------------------------------
Pawns
by Lianne Burwell
August 1999
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"You wanted to see me?"

Operations looked up from his desk to the man standing at the door, and a 
small smile crossed his face. Michael was his best operative and heir 
apparent within Section One. He'd spent years grooming the young man. 
Then the smile faded. That was why he had not been pleased when he'd 
found out that Madeline was playing games with Michael's personal life. 
While he could... appreciate the reasons, she should have found someone 
else for her experiment.

Well, that was about to change.

"Yes, Michael. Sit down."

Michael carefully closed the door and sat down opposite Operations. 
Operations waited a moment, staring at the younger man across the desk. 
Outwardly, the office was the same one they'd met in many times, and yet 
it was the first time, the first meeting since they'd moved into their 
new compound.

"I've been going over performance reviews," he finally said. Michael 
tilted his head to the side and waited. "Nikita's bothers me."

That got a reaction. If Michael was his protégé, then Nikita was 
Michael's. "What do you mean?" Michael asked in his distinctive voice. It 
was always low, barely above a whisper, and many a woman had commented on 
how attractive it was. It was a useful weapon for the man, and one that 
he'd used in the past.

"She's been showing signs of stress lately. Ever since she decided to 
break personal ties with you."

Michael looked faintly surprised at that. "I was under the impression 
that you wanted those ties broken."

"The results have not been what I expected. Despite her scruples, Nikita 
is a valuable operative. I would hate to... lose her." The threat was 
obvious. An operative whose performance degraded too far was disposed of. 
Permanently.

"What does Madeline have to say about this?"

Operations ignored the flare of anger at the question. "That is none of 
your concern."

Michael looked dubious, but didn't challenge him. "What do you want me 
to do?"

"Since the stress started after she decided to stop pursuing you, that 
must be corrected."

Michael's eyebrow went up at that. "You want me to change her mind?"

"Exactly. Romance her. Convince her that she made a mistake."

"Bed her?"

"If that's what it takes. That shouldn't be a problem. Is it?"

Michael looked thoughtful. "No. However, it could cause more trouble."

Operations frowned. He did not like his decisions being questioned. 
"Perhaps. We will just have to see, though, won't we?"

There was a flash in Michael's eyes, as if he wanted to protest. But all 
he said was, "As you wish. Is there anything else?"

"No. You may go." Michael stood and headed for the door. As he reached 
it, Operations spoke again. "Be careful, Michael. I would hate to lose 
*any* operatives over personal conflicts."

Michael's eyes narrowed, but he nodded and left the room. He knew that 
Operations did not mean him or Nikita.

Satisfied for the moment, Operations turned to the reports from North 
Africa. A local war was heating up, and it was the perfect time to take 
out a mercenary corps based there.

* * * * *

Michael headed for the exercise room. Even though it was late in the day, 
the computer had informed him that Nikita was there. Coming in, he found 
her shadow-boxing at the mirrors that extended along one wall.

Seeing his reflection as he came in, she stood up and let her arms fall 
to her side. "Is there a problem, Michael?" she asked, not turning to 
face him.

That bothered him. She'd been distant for the last few weeks, since she'd 
told him that she wasn't interested in pursuing a relationship with him. 
Examining her carefully, Michael realized that Operations was right. She 
did look stressed.

"No problem," he replied. "Would you care for a sparring partner?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Then she nodded. "If you have the time."

"I do. Just let me change."

It only took a minute. His workout gear was stored in a small locker in 
the change room, and he pulled the t-shirt and sweatpants on quickly. His 
mind was running through a variety of scenarios for fulfilling 
Operations' orders without causing greater problems.

Physical awareness was a good place to start. He returned to the exercise 
room, where Nikita waited in the middle of the exercise mats. Her eyes 
flickered in the lights as they ran down Michael's body. He looked good, 
he knew. He was always aware of his physical appearance. It was important 
to the way people reacted to him. The sweatpants were old and worn, 
clinging to his legs and riding low on his hips. The t-shirt was also 
old, and a little tighter than it had been when he'd acquired it.

Nikita was equally aware of her own appearance, he knew. He'd taught her 
how to use her body and her face as well as her mind in the field. She 
wore tights and a loose tank top over a sports bra. Most men would have 
trouble concentrating when facing her. Michael was not most men.

They moved into ready position, staring at each other's eyes, each 
waiting for the other to make the first move.

Michael moved first, gliding into a simple attack. His guard was low, and 
he aimed a kick at her ribs. She blocked easily, and moved forward for a 
punch that he deflected. They moved back into their waiting positions 
again.

The fighting style they used was not limited to any one discipline. 
Section taught its operatives to use whatever was appropriate in a 
specific fight. They were taught a combination of boxing, grappling, judo 
and a variety of forms of Karate. They were also trained in the dirtiest 
forms of street fighting. Then they were taught how to choose the 
appropriate moves in a fight without even thinking about it, how to work 
on instinct. That combined to place Section operatives among the 
deadliest fighters in the world.

And if Section operatives were the deadliest in the world, then the two 
operatives in the room were the deadliest in Section. The exchange of 
blows started coming harder and faster until they were in constant 
motion. Sweat dripped down Michael's face, but he didn't dare take the 
chance of wiping it away.

Finally, the opening he'd been waiting for appeared. Nikita slipped 
slightly, leaving a gap in her guard, and Michael lashed out with a foot, 
sweeping her legs out from under her. Then, before she could roll out of 
the way, he pinned her to the mat with his own body.

For a long moment, neither moved. Michael examined Nikita's expression 
minutely. It was cold and hard, but after years of interpreting her 
moods, he could see the heat under the mask. Despite her words about not 
wanting him anymore, she still did. It didn't matter that he was level 
five, or that he'd been as ruthless as Operations during his brief stint 
as temporary head of Section One. She was still attracted to him.

Michael allowed a faint smile to escape, then rolled away. "Very good," 
he said. He wasn't her trainer anymore, but he could see the instinctive 
reaction to the praise. "We will have to spar more often," he aid.

"If you like," she said calmly, moving gracefully to her feet.

"Tomorrow?"

She stared at him, now frowning. "Michael, what is going on?" she 
demanded.

"Nothing," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "I simply haven't had a 
qualified sparring partner for a while. A good partner is essential to 
maintaining performance," he added, starring back at her.

She was silent for almost a minute, then nodded. "Eight p.m.?" she asked.

Michael smiled a little more. "I will see you then," he answered.

* * * * *

Operations watched the monitor as the two agents headed for the different 
locker rooms. While he would have liked to have seen evidence of a more 
decisive move on Michael's part, he decided to wait and see. Michael knew 
Nikita better than anyone else in Section One, except perhaps Madeline. 
Better to let him make his own plans, choose his own pace.

He turned the monitor off, then stood. It had been a long day, and 
despite the rumors, even he had to sleep occasionally, he thought as he 
turned off the lights and left his office.

* * * * *

Birkoff stood in the middle of his living room, wondering what the hell 
he'd been thinking. Ever since he'd been brought into Section, he'd 
always lived on-site, in the personnel wing of the underground compound. 
Just one room with simple furniture and an attached bathroom.

But that have had been destroyed, along with what few personal 
possessions he'd acquired over the years. All that had been saved was the 
heavy gold chain that had been a gift from a target he'd been sent to 
seduce, a few pictures and his personal programs that had been on disks 
in his room.

That had even been a surprised. He'd been too busy packing up Comm to 
even think about heading back to his room. Michael had been the one to 
collect those few items before the self-destruct had been activated.

So here they were, in a new city, a new country, setting up again. He 
could have just taken another room in the new compound, but he'd 
surprised even himself by applying for a Section-owned apartment. He 
would still have a room at the Compound, since he was needed on constant 
call when monitoring a team in the field, but he'd told Madeline that he 
wanted a place away from Section One for personal time. She'd just raised 
one eyebrow, then approved his request.

But even though the apartment came furnished, he'd never *had* an 
apartment before. He was almost embarrassed to admit that he didn't have 
a clue about what one needed to do to maintain it. He'd never had to 
clean before in his life. The refrigerator was stocked, but he didn't 
even know how to cook. All his training had been for computers, not 
stoves.

He was seriously considering take-out when the doorbell rang, making him 
jump.

Peering through the peephole, he saw Michael on the other side, and 
quickly unlocked and opened the door.

"You shouldn't do that," Michael said while Birkoff locked the door 
again. "Someone could have been holding a gun on me to lure you into 
opening the door."

"True. However, I think you would come up with some way to let me know. 
Besides, if I always assume the worse, I'd never open that door again."

The corner of Michael's mouth quirked into a slight smile. "Touche," he 
said. Then he stopped and turned in a slow circle. "Nice," he said, 
nodding his head. "Have you eaten?"

Birkoff shook his head. "I've got a kitchen full of things I don't know 
how to use. I was about to call for take-out," he added, a little 
sheepishly.

"No need. I know how to cook. If you like, I could teach you."

Birkoff gave a soft sigh of relief. "Yes. I've never been expected to 
learn before."

"Well then, we'll start simple."

In what seemed like no time at all, Michael had gone through his fridge 
and cupboards, finding a wok and a variety of vegetables and spices. 
Following Michael's instructions, Birkoff started chopping the vegetables 
for a stir-fry while Michael heated the wok. He watched carefully as 
Michael cooked the vegetables, then added chicken and soy sauce, mentally 
making notes. It looked easy enough. That, combined with some instant 
rice, made for a meal that was surprisingly good.

"Well?" Michael asked as they ate.

Birkoff paused thoughtfully, then nodded. "Very good, and it looked 
fairly simple. I thought it would be more difficult."

"I wouldn't start you off with a soufflé," Michael said with another 
small smile. He'd been smiling a lot more than he normally did when 
anyone else was around, Birkoff noted. It was... nice, knowing that he 
could make the man smile. There were few that could.

Then the smile faded, and Michael's eyes turned towards his plate. 
"What's wrong?" Birkoff asked, suddenly worried.

"Nothing."

It didn't look like nothing. "Is it something I'm not supposed to know 
about?" he asked. If Michael said yes, he would just change the subject.

Michael looked up, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Not exactly. 
Actually, you probably should know." He paused, as if gathering his 
thoughts. "Operations wants me to resume my old relationship with Nikita. 
Take it further, if necessary."

That surprised Birkoff. For years now, Nikita had made it plain that she 
wanted Michael, while Operations and Madeline disapproved. If anything, 
he would have expected Operations to be happy that Nikita was no longer 
chasing Michael. "Why?" he asked.

"Her performance has degraded somewhat since she told me she was no 
longer interested in pursuing a relationship with me. Operations feels 
that returning to the old status quo will correct that slide."

Birkoff thought about it. If some of Nikita's standards came from 
competing for Michael's attention, that would make sense. "What does 
Madeline say?" he asked. The profiler was usually the one who made these 
calls.

Michael frowned. "I don't think she knows," he said.

That shocked Birkoff. "Are you going to tell her?"

"It's not my place to," Michael said.

Birkoff sighed. Michael was right. This wasn't good. Telling Madeline 
would anger Operations. But not telling her, assuming that she didn't 
know, could be just as dangerous. He knew that the two had their 
conflicts from time to time, and it looked like he, Michael and Nikita 
were about to be caught in the middle of one of those conflicts.

"Be careful," he finally said.

That brought the smile back. "I always am." Michael paused, looking at 
him thoughtfully. "Does it bother you?"

"I think you're in danger of getting burned," Birkoff said, not sure what 
Michael meant.

"That I might get involved with Nikita," Michael said in clarification. 
Birkoff frowned, still not understanding.

"Why should it?" he asked, picking up dishes and carrying them to the 
kitchen. Looking under the sink, he found a bottle labeled dishwashing 
soap and squirted out the amount that the label recommended before 
starting to fill the sink with hot water.

Michael followed him, his own dishes in hand. "Most people would be 
bothered," he said, sounding a little lost.

"Why? Because we're sleeping together? Section isn't exactly the place to 
have a marriage," he pointed out, remembering when Walter had married a 
field operative. She'd been sent on a suicide mission her next time out. 
Birkoff figured it was probably *because* she wanted to get involved in 
an exclusive relationship. It was a lesson he'd noted well, as had Walter.

"True," Michael said.

"Besides, you've slept with others on missions before. We've both done 
that since we got involved."

"Yes, but..." Michael paused. "They were outsiders that neither of us is 
likely to see again."

Birkoff sighed, playing with the soap bubbles. "Michael, it's not a 
problem for me. Is it for you?" Looking up, he saw a blank mask fall over 
Michael's face. "If it is, don't let anyone else know," he said quickly.

Silence. Closing his eyes, Birkoff tried to think it through. "Maybe it 
just the difference in the way we grew up," he said suddenly, an idea 
popping into his mind. It was one of the things he did well: looking at 
the information and putting it together.

"What do you mean?" Michael asked, sounding curious in spite of himself.

"You grew up in a basically normal house, went to school, got married and 
had a kid. *Then* you were... recruited by Section."

Michael shook his head. "I'm not sure I follow," he said.

Birkoff turned around and leaned against the counter. "I grew up mostly 
in an orphanage," he said slowly. "I was out in a few foster homes, but 
was usually sent back for being 'too creepy'." He shrugged. "It was okay. 
Then I got a scholarship to one of the top private schools. One run by 
Section, it turned out."

"And?" Michael asked. He looked mildly fascinated. One of the first 
things you learn in Section was not to ask about someone's pre-Section 
life. With his position, he could have found all this out from the files, 
but Birkoff didn't think he'd even considered the option.

"And I was good with computers. There was a shortage of computer techs, 
so I... disappeared. Like everyone else, I woke up in Section One, and 
was told that I was 'dead'. Not everyone comes out of a prison," he 
added. "It's difficult to get enough of the right support staff from the 
ranks of the convicted."

"And what bearing does this have on our current situation?"

Birkoff shrugged. "I've never spent much time exposed to the concept on 
monogamy. If you need to sleep with Nikita, or anyone else, it's fine by 
me. If you *want* to, it's equally fine."

"What about Gail?"

Birkoff sighed. Of course Michael would bring that one up. "It wasn't 
that she was seeing someone else," he said. "It was that she lied to me. 
She said that she *wasn't* seeing someone else when she was."

Michael frowned. "So you don't mind me being involved with anyone else as 
long as I tell you ahead of time."

"And you don't bring home anything unexpected," Birkoff said, making a 
small joke. Section's medical staff was very careful about that. Rumor 
had it that they even had a cure for AIDS and were keeping it a secret 
from the rest of the world.

Then he turned serious again. "But I doubt Nikita would understand 
either," he said, returning to Michael's problem.

"And she know that we are... keeping company. Do you have a suggestion?" 
Michael asked wryly.

"There's a new transfer in support," Birkoff said, thinking about the 
options. "She's expressed an interest in me."

That *did* seem to bother Michael. "So you'd sleep with her to convince 
Nikita that I'm available?" he asked, sounding a little uncomfortable.

"I doubt I'll need to," Birkoff replied. "Walter's interested in her too. 
All I should have to do is court her for a while, then back off in favor 
of Walter. It should be convincing enough."

"Yes," Michael said, thinking it through. "We will have to be more 
careful, though," he added, and Birkoff breathed a silent sigh of relief. 
At least Michael wasn't planning on cutting off *their* relationship for 
the duration.

"Easy enough," he replied, then smiled. "Good thing I asked for an 
apartment, then," he added.

Michael smiled at that. "Yes. It would be a little more difficult if I 
were sneaking into your room in the compound, or you were leaving 
unexpectedly to come to my place."

"Exactly. But right now I have a new bed in need of baptism," Birkoff 
said, trying out a new leer he'd been practicing. Michael still looked a 
little worried, and sex would probably be the best way to relax him. 
"It's even bigger than my old one. Care to help me?"

Michael chuckled, and Birkoff dropped the expression. Instead, he just 
held out his hand. Michael took it, and let Birkoff lead him towards the 
bedroom. It was a two-bedroom apartment, but the second bedroom had been 
set up as a mini-Comm center, with top-of-the-line computers and a direct 
connection to Section. Probably dangerous, but necessary in case of the 
unexpected.

The master bedroom, though, was spacious, and dominated by a large, if 
simple, bed. It was a king-sized futon on a low platform, covered with 
crisp white sheets and a dark green duvet. It was a little large for 
Birkoff, who was used to a single bed, but he guessed that the taller 
Michael would appreciate the space.

Birkoff started to strip, then paused when he realized that Michael had 
stopped just inside the bedroom door. "What's wrong?" he asked. "If you 
don't want to..."

"No, it isn't that," Michael said, then started removing his own clothes.

"Then what?"

"Operations hinted that he would be watching you," Michael said, dropping 
his shirt on the dresser.

Birkoff froze, then forced himself to relax. "He expects me to be 
jealous," he suggested. "Maybe enough to try to interfere in his plans."

"Exactly."

"Well, we've already been through that. I won't, so you needn't worry."

But Michael was worried, and Birkoff had to admit he was as well. Ever 
since he'd refused to obey an order from Operations, back when the virus 
had been sweeping through Section One, the man had been watching him like 
a hawk. Having Madeline pushing him and Michael together hadn't helped 
matters any. Sometimes he worried about the man's stability. 
Unfortunately, if he were to self-destruct, he would probably take all of 
Section One with him.

But if it happened, it happened. There wasn't much that they could do 
about it, short of killing the man.

Fully naked, Birkoff pulled back the covers and lay down on his new bed. 
The futon was wonderfully firm against his back, and he basked in the 
heat of Michael's gaze. The other man quickly finished stripping, then 
joined him. Birkoff closed his eyes and sighed as Michael started to 
delicately the lines of his chest and stomach muscles.

Michael was very skilled when it came to sex. When he was brought into 
Section, his looks made it inevitable that he would be expected to seduce 
both men and women as part of some of his missions, and he'd been trained 
accordingly. Birkoff didn't mind that the training was used on him since 
he enjoyed it so much.

He, on the other hand, was considered too valuable to risk in the field. 
As a result, sexual techniques had *not* been part of his training. It 
made him wonder if perhaps there'd been more reasons for his assignment 
to seduce Borne than just that he matched the profile of the man's 
preferred bedmates.

For now, he didn't care. No plans or worries distracted him. All that 
mattered was that he was in bed with a beautiful man who was doing very 
enjoyable things to him. The rest could wait until later. *Much* later.

By the time Michael rolled him over and penetrated him, Birkoff was 
almost ready to beg for it. Michael had dragged out the foreplay until he 
was nearly out of his mind. As a result, he came almost immediately, and 
lay there sated while Michael thrust into him, reaching for his own 
orgasm. Birkoff just spread his legs a little further apart and enjoyed 
the feeling of being possessed. Michael's arms were wrapped around his 
chest, and the man's breathing was harsh against his neck until he moaned 
and thrust one last time.

Michael didn't seem much inclined to move, so Birkoff wriggled out from 
under him. He headed into the bathroom to clean up, and brought a damp 
cloth back with him for Michael. Then he climbed back into bed and pulled 
the covers up.

"Are you staying the night?" he asked.

"If you don't mind," was the sleepy reply. Birkoff shook his head.

"You're always welcome," he said, then curled up to sleep.

* * * * *

Despite being almost exhausted, Michael found sleep hard to achieve. 
Instead he watched Birkoff sleep in the moonlight from the window. The 
young man seemed even younger in the silvery glow. Michael reached out to 
touch Birkoff, then pulled back, not wanting to wake him.

Sometimes he wondered if he'd ever understand Birkoff. The young man was 
brilliant when it came to computers, but when it came to relationships or 
sex, he seemed hopelessly naïve. He'd always just accepted it as part of 
the young man's personality.

But tonight he'd been reminded just how young Birkoff had been when he'd 
joined Section. Intellectually he'd understood that Birkoff had been 
recruited when he was only fifteen, but he'd never really thought of what 
that *meant*. Birkoff was unique in how he looked at the world and people.

So young, and yet at the same time so old.

Michael closed his eyes, and settled against Birkoff. There would be time 
enough to worry about everything tomorrow. For now, he would just enjoy 
not being alone.

* * * * *

Birkoff had the next day off, and he woke late to find himself alone in 
the apartment and the dishes they'd left in the sink the night before 
washed and sitting on the drying rack. He shook his head over Michael's 
tidiness, and put them away.

He hoped that Michael was going to be able to handle the juggling act 
he'd been handed: Working in Section, romancing Nikita on Operations' 
orders and carrying on another relationship with him started by 
Madeline's orders. It was a dangerous game being played. One with 
potentially fatal consequences.

Birkoff sighed and resisted the urge to beat his head against one of the 
overhead cabinets. He hoped he'd been convincing the night before for 
Michael and anyone else who might have been watching. He wasn't fool 
enough to think that there wasn't monitoring equipment in his new 
apartment. It was a fact of life when you worked for Section that you 
would be monitored at all times. Still, he thought he'd done well in 
seeming unconcerned.

The truth was, he'd felt a sudden and unexpected surge of jealousy when 
Michael had told him of Operations' orders. He'd never felt that before. 
Even with Gail it hadn't been jealousy, just hurt. But he was becoming 
possessive of Michael, and that was dangerous. No one, not even Michael, 
could be allowed to know just how much he felt for the man.

More and more, he felt like a pawn in a game of chess; a piece that could 
be sacrificed at any moment. A game of control between Operations and 
Madeline. But whose piece was he? And whose was Michael? And how were 
they going to manage to survive until the endgame?

Birkoff hid his shudder and decided to spend the day looking for a decent 
arcade in the area. Someplace he could go to forget the rest of the 
world. It would be a good way to kill time until he had to dive back into 
the game.

He might be a pawn, but sometimes pawns became queens. Or maybe even 
kings.

* * * * *

Madeline stared at her monitor, a frown creasing her face. She'd called 
up the tape from Birkoff's apartment, simply curious about how his first 
night away from home, so to speak, had gone.

Instead, she'd discovered that Operations was interfering with one of 
*her* experiments, and she did *not* like that. Not at all. He was 
risking two of their best operatives, as well as their best computer 
tech, just to get at her. That was foolish, and couldn't be allowed.

"You wanted to see me?"

Madeline looked up from her computer, carefully schooling her expression. 
"Yes, Nikita. Come in."

* * * * *

Nikita watched Michael head down the hallway, wondering when life had 
gotten so complicated. She'd come to realize that a relationship with 
Michael would never work, and had told him so. Since he was sleeping with 
Birkoff, she didn't think he'd protest.

But now Birkoff had been seen keeping company with a new female transfer 
and Michael was making his interest plain in a way he'd never done 
before. Normally she would enjoy the attention, but Madeline was ordering 
her to make sure he *stopped* pursuing her. It was like she was caught in 
the middle of a complicated group dance where she didn't know the music 
or the steps.

But still, she thought with a smile, it *was* nice having Michael chasing 
after *her* for a change.

THE END (for now)