Sacrifice & Solace

by jlo10131121

Years later, Michael and Nikita are together, but there’s one thing missing. Story three of three.

Title: Sacrifice and Solace

Author: Jen

Email:

Category: M&N, post-ep, Vignette, Nikita's POV.

Rating: G

Summary: Years later, Michael and Nikita are together, but there's one thing missing.

Spoilers: the series finale which I think SUCKED

Distribution: Anywhere as long as I know the url.

Disclaimers: La Femme Nikita, the show and characters do not belong to me. They belong to

USA, WB, and everyone else who abuses them.

Feedback: is food for the hungry soul as well as fodder for my ego. BEG

Author's Note: This story is the sequel to No Regrets and Bittersweet Symphony. If you haven't read it, read it. It's a good idea. Plus, it's kinda hard to figure out what's going on in a movie if you haven't seen the beginning. Anyway, enjoy the show!

Sacrifice and Solace

Sacrifice. I've heard that word many times over the years, starting with my induction into Section. Sacrifice of parts of my being have gotten me where I am today. Sacrifice the soul to save the body. Sacrifice a son for the mission. Sacrifice your father to save your lover's son. Sacrifice the chance at happiness, of freedom with the one you loved, to become the leader of an organization you never wanted to be a part of.

It's been over eight years since Michael came back to me. And what a glorious eight years it has been. My husband, the man that I love, by my side, my second in command. I still remember the day we married. It wasn't long after Michael came back. We had needed to cement our relationship, needed the connection. I remember I wore a simple cream colored dress and Michael one of his patented business casual suits. Walter was there and so was Jason. That was the extent of our wedding party at the Tower. The ceremony was short and simple, but it was beautiful. Michael and I were finally together, after everything we'd been through over the years. Through the betrayals, lies, and pain, through Madeline and Operations' meddling and machinations, we had survived. We had overcome it. Take that Madeline and Paul, wherever you may be.

In a few months, maybe weeks, the rumor mill says, it will be announced that I will be moved to Oversight. Michael is expected to take over the reigns of Section when that happens. I am not sure if I am looking forward to the change. Once again it will mean that Michael and my relationship will be under surveillance. We are too powerful now for the Board to 'break' us up, as it were. Section One's success rate is essentially 100 and that will not change if I am moved to Oversight and Michael takes over Section. The Board knows it. They have the best team ever to rule the organization and they know it. We're better than George and Adrian were in their day and have surpassed even Madeline and Paul's rates during their reign.

We have earned the respect of our operatives. More changes have been made since Michael came back. Through some changes to protocol and Section Codes, back-up teams are mandated on every mission, even those believed to be a 'cakewalk.' As a result, operative casualties have gone down, and there isn't as much of a rush to recruit green children. There are less cancellations of our own people because abeyance has been restricted. Those who are in abeyance have the chance to redeem themselves through additional training. Operatives learn from their mistakes, not pay for them with their lives. Another thing that has changed and increased mission efficiency is that DRV's operative count has been increased by 40. Therefore, this change has increased the accuracy of the intel which has saved more than a few missions in the past.

Even with Michael by my side now, it doesn't make up for the years when I had to live without him. God, those years were utter hell. Every day was a fight to keep going, to drag myself out of bed, and run Section One. Michael had Adam to keep him going all those years. I had Walter and Jason and the cold comfort and responsibility of a position I never wanted. Missing Michael sapped a lot of my energy, and so eventually I stopped thinking about him, stopped dreaming and quickly turning my head around when I thought I heard his voice in Section. I put him completely out of my mind, until that day when I got the call from the PDA I'd given him in the off chance he would come back to me. I almost didn't answer it. I was so afraid, afraid to hope, afraid to let myself dream, only to have those dreams crushed.

And here we are years later, together. Even so, I can't help feeling something is missing. Michael is happy with me. I can see it in his eyes, but there is something missing. And it has a name. Adam. Michael doesn't talk about it, but he misses his boy. I sometimes catch him looking out the window of our home with longing in his eyes. It hurts to see him in pain. I love him so much I don't want him to hurt.

Michael doesn't know, but I've been keeping an eye on Adam for several years now, making sure he wanted for nothing. Adam has grown into a successful young man. He is now working for a prestigious law firm. He's dated on and off for several years now, but nothing has ever developed into a serious relationship. Women are drawn to him the way they are drawn to his father. Even so, his flirtations are just that, brief and casual. I think that has to do with his innate distrust of almost everything. Michael taught the boy well. In a world where there was danger at every turn, it paid to be overly cautious, even concerning personal relationships.

Sometimes, in the dark of night, when my willpower is at its lowest, I wish Michael and I could have had children. Technically, I probably could have a child, but I wouldn't, couldn't subject my child to the rigors of Section. Always in fear of some terrorist organization with a long reach and a vicious vendetta. Even so, I sometimes dream of a dark-haired boy with hazel eyes and my smile or a mischievous fair-haired girl with hazel eyes and Michael's intelligence. If dreams were money, I'd live like a king. I would have been a good mother. I can feel it. Our child would have had everything she or he could ever want, and never would our child have lacked for love.

What sacrifice we have made to be where we are today . . . Today is the anniversary of Birkoff's death. Walter, Michael, Jason, and I went to his grave and toasted to him. His sacrifice is the reason we're still here. He was a bright light in Section that was extinguished much too soon. There's a hole in Section's armor and it has a name. I miss him. So does Michael, even though most would think he felt nothing by the expression on his face. Being with him the past years have given me an insight into Michael I never had when we were operatives under Madeline and Paul. Our relationship has grown and matured. We are no longer mentor and student. We are equals. Sometimes I even correct him on some of the profiles, adding suggestions here and there. Our communication has become almost nonverbal even after all the years we were apart. Every day brings new challenges and with them, new insights into the workings of our minds and hearts, drawing us closer.

I've never felt closer to anyone than I am to Michael. He is everything to me, and I know he loves me. He tells me in words and deed, but sometimes, sometimes I wonder if he wishes he had chosen to stay with Adam. To have to choose between your child and the person you loved, not once, but twice in the same lifetime... I don't know what I would have done. I can feel his quiet pain, especially at night, with the darkness cloaked around us and the silence blanketing our bodies in bed. I can almost hear his heart, slowly breaking, and I know it still kills him to have made that decision. I don't blame him. I understand. Adam is his son and even though I am the woman he loves, Adam is his son. He held Adam as a newborn, felt every triumph and disappointment, raised him to manhood. Flesh and blood. There's no words to convey the amount of love Michael has for his child. It can't compare.

Michael found out. He intercepted a communiqué from an operative attempting to report to me. He confronts me about it, producing the encrypted communiqué. "How long?" he asks.

"Since you came back. I wanted to make sure he was all right," I say.

It takes a long moment for Michael to get his emotions under control. "How is he?"

I update him on Adam's progress, telling him about the girlfriends and the rise in the firm. At the end, Michael is near tears and his voice raspy as he simply said, "I miss him." I knew. Michael would always miss his child. But even if he had chosen Adam eight years ago, he would have missed me. Ah, the irony. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. For the two of us, there have never been 'good' choices. There have only been the ones that seemed right at the time. When I chose to take the reigns all those years ago, I in effect sentenced my own father to death. I lost my freedom. If I hadn't, an innocent child, Michael's child, would have died. We would never have survived that. And so I made the only real choice I had. Michael chose me because he needed me like I needed and still need him. We love each other with a force that scares me sometimes.

"I couldn't let myself keep a watch on him. It . . . hurts too much," Michael says, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly. To anyone else, he would seem the same cold Level Seven operative, but I know better. I withdraw the controls to the Perch, darken the windows, and lock the doors. Michael needs me right now, and Section can wait. I draw him into my arms and kiss him. His body tenses as my arms wrap around him. Sometimes, even after everything we've been through together, he instinctively tries to protect himself, even from me. Slowly, after a minute or so, his body relaxes and he accepts my comfort.

Michael asked me today if I would come with him to see Adam. He wants to see his child, but he won't let Adam see him. He wants reassurances that no impersonal reports or glossy photographs can provide. Because I love him, I say yes, and so we head out to Australia. Adam's been living in Sydney for the last three years. The plane ride is long and Michael is anxious, I can tell. The look in his eyes is the only indicator of his disquiet.

Soon we arrive and precautions are made to protect the leaders of Section One. We are forced to wait as operatives secure the perimeter. We are at Adam's home. It is just as the pictures described it: a one level condo on the third floor of an apartment building. Michael and I are safely in our limo, armored with bullet proof windows and several guards. We wait for a few minutes and then Adam walks out with a briefcase in hand and a young woman at his arm. They kiss goodbye and Adam hails a cab for her. The brunette leaves in the cab, and Adam is about to get into his Lexus when he stops. Slowly turning around, he surveys the area, watching for what I do not know. A few seconds later I realize what he's doing. Adam senses something. Maybe he even senses our presence, but we can't afford to be exposed. Even though we are several hundred feet away, I feel the need to leave. Adam can't know we're here. If he does, he'll look for Michael. The wrong people could find out and then we'd be in trouble. Adam will not be subjected to the danger we are in every day. Not after everything we have done over the past twenty-five years to prevent it.

Michael knows what must be done and so he signals the driver to take off. Neither of us looks back. We can't. Michael reaches for my hand and I grasp his, giving comfort and support. For now, it is all I can do. I will not let anyone else witness our affection, our love. That is something private and belongs to no one but us.

Michael turns his head to look at me and I see the utter longing and despair in his eyes about his son. To the operatives around us, Michael appears unaffected, but his emotions are conveyed to me and only me through his eyes. His posture, facial expressions, and body language remain open and receptive while his eyes initiate a conversation with mine. Our communication has become almost nonverbal over the years, which is an ability that has aided us in the past and continues to be beneficial.

That night, Michael is quiet. I give him his space and don't bring it up. Seeing his son after so long, it has brought memories and fresh pain, reopening a wound that had never fully healed. We crawl into bed after a hard day of running Section. Both of us are quiet, our minds consumed with the same thought. What if Michael made the wrong choice? Tears run down my eyes and my throat swells with emotion, heart clenching at the thought. My body tenses as I feel Michael's arms wrap around my body, warming me from the inside out. "I wouldn't change a thing." Michael seems to read my mind and I turn my body toward him, looking into his eyes. I'm almost afraid to see what I can read there. Afraid his lips are saying one thing, but his eyes telling me another. Almost surprisingly, his eyes are clear, unclouded with doubt or regret. "I'm not happy I had to choose, but I needed you then and I need now." Michael leans in kisses my brow softly. "I love you too much, especially now, to give you up. I can't. I won't."

I hug him to me tightly, unable to express the depth of my love for him. I don't know what I would do without him. I've been down that dark and narrow road before. I can't go down that road again. If he ever had to choose again, no matter how much he protests, I think he would choose Adam. I wouldn't be able to survive that. I love him too much to lose him now. Section may forever be in the background, but he is always in the foreground. Michael is my life and I tell him so. "I love you," I whisper fervently.

Weeks pass and Michael doesn't bring up the topic of his son. I've kept a close watch on Adam since that day. There hasn't been any evidence of an attempt to contact Michael, but one can never be too careful, not in this day and age. I've been the 'mother' of Section One for too long and seen too much to believe that something will not happen with Adam. I have a feeling he will try to contact Michael and I must head it off. For all of our sakes. One night while Michael is at Committee, I sneak out. No guards, no bullet proof limos. As far as Michael is concerned, I am visiting my mother's grave. She died many years ago and about once a year I take the jet to Australia to pay my respects. I take the Jag Center gave me a few years ago and speed down the highway to the airport. From there, I take the jet waiting for me to Australia and then drive the rental to Adam's home. As I pull up, I survey the grounds, searching for anomalies. Nothing pulls my attention and more important, my instincts tell me everything is fine. My gun securely anchored behind my back, and the backup latched to my leg, I walk to Adam's apartment building. Head bowed, eyes averted and face shielded from view, I enter his building and climb the three flights to his apartment. I knock quietly and patiently wait for him to answer.

I haven't rehearsed what I'm going to tell him. I'm not even sure what I'm going to tell him beyond the obvious. Seeing him after so many years will be hard, I think. He is the child of Michael and Elena. He is the child that Michael and I will never have. God, just thinking about that makes my heart shudder in pain, sending a hot knife of heat through my chest. I thought I had gotten over or at least worked through the loss. My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Adam peers out in shock, obviously not expecting to see me. I didn't tell him I was coming in case one of our many enemies grabbed him.

"Nikita . . ." he says hoarsely. "Come in."

I do so and walk into the apartment. Adam has done well for himself these last years. The furniture in the living room, all Italian imported tan leather by the looks of it, has been custom made. The spacious kitchen is sophisticated enough to make any woman with culinary artistry green with envy. Looking down the wide hallway, I can see glimpses of a library, an office, and a master bedroom.

Clad in a burgundy red turtleneck sweater and black form fitting jeans, Adam looks like his mother, but has the grace and masculinity of his father. A perfect combination of the two. "What are you doing here?" he asks. "Is Dad all right? Did something happen to him?"

"Michael is fine. We both are. How are you?" Of course, I know, but I guess it is polite to inquire. Adam apparently knows as well because a slight smile quirks his full lips.

"I'm doing well. What brings you here?"

"I came here to tell you not to look for Michael. We are at a critical point in our lives and it cannot be disrupted. If you were to search for us, it could alert the wrong people and then you would be in trouble, forcing us to expose ourselves to protect you." I tell Adam straight. He doesn't need to be coddled and we can't afford it.

"So it was you that I felt a few weeks back. I knew there was someone watching me. I thought it was a guard that was watching me on your and Dad's behalf."

I felt Adam deserved to know the truth. "We came to see you because Michael misses you. He still . . . dreams." I am hesitant. I want Adam to know what Michael is going through, but I don't want him to suffer. He doesn't need to know about the dreams, nightmares, and sleepless nights. He doesn't need to deal with the pain we deal with on a daily basis.

Adam is quiet for a long moment and then he says, "Tell my father that I love him. I don't suppose you can tell me if the two of you are doing well in the organization?"

I shake my head. "You know the answer to that question, Adam." He understands.

"I will try to respect your wishes and stay away, but . . . I miss him. He is my father," he says, as if that is saying enough. And it is. He is right. Michael is his father. I breathe his scent in and smell something familiar, loving. Michael.

"Thank you," I say simply. No other words are needed. Since my goal has been accomplished, I rise to leave. Adam and I embrace, an awkward hug. Although technically his stepmother, our relationship has been somewhat strained, I think with some sarcasm. Adam is Michael and Elena's son, not Michael and my child. He has known for some time now the sacrifices made to give him a future and his own sacrifice to give me the man that I love. He knows that his father loves me more than he ever cared for Elena and I sometimes think that knowledge has possibly made Adam resent me just a bit. That knowledge is between us, has always been between us.

I leave and take the jet back to Section. Michael called me over because a situation just went critical. Walking into Section at an advanced pace, I am met by Michael who apprises me of the situation. "Red Night has come into possession of some papers that NATO does not want seen. The documents detail an attack plan to infiltrate and bring down some of the Middle Eastern countries, particularly those with access to oil."

The times we live in are brutal indeed. What Operations and Madeline went through now seems like a cakewalk compared to the enemies Michael and I have encountered during our years in Section. The terrorists of the world have steadily become more powerful, and counteracting their power is becoming increasingly difficult. Red Night has been trying to bring down Western countries for years by striking at their protectors: NATO, the FBI, the CIA, Section One, and others. With the information they now hold in their grasp, they could easily rally other organizations and create a coalition of terror.

"A flash mission went out an hour ago and we are monitoring their progress," Michael informs me.

"Where?"

"Australia." My breath draws in sharply at the possibilities. "The mission is miles from where Adam is. He's safe," Michael says quietly as we walk into Comm. Jason is at the terminal typing and relaying information to the team. The views are up and in real time. Michael and I watch and wait. We take turns issuing comments when needed, offering advice and commands. Our interplay is fluid, flawless. In sync. An hour and a half later, the mission is complete, casualties are few, and our people are on the way home, documents in hand. Slowly my muscles begin to unwind, the burning sensation of tense muscles giving way. Michael follows me up to my Perch, and I should have realized he would find out.

"You should have told me you were going to see him," he says quietly.

I don't even think to ask how he found out. He's Michael. Where there's a will . . . "I was afraid it would hurt you and I can see it has." I say as I turn to face him. My posture is open, open to Michael. I try not to hide from him, not since he came back to me. I don't, I can't take him for granted, not after all the years I spent without him. Michael is trying to bury his pain, but I can see it.

"Yes. It does. How can it not? He is my son. My child. The boy I raised from an infant, helpless, dependent on me. I love him like I will never love anyone. How can I not grieve? It hurt to be that close to him. Yes. Even so, you shouldn't have gone without me. I should have been the one to talk to him. No reports, no pictures, no amount of intel can convince me he is all right. I need to see him. I need to know he is truly all right," Michael says at last, tears clogging his throat and making his voice hoarse. " Listening to his pain rips my heart apart, knowing he will never be with his son again. Tears well in my eyes, but I will them back.

"I am sorry," I say simply. I wanted to save him the heartache and now it has only compounded it. Michael gathers me into his arms after darkening the aerie. He seems to know what my intentions were and appreciates the effort. I take comfort in his arms and give it back for a moment before I break away. There is much to be done today and not enough time to do it. I take the controls from the bench and undarken the aerie. For now it is resolved. We may have to discuss this further, but right now, we have terrorists to stop.

For the next few days, Michael is quiet, intensely introspective, attentive to his work, but when we're alone he is quiet and doesn't answer me when I ask what is the matter. I leave him be to work out whatever is on his mind and do not push like I would have years ago. A week later, Michael tells me as we lay in bed that he wants to visit Adam. This announcement jolts me for a moment, but then I accept it. In a small part of myself I had been expecting his request. After all, how could one stay away from one's child? The next morning Michael and I fly out to Australia. It is a short trip, only a few hours long. We have business to attend to later that afternoon and any more than a few hours with his son will leave Michael with more pain than I think he could handle. It is utterly gut-wrenching to have something you want within your grasp, and yet knowing it is not to be. This is the way it will be for Michael and Adam. The way it was for me and Michael more than twenty years ago. Freedom. Unattainable. Adam does not expect us on his doorstep and is duly shocked. His face is pale even under the brown complexion his mother's genes gave him. "Dad . . ." he murmurs hoarsely. "Come in." We enter into Adam's home and Michael takes a moment to compose himself in a way by glancing around the apartment. Adam and Michael hug for a long moment, neither seeming to want to let go. They haven't touched or seen each other in so long it's almost impossible to believe they're really here.

"What brings you here?" Adam asks as he leads us into the living room.

"I needed to see how you were, how you were fending for yourself."

"Everything's going well. I'm up for a promotion soon and the apartment is fine," Adam states, a bit puzzled. I assume that he is puzzled by the fact that we are here. Michael has never visited before now.

"Good." Adam tells his father about his job, the apartment, his friends, and a casual 'friend' he's been flirting with for a while now. They laugh and enjoy each other's company while I sit back and take in the father-son dynamic. Watching them is like watching how Michael would have been with our child, had things ended differently all those years ago. My dreams are interrupted by a sudden silence.

Michael's quiet for an unusual amount of time before he says, "The other reason why I am here is because I wanted to tell you that after today, you will never see me again. I will cut off all contact. This is not a decision I make lightly. For your well-being and my own, I cannot contact you ever again. Nikita will also cut the ties except to monitor your well-being through a third party. In spite of this, I have an account in the Cayman Islands in your name should you need emergency funds. There is over three million dollars in that account. Beyond that, do not attempt to contact Nikita or myself. The chance that the wrong people could find out is too great to risk. For any of us. I will not lose either of you."

Michael stuns me with that little speech. Although I guess I really shouldn't be. His concern for his son has always been a part of him and doing anything, including sacrificing his own emotional well-being to see that his child not suffer the stigma of belonging to him, and through Michael, to Section. Because all of us know what could happen if one of Section's many enemies got a hold of him... And Michael needs to make a clean break, if that's even possible. This life in limbo was slowly tearing him apart, I could tell.

Adam looks stunned as well. Even though he'd said goodbye all though years ago, he hadn't really believed it would happen. How could it? Some part of him knew that Michael would continue to check on him and he took comfort in that. But now Michael is taking away that security blanket, ripping away his assumptions and laying bare the stark truth.

We decide to leave a few minutes later and Michael and Adam hug for what would truly be the last time. Tears shine in both pairs of hazel eyes and mine are a bit damp as well. Michael and I step out of Adam's apartment and complex to the waiting limo. On the way back to Section, Michael says nothing and I leave him to his thoughts, but when we arrive, I check the pad, make sure nothing needs our immediate attention, and divert all incoming calls for one hour unless it is a Class Three situation or above. Michael and I walk into the Tower, the in-house living quarters that are meant for the leaders of Section One on those days when we cannot leave Section completely. As soon as we are away from prying eyes and even more critical cameras, I take Michael into my arms. At first, he is quiet, tense and unyielding in my arms, but after a few minutes his stoic countenance breaks down and he begins to cry, not huge gasping sobs, but quiet silent tears of his pain and heartache at the decision he was once again forced to make. All I can do now is hold him through the pain and be there for him.

A month passes since Michael said goodbye for the last time. I continue surveillance on Adam at a discreet distance and the boy seems to be coping. My sources say that he has gotten more responsibility with the firm he is with. They take note of some anomalies regarding Adam. It seems Adam has been making an unusual amount of deposits and withdrawals from his bank. His movements are erratic. Hurried.

One day, during a meeting with Oversight, my cell starts to vibrate. When I am with my colleagues, I am not to be disturbed. Only a Class Three or higher could take Michael and I's attention away. I politely excuse myself before I go outside to answer the phone. "Yes," I answer with a cold voice. The other person on the phone had better have a damn good excuse to pull me away or there will be hell to pay.

"Ma'am, this is Collins, the operative you assigned to do surveillance on Mr. Adam Saunders. I just witnessed...his car was incinerated. There was a car bomb. He's dead."

"Excuse me?" I ask, stunned. Michael comes out of the meeting looking for me wondering what was taking so long. I turn away from him.

"It happened in front of his office, Ma'am. Mr. Saunders got into the car, I turned away for a moment, searching the area for any anomalies, and I turned back in time to see the car blow up. There was nothing I could do. The police are here now and the fire department. They are still trying to get out the body. I will keep you updated." I couldn't say anything further and so Collins hung up.

My face drains of blood. I can feel it. "Nikita." Michael's voice is soft, but an underlying thread of urgency colors his tone.

I slowly turn around, dreading telling him, but knowing it needs to be done. "Michael..."

"Adam..." he says, a part of him knowing, the realization of it in his eyes.

"A car bomb in his Lexus. He was coming out of his office...Collins says he was in the car. Michael, Adam's dead," I say slowly, tears thickening my voice.

"No, no, no," Michael whispers, shaking his head slightly, closing his eyes and then opening them. His eyes, his beautiful eyes turn moss green with pain and denial. Going to him, I enfold him in my arms, trying to offer comfort when there is none. For several long moments, we hold each other, but then we break apart. There is a roomful of Board members waiting for the leaders of Section One. Unfortunately, there is nothing on the pad that could possibly require both or even one of us to return to Section, and so we must wait it out. Composing ourselves, Michael and I go back into the room to find the Board bickering over budget and success rates. Suddenly, none of it seems important. Michael's child is dead. After everything we have tried to do to give him a normal life, everything we have sacrificed, a damn car bomb takes it. After everything we have done to ensure that no part of our existence–our world–touches him, by some cruel twist of Fate all of our careful planning has come to an end. Somehow Michael and I make it through the last forty-five minutes of this never-ending meeting, and we are free to go back to Section.

The jet is ready for us by the time we get back to Section. Tina is Operations while Michael and I are out. I hand her the keys to Section and we leave for Australia. It is a long flight, tense with the silence between us. Each of us is lost in our own thoughts. I should have anticipated this somehow. God dammit, Adam is the son of the Second in Command of Section One, the step-son of Operations! Of course, he would be a target. Supposedly, no one knew Adam was even alive. We had told the Board he'd died when he was a child all those years ago when Michael came back. But no plan was fool-proof. No matter how much we try, we can't be in two places at once. God, Michael's ison /i is dead. His only child. Even though Adam was Elena's, I had kind of begun to think of him as mine... I blame myself. I should have posted more surveillance on him, run background checks on his colleagues and clients, anyone he came into contact with. Hell, for all I know, it was that girlfriend of his that killed him!

Michael is quiet on his side of the jet. Pain radiates from his body, tense and almost imperceptibly trembling. I cannot imagine what is running through his mind, but he's probably blaming himself. After all the sacrifice, it seems nothing we do turns out right. It's not fair. Adam was too young to die. Whoever killed him will be found and will have the most distinct displeasure of meeting Elizabeth and Henry. When I was a young operative, Birkoff nicknamed them the Torture Twins because of their 'dedication' to their 'work.' Older, they have grown more sophisticated in their technique. Nowadays, they can extract information from the most stubborn targets within fifteen minutes. They have yet to come across an adversary worthy of their time. Whoever killed Adam will wish he were dead long before Henry and Elizabeth finish.

We land in the city and we take the armored Mercedes waiting for us to the scene. The police are there gathering information. The firefighters are putting out a few embers and sifting through the rubble. The officer closest to us notices our attention and asks, "Can I help you?"

"What hospital did they take the body? We believe the car to belong to our godson," I lied.

"Ma'am, there is no body. No one was pulled from the car. It seems the bomb went off prematurely. We're still looking for the owner. Do you know where we might find Mr. Saunders?"

"No, no. Thank you for your help," I say. Michael was by the car, staring at the burned out shell of his son's vehicle. "Michael," I say, going to stand beside him. "Adam wasn't in the car. The officer said they didn't retrieve a body." At once, I am happy, but as I realize what I have just said, there leaves only one explanation of why Adam's car was bombed.

"He's been kidnaped," Michael whispers. It's the stuff of our nightmares, everything we have been striving to protect him from.

I quickly dial Collins. He is at Adam's home, looking for any clues. I fill him in on what the officer told us and ask him what he's found. Apparently, the apartment has been ransacked, documents strewn everywhere, and broken lamps and glass litter the floor while sofa cushions have been haphazardly thrown to the ground. I hang up without saying thank you and tell Michael the situation. "I think he was kidnaped and the car was just a decoy. After all, who's going to notice one man when everyone is staring at a burning car?"

Michael and I leave back to Section soon after, recognizing that it would be best to do some recon and find out exactly who has Adam. And get him out. Before they kill him. Michael and I arrive and are about to enter Section through our special entrance when a presence is felt. Michael draws his gun and turns swiftly around, as do I. My gun clatters to the ground as my eyes take in the sight before me. Adam is standing in front of us, alive and well. "What...?" I question.

Michael and Adam reach for each other and hug. I can see how hard Michael is clutching his son to him by the whiteness of his knuckles. He has yet to say a word.

"Let us talk inside, where there is more security," Adam whispers. Thank God our entrance is not monitored otherwise the watchers would be seeing more than we want them to. Hurriedly we go to the Tower, one of the only places that is guaranteed to be without surveillance.

"How did you get here? What are you doing here?" Michael spoke for the first time since reuniting with his son.

"I have this client that hasn't been too happy with me lately because I did not do well against the prosecutor. The judge sentenced him to life in prison without parole. This client has reportedly been seen with terrorists and mafia ties. I was going to go home, but I left something inside and turned back. Next thing I know, my car is blown up."

Michael and I take all this in. He is furious. I can tell. The anger is rolling off him in waves. "We have sacrificed everything to give you a normal life and I now /I you come here? Do you have any idea the amount of danger you have put yourself coming here? There are people in this organization that want something, anything to use against us." His voice is low and vibrating. "If you were discovered . . .

"And when you want a wife, children, a family, Adam? Because you will never have that here. There is nothing even remotely normal here. If you were discovered here, you would be trained just like any other recruit, in danger like any other operative. Because I would not, could not claim you as my son. To do that would give the Board too much ammunition, and right now our situation is precarious at best. Nikita is up for a promotion to Oversight and the Board will look for any excuse to challenge her ascent. You are going back."

"Father-" Just then my cell phone rings. Adam and Michael are silenced by the shrill sound.

"Yes," I say.

"The Board would like to meet with the three of you immediately," a female voice says.

"Excuse me?" I say quietly. Did I just hear what I think–

"They would like an audience with the three of you in Committee in ten minutes." The blood drains from my face for a second time as the woman disconnects. My fingers are numb as I turn the phone off.

"They know." Michael looks at me and then Adam. Neither Michael nor Adam asks how because in this place, there are always ways. In silence we walk to Committee, and Adam is given a view of Section. With each step I can feel my heart plummeting to the floor. They know. They will never let Adam leave here. Or if he does, it will be in a body bag. I know Michael is thinking the same thing. The question now is, do we use our intel that we have gathered all these years against them?

Soon we are being admitted to Committee and we are confronted with the Board members, ten men and women who have ruled over the Sections almost since their inception. They sit around a rectangular table and there are three empty seats, obviously for us. We take our seats and it begins.

"How nice to finally meet you, Adam," Mr. Renault says. He is the head of the Board, much like my father was.

Adam says nothing. He looks across the room and his gaze settles on Mr. Garcia. A soft gasp emerges from his lips and I look at him in puzzlement. "That's–"

"Nice to see you again, Adam. It was necessary to bomb your car to force you to turn to your father and Nikita." Michael and I are still in the dark and Mr. Garcia notices our confusion. "You see, I am the 'client' your son so diligently defended. We have been waiting for Adam to come of age and enter Section."

"We have been following Adam's progress since Michael returned to the fold. We knew he was alive and we just bided our time. Adam's preliminary numbers indicate that he would be a good candidate for Section, as dedicated and focused to his work as his father," Mr. Renault said, turning our focus on him. A thousand and one things run through my head. How did they find out about Adam? When? What preliminary numbers? What was their ulterior motive? I was sure, just as Michael, that Adam would be ordered to be canceled, and we would be forced to show our hand. We have accumulated a lot of information against the Board, information their superiors would be interested to know.

I chanced a glance at Michael. His face was shuttered, blank, but his eyes told another story. I could tell that he could feel the walls crashing down around him. All of the hopes and dreams for Adam were disintegrating with each word Renault said. "Let's cut the crap, shall we?" I say. "What's the real reason you want Adam here?"

"Checks and balances," Diana says succinctly.

"We have some ichecks and balances of our own/i" Michael reveals.

"No doubt you do. Enough of this dance. The truth is, yes, we want to keep an eye on you and Nikita. But not for the reasons you think. The changes you have implemented over the years have increased efficiency and our numbers are higher than ever. Which is why, one day, we would like you to run the Board."

With that last sentence, Renault has shocked both Michael and I. All this time we have been fighting quietly against the Board and now they throw this at us. We have been to hell and back tiptoeing over them, dancing around them, and what they want is for us to take over?

"When that time comes, it is imperative that there be a leader in Section One that can take over where you and Michael left off. It cannot be left to chance. Numbers indicate that there is no better person to take over for the two of you than Adam. Vitros predicted that his success rate–alone in Section One as Operations and without a second in command–will be 99. That is why he will stay in Section. Effective immediately, Nikita is promoted to Oversight, Michael is the new Operations, and Adam shall begin his training."

"No," Michael says decisively. "Adam will be left on the outside or we will reveal everything we know about the Board to the Council. I doubt they would be happy with what they find."

"And what do you think they would do when they discovered the information you have so diligently gathered on us? Nothing. They indulge our 'vices' because we are the Board," Renault said brutally.

That statement slams into me like a ton of bricks. They know. They've always known. And now, truly, there is no way out. "One last thing, as a . . . consolation for your . . . cooperation, we will allow the three of you as much 'freedom' as is possible. With minimum surveillance. Adam will be allowed to have a family if he so chooses. Whether he keeps his activities to himself is up to him. However, if he chooses to father a child, that child will be brought into Section or will be given up for adoption. There will be no in between. The chance that our enemies would find out is too great."

Michael and I have played our cards and lost. There is no way out of this situation for Adam. Although it is beneficial to Michael and I, Adam will become a prisoner of this place, and that is exactly what we were trying to avoid.

"I accept," Adam says quietly. My head swivels around and he looks me in the eye. "I understand what I am saying. I know what is going on. I accept their conditions."

"Adam, you don't know what you're saying. You don't understand what you are giving up," Michael's tone vibrates with pain.

"Yes, I do. It is okay." We have to accept. There is no way. Until Michael and I are in complete power, we truly have nothing to bargain for. Reluctantly, we accept their terms.

Epilogue

Many years later, Michael and I are finally where we have wanted to be: on the Board. It took a lot of hard work, many sleepless nights, and much more sacrifice than we could have ever anticipated. But here we are, able to make our own decisions. The Board has a great many more freedoms than any of the other levels below, and it shows. Michael and I can come and go as we please. The Board only meets once a month to take care of business and maybe once every two or three months, there is a critical situation that requires its immediate attention. I didn't believe it when Renault said Adam would become Section One's Operations within a few years, but it came to pass. His attention to detail and mastery with strategy has made Section One even more successful than when Michael and I had the reigns. All the other Sections now answer to Adam. Their necessity has almost become obsolete and there is talk of merging the Sections back into Section One, with Adam leading the entire organization. Operatives have nicknamed the three of us the Triumvirate, so powerful are we. Oversight is a figurehead and Adam frequently answers to us and not them.

Once a week the three of us meet at Angelo's, our favorite restaurant, to catch up on us. Anything shop-related is not discussed. We are just a family out to lunch, sometimes a late dinner, catching up on the goings-on of our lives. And sometimes, just sometimes, I can forget that we are the leaders of the world's largest anti-terrorist organization. Adam has adjusted well and actually enjoys his job. It makes him feel like his life has purpose. He is actually happy here, if one can believe it. After all the sacrifice Michael and I have made, there is finally a bit of solace in the knowledge that Adam is well and we have finally achieved what we sought when we were so young. Freedom.