He was running a routine clean-up. Nothing should have been out of the ordinary. That was when he found it. The name next to his. Birkoff.

His mind rebelled at first. Birkoff? He blinked. How could that be? There weren't two Birkoffs in all of Section. It was hardly a common name. He couldn't be mistaken. Nope, there it was. On his monitor.

Maybe they listed his name twice. He peered closer, his myopic eyes focusing on the name that came after Birkoff. He blinked again. It wasn't Seymour. It was Jason.

Jason? Who the hell was Jason Birkoff? He automatically submitted a query. Access denied. What? He had access to virtually everything within Section's mainframe. Except for the highly classified Operations' eyes-only material. Very cloak and dagger. Very haute spy stuff.

He was intrigued. More than that, he was perturbed. What did this mean? Who was Jason? He became desperate to know.

A few hours later, Birkoff confronted Walter with the limited intel he managed to uncover. Why Walter? Walter knew where every body was buried in Section and then some. It was how he had survived so long.

Besides, Walter was one of the few people he genuinely trusted. Though he was beginning to wonder at Walter's hidden depths. Ever since Walter accompanied him on the mission where Birkoff acted as Michael's stand-in, Birkoff was in awe of the older man. The man was no fool, and he was far more complex than he appeared to be. No aging hippie dancing the Hokey Pokey with a joint in one hand and a gun in the other could possibly be the real Walter. In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, my ass.

"Walter? Do I have a twin brother?" Birkoff whispered to Walter. They were standing on the metallic bridge overlooking the Section commons. Walter looked positively horrified.

"Don't even think that! If anyone overheard you…well, there'd be one less little buddy to talk to, if you catch my drift."

Walter sighed at the look on Birkoff's face. It was a mixture of sadness and determination. He was as relentless as a puppy playing tug-o-war with its master. He wouldn't give up until he had the answers he sought. Better he asked Walter than anyone else.

"Don't go there," Walter warned.

"I'm already there," Birkoff replied, a touch of steel in his voice. "Do I have a brother?"

Walter glanced around anxiously, though there was clearly no one in sight. "Yes," he hissed, that one syllable conveying that Birkoff should leave it at that and drop the subject.

"Tell me."

Walter started to shake his head, but he saw Birkoff's eyes. Not quite tearful, but more than halfway there. Any attempt to avoid answering would be viewed as betrayal. Birkoff had few friends. Hell, Walter was it. If Walter said nothing, Birkoff would have no one.

"Your mom's name was Lisa. God, she was beautiful. Before Nikita came, Lisa was the brightest light in Section." The look on Walter's face scared Birkoff. He sounded infatuated with the memory of Birkoff's mother. Had there been something between them? An affair? Or was it something else? Were he and Walter related somehow?

"She was an operative?"

"Level 2," Walter said proudly, as though he were personally responsible for her achievement.

"The thing was…no one knew that she was pregnant when she was recruited. Your father was dead. And people just don't get pregnant in Section One." It seemed to Birkoff that Walter almost shuddered at the thought.

"What happened?"

"After you and your brother were born…she was killed. On a mission. It could have happened to anyone."

"What about my brother?"

"Section decided to conduct an…experiment." The word came hard off Walter's tongue. It sounded…not incredible…but immoral. "They decided to separate the two of you, see how one did on the outside, while the other was raised inside Section." Walter looked decidedly more uncomfortable than he had mere minutes before.

"What are you saying? All these years, my brother's been—"

"Free. Yeah. They set him free. And left you here."

Walter couldn't face Birkoff any longer. There was more to tell, but what was the point of telling him? He would only be even more unhappy in the long run. Wouldn't he?

To know that his best friend…Walter…was the one who made the decision. Which one would go free. Which one would be imprisoned forever.

Through an accident of fate…Walter became Birkoff's jailer.

Who could explain something like that?

Or maybe the better question was…who could forgive something like that?

Walter signaled to Birkoff to be silent and indicated that they could continue this later. On his turf. After he carefully swept the area for surveillance. But waiting didn't make his task any easier.

Okay, thought Walter, I've stepped into minefields willingly. Just because Section told me to. So why can't I do this?

Do what? his mind questioned. Lose the only real friend you have here?

He tried to sidestep Birkoff's questions, but being evasive seemed to make things worse. It made it seem as though Walter were in collusion with Section to keep Birkoff from knowing the truth. It was his life, after all.

"Are you sure you really want to know?" Walter asked anxiously, his weathered face creased with indecision and something not unlike pain.

"What do you think?" Birkoff countered angrily. "I have no memory of anything before Section. Other people had lives before they came in here. What have I got? Zero! Zip! Nothing! Thanks to—"

Walter's head came up sharply at the implied attack. Birkoff was hurt. Understandably so. He needed someone to blame. But there was no one. Unless Walter confessed to his part in the whole mess. Damn! He could see exactly where this was going to go.

But if he did that, if he admitted what he did, wasn't he taking away the one person Birkoff trusted in the whole world? How could he do that? Give him pain, unbearable pain, and then withdraw from his life, as if he were no longer a part of it.

"Your name was on four signature files, Walter. I want to know why! Why did you have to sign off on this?" Birkoff demanded, his breathing harsh and erratic.

Walter shot him a look of pure anguish, his blue eyes filling with unshed tears. "Cause I was the one who made the decision," he said hoarsely. "Who got to go. Who got to stay."

"Why?" Birkoff almost howled. "Why was it up to you, Walter?"

"Your mother was dead."

"So what? What did that make you? My freaking guardian or something?" Birkoff's dark chocolate eyes widened alarmingly. "Are you my…f-father? My real fa-father?"

Walter closed his eyes on a wave of such sorrow, he couldn't even speak. "I wish I was, amigo."

Birkoff sat down. Hard. "You were in love with my mother," he stated through numb lips.

"Is it that obvious?" Walter tried to laugh, but the effect was tragically inappropriate.

"Why did they let you decide, Walter?" Birkoff continued quietly but doggedly.

Walter sighed heavily. He couldn't make eye contact with Birkoff, but he could feel his eyes on him. Looking right through him. Probably into his soul.

"Like I said, your mom was pregnant when she was recruited. No one knew. Not even me. She was assigned to me. For training." Walter looked up, suddenly tired of keeping the secret all these years from the one person who deserved to know.

"She…was my material," Walter smiled in remembrance. "Like Nikita belongs to Michael." Walter seemed to draw some kind of inner strength from that thought. "She belonged to me," he said huskily.

"Who was my father?"

Walter shrugged. "I don't know his name. I know he was an operative. Someone she got involved with on the outside. He got killed. She was…I dunno…in the wrong place at the wrong time. Picked up in a routine sweep. Brought here."

Birkoff stared at Walter, willing him to go on. "And?"

"And when it became obvious that she was pregnant…" Walter began, suddenly stopping. Now there were real tears in his eyes. "You sure you need to know this? What good does it do anyone?"

"Tell me," Birkoff urged, tears sparkling in his own dark eyes.

"She confided in me. I was so in love with her, she could have asked me for anything, man. But it wasn't her idea. It was mine."

"What? What was?"

Walter swallowed a sob. "I knew if Operations found out that she was pregnant by some nameless, faceless field op, he'd sacrifice the baby. So I lied." Walter faced Birkoff, drawing on reserves he didn't even realize he had.

"I told Operations it was my baby she was carrying. Operations and I…we go way back, y'know. To Nam. I knew he wouldn't touch the baby if he thought it was mine. So I lied. To protect Lisa. And you. And your brother."

"I told Operations I was your father."

"You lied to Operations?" Birkoff asked incredulously. "How did you expect to get away with that? I mean, there's DNA testing, there's blood, there's—"

Walter's hand cut restlessly, even agitatedly, through the air between them. "Now, sure. But twenty-something years ago? Come on, Seymour, keep up with me."

All at once, Birkoff looked vaguely unnerved. Lines creased the space between his eyebrows, making him appear tense, edgy. "So you lied to protect us? But it didn't save my mother, did it?"

He didn't mean to sound accusatory. Honest. But he couldn't help it. He had always wondered about his background. Everybody had to come from somewhere. Even someone as insignificant as he was. Now he knew. He had a real mother and father. But both of them were dead. He didn't mean to lash out at Walter, but sheesh…there was no justice in the world, was there? He came so close, but no further. He felt cheated.

"Walter?"

"Yeah, kid?" Walter said gruffly, trying to maintain some semblance of control. Birkoff's accusation stung. It wasn't anything he hadn't told himself at least a hundred times since Lisa died.

"Do you think Section killed her?" Birkoff asked, his heart in his mouth. He wasn't sure he could stand not knowing. But then again, knowing for certain might be worse.

"You mean Ops, don't you?" Walter corrected.

Birkoff's dark eyes shone with pain and unshed tears. "I don't know what I mean, Walter. Help me."

"I'm trying, little buddy."

"Don't call me that!" Birkoff said sharply.

"What? Little buddy? I always call you that…"

Birkoff bent his head, apparently in a desire to hide his face from Walter's worried scrutiny. His voice, when it came, sounded curiously childlike. "Please don't. It sounds like…like something a father would call his son."

Walter sighed heavily. "You don't know how often or how hard I've wished you were."

Birkoff lifted tear-filled eyes at that. "You don't know how long I've just wanted to belong to someone. Somewhere. Even here…it's not like I really fit in." He turned away when his voice broke.

"I think Operations tolerates me…only because I'm the best at what I do. The minute I'm not on top of my game, though…well, he's already shown he has absolutely no loyalty. If Hillinger hadn't sided with George, he'd still be here." Birkoff swallowed with a loud gulp. "But I wouldn't. I'm pretty sure of that."

Walter shook his head sadly. He wanted to reassure Birkoff, tell him he was wrong. But he wasn't. "Hey, there's always gonna be someone younger, faster, smarter…whatever."

He chuckled softly. "Why the hell do you think I got out of fieldwork?"

Birkoff snorted. "You did better than I did when we covered for Michael that time."

Walter gave Birkoff a sly look. "Well…I've just had longer to learn how to control certain…bodily functions."

"Is that a nice way of saying you don't feel like puking when you go out into the field?"

"Hey, at least you fired your gun at the right people. You get real points for that, amigo."

Birkoff gave Walter a watery smile and sniffled. "You keep trying to cheer me up, Walter. Beats me why you'd want to claim a kid like me."

"Aw, now, you're just fishing for compliments, Seymour."

"Walter? How did you decide which one of us got to go?"

"Shit, I was hoping you wouldn't ask me that, lit—" Walter shrugged and dug both hands deep into his jeans pockets. So he wouldn't feel compelled to hug the stuffing out of a kid who obviously never learned his real value as a person.

"It's okay, you know. I know you made the decision. But how? How did you choose? Were we identical? Fraternal? Was one of us smarter? More stable? What?"

Walter's eyes looked haunted. "I'm so sorry, Sey—" He exhaled long and hard. "Sorry, I know you don't like being called Seymour."

"How did you decide, Walter?" Birkoff pressed on.

"I-I…" Walter was uncharacteristically speechless. But he readily brought forth a coin from his pocket. A special coin. A coin he'd saved for nearly thirty years. As a reminder of the day he played God. He flipped it into the air, and over and over it turned, first this way, then that, somersaulting through the air until it began its fall to earth again.

Birkoff grabbed the coin out of the air before it hit bottom. He opened his hand. Tails.

They both stared at the coin for long moments before either of them moved. Walter had never seen Birkoff look so somber. It scared him. He wasn't sure, but he thought he would prefer Birkoff losing complete control and screaming at him. Rather than this…eerie calm.

Before Walter could speak, however, Birkoff reached out and turned the coin over. Now it was heads up. The shining face of Liberty looked back at both of them. But what did it mean?

Walter tried to smile, hope fading slowly from his light blue eyes.

Was Birkoff saying, So what, my brother got to go free, freedom ain't all it's cracked up to be?

Was Birkoff saying, I didn't lose, I got to stay with the man who treated me like someone who mattered?

Walter's smile died.

Or was he even now regretting the day he lay eyes on the Munitions expert?

There was a long silence, broken finally by a huge sigh from Walter. "Listen, buddy, I'll understand if you don't want to have anything to do with me anymore. I know what betrayal feels like. Believe me." He gave a harsh laugh. "I know."

"Huh?" Birkoff shook his head. It was the most animation Walter had seen in the younger man in days. "I don't feel betrayed," he said, a curious throb in his voice.

"You kept me alive, Walter. How could I hate you for that?" Birkoff shrugged. "You're probably the real reason that Ops hasn't canceled me yet." He looked thoughtful. "It would explain a lot. Why he's let me go when it's so obvious that I helped Michael and Nikita. Why he hasn't even tried to sanction me, much less cancel me."

"That doesn't mean you should get sloppy at this stage of the game, amigo," Walter growled.

"I know." There was a short pause. Walter braced himself. He was fairly sure what Birkoff would ask him next. He wished he wasn't so certain, but he had a feeling, call it a premonition, that Birkoff would keep pushing until he knew all of it. The truth. Or what passed for the truth here. In Section, things were never what they seemed. Neither was the truth.

"I want to find my brother." There, he'd said it. Maybe he was wrong to ask Walter to risk any more for him, but he couldn't help himself. He needed to find Jason. Find out where he was. Who he was. What he was.

"Aw, c'mon, Sey—" Dammit, boy, just when I go thinking you use those brains for more than designing pretty pictures for mission profiles, you crap out on me. "Birkoff, you can't—"

"Why can't I?" Birkoff demanded sharply.

"You just can't, that's all. Isn't my word good enough?"

"No." That one word hung there in the air, in stark relief to everything else, as it were, until Walter wanted to pluck it out with his hand.

"Dammit, Birkoff! Listen to me—"

"No, you listen, Walter," Birkoff snapped off tersely, sounding more like Michael than himself. "You owe me. You freaking owe me. That much, at least."

Birkoff paced a few steps away, then headed back to where Walter stood, seemingly transfixed by what would surely happen. To both of them.

"Get me the intel. Then you're out of it. What I do with it…that's up to me."

Walter could have sobbed to the Heavens. He was going to lose the one person he loved more than Nikita. Nikita, she was like a daughter to him. But Birkoff had come first. Birkoff had always come first. He was the son of his heart. Long before Walter met Nikita.

"You can't—"

"I can. I will. Just give me the intel I need. Let me do the rest."

"On Section computers? Are you crazy? Do you think they don't have those files flagged? Do you think they don't have tracers on 'em?"

"I'm smarter than they are, Walter. I designed most of the firewalls here. Do you seriously think anyone can keep me out? Do you really think I can't hide my tracks?"

Walter cursed the day Birkoff discovered his twin's existence. Then he cursed his own part in keeping that twin's existence a deep, dark secret for so long. There was nothing like the tantalizing scent of a mystery to keep someone mesmerized.

"What I think is that for some goddamn reason, you seem determined to pursue this, no matter who gets hurt. Including yourself."

"I am determined, Walter. Nothing is going to stop me from finding him. I swear."

"Then emotion is clouding your judgment, boy. You're gonna get us both killed."

"I told you, I'll keep you out of it," Birkoff protested.

"And how do you propose to do that, you little geek from Hell?" Walter retorted angrily. The thought of losing Birkoff made him tense. Tense enough to want to strangle the boy for risking his life this way. No piece of information was worth that price. No way.

"Jeez, I didn't expect fatherly love, Walter, but this is a new side of you," Birkoff bit off sarcastically.

"I'm trying to save your life, you little wiseass!"

"I don't need saving."

"Yes, you do," Walter said coolly.

"No, I don't," Birkoff said, gritting his teeth.

"Yeah, you do, amigo. From me."

He felt like someone was watching him. Once, the thought might have filled him with trepidation, but now…it only made him realize how fragile the illusion of his life truly was.

He moved out of the shadows and further down the street. He doubled back, he changed sides of the street, he did everything he was supposed to do to keep someone from tailing him. But none of it mattered.

The man following him was doggedly determined. Maybe even suicidal. You couldn't argue with someone like that. Their only reason for being was ending your existence.

He walked faster. The figure behind him sped up.

Suddenly he spun around, drawing the gun he had hidden in his overcoat pocket. "What do you want?" he screamed at his would-be assailant.

He blinked. This had to be a nightmare. The man standing quietly in front of him was his double.

He pinched himself, but he didn't awaken. Nothing changed. Except that the figure spoke. It was his own voice. Oh, maybe the inflections were slightly different. But there was no doubt. It was his voice.

"You're alive."

Tired blue eyes sought out the two figures, standing so close to one another on the street. Damn that boy! He never listened. Now he was gonna get himself shot to pieces before he could even get his own gun out.

His trembling arms stretched out in front of him, holding the gun, the young man focused on the attacker who looked uncannily like him. "Why were you following me?"

"I'm your brother."

"I don't have a brother," he snapped. His dark eyes darted back and forth nervously. "You look like me, though," he said, more to himself than to the other man.

"Look like you? I'm your freaking mirror image!"

"Yeah, well, that's just not possible." He steadied his hand on the gun, but all at once, the gun flew out of his hands, seemingly of its own accord. "What the—?"

They both turned as one to confront the third figure, coming out of the shadows now. "Who are you?" said the first man.

The second man, who now appeared to be dressed completely in black, rocked gently back on his heels. "I know who he is."

Walter picked up the gun and pocketed it without speaking. "I thought you didn't want to get involved," said the second man.

"And I thought you had sense enough to know you shouldn't come looking for your brother without weapons or back-up," retorted Walter.

"Somebody tell me what's going on here, please!" the first man screamed.

Walter frowned at the noise he was producing. "Annoying, isn't he?"

Birkoff sighed. "Maybe he's a little freaked out by running into two strange men in the middle of nowhere."

"Maybe? Maybe? Like there's any doubt? Jesus, who are you people?"

Walter raised an eyebrow at the first man. "I dunno, amigo, you sure you wanna claim a relationship to this guy? He looks like he could use a Haldol-Ativan cocktail, if you ask me."

"I am going to have my people call your people, and then, you are going to be so sorry!"

Birkoff looked vaguely queasy. "Uh…Walter? What do you know about this guy?"

"You mean besides the fact that he looks ready to book a room at the White Hotel?"

"Spare me the lame jokes, Walter. This is serious!"

"Right! Whatever your name is! This is damn serious! You know, kidnapping is a major offense!"

Walter glared at Birkoff's double. "We ain't kidnapping you, you moron. If we were, you'd be long gone."

Birkoff put his hand on Walter's arm. "Um, don't call him a moron."

"Why?"

"It feels like you're saying it to me." The fact that they were so clearly identical twins made Birkoff's head spin.

"Well, hell, amigo, you're a helluva lot swifter on the uptake than this jamoke."

"In another minute, you're going to be explaining this to my lawyer, so I hope you both have your stories ready!" Jason shouted.

Birkoff inclined his head towards Jason. "So what does he do?"

"Do? DO? You mean, you don't recognize me???" Jason looked positively apoplectic.

"Don't be stupid, of course I recognize you! You look just like me!" Birkoff shouted back.

Walter suddenly looked apprehensive. The shadows surrounding them began to disappear. One by one. He felt like people were watching them. Coming closer. And closer. Like they were being encircled.

"I don't think that's what he means, little buddy."

"Walter, I told you, don't call me that!"

"Remember how I told you, when you're going into a situation like this, always know as much as possible about the target?"

"Yeah. So what do you know that I don't?"

Jason smiled smugly at the two men, caught squarely in the tremendous power of the lights surrounding them.

"Cut!!!!!" a harsh voice yelled out behind Birkoff and Walter.

Cut?