw you is suddenly something solid, something tangible." She reached up, stroking her fingers though his hair. "I want it to stay special, Michael" she whispered, "I don't want it to be just a thing we do, something you take for granted. I don't want you pinning condoms on your bedpost, like trophies."

"Come on Michael, don't play dumb. Tell me what you're feeling, and not in French this time. Don't think you get around me doing the 'sexy whisper that makes me turn into the Blob after they've trapped it outside the supermarket and sprayed it with all that foamy stuff' thing."

Nikita's request was met with silence. She turned her head to look at Michael, the look of utter confusion on his face made her burst out in laughter. She pulled his hand up to her face, holding it against her cheek.

"When I am with you, Kita, I feel the sun shines on me through your eyes, so intense it is like I am pulling in air that seems drained of oxygen" he whispered. "You bring light and laughter to dark places."

Nikita grinned, leaning up to kiss his cheek. Turning around in his arms to face him, she kissed his bewildered face again, running her hands down his chest and stomach. She looked down between them, biting her lower lip in thought.

"No, not really" Nikita replied thoughtfully, "not up close, like this." A frown of concentration formed on her face as she craned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "It's sort of a weird looking thing, isn't it?"

He glanced at his watch and let out a deep sigh. "I'd love to stay and have you 'toy' with me all day, but it's getting late and I have to pick up Adam" he whispered. "Maman is working today, we have to go."

"Oh yes, it was good, we played on his Nintendo. I wish we had one of those, it's goes 'blip, blip, blip, kawpowee' when you make the mutant guy jump on the slime monster." Adams hands waved widely in the air as he described the game. "And he had this Star Wars one where you're in these space ships and you have to go through tunnels and across the desert. I like that one best. Where did you walk to? Did you see Walter?"

Michael accelerated as the light changed to green, glancing across at Nikita as she smiled back at him, one eyebrow raised in question. He was about to reply when a car came speeding out of the side street directly at them. He saw a blue light flashing behind it and before he knew what was happening he heard the earsplitting sound of tyres skidding on bitumen and then the impact and tremendous thud as the car hit them, tossing them in the air as though they were nothing more than a leaf tumbling down the footpath. The last sound he heard was a terrifying boom and Nikita's scream as they rolled over and over and over ….

Michael came to, his head resting against the steering wheel, vision flickering and blurry. He felt a sticky wetness on his face and throbbing pain as he shook his head, trying to remember what had happened. The sound of Nikita's soft crying beside him brought him back to the present with a sudden clarity. He blinked slowly, eyes finally processing the wreckage around him. An acrid smell drew his attention as he looked out the twisted door beside him to seeing a tangle of cars beside them burning in a globe of black smoke and red flame.

"We have to get out. Nikita? Adam? Are you alright?" he asked. He moved slowly, trying to get out from where he was pinned behind the steering wheel, the crumpled door beside him pressing him back into the seat. He tried to nudge it with his shoulder, but that action achieved nothing more than making him dizzy. His hand managed to find the slide lever beside the seat and he pushed back, feeling a terrible pain in his chest as he did so. Turning quickly to Nikita he looked her over, kissing her tear streaked face.

She nodded, starting to calm down now that the initial shock was over. Michael looked over, into the back, terrified of the silence that met him. The roof of the car angled down sharply, obscuring his view so that all he could see were Adams legs.

"Lean back" he instructed Nikita as he angled his leg in the cramped space and kicked at the door with all his strength. The door groaned and swung reluctantly open, giving them enough space to crawl out. The force of the blow sent a shuddering pain through his chest and he closed his eyes as dizziness and nausea washed over him.

"We have to get out of the car Kita, now" he whispered urgently, rubbing his forehead to try and alleviate the pressure there. His hand came away covered with blood. He took a deep breath and undid Nikita's seatbelt, helping to angle her so she could get out the door without hurting her shoulder too much.

Adam was sitting, still supported by his seat belt, eyes closed and limbs flopped lifelessly around him. The crumpled roof of the car rested just millimetres above his head. Michael reached across, closing his eyes to blink back the tears as he felt Adam's neck for a pulse. His breath came out as a ragged sob as he felt the fragile beat under his finger.

Before undoing the seatbelt he felt along Adam's limbs for breaks. Not finding anything unusual he decided to take the risk and quickly undid the seat belt and layed him across the back seat. He worked his way back to the front seat, pulling Adam gently behind him. As he managed to get them both into the front seat there was a massive explosion beside him. He held Adam against him as the force of the blast blew out all the remaining windows in the car, a heat wave following it that scorched his arm and face.

A fire engine arrived and men in yellow slickers started running everywhere, yelling at them to move. But Michael just stood looking at her, his eyes huge and glassy, blood still seeping from the cut on his forehead. He clutched Adam's still body as though it were a part of his own.

Some fireman came and led them out of the way of the burning vehicles. They were directed to a curbside where they were told to sit and wait. When Michael made no move to sit down she pushed on his shoulder, his legs just seemed to crumple and fold underneath him as he slid down to the ground. She sat down beside him, her good arm to his side. Folding her injured arm into her lap she wrapped the other around Michael's shoulders.

"I can't believe this, I can't believe that just a few hours ago we were …" the thought drifted off as she leaned her head against Michael's shoulder, feeling his blood stick to her cheek and hair but beyond caring.

"Adam will be alright, they'll be here soon and they'll take him to the hospital …" With no warning the car they had been in only minutes before erupted in a huge fireball. Nikita sat watching, astonished, the sight and smell overpowering. Fireman swarmed around it, trying to control the flames.

"That was quick thinking by you kids to get out of the car straight away" a policeman announced as he walked up beside them, watching the wreckage of the car being doused with water. "We may not have been able to get you out in time."

"An ambulance is on route, it should be here in a minute." He squated down beside them, checking them over. "You all hang on till it gets here, OK? I'll need to get a statement from you, but we can wait until the paramedics have checked you out. Can you tell me how I can contact your parents? I'm sure they'll want to know what's happening and meet you at the hospital."

"My dad's out fishing with some friends, he was going to be back by 5:30 Michael's mother works at Westmead hospital, she's there today." Nikita offered, feeling the pressure of tears welling up in her eyes again.

The policeman gave Michael a strange look as he wrote the information down on a note pad. He was about to ask Nikita another question when he stood, suddenly, waving a hand in the air to direct the ambulance over to their location. The van backed up beside them and the paramedics started unloading a trolley. A police car pulled up beside the ambulance, the officer staying in the car, watching them while he spoke into a hand held radio.

"Thanks Niki." He leaned across to where Michael sat, still rocking Adam in his arms. "Hey Michael, you want to let go of Adam for a moment so we can check him over, then we can get that cut cleaned up for you."

"Non, non je ne peux pas le laisser partir, tu ne comprends pas. Si je la lâche, sa main glissera sous l'eau et je ne pourrai jamais plus la retrouver, même si j'essaie de toutes mes forces. Les vagues l'engloutissent et je ne peux plus la retrouver. Tu ne vois pas que si je le lâche ça va recommencer"

"Yes, but he's speaking French. I don't know what he's saying, it's something about water and hands and finding something under the waves. I don't know, I can't think straight at the moment." Nikita turned to Michael again, rubbing her hand against his cheek. "Michael, come on, please, they need to get Adam to hospital."

"J'ai dit non, laissez le tranquille, vous ne comprenez pas à quel point ça peut aller vite. Ils disparaissent, je ne peux pas le lâcher" Michael yelled, looking at each of them with a crazed expression on his face.

The policeman walked over to Michael leaning down beside the paramedic. "Come on son, let your brother go so they can get him on his way." When Michael ignored him, he said more forcefully "I said let the boy go." The policeman moved to pry his hands away and Michael lashed out, hitting him in the face.

Before Nikita knew what was happening the other policeman had jumped out of the car to come in behind Michael, pulling him back in a head lock. The paramedic and policeman wrestled Adam from his arms as Michael kicked and thrashed in a frenzy, trying to get him back.

"Don't hurt him, it's his brother, he's just worried about his brother." Nikita sobbed as the two policeman wrestled Michael to the ground, faced pressed against the road as they bent his arms back and snapped on handcuffs.

In a daze she felt the paramedics tending to her shoulder, unable to shift her gaze from the two policeman bent over Michael. As suddenly as his rage had begun it ended. He lay absolutely still, as though all the life had been suddenly drained from his limbs. She strained to hear what they were saying to him, saw his lips mumble something in response. Strong hands pulled her gently up and she was guided into the waiting ambulance.

As they closed the doors she caught a glimpse of the policemen easing Michael into the back of the police car. Unable to and not interested in controlling her tears, she was directed to a seat beside Adams stretcher, watching vacantly as he was hooked up to an oxygen mask and an IV. She took Adams hand in hers, closing her eyes, not willing to believe this had happened. She tried to remember the smiling, passion filled face that had so captivated her earlier in the day. But all she could see was the blank, beaten stare of the boy that had held Adam so tightly.

Madeline was sitting at her desk, just finishing up the last of her reports for the day when the call came. She listened quietly to the voice on the other end of the phone, even managed to say thank you before she put the receiver down. Like a machine she gathered up her things, informed her assistant of what had happened and then made her way through the walkway that connected her building to the main part of the hospital. She caught the lift to the ground floor, barely noticing the other occupants who smiled politely at her in greeting. She walked calmly up to the main desk of Casualty and waited patiently as the harried attendant finalised some paperwork for waiting nurse. As soon as she had finished she turned to Madeline.

"No problem Dr. Binoche, the police were involved so everything moved quickly and I thought you might prefer to hear the news from me, rather than them. They've just brought Adam in, Dr Green is attending in Room 3. The young girl that came in with him" she glanced at a clipboard on her desk, "Niki, she's in Room 7, dislocated shoulder. Her family haven't been contacted yet, her father's still not answering. Do you want me to keep trying?"

She walked down the busy corridor, finding Room 3 and slipping inside the door. Tears welled up in her eyes as she saw Adam's tiny, fragile body lying so still amidst the flurry of activity around him. Despite a burning need to get close to him and touch him, she stayed out of their way. As things calmed down a little, one of the nurses noticed her there and whispered to the doctor working on Adam. He smiled encouragingly across at her and Madeline felt a deep breath she hadn't realised she was holding escape her lips.

"He's going to be OK, Madeline. A concussion and some bruising. It doesn't look like there's any internal damage but we'll set up some tests just to be sure." The gentle voice spoke softly to her. "I'm concerned about his lack of responsiveness. I'd like to send him up to the 3rd floor ICU so we can monitor him until he comes around. It's just a precaution until we can be certain about the nature of the head trauma."

She watched them wheel Adam out as though she were in a dream. Shaking her head she pulled her cell phone out and called Adrian, silently praying that Michael would answer. As she waited for someone to pick-up she wandered down the corridor and found the room where Nikita was being seen. Finally she heard Adrian's slightly breathless voice answer and she quickly told her what had happened. Her mothers calm, assured responses telling her that everything would be alright a surprising comfort. Adrian was going to call George, he was due to fly out to Rome but he could get a later plane, they would be down there as soon as they could.

Madeline closed the phone as the doctor that had been treating Nikita emerged. They chatted briefly and she heard a sigh escape her lips as she was told Nikita would be fine. Her dislocated shoulder had been able to be reset under just a local and she had been given some pain meds.

She glanced at the phone in her hand and dialed Paul's number with a certain amount of dread. He answered almost instantly, remained silent as Madeline provided what information she had. In an cool, detached voice he offered to drop by Adrian's on the way to the hospital. Walter was with him and they would bring her as well in case she hadn't been able to contact George. Madeline told him she would wait with Nikita until he arrived. He thanked her and then hung up. All very curt, all very business-like. She wondered idly wether that's just how she had sounded.

When Madeline finally entered the room, Nikita was sitting on the edge of the bed, her shoulder bandaged and arm in a sling. The instant she saw Madeline she burst into tears. The nurse moved discretely aside and left them as Madeline sat down beside Nikita, gathering her into her arms while Nikita sobbed inconsolably. Madeline felt her own tears finally drift lose as she held Nikita, fingers stroking through her blonde hair, hand gently patting her back.

As Nikita's sobs grew quieter Madeline reached around and grabbed a box of tissues from the bench behind them. She passed one to Nikita and took one for herself, dabbing at her eyes with one hand and pulling Nikita's hair back behind her ears with the other.

"Shhhhh Niki … it's going to be alright" Madeline crooned, dabbing a tissue at Nikita's wet cheeks. "Take your time, everything's OK. I've just seen Adam and he's going to be fine. I've called your father, he and Walter are on their way down here now. Just take some deep breaths, I need you to calm down so you can tell me what happened."

Madeline closed her eyes as she heard Nikita's words. Handcuffs? Oh god!. She couldn't get the image out of her head. She thought for a brief moment that she was going to be sick, a sudden pounding behind her eyes the only thing she could hear. A hand made it's way to her face, rubbing absently as though it might alleviate the pressure. The ring of her cell phone brought her back to the present. Withdrawing it from her pocket she opened her eyes. Nikita was staring at her, wide eyed with fright and grief. Madeline tried to summon a sympathetic smile and took her hand, holding it firmly as she answered the phone.

Madeline looked expectantly at Nikita and was relieved when she returned a fragile smile and accepted the phone. As Madeline dragged herself over to the phone on the wall she heard Nikita start to recount the story of Michaels altercation after the accident. In a haze she dialed her pager code and listened quietly as the nurse introduced herself and gave up an update on Adams condition. She let her know she would be up shortly and then replaced the receiver and sat back next to Nikita, listening to the answers she was providing to Adrian's questions. After a short while Nikita passed the phone back to Madeline.

"They have him upstairs in the ICU, he's stable but still unconscious." Madeline felt her limbs begin to tremble as a desperate sob escaped from her lips. "I don't know what to do mama, I can't leave Adam, but Michael … oh god, poor Michael, I need to see him, he needs to know I love him." She felt Nikita's hand clutch hers, cool fingers linking and squeezing tight.

"Listen to me Madeline, just stay calm, we'll get through this. You stay with Adam, George and I will go and pick up Michael. I don't know what sort of state he'll be in, but if I can, I'll bring him down to you at the hospital. If not we'll come back here and I'll get him to call you. Either way I'll call you as soon as we have him. Walters here, if I can't reach you I'll call him, so call home if you haven't heard from me in an hour."

"I'll call you, oh, and Madeline. There's just one other thing. Paul dropped by on his way to the hospital, he knows Michael's at the police station. I'm afraid he might have drawn rather the wrong conclusion about what's happened. Just thought you should know, sorry darling."

"Thanks for the warning. I'll talk to you soon, bye." Madeline closed the phone and slipped it into her pocket. She sat quietly for a moment, a little embarrassed at having fallen apart in front of Nikita. "I love Michael very much, I worry about him too much" she mumbled by way of explanation for her behaviour.

Madeline looked across at her, surprised by this reply. She had to admit to thinking of Michael's relationship with Nikita as nothing more than friendship and infatuation. Too much to contemplate just now, she'd save it for another time.

"What do you mean 'letting him out'? He should never have been taken there in the first place" Madeline replied, fighting to stay calm. "I think you should hear the facts of the situation before you jump to conclusions, Paul."

"You have some of the facts Paul, and you're choosing to make what you want with them" Madeline replied wearily. "According to Nikita's account, Michael was blameless in the sequence of events that led to the accident. And until I talk to him, I can't be sure why he acted the way he did afterwards. People react to shock in many different ways."

Madeline sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. "I can't give you answers I don't have." She looked up at Paul, shaking her slowly. "I'm sorry Paul, but I don't have the time or energy to deal with your accusations about my sons behaviour. I appreciate you are upset and angry, but you know him well enough by now. Think it through for yourself, what have you seen with you own eyes? " With that Madeline kissed Nikita lightly on the cheek and left them.

Paul watched her go, his anger still simmering, made even more extreme by Madeline's lack of remorse for Michael's actions. He turned his gaze to Nikita, shocked to see the accusing look she levelled at him. Michael nearly kills her and then gets into a fight with a policeman and is carted off to jail and it's *his* fault. This was too much!

"You are never to get into a vehicle with him again, do you understand?" he whispered, his words coming out as an angry hiss. She continued to stare silently at him, her head shaking slowly, the eyes now conveying something that looked like disappointment, he felt his anger boil over. "In fact" he continued, his voice rising, "I don't want you to see him at all, it's over. Do I make myself clear?"

She shuffled out ahead of him. Too overcome with emotion to fight for what she wanted. Too tired to do more than pull air into her lungs. Too overcome with disappointment in the man she idolised to want to think about what he had just ordered her to do.

"I've put him in one of the holding cells, sorry we couldn't find anywhere more … ummm … appropriate to put him. It's been a busy evening" the officer explained as they wound their way through a maze of corridors in the police station. They came to a halt in front of a solid metal door with a keyed lock, people bustling all around them.

"It's through here" the woman gestured towards the door. "It's probably better if you go in and bring him out, I think he needs a familiar face. I don't speak French and it's been difficult communicating with him, we've hardly had a coherent words out of him."

Adrian smiled gratefully and followed the police officer down a dreary corridor, closed doors lining the wall, muffled noise reverberating in the airless space. They stoped in front of a door, a small glass panel allowing a view inside.

"He came in with a bad cut on his forehead, I got our duty nurse to have a look at it and clean it up, but she thinks it needs stitches. I think he may have hurt his chest as well, but he wouldn't let us look at it or take him to the hospital. I didn't want to get him more upset, so we let it drop and called you immediately."

Adrian nodded, too unsure of her voice to answer as she gazed through the grubby glass panel at the forlorn figure of Michael. He sat on a small cot against the wall, his elbows resting on his knees, his head cupped in his hands.

"I spoke with the two officers that brought him in" the woman continued hesitantly. "It's a serious offence, assaulting an officer, but, all things considered, they may have been a bit … overzealous in their reaction."

Michael didn't look up as Adrian entered. She walked over to him, pulling up the chair beside the bed and sitting in front of him. Placing her hand under his chin she tilted his head up so he could see her. With a trembling finger she brushed the hair off his face, examining the dressing on the cut, looking him over for other injuries.

"Of course you are" she smiled gently, kissing his cheek and taking his trembling hands in hers. "Adam is going to be all right, he's still in the hospital. Your maman is staying with him until he wakes up. She wanted very much to come here and get you, but I told her to stay with Adam. Do you understand that Michael? That she wanted to be here? She loves you very much, we all do."

"You are not to blame for this, Michael, it was a terrible accident. The police explained to us what happened, you were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was nothing you could have done differently that would have avoided it. Do you understand that too, Michael?"

"I spoke with Nikita, she told me what happened" Adrian continued, stroking the back of his hand with a steady pressure. "Her shoulder has been reset, she should be right as rain in a few days." She took his other hand in hers as he opened his eyes again, the only thing alive in his expressionless face. In the same soft voice she continued. "No matter how upset you were Michael, you shouldn't have hit out at those people that were just trying to help you and Adam. You made a mistake, but it's over now, and you have to get past this. Stop punishing yourself for this Michael, no one else is interested in doing that."

"I love you too, Michael. Perhaps more now than I did yesterday, or even this morning. Will you humour your mamie and at least nod your head so I don't feel like a silly, sentimental old lady that enjoys coming down to the police station to talk to herself."

"Now we have to decide what to do. I'd like to take you to the hospital now, so you can see your maman and Adam, and the doctors can look you over, put some stiches in that cut, see what other injuries you might have. The officer mentioned that you might have hurt your chest."

"You need to see a doctor and your maman wants you with her" she urged. "She could be there all night with Adam, they have him in the intensive care unit until he regains consciousness. I know she would be much happier if you were there with her." She moved her hand down to his chin, lifting his face up towards her again. As her eyes caught his, a rippling shudder seemed to move down his body and he started to shake uncontrollably.

"No, no one understands" he mumbled, wincing as he struggled to his feet. Nervous energy exploding he began shaking his arms and legs in an exaggerated movement, as though this might still the trembling. "Please mamie" he pleaded desperately, his eyes glazed with pain.

Walter eased the car slowly in behind Paul's, cutting the ignition and gathering his things off the seat behind him. The house was dark as he entered. Familiarity aided his quiet progress towards the kitchen, stopping as he noticed a light on in the study. Poking his head in he saw Paul sitting, gazing out the window, nursing a glass of whisky.

"Yeah, he was hurt" Walter replied thoughtfully, unable to hide his irritation at Paul's statement. "They stitched up his head and he's got two fractured ribs and a bruise the size of a basketball on his chest where he hit the steering wheel. He hasn't said a word since he got home, won't talk to anyone. He's just been sitting in his room, lying on his bed or playing the sort of music that'd make Leonard Cohen sound jovial on that oversized ukulele of his."

"Oh god, not you too?" Paul lashed out angrily. "What have we got happening here, some sort of 'Defenders of Michael' club. Poor Michael, Michael can do no wrong" Paul mimicked dramatically before turning angrily back to Walter. "Hell Walter, he crashed a car carrying my daughter, nearly killing all of them and then beat up a policemen. Why should I feel sorry for him?" he demanded heatedly.

"Bad luck, your gonna hear it wether you want to or not." He leaned forward in his chair, eyes pinning Paul with challenging stare. "They were crossing the intersection at Coultier and Vine on the green. The police were chasing some dumb shmuck down Vine and the guy ran the red light and ploughed right into the side of them, doing at least 90. Threw them into an oncoming car and rolled them several times before the car righted itself. The car that hit them and the other one collided and blew-up. If Michael hadn't of acted quickly and got them out they would have all been killed. Their car went up just minutes after they got out."

"Good, so keep listening. Michael seemed to lose it once they got out. Niki told Adrian that he wouldn't let them take Adam from him. Maybe he was in shock or worried about Adam or something, I dunno. Kept yabbering on in French about something. When they tried to force Adam out of his arms, he hit out, had the bad luck of connecting with one of the cops. The rest, as they say, is history."

Walter reached across and grabbed his glass. Finished it off in one gulp and then smacked his lips together in a grimace, shaking his head. "Whew, I needed that" he sighed. Looking across to Paul he rolled his head slowly, rubbing his neck. "So what'd you say to her Paulie, tell her she couldn't see Michael again or something dumb thing like that?"

Walter gave Paul's back a firm pat, pulling back. "OK, I'm beat. I'm gonna turn in." He yawned again, stretching his arms above his head. "See you in the morning." Walter headed for the door, stopping to rest his hand on the doorframe. "I'm going back over to Adrian's later tomorrow, you might want to think about coming along. I'll lend you some knee pads so you don't get carpet burn while you're groveling."

Adrian glanced at Madeline, her eyebrows raised in a concerned frown as she passed her in the doorway. Adrian turned and closed the door behind them, composing herself before filling the kettle and setting it on the stove.

"I know Adam, but Michael needs his rest too. I told you that he hurt his head, just like you, and he has a very sore chest from a big bruise he got when he bumped the steering wheel. He needs to be alone for a bit, just until he's feeling a bit better." She brushed her hand gently across his forehead, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I think your mamie might have made something special for you while you were in the hospital" Madeline smiled, deftly changing the subject.

"At last" Adrian smiled, going to the fridge and getting two bowls out. She set them on the table then returned to Adam. "Lets have some then, shall we? And maybe when we've finished that, we can have some toast and honey."

She turned and made her way to the stairs, feeling the strain of each step as though someone had her shoulders and neck in a vice. The sound of soft laughter from Adrian and Adam brought a listless smile to her lips, easing the tension slightly as she climbed the stairs. She paused outside Michaels closed door, pressing her ear gently against smooth timber, hearing only silence from within. Changing her mind she went to her room and grabbed her medical bag, then went to the bathroom and filled a glass tumbler with water. She returned to Michael's door and let out a deep breath.

She rapped softly on the door, waited a moment to hear the reply she was sure wouldn't come and then opened the door. He was curled up on the bed, his back to the door. His room was immaculate, except for the sheets of music scattered on the floor under the window. His cello rested against the chair, the papers on the floor fluttering in the slight breeze that drifted in the window. She closed the door behind her and walked over to his bed, putting the items she had brought with her down quietly on the small table beside it.

His eyes closed for a moment, then with a soft moan he rolled over on to his back, bending his arm and resting his forearm across his eyes. Madeline immediately lifted his arm away from his face and removed the bandage on his forehead. Hovering over his face as she examined the ragged cut.

"Well, that's something, at least" Madeline said softly. She smeared a thin line of antibiotic cream across the cut then fixed another bandage in place. "Can you sit up now, please" she asked in the same soft but forceful tone. Not waiting for him to comply she slid her hand under his shoulders and pulled him gently up. With a faint hiss of pain he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed next to her. She helped him lift his t-shirt to rest near his shoulders then reached down and grabbed the stethoscope from her bag.

"Take a deep breath, Michael" she instructed as she started examining his bruised chest and ribs. "Adam's home, he's downstairs now with mamie. Believe it or not he's in better shape than you, just a headache and small bruise on the back of his head. He wants to see you Michael. He's too little to understand all this. You can't shut off from him too. All he'll see is that you don't want to be with him. Are you listening to me? Take another breath."

"Good. Your breathing sounds better" she said digging in her bag again. "I know the bandage is uncomfortable because of the bruising, but it needs to stay on for a few more days while your ribs heal. You need to tell me if it gets too painful and you need something for the pain." She exhaled slowly and thought about this as she replaced some things in her bag. "But of course since you're not talking to me that's unlikely to happen, is it? I'll give you something to help you sleep tonight, mamie tells me that you didn't get much sleep last night after Walter brought you home from the hospital."

Madeline sighed and rolled her eyes. "I'm getting very tired of that phrase. You'll do as you're told." She reached for the glass of water and passed it to him, almost pushing it into his reluctant fingers. "Here, take these" she demanded, shaking two tablets from a small jar into her palm.

Michael reluctantly took the tablets from her, tossing them in his mouth and swallowing them down with a gulp of water. He glanced at her with an insolent pout before turning his face to stare out the window.

She turned to face him, pulling his chin around gently, forcing him to look at her. His eyes slowly focussed on hers, reflecting the cold, empty expression on his face. She sighed deeply, resisting the urge to shake a response out of him.

"I've had just about enough of this Michael. It has to stop, now" she whispered angrily. "What happened yesterday was an accident, there was nothing you could have done to avoid it, and you did everything you could to make it less of a tragedy than it might have been. You will recover, as will Adam and Nikita, so there is no need for this."

Her voice softened, thumb stroking gently against his cheek. "Yesterday, at the hospital, Nikita told me what happened. She told me that you were very upset after you got everyone out of the car. She couldn't understand most of what you were saying, but I think I can guess what was worrying you. Adam is all right Michael, you brought him out safely."

Sensing the futility she continued anyway, trying to find some way to get through. "You have to talk about what happened when Charlotte died, Michael. You've been trying to deal with it yourself for four years now, and you haven't been able to. You have to find a way to get past this."

Michael closed his eyes and tried to turn his head away, but Madeline's strong grip held him firmly in place. "If you can't talk to me about it then find someone who you can trust, talk to them" she urged, her voice breaking in a sob as tears started falling down her cheeks. With a steadying breath she released Michael's chin, her hands dropping despondently into her lap.

"There's your conundrum Michael" she said softly as she stood and wandered over to him. Brushing a finger down his sad face she slid it under his chin to tilt it up towards her. "Until you can talk about it, the hurt will never go away."

She didn't wait for his answer, just slipped out and closed the door softly behind her. Leaning back against the solid, smooth surface she heard the cello being tuned and then the scrape of bow against string. A harsh rasp that quickly melted into a tranquil cascade of sound. Her eyes closed, lulled into the mesmerizing rhythm, feeling a vague desire to draw all her senses into this, the music. As though there might be some answers there.

When the music suddenly stopped she pressed her ear to the door, desperate to know what was happening inside. She almost laughed with the realisation that she would learn just as much standing out here in the corridor as she would on the other side, in his room. This, after all and solid though it was, was not the door he was using to lock her out.

She opened the door to find Adam stretched out on Michael's bed, head resting on his arm, books, paper and pencils scattered around his head. Michael sat by the window, a haunting melody flowing like treacle from his cello. He stopped for a fleeting instant as Nikita entered, the lapse in focus promptly corrected as his hands resumed their graceful dance across wood and string.

"Hey squirt" she said softly, smiling, siting down on the bed beside Adam. "You had us pretty worried yesterday." She put her face on the bed beside his, stroking his cheek with her hand. His eyelids drooped wearily as he yawned.

"Playing the cello" Michael answered without looking up. He plucked at some strings, idly tuning before starting the piece again. "Sometimes .. she couldn't go to sleep at night unless I played it for her."

"The same as what? Hmm … I'm just gonna assume you're having another conversation with the little people." She frowned and turned her back on Michael, laying down on the bed next Adam. She picked out one of the books on the bed beside him.

She stroked Adam's cheek, watching as his eyelids drooped lazily, closed, opened, then closed again. Almost in time to the slow beat of the music. After they had stayed closed for a while she rose from the bed, wincing as she felt an uncomfortable tug in her shoulder. She wandered over and stood in front of Michael, watching the slow nod of his head as he looked down over the instrument. Seized by a sudden anger at his behaviour she reached down and grabbed the stem below his fingers, pleased with the dull twang this produced when he passed the bow over the strings.

"I'm amazed you even noticed." She knelt down in front of him, forcing him to look at her. "I don't get it Michael, yesterday morning we were … like … making love. And now … now you won't even talk to me. I keep thinking that any minute I'm going to hear 'two to beam aboard captain'. What was it? Some sort of 24 hour viral thing and now you're over it. I'm supposed to understand the brooding silence, am I? Well I don't, so talk to me you jerk."

Nikita smiled, ready to lean in for another kiss when Michael turned abruptly and went back to the window. He picked up his cello, swinging it to the side and lowering himself to the chair, a grimace of pain passing over his face as he did so. Reabsorbing himself into his task he plucked at the strings, then positioned the bow and began to play again.

Nikita's smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. With a weary sigh she sat on the bed, careful not to disturb Adam from his sleep. She laid down on her back, folding her arms across her chest, closing her eyes and letting the music wash over her, feeling it soften her anger to a dull pain.

"Right behind you, and the best view in the house, if you don't mind me saying" he grinned, happy to put up with Adrian's withering glance for the opportunity to escape the palpable tension between Madeline and Paul.

"Yes, me first" he sighed. "I ummm …. I feel very badly about the way I behaved at the hospital yesterday, Maddie. I won't give you any excuses, I'm sure you were feeling all the same things as me. Probably more so given Michaels situation, and Adams. I'm sorry I let my anger get in the way of things, I shouldn't have said those things about Michael. I was wrong, it was inexcusable." He sighed again and reached for her hand. "I should have been there to help you, rather than reading you the riot act. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I told him last night. We decided we'll have a bit of a celebration next Friday when he gets back from Rome." Walter cast his gaze across to Madeline and then Adrian. "He felt real bad about having to leave while all this is going on."

"It's a little more complicated than just yesterdays events Paul" Adrian explained. "There are things from the past, we all have our ghosts in the closet." She looked to Madeline as her daughter rubbed her face wearily. "I'm not sure if Madeline is in the mood to discuss it" she added protectively.

Adrian stared intently at Madeline, just as Paul and Walter were. She watched as Madeline rubbed slowly at her temples. As though her fingers were searching for some dormant store of energy that might provide the motivation for her to proceed.

"Madeline and Charles had a daughter Charlotte" Adrian began softly, as all eyes shifted to her. "She was two years younger than Michael. The family used to spend summer holidays on the coast. Charles was fond of sailing and the children developed his passion for it. When Michael was old enough, Charles bought him a small skiff that Michael used to race at the local yacht club. Charlotte would often go with him."

"Four years ago Charlotte drowned during one of these races" Adrian continued. "A sudden, violent storm blew up, she and Michael were out on a far reach with two other boats. They took the brunt of the squall and were blown out of the bay where they had been sailing. They found them some hours later, after an intensive search, a few nautical miles out to sea. Michael and two other boys were clinging to the keel of his upturned skiff. Charlotte's body and that of another boy were found later."

Madeline nodded her head, her expression immeasurably sad as she let out a deep breath. "Michael was only twelve at the time" she whispered softly. "He's never told me what went on during that time they were caught in the storm. When they finally brought him in he was suffering from severe shock and mild hypothermia. All he could tell the police was that Charlotte was holding his hand and then she was gone. One of the other boys saw her when Michael helped him onto the upturned boat, but then all he remembers is Michael thrashing frantically in the water calling her name. The autopsy showed that Charlotte had suffered a concussion before she drowned, more than that I don't know."

Madelines voice dropped until it was barely audible. "Charles couldn't accept Charlottes death. He wanted revenge and he sought it by blaming Michael. They never recovered from it … perhaps I haven't either. Some detestable part of me still wonders if he did everything he could." She drained the last of her wine, looking to Paul with an enigmatic expression on her face. "He's expecting us to blame him for this too" she whispered desperately. "I can't make him understand, I don't think he wants to."

Her voice trailed off, doused by the melancholy silence that descended like a fog. Utterly drained, both emotionally and physically, the tears burned hard against her closed eyelids. Any authority to control them long since relinquished. She felt her head flop back against the lounge, too heavy to support yet so light she felt giddy. Floating. Elusive. She felt fingers seek and circle hers. The touch of skin. Soft lips. Warm and strong. The gentle caress of a mother, a friend, a lover. An anchor to cling to. A light, to help her find the way.

"Just checking up. When we spoke last Thursday you indicated Michael would be back at school this week. Since he's not back, I was just wondering when we might expect him. I'd like to organise with his teachers to get his lesson and homework assignments sent home for him to go through. We don't want him to get too far behind. Even though he's a very bright student, three weeks is a long time especially since we're coming up to mid-terms, as you'd probably be aware."

"Umm … yes, I'm sorry Mr Davenport" she managed, feeling her head droop wearily down towards the pile of files in front of her. The desire to bang her head repeatedly against her desk was so strong she forced herself to sit up again. "He needed a bit more time, the headaches still haven't settled. I'm sorry I forgot to call and let you know."

She replaced the receiver and sat looking at the phone for a long time before she picked it up again and hit one of the speed dial keys. She noticed, rather than felt, her fingers drumming angrily on the desktop as the phone rang.

"He might have been, I'm not sure. I was out in the garden this morning when I saw him climbing up the back trellis into his room. He was remarkably agile, all things considered" Adrian replied with just a touch of admiration.

"I came inside and found him in his room. He may have been doing this the last couple of days without me knowing. I have no cause to go upstairs any more. So … I'm not sure if he was here, or not. All I can confirm is that he is here, now."

For some reason she couldn't fully explain, perhaps it was intuition or maybe just fear, Madeline parked her car on the street rather than announcing her arrival by parking in the driveway. Switching off the ignition she sat staring at the house for a while, admiring as she always did the graceful, sweeping lines of timber and wrought iron. The white paintwork set in a mosaic of green on green and vibrant colour from the garden. Home. In every sense of the word. But not quite the peaceful haven she had envisaged. She rested her hands on the steering wheel, lowering her head to lean against them as she worked frantically through options. What to say that hadn't already been said? What to do that hadn't already been tried and rejected. She felt primed for another battle for which she had no strategy layed out.

Her mind worked furiously, recalling the detail of Michael's behaviour over the last three weeks, searching for clues. She had been watching him with an intense scrutiny, taking time off from work to be with him in the quest for anything that might help her break down the seemingly impenetrable barrier he had locked his emotions behind. This constant observation was making him uncomfortable, despite the detached, imperturbable exterior he presented as she forced him to go through the motions of each day. Once or twice she had imagined him squirming under her penetrating gaze. Privately this pleased her. Pleased that at least she was having some effect, wether it was for better or worse she didn't know.

Adam seemed to be the only one whose company he sought. They would sit together for hours on end, both absorbed in whatever activity Adam had nominated. Michael would remain silent but this didn't seem to bother Adam. He would clasp his hands around Michael's ear and whisper things that occasionally brought a fragile smile to his older brothers' lips. Adam seemed to view Michael's silence as some special part of the game. When Adam went back to school Michael again retreated to his room, until she would be forced to go up and drag him back downstairs to be with her and Adrian.

She had invited Nikita over several times while Michael's physical injuries were healing, encouraging her to spend time with him. She would stay up in his room with him for a while before coming back downstairs, sad and frustrated. When she had quizzed Nikita about these sessions the young girl had been vague, saying only that Michael seemed happy to see her but had said nothing of any consequence in their brief conversations that punctuated the long periods of silence. Nikita would stay around for a while, a little lost, playing with Adam or helping her or Adrian with some mundane task. Nikita had started back at school last week and her visits had become infrequent as a result.

She had thought that school might be the solution. Get him back into a routine that might force him to engage again. He hadn't wanted to go back. His desperate pleas to be allowed to stay home were the only real displays of emotion she had seen over this time. But she had been insistent and had dropped him at school each morning and picked him up at the end of the day. He had been there waiting for, jumping into the car as soon as she pulled up, responding in a monotone when she asked about his day. That he could have deceived her so thoroughly was profoundly disturbing.

She wondered how he viewed this act of deception. Was it an attempt to get back at her, a blatant challenge to show her that despite her subordination he could still exercise a measure of control in their relationship? Or had she underestimated the lingering depression he had been experiencing since the accident? *He's not ready*. Had her mother seen something she had missed? She rubbed her face in frustration. Too much. She needed some answers. Not more questions.

She eased herself out of the car, walked around to the back of the house and entered through the kitchen door. Closing it quietly behind her she made her way to the stairs, hearing the sound of scales being played on the cello drifting gently through the house. Halfway up the stairs she heard Adrian's soft laughter. She stood still for a moment, identifying the direction, realising that the music was coming from downstairs. Wandering back down she followed the sound to the front room, hesitating for a moment she paused outside, composing her thoughts as she became distracted by the conversation within.

"Your grandfathers farm, near Aberdeen. We went there often when Madeline was just a baby. I can still remember that wind, it was so cold … and so beautiful." Adrian's tone was wistful. "You were there once, weren't you?"

"Yes. Maman took me there a couple of times when we were visiting papa while he was working in London for a short while. I don't remember much about it, but I do remember her being very happy and that I had cold hands that she kept warming with her breath" was Michael's soft reply.

"Yes, he and your grandfather were best friends since they were teenagers. They were inseparable. Marrying Roger meant that in a way I was also bringing George into our family. That's certainly the way it turned out." She heard Adrian laugh mischievously.

"Ohhh look. This was from a trip we did to Tahiti, on our way to the Philippines. Good heavens, were we ever that young. Look at that dreadful swimsuit Roger's wearing, god he loved those shorts. I tried to hide them all the time but they would miraculously reappear."

"She would have been the same age as you are now, Michel" came the whispered response. "Sarah and Madeline had just arrived home from school, I remember hearing their laughter and shouts as they raced up the stairs. The stairway in our house in Montreal was rather a grand affair, marble and iron and gilt edged. Sarah tripped and fell backward down the stairs. She died later than night from a brain hemorrhage. It all happened in a matter of seconds, though the repercussions lasted many, many years." Adrian's voice faded into another long silence.

"I only wish I … " blurted out between sobbing breaths. "I wish I had of understood things better. I couldn't believe that life could be so fragile, that someone so young could so effortlessly embrace death. I wanted someone to blame, so I could find a reason for her death. So I blamed Madeline. It was … so easy, that soon I had even managed to convince myself that I had been right. I made her go away, I made her hide you all away from my anger. I did just what your papa did to you."

A harsh intake of breath and a ragged sob punctuated the sudden silence in the room. Madeline bit her lip savagely in an effort to remain quiet, tears streaming down her face. She felt torn, wanting to stay hidden and wanting to go to her mother. Some instinct told her to stay where she was, as though some inexplicable build-up of tension kept her pinned in place.

Madeline stood slowly, sliding her back up the wall for support. She tried a tentative step, leaning against the doorframe as she rolled slowly into the room. Michael sat on the piano stool beside Adrian, his back to her, head hanging down towards the hand that clasped Adrian's in his lap. The photo album dropped at their feet, forgotten.

"I was so cold and I could feel Charlottes hand, it was cold too. She was shaking, I was too. When the waves started breaking over us again and Rene was calling out I wrapped the halyard rope around her wrist. I couldn't reach to get it around her waist."

"My fingers were shaking when I tied the knot around her wrist. I had to let go of the boat so I could use both hands. Charlotte screamed when I let go, but I had to tie a knot so I could reach Rene. The waves kept pushing me under. I let go and I could have tied it around her waist, but I didn't. I just tied it around her wrist, she was screaming and crying again. The boat was so slippery, it took so much energy just to hold on. I thought the rope would help, and I had to reach Rene."

"I managed to grab the boat again, I still had Charlotte's hand. I wrapped the rope around my wrist too and tried to reach Rene. He was swimming, crying, stretching his hand out, so close. I had to let go of the boat again, and then I reached out and I could just grab his fingers. A big wave came and slammed us against the boat, I saw her head bounce off the hull and she closed her eyes but I still had her hand. Rene managed to grab the gunwale, but the wave was washing him away. I felt Charlottes fingers slipping out of mine, I tried to grab her again but she just let go, I still had the rope, and Rene was being swept away again. I reached out and grabbed his shirt, pushing him against the keel, he managed to grab it and hold on and then I reached back for Charlotte …"

Michael's lips continued to move but all that came out was strangled wail. He slumped against Madeline, his body heaving as he started to cry. She felt the gentle pressure of Adrian's arms surrounding them. Felt the moisture in her hair as a cheek rubbed gently against her seeking a resolution of its own. Aware of all that was going on with such a startling lucidity it made her senses reel. Time stood still, caught in the vertex of forgiveness and redemption.

"Let me in Michel, let me share it so you don't have to keep it locked inside" Madeline pleaded. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, rocking him gently as she whispered "I'm here, let it go" over and over in his ear. He clutched at her hand, cradling it against his cheek as the tears streamed down his face.

"I tried to grab her hand maman" Michael cried, "but she wouldn't hold on … I could feel her … the rope, pulling me under … then another wave came … I tried to pull her up … then there was nothing … just the rope … floating … I tried maman … I tried … but she was gone … I'm sorry …so sorry …"

"Sorry for what Michel? That you had a hard choice to make and chose to save another boy's life? That in the middle of a storm when you were freezing cold and exhausted you could have tied a better knot? That you didn't know your sister had hit her head and was unconscious and that even if you had of kept holding her hand she probably would have drowned anyway, given your circumstances? I'm sorry she died Michel. But I'm so glad she had you with her, that she wasn't alone in that storm, that you kept her alive for as long as you could."

Madeline looked up into Adrian's tear stained face as she rocked him gently in her lap. They said nothing, just stared in silent understanding until Adrian finally smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear as she kissed her cheek. Madeline smiled in return, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as she leant down over Michael's face.

Michael just nodded politely in response, his eyes flicking longingly towards the verandah doors and escape. He hadn't spent much time with Nikita's father since the accident a few weeks ago and he felt decidedly uncomfortable in his presence.

"Well great, I'm very glad. We've been worried about you." Paul smiled warmly at him, fidgeting awkwardly for a moment, his hands moving into and out his pockets in rapid succession. Michael had the impression that the Admiral was just as nervous as he was.

"Good?" Paul considered, trying to recall the last time he had seen Michael smile. "There's an old song, can't remember the name but it has this line some of the men in my command used to use all the time while we were in Vietnam. 'Feeling good is good enough'." Paul gave a soft chuckle. "I'm babbling, it's a family trait."

Michael shook his head slowly, somewhat bewildered as he made his way out to the verandah. He found Nikita sitting on one of the deck chairs, long legs resting against the table, hands flicking disinterestedly through a magazine. She was singing loudly and out of tune, the song vaguely familiar but impossible to identify from her rendering. Her head bounced in time to the tune spilling through the headphones, tragically out of sync with the beat of her singing.

Michael stood for a long moment watching. Wanting nothing more than to move in behind and wrap his arms around her. Feel the feathery touch of cool, silky hair tickling his skin, the luxury of satiny lips, the reassuring echo of laughter in his ears. Retreat into that diaphanous calm she spun around him that left him breathless and doltish. Have things the way they had been before. But then, nothing was as it had been before.

He moved around to sit in the chair to her right. The singing stopped abruptly and he gazed out into the back yard briefly before turning to face her. Her eyes, hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, flicked towards him indifferently. With a slight incline of her head she gazed at him over the top of her glasses, eyebrows arched briefly into a question as she whistled out a breath. Then with a slow blink of her eyes she turned her attention back to the magazine. The singing resumed, her voice louder and more tuneless now.

Michael sighed in resignation of his fate and looked over the magazines on the table, selected one and then slouched down in the chair, lifting his feet to rest them on the table near hers. He waited, patiently, taking some solace in the knowledge that in the battle of silence he had an unqualified advantage. His mind wandered back to the comment her father had made and he wondered, idly, if this was, in fact, the calm before the battle. And, if so, what type and calibre of weapons in her stockpile was she currently preparing. He was certain he had made her choices many and varied.

The singing stopped and a moment later there was the metallic click of the CD player being turned off. She pulled the earphones out and with a lazy stretch tossed them on the table. A hand ran loosely through her hair and then she pushed her sunglasses down her nose as her gaze drifted across the back yard before coming to rest on him.

"There seems to be a number of products that will help. There is one here, by Chanel, called 'Oil Blotting Paper' that won't affect your foundation. It will leave you looking as fresh as when you first applied your make-up."

"And what about you Kita? It seems like such a long time since we've talked, well, at least since I've talked to you." His eyes wandered anxiously, searching her face. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, I didn't mean to. I just … I don't know." He shrugged and pulled his legs down of the table. He leant forward, sliding his elbow onto the table and resting his head against his hand. His finger traced a pattern along Nikita's foot and ankle. "How do you feel, about me?" he whispered.

Michael slowly, methodically, traced the outline of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. He felt her soft sigh as her lips parted in invitation. In a heartbeat his hands were moving, caught in a clumsy tangle as Nikita's hands did the same. He could feel the laughter bubbling in her mouth as his tongue continued it's ecstatic exploration.

After a long moment Michael felt her hand on his chest, gently urging him back. Nikita gulped in a mouthful of air as their lips parted, a soft giggle of delight spilling out with her next breath. Michael smiled in dazed rapture, trying to anatomise the euphoric sensations that made his head spin. But all coherent thought had left him as he found his head cradled in her hands, her thumbs delicately stroking his lips.