Madeline.

She was still undeniably beautiful. But there was a glint in her dark eyes that spoke of madness. Whatever was wrong with her was carefully hidden, where no one could see. But it was very, very wrong.

Sasha wanted to scream. He wanted to claw at that hand covering his mouth until he could breathe freely again. But he instinctively knew that there would be no reasoning with Madeline.

Not the way she was now.

Delusional.

"You got away from me, Birkoff." A gracious smile curved her lips. Instead of making her look beautiful, however, it merely emphasized the maniacal gleam that shone in her eyes. "It took a long time to track you down…"

She brushed a lock of long hair away from Sasha's face and he stiffened, loathing the feel of her cool fingers on his forehead. "I should have paid more attention to what you were doing, Birkoff. But no matter. I won't let you out of my sight this time. I need you."

That's the second time she's called me Birkoff, Sasha thought. She thinks I'm Dad! What should I do? If I tell her I'm not, she might hurt me. Or worse, she might go after Dad. Shit, Da couldn't live without Dad. I'm no fucking hero…but I can't risk her getting to Dad.

Madeline slowly released her grip over his mouth, admonishing him not to scream. Sasha nodded his acquiesence and tried not to feel like he was giving in without a fight. I'm just biding my time, he reminded himself silently.

By the way Madeline's eyes were glittering at him, Sasha rightly surmised that she wanted something. Damn, I can't call her Aunt Maddy. What would Dad call her?

Sasha cleared his throat and tried to sound older, though he suspected it didn't matter. Madeline was clearly channeling things on her own private wavelength. "What do you want, Madeline?"

"Why, for you to come back to work at Section, of course."

Sasha felt like he'd been sucked down a tremendous black hole. It was the realization of his worst nightmare. He prayed that none of his distress showed on his face. He wasn't as good at hiding his feelings as his parents.

"Well, actually, I'm at Oversight now. I'm running things under Egran."

"Egran?" Fuck, it was like walking into a live minefield. He might look exactly like his father, but he didn't have his experience or his knowledge of Section. On the other hand, Sasha realized, he *did* spend his first six years there. There had to be things buried deep in his subconscious that he could draw upon.

"You remember Egran, Birkoff. Petrosian. He's been a double agent for many years. He even tried to kill Operations. But of course he didn't succeed."

Madeline cocked her head at a sharp angle, as though she were listening to someone only she could hear. Suddenly she laughed girlishly. "Petrosian was supposed to be cancelled. But I liked him. He was good for something."

"So you kept him around?" Sasha asked, starting to develop a feel for Madeline's stream of consciousness style of conversation.

"Yes." Madeline's eyes hardened unexpectedly. "Now he has the job I should have gotten. Head of Oversight."

"And that's why you want me back?"

Madeline smiled. "That…and the fact that I've always liked you, Birkoff."

Uh-oh, Sasha swallowed, I *so* do not want to go there. He would have to distract her.

"So, Madeline…where is Section these days?"

"You know I can't tell you that." Madeline giggled. It chilled Sasha right to the bone. There was something seriously creepy going on with her and Sasha was beginning to regret getting involved.

But he didn't have a choice. Not if he wanted to protect his family.

Everything looked different. Unfamiliar. Section One had been forced to move several times during the past ten years. The same was true of Oversight. But even though his surroundings were completely foreign to him, Sasha couldn't prevent a ripple of uneasiness from seizing him.

It didn't matter what it looked like. It was a dangerous place to visit and there was no way he wanted to live there.

He wondered if the others knew that he had been captured. Maybe not. Right now, they probably thought that he took a *really* long walk to clear his head. But eventually they would realize that something was wrong.

That was what scared him. The thought of his father coming after him, encountering Madeline in this precarious state, and possibly dying at her hands frightened him. It was not outside the realm of possibility. Not at all.

He thought about escape, but his instincts served him well. Now was not the time to chance leaving. Madeline was fixated on him. Well, on *Birkoff*. He would see what she wanted…and he would try to give it to her.

He would do anything to protect his family. "Whatever it takes," he murmured to himself.

The real struggle, however, was trying not think about Skye. With their separation still so fresh in his mind, it was difficult to think of anything else. But with one immense difference.

Now Sasha was concerned for her safety. He realized now that he'd been foolish to risk contacting her. Of course, he didn't know about Madeline and her plans for his father at the time. But still, he could kick himself for jeopardizing her, even if it was in the smallest way.

Madeline settled back in her luxuriously appointed leather chair and surveyed the scene before her. A contented smile crossed her lips. It was good to be back, and it was even better to be in charge.

Oh, that fool Petrosian thought he was in charge. But he was due to be enlightened. Either he bowed to her superior intellect…or he died. Life was very simple in Madeline's head now.

She played with the gun on her desk, alternately stroking and caressing its hard metallic length. Sasha swallowed hard. "What are you going to do with that?"

She looked startled, as if Sasha's voice set up some sort of cognitive dissonance in her brain. Then her face cleared as her psychotic mind intervened to alleviate her anxiety. "Birkoff…I forgot you were there for a moment. Would you like to meet Egran? I'm sure he'll be excited to see you again after all these years."

Sasha barely managed to prevent a horrified gasp from escaping him. I don't think so. He'll know something's up the moment he catches sight of me. "Oh, no. He must be very busy. Maybe some other time."

"Oh, but Birkoff…I insist."

He knew that tone. She was determined that he and Egran Petrosian should come face to face. God only knew what would happen, but Sasha was sure of one thing. It wouldn't be good.

For a second, he contemplated ducking under Madeline's desk, but that didn't seem like a viable option. After all, Madeline was sitting behind it, and Sasha didn't really want to get any closer to that gun.

The wait seemed endless. But eventually the inevitable occurred. Petrosian entered Madeline's office, clearly intending to make another pass.

"You're looking splendid as always, Madeline."

"Why, thank you, Egran." Madeline's beatific smile might distract Petrosian for a few seconds, but he quickly registered the gun in her hands.

"What is that for?" he asked coldly.

"You took something that's mine. I want it." She slowly raised the barrel of the gun and pointed it in his direction.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Petrosian said in heavily accented English.

"My job, Egran. *I* should be in charge. Not you."

"Your behavior has been terribly erratic for some time, Madeline. I don't think that anyone in Oversight would like to see such control in such poor hands."

"Wrong answer."

Madeline cocked the hammer of the gun. It made an astonishingly loud sound in the spacious office. Sasha shivered. He didn't want to see this. He knew he didn't. But he didn't dare close his eyes.

"Madeline, you will never get away with this."

"Why do people *always* say that?" Madeline chided. "Don't they know it's an invitation to get shot?"

For the first time, Petrosian noticed Sasha's presence. Puzzled, he couldn't help but react predictably. "Who are you?"

"Don't be stupid, Egran. That's Birkoff."

Petrosian raised an eyebrow imperiously. "I don't know who that is, but I can assure you, it is *not* Birkoff."

"I'm telling you it *is*," Madeline snarled, her fingers tightening around the trigger.

Sasha stopped breathing. Madeline aimed and fired three shots in rapid succession, though the first one killed Petrosian outright. He fell backward and landed on the floor with a dull thump.

Madeline stood triumphantly over the body. "Now I can claim what's mine."

Sasha didn't want to know what that was, but he fervently hoped that it wasn't him.

No one blinked twice when Madeline took over Oversight. The vagaries of working in the paranoid climate of the paramilitary organization made all things possible.

It wasn't hard for Sasha to pretend to be Birkoff. His very real closeness to his father made that part easy. But worry consumed his days and terror his nights. With Madeline in charge of most of the covert anti-terrorist forces in the free world, anything could happen.

His hands shook as they tapped the keyboard in front of him. What if Madeline precipitated war? On a personal level, her insanity didn't have nearly the impact that it did on a global level.

It wasn't that Sasha didn't care about dying. He did. But if Madeline blew up the world…well, it just didn't bear thinking about.

He frowned. Madeline kept him busy. He was the only person she trusted now. That was good. He always knew what she was up to and whenever possible, he could avert disaster. But it had its downside as well. He had no spare time to speak of, and he desperately needed to find a way to contact his father.

The firewalls surrounding Oversight and Section were technologically state-of-the-art. But Sasha knew there had to be a back door. There always was. Programmers routinely left themselves a private entrance. It made troubleshooting easy and unobtrusive.

There was one other thing. It would let him lurk invisibly and eavesdrop on virtually anything in the system. Something told Sasha that was how his father survived all those years in Section One.

But the atmosphere was rapidly growing claustrophobic. Sometimes Sasha was certain that he would suffocate. The first six years of his life were so fraught with fear and the need to survive at any cost that they passed in astonishingly quick succession. But now that he was older and more aware of what Section's role in the world was, he couldn't imagine spending any more years within its confines.

Sasha sighed. The real reason he had been unable to bring himself to attempt contact with the outside was this: he was afraid that Sey and Declan would risk their lives to get to him. In fact, he knew they would. They loved him. Sasha surreptitiously wiped a tear from his eye. The feeling was mutual.

As the days passed, weeks turning into months, Skye gradually adjusted to the all-girl boarding school. She and Holly were now friends, despite Skye's initial reluctance to get close to anyone. Sometimes it was hard not to talk about Sasha or her family. But she grew adept at speaking in generalities without divulging actual details that could identify anyone.

Michael would have been proud.

But she would never have adjusted so well if she'd known about Sasha.

"What do you mean you never told her, Michael? How could you do that?" Nikita cried.

"I don't want to scare her, Kita. Can you imagine how frightened she'd be if she knew?"

Nikita glared at her husband. "Honestly, Michael. Sometimes I think you've come such a long way, it's amazing. Then there are the days I think you've got your head buried up your ass."

Michael stared at her in disbelief. Nikita, his staunchest supporter, no matter what craziness ensued and called itself their lives, was not going to back him up.

"But—"

"No buts, Michael. Skye loves Sasha. I know you think she's too young to have feelings like that, but if you don't tell her that Sasha is missing, *I* will. She needs to know."

"Why, Kita? It can only hurt her. I'm trying to protect her."

"You'll do more damage if you keep this from her, Michael. Trust me. I speak from experience."

Michael dropped his eyes instantly. The last thing he wanted was to confront his past. He knew he was guilty of a multitude of sins against Nikita, but he had no idea he was in danger of perpetuating them against his daughter.

He took a deep breath and raised his head. "She keeps asking about him," he said softly.

"She's never said a word to me. The only reason I didn't ask was because I thought she was dealing with it in her own way. I never thought that—" Nikita groaned. "What does she say?"

"She wants to know how he is. If he asks about her." Michael's expression looked bleak.

"And what do you tell her?"

"That he seems fine. That he doesn't…mention her."

"Oh, Michael. I know you hoped this would go away if you gave it enough time, but don't you see you're making it worse? You're making it mysterious and forbidden—"

"And when she finds out, she's going to hate me," Michael finished for her.

"Yes," Nikita whispered.

"You said it was important, Daddy. It must be," Skye chuckled, "for you to come all the way to England."

"It is." Michael would have looked to his wife for comfort, but Nikita had insisted that he go alone. He winced when he recalled her parting words, "You did this. Now you fix it, Michael."

That was easier said than done. Emotional catharsis was not something Michael enjoyed. Even under the best of circumstances. Which this was definitely not.

Skye gestured towards the chair that sat in front of her desk. In addition to their beds, she and Holly each had a desk and chair of their own. When Michael sat down, obviously with great reluctance, Skye pulled her roommate's chair over to join him.

"What's up?"

Michael hesitated, trying to remind himself that this was for the good of his and Skye's relationship. Deciding that it might be easier to come straight out with the truth, he blurted, "I lied to you."

"Huh?" To say Skye was stunned was inaccurate. She was poleaxed. "About what?"

Michael forced himself to meet his daughter's eyes, so blue, so like Nikita's. "About Sasha."

Skye frowned and Michael wanted to kiss away the little crease that marred her forehead. "You mean he really does miss me?"

"I-I don't know," Michael stammered uncharacteristically. "I haven't spoken to him. Or seen him. No one has. Since you went away."

"Oh, my God!" Skye started to tremble and Michael wanted nothing more than to hold her. But he was equally certain that she couldn't want anything less.

Skye began muttering, but Michael could just make out what she was saying. "Maybe he ran away. Or got lost. Or got in an accident. Or—" She hiccuped as she tried valiantly to stifle a sob. "Or maybe he can't come home. Cause he's d-dead."

"We've looked everywhere—"

"Are you sure? He could be hiding. Or maybe someone took him. What if someone kidnapped him?" Skye was genuinely horrified at the thought.

"Why would you think that, p'tite?"

"I don't know. Just a f-feeling."

Michael searched his mind, methodically going over every piece of ground he and Declan had covered since Sasha went missing. It was true that they hadn't seriously considered kidnapping. But that was only because they hadn't found any evidence that pointed in that direction.

"We've been looking—"

"Did you call the police?"

"No. If *we* can't find him, what good would the police do, Skye?"

"You have to try, Daddy. You can't just let him be out there. Alone. And-and…scared!"

Michael shook his head sadly. His daughter had more courage and more insight than he did. Not to mention common sense.

"Did you check his computer, Daddy? Maybe he left a note or something, thinking one of us would find it."

"I'll ask Birkoff to take a look, baby."

"Good." Pause. "Now go away," Skye said, her lower lip quivering.

Michael looked stricken, his eyes a dull gray that somehow blended into the pallor of his face. "Skye…"

"Please, Daddy. I'm gonna cry and I don't want anyone to see me. But 'specially not you. You were mean not to tell me 'bout this."

"I know," Michael admitted, frozen in place as the first tears trickled down his daughter's distraught face.

"I hate you right now, Daddy," Skye whispered, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at her father.

"I know," Michael said, suddenly convinced that he would never be able to get over this. Not if he lived a hundred lifetimes.

"I can never make it up to you," Michael whispered back.

"I know."

"Where haven't we looked, Dec? Jesus, this is so frustrating! He's got to be somewhere. Probably right under our noses!" Sey shouted.

Declan sat astride a leather hassock in their living room. Luckily, Emmy was at school. Otherwise, they wouldn't be having this conversation. Emmy felt responsible for what happened to Sasha. She was the last one to see him. She knew how despondent he was.

She blamed herself. Much the same way Declan did.

He heaved a great sigh and buried his face in his hands for long moments before resurfacing to cast a bleary-eyed glance at his lover. "Do you think he ran away?"

"I don't know, Declan. I just—" As usual, whenever they discussed this, Sey's throat closed on the emotional burden he was carrying.

"I want him back so bad," Sey choked out.

"What if he's—"

"He's not! Don't you even say that, Declan! Don't you fucking dare! He's not dead! I'd know! I'd fucking know!" Sey cried.

Declan shut his eyes as quickly as he could. He couldn't bear to see Sey tear himself apart like this. Sasha had been missing three months now, but it might as well have been three *years*. It didn't matter how much time passed, however, the pain remained as fresh as if it had just happened.

"I'm sorry," Declan whispered, swallowing the urge to cry.

"You didn't do anything, Dec!"

"I know, I know. I'm so fucking sorry. God, baby, don't you know that?"

"Dec?" Sey rushed to his lover's side and knelt at his feet. Taking his partner's hands in his, he kissed them before releasing them to take his rightful place on Declan's lap.

"That's not what I meant. I'm not blaming you, love," Sey comforted, absently touching and caressing Declan's neck, face, and hair.

"You should," Declan said with a shudder. "I do. I'm supposed to protect you and the kids."

"You couldn't have known Sasha would take off and do something like this, Dec. It's not your fault."

"It feels like it is," Declan wept.

Sey kissed the tears that splashed down his cheeks and sought his mouth. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Declan groaned and kissed him back, his chest heaving as he struggled for control. "Forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive." Sey wound his hands through Declan's disheveled red curls and used them to anchor himself within his lover's embrace. "I love you."

"I love you, too, acushla." Declan's voice was but a rasp, but Sey heard it just the same. It was what he lived for.

"We're going to get through this. We're going to find him, and we're going to bring him back home," Sey declared with tears in his eyes.

"Aye," Declan answered, his heart in his throat. He prayed that Sey was right. "From your lips to God's ear."