Declan stared at Birkoff. "What's wrong?"

Birkoff stared back, tears tracing erratically down his cheeks. "Why are you stealing away my family?" he said brokenly.

"What?"

"This is the only…family…I've ever had," Birkoff choked out. "You wouldn't understand, Declan. My real family never…understood me…they treated me…so bad. They used me…sold me…to Section." He laughed bitterly, swiping at both cheeks with his fingers, but the tears continued to come.

"I belonged to Section in a way no one else could. They literally owned me."

Declan's heart went out to Birkoff, for the pain he suffered now as well as the pain he never let go. "Seymour— " He reached out to touch Birkoff, but Birkoff drew back sharply, almost anxiously.

"Don't touch me."

Declan reacted as if stung. "Oh! Of course." His eyes dropped to the floor, and Declan felt as if he had stepped into a tremendous hole. He should be used to this by now. Everyone he cared about pulled away sooner or later. Still, his mind worked feverishly, letting him know that Michael hadn't. Maybe Birkoff wouldn't either.

But the gap between them widened. Birkoff's huge chocolate-brown eyes regarded Declan sadly. "I finally had a family, Declan, and now you want it, too. It's not fair. They always depended on me before. Then you came along…and now they depend on you."

Declan grew agitated, running his fingers through his hair again and again. "Birkoff, you couldn't be more wrong about this."

Birkoff cried out, "I know what I saw! Michael never hugs anyone! But he hugged you!"

Declan grabbed Birkoff by the shoulders and saw the younger man wince. "He was trying to comfort me!"

"About what? You have everything! You've got Nikita hanging on your every word, even the babies love you!"

Declan shrugged. "I can't tell you what draws me and Michael together, Birkoff. It's not for me to say."

"Oh, right, like you'd be breaking a confidence or something?"

Declan nodded. "That's right."

"See? He even tells you things he doesn't tell anyone else!" Birkoff proclaimed with both sadness and certainty.

"Birkoff, you're not seeing this straight, boyo. I'm not a threat to you or your precious family." Declan shuffled his feet. "I'm not that important, believe me," he trailed off.

"I thought we were friends, Declan."

"So did I," Declan agreed, feeling renewed pain in his heart for what could have been and now would never be. "Maybe I should just take off and find somewhere else to be…"

Birkoff exclaimed, "No! They'll blame me! They'll hate me!" Birkoff paced back and forth.

"Oh, I see. Then you wouldn't care, otherwise." Declan thought he could not possibly feel worse than he did at this moment.

"No! I mean—" Birkoff didn't know what he was saying or feeling anymore. He knew he felt threatened by Declan. He'd seen it coming. Everyone who cared about him shifted their allegiance eventually. Inevitably. It was the way things were.

He sank down to the floor, burying his face in his hands, and Declan knelt by his side. "What is it, Seymour?"

He could barely him whisper in response. "I love them. All of them."

"They love you, too."

"But you took my place…" Birkoff raised his head slowly, biting his lip as he tried to look at Declan.

"With a family like this one, Birkoff, there's always enough love to go around. I didn't take your place. They made a new place, just for me." Declan suddenly realized that it was true. He wished he had the wisdom to listen to himself more often.

Birkoff swallowed, his tears slowing at last. "You don't want to take my place?"

"No, Seymour. I want my own place. More than anything. That's what I want. I need that. We all do. Even Michael."

Birkoff smiled weakly. "Is that what you talked about?"

Declan wagged a finger at Birkoff. "Ah, now that would be telling."

"Are we still friends, Declan?" Birkoff asked with a sniffle.

"Aye, boyo, we are. Truth is, I think we're more than friends. That's why it hurts so much when we can't get along." Declan helped Birkoff to his feet, feeling much stronger than he had an hour ago. "Do you think you could stand having me as a brother then?"

Birkoff smiled wholeheartedly, and it was like the sun coming out during a spring shower. Unexpected, but welcome. "I can, if you can."

They gripped hands as if they were going to shake hands, then Declan pulled Birkoff into a hug. "I'm new at this, but I think this is how it goes."

Birkoff laughed. "Yeah, that's exactly how it goes."

At that moment, Chris, who managed to sleep through the shouting, woke, gurgling pleasantly. Birkoff and Declan turned as one to regard their little charges. Birkoff chuckled as Chris kicked his feet. "Buh…buh…buh…"

"Hey, listen, Declan, he's trying to say my name. Buh, buh must be for Birkoff, right?"

Declan rolled his eyes. "This must be the day for major disillusionment. First Nikita, and now you. I hate to say this, but Chris is asking for his bottle. Buh, buh is bottle, not Birkoff."

They both laughed, as if Declan had made the best joke possible, and even Chris seemed to join in, his tiny baby gurgles adding a pleasant note.

Separation anxiety. The very words that strike fear into a mother's heart. It was worse for Chris than for Faith. Faith was such a feisty, independent little thing, even at nine months, that Nikita shuddered to think what she might be like as a toddler. But Chris…Chris was different. It was not that he lagged behind Faith so very much, but his priorities were completely opposite. Faith was very much about seeking out; Chris was very much about taking it all in.

Chris was not lazy at all. He was like a lion, lying in the grass, watching the gazelles grazing. His powers of observation were already greater than Faith's. Faith was impulsive, bright, and funny. Chris was controlled, shy, and introspective, inasmuch as a baby can be said to be introspective. Chris was a happy baby, but he had a certain Zen-like quality that intrigued the mind. He was definitely Michael's son.

Nikita had a certain routine by now. Rise at 7am, shower, breakfast, play with her children, and shop for groceries before lunchtime. Sometimes she took the babies with her, but more often than not, she left them in very good hands with Declan or Birkoff. This was never a problem. Until now.

Chris was sitting on the floor of the kitchen, banging pot lids together, quite contentedly, when he suddenly noticed that his mother was going out. Out. Outside. Outside the house. Without him. Oh, no…Chris began to wail, his normally placid face hopelessly distorted by tears and screams.

Nikita threw down her bag and ran to Chris, thinking he had hurt himself somehow. A close examination showed nothing. And Chris stopped crying as soon as Nikita touched him. She frowned, not immediately putting it together, but she soon got the picture when it happened again.

Every time she approached the door, Chris started to cry and hold out his arms to be picked up. Nikita grew frustrated. She had to go grocery shopping this morning, or Declan would have nothing to make for dinner. Deciding that she would try one last time, before succumbing to pressure and taking the baby with her, Nikita began walking towards the door slowly. Finally, forced beyond endurance, Chris, who up until now still had not spoken his first word, uttered that legendary syllable.

"Ma!" he cried, begging for Nikita to hold him. "Ma-ma!"

Nikita raced back to Chris and hugged him, almost beside herself with joy. She didn't care if it was the wrong thing to do, or she was accidentally reinforcing Chris' dependence on her. She reveled in that one syllable. "Yes, Chris," she said, excitedly, "I'm Ma!"

"What a good boy you are, Chris," Nikita praised her son, loving the sound of that name on his lips. She knew it was silly to be so invested in hearing one particular word, but it meant a great deal to her just the same. She rubbed the top of his head gently, the silky pale blond hair slipping through her fingers. He was a beautiful child. And no matter how much he resembled her, she still saw Michael in him. His coloring might be Nikita's, but his mannerisms were Michael's. The way he held his head, the way he blinked slowly…all Michael.

She could hardly wait to tell Michael. Wait…where was Michael? He was…out. She frowned. Now who had separation anxiety?

Madeline applied perfume to her neck and all her pulse points. She had a secret she had told no one. Not even Neil. She hugged it to herself as if it could keep her warm and comfortable, not only for the rest of the day, but forever. She giggled uncharacteristically. What would the rest of the "family" say if they knew? And there was one more secret they didn't know about. Madeline and Neil, never one to let the grass grow under their feet, had eloped. Secretly. Married now for almost six months, they never regretted their secret marriage. However, they often wondered how they were going to explain this to Michael and Nikita, especially since Nikita was anxiously awaiting the planning that went with weddings.

Madeline didn't want to overshadow all of Nikita and Michael's first times. Part of her thought it would be perfectly lovely to have their wedding in the Samuelle backyard. Making good memories to replace the bad ones, that definitely appealed to her.

But part of her felt that inflicting their wedding upon Michael and Nikita, now matter how healed they might seem, would be a catastrophic move. So she kept silent. But soon…she would not be able to keep silent any longer. She was going to give Neil a gift he would never forget. She was finally pregnant.

Michael let himself into the house with his key. The house seemed unusually quiet today. That was strange. One thing he had discovered, with kids in the house, it was rarely quiet. It was lunchtime. Nikita should be back from shopping by now.

She was. She was lying on the carpeted floor of the living room, attempting to get interested in how to cook Veal Marsala. Or was it Chicken Fra Diavolo? It was some exotic dish she could barely spell, much less pronounce, and even less likelier, cook. Chris was sleeping contentedly on her stomach. She wasn't afraid of him falling off. As boring as the program was, she didn't feel at all sleepy. Not when she had such splendid news for Michael.

Michael watched from the entrance to the living room. Nikita looked both totally bored and incredibly contented at once. That she was able to embody such opposites didn't surprise him in the least.

She caught him looking at her and smiled, her heart registering its mate. "Hello, love."

He walked over to where she lay as quietly as possible, not wishing to wake Chris from his nap. Kneeling by her side, he stroked her hair off her forehead, eventually pressing a kiss there. "Hi."

"Where is everyone?" he asked curiously, continuing to look around for signs of life.

"Out. Around. Somewhere." She shrugged.

"You feeling left out?" he asked intuitively.

"Just a little," she sighed. "But I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

"Bad news." He smiled, his eyes now a vivid shade of green.

He reached for her hand and idly played with her fingers. He never tired of touching her, but it wasn't sexual. He craved physical contact with her, whether it was an affectionate pat on the head or an almost empathic sharing of their bodies.

"The bad news is…you missed Chris saying his first word."

Michael sighed. "Aw…I wanted to be here when he said it…"

Suddenly she lit up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. "The good news is…Chris said his first word, Michael!"

"And?" he asked excitedly.

"And it was Ma-ma!" she could not resist chortling.

Michael stared at Nikita for long moments. Then his eyes sparkled. "That's wonderful, Kita!" He truly didn't mind that his first word had not been Da-da. He was a bit disappointed, but he knew he would recover. He wasn't sure Nikita would, if it had been the other way around. The important thing was, his son was beginning to catch up with his sister.

He stroked Chris' back as he slept atop Nikita's abdomen. "He's so like you, Kita."

Nikita laughed. "But Michael, he's more like you. You don't see it?"

Michael glanced at her bemusedly. "Is he?"

Nikita held Chris' face in her hands for a moment, and the baby snorted in his sleep. "Yeah, he is," she said lovingly.

Michael bent his head close to Nikita's, nuzzling the side of her face. "Do you get that look when you watch me sleep then?"

"Oh, yes." She reached up and kissed him tenderly. "I love to watch you sleep…I whisper "I love you"…and you always smile in your sleep…"

"I do?" He unconsciously smiled.

She giggled. "See? It works every time."

"I love you, Kita," he whispered to her.

She smiled as his lips met hers.

Madeline woke with a start. She had the dream again. The one where she couldn't carry her baby to term. She turned her face into the pillow. It was already wet with her tears. As a trained psychiatric professional, she lamented her mind's refusal to accept what her body already knew. A little over seven months ago, Madeline miscarried.

Now she was pregnant again. Finally. But she was afraid. Afraid this pregnancy would turn out like the first one. Her miscarriage had been a devastating blow, both to her and to Neil. They had been so hopeful, it never occurred to either of them that she might not be able to get pregnant, or that she might not be able to maintain the pregnancy.

That was why she hadn't confided in Nikita. She and Neil changed their plans, scrapping the big wedding in the fall in favor of an elopement and a wedding in the offices of the local justice of the peace. Neither of them wanted to face their closest friends with the bad news. Each of them withdrew to their respective corners to lick their wounds in private. Madeline was intensely private about her relationship with Neil, and she simply could not bring herself to tell Nikita or Michael about the changes they had been forced to undergo.

So it was that Madeline and Neil, despite their grief over their loss, were finally able to conceive another baby. But Madeline was fearful. She hadn't even told Neil, thinking it would be better to wait until she was sure she could keep this baby. At first, when she knew, she felt warm all over, as if she wore a comfortable aura of well-being that refused to let anything negative penetrate its perimeter. Then the dreams started. Dreams that threatened her peace of mind.

"This is destructive, Madeline. It has to stop," she said to herself. Her entire being cried out to tell Neil, but she kept her silence. She alone knew how hurt he was after she lost the baby. He blamed himself for wanting too much, from her and from life, and he blamed himself for the pain it brought Madeline. But she loved him enough to try again, and they were so lucky, so blessed that she was pregnant again.

"I don't want to go through this alone, I can't," she shuddered. "But if I tell him, and I lose this one, too…" Madeline began to cry silently, glad that Neil was already in his office and could not question her.

She buried her face in her hands, willing herself to pull herself together. But before she could, Neil opened the bedroom door. "Maddy!—"

He crossed the room to her side in an instant. "Maddy! What's wrong? What is it? Are you all right?"

She drew in a heavy breath. "I'm fine, Neil," she hastened to reassure him.

He looked deep into her eyes, which were wet with tears, and his whole face changed. He looked older and more drawn, as if he'd been through a great battle and survived to tell the tale. "Maddy…" he whispered. "Tell me about it, love. Please?"

"I— I had the dr-dream again," she confessed. He closed his eyes in pain, and then he lightly stroked her hand. She registered his reaction and she knew she couldn't tell him about the new baby. She wasn't even sure he was finished grieving over the one they lost. He looked so haunted sometimes. So guilt-ridden.

"That dream," he repeated to himself, feeling it was proof that Madeline still blamed him for making her want something she would have been perfectly content to do without. "I'm so sorry, Maddy," he said brokenly.

She pulled his head to her breast and stroked his hair. He lay there for several moments, breathing harshly, as if he couldn't quite get his emotions under control. "I wanted this more than you did…it's my fault."

"Ssh, Neil…it's no one's fault." She comforted him for a long time, wishing that telling him of the new pregnancy would make them both feel better, but convinced that it wouldn't. She couldn't raise his hopes again, only to dash them. This way was better. If she lost this baby, she would grieve quietly, without adding to his pain. Never mind her own pain. She was used to it. Another victim of Section.

An hour later, Neil was back in his office, trying to forget something that was never far from his mind. Any pleasure he would normally take in remembering that Maddy loved him was gone. Blown away by the guilt and despair that was killing him slowly. Usually possessed of a dry wit, Neil could find nothing funny or heart-warming in the day's events that followed later. He was not himself, and he thought that Maddy knew it.

The phone rang. It was Nikita. "Hello, Nikita," he said softly, feeling that at last Michael and Nikita were making it work, their marriage, their family, everything.

"How are you, Neil?"

"Fine, Nikita." Neil wanted to scream that he wasn't even close to being fine, but he couldn't. He would never risk hurting Nikita, but he wasn't sure how long he could maintain the facade that everything was wonderful. Already, he sensed that Nikita was suspicious that he and Maddy were keeping such a low profile. He knew for a fact she was dying to ask him about the wedding, and he winced at the thought of telling her why they changed their plans.

He cleared his throat. "Was there something you needed?"

"Not really. I was just wondering why I hadn't seen you and Maddy around much lately. Is everything all right?"

"Why do you ask?" Neil felt a headache coming on. He never answered a question with another question. That was something Michael would do. But he couldn't help it. He didn't want to have this conversation.

Nikita blinked in surprise. Something was very wrong. Neil's wit and sunny disposition were legendary. This was not the same person who delivered her twins nine months ago.

"Neil? I was thinking of coming over. To see Maddy," she said, testing the waters. Neil's reaction proved her right.

"No, no, Maddy's resting. Taking a nap. Please, Nikita, maybe another time. Listen, I have a patient coming in. I have to go. So long." Click.

That was odd. More than odd. Nikita hung up the phone and searched for her keys to the Jeep. She was on a mission.

When Neil told Madeline that Nikita was probably on her way, Madeline was horrified. What if she brought the twins? She couldn't bear it. Part of her wanted to weep with joy at Nikita and Michael's happiness. They had finally surmounted all the odds and they were a family. The other part, helpless against the roiling pain inside, wanted to rage at the unfairness of it all. They had so much, she asked so little.

She could not bring herself to visit the Samuelles after she lost the baby. She made excuses, Neil invented fictional emergencies, but they never quite got around to seeing the twins grow from newborns to infants. It was time they could never recapture, to her eternal regret, but they could not have survived their loss any other way. She knew it would break Neil's heart to see Michael's son so strong and healthy or Nikita's daughter so bright and funny. It broke her heart just to hear about them sometimes. Unfair again, but all too true.

She sat on the edge of the bed, feeling curiously unable to move. Either forward or back. She knew she was depressed, but she could not chance taking anything. She wanted to give this baby a fighting chance. She would sleep when she felt she could not, she would eat when she was not hungry. She would tell Neil soon. She wasn't strong enough to do this on her own. She needed him.

Declan appeared in the doorway, hovering as if unsure whether to come in. He hadn't seen Maddy in a number of months himself, but that was by Maddy's choice, not his. Their relationship was almost that of mother and son. Almost. They went back a long way. All the way back to Section.

Flashback:

Declan was 16. A long-haired, lanky youth brought in with a group of Irish terrorists. He wore a black T-shirt and faded blue jeans, and his long red hair was a wild, unruly mass of curls. There was something at once touching and tough in him. Madeline was sent to interrogate Declan and the others, one by one, in the White Room. And one by one, they all fell, like dominoes. None of them with half his spirit or his will. She saw something in him she thought Section could use, and she saved him from cancellation.

One look in those stormy grey eyes, and she was hooked. He had an innate beauty she longed to explore and exploit. She became his mentor. Although she was twice his age, she sought him as a suitor and failed. That surprised her. What she wanted, she usually obtained. What she no longer wanted, she discarded. But this boy was different. He tested her constantly, his wild eyes sparking and spitting at her one moment, only to fill with grateful tears the next. He guarded his soul well. She liked that.

"Declan, you will learn how to kill here."

"I already know how to do that. Better than you, I expect."

She sighed prettily, her bittersweet chocolate eyes expressive in their disappointment.

"We have ways you never dreamed of."

"How would you know what I dream?"

"Resistance will only get you killed, Declan."

"Don't we all die in the end anyway?"

"It would be a terrible pity to lose someone like you."

Declan snorted, flexing his wrists. "Is that so? I don't think the world would miss one more Mick."

Eventually, they came to an understanding of sorts, and from there, they formed a bond. Madeline wanted to train Declan as a field operative, for she thought that was where his strengths lay, but Operations wanted Declan to become a valentine operative, seeing him as just another pretty face. They fought over this, though not openly, never openly, as was their way.

Declan became a field operative, and he was a damned good one, if Madeline was any judge. He was cold, controlled, and accurate. He might easily have given Michael competition, had the two even been allowed to know about one another, but they did not. Nevertheless, Declan had a bright future in Section, for as long as he lasted in the field, until Operations decided to change things.

Never one content to let sleeping dogs lie, Operations pushed for Declan's transfer to work as a valentine operative. It was the last straw.

Declan snapped, "I kill for you, I maim for you, I gather your damned intel, even when it means losing members of my own team. But you're never satisfied. You always want more!"

Operations' expression became glacial. "I think you need to reconsider your position here."

"I've had enough! I want out!"

"The only way out is in a body bag. I suggest you think it over."

"You can't threaten me, Operations. I'm already dead. Where it matters."

As much as Madeline admired Declan's strong-willed railing at Operations, she knew he was destined for cancellation if he continued. She intervened, and that earned her a stiff rebuke from Operations and an angry glare from Declan.

Once she got Declan alone, she asked him why he refused to do as Operations asked, if it meant taking his life. "What life?" he hissed between clenched teeth.

Madeline smiled seductively as she touched Declan's shoulder. He glanced down at her hand, as if daring her to leave it there. "I can teach you the ways of the valentine operative, Declan. In many ways, you might find it easier than what you're doing now."

He shook his head. "Not interested."

"I wonder why."

"Keep wondering, Madeline."

"Do you like killing that much, Declan?" She inquired politely.

"It's a helluva lot more honest than what you want me to do. Lie…pretend…seduce…how real is that?"

Madeline's eyes grew cold and deadly. "You have no choice, Declan. Operations will order your cancellation if you don't submit."

"I'll never submit, Madeline. Never."

"You'll tell me why before you die."

He waved jauntily at her as he walked away. He had no intention of sticking around to see the ending of that particular play.

In the end, Declan chose to die rather than compromise his honor, such as it was. Madeline worked on him for hours, feverishly trying to change his mind, or at least, make her understand his reasoning. She could not penetrate his defenses. He was willing to die for what he believed in. Whatever it was.

She bent over him, unable to let this beautiful soul go. She stared deeply into his eyes, trying to fathom what made him the way he was, but she was no closer to an answer now than an hour ago. "Why?" she asked in a quivering voice. "I could have protected you."

"At what price? If I sleep with you, I get to live?" Declan sneered derisively.

"I'm not meant for the likes of you, Madeline. Get over it."

"Why?"

"The life you propose would be pure torture for me."

"How? All you have to do is seduce women and—"

Declan regarded her with a blank stare.

"You don't like women…"

"I like women fine, I just don't happen to sleep with them."

Madeline closed her eyes briefly. "Declan, that doesn't matter. In fact, it makes the job easier. There's no chance of emotional attachment to the target."

Declan laughed. "You see everything in terms of targets, Madeline, you're a bloody fool. Do you think I care about any of that?"

Madeline frowned. "Then I don't understand."

Declan smiled. "And you never will. I don't care if you want me to sleep with women, men or barnyard animals. My original objection stands."

"And that was?"

Declan sighed. "I won't treat people the way you do. It's inhumane. Killing them is better than lying and cheating and seducing them. At least it acknowledges their value and their acquisition has some kind of meaning."

Madeline nodded slowly, realizing that Declan had something worth saving, something worth rescuing, and she had to act quickly. She released his restraints. He merely stared at her.

"Go. You've got at least two hours before they start looking for you. I won't turn in the alarm until I know you're away from here."

Declan didn't hesitate. He jumped up, pausing a second before making good his escape. "Why?"

"I don't know," she replied.

"At last, an honest answer. Thank you, Madeline!" He waved and took his exit. She could only stare after him. She never saw him again.

Until two years ago. When she began setting up an escape plan to save Michael and Nikita. The rest was, as they say, history.

Declan moved forward cautiously, but Madeline needed a friend very badly by now. She met him more than halfway, and they embraced. Declan was stunned at the changes in her. She looked weak, even frail. This was not the Maddy he knew.

Madeline stared into Declan's eyes for a brief moment, then collapsed. He felt her go limp in his arms and he managed to pull her over to the bed. He struggled with her dead weight, trying to lay her down gently. He ran into the bathroom and grabbed a clean washcloth, wetting it hurriedly. He placed the cool compress on her forehead and she moaned lightly.

"Declan! Declan!" she called out anxiously.

He pulled her hands into his, feeling how clammy they were. "I'm here, Maddy. He was deeply worried. He had never seen Madeline fall apart. Ever. It was a sight that struck fear in his heart.

"I need to tell s-someone…I trust…you…" she whispered.

"You know how I feel about you, Maddy." Declan swallowed hard and wondered what was so upsetting, she couldn't confide in Neil.

"Neil mustn't know. Promise me, Declan…" She gripped the collar of his shirt with both hands and pulled weakly on it, drawing Declan even closer. "Swear…"

Declan blinked. "I swear, Maddy."

Neil stood in the doorway, looking like a man recovering from a six-day drunk. "What are you doing in here with her?"

Declan stood up slowly, his palms outstretched towards the older man. "It's not what you think."

Neil looked torn between rage and despair. "How the hell would you know what I think? I find you in here, laying all over my wife—"

Declan stared at Neil, then swung his head around to Madeline. "You're married?"

Neil laughed harshly. "She didn't tell you? How interesting!"

Madeline tried to raise herself off the bed, but she was too weak. "Neil…I called Declan here. To talk."

Neil all but barked at her. "You mean your little pet here just came to talk? Must be pretty important, huh? So that's what's between you two! All this time, I thought it was something else. Boy, am I stupid!" Neil felt a crushing weight come down on him, and he wondered how it was that he was still standing.

"It's not what you think, Neil!" Declan protested.

Madeline was struck dumb by the image of the two men she cared about most fighting over her. For all the wrong reasons. Neil was drowning in his own grief, but she could not tell him she was pregnant now. He wouldn't believe it had nothing to do with Declan.

Neil struck the first blow. He hit Declan hard, his open hand cracking sharply across his cheek. Declan never flinched. He didn't even blink. Madeline gasped. She alone knew what Declan was capable of. If he felt threatened enough, maybe he would kill Neil.

"No, Declan!" she screamed.

Declan turned his head to look at Madeline, and Neil took advantage, shoving the younger man up against the wall. Declan was pinned. He couldn't move easily. But he could defend himself, if Neil continued to press him. But he knew that Madeline didn't want it. Madeline loved Neil. Declan closed his eyes and waited impatiently for Neil to finish what he'd started.

Neil saw Madeline's tears and released Declan from his almost painful grip. Declan sagged against the wall and watched the couple. Madeline wrapped her arms around Neil and sobbed on his shoulder. Neil looked confused. "Someone tell me what's going on here. Please."

Declan rubbed his cheek. "I wish I knew. This is where I came in."

Neil had the grace to appear chagrined. "Sorry, it's just that…I have no excuse, Declan. I— I don't know what to say."

Declan shrugged, as if this kind of thing happened everyday, and again, Neil wondered what kind of background Declan really came from, if it did. "Maddy, do you want me to leave?"

"No, Declan, I need to talk to you. Neil—"

Neil disentangled himself from Maddy's embrace, looking hurt. "Of course. You have something you need to talk about with him." He walked slowly to the doorway. "I wish I could say I understand, Maddy. But I don't." He left the room, but not before Declan noted the tears in the man's eyes.

Declan frowned at Madeline. He didn't want to hurt her anymore than she had been already, but he wasn't certain she knew what she was doing. "Maddy…" he said softly. "What are you doing, love?"

He knelt on the bed beside her, taking careful note of the weight she had lost and the color she no longer had. She looked shell-shocked. He had seen operatives come back from missions in better shape than she was right now.

She leaned on Declan's shoulder and sighed. "I wanted to tell you that Neil and I eloped, Declan. But it's…complicated."

"I'm sure it is, Maddy, love. But in the meantime, you have your husband thinking we're having an affair, and God only knows what else you haven't told me."

"There is more," she said, shivering.

"Tell me," he commanded.

"I'm pregnant." She started to cry when she saw the stunned look in Declan's eyes. She buried her face against his chest, and Declan absently held her, unable to take it all in as yet.

"Pregnant!" he repeated. He looked down at Madeline's heaving body. He gently cupped her chin in his hand and studied her tear-drenched face. ‘I don't understand. Why can't you tell your husband?" He gasped. "It is his child?"

Madeline slapped Declan lightly on the arm. "Of course it is."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Just after the twins were born…Neil and I lost a baby. I know how devastated he was, Declan. I can't do that to him again." She drew in a shaky breath, trying desperately to regain control.

"So what then? You're going to disappear for the duration? Come back if and when it's born?" Declan stood up and began to pace back and forth. "I don't know, Maddy, I think that's more cruel than telling him upfront."

"You can't go through this alone. You know it. I know it."

"And now I know it," said Nikita, suddenly appearing in the doorway.