"What do you mean, I can't go back for Alex?" he rasped. "Do you realize what the insurrectionists do to their prisoners? What they are probably doing to her right now, if she is still alive?"

"That's exactly my point, Michael," Tristen replied, not without sympathy. "We don't even know that she is alive. There is no way I am going to authorize a potentially volatile rescue mission with those risks in mind. She knew the risks, Michael. I'm sorry, but the answer is no."

Furiously, he slammed his hands down on the desk. "I am responsible for her, I was the one who talked her into going back over there!"

Leaning back in the oversize leather chair, she looked at him a little pityingly. "I'm sorry, Michael. You know the rules."

"That's not good enough, Tristen!" he snarled. "I am not leaving her!" Leaning heavily on the desk, he glared at her in ill-concealed frustration and anger.

With that, he turned and stalked towards the door, not looking back.

"Michael!" she yelled. "Michael, stop!"

He kept walking.

Head aching, Alex found herself jolted awake by the slap of cold water in her face. Spluttering, she snatched awake, gasping in surprise. "Wha-a?"

With a sinking heart, awareness hit as she glanced around. Defiantly, she raised her chin and faced her captors.

"Well," purred a small voice from behind her. "If it isn't Alex. Who would've thought you'd be foolish enough to return? Miss me, dear?" he purred.

Frantically, she fought the ropes that held her. Facing him again she spat, "Not likely, Colonel."

"Really?" he queried, soft venom coating his voice. "Then why are you back?" he asked, his voice suddenly hard.

"I think you can guess," she answered arrogantly. Terrified she might be, but she'd never let him have the satisfaction of knowing.

"You realize, of course, that they left you?" he said false pity in his tone. "What kind of friends you choose, my dear."

Fighting down the panic that followed his words, she replied with more confidence then she felt, "Then they'll be back for me, Colonel."

At that, the veneer of sophistication dropped. "You are a fool," he snarled, bringing his hand crashing across her cheek. "They will not be allowed to return for one such as you. Assuming of course, that they even could," he suddenly smiled, a hard glint in his eyes. "They did not appear to be doing so well flying after my men used them for target practice."

"Michael will come back for me!" she spat vehemently.

"Michael?" he asked, his tone becoming abruptly curious. "This wouldn't be Michael Archangel would it?"

In horror, she realized she'd said too much. Her mouth was likely to get not only her in trouble, but him as well if she wasn't careful. "It doesn't matter," she said her eyes widening in feigned innocence. "They'll be back for me."

"Enough!" he snarled, slamming his hand to the desk in front of her. "I weary of your games." Imperiously, he waved her away. "I'll deal with you later…in my own way." He motioned for the guards to take her back to her cell.

Turning, he strode away, before turning almost absently to face her as they drug her from the room. "You'd be amazed how far torture has progressed since you and Gavin were here," he stated almost conversationally before spinning on his heel to leave.

Seething, Michael stalked out of the building and through the Firm's parking lot. Unthinkingly, he strode across the asphalt field towards his car. Never would he leave Alex for the Colonel, he thought furiously.

Impatiently he fought the lock on the car door, his thoughts in a turmoil. Abruptly, he froze. Just why was she so important? Suddenly the question was paramount in his thoughts, and the easy answer that he was responsible for her would no longer do. Granted, he had brought her into this, both before and now, but it was more than that…

Numbly, he unlocked the door, his thoughts running rampant and unguarded. Suddenly, all the little details about Alex that he'd never really registered slammed into his consciousness…the way her hair burned like flame in the sunlight, the imperious arch of her eyebrows as she challenged him, the husky sound of her laughter on the rare occasions he managed to get past her guard.

"Hang…" he muttered groaning, as he slumped across the steering wheel, the truth hitting like a punch to the gut. Somehow, somewhere along the way, he'd fallen in love with her. It might not matter, she blamed him for Gavin's death, and it certainly wasn't something the committee would look kindly on, but he'd gone and done it anyway.

"No," he muttered in desperation. "No, no, no…" but it didn't matter how many times he said it, he'd still done the stupidest thing a field agent could possibly ever do. Had he learned nothing from Giselé he wondered? Nothing at all?

Worst of all, he realized, he might have already lost her before he'd even hardly found her.

Seized by a sudden sense of urgency, he scrambled for the ignition key, fumbling for a moment before the powerful Jaguar engine roared to life. Slamming the car into gear, he roared out of the lot, barely bothering to look as he swung it into onto the tarmac headed for the hanger at the far end.

Tires squealing, it ate the distance between as he shoved down the choking feeling that time was fast slipping away for both Alex and him. The only thing that mattered was getting back to Alex and finishing the job, something he'd already left far too long.

Spotting the hanger up ahead, he pressed down harder on the accelerator. He fought impatience as he spotted the guard shack up ahead, a detail he'd forgotten in his haste. He didn't kid himself that Tristen would've given him a pass on this one, and he knew she knew as well as he did what he'd be planning to do.

With a hiss of irritation, he hit the brakes, figuring blitzing past the guard would be the quickest way to getting himself shot and the rescue mission shelved before it even began.

Fingers thrumming on the wheel, he waited as the guard checked and re-checked his credentials and clearance. Not being named on the list wasn't unheard of, it happened with last minute missions and such, and he was betting his success on that sloppy little detail, even as he silently cursed and contemplated just running over the guard.

How could anyone be so slow? Grinding his teeth, he'd just about decided that was going to be the choice he had when the guard finally looked up and waved him through.

In a frenzy of impatience, he slammed the gas to the floorboard, knowing any second the guard could call Tristen and have him grounded before he even left the ground.

Spotting a lone figure in grease-stained coveralls working on the helicopters, he slammed to a skidding stop, flinging himself out of the car. "John!" he yelled, hoping he'd have better luck getting the mechanic in gear than he'd had with the guard. "John!"

Not waiting for an answer, he loped towards him favoring the damaged leg. His breath was rasping in his lungs, the pain from the fresh graze across his ribs reminding him how little time he had. "John," he yelled. "I need your help…"

"Really?" came the reply, as he pulled the battered cap from his head, from the top of the ladder. Dark chestnut colored hair tumbling down…"Imagine that."

Stunned, he stared at the figure in shock. "Tristen?" he muttered, frantically trying to figure how she would've beat him here, what he was going to do now. He might be able to get past her, but there was no denying if she chose, the deputy director was more than capable of pinning his hide to the wall for doing so. "What are you doing here?" he queried, knowing if it'd come to that, he'd kiss his career goodbye to do so.

Raising an eyebrow, she simply looked at him. The corner of her mouth quirked. "You weren't exactly hard to second guess, Michael," she replied.

"I am going," he stated, narrowing his eyes as he stared her down. "If not this way, then another."

The barely there, smug smile instantly disappeared. "I figured as much. Next you'll be telling me you love her."

The agonized look that flitted across his features as he met her gaze, gave her her answer before his words did. "Yeah, Tristen, I guess I do."

Grimacing she frowned, dropping her own gaze as she turned away. "Well, Michael," she said, wiping the grease with a rag from well-manicured fingers, refusing to meet his eyes. "I don't guess I can very well let you go alone, so you'd better get your butt in gear." With that, she began her descent down the ladder, her hair whipping in the wind as she did so. "Heaven only knows what kind of trouble you'd get yourself into without me along."

Stunned, he stopped her at the foot of the ladder. "Why Tristen?" he asked. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"No change of heart, Michael," she answered a little sadly with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I just don't want to see you blown out of the sky, and I'm not risking another agent on this fool's mission of yours."

Stepping out of his reach nearly the same instant she touched the ground, she walked quickly and lightly towards the hanger. "Call it curiosity, if you must," she called back over her shoulder. "I want to see the woman who can capture the heart of Michael Coldsmith-Briggs III. I didn't think anyone could win your heart."

Stunned, he watched her go. Had she really said what he thought, she just said?

Returning, she tossed a heavy duffel bag at him. The two M-16 machine guns slung over her shoulder looked decidedly incongruous against her slender frame. Somehow he didn't doubt for one instant though that she knew how to use them. "Well, are you coming or not?" she demanded, before he even had a chance to fall into step beside her.

Grinning, he shot her a wicked glance. "This I wouldn't miss for the world."

Below them, the ocean undulated an angry dull grey expanse. "We're only about thirteen minutes out," said Tristen speaking into her headset. "What's the set-up, Michael?"

Shooting her a sharp glance as she expertly maneuvered the Huey, he answered. "Guerilla insurrectionist camp about forty miles inland. Thirty five to fifty soldiers on the average - or at least that's what was there last time. Kersey heads up the group."

"The same Colonel that Gavin worked with on the Asgard project?" she replied, her tone suddenly wary.

"The same," he confirmed. "Little did we know when we sent Gavin over there they'd be waiting. His cover turned out to be no cover at all when his mentor turned out to be the competition."

"I'll bet," she bit out grimly, realizing just how badly they'd been sold down the river. "The Firm sure made a mess out of that one. He didn't have a chance from the beginning."

Michael's blue eyed gaze was sober as he met hers. "No."

"So, where does Alex fit in to all this?" she demanded, firmly shoving the thoughts of the other agent away, knowing there was nothing she could do to change what was already done.

"She was Gavin's fiancée. A political correspondent to top it all off. The perfect cover. She knew the situation and he knew he could trust her implicitly, it seemed like the perfect pairing."

"And…?" she prodded.

"And Kersey caught wind of it, of course. They shot her, and then killed Gavin letting him think she'd died. The fact she survived at all was a mere fluke at best."

Tristen eyed him, thinking she was pretty sure there was more to it than a fluke but said nothing. Banking, she swept across the rugged terrain below. "So why'd you take her back?" she asked adjusting their flight course. "Surely, you of all people knew how dangerous it was for her, if not deadly."

"I don't know," he sighed. "Stupidity, I guess. I needed her expertise and I was afraid to leave her alone."

Frowning, she looked at him, as his voice trailed off. Not knowing whether it was a mistake or not, she prodded, her pale blue eyes worried. "Afraid?" she asked.

Soberly he answered, as if dragging his thoughts back from a great distance. "After Gavin's death, she was …destroyed. Kersey might as well have killed them both. I often wondered if it might not have been better."

Fingering the controls for a long moment, Tristen was silent. "And now?"

"I wish I knew," he said tightening his grip on the M-16 he held. "I thought perhaps, if she could go back… maybe things would be different…maybe she'd be able to put it behind her."

"Does she love you?"

Startled by the question, his eyes flew open in surprise. In shock, he stared back at her as he tried to deny her question. He couldn't.

An eternity of silence seemed to pass between them before he answered. "I wish I knew," he spoke grimly. "I really do. I just know, I can't leave her there to die either way."

"And if we're too late?" Tristen asked, hating herself even as she voiced the words.

"Then no matter what happens, I'll be taking Kersey out," he answered, putting an end to the discussion.