"Sasha was corresponding with someone named DarkAngel," Sey explained to Michael and Declan.

Declan wrinkled his nose. "Why does that sound familiar?"

Michael shook his head. "Never heard of it. But it sounds like something we *should* know, for some reason."

"Maybe she's just a crazy he met on the Internet. Or maybe…" Sey mused out loud.

Declan's ears perked up. He could tell Sey was onto something. His hunches were usually right. "Or?"

"Maybe the truth's been staring us in the face all this time and we were all too scared to think about it," Sey uttered in an ominous tone.

All of the color drained from Declan's face at once. "You mean Section? Oh, God."

"I mean, I don't know how…or even *why*, especially after all this time, but—"

"We've all grown complacent," Michael said gravely. "It should have been the first thing we thought of. *I* thought of," he corrected himself.

"It's not your fault, Michael. No more than it's Declan's for not being in the right place at the right time. Or mine for not guessing this could be Section's handiwork."

Michael glanced dully at Birkoff. He hadn't been sleeping well ever since he returned from England. Skye had agreed to stay at school, but on one condition: that Michael left. Terrified that whoever had taken Sasha might grab her, too, Michael had begged Skye to accept *someone's* protection, if not his.

Luckily, Ned, who had finally moved in with Neil, still had family back in England. Family that he could trust to keep an eye on an all too vulnerable young girl.

But Michael still couldn't relax his guard. He knew that he wouldn't. Not until Sasha was safely home.

It might not be his fault, but it was his responsibility. They were his family. He couldn't let them down again.

After several more hours, Sey rubbed his bloodshot eyes and yawned. "I'm getting nowhere. I think we all need to sleep."

"No," Michael said, "it's like you said. There's something there. Something we're missing. Did you trace the email back to its source?" he asked sleepily.

"I traced it as far as I could go. It disappeared finally into a maze of format changes and signal handoffs."

"Damn."

"I'll try again in the morning, Michael."

Michael sighed.

Michael and Declan were still asleep when Birkoff broke the silence with an excited shout. "That's it! That's it!"

"What's it?" Declan mumbled.

"I stripped the frames and it was there. Whoever tried to cover their tracks did a sloppy job. Probably someone not that familiar with the technical side of things."

"What did you find?" Michael asked, coming awake instantly.

"It's definitely Section. Or rather it *was*. It's full of old code that we used back when *we* were in Section. This can't be current stuff. But definitely recognizable as Section."

"Shit," Declan swore. "That's the proverbial good news and bad news."

"It's always good to know who your enemies are, Declan," Michael said, his eyes far away.

"Aye, but it's even better to know *where* they are, Michael. We still don't have a bloody clue where Section is these days, do we?"

"Fuck."

Sey's eyes grew round and he laughed nervously. He didn't think he'd ever heard Michael use that word. Ever.

"We could make an educated guess," Declan suggested, ignoring the fact that Michael losing it would leave them in an impossible situation that didn't bear thinking about.

"We could use a fucking ouija board, too, Dec. That would work just as well," Sey quipped sarcastically.

"Don't get pissed at me, Sey. I'm trying to help."

"I know. I just—I know, Dec. I…know."

Suddenly Michael looked thoughtful. "If Sasha was taken by Section, wouldn't he try to get a message to us?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Would he know how to encrypt a message so it would be secure?"

Sey looked askance at Michael. "Mi-chael," he drawled, "even if he wasn't my son, this is still *Sasha* we're talking about, right?"

"Then why hasn't he done it so far?"

"There are only two reasons that make sense. Either he can't find the right moment or…" Sey stopped sharply, as if he couldn't complete the sentence.

Declan rubbed his fingers across his forehead, where a headache was beginning to grow. "Or he's dead," Declan whispered.

Michael abruptly let go of the breath he'd been holding.

One way or the other, they had to know.

"Birkoff."

Sasha winced inwardly every time Madeline called him that. It was a constant reminder of his father and the rest of the family he'd left behind.

"Yes, Madeline?" he replied calmly, outwardly showing no sign of the distress that continued to plague him.

"I have a headache."

Sasha gave her a vaguely puzzled look. What was he supposed to do for her? "Would you like me to get you something?"

"It's getting worse," she slurred. He'd noticed that when Madeline was tired, which lately was fairly often, she began to slur her words. If he didn't know better, he'd swear there was something physically wrong with her.

"What is?"

"The headaches," she snapped irritably. Tears sprang into her dark brown eyes. "I miss them, you know."

"Who?"

For a second, Sasha was sure that she was lucid and that she knew exactly who he was. Then the moment passed and with it, her ability to think clearly.

"My kids," she whispered.

Uncertain if he was supposed to know about Connor and Kady or not, Sasha wisely kept his mouth shut. He was determined to survive this ordeal. And dammit, he didn't want to feel sorry for Madeline, but he did.

Still, it was a good thing that she didn't seem able to tell one reality from another, often blending the two into an incoherent morass of heartless acts and inexplicable feelings.

A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Madeline's mouth. "I never understood why you had a crush on Nikita."

Sasha blinked curiously. Whoa, Dad hadn't shared that particular story with him. Way to go, Dad.

"She had a good heart," Sasha answered. It was true. He didn't know why his father had been attracted to Nikita, aside from her obvious physical attributes, but he understood his father, saw him with a clarity that he never could have seen before he'd been surrounded by the stench of death and the complicity of those who shared the relentlessly violent world that was Section.

"Yes," Madeline agreed, her eyes losing focus.

Madeline rarely left him alone. But lately she hadn't been feeling well. Enough that she retreated to her bed during the day. Enough that she delegated routine matters that didn't require her personal approval to him.

Sasha wondered briefly what she would think if she'd been in her right mind. He didn't want to hold that kind of power over anyone. Certainly not the world.

It was the opportunity that he'd been waiting for.

He glanced surreptitiously around the environs of Madeline's office at Oversight. No one in sight. No one to question what he was about to do.

He couldn't risk revealing where Michael and Nikita lived. He had to protect the rest of the family if he could. But he longed for the outside. He had to move soon. It might as well be now.

There were just two secure comm links that currently existed outside of Section and Oversight. One was in Michael's house. That was no good. No matter how secure he thought it was, he couldn't take a chance.

But the second…that was in England. In Skye's laptop. The one that Sey rebuilt for her. It was untraceable. His father swore that it was. He knew his father. He believed what he said.

He typed in Skye's screen name and waited.

"Sasha?" Skye nearly wept when she saw the instant message on her computer screen. Grabbing her cell phone, she was about to call home to France when a thought suddenly occurred to her.

How secure was her cell phone? Did she know that it hadn't been compromised? Or was she just being paranoid?

Her fingers felt awkward and unmanageable as she typed a response. "I'm here."

"Listen."

"I am." There was an infinitesimal pause. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Where are you?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Can't or won't?" Skye asked bitterly. Her fingers clicked and clacked as they struck the different keys that would tell Sasha that for months now, he'd been presumed dead.

God, I'm sorry, Ange, Sasha thought. "I can't. The Net itself isn't secure."

He typed furiously, not sure how much time he had left. "Madeline kidnapped me."

For the second time, Skye cried out and clapped her hand over her mouth. If someone heard her, they might ask the wrong questions. None of them could afford to have that happen.

She wanted to reassure herself that he was really all right, but he signed off as quickly as possible after imparting his most important message. "When you get off, send a secure email to your father and tell him what I told you. Remember, you have to use *this* laptop."

Skye did as he asked, resisting the urge to jump up and down for joy. Sasha was alive! He was okay! But best of all, he hadn't forgotten her at all.

On second thought, *that* was the most important message he'd given her. "I love you, Ange."

"Sasha's alive!" Michael cried out, turning away from the computer just in time to catch the dumb look of wonderment on Sey's face.

Sey might have collapsed if it weren't for Declan's superb sense of timing. His capable arms wound themselves around Sey's middle and held onto him. His lips pressed against Sey's neck, Declan nuzzled his lover's long brown hair. "Thank God."

They were standing so close together, Michael couldn't tell which one uttered those words, but he had to agree. "I'm glad I had some good news to share for once."

"Where is he?" Sey asked anxiously. "Is he all right?"

"He's fine. But we still don't know where he is. Just that…" Michael studied his hands and wondered when he'd lost his sense of detachment. He was useless. Worse than useless.

"What?"

Michael reluctantly tore himself away from his preoccupation. "Looks like your educated guess was right, Birkoff. Section is involved. In a way."

"Who took him, Michael?" Declan asked, refusing to relinquish his grip on Sey, who was becoming visibly agitated.

"It was Madeline."

"Fuck, no!" Sey shouted, straining to get away from Declan. "We have to get him back, get him away from her!"

"We're going to, acushla," Declan reassured his lover. He hoped he was right. But if Madeline did anything, anything at all, to harm Sasha, he promised vengeance too horrible to contemplate.

"We don't know where he is," Michael felt compelled to remind them. But oh, God, he hated the sound of that. Over the years, he had stopped keeping track of where Section, and eventually, Oversight, moved to. But he should have known better.

"Maybe he'll find his own way out, baby," Declan told Sey. "He's smart, like you."

"He's just a fucking kid, Declan! He never should have had to go back there! I promised him he wouldn't…ever…have to go back to that terrible place," Sey continued to rail, intermittently sobbing.

"Ssh, I know, I know. So did I." Declan sounded heartbroken, even to Michael's ears, and it was more than he could stand.

"We'll think of something," Michael said hoarsely. He had to leave. It didn't matter that they were in *his* study. He couldn't stay there one moment longer.

No sooner had he walked out the door than he ran into Nikita. "Michael!" she exclaimed, immediately seeing the pain that he so carefully hid away from everyone else. "What happened?"

"We found Sasha."

"That's wonderful!"

"Not so wonderful, Kita. Madeline's got him. At Oversight."

"Oh, no," Nikita said, feeling her heart jump in response to the name. "We'll get him back, though, right? We'll go after him."

All at once Michael buried his face in Nikita's long pale hair. "I don't know where he is, doucette," he choked out.

Her arms closed around his back, pulling him against her body. "Oh, my love."

"I made a mistake, doucette, and now Sasha's…paying for it."

Nikita stroked his hair with her fingers, soothing, comforting, though the gesture seemed to be lost on him. "I never meant for you to feel this way, Michael. We all make mistakes. It's part of being human."

Michael wept silently, his hot tears sliding down the side of Nikita's neck. He couldn't help but blame himself. He'd been rigid and unyielding…and now he had to face the consequences.

"Ssh, ssh, don't cry, love," Nikita whispered, feeling on the verge of tears herself. "I still love you."

"I don't know why," Michael whispered back.

Nikita pressed a kiss to his temple and slipped her hand under the hair at the back of his neck. "Yes, you do. We were meant to be together, Michael. Remember?"

Michael made an inarticulate noise that might have been agreement.

"We will *always* be together. I love you." Nikita bent her head and pushed back an errant lock of hair that fell across his forehead with her thumb. "And I'm pretty sure you love me," she said softly.

Michael rubbed at his wet eyes with his fingers and attempted to smile, albeit weakly. "You know I love you," he whispered.

"Even when I screw up?"

Now Michael did smile. "Even when you screw up," he vowed.

"Well, same here."

Michael pulled their bodies into closer alignment and kissed her. His mouth tasted slightly salty, but Nikita didn't mind. It was proof of how real their love had become.

She cherished that. Almost as much as she cherished him.

*Please note: There is violence as well as the death of a major character in this chapter. I think we all know which one.

~Silk

LT #29: Everything Necessary

Chapter 29

by Silk

"You need a doctor, Madeline." Sasha felt vaguely disturbed by Madeline's rapid deterioration. There was definitely something physically wrong with her. But she refused to see anyone. Including medical staff.

"I did." As it was perhaps meant to, her answer stunned the teenager.

"How? When? What did he say?"

"I'm dying, Birkoff."

Wow. If it wasn't for the fact that she called him Birkoff, Sasha would have thought she was totally lucid.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I have a brain tumor." Before Sasha could ask, Madeline smiled weariy and added, "And it's inoperable."

To his surprise, Sasha blurted out, "But they must be able to do *something*. Maybe they could try radiation. Or chemotherapy."

She shook her head gingerly as if any movement at all exacerbated the now-constant pain that haunted her every waking moment. "There's nothing they can do, Birkoff."

Sasha fell silent, prisoner of his own thoughts.

"I don't kid myself that I'm a good person. Ever since I was a child, there's been something *wrong* about me." Madeline grew thoughtful and Sasha wondered if talking was tiring her out.

"But I'm surprised at how much I want to live," she whispered. "Even though I probably don't deserve to."

Sasha was conflicted. He wanted everything to be cut and dried. He wanted everything to be black and white. He wanted Madeline, and by extension, Section and Oversight, to be evil without question. Easy to hate. Easy to leave.

But part of him remembered the Madeline who was Connor's Mom.

Then he hardened his heart against that bittersweet memory. After all, what had she done to both Connor *and* Kady? Hadn't she brought pain to everyone whose lives she touched? He could feel sorry for her all he wanted, but that didn't mitigate the things she had done in Section's name and her own.

She couldn't survive. Grateful that the decision was taken out of his hands by God and her illness, Sasha contemplated the horrible legacy she would leave.

Who should succeed her? Should he care? Ten years ago, his father sank all of their files. Purged from Section's database, their names should never have resurfaced.

They wouldn't have but for Madeline's interference. Sasha needed to figure out what she might have passed on to the system and delete it.

Many hours later, Sasha realized that Madeline's paranoia finally worked in his favor. Distrustful of everyone, Madeline kept what she knew in the safest place she could find.

Her head.

A head that was quickly showing signs of terminal dysfunction.

Sasha woke to find his head pillowed on his arms on his desk. Glancing at the time displayed on his monitor, he saw that it was early morning.

Madeline was nowhere in sight.

For some reason he couldn't explain, that worried him. He supposed that one day, he would simply wake up to find her dead in bed. But he hoped that today wouldn't be that morning.

He rapped lightly on the door to her office. The door was slightly ajar so when there was no answer, he pushed it open.

What he saw scared the shit out of him.

Madeline's eyes were closed. Her natural pallor was now so exaggerated by illness that she might well have been bloodless. Her head lay back against her chair as if she were asleep.

But the rhythmic clicking of the gun in her hand revealed that she was anything but.

"Madeline!"

Her eyes opened, taking what seemed like forever to focus on him.

"Get out, Birkoff. I don't want you to see this."

"See what? Madeline, what are you doing?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago."

Sasha gazed in horror at the gun. The clicking was because the chamber was empty. But as Sasha watched, Madeline picked up a fresh clip and slammed it home.

She was so weak, it took her several tries.

Part of Sasha wanted to stop her.

But he couldn't move.

Not even when she shakily raised the gun to her head and pulled the trigger, exploding her brains all over the wall of her office.

He backed out of her office and stumbled against his desk. Dropping to his knees, he threw up until he could do nothing more than retch.

Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood unsteadily. The noise would bring someone. There was nothing keeping him here any longer.

And so, during the chaos that followed, Sasha ran for his life.

Sasha was scared. He jumped at shadows, convinced that he was being followed. Every time he passed someone, he was sure they knew who he was. Now that he was on the streets, he needed to find out where he was. In some ways, he felt more lost there than at Oversight.

He ducked into the vestibule of a shop that hadn't opened for business yet and hid. Sasha shivered as it started to rain. The weather was cool, as befit a day in Autumn, but all Sasha had to wear was a lightweight windbreaker over his T-shirt and jeans.

Wishing he hadn't been separated from his backpack at the time of his kidnapping, he inwardly lamented the loss of his cell phone. It would have been infinitely more secure than a standard landline or a payphone.

Still, he had to admit, if he had to lose it at all, he was glad that it happened in France. Otherwise Oversight would have had some very interesting intel in their possession. Private phone numbers for the various members of the family and their most trusted counterparts outside. Un-encrypted.

Sasha hadn't thought it was necessary to encrypt his cell phone, simply because it never left his side. But the first thing he was going to do when he got back home was to remedy that.

Well, no, he instantly corrected himself. That wasn't the *first* thing he was going to do.

First, Sasha was going to hug his parents and thank God for releasing him from captivity.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten yet. No, first, he was going to get a cheeseburger. Hot and tasty. The cheese melting all over the meat. And French Fries. The real kind. Not the ones at McDonald's. Although…

…some of Sasha's fondest memories of his early childhood were of days spent at McDonald's with his new family.

He sighed. It was way past time for him to move on. Wishful thinking wasn't going to get him home.

Sasha sneezed and thought fondly of blankets and warm clothes. He knew where he was now. Trust Oversight to move to a place where he couldn't even guess at the language.

Prague.

It looked like most Eastern European cities. He'd found a relatively safe place to make a phone call. A train station where he could hide in and amongst the throng of people boarding and deboarding. There was a great deal of noise. But he didn't care. He was going home.

Sasha shivered and stamped his wet feet. When the call went through, he heard Nikita's voice and the rest was a blur of sound and sensation. Suddenly his father was on the line.

"Sasha?" Sey cried excitedly.

"Yeah. It's me, Dad."

Though Sasha didn't realize it, he had changed markedly over the past three months. He was thinner, for one thing, but that was nothing compared to the way his voice had deepened.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Sasha closed his eyes and tried not to think of the way Madeline looked when she killed herself. He wasn't fine. Who was he kidding?

"Where are you?"

"Um…I can't read the signs. But I heard someone call it Praha. That's Prague, right?"

"Yes! There's a lot of noise there. Where are you calling from?"

"The train station. Listen, Dad, I don't think I should stay on long. Someone could be following me."

"Do you have any money?"

"Not really."

"How are you going to get home?"

The line went dead. Sasha froze where he was, expecting gunfire at any moment. But no, it was simply the somewhat quixotic state of the phone system in Prague. Someone close by cursed in a language he couldn't understand and pounded the side of the phone he was trying in vain to use.

He needed to get home. Any way he could.