Michael didn't know who was more surprised. Himself or Marie. Evidently, she had no idea that Adam was Michael's son.

But it wasn't Adam's mere recognition of Michael that threw the cold op for a fare-thee-well. It was the matter-of-fact way he addressed a man he should have assumed dead for close to fifteen years.

That and the gun pointed in his direction. "Adam, put down the gun," Michael commanded softly but firmly.

Adam quirked an eyebrow in response, perhaps unconsciously taking exception to being directed. Marie-Ange took advantage of the younger man's apparent distraction and moved in. Adam's reflexes were sharper than she would have credited a civilian. With one smooth motion, he brought the barrel of the gun back to her. "Nice try."

Michael wrinkled his nose slightly, as if something continued to perturb him about the situation. His son behaved with the casual manner of someone who had grown up around guns and found them useful but not particularly threatening. Since he had never allowed guns in the house, while he was married to Elena, Michael could not imagine where this attitude came from. Unless it was a newly acquired skill. One of the perks of joining L'Heure Sanguine.

Yet Marie was clearly surprised, both by the boy's presence and his relationship to Michael. No, if Marie had planned this, she would have betrayed her close acquaintance with the boy in some way.

There had to be something he was missing. Painstakingly raking his mind over every single detail he could call to mind about L'Heure Sanguine, his sister, and his son, Michael attempted to make sense of something that simply refused to cooperate.

Suddenly Adam spoke again. To Michael. Though his dark brown eyes never moved from their focus on Marie's face. "I've been looking for you, Dad."

Michael's expression never changed, but inwardly, he could not prevent a surge of something like elation that his son had tried to find him. No matter how dangerous or foolhardy that might be. "You didn't believe I was dead?"

Adam snorted. "I believed you were dead, all right. For years. Years I spent wondering why Daddy had to die."

Michael winced.

"I thought you were a good man. A good man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Literally caught in the crossfire of something beyond his control."

"I was."

Adam's eyes left their apparent target and flickered over Michael's face. "Now that I can believe. Knowing what I do now."

"How did you find out?"

"Come on, Dad. Section hasn't cornered the market on hackers, have they? Your man…what's his name? Birkoff? He's very good. But not as good as I am."

Marie's nostrils flared angrily at the way she was being ignored by the two men. "Excuse me, this is all very interesting, I'm sure, but—"

Adam gestured towards his aunt with the gun. "Who's the bitch, Dad?"

Michael cleared his throat. "My sister. Your Aunt Marie."

"Really?" Adam's dark eyes widened, enhancing his resemblance to his late mother Elena. "Then how come she wants to shoot me?"

Michael blinked. "I could ask you the same question."

Adam shook his head. "I'd say it's all water under the proverbial bridge, Dad, but…it isn't."

"If you kill me, you'll never get the answers you're looking for, Adam."

"You're assuming I still want answers, Dad."

Marie spat furiously on the floor in front of her. "You ridiculous boy! You joined L'Heure Sanguine just to draw out your father!"

Adam shrugged. "It saved time."

"I should kill you for that alone," she said viciously. Cocking her gun yet one more time, she aimed for Adam's face. At point-blank range, she could hardly miss.

"Beg for your life, boy, or you're dead."

"You're assuming I choose life, ma chere tante."

"You're just a boy. You haven't lived long enough to wish for death so fervently."

"Ask my father."

Michael's eyes closed on another wave of pain. He had no idea how to extricate Adam, or even if Adam would allow him to intervene. Things had become hopelessly mired in past events and unresolved grief. On all sides.

Marie looked at Michael, his head bent in what could be prayer or despair. "Michel? Shall I put you out of your misery once and for all?"

His nod was almost imperceptible. "Please," he said huskily.

Adam looked disconcerted. Did Marie mean to kill him or his father? Or both? Momentarily losing his place in all of this, Adam's face reflected his indecision.

"He's mine," he said to his aunt finally.

Nikita stepped out into the line of fire. "I don't think so," she said evenly.

Michael's gun was down, his body language defeated. She had never seen him like this. Except for one time. When Rene Dian came back into his life. She pointed her gun at Adam, knowing this was sure to provoke a reaction of some sort from Michael, no matter how deeply he was wounded.

At the sound of Nikita's voice, Michael raised his head. His lips parting in a tiny gasp, he gave his wife a flustered look. "Kita…what are you doing here?"

"Did you think I would leave you to face all this alone?"

"I asked you to—"

"And I'm overruling you, Michael. We're partners now. You can't end your life unless I say so."

"Wouldn't it be better for everyone?"

"I'll tell you what would be better for everyone. If you all started paying attention to me. I can shoot one of you or all of you. Your choice, Michel." Marie moved restlessly, as if her control were beginning to fray.

Davenport stepped behind her, the barrel of his gun touching the back of her head. "Drop the gun."

Michael shook his head sadly. "You can't shoot her. She's my sister."

"She's also L'Heure Sanguine, Michael."

"She wants to shoot you, Michael."

"Let her."

"No!" The chorus of sound took Michael by surprise. He expected Nikita's protest, but suddenly Adam was reluctant to see him dead. He didn't know what to make of that.

Marie began to laugh. It wasn't a pleasant noise, and it grew like an aberrant lesion. "We seem to have a stalemate. Perhaps we should take a vote. I say we shoot…you, Michel."

She barely had the hammer cocked back when the explosion hit her. Davenport emptied his gun into Marie, and she fell forward, the look of disbelief still clear for anyone to see.

"Sorry, Michael. I just couldn't let her shoot you," Davenport said by way of apology. He didn't mention the few anxious moments he'd had, pondering if he could let Marie kill Michael, leaving the way open for him to pursue Nikita. The truth was, as much as he loved Nikita, his bond with Michael went even further back. His loyalty could not be bought. Not even he could surrender his code of ethics for so paltry a thing as romance. Because that's all it would be to him. Romance. Not the soul-stirring love that Nikita shared with Michael.

Michael stayed silent, unable to put into words the relief he felt at Davenport's removal of the threat to Adam. It didn't matter that Marie-Ange had been his sister. His baby sister died long ago. Along with his identity as Michel. He should never have lost sight of what was most important in his life.

His wife. His son. Love. Friendship. You could choose your friends, but you could not choose your family. There had never been a truer statement.

Glancing enigmatically at his father, Adam abruptly dropped his gun. Nikita kicked the gun away from the 18-year-old, and Davenport automatically picked it up, placing it in his waistband.

"Good decision, kid."

Adam smiled, and the transformation was astonishing. He was a strikingly handsome boy, now that he was not glowering at anyone, and he turned his not-inconsiderable charisma upon Nikita.

"And who might you be? My fairy godmother?" Adam asked with the insouciance of the very young and inexperienced.

Nikita snorted as politely as she could without wounding the young man's feelings. She could feel Michael's eyes upon her even as she searched for a diplomatic way to turn things around. "Actually, I'm…uh…married."

Adam's avid gaze never dimmed. "That's okay."

"To him." She pointed to Michael.

"Oh." Adam withdrew behind a mask not unlike his father's.

Michael handed his gun to Davenport, who wisely retreated to the mission van. Michael wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and leaned close to kiss her. "Thanks for knowing I needed rescuing from myself this time," he whispered.

"Don't mention it."

"I love you," he said, so low only she could hear. She allowed herself a moment to cling to his embrace before remembering the boy who stood there, watching and waiting.

"Adam…"

"Yeah?"

"Let's go home."

"I don't have a home anymore."

"You do now." Nikita pulled the boy closer and gave him a hug. "I want you to know…I respected who your mother was."

"She was a great lady."

"Yes."

"She didn't deserve to die like that." There was just a hint of tears in Adam's voice, and suddenly Nikita knew that things would be all right. She would be able to reach this boy, somehow, because he still felt things. Things like love and compassion. His humanity was still alive and well, no matter how deeply buried it might be.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Adam?"

"I didn't really want to shoot you."

"I know."

"I guess I just wanted you to acknowledge the pain you caused me and Mom."

"I've lived with that pain for more years than you could know, Adam."

"I can see that. You really thought you deserved to die back there, didn't you?"

Michael nodded.

"Maybe we both still have stuff to learn, huh? Maybe it's too soon to give up on life just yet."

"Maybe." Michael's crooked little half-smile said it all. Anyone could live life with their eyes closed. No risk. But one of the payoffs for life's little adventures was staring him right in the face.

Adam.

He was a lucky man. Damn lucky. He kissed Nikita, this growing mixture of love and joy and hope promising to leap full-blown from his chest.

"Let's go home."

End