Emmy poked her head out from under the covers and surveyed her bedroom with the caution of someone trained in counter-surveillance. Or maybe it was just the years of being raised by a flock of anti-terrorist operatives. Make that *former* anti-terrorist operatives, she reminded herself.

Then again that was still a fair description of her family. Old habits died hard and being careful was second nature now.

Her heart pounded as she realized that she was reacting to something she could *feel* but couldn't *see*. Taking a deep breath, she opened her senses to whatever it was, instinctively determining that the danger surrounding her wasn't for *her*.

But it *was* for someone close to her. Someone…

Her pale grey eyes suddenly flew open. "Da!!!!"

"What???"

She turned her head sharply in the direction of the person standing in her doorway. "You're not Da," she said with a frown.

Her brother gave her a faint smile. He could hear his father's bootsteps thundering down the hallway. "He's coming."

"Are you psychic too?"

Sasha rolled his eyes expressively and moved out of the way with the ease of long practice. "Oh, look, Da's here," he said blithely. "Along with everyone else you woke up."

Emmy flushed, the hectic splashes of pink on her cheeks the only sign of color in her otherwise pale face. "Sorry."

"Are you okay?" Declan demanded. Sasha stifled a chuckle when he saw that his father was only half-dressed. He was bare-chested, but the rest of him was almost covered by a worn pair of jeans that seemed to be clinging desperately to his slim hips. Declan glanced at his son as if to say, You looking at me?, and Sasha unconsciously straightened up. Like that might help.

"I'm fine," Emmy said with an impatient wave of her hand. "I had this dream—"

"Another one?" Sey asked, rubbing the sleep from his dark brown eyes. "Was it like the others?"

"Others?" Declan echoed. "You've been having more of them?"

Declan didn't look the least bit happy that his mate hadn't told him about this development, but Sey shrugged. "You were busy," he said by way of explanation, but Declan's glower made it clear that they were going to have words later.

"No, Daddy, not like the others. This one…way scarier," Emmy shuddered.

Sasha grew somber. "Scary how?"

There was a long pause before Emmy answered. As if she was considering her choice of words very carefully. Then she said it. The words that never failed to strike fear into Sasha's heart. "Section scary."

"Was he in it? The guy you saw before? The one Chris wanted to pound into a—"

Sasha found both his parents regarding him with avid expressions. "Does *he* have a name?" Declan said slowly.

"I don't think so. Em never said. Did you, Em?"

"I think I did, Sasha. Only…now I can't remember."

Chris suddenly appeared behind Sasha. How he managed to hear Emmy Sasha couldn't figure out, but he had long grown accustomed to the bond between the two of them. "Carlos. It was Carlos," Chris said quietly. His arms were folded almost rigidly in front of his chest, and Declan immediately grasped how tense the younger man was.

"I don't remember anyone named Carlos," Declan mused out loud.

Chris shook his head, but his eyes never left Emmy's face. "Well, you wouldn't, would you? You've been out of Section, what, years now?"

If it had been anyone else but Michael's son, Declan might have taken issue with the boy's tone of voice. But he knew that it wasn't reproach he heard. It was frustration. And that came out of fear. Chris wanted what Declan wanted. To protect Emmy. But this was an unknown, and as such, it was beyond their control.

"I saw someone else this time." Emmy swallowed hard, and all of them knew that they weren't going to like what they were going to hear.

"Who?"

"You need to call Adam," she said worriedly.

Chris blinked. "It's the middle of the night, Em."

"Was it him you saw?" Sey asked. "Was it Adam?"

"No," she whispered. "It was Jazz."

"Shit."

Declan raised an eyebrow at his son, but Sasha saw no reason to apologize for saying what everyone else was thinking.

"I'll call him," Chris yelled over his shoulder as he headed down the stairs to the main house. "Right after I tell Dad."

They were bringing Michael into this. Emmy knew she should have felt relieved, but she couldn't shake off the cold feeling of dread that she had.

"Jazz will be okay, Da? Right?" Emmy asked. She knew she was putting her father on the spot, but he had to answer her. He just had to.

Declan met his lover's eyes over Emmy's head, and the glance that they exchanged was reinforced by the worried look that Sasha gave them.

It pained Declan not to be able to reassure his daughter, but he had never lied to his children, and he wasn't going to start now.

"I don't know, Em. I wish I did."

Emmy nodded sorrowfully. "Oh, my God, Da, this is going to kill Adam," she whispered.

"We'll do everything we can, sweetie," Sey assured her.

"I know." But what if your best isn't good enough? That was the question she was most afraid to ask.

But they all heard it just the same.

If Michael was surprised to be awakened in the middle of the night, he didn't show it. His face impassive, the sole flicker of emotion was in his eyes. He listened in silence, speaking only when Chris was finished.

"You can't go to Adam with this."

Chris stared at his father in disbelief. "Dad, we've got to tell him! You know how strong Emmy's visions have gotten—"

Michael shook his head slowly. "I didn't mean Adam shouldn't know, Chris. Just that…he should hear it from me."

"Oh." Chris considered that, his jealousy almost completely a thing of the past now, and nodded. "You're right. I wasn't thinking."

Michael reached out a hand to clasp his son's shoulder. "I never meant for this to touch any of you," he said, clearly referring to his past as a Section operative.

"Not your fault, Dad," Chris quickly disagreed.

"I hope…Adam sees it that way."

It was hard to tell *what* Adam was thinking. In an ironic but decidely eerie turn, Adam remained so closed off that even Michael couldn't read him.

His oldest son's lack of reaction bothered him. He would have much preferred him to shout or scream or fall apart in any of a dozen ways. But this…coolness…took him back to a time he thought he'd buried years ago. So this was what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that…look. He wondered how Nikita ever managed to pierce the veil of indifference he cloaked himself in back then.

"We'll get him back."

Adam nodded, again without saying a word, and Michael felt inexplicably frustrated. And guilty.

"You blame me for this, don't you?" Michael whispered.

"This isn't about *you*, Dad," Adam said finally, the softness of his voice somehow more damning than a shout.

"I know—"

"I've been without him, Dad," Adam interrupted. "I know what my life would be like if he didn't come back—"

"I'm going to England, Adam."

"I'm coming with you."

"No—"

"You can't stop me, Dad. Whatever happens…" Adam's voice broke, but he fought valiantly for control and won. "I have to be there. I *need* to be there."

Michael nodded. "I wasn't going to try to stop you, Adam. I wanted to ask you something."

Adam tilted his head, indicating that Michael should continue.

"Will you let me be your back-up?"

For a second, Adam let his astonishment at the request show through, but he masked it so rapidly that Michael thought he had imagined it. "I think you've got things backwards, Dad—"

"I don't think so," Michael said, so solemnly that Adam frowned.

"I don't have your experience, Dad. All I've got going for me is…is…the fact that I-I l-love him."

"Do you trust me?"

"With my life."

"No, Adam, with *his* life."

Adam's composure slipped a bit further, and Michael realized that what he mistook for control was a pervasive numbness that was slowly dissipating. Right before his eyes. "Yes," Adam whispered. "You're the only one who can save him, Dad."

"Not the only one."

"Are you sure, Dad?"

"I'm not the one who has to be sure, Adam."

Adam seemed to gather himself together visibly. Then he smiled. It was a familiar smile, one that Michael recognized. From staring into his bathroom mirror every morning.

"Let's do it."

He'd known heartache beyond his years, but he still believed in his own power to change his part of the world.

But that wasn't something Michael taught him. That…came from loving and daring to be loved back.

For that reason alone, Jazz had to survive. He'd given Michael back his son.

Before he knew it, they were standing in front of the corporate building where Jazz worked. Adam shifted restlessly and glanced at his father. Michael wasn't giving away anything. As usual. And as reassuring as it was to see him in complete and utter control, Adam felt a twinge of uneasiness.

"Um…we're here."

Michael raised an eyebrow and studied his son. "I know."

"Um…shouldn't I have a gun or something?"

"No," Michael said as emphatically as he could without shouting.

"But you have—"

"Adam," Michael said with a trace of exasperation, "when I dreamed that one day you would follow in my footsteps, I meant as a *writer*, not…this."

"Oh."

Pause.

"Shouldn't we take out their cameras or something? Won't they see us coming?"

"I'm sure they already know we're here."

"Um…I don't get it. Aren't we going to sneak up on them?"

"No." Another pause. Then Michael's lips curved into a faint smile. "We're going to walk right in."

"What do I do again?"

"Ask for Jazz," Michael said quietly.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"You sure I shouldn't have a gun?"

"Um…Nick Elliott, please."

The young woman behind the desk appraised Adam with eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul. He was sure she knew who he was, and it scared him. Not for himself. But for Jazz.

"One moment. I'll tell him you're here."

Long minutes passed. The woman had offered Adam a seat, but he shook his head almost anxiously. He couldn't sit, he could barely stand in one place. He felt like he was going to jump right out of his skin. Especially if Jazz didn't show up in the next thirty seconds.

Meanwhile, his father was…where the hell was his father, anyway? Michael had been right behind Adam all the way up in the elevator. Then…he couldn't really remember when he saw him last.

I thought he said no sneaking, Adam mused sourly. I mean, what the hell am I doing, standing here in plain sight, while he— Oh.

The intercom buzzed sharply, and Adam jumped. So much for playing it cool, he thought.

The young woman released the intercom button and stared at him. "What did you say your business with him was?"

"Mine."

"Excuse me?"

"Personal."

"I'm afraid that personal visits are *not* permitted during business hours. Now if you'd like to leave your name and number—"

"Not really. What I'd like…is for you to tell him I'm here." Adam was surprised at the sound of his own voice. He sounded cool and determined and…like his father.

"He's a little…tied up…at the moment."

"I bet." Adam continued to glare intently at the woman until she was finally forced to look away. Maybe she wasn't part of this…whatever this was.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather come back another day?"

"What's wrong with this one?" Adam demanded. His father was going to be so disappointed if he lost his temper, but he didn't think he could stand one more minute of this. How the hell did his father do it? The man must have the patience of a saint.

On the other hand, his father probably didn't have time to develop a relationship with anyone who didn't want to cooperate. That's what the fucking gun was for.

Oh. This really wasn't a good time to start contemplating what his father did with the gun. Or what other people did—

"Crap."

"Pardon?"

"What's that?" Adam pointed to a spot behind her.

The young woman smiled patronizingly. "If you think I'm going to fall for the oldest trick in the book—"

"Look—"

Michael tapped the back of her head with the butt of his gun, and she fell face-down on her desk without a sound.

"—out."

Michael shook his head in disbelief. "Why did you try to warn her?" he hissed.

"I wasn't warning her. I was helping *you*. And did you *have* to knock her out?"

"You were taking too long."

"Well, excuse me, but I've never done this before."

Michael ignored his son's sarcasm and jerked his head in the direction from where he'd come. "I found Jazz."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Adam exclaimed.

"He's not alone."

"So? You're the one with the gun."

"You think I'm the only one?"

Adam paled. "Is he okay?"

"For now. But he won't be if we don't get him out of here."

"How?"

"I'm going to see if I can negotiate with the man holding him."

"Wh-what does he want?"

"You."

Adam gasped and backed up a step almost involuntarily. "You knew that and you let me come anyway?"

"You make it sound like I'm giving you away, Adam."

"Aren't you?"

Michael sighed. "I'm going to offer him a trade."

"For what?"

"For what he *really* wants, of course."

"And what's that?"

"Me."

"Adam!"

"Nick!"

Carlos glanced from one to the other and back again before focusing his complete attention on Michael. "Nice of you to come."

"You knew I would," Michael said flatly.

"Ah, yes. Freedom breeds a weakness you never had in captivity."

Michael let that pass. He couldn't afford to be distracted right now. Besides, his adversary was right. But Michael didn't regret that particular weakness at all. Something Section could hardly have foreseen.

"Let the boy go."

"Don't you want to know who I am? Or why you're here?"

"I don't care who you are," Michael said in a low, controlled voice, "and I already know why I'm here."

"Do you really?"

"Let the boy go," Michael repeated, tightening his grip around Adam's shoulders. His oldest son was struggling with him, determined to reach Jazz' side, but Michael couldn't let that happen.

"We seem to be at a stalemate. I have something you want…and you have something *I* need."

"It's not Adam you need. It's me."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes," Michael bit off tersely.

"Dad, I can't let you do this—"

"Be quiet," Michael commanded. Adam froze, his protective instincts towards his father and his lover at war with each other.

"I'll go with you, but only if you guarantee the two of them safe passage." Michael inclined his head in Jazz' direction, and Carlos' eyes followed automatically.

"Why would you trust me?"

Michael shifted his aim and pointed his gun at Carlos' head. Carlos smiled tightly. "Much smaller target. You had a much better shot at my chest."

"I don't intend to miss."

Carlos laughed. "Neither do I." He caressed Jazz' hair with his gun hand, and the younger man squeezed his eyes shut.

He was going to die here. If he didn't do something…Adam would die, too. While losing his own life filled Jazz with sorrow for all the years that he wouldn't get to spend with Adam, it was *Adam's* death that he could not bear.

Not even for the few minutes he might have left to mourn him.

Jazz wasn't defenseless. He had proved that time and time again. If he couldn't be with Adam, so be it. But Adam had to survive.

Suddenly Carlos' grip on Jazz relaxed slightly. "I have no idea why they still want you. Your son would be infinitely more valuable. In the right hands."

"They can't have him."

"No, they can't," Jazz said softly, staring intently into his lover's eyes. Adam shook his head vehemently, but his father's grasp held him fast.

It happened quickly, too quickly for anyone to do more than react. Jazz wrestled with Carlos for the gun…and very nearly succeeded.

Then the gun went off.

Jazz slumped to the ground in what seemed like slow motion. Carlos looked stunned, as if this was something he'd never taken into consideration.

"No…" Adam fell to his knees, his hand over his mouth.

Carlos traded agonized looks with Michael before protesting, "I was going to let him go."

Michael's hand shook as he aimed his gun at Carlos one more time. That had never happened to him before. But it seemed more than appropriate given that he had destroyed his son's life.

Again.

Michael swore under his breath and stepped forward. "Don't move, Adam."

"I want to go to him," Adam choked out.

"In a minute," Michael said shortly.

Adam literally flinched at the coolness of his father's voice, but this was *Nick*, *his* Nick, and he would not be denied. "I need to," he whispered, and he proceeded to brush right by his father.

In truth, Michael wasn't trying all that hard to keep Adam from rushing to the side of his mate. He knew how much this had to hurt. But it was a terrible struggle not to think about that.

Carlos never moved. His dark eyes flickered anxiously back and forth over Michael's face, and the older man could read the guilt there. This was *not* the way it was supposed to go. Not at all.

Adam knelt on the floor next to Jazz' body. He passed trembling hands over his lover's face before sliding his fingers into his hair. He felt so warm…like he was still… He bent his head and brushed his lips against Jazz' mouth.

"Why, Nick?" Tears slipped unaware down Adam's cheeks.

Adam pressed another kiss to those still yet pliant lips and gasped when the body beneath his twitched. Was that normal? Is that what happened when someone…

Michael abruptly tapped his son on the shoulder. "Pick him up. We need to get out of here."

Adam shivered and did as he was told. He was way past rational thought and in this case, that was probably for the best.

"You're coming with us," Michael declared, nudging Carlos with his gun.

"Why don't you shoot me?" Carlos demanded.

"Not here." Michael glanced around almost furtively. "Not now."

Carlos looked surprised. Then Michael added under his breath, barely audible, "Not in front of my son. He's been traumatized enough."

Carlos wasn't afraid to die. It was part of the way he lived every day. If he had one regret, it was that he wasn't going to see Gabriel again. He didn't want Gabriel to blame himself. What he wanted most to tell Gabriel was that he truly *did* love him…and being with him *was* worth whatever sacrifices he had to make. But now he would never know. "Where are you taking me?"

"Away from here."

He'd never expected to feel anything ever again. But it seemed that the final irony of his life would lie in his death.

They made an odd foursome. Michael and Carlos led the way, Adam slowly following, painstakingly threading his way through the building, his sad burden so clearly weighing on him.

There wasn't going to be any shooting. Not now. Not when Michael held Carlos hostage. Yet even Michael drew a shaky breath when they made it to the street without incident.

Michael shoved Carlos into the darkness that now enveloped the building and said one word. "Go."

"Where?"

"Behind you."

Carlos spun around and nearly lost his balance. "Caro!"

"Yeah, yeah, I missed your sorry ass, too."

Carlos was too well-trained to betray his gratitude to the former operative who held his life in his hands. He didn't know how Michael managed to cut Gabriel loose, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was they had a chance. To run. To escape. To be together. For however long they had.

Michael regarded the unlikely pair for a few more seconds before speaking again. "You can put him down now, Adam."

"Here?" Adam asked anxiously.

"It's as good a place as any," Michael replied.

"Thanks. He was getting kinda heavy," Adam admitted.

Jazz swatted his lover playfully, but the older boy folded him into his arms effortlessly. "I don't think we ever got a chance to say hello," Adam whispered.

"Hi," Jazz said brightly. The look they shared was as intimate as a kiss, and it was evident to Michael that their bond had, if anything, been made stronger by their ordeal.

"Dad?" Adam asked without taking his eyes off Jazz. "Are we okay now?"

Michael gazed inquiringly at his former adversary.

"We'll keep your secret," Carlos said. "Since you're willing to keep ours."

Michael nodded. That sounded more than fair to him. A few moments later, they parted company and disappeared into the night.

"Sorry about your internship, Nick. I know how much that meant to you. Being on your own and all—"

"But it wouldn't be a good idea for you to be seen here," Michael interjected.

Jazz rolled his eyes and slung an arm around Adam's neck. "Did I mention the part about being glad to be alive? Can we go home now?"

"I love you."

"I know."

The darkness hid Michael's smile. He still had his family…and he thanked God for that.