There was a moments silence, then one word. "Josephine."

My eyes opened and I lay there wondering what would happen if I suddenly said 'wrong number' and hung up. Probably not a good idea. Section doesn't have a sense of humor.

The phone clicked dead in my ear and I sat up throwing back the covers.

Whoever had thought up Josephine as my codename anyway? I had a sneaking suspicion that Michael had chosen it. Afterall, I was his 'Material'.

Why that particular name? Who knew. But I wished it could have been something more ordinary. Like Susan or Julie. I wondered if the other operatives disliked their codenames as much as I did......

The most attractive man I'd ever known was sitting next to me at the briefing table. And no, I wasn't referring to Birkoff.

He wore a black turtleneck with long sleeves. His dark brown hair curved behind his ears, the rooms overheads bringing out his red highlights.

Michael.

I almost let a sigh escape my lips as a wafe of the cologne he was wearing drifted my way. He always smelled so damn good. It just wasn't fair. How was a girl supposed to cope?

I straightened in my seat as Operations walked in.

"As you know," Operations began. "We've been after Gabriel Marquez for some time now." Turning he activated the vid screen.

A photo of Gabriel appeared along with several site schematics.

"We've located his location and will be sending in a team to retrieve the target for questioning." He turned to look at each of us. "Under no circumstance is he to be harmed. We need him alive and well."

He pressed a button on the remote and enlarged one of the schematics. As his voice droned on I let my gaze wander to the man sitting on my right.

My eyes flickered over the half days growth of beard on his face. Michael always seemed to have that Miami Vice Don Johnson perpetual shadow thing going on. Even at ten in the morning.

He wasn't a handsome man, not in the traditional sense. The strange line of his jaw ruined the effect of masculine perfection. In fact, I had always suspected that he had his jaw broken at some point in his life. From certain angles the lower planes of his face almost looked as if it had formed incorrectly.

He wasn't a very tall man. Depending on the height of the heel I wear, I sometimes tower a good couple of inches over him. Not that it ever seems to bother him. Hell, for all I know, he likes his girls tall. Of course, that's the thing. I don't know what he likes. Or dislikes.

No one in Section does. Or at least no one I know. Michael isn't one to kiss and tell. He's so controlled and cold that I sometimes wonder if he's even human. He certainly never shows the same fears or weaknesses that the rest of us mortals do.

All part of the attraction. Probably why I am sitting here trying to convince myself that he looks like some kind of deformed dwarf.

I'm not enamored enough to ignore that part of my interest is that he's an enigma. A big question mark.

Who is he? Who was he before Section? Why does he dress in only black clothing? Where does he live? What lurks underneath that frozen facade? A colder heart perhaps? Or something more human? More compassionate?

I thought I had caught glimpses of something here or there during the two years he trained me. A look in his eye, a hesitation, an inflection in his voice. But then it would be gone. Or maybe I had just imagined it. Maybe there had never been anything there to begin with. He was impossible to read.

He certainly maintained his reputation as being a ruthless son-of-a-bitch during missions. The last time we were out had convinced me of that.

I looked at where his hands laid steepled on the table in front of him. The same hands that a mere week ago had moved sensously through my own. Lightly touching mine as he had stared into my eyes, for the first time letting me see the desire in his.

Anger, white hot and justified washed over me in waves as I remembered how he had played me. And played me he had. Like the pro he was.

At the time I had my suspicions of course. I wasn't that naive. But they had faded into the background as soon as he began playing seducer. And acting was all it was to him. Just another game, another role for him to play out.

For me it was the most intensely intimate moment I have ever experienced. I keep telling myself that it was just a kiss. Just a kiss, a brush of hands, the feel of his skin. Convincing myself that I didn't give myself away.

Yeah, right.

Then his cell phone had begun ringing. At the time I had been furious at the interruption. In retrospect, I can't be grateful enough. For I know that I would have followed his lead wherever he wanted to take us. And the worst part is, he had known it.

Later I had asked him why. Why would he pretend to care. Enticing me to stay in Section, using himself as bait. Why bother?

In typical Michael fashion, he had refused to answer.

"Nikita!" Operations angry voice interrupted my thoughts and brought my head up with a guilty jerk.

I looked up at him and met his icy stare which somehow conveyed he knew every thought I was thinking. And then some.

As stares go, it was a good one. But I'd been stared at by the best. Madeline that is. Anyone after her is like a ride in the park.

Still, I felt my face flush as everyone else at the table turned to look my way. Everyone that is, exept you-know-who.

"If you're done daydreaming, I'd like to continue with the briefing." Operations said, his look implying I'd better be done. Or else.

I fixed my gaze to the vid screen, the epitome of rapt attention.

Great. I'd been in Section less than an hour and had already pissed Operations off. A new record, even for me.

Two members of our team followed closely on my heels as I walked down the hall towards Van Access.

Michael stood like some dark shadow at the exit doorway, waiting for us. He was dressed in his black (what else) street clothes. No weaponry in site.

Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't armed. Just discreet.

The profile was set to aqquire the target in the middle of a very busy area of town. I and the two operatives at my back were similarly outfitted in low key casual.

I was packing a 9mm Glock with a Barretta as my back-up gun. Walter had supplied each of us with a taser gun and com unit.

The taser is a stun device that works well for those moments where discretion is warranted. Like when one needs to get up close and personal with a target that is to be taken alive in a crowd. We were only to use our guns if things got out of hand.

As we reached him, Michael turned and moved ahead of us into the small interlocking room that would take us to the van. I followed right behind him, and out of habit my gaze inadvertently dropped to his rear.

You have to understand that my job just doesn't contain that many perks. Watching Michael in his mission pants is one of the few rewards (well, besides shopping), that I allow myself.

No apologies.

Unfortunately he wasn't wearing his mission pants this trip out. And the black half-coat he wore hung down to mid-thigh, effectively blocking any surveillance.

Some missions there just isn't much for a girl to look forward to.......

My stomach cramped again and I could have groaned aloud in frustration. The fact that Michael would hear me over the comm unit was the only thing that stopped me.

It had started in the van. One moment I was fine, the next I started cramping. At first I though it was something I had eaten. Then I realized that my period had arrived early. A whole week early.

You would think that Section (being the paranoid, oh sorry, I mean progressive agency that it is), would be prepared for any kind of contingency.

It wasn't.

I discovered this in the van as I pretended to search the first aid kit for a bandaid.

Panic had set in as I realized I was in big trouble. There was a bright side. At least I wasn't wearing white.

So here I was, a half hour later - positioned on a sidewalk, in the middle of some pretty heavy pedestrian traffic. I nonchalantly glanced across the street towards a gray ten story building.

Michael was perched in a window somewhere on the 3rd floor, providing us sniper cover in case we ran into trouble. I checked my watch. Our target wasn't due for another 25 minutes.

I put my head back down into the magazine I was pretending to read. The magazine vendor I was standing in front of was positioned on a corner where I could keep an eye on two streets at once.

As I surreptitiously looked around I spotted a drugstore. Oh thank God.

Best of all, it was around the corner on the side street that was blocked from Michael's view.

Now all I had to do was figure out a way over there.

My pulse sped up as I debated what to do. I checked my watch again. 20 minutes.

Not much time. It was now or never.

Putting the magazine down, I took a steadying breath.

"Michael." I said as I started to move down the sidestreet and out of his sight range.

His voice came back to me over the comm unit.

"Ni-kee-ta, why have you moved out of position?"

"I may have been compromised." I replied, as I quickly headed towards the drug store.

There was a second of silence.

"Who?" He asked.

"A junkie kid named Laney. He used to hang on the same streets I did. I'm going to take cover and see if he's spotted me."

I entered the drugstore and hurriedly found what I needed. I made a dash for the cash register.

As I neared the counter I removed my comm unit and stuffed it in my pocket. Wouldn't do for prying ears to hear.

"Will this be all?" the sales clerk asked as she rang up my purchase.

"Yeah." I said, throwing some cash on the counter and looking at my watch. 12 minutes till showtime. "Where's your bathroom?" I inquired, nervously running a hand through my hair.

"Back right-hand corner of the store." She replied as she handed me the plastic bag she had stuffed the tampons in.

Turning with bag in hand, I quickly moved towards the rear of the store.

Breaking into a full out run as I neared the end of the aisle, I turned right.

And slammed straight into Michael.

I bounced off his chest, and staggered back a step.

"Michael!" My voice squeaked out as I stared at him in shock and horror. My hands unconcouisly tightened on the bag I held.

He stood there silently, staring at me with his best 'blank' Michael face. His gray eyes bored into mine and I could suddenly hear my heartbeat in my ears.

Okay, Madeline may have the best stare ever, but the Michael Stare runs a close second. For all I knew, she'd given him lessons. Practice makes perfect.

"I couldn't reach you on the comm." His voice was low and cold, without inflection. His eyes continued to hold mine and his look was hard as nails. He held out his hand.

"The bag." He whispered softly.

Oh lord. It was always a bad sign when he started whispering. Michael at his most dangerous.

I looked at him, and for the life of me I couldn't think of a thing to say. And even if I could, I doubt it would have gotten passed my lips. My mouth was suddenly dry as a desert.

I reached out and dropped the bag into his outstretched hand.

Lowering his gaze from mine, he opened the bag.

For a moment suprise and something else flitted across his features.

I felt my face catch on fire as my embarrassment level went off the scale.

Yeah, I know, it shouldn't have bothered me. But the knowledge that Michael knew it was 'that time of the month' for me was just, to, well..........personal.

He abruptly closed the bag and handed it back to me. "Put your comm unit back on." His unreadable eyes looked into mine. "You've got two minutes to be back in position." Then he turned on his heel and left.

Rushing into the bathroom I paused for a moment as I realized what the other emotion had been on his face.

Relief. Michael had been relieved.

What the hell had he thought I had in the bag anyway?

Who knew?

One thing I did know. Sometimes it sucks to be a girl.............

Marquez sat in the corner of the van, handcuffed to his seat. He seemed unconcerned. Unlike most people we kidnap, he had yet to show any real fear.

Arrogant.

Or maybe he was just a good actor.

All that would change of course. Once he was taken to the White Room and introduced to Fric and Frac, our resident torture twins.

Or maybe it would go even worse for him. Madeline might be the one to play torturer. I repressed a shiver.

Michael finished typing into his panel and suddenly pushed his laptop across the table towards me.

I looked at him questioningly and then down at the message that he had left on the screen.

We will go with the scenario of your possible compromise. Mission audio surveillance will back-up this story. It will also account for moving out of position and lost down time over the comm. Stick to this accounting during debrief.

I pushed the laptop back towards him, but refused to meet his gaze.

If he wanted to cover my ass, then let him. I had already decided that I would probably have to tell the truth. I mean, what could they do? Cancel me because I had my period?

That would be so like Section. I could just see it now.

Of course, Michael was covering his arse to. When he moved out of position, he must have known he'd never make it back up to that window in time. And his reason for abandoning post had better be a good one.

Better than busting me with a bag of tampons, anyway.

Hence, we hadn't had any cover from above. And of course, things had gone awry.

Intel had reported that Marquez normally had two guns for hire at his side. He had arrived with four.

I closed my eyes and replayed the scene in my mind.

Goons one through four had arrived with Marquez right on schedule. Big burly guys wearing lots of black leather with flashy gold chains around their necks.

They had 'hired thug' written all over them.

Amateurs.

Good for us, bad for them.

Michael moved up to stand next to me at the magazine stand as the bad guys moved down the sidewalk towards us.

Picking up a girlie magazine he opened it and raised it up, partially covering his face as he spoke softly over the comm.

"Team two move towards us as soon as we get into position."

Marquez was almost parallel to us now. Flanked by his bodyguards, two walked ahead of him while the other two were at his back.

As they walked passed us I casually turned and slowly dropped in behind them. Michael followed suit a moment later.

I moved closer to the thug who was bringing up the left rear as Michael moved closer to the one on the right. We were now in position.

I looked further ahead down the sidewalk, past the Marquez entourage and spied team two. They were walking hand in hand towards us, smiling happily into each others' faces, as if they didn't have a care in the world.

I reached my left hand into my coat pocket and gripped the tazer, but didn't pull it out. I was waiting for Michael's' signal. Wouldn't do to jump the gun.

"Now." Michael's' voice softly whispered over the com.

Several things happened at once.

I pulled out the tazer and moved two steps closer to the back of the big bad burly man that was closest to me. I could see team two mirroring my actions with the front two bodyguards.

I quickly lifted my hand, tazer pointed in the direction of my targets neck when he suddenly broke formation and swung around to face me.

I tried to follow through with the tazer, but he judo punched my forearm. The hit was hard enough that I felt my right hand go numb for a moment.

He made a move for something in his jacket and I knew he'd be coming back out with a gun. I went for my 9mm, but knew he'd already beat me to the draw.

I heard a soft 'psst' sound and he suddenly went down to the ground like a ton of bricks.

I looked to the source of the sound to see Michael with a silencer in his hand. He gave me one of those 'looks', then abruptly lifted his gun away from where it rested against his chest (and without even looking), fired again. I looked up to see another of Marquezes' bodyguards hit the sidewalk.

Team two grabbed hold of Marquez as the black van pulled up to the sidewalk.

I jumped in first and slammed the van door as the rest of our entourage filed in.

"We'll need housekeeping on Third and Broad." Michael said into the comm.

I sighed and sat down in the van seat with a thump. Boy, was I a big help on this mission, or what?

Come to think of it, team two hadn't done so great either. Michael had had to drop their guy to.

They might as well have just sent Michael on the mission by himself and things would have probably gone alot smoother.

Somehow I had a feeling I was going to hear all about it once we got back.

What was with Michael's' peripheral vision, anyway? I swear he had been able to tell exactly where big bad burly guard number two was, and then shoot him, without even looking.

Usually I counted on this ability of his and thought it an asset. Today it was just plain irritating.

I looked up as the van suddenly came to a stop. Oh good, we were back.

Shit.

Taking a deep breath I centered my weight, the gun gripped in my hand, the length of the barrel flat against my chest.

"And now!" Birkoff yelled as he suddenly leaped from behind me.

I lifted the gun and aimed, without turning my head, at the spot where his voice was. Or at least where I thought it was. And depressing the trigger, I fired.

I heard the pop as the plastic dart left the gun and zoomed past my left ear.

"Nope." Birkoff said disgustedly. "You missed again."

I turned as he walked over to unstick the toy dart. It had lodged onto the french door that led out to my patio.

The dart gave a loud popping noise as he pulled it from the window pane.

Sighing, I took the dart Birkoff handed me and shoved it back into my plastic gun.

"It's all in the wrist Nikita." He said.

"Yup, you said that before."

"Look, I've watched hundreds of Michael's' missions- I know what I'm talking about." He said rather determinedly.

"I'm sure you do Birkoff, but the wrist thing is just not happening for me." My hand went to rub the back of my neck. "Let's go again."

"Okay. But I still think you're moving your arm instead of just your wrist." He announced as he walked past me.

Facing away from him I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. Thinking to myself, like a mantra, 'Don't move your arm' 'Don't move your arm'........

"Over here!" Birkoff suddenly screamed from somewhere on my right.

Moving my hand I flicked my wrist and fired.

"Ow!" I yelled out as a sharp stinging pain ricocheted up my arm.

I dropped the gun and looked down to see a huge red welt growing on my upper left arm. The toy dart lay on the carpet at my feet.

"I shot myself!" I said in amazement as I gingerly rubbed my wound.

Birkoff came closer and stared for a moment at my arm. "Man, good thing you're not using real ammo. That would have really hurt."

"I've never, not even when I was a newbie, come close to shooting myself."

Birkoff clumsily patted me on the back."It'll be okay. Look, it took Michael years to perfect that move."

"Really?" I asked, suddenly very interested.

"Yeah." Birkoff said. "Don't worry, he wasn't always perfect."

"Well," I said, flopping down onto my loveseat, "that's a relief."

"I better be going." Birkoff picked up his back-pack and headed for the door. "You can keep the gun, I've got another one."

"For back-up?" I asked jokingly.

"Yeah." He smiled back.

"Hey Birkoff."

Leaning forward, I threw him the bag of twizzlers he'd left sitting on a nearby table.

He reached out, clumsily making a one handed catch.

"Would you be willing to let me see a vid of one of those missions where Michael is less than perfect?"

Birkoff looked back at me, his eyes widening. "Are you crazy?" He replied, shaking his head as he hurriedly rushed out the door.

I shrugged my shoulders. Well, it was worth a try..........

I pressed the cd down into it's player and touched the play button.

My fingers moved to the volume control and slid it up a couple of notches. As I flicked off the lights the alternative tunes of one of my favorite bands echoed through-out the apartment.

Velvet Chain.

The lead vocalist had a hauntingly sad quality to her voice that appealed to me.

I stretched out on the bed. Just as I began to doze off, one of my favorite tracks popped on. I began to quietly hum along.