Michael pulled his jeans over his legs and fastened them. Hovering over Nikita as she dressed, he couldn't stop smiling. Obviously impatient to say something, he shifted from leg to leg restlessly. "Michael, what on earth is wrong with you?" Nikita gave him a bemused look.

Green eyes sparkling like the champagne he never drank anymore, Michael grinned at Nikita. "Nothing."

"Nothing? All that for nothing?"

He grabbed Nikita and kissed her. "No, doucette, all that was not for nothing." He felt her melt against him, and suddenly, there was no way to tell where one left off and the other began. She opened her mouth and kissed him back. His hands tightened on her shoulders as he pulled her closer.

"Everything is very right with me, that's all." He shook his head, as if to clear it, but the world stayed in hazy focus, as soft and gauzy as an old romantic movie. He laughed gently, unwilling to sever the connection between them yet.

"I don't think I've ever seen you react this way to making love, Michael." Nikita regarded her husband with skeptical eyes.

"It's not just making love, Kita. I feel like everything is going right for us now. Things have never been this good for us. Ever. It just feels…incredible."

Nikita beamed at Michael. "I'm glad you feel that way, love."

"Me, too." He swung her off the ground and in a circle until she was dizzy and could barely lean on him for balance. "I love you, Kita."

"I love you, too, Michael." Her gaze instantly softened whenever she said the words so dear to both of them.

He hugged her tightly, pulling her against his chest. Threading his fingers through her long blonde hair, he kissed the side of her face, near her ear, murmuring to her in French.

She protested, albeit mildly. "What are you saying? I want to know, Michael."

He nearly blushed. "Just that I want to make love to you in every part of the chateau until we succeed in making you pregnant again." He rubbed his hands up and down her bare arms.

"You are motivated this morning, aren't you?" Nikita said, an amused smile tracing her generous mouth. She loved this side of Michael.

He smiled playfully. "I am. But you're my inspiration, doucette." He wrapped his arms around Nikita, rubbing them up and down her back lovingly. "I couldn't do it without you," he said with a chuckle.

"You're damn right you couldn't. You better not ever try this with anyone else."

He pretended to be outraged at the idea. "Me? Make love to anyone else?" He caressed her face with one hand, the other still steadfastly clasped around her waist. "There will never be anyone but you, Kita, in my bed."

Michael kissed her. "Or on the kitchen table." She sputtered, and he held onto her, while she tried to smack him, admittedly half-heartedly. Then they both began to laugh.

Birkoff crept around the corner cautiously, hearing the laughter, and decided that it might be safe to resurface. "Um, guys?"

Michael smiled warmly, warmer than Birkoff had ever seen. He looked as if he were lit from within. Maybe he was. Nikita had that effect on people. She was like a ray of sunshine. Lighting up all the dark corners of people's souls.

"What is it, Birkoff?"

Birkoff surveyed the kitchen. "Doesn't look like you made an awful lot of progress here."

Nikita looked at Michael, and when their eyes met, they both exploded into tides of laughter again.

Birkoff backed up slowly. "Okay, okay, I can tell when I'm not wanted."

Nikita struggled to control her fit of the giggles in vain. "It's not that, Birkoff. It's just that I'm trying to get pregnant again."

Birkoff stared at her, and Nikita dissolved into peals of helpless laughter. "In the kitchen? You guys did it in the kitchen? Oh, I wish you hadn't told me that. I'll never eat breakfast again."

Michael chuckled at Birkoff's obvious discomfiture. "And I suppose you and Declan have never gone anywhere but the bedroom?"

Birkoff turned a curious shade of crimson. "How'd you find out about that?"

Michael laughed heartily. "I know everything."

Nikita punched Michael in the arm softly. "Now you're scaring me, Michael. Stop teasing Birkoff."

Michael bent his head to Nikita's ear and whispered something. Nikita reddened. "Really?"

Birkoff coughed politely. "If you're finished discussing my love life, could we move on to more mundane matters, please?"

"Certainly." Nikita grinned, not certain whether to believe what Michael told her about Birkoff, Declan and a tryst in the stables.

"I don't care who's responsible for this mess, or who cleans it up, but my stomach is starting to think that my throat was cut, and I really need to eat soon. So are we restoring the kitchen to something vaguely resembling a place to eat? Or should I get Declan to take me and the kids out to eat?"

"Birkoff, you're a damn sight braver than I thought. You'd actually take those twins out to a restaurant with you and Declan?"

Birkoff eyed Nikita with piercing dark eyes. "You underestimate how hungry I am."

Nikita weighed the possibility of eating a meal in the kitchen after spending the whole day cleaning it versus eating out in a restaurant with full service. "Hmm…you'd take the kids with you?"

Birkoff gave Nikita a crooked smile. "Hey, you guys can play to your hearts' content, just give me fair warning."

Birkoff tapped lightly on Michael's shoulder before he left. "Oh, and Michael. You don't tell anyone else about the stables…and I won't tell Declan what you did in his kitchen…"

Michael's green eyes fairly twinkled. "Was that a threat I heard, Birkoff?"

"A threat? Nah. I just hate to see Declan get so…worked up. Unless it's over me."

Michael whistled low. "Deal." Michael's eyes traveled slowly over Birkoff's frame as he turned and left.

"Kita…"

"Yes, Michael?"

"I think our little Birkoff is growing up."

"I used to be able to intimidate Birkoff with a stare or a growl, Kita."

She laughed merrily. "I don't think anyone intimidates Birkoff anymore, except Declan."

"You think Declan intimidates him, Kita? I don't. I think if Birkoff was in Hell and wanted ice water, Declan would find a way to get it for him. That's not intimidation. That's love."

Nikita smiled peacefully and rested her chin on Michael's shoulder. "You might be right, Michael. I'd do the same for you."

Michael kissed Nikita's ear and held her tight. "So would I, doucette. That's how I know I'm right."

That they had not moved from the spot where Birkoff left them almost an hour ago was obvious. That they had not made an effort to clean up the kitchen yet was also obvious. Birkoff stared at the couple, once more wrapped in each other's arms, and thanked God for small favors. Affection he could deal with. But if he ever caught them actually making love, he wasn't sure what he would do. He laughed to himself. Take notes, probably. To share with Declan.

He cleared his throat, patiently waiting to be noticed. Birkoff's hair was growing in thick, the color now a rich warm brown, thanks to Mother Nature and all the hours he was spending outdoors. He wore it tied back, but he'd used a colorful multi-colored bandana this time instead of the austere black leather thong that Declan usually favored. He was wearing black jeans, like Declan, but his shirt was a royal blue. Declan tried to talk Birkoff into wearing a tie, but it was futile. Birkoff never liked wearing a tie, and he wasn't going to start now.

As for Declan, his hair was an even lighter red than it was when they first came to the chateau. Though he was careful not to expose himself to the sun any more than he had to, that first time, complete with sun poisoning, had lightened his hair. He wore black jeans and a black shirt with silver trim. His tie was black as well, but it had a tasteful silver design running through its length. Declan managed to carry off casual elegance with aplomb. Understated, but never underdressed.

"Michael, I just want you to know that each of us is going to take one of the twins, and both of your children are coming back to you in the same condition they left in."

Michael's mouth twitched at the corners. Declan was treating this outing to the restaurant like a mission. He was so earnest, so serious. And he was right, of course. He wouldn't trust just anyone with his children.

"Great, Declan."

Nikita leaned on Michael's shoulder, demonstrating an unusually possessive frame of mind today. But Michael didn't mind. In fact, if anyone had asked him, he would have confessed that he liked it. The varying ways Nikita claimed him as hers were all interesting. But he particularly enjoyed her openly affectionate gestures. Never a demonstrative man to begin with, Michael felt as if Nikita had opened him up in ways he never would have thought about.

Nikita eyed the two young men carefully. "I'd say ‘Good Luck', but you might take it the wrong way."

Birkoff replied, "We've got everything under control, Nikita. No need to worry."

Nikita snorted. "I'm not worried about the kids, Birkoff, I'm worried about you and Declan. The fact that you think this is going to be a piece of cake really concerns me."

Declan quickly prevented Birkoff from arguing with Nikita by pulling him away. "We'll all be fine. See you later."

When Declan and Birkoff were out of earshot, Declan whirled around and faced Birkoff. "What's the matter with you, Sey? I agree with Nikita, I'm deeply worried whenever you think something is going to easy."

"I'll take Fee, you'll take Chris. How hard can it be, Declan?"

"You've seen firsthand what they can do, Sey! Bloody hell! What the hell else do you need?"

Birkoff stopped walking abruptly and crossed his arms in front of him. "You know, Declan, you swear too much. You ought to watch that."

Declan stared at him, his grey eyes slowly chilling Birkoff to the bone. "Oh, yeah? Well, since you think it's so bloody easy, why don't you go by yourself? I'm sure you can manage!"

Birkoff glared back at Declan. "I know I can, Declan. What the hell is wrong with you? You're so irritable today!"

"Ooh, you want to watch that, Sey, you're cursing as much as me now. In fact, I'm such a bloody great influence on you, aren't I? Here you are, as pure as the driven snow, and me, the very devil, corrupting your poor soul. I'd feel sorry if I wasn't laughing so bloody hard!"

"I never said that, Dec! And I take full responsibility for my own actions, thank you!"

"Good, I'm glad!"

"Fine! It'll never happen again!"

They both gave each other a final intense look before separating to gather up the children. Declan made it almost all the way up the staircase before he abruptly turned around, nearly colliding with Birkoff when he did.

"What won't happen again?"

"Me coming on to you! You obviously don't like me taking any kind of initiative, so—" Birkoff began.

Declan cut him off before he could say another word. "Is that what you think this is about? Dammit, Sey! I told you how I felt about that. I didn't think I needed to repeat myself." Declan looked almost tearful.

Birkoff was immediately contrite. He sat down on the stair, taking Declan with him. "What is it, Declan? You've been snapping at me all day long. What did I do?"

Declan stared down the staircase, not really seeing anything. His angry grey eyes filled with tears and he absently rubbed Birkoff's arm. "You didn't do anything, Sey. It's me."

Birkoff's hand crept around Declan's neck. "What is it?"

"My brother Justin's birthday." Declan wrapped his arms around himself, looking for all the world like someone who was struggling to physically hold himself together. A fat tear rolled down Declan's cheek, and Birkoff caught it in his palm. Birkoff looked thoughtful.

"You never did tell me about him, Dec. You said you would," Birkoff added quietly.

"Sey…" Declan's voice rasped out. "You know how sometimes you feel of two minds about something?"

Birkoff nodded, waiting expectantly for Declan to continue.

"That's how I felt about Justin." Declan doubled over, trying not to give in to the fierce desire he had to unburden himself at last.

Birkoff pulled on Declan until he stopped resisting Birkoff's attempts to embrace him. "Dec, for God's sake, let me hold you."

"I don't deserve you, Sey. I don't know why God let me have you in the first place, if He's only going to take you away from me."

"Jeez, Declan, what makes you think I would leave you? It was just a stupid argument."

Declan slowly let Birkoff's arms encircle him until he was able to lay his head on Birkoff's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around Birkoff's neck, but his clenched fists showed no signs of relaxing. He closed his eyes.

At first, Birkoff thought Declan fell asleep. But he was deep in thought, preoccupied with trying to express something he had never dreamed he would ever mention again.

Slowly it started to unfurl. With quiet intensity.

"Justin was four years older than me. I thought he knew everything. He acted like he did. I worshipped him, Sey. I wanted to be just like him."

"Is that how you became a terrorist, Declan?" Birkoff asked in a whisper.

Declan nodded. "You don't understand what it's like to be Irish Catholic and gay, Sey. The two things can't co-exist."

"But they do. In you, Dec." Birkoff looked puzzled.

"At first, to be gay, I had to give up my faith. And I did. I ran around, wild sometimes. It's a wonder I wasn't killed those first few years."

"Then what?"

"I settled. I don't even know why. But I realized that I needed my faith more than I needed anything else. And I became celibate. And that's how I lived my life, Sey. Till I met you."

Birkoff's dark eyes glistened with unshed tears. "You were celibate all those years until I came along?"

Declan nodded. "You were the one. The one I'd been waiting for all my life. I didn't want to recognize it for what it was at first. That's why I thought you and I could be friends. I never meant to seduce you, Sey." Declan clutched at Birkoff's neck and cried.

Birkoff's heart broke at the thought of Declan blaming himself in some way for how their lives had intertwined, as if it were something depraved. "You didn't seduce me, Declan. I fell in love with you. We were celibate together for what must have been weeks before we acted on our feelings. That took thought. I never felt that what was between us was immoral. I still don't. I love you."

Declan cried harder, burying his face in Birkoff's neck. Birkoff tried to comfort him, but he wasn't sure how he could make it better. It was like Declan said, some of this was beyond Birkoff's range of experience. But that didn't mean Birkoff loved Declan any less for it.

"I love you, too, Sey," Declan whispered.

"What does this have to do with your brother, Declan?"

Declan choked on a sob. "When he found out I was— I was gay…he said that the power of the devil compelled me. For years I believed that. I thought it was true because he said it…and I did love him, Sey. Even so."

Birkoff stroked Declan's hair lovingly, wishing he could make all of Declan's pain disappear. But this was something he had never revealed to anyone before. He'd been keeping this inside for so many years, he'd thought he would die with it.

"Did he do something to you, Declan?" Suddenly Birkoff could see it, and the power of that image made him want to kill someone who was already dead.

Declan nodded imperceptibly.

"What did he do, Declan?" Birkoff was so still, he could hear both their hearts pounding.

"He…He let his men rape me." Declan was beyond tears, and Birkoff was beyond speaking.

"He said…he said he thought it would cure me…that the world would be rid of one more fag."

Birkoff suddenly found his voice. "And you worshipped him, Declan? You thought he knew everything? God, you wanted to be like him? How could you hate yourself that much?"

Declan raised his tearful eyes to Birkoff's. "It was easy, Sey. I'd had so much practice hating. Hating myself wasn't a big jump."

"There's more, isn't there? What happened when you and the rest were brought into Section, Declan?"

"Justin was canceled. They all were. Except for me."

"And you blamed yourself for that, too?"

Declan sighed. "No. It was a small mercy, them all being canceled like that. I always wondered if somehow Maddy found out. But she couldn't have. Or she never would have named her son after my brother…"

"God, Declan, why didn't you tell her?"

"I've never been able to tell anyone. Till now." Declan gazed at Birkoff, his wounded eyes weeping still.

"How can you stand it, Dec? I can't, and it didn't happen to me." Birkoff kissed Declan, ever so tenderly, for Declan seemed curiously fragile now.

"I never gave him up, Sey. Not even when they threatened to kill me. I always felt there was a certain honor in that."

"You're a very honorable man, Declan. I think you always have been."

"God bless you, Sey."

"He did, Declan."

Declan was no longer crying, but he clung to Birkoff for dear life. He was Declan's anchor in the morass of emotion that was threatening to sweep him away. Birkoff was holding him as tightly as he possibly could, almost afraid to let Declan go, even for a moment.

"Thank you, Sey. I need to feel you holding me. It makes me feel real and in the present." Declan's teeth began to chatter. In fact, his whole body was trembling.

"Please don't let go of me, Sey." Declan was rarely scared. But this sense of apprehension had seized him and had him in a relentless grip. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Declan…" Birkoff's lips pressed a kiss to Declan's temple.

Suddenly they both heard a noise below them. Looking down the stairwell, Birkoff saw Michael and Nikita coming up the stairs, probably headed for their bedroom. He turned to face Declan, and he knew that Declan saw them, too, because Declan began to struggle to get away from Birkoff.

I have to get away, Sey. Please." Declan wasted valuable moments trying not to hurt Birkoff in his effort to disentangle himself, and so it was that Michael and Nikita soon were close enough to see for themselves how upset Declan was.

Michael spoke first. "You didn't leave yet?"

Nikita knew instinctively that something was terribly wrong. She put her arm across Michael's chest, preventing him from approaching any closer. "Declan? Are you all right?"

Declan gave her a wild-eyed look and sprang to his feet, bursting free of Birkoff's embrace. Without answering, he ran up the rest of the stairs, and they all heard the door of his room slam.

Birkoff looked at Nikita, his heart in his throat. He didn't know what Declan was capable of in his condition. But he couldn't spare the time to bring Michael and Nikita up to speed right now. Right now, Declan needed him. He jumped up, a conflicted look on his face. "I can't explain now. I have to make sure Declan didn't lock himself in."

It didn't occur to Declan to lock himself in. He was too lost to think about anything that apparent. He lay on his stomach on the bed, his hair loose now, having snapped itself free from the leather thong that usually bound it. He buried his face in the comforter. It smelled fresh and clean. Two things he didn't feel right now.

He didn't want to fall asleep. He would dream. Terrible dreams. Dreams of betrayal and injustice. Dreams that held incredible power now over his waking life. Declan was so certain that this would happen, he didn't realize that Birkoff had entered the room. Birkoff locked the door behind him, more for privacy than to prevent Declan from escaping him. But the thought had occurred to him. That Declan might try to run. He couldn't bear that.

"Declan…" Birkoff called to him softly.

Declan buried his face deeper into the comforter, pretending he couldn't hear Birkoff. But Birkoff knew Declan, knew what he was doing. He knew it for two reasons. One, because he truly loved Declan. That was most important. Two, because Birkoff himself had been abused, albeit not in the horrific manner to which Declan had been subjected.

Birkoff sat down next to Declan and began gently stroking his hair. "Hey…I know you think you want me to go away, Declan…and if that's really what you want, I'll go. But I think you want me to stay, Dec…I think you need me right now. More than ever."

He bent over and lay his face against Declan's back. He could feel the fine tremors wracking Declan's body. Birkoff rubbed his hand back and forth on Declan's back, trying to convey to him that he was safe and that he was loved.

Declan made a little noise and the trembling increased under Birkoff's hand. Birkoff refused to give ground. He loved Declan, and he would fight for him.

Birkoff sat up and addressed Declan's back. "I'll go tell Michael and Nikita we aren't going out. Then I'll see what I can do in the kitchen. Maybe there's something for a sandwich. We both need to eat." He paused. "Don't worry, Dec. I'm going to take care of you." Birkoff's voice broke.

Declan turned his head so slightly, Birkoff might have missed it, if he hadn't been watching so carefully. Declan reached out with an unsteady hand. When his hand connected with Birkoff's, Declan gripped it tightly, pulling Birkoff down to a level even with his face.

"Don't tell anyone," he uttered in a raspy whisper, his voice almost strangled.

"Declan, I've got to tell Michael and Nikita. They care about you. They don't want you to hurt any more than I do," Birkoff insisted.

"Then do it. I can't stop you. What's one more violation?" What Declan said brought fresh tears to Birkoff's eyes.

"I'm sorry you see it that way, Dec. I love you. I could never betray you. If you want to lie here and drown in your pain alone, how can I stop you? I'm just as helpless as you are." Birkoff bowed his head, crying softly.

Declan couldn't stand the sound of his lover crying. As soft as it was, it echoed throughout his entire being. "Sey?"

Birkoff sniffled. "What?"

"Come here," Declan croaked in his nearly broken voice.

When Birkoff cleared the tears from his vision, he saw the effort it took Declan to reach out to him again, when he most wanted to withdraw to lick his wounds in private. Declan rolled over onto his side, his face both beautiful and tragic at once to Birkoff. Birkoff lay down on the bed, facing Declan, content just to stroke Declan's hair back from his face.

Declan placed his hand over Birkoff's, effectively stilling his movements for a moment. "I'll always love you, Sey, no matter what happens."

"Nothing's going to happen to you, Dec. I swear I won't let anyone else hurt you."

"Then you do whatever you have to, Sey. I won't hold it against you."

Birkoff looked at the face that he loved more than his own. He pressed a kiss to Declan's palm. "Thanks."

Declan's eyes watered anew. His beautiful grey eyes softened and blurred as Birkoff watched. That's how Birkoff knew that he was crying, too.

"Declan, I don't want any of this to change things between us." Birkoff was afraid that Declan's sudden lack of resistance was due to some inner decision he'd come to.

Declan's eyes drifted shut. "Everything changes, Sey. That's how you know you're alive."

"But I don't want this to change."

Declan's eyes opened again at hearing the panicky note in Birkoff's voice. He placed a long slender finger under Birkoff's chin. "This…this is the one exception to that rule," he whispered.

"This can never change." Declan traced a finger over Birkoff's lips. Birkoff opened his mouth slightly, his eyes black as midnight.

"It might get better…but it will never ever go away," Declan vowed.

"Always and forever?"

"Always and forever."

Declan did fall asleep, shortly after Birkoff left him, to seek out food for the two of them. Birkoff also took the opportunity to try to explain what happened to Michael and Nikita. They were understandably upset to learn the nature of Declan's problem.

Nikita sat curled up in a chair, her feet tucked neatly under her. "This is worse than abuse, Birkoff. Not to make light of what happened to you, as a child, but rape is so much worse." She hung her head for a moment, digesting what she had just said, feeling an empathy for Declan that went beyond anything she could express verbally.

Birkoff leaned forward, almost wringing his hands. "Do you think I don't know that, Nikita? The fact that this happened years ago does nothing to change how Declan feels. He never dealt with it. He buried it. Stuffed it down so deep, he never thought it'd surface."

Michael leaned on the back of Nikita's chair, his fingers playing idly with her hair. He wore no discernible expression, but he was clearly preoccupied with the matter at hand. "What do you think triggered it, Birkoff? I mean, if he's been stable all this time, why is it coming out now?"

Birkoff swallowed what might have been a sob. "I don't know. Maybe it has to do with me."

Nikita looked aghast. "You? Birkoff, you have nothing to do with any of this!"

"You gotta understand, Nikita. The way Declan tells it, he could either be gay or he could be Irish Catholic. He couldn't do both. His religion made being gay evil or a sin or something. So he stayed celibate. Till he met me."

Birkoff buried his face in his hands, and Nikita longed to jump out of her chair to comfort him. "You're blaming yourself?"

"If he hadn't met me, he would have gone on denying what happened. Maybe that's not the healthiest reaction, but he was coping just fine until we started sleeping together."

Michael's eyes flickered for a moment before he regarded Birkoff. "You've been sleeping together for a while now, Birkoff. What changed in the past few days?"

Birkoff stared at Michael, his dark eyes wet and shiny. "You know what changed, Michael. We went to the stables." Birkoff glanced at Nikita and winced. "Nikita, I know you really understand what's going on, you've been there, but you're a woman, and this is really hard to talk about."

Michael never moved. Neither did Nikita. "It doesn't get any easier no matter who has to listen, does it, Birkoff?" Michael asked in his deceptively calm voice.

Birkoff closed his eyes before he found the strength to continue. "It's just that I initiated things between us that night."

"By things, you mean, sex?" Nikita asked.

Birkoff shook his head. "Is that what you call it when you and Michael are together?"

Nikita had the grace to look away. "No, we call it making love."

Birkoff's eyes flashed for a second. "Well, so do we."

"I'm not the enemy, Birkoff."

Birkoff flushed. "I know that. I'm just upset, that's all. I don't ever want to see Declan hurt like this again."

"Why would it make a difference who made love to who?" Michael questioned.

"It's complicated. It has to do with Declan's brother using their religion as a weapon against him. Declan managed to bury his feelings about the rape. Even about Justin. But he never resolved anything. It was lying there, like a trap waiting to be sprung."

"Only now he thinks that I'm some sort of innocent he ruined. He sees himself as this monster who seduced me, and when I seduced him that night, I think it tripped off something. Like his evil was contagious. Like he…corrupted me, I think he said."

Birkoff raked his hands through his hair, and the colorful bandana fell unnoticed to the floor. "Michael…Nikita…you both know me as well as anyone can…" He rubbed his hands nervously against his thighs.

"When Declan told me he loved me, I was scared. When I realized that I was in love with him…" Birkoff shook his head, his hair cascading down his neck now. "I didn't want to deal with what that meant. Even after I admitted I loved him, I held back from making our relationship physical. And Declan let me. He gave me time and space."

"Because he loves you, Birkoff," Nikita said softly.

"Yeah. Declan's always been able to commit. It wasn't a problem for him."

"He knew who he was, Birkoff. You weren't sure," Michael added.

"I'm sure now. I know what I want. I want what you have. So does Declan." Birkoff closed his eyes again. "And we have it. Things have been so good between us."

"Till now," said Nikita.

"It's his brother's birthday. I don't care what Declan says, his brother was his perpetrator, whether he was the one that raped him or not. Arrogant, macho piece of crap that he was."

Nikita nodded encouragingly. "You're angry for him."

"Damn straight I am. I wish he was still alive so I could kill him. Whatever Madeline did to him wasn't enough." Birkoff broke down finally, hiding his face from the two of them.

"Does Madeline know?" Michael asked quietly.

Birkoff looked up, eyes blazing, swallowing what he wanted to say. "He says no. How could she not know, Michael? I thought Section had access to everything."

Michael shrugged. "Maybe Madeline never succeeding in breaking Declan. Did that occur to you? There's something very special about their relationship, but I don't know what it is. But I'll say one thing. The Madeline we know and love now couldn't be part of this, Birkoff. She would never be so cruel as to name her son in honor of Declan's brother, if she knew."

"That's what I told Declan. He said he never told her."

Birkoff wiped tears from his reddened eyes, beyond being embarrassed anymore. It was a tremendous relief for someone else to know what happened. Someone who cared. "I think he needs to tell her. I can't stand the thought of him having to hear that kid being called by that bastard's name."

Nikita nodded. "I agree. Mom will want to do something right away. We should call her."

Birkoff stood up and touched Nikita's hand. "Thanks."

Michael rubbed Birkoff's shoulder. "We're here for you as well as Declan. Don't forget."

"I won't."

"Declan."

Declan shook his head furiously back and forth. He thought he heard Maddy's voice. But it couldn't be. She was back at home. With Neil and the baby. He couldn't even bring himself to say the baby's name. It was undeniably painful.

Madeline crossed the room and sat down on the bed next to Declan. "How are you feeling?"

It was just as it always was between them. As if no time had passed. As if they had just seen one another last week instead of last month. "Maddy? Oh, Maddy!"

Declan let go of whatever defenses he'd been using to hold himself together and wrapped his arms around the petite brunette. Tears coursed down his cheeks, but he didn't care. He didn't look to see if there was anyone with her, and frankly, he didn't care about that either. He needed his Maddy. The woman who was more mother to him than the woman who gave birth to him.

He leaned his cheek against her chest and struggled to get himself under better control. "Sorry." He sat up, wiping his face self-consciously with his fingers and the back of his hands.

She smiled peaceably and ran her hands over his face, wiping the remainder of the tears away. "Feel better?"

"Now that you're here, yes," he said huskily. "I missed you so much, Maddy. How's Neil? And— and the baby?"

"They're fine, Declan. But I'm here for you. How can I help you?"

He closed his eyes. "I can't go through all that again." He shook his head.

"All what?"

He opened his eyes, and she saw how reddened they were. Declan was not one to cry lightly. That he found anything worth crying about for so long and so hard that his eyes showed the effect worried her.

He looked at her for a moment, almost as if he were trying to determine what to say, then he broke down again, this time, sobbing on her shoulder. She had rarely seen him this distraught.

"Is there a problem between you and Birkoff?"

That was the only thing she could think of that would make him this upset. He turned his head sideways, hiccuping now and then, trying to slow down his runaway emotions. "Not exactly."

She pulled him away from her shoulder, forcing him to look at her. "What does ‘not exactly' mean?"

He took a deep breath and began to tell Madeline the truth about his brother.

Madeline was stunned. She'd never imagined that Declan could hide anything this significant from Section, and more specifically, from her. "Declan…you never told me. Why?"

"Did you need to know? Would it have made any difference?"

She considered that. "The only difference it would have made…would have been in the interrogation and cancellation of your brother."

"How?"

Madeline pushed her long hair back from her face, the weight of it heavy on her hands. She didn't know if she should say this or not, but she did. "When it came time to cancel your brother, Declan, I was merciful, as merciful as Section would allow anyway. Because he was your brother. I shot him. He died instantly. I was always happy that I didn't make your brother suffer, Declan. Now I wish I'd known."

"You would have tortured him?" Declan asked incredulously.

"He would have deserved it. He took your life, such as it was, and even now, he continues to torment you."

Madeline scratched her head gently with a manicured fingernail. "He was your perpetrator, Declan. Do you understand what that means?"

"He's not the one who raped me, Maddy."

"It doesn't matter, Declan. What he did to you was cruel. In fact, what he did to you was worse than if he'd raped you himself. You weren't even worth his notice when he ordered you punished."

Declan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "My religion says that I'm an abomination, Maddy. How would you deal with that?"

"Get a new religion," she snapped.

"What?"

"I'm serious, Declan. Your church doesn't validate your lifestyle. You can still have faith and worship God without embracing a church that demands self-hatred."

Declan wouldn't meet Madeline's eyes, so she cupped his chin and forced him to make eye contact with her. "Do you love Birkoff?"

"You know I do, Maddy."

"Are you willing to give him up?"

"Why? Why do I have to choose?" Declan's eyes filled with tears.

"You don't. You're the one who's telling yourself you have to have one or the other, Declan."

He struggled to look away from her intense gaze. "You don't understand, Maddy."

"I don't? I think you don't, Declan. Birkoff loves you, he's willing to give up any kind of physical relationship with you, if it would make you stay with him. He loves you that much, Declan."

"I told him I wouldn't leave him, Maddy."

"Can you blame him for thinking you might? You made him feel as if he were someone special, then you acted as if his love weren't good enough."

"I never said that, Maddy. I love him too much to leave him. I thought I reassured him about that."

"You did, Declan." Birkoff's voice came from the doorway.

Declan turned and stared at Birkoff. "I wasn't eavesdropping, in case you were wondering, Declan. I just heard the last thing you said."

Madeline stood up slowly. "You think about what I said, Declan. And we'll talk soon."

"Oh, and one more thing…" She leaned over Declan and whispered in his ear. Declan turned deep red. She smiled as she left the room.

"What was that about?" Birkoff asked.

Declan shrugged. "She was…um…reminding me to keep up my husbandly duties."

Birkoff grinned. "What does that mean? And what does that make me?"

"I think she has some cockamamie idea that we're married, Sey." Declan smiled for the first time in hours, and if the smile did not quite reach his eyes, at least, it transformed the rest of his face. "As for what that makes you…you must be my wife…come here, wife."

Birkoff sat on the bed, next to Declan, bemused at the sudden emergence of this playful side. Declan fondled Birkoff's cheek, murmuring, "My wife needs a shave."

Birkoff chuckled. "Declan…"

Declan sighed heavily. "I don't know if we can be together for a while yet, Sey. It's still too fresh in my mind."

"I'll wait as long as you need me to, Declan. If we could never be together again that way…I would still stay with you. I love you."

Declan smiled wearily. "Aye, you're a good wife, Sey. I'll get you trained properly yet."

Birkoff laughed briefly, then sat, staring at Declan as if he were the last box of Cheerios on the grocery store shelf.

"Stop looking at me that way, Sey. You're only inviting trouble."

"I'm a great believer in the healing power of love, Declan."

"Living in this household, I can see why."

Birkoff edged closer to Declan's side. "Am I allowed to kiss you goodnight?"

Declan blinked sleepily. "You cheeky little thing, next thing I know, you'll be asking to sleep with me."

Birkoff gazed wistfully at Declan. "I promise not to snore."

Declan snorted. "You always do. We both do. Good thing we're asleep so we don't notice."

"I promise to keep my hands off you, Dec. I swear."

"Don't swear, love. You swear entirely too much."

"Can I?"

"Can you what?" Declan picked a piece of lint off his shirt.

"Sleep with you!" Birkoff finished in exasperation, just as Michael and Nikita opened the door to check on them.

"Oops, wrong room," said Nikita with a chuckle, pushing Michael back through the doorway.

Birkoff pressed his advantage, sneaking inside Declan's defenses to grab a quick kiss. Declan protested mildly, and Birkoff held up his hands. "Sorry, it'll never happen again."

"A likely story, boyo. Fine wife you turned out to be. You faithless harridan."

Birkoff leaned on Declan. "What's a harridan?"

Declan stared deeply into Birkoff's beloved eyes. "Someone who kisses with his eyes open and his mouth shut."

Birkoff giggled. "Yeah, I always get those two mixed up."

Declan bit his lip, evidently indecisive about something.

"What the hell, Sey, kiss me and be done with it. The worst that can happen is I'll go mad and you'll kill me."

Birkoff laughed, none too gently either. "Sounds like bad opera to me."

Declan grabbed Birkoff's face between his two hands and kissed him enthusiastically. "Nothing happened."

"What did you expect to happen?"

"I at least expected the bloody sky to fall on me."

"Was it too awful?"

"The kiss? Let's try it again and see if you can get it right this time."

Birkoff bent his head and touched his mouth to Declan's, as chastely as possible. Declan sighed. "I can see I'm going to have a hell of a time teaching you anything. Wife." If it weren't for the last, Birkoff would have thought Declan was quite serious, but the word wife was a dead giveaway.

Declan nudged Birkoff's mouth open and claimed it with a heat that surprised both of them. "I thought that was forbidden," said Birkoff, a puzzled look in his eye.

"We'll see how it goes."

The two of them stood together in the center of the room, frozen in tableau for long moments before they moved again finally.

Declan wrapped his arms around Birkoff, burying his face in Birkoff's hair. It was so thick and soft and clean. He loved the smell of it. "I love you, you know."

Birkoff relaxed against Declan, sighing contentedly. "I know."

Declan began to run his hand along Birkoff's ribcage, in an attempt to tickle him, but Birkoff was far too skittish to be caught so easily. He ran to the other side of the room, but Declan cornered him all too quickly. They wrestled briefly, finally collapsing on the bed, laughing and out of breath.

Declan reached out to stroke Birkoff's hair, and Birkoff smiled easily. "Some wife I make. I never fed you, Dec."

"Don't hear me complaining, do you?" said Declan kindly.

"No…you never do. How come?" Birkoff reached for Declan, stretching out his fingers to trace a light pattern along Declan's shoulder.

"Maybe I'm just so damn grateful to have you in my life, any way I can, I dunno." Declan looked as if he would cry, and Birkoff responded immediately by taking him in his arms.

"Hey…I told you I would take care of you, Dec. I'm here." Birkoff murmured to Declan softly and insistently, trying to assuage his residual anxiety.

Declan rubbed his nose back and forth along the top of Birkoff's shoulder, his hands clenching and unclenching on Birkoff's shirt. "I don't want to sleep, Sey. I can't defend myself when I sleep. When the dreams come."

"Do you want to talk about it some more?"

"Not really. What I really want more than anything is to forget it again." Declan looked tearfully at Birkoff, and Birkoff kissed him lightly, then wiped Declan's tears away with his thumb.

"I know you want to forget, Declan, but the only way to get better is to remember it all. You have to deal with it before you can let it sink back into some distant memory that doesn't matter anymore. I know."

"Hey," Declan said in a trembling voice, "you're getting better at this wife thing, you know?"

Birkoff didn't laugh this time when Declan said that word. In every way that counted, they were as committed as a married couple. When Declan called him wife, Birkoff took it as a compliment, hearing the love underlying the humor.

Birkoff pressed Declan's head against his shoulder, restlessly running his hands through his long red hair. "I'll be whatever you need, Declan, for as long as you need me."

"That'd be always then." Declan closed his eyes, listening to Birkoff's heart, finding the steady beat reassuring. Justin was long dead. But Declan was still alive. Here in Birkoff's arms, there was no pain, no fear. There was only love and the peace it brought.

"I'm going to be okay, Sey," he whispered to Birkoff.

"I know, Dec. I know."

Michael thanked Madeline for literally dropping everything when Nikita called. Madeline smiled warmly, resting her hand on Michael's shoulder.

"I couldn't do anything less for Declan. He's always been special to me."

"We're just sorry you couldn't stay longer."

"I know, but Neil can't get away yet. And I just couldn't bear to be away from J— my son too long."

"That's something I meant to ask you about, Madeline. What are you going to do about— ?"

"About naming my son after a terrorist who brutalized his own brother? I spoke to Birkoff before I saw Declan. I want to change the name on my son's birth certificate. He's too young to know the difference, it won't matter to him. But I know Neil will back me up on this."

"What will you call him instead?"

Madeline smiled, her bittersweet chocolate eyes sparkling with warmth and affection. "I asked Birkoff to find out what Declan's middle name is. It's Connor. Now my son will be named for the one I intended to honor all along."

Michael smiled faintly. "Does he know?"

"Not yet."

"Would it be all right if I told him? I'd like to be able to tell him something like that."

Madeline studied Michael's expression, noting there was something different. He looked almost…relaxed. "Certainly, Michael. I know we haven't had much time to talk about anything other than Declan, but…how are you and Nikita getting along?"

Michael colored, his cheeks turning a telling shade of pink. "Very well, Madeline. Why do you ask?"

"There's something in your eyes that wasn't always there before."

"Like what?" Michael queried.

"Like contentment. I think your body finally got the message from your brain, Michael. I've never seen you look quite this…satisfied."

"That's an interesting choice of words, Madeline." Michael slipped his hands into his front jeans pockets, debating whether to say anything further to Madeline without asking Nikita. In the end, he went with his heart.

"Madeline?"

"Yes, Michael?"

Michael looked like a little boy, rehearsing a poem for his mother on Mother's Day. That was somehow fitting. It was how he and Nikita felt about Madeline now.

He bit his lip before blurting out, "Mom…Kita and I are trying to have another baby."

"Michael!" Madeline's mouth opened in a small ‘O' and before she could stop herself, she was embracing Michael, who didn't look the least bit discomfited by her affectionate hug.

"I'm so happy for you both." Madeline wiped away a tiny tear that appeared at the corner of her eye. "See? You've even made me cry."

Michael grinned at Madeline's reaction. "You're going to be a grandmother again. Probably by the fall."

She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for telling me, Michael, now I can go home with a much lighter heart, hugging this news for all it's worth. May I tell Walter?"

He nodded. "Might as well. Everyone here knows."

"You told them before you told me?"

"Not exactly," Michael admitted, a sheepish look on his face. "Things got a little— well, we got a little carried away the other day and—"

"Say no more, Michael. I don't think a mother should know everything her daughter does." Madeline smiled beatifically. "But this is wonderful news."

The announcement for Madeline's flight home came over the PA. Michael walked Madeline to the gate and kissed her goodbye. As he waved, he called out to Madeline, "Send us pictures!"

She nodded that she heard him and waved back.

Michael turned to begin the trip back to the chateau. Sometimes life was bad. But lately, life was damn good.

Declan woke up abruptly, panting, as if he'd run a long hard race. Birkoff stirred next to him, rubbing his eyes to clear the sleep from them. He placed a hand on Declan's chest, feeling it moving up and down too rapidly. "Bad dream?"

He felt Declan's breathing slow down. Still Declan didn't answer right away. When he did, it wasn't to say what Birkoff expected.

"I got away."

Birkoff sat up. Both of them were still fully clothed, having passed the night, alternately waking and talking and sleeping. "What?"

"It's the same dream I always have." Declan brushed his hair back out of his eyes. "Justin gives the order…and they all descend on me…and usually, I wake up screaming bloody murder."

"But?"

Declan looked incredulous. "But this time I got away, Sey! I got away! That's not the way it really happened, but in my dream, I got away!"

Birkoff smiled gently. "Your mind just rewrote history, Declan. You're taking back control of your life."

Declan almost laughed, but he was too overcome by emotion. He still looked stunned, but all at once, he grabbed Birkoff and kissed him. "God, I love you!

Birkoff did laugh. His spirit felt lighter now that Declan had started healing. It was like he'd said to Declan earlier. He was a great believer in the healing power of love.

"Love me!" Declan exhorted.

"I do, Declan." Birkoff gazed at Declan, amusement warming his dark brown eyes.

"No, I mean, love me!" Declan pulled Birkoff on top of him, and Birkoff suddenly understood.

"Now you're pushing your luck, Declan. You're still recovering fr—"

Declan kissed him. It was a warm, tender kiss that bespoke of all the love and affection that was between them. It was a kiss that promised more.

"I love you, Sey. I feel like part of me has…come back to me somehow. Some part of me I didn't even know was missing."

"What if— ?"

"No ‘what ifs', Sey. Not this morning."

Declan stood up and began to unbutton his shirt. "Now go lock the door like a good wife."

Birkoff smiled. He could get used to that word. He really could.