Standard disclaimers--LFN belongs to its creators and such. The Crow was originally created by James O'Barr so I'd give him the primary credit on that, since it was his vision that's inspired me to watch the resulting movies and now TV show. Crow:STH and its characters belong to their creators...no copyright infringement meant and no money to be earned from this...

Friday nights were always busy at the Blackout and this Friday night was no exception.

The band onstage--Morrigan--was a heavier band than the club usually booked but they had a good local following and their mix of New Age with the screaming guitar that was a hard rock icon made them different enough to stand out. As he roamed the floor, Eric found himself paying as much attention to the band onstage as he did the patrons around him, his musician's ear appreciating the artful blend of different musical styles, and with an effort he pulled his attention away from the band to focus on his job. A year ago he would have gone up on the stage to jam with them...but now...now the urge was gone. The music that he played now--in the privacy of his apartment--was dark and angry and melancholy, the music flowing directly from his heart and soul, pouring out all the pain and grief and confusion he was forced to keep bottled inside him.

Shaking those thoughts from his mind, he continued on his circuit of the floor, keeping his eye on a pair of rowdies standing up near the stage, guzzling beer and jostling the other patrons that got too close to them. The lead singer of Morrigan--a sloe eyed beauty with hair black as night falling down in a heavy mass past her waist--cast them a cold look as one made obscene gestures to her and laid seemingly delicate hands on the microphone stand, closing her eyes and shutting them out. Delicate she might look...but she'd been right there with the rest of the band, carrying in the equipment and running through the sound check, and Eric thought that she could probably hold her own against her unwanted suitor.

A glance back over his shoulder showed Shea putting a new bartender through his paces, arms folded over her chest as she watched him mix a drink. As much good natured complaining as she did over all the work there was to be done, she was clearly in her element here, thriving in her role as manager of the club. She caught Eric's eye and gave him a grin before turning to take the order of another customer.

With one last look at the pair before the stage, Eric turned to move back through the crowd, slipping through the press of bodies with the ease of a veteran, and as he moved, his attention was caught by three men moving through the crowd. Two flanking a third, their look screaming hired muscle, and the leader a tall muscular man with short cropped white-blond hair, his handsome features at once haughty and arrogant, blue eyes disdainful as they swept across the dancers. His eyes fell on a young redhead standing with her two friends and he licked his lips as he stepped forward, reaching out to grasp her arm.

The redhead tried to pull her arm free but the man wouldn't allow her, digging his fingers into the flesh of her arm as he leaned in to say something to her. She blushed, eyes rolling left and then right, seeking someone that would intercede on her behalf but none of the other patrons would meet her eyes, her friends standing uneasily to the side. Yanking at her arm, the man dragged her forward a few steps, turning on her with arm raised as she set her heels into the floor, resisting him.

Eric was there to catch his arm before it could fall and deliver a blow to the young woman's cheek, fingers closing hard around his arm as he shoved it away, reaching over to break his hand's hold on the young woman's arm. With the touch of his fingers to the other man's flesh, images flashed quickly through his mind, images of death and destruction and the man at the center of it, revelling in the pain and blood spilt, drinking it in as if it were ambrosia. And saw as well what the man--Snake, growled a little voice in his head--wanted to do to the young woman...and what he had done to others that had unwisely chosen to go with him.

"She's not interested," said Eric through his teeth, placing himself between the Snake and the young woman. "And I don't want you in here. Got that?"

Blue eyes raked Eric over with a contemptuous sneer and the man said challengingly, "Think you can stop me, little Crow?"

"Yes," responded Eric firmly, meeting the other man's gaze without flinching. Didn't want to cause a ruckus here, in his place of work...but neither was he going to allow the Snake to strut around here, spreading fear and pain.

One of the Snake's companions took a step forward, expression murderous, and Eric turned a little to face him, ready to take him first and then the other second. But the Snake stretched out an arm to stop him, his eyes not leaving Eric's once. "Down, Karl," he said calmly and with a glance at each man he sent them both fading back into the crowd. Facing Eric again, he smiled, showing white teeth in a feral smile. "I have business to attend to...for now. But I'll be back for you later, little Crow."

Eric gave him an insolent smile in turn. "I'll be here," he promised.

With a last sneer, the Snake turned on his heel to stride after his companions, the crowd parting instinctively to allow them passage. Once they were gone, Eric let out his breath in a sigh, shoulders slumping a little with the sudden release of tension, and turned as he was tapped on the shoulder. The redhead stood behind him, offering him a tremulous smile as she said, "Thanks for stepping in there."

"No problem...that's what I get paid for," responded Eric with a smile. Returning his smile with a weak one of her own, she and her two friends went off to find a table, away from the dance floor. Eric watched her go, experiencing a moment's concern for her welfare, that the Snake might wait for her, and decided that he'd ask Travis to watch the parking lot. With that settled, he returned to doing his circuit of the floor but the memory of the confrontation with the Snake--and the man's promise for another one--remained with him for the rest of the night.

"His name is Klaus Leder. Those that have employed him--as well as those that had suffered at his hands--call him the Angel of Death."

Nikita focused on the image before her, unaware of the curl of her lip as she stared at the holograph of the target, her hands folded together as they laid on the table before her. Klaus Leder looked like the poster child for the Neo Nazi movement--white, blond, and blue-eyed, carrying an arrogant confidence in his own power and his superiority to others. Nikita had seen far too many men like that in her life, men with a complete lack of compassion and conscience, destroying those they considered to be their inferiors.

Madeline stood at the head of the conference table, remote held in one hand, her expression devoid of emotion as she gave the debriefing. "He has worked with the Iraquis to exterminate the Kurds and worked as well with certain...clandestine groups within the Serbian government to eliminate their Muslim opponents. At a conversative estimate, we can place ten thousand deaths at his door, all due to programs he has helped his employers to initiate and the work he himself has done. Intel suggests that certain members of the Yugoslavian government are going to approach him for his... assistance in dealing with the situation in Kosovo."

With a press of her finger, she dissolved the holographic image and faced the seven operatives seated at the table, letting her eyes run briefly over them. Michael sat a little forward in his chair, all his attention focused on the mission before him, grey eyes as blank and impenetrable as stone, and Birkhoff sat on his right, looking as little affected by the mission as Michael. Of the others only Nikita showed any reaction to the target and that was a predictable anger, roused by the injustices Madeline so casually recounted.

"We have a location on Leder, which has been placed on your pads. Our top priority here is in seeing Leder terminated." Madeline met Nikita's eyes evenly as the younger woman looked to her with a startled sound. "We have been given a great amount of leeway to accomplish this. Whatever the cost...Leder is not to leave this country alive." She swept the assembled operatives with a hard look and received nods of acknowledgement, Nikita's nod the most emphatic. A killer she might not profess to be...but when she was handing out what she perceived to be judgement, her aim was true.

"Michael," said Madeline with a nod to the young man and stepped back from the table as he rose.

"Transport leaves in one hour. Collect your gear from Walter and assemble at Egress." His voice was as soft as Madeline's but the tone of command rang through, drawing his team up to their feet in automatic obedience. Nikita was the last to rise and go, her eyes lingering briefly on Michael before she followed the others to Walter's station, and Michael watched her go, shifting his attention slowly to the waiting Madeline.

"How much leeway?" he asked calmly.

"Anyone that stands in the way of achieving your objective is to be considered collateral," responded Madeline.

Michael blinked, the only reaction he would show to that revelation, and gave a nod of acknowledgement, turning on his heel to follow his team.

With a sigh, Albrecht removed the lid from his cup of coffee and inhaled deeply of the intoxicating aroma of freshly made coffee. Moving a little sideways on the seat of his cruiser, he lifted the cup of coffee to his lips to take a sip.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of movement but given the time of day--just past 8:00 AM--it wasn't especially noteworthy and so he started to sip at his coffee...only to give a startled yelp as something slapped against his window. As he jumped in his seat, he jostled the coffee cup and send it spilling down onto trousered legs. "Jesus!" he cursed, blowing on his burned hand and twisting his head sideways to give the person that stood on the other side a glare.

Eric removed the newspaper and made a motion with his hand, indicating for Albrecht to roll down the window, and with another grumble, Albrecht did so, glaring still at the younger man. "Anybody ever tell you that sneaking up on a cop is a good way to get yourself shot?"

"Look at this--" Undeterred Eric thrust the newspaper at Albrecht and with an aggravated sigh, he took it, reaching over to put his coffee cup down. Unfolding the paper he shook it out and scanned the front page with a frown. Reaching in through the window, Eric poked a small article located in the lower right corner and Albrecht shifted his attention there, skimming over an article on the discovery of a young woman's body stuffed into a dumpster behind the local Hyatt.

"I know who did it."

Albrecht looked up at hearing the anger in Eric's voice and suppressed another sigh, lifting a finger to push his hat back on his head. "Who?"

"I don't know his name...but I know who he is--what he is," said Eric tightly, eyes glittering dangerously. "I had a run-in with a Snake last night. I...saw things that he'd done." Eric's mouth thinned, his eyes darkening with the memory of his vision. "I should have dealt with him last night--or this wouldn't have happened--"

"Look, Draven, you know the drill. I gotta have at least a name...not to mention proof," said Albrecht patiently.

Eric shook his head. "I have all the proof I need..." he said softly, stepping back from the patrol car.

Albrecht leaned out of the window, reaching out for him but too late. "Remember...I'm not here to clean up your messes. He goes down, he goes down legally, got it?" But he found himself speaking to empty air as Eric vanished from sight with the ease of a ghost. Cursing, Albrecht turned his attention once more to the newspaper and found himself reaching automatically for his radio, to check on the details of the case.

The target was at the Port Columbia Hyatt, taking a suite of rooms under an alias, the location verified before the Section team even arrived. Leder's suite was on the tenth floor and on the west side of the building, the rest of the floor unoccupied. According to their intel, Leder's people had reserved each room on the floor to ensure Leder's privacy and to lessen the threat of someone moving against him.

Given that this was to be a surgical strike rather than a covert operation, Michael didn't bother with replacing members of the hotel staff with his team. Placing Sampson in the basement to lock down the elevators, Michael took the rest of his team up to the tenth floor and gave the signal for Sampson to deactivate the elevators. At a curt nod from Michael, Francis went to stand guard at the door leading to the stairwell and with Nikita and Otto in tow, Michael strode down the hallway, readying his gun as he walked.

To a detective, it would seem ludicrous for a killer to dump a body next to the very hotel he was staying in...but to Eric it made a kind of twisted sense. The Snake would see himself as above any law of man and have a disdain for that law, a need to flout it...and so looking for him at the Hyatt was not fruitless at all. Under the pretense of seeking an application, he'd managed to get an impression of the Snake from a pen at the front counter and with that confirmation he set off for the elevators.

For the third time he hit the "up" button and waited impatiently for the elevator to open, his eyes on the display. With an impatient sigh, he went for the stairs and trotted up them, emerging at last on the landing marked 10th floor. Grabbing the door handle, he hauled it open and was immediately faced with the barrel of a gun, held in the hands of a grim-faced man. He jerked the gun up as the man pulled the trigger and the bullet slammed into the ceiling above them, sending a fine sprinkling of dust down on them. Still holding the man's gun hand, Eric gave it a sharp twist and the man released the gun with a grunt of pain, folding under Eric's kick to the stomach.

Struggling up to hands and knees, the man gasped, "Got...activity..." Frowning, Eric knelt before him, starting to reach for him, and reeled under the impact of a bullet to his shoulder. Turning, he saw before him a young woman with pale blond hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, gun still extended in one gloved hand, her expression determined but blue eyes showing pain and regret as she adjusted the aim of her gun to send another bullet his way.

Dropping to his knees, Eric rolled and sprang to his feet, just within arm's reach of the young blonde. Belatedly she started to back away from him but he caught her by the shoulders and slammed her against the wall, hard enough to make her eyes roll up in her head and her body to slide limply down the wall, released by him. Behind her two other men started forward, one clad all in black, his handsome features a cold mask as he aimed and fired.

Three bullets, each sending Eric staggering back under their heavy impact, until his back was to the window. He sagged to his knees, feeling his strength bleeding away, and through a haze he saw the brown haired man approaching, as implacable and unhurried as Death itself. With an effort he rose, glancing sideways to see the stairwell blocked, and whirled to fling himself at the window, thinking only to escape the Snake's minions. Glass shattered under his weight and he was falling, falling...

Michael stared at the shattered window. He knew that the young man would be dead so he ordered Thompson to collect the body. They would leave nothing behind and could dispose of it back at Section. He then turned to check on Nikita, only to find that she had already risen to her feet and was striding towards him.

Nikita grimaced as she gazed at the window. "This is the part of the job I don't like, Michael. That guy was an innocent."

"But Leder is not," Michael countered, his tone neutral. "We have a job to finish." He studied Nikita for a moment then asked, "You okay?"

"Fine," she replied, wincing a bit as she fingered the back of her head. "Just a little bump," Nikita stated. "I'll be okay."

Michael nodded, not allowing himself to react to the relief that flooded through him. "Let's finish up here." They still had a job to do. He ordered the rest of the team back to the van. He and Nikita would take out Leder. With a signal to Nikita to flollow him, Michael strode off.

Heaving a sigh, and taking one last look at the window, Nikita obeyed.

Madeline smiled at Michael. "How did the mission go?" she queried, as she rose from behind her desk.

"Limited casualties," Michael replied. "Leder is dead."

"Good," Madeline stated. Then she paused to study her monitor screen before commenting, "I understand you brought someone back with you."

Michael blinked, but his face remained a mask. "An innocent," he said softly, remembering Nikita's words. "Wrong place at the wrong time."

Leaning a hip on the corner of the desk, Madeline studied Michael. She admired his ability to remain detached regardless of his feelings. At least, he gave the appearance of being detached, and that was all that really mattered. That, and getting the job done. "What do we know about the young man?" Madeline inquired. "Will he be missed?"

"Birkhoff is running a check as we speak," Michael announced. And, in perfect timing, the doors whooshed open and Birkhoff entered the room.

"Do you know who we have here?" the computer whiz exclaimed, his freshly scrubbed face almost glowing with excitement.

Madeline couldn't even begin to imagine what Birkhoff was talking about and she said as much. "Who...are we speaking about?" she prompted.

Birkhoff rubbed the top of his head and apologized. "Sorry. The guy Michael brought in, the casualty."

"What about him?" Michael questioned, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Something about Birkhoff's attitude made him suspicious. Very little excited the kid.

"He's Eric Draven," Birkhoff announced, then he waited for the others to react. Neither Michael nor Madeline displayed any sign of recognition. Birkhoff sighed. "He's the lead guitarist/song writer/co-singer and originator of the band Hangman's Joke."

Madeline frowned. "Then...he'll be missed."

Birkhoff shrugged. "Maybe...maybe not," he stated. "Here's the weird part. About two years ago, Draven and his girlfriend were murdered. He was tossed out a window. Can't remember how many stories...but more than enough to make him dead."

"Murdered?" Michael echoed. He felt a chill run down his spine at the method of death. Out a window. The same way he had died just sixteen hours ago. This time by choice.

"Yeah...that's the weird part," Birkhoff conceded. "You see...about a year ago he came back to life...so to speak...and was arrested and tried for the murder of his girlfriend. He was convicted, but the judge reversed the decision and let him go, stating that he was not convinced that the prosecution had proven their case. He had reasonable doubt, in other words."

Madeline was intrigued. "So...what was Draven's excuse for still being alive?"

Birkhoff sighed. "He didn't offer much of an explanation. Said he woke up and didn't know where he was or what had happened."

"No matter," Madeline stated. "He's dead now. Monitor the media, Birkhoff," she ordered. "Let me know of any mention made of Draven's disappearance."

"Will do," Birkhoff confirmed, then he headed out.

Madeline looked at Michael. "That's all," she told him. "You and Nikita may go home." That said, Madeline returned to the files she had been working on.

Michael didn't need to be told twice. He wanted to leave Section, for the place suddenly felt confining. And he wanted to spend time with Nikita.

Nikita sat on a stool, watching Walter work. She had come to him for comfort, telling him about the young man...the innocent...who had died. "He was young," Nikita whispered, for the dozenth time.

"Only the good die young, sugar," Walter replied, a bit flippantly. He felt bad for Nikita, but she had been with Section long enough to accept the reality of what they did.

"How sad," Nikita stated, with an infinite sense of sorrow. Something about the young man, the look in his dark eyes, wouldn't leave her. Nikita sensed that he had been a kindred soul in some ways. A wild spirit that was trapped in darkness. Twirling a pale lock of hair around one finger, Nikita heaved a sigh. "I'm going home, Walter," she announced, then she bussed him on the cheek.

Walter nodded. "Later, sugar," he said, waving her off. His mind was already focused on his work again. Walter knew that Nikita could take care of herself, and that Michael would watch over her.

Eric came awake into darkness. A suffocating darkness. He tried to sit up but was trapped. Panic overtook him as he suffered from deja vu. He had been in a place like this before. His grave. "NO!" Eric screamed, then he began to claw his way to freedom. Only instead of dirt, his fingertips encountered steel.

In sheer panic, Eric thrashed in his steel prison, fingers clawing desperately at the metal that ringed him, till his fingernails were torn and bloodied. He rolled from side to side, struggling to find the room to move, to bring feet and hands to bear against the door at his head, but there simply wasn't enough room. The space he inhabited was little more than a drawer, like the kind the dead were laid out on in the morgue, to await the cut of the coroner's knife or their final dispersement--

Panic roared in him again at that thought and with an effort he battered it down, clenching his fists so hard he thought to hear the bones in his hands crack. In the confines of the drawer, he could hear the labored bellows of his own breathing, as if there weren't enough air in here to breathe--once again panic lurked in him, only the whisper of sanity in his mind preventing him from flinging himself against the walls once more. You're dead, you don't need air, you don't need to breathe, scolded that calm voice. Just lie still, someone will come and you will be free.

He drew in a deep shuddering breath and closed his eyes, listening to that voice. Letting it fill his mind, driving away the panic and fear, until he was...not exactly calm...but not holding onto his sanity by his teeth. Tried not to think that he might not be in a metal drawer but something like a mausoleum instead, shut away and left to rot, with no chance of freeing himself--

A whimper escaped him and he wriggled, trying to roll onto his side, to use his fists to get out...but there came a loud click and he went still, his dead heart beating rapidly in his chest. With a groan a door was opened and the drawer pulled open, exposing him to light and air that was blessedly cool on bare skin. Above him he could hear the distinctive crunch of potato chips being devoured and he thrust himself up to a sitting position, swinging legs quickly over the side even as his hand lashed to grab at the one that leaned over him.

Grasping a handful of shirt, Eric pulled the young man closer and with a yowl of fright, the young man dropped his back of potato chips, the soles of his shoes scraping against smooth floor as he tried to backpedal and pull free of Eric's grasp. "F***!" he yelled, eyes huge behind wire-rimmed glasses as he hung in Eric's grip. "You--you--" he stuttered, pointing a trembling finger at Eric.

Slowly Eric slid off the table, still holding onto the young man, and reached out a hand to steady himself when his knees threatened to buckle. He ran his eyes quickly over the room, noting that it looked like any lab he'd seen, but at the door there was no visible lock, merely a panel with a slot. He dragged the young man closer to him, too full of his own panic to feel any remorse for the fright he was giving the young man.

"How do I get out of here?" he snarled.

"Duh-duh-door--" Hand shaking badly, the young man dipped it into the white lab coat he wore over jeans and Tshirt and brought out what looked to be a card key, holding it out to Eric. Eric plucked it from the young man's fingers and gave him a quick once over--a little taller than him but about the same body type.

"Strip."

Nodding convulsively, the young man waited for Eric to release him before he began to quickly remove his clothing, dropping each piece on the floor as quickly as he shed it. Once done, he stood shivering in his underwear and socks, crossing his arms protectively over thin chest. Eric took a step forward, fist raised, and hesitated at seeing the fear and resignation in the young man's eyes, as if he were expecting death at Eric's hands. Eric lashed out with one fist and caught the young man as he slumped, laying him carefully down on the floor. Dressing as quickly as possible, he looked around the room and found a spare lab coat, spending a few extra precious minutes tearing it to strips and using it to bind and then gag the young man.

With that done, he used the card key to open the door and stuck his head hesitantly out the door to look up and down the hallway, finding it thankfully empty. Running a hand over his hair to smooth it down, Eric stepped slowly out into the hallway and began to walk, gaze flitting nervously around him at the smooth metal walls. Had no idea of where the hell he was...but there had to be a way out of here. Had to be...

At a soft buzz, Madeline shifted her attention away from her monitor and to the intercom, tapping it with one finger. "Yes?"

"We've lost contact with the Housekeeping team on the Leder mission," came Birkhoff's voice over the intercom.

Madeline allowed herself a slight frown, lending the smallest of wrinkles to her forehead. "When was their last transmission?"

"Three hours ago. Smithers reported that the site was clean and they were in transit." A brief pause and the click of keys then Birkhoff's voice again. "Log shows they've failed to reach transport."

Her frown deepened as she let the information sink in. There were any number of reasons for the team's failure to reach transport--a car accident, detainment by the police, retaliation by Leder's people that might have lain in wait. The last didn't seem plausible but one had to consider every scenario--

"Run a check through the local police department and the hospitals. And keep me apprised." She shut off the intercom before Birkhoff could utter an acknowledgement and sat back in her chair, hands steepled before her. By Michael's report they had closure and Michael was nothing if not thorough--if he said that Leder was dead, then the man was indeed without a doubt dead. Of course it was possible that Leder's people might have stumbled on the Housekeeping team and killed them, retrieving Leder's body...

Madeline stretched out her arm to hit the intercom button and said into it, "Mr. Birkhoff, I want to know if Mr. Draven's body has been disposed of...and at what time." And leaned back in her chair once again, disturbed by the odd notion that this wasn't quite over yet...

How many floors he'd risen Eric didn't know; for the first few floors he'd exited the elevator to make a tenative exploration, only to find corridors of smooth metal and heavy doors that would not open to his card key. Given the oppressive silence and the feeling of death that hung over the corridors, he wasn't sure that he wanted to see what lay beyond the doors.

From the card key he'd gotten an impression of a huge sprawling complex buried beneath the earth, presided over by a king and queen, the king a white-haired man with sharp hawkish features and the queen an auburn haired beauty with soft brown eyes that could smile even as she condemned. There was a fear of the two that bordered on paranoia and vague memories of death those two dealt...but little more. Didn't give him an idea on how he was supposed to get out of here...or even where "here" was.

Another floor...but this time the door opened up onto a sprawling chamber at the center of which lay a horseshoe-shaped bank of computers. There were a half-dozen people manning the computers and among them moved a young man with short brown hair and glasses, running a hand over the top of his head as he bent over the shoulder of a dark-skinned young woman and extended a hand to type at the keyboard. Feeling horribly exposed, Eric took a cautious step out of the elevator, eyes darting from side to side, certain that at any moment someone would turn and point at him, identify him as an intruder.

To his right was another corridor and he walked slowly to it, his back crawling with the surety that he was being watched, that he'd been marked as not being one of them. Foosteps came up behind him and he turned, fists clenching in preparation of fighting his way out of there, but the man that approached him simply slipped past him without so much as a glance at him. Nervously Eric spun back around...and collided with another man, knocking from his hands the box he carried.

"Whoa, there, kiddo," said the man, flashing him a good-natured smile that lit up weathered features and kind eyes as he bent to retrieve the tools that had scattered across the floor. White hair was confined in a long braid that fell across one shoulder and a rolled red bandana tied around his head gave him the look of an aging Deadhead, combined with the faded jeans and tie-dyed shirt under a brown leather vest.

"I'm-- I'm sorry..." Automatically Eric kneeled to help retrieve the tools and drop them into the box, his hand brushing against the old man's hand as he replaced one tool. From that contact he got a flashing image of the young blond woman that had shot him, sitting with the old man, laughing and bantering with him. Felt the old man's affection for her and his sadness as well, at what the young woman was being forced to become--

The man--Walter--looked expectantly at Eric and he gave a small shake of his head. "Sorry--did you say something?"

"I asked if you were new around here," said Walter, mouth twitching in an attempt to suppress a smile.

Eric managed a sickly one of his one. "Umm...yeah. I got...turned around...it's so big--" He gestured lamely around them, trying to keep the smile in place and praying that the man Walter couldn't smell his fear. "How do you get out of here again?"

Walter chuckled and pointed up the corridor. "Egress is that way. You got clearance to get out?" he added with a touch of skepticism, one white eyebrow rising.

"Yeah..." Eric showed him the card and then stuffed it back in his pocket, moving slowly back and away from Walter. Unaware of the young man that stood at the computer bay as he stared at Eric, one hand lifting to adjust his glasses as his mouth fell open in disbelief. With a last nod at Walter, Eric hurried down the hallway and to freedom.

The breath left the battered man in a rattle and Klaus turned his back on him, dismissing the man from his mind. Overcoming his attackers had been pitifully easy; it was always terribly disconcerting to see a man thought to be dead rising like Lazarus from his pallet and granted one a distinct advantage. He'd taken out the three in the back of the van and then proceeded to the front, to direct the driver to a destination of Klaus' choice. And at that destination, Klaus had tortured the man to find out who he worked for and who had come after Klaus...

Being a member of the community, he'd heard rumours and whispers about an agency called the Section but before it had seemed the frightened ramblings of children that believed they'd glimpsed the boogeyman lurking under their bed or hiding in the dark shadows of their closets. But now...he had to accept the reality of it...and that this Section had deemed him worthy of their regard.

Even as the thought sent a chill through him, he shrugged it off. Well, they would think him to be dead now...and besides, they didn't know how to truly destroy him. They could kill him...but he would just rise again. This was simply a minor setback--he could still continue with his work. It would just require laying low for a bit, before taking on another identity, another mission.

And then...then he could strike at this Section that had the temerity to kill him.

With a thin smile, Klaus left the room, stepping over the cooling body.

Michael was stunned when he got the call from Madeline. According to Birkhoff, the innocent who had died was still alive. Draven. Eric Draven. He was alive and well and wandering around Section One. Tapping into the security monitors, via his computer, Michael managed to locate Draven. The young man was heading for Egress. Michael typed in shutdown orders, effectively locking Draven into the east corridor. Then he rose from his desk and headed out.

Eric reached the area he had been directed to by the old man with the ponytail. Only problem was, his key card wouldn't activate the lock. Eric tried several times then gave up, flinging the card down the hallway in frustration. But then he came to his senses and retrieved it. He would need it to try another exit. But even as he headed back the way he had come, Eric found his way blocked. He recognized the other man. Still dressed in black. Still deadly cold and focused. Still holding a gun. "Who the hell are you?" Eric demanded.

Michael's response was to fire. But it was tranq darts, not bullets, that entered Draven's body. Madeline had ordered the young man captured alive. She wanted to talk to him. To learn more about him. The man who had cheated death twice.

"Nice try," Eric drawled, as he plucked the darts from his flesh. The drugs were affecting him, but not to the point of disabling him. He could still fight his way out, and he was determined to do so.

"You can't get out," Michael stated baldly. "It is futile to try."

Eric shrugged as he shifted into a fighting stance. "I've always been rather dense about those things," he hissed. "Shall we?"

Michael tossed aside his gun and glided forward. It was time to do things the hard way. He waited for Draven to make the first move and found himself hitting the far wall. The young man had a slighter build than Michael, but he was immensely strong. Rising to his feet, Michael launched himself into an attack, only to find a foot connecting with his chin. He went down hard.

"Sorry," Eric whispered, even as he made to hop over the other man's body. But his reaction time was slow, due to the drug in his system, and when a hand latched around his ankle, Eric thudded to the floor. A moment later he found the man in black straddling over him, a hyperdermic in his hand. But before the needle could pierce his flesh, Eric turned the tables. He grabbed the other man's wrist and stabbed the needle into his opponent's chest.

"Well done," Michael whispered, before darkness claimed him.

Madeline had watched the exchange between Michael and Draven, via her computer video feed. She was highly impressed. She had read Draven's file, which Birkhoff had put together for her. He was a rock musician, but he had the moves of a trained assassin. A smile curved Madeline's lips. Eric Draven would make a fine addition to the Section family. Tapping a button on her console, Madeline gave an order to a waiting team. "Take Draven down and bring him to level eight. I'll be waiting." With that she headed out of the room.

Nikita gripped the tazer, tightly, in her right hand. She knew from the direction that Birkhoff was feeding her that Draven was around the corner. So she held her breath and waited for him to approach.

Eric glided around the corner, fighting the effects of the drug in his system all the way. He was brought up short, however, by a familiar face. The woman who had intended to shoot him at the hotel. Eric was so stunned that he didn't react. Not until it was too late. The tazer hit the skin of his neck and Eric's body stiffened. Then, like a rag doll, he went limp and hit the floor.

"Sorry," Nikita whispered, as she stood over the body of the young man. "Got him, Birkhoff," Nikita announced, then she waited for the medlab team to arrive.

Consciousness returned to Eric with a jolt, his body jerking up instinctively...only to come up short. He rolled his head from side to side, seeing that wrists and ankles were encased in thick restraints, and tugged experimentally at them, to test their strength. He twisted one wrist to look at the back of his hand and saw an IV needle inserted there. Drugs to sap his strength--he tried to sit up enough to reach the needle with his teeth and pull it out but there was a strap drawn across his chest as well to limit his movement. For several moments he pulled against his restraints, trying to loosen them, and then gave up, dizzy and exhausted from the effort.

The click of heels against tiled floor brought his head around and at his left stood an auburn-haired woman clad in a sleek elegant black pantsuit, a small smile curving her lips that did not reach brown eyes. A chill went through him at the realization that this was the woman he'd seen when he'd touched the morgue attendant, the "queen" of this domain.

"Hello," she said in greeting, clasping her hands before her as she allowed the smile to touch her eyes briefly, emanating the smallest bit of warmth in an attempt to disarm him. "How are you feeling?"

"A little...restrained," retorted Eric, yanking at one wrist as he watched the woman move down the length of his bed and across the foot of it, making her way slowly up to his right side.

"We're very curious about you, Mr. Draven." She let her fingers brush lightly across his arm and Eric jerked in response, baring his teeth in a feline hiss of displeasure. The woman arched an eyebrow, amusement glinting in her eyes at his reaction, and folded arms over her breasts, tilting her head a little sideways. "May I call you Eric?"

"Do I have a choice?" countered Eric.

She gave him another brief smile. "No," she admitted, extending her hand to brush hair from his eyes and halting in mid-gesture when he gave a toss of his head, glaring at her. "A very interesting case you present. A young man that is supposed to be dead--not once...but twice. How do you explain that?"

"Clean living," said Eric, managing a flippant tone even as a chill coursed through him, heightened by the look of utter satisfaction on her features. As if she had been handed the very thing she'd wanted all her life...

From the pocket of her blazer she withdrew a PDA and tapped it with one finger, lowering her head to examine the small screen as she moved closer to the bed. "Your death before can of course be explained away--a case of mistaken identity, a plot to avenge yourself on an unfaithful lover, a theory put forth by the District Attorney at your trial." She lifted her eyes to his, seeing the anger in his eyes, and continued. "But your more recent death--I have here confirmation that you were indeed dead. No autopsy was performed...but it was recorded that you were very dead. Shot four times...and then you flung yourself out a window. Either event would have been enough to kill you... but apparently neither did. And nor do you bear the marks of these injuries..." she added, running one finger across the unmarked skin of his shoulder, bared by the white tank top.

Eric shuddered as the contact brought to his mind a vision of the woman standing before a man restrained in a metal chair, cold and unaffected by the sight of the man writhing in pain, deaf to his screams and sobbed pleas for mercy. "Don't touch me!" he snarled, twisting away from her hand.

She regarded him for a long moment with cool eyes and then said softly, "A man that cannot be killed...is a very useful commodity in our profession. I would suggest that you cooperate with us...or your stay here can become very...unpleasant. I don't think you would like being subjected to a series of experiments, to determine exactly what might kill you." Giving him one last cold smile, she left the room.

Eric slumped back against the bed, eyes closing. Maybe if he worked with them, bided his time, he'd get the chance to get out of here. But for now...there was nothing to do but wait it out...

"What do we know about him?"

As he asked the question, Operations shifted his gaze from the computer monitor displaying the video feed from their newest guest's room and focused on Madeline, seated in her chair. Madeline gave an elegant shrug as she sipped from a cup of tea. "There's really nothing particularly noteworthy about Eric Draven. No real criminal record, no connections to any criminal organization, no visible political leanings. Nothing...other than his death. Given the lapse of time between Eric Draven's supposed death and his return, it's impossible to accurately determine whether or not the person that was thrown through the window was indeed Eric Draven."

"And now?" prodded Operations.

"Now...we have evidence that leads to a rather unsettling conclusion." Madeline leaned forward as she set her cup down, her interest visibly piqued by the subject on the monitor. "Draven could have been wearing a bullet proof vest--but we both know that even with a vest, there will be bruising. Examination has proven to yield none. His subsequent fall through a tenth floor window could be explained away...were it not for a report filed by Housekeeping detailing his condition. And...there is the lack of any visible sign of injury...which would indicate--impossible as it seems--that Draven's injuries healed on their own."

Restlessly Operations turned away from the monitor and stripped off his glasses, rubbing his eyes wearily as he moved to stand before her desk. "So what does a dead musician have to do with an international terrorist? Why was he where he was?"

Madeline smiled thinly. "I have every intention of addressing those very questions in our next interview."

"I don't like this. A supposed innocent showing up to disrupt the hit on Leder...and then Leder's body disappearing," said Operations tightly, pacing before her desk. "Too much of a coincedence."

"Birkhoff is delving more into Draven's background and his activities since his...return. And we're working on monitoring all of Leder's known associates," responded Madeline calmly. "If there is any way to connect Draven to Leder, then we will find it."

Operations nodded curtly, looking little satisfied. "Keep me advised," he said shortly and left her to her work.

Nodding to Tran, Vickers waited for the other to enter the room before him, eyes going immediately to the bed and the young man that lay there, seemingly unconscious. In his shoulder holster was a gun loaded with tranqs, to help keep the subject docile, and he kept his hand close to it as Tran went to the bed to release the young man's restraints. According to the med tech, he'd already been shot full of sedatives preparatory to the proposed transport from here to an interrogation room, but Vickers wasn't taking any chances.

With the last restraint freed, Tran looked to Vickers and started to gesture for the other man to come help him...only to reel back from a blow to the nose, clapping a hand to it as red flowed. The young man slipped from the bed and caught himself short of falling to the floor, eyes wild and unfocused under the curtain of dark hair. Rather than shoot him from a safe distance, Vickers made the mistake of assuming that he could take him down, drugged as he was...but fell himself under a hard blow to the chin.

Weaving, Eric moved to the fallen men, searching first one then the other for some kind of key to get out. On the second one he found it and pushed up to his feet, clinging to the bed until the dizziness had passed. Making his way down the hallway, he managed to get the door open...only to find himself facing two more operatives, one shooting two darts in him to send him once more down into unconsciousness.

"Hello."

Eric forced his eyes open at the sound of the voice. His vision was blurry so he blinked to clear it and found himself staring at the blond woman once again. "Who are you?" Eric queried. He was glad to see that her hands were empty this time. No guns.

Nikita smiled then gave her name. "And you are...Eric Draven."

"Like that means anything to you," Eric shot back. He shifted his body only to discover that he was, once more, in restraints.

"Birkhoff gave me a copy of your CD. Great music," Nikita replied.

Eric made a face. "Thanks," he drawled, sarcasm oozing from every pore. "But I'm not on the CD. I died before it was made."

Nikita nodded. "So I understand. But most of the songs were written by you, so that makes it your music."

"That's a minute distinction," Eric allowed. "But thanks." He said it grudgingly, but with a touch of appreciation. Then he remembered where he was and his expression hardened. "What the hell do you people want with me?" Eric hissed.

"To turn you into an assassin," Nikita replied, matter of factly. "And take some advice from someone who's been in your shoes. Do what you're told, Eric. Accept this situation as something you can't change." Nikita moved closer to the bed, staring down into Draven's beautiful brown eyes. She smiled, then heaved a sigh of regret. Regret for what he would become. "You can't escape Section, Eric. And you will never be free again."

Eric was silent for a long moment, contemplating Nikita's words. "Never say never," he whispered. "I died, Nikita. You can never come back once you've died. But I did. And I will escape."

Nikita wanted to wish him luck. She smiled. "You didn't say you'd be free again," she noted.

"I don't know if anyone is really free," Eric countered, his thoughts drifting to Shelly. She was trapped on the other side, just as he was trapped in the land of the living. And in the world of Section One. "I won't kill for you, " Eric stated. He knew that to do that would hurt his chances of being with Shelly again. And Eric had already done enough damage in that department.

"It won't be for me," Nikita replied, her eyes glittering with a touch of anger. "But you will kill!" she hissed. Nikita remembered saying the same thing. And in the end she had become what she hated most. The worst part being that she was good at it. "You don't have a choice, Eric. Trust me."

A cold smile touched Eric's lips. "What did they threaten you with, Nikita?" he prompted. "Death? Death can't touch me. I have nothing to lose."

Another sigh escaped Nikita, this one heavy with sorrow. "We all have something to lose, Eric," she whispered. "See you around," Nikita stated, then she turned and walked out of the room.

"Any word yet?"

Michael blinked at Operations, who had spoken, then shook his head. "No. Leder has disappeared without a trace."

Madeline was seated at her desk, he attention on her computer screen. But she refocused her attention to Michael. "Talk to Draven," she ordered. "Ask him about his connection to Leder."

"Why me?" Michael queried, for it was something that Madeline would normally handle herself.

"I think that you and Eric have some things in common," Madeline replied. "He might be willing to open up to you more. Besides which, you can start his training. Find out what he can do." By that she was referring to his tactical skills, as well as physical aspects.

Michael ticked off a mental list. He would test Eric Draven in hand to hand, martial arts, weapons and tactical abilities. Then he would send him to Birkhoff to see if he had any computer skills. "What level of intensity?" he prompted.

Madeline considered. "Level five," she stated. Something told her that Eric Draven would be more than a match for Michael. Once properly trained, given that he seemed immune to death, Eric Draven would become the ultimate Section Operative. The very thing that Operations had been questing after for the past twenty years. Madeline intended to give it to him. All she had to worry about was Draven's emotional status. If he could not control his emotions, then he would be flawed. Just like Michael. And Madeline was looking for perfection. "Don't hold back with him," Madeline continued. "I want to know just how strong Eric Draven is: Physically, emotionally and mentally."

"As you wish," Michael whispered, then he exited the room.

"Hello."

Eric sighed as the man in black approached him. "I must be in hell," he stated, with a touch of insolence.

Michael blinked then whispered, "Welcome to your first day."

Welcome to your first day--the words echoed through Eric's mind and sent a chill down his spine. In the short time he'd been here, he'd seen more than enough of this place...and had no intentions of remaining here any longer than he had to. As much as he wanted to deny the man in black, to insist that he wasn't staying here, prudence made him hold his tongue.

"So who are you? The welcoming committee?" asked Eric sarcastically.

The man gave him the thinnest of smiles, a minute twitch of the corners of his mouth, and walked slowly up the length of the bed. "My name is Michael. I will be your trainer."

"My own personal trainer...I suppose I should be flattered." Despite himself Eric shifted restlessly on the bed as Michael stepped closer, hands flexing in the restraints, and turned his head to keep the other man in sight.

"What is your connection to Klaus Leder?" asked Michael, effortlessly switching tack.

Eric frowned. "Klaus...Leder?" he repeated.

Michael studied him, seeking any hint that the young man was hiding something, but the confusion in his dark eyes and expression was guileless, completely honest. "At the hotel--you were going to his room."

"The Snake..." said Eric softly, eyes becoming distant as he looked inward, reliving some memory. In his expressive features, Michael read sorrow and pain and anger, fading as Eric returned once more to himself, unease showing in his eyes at his own lapse. "I didn't know his name," he admitted reluctantly.

"But you were seeking him," stated Michael. "Why?"

"Why were you?" retorted Eric. From Michael there was only a calm, patient stare, showing nothing at all of what he was thinking, and under that stare Eric resisted the need to squirm. "So I guess we both had our reasons...and neither of us want to share."

Michael clasped his hands behind his back and turned to make his way once more down the length of the bed, his head lowered a little and voice soft as he spoke. "There seemed to be sufficient evidence to garner an indictment against you for the murder of your girlfriend. You were convicted...and then released by the judge." He glanced briefly at Eric, noting that the young man stiffened at the mention of the trial, anger flaring in his dark eyes. "He stated insufficient evidence...though he believed that you were involved in her death...in some way." He turned to face Eric, a polite curiosity showing in his expression. "What was your motive for contracting her death? Was it jealousy? Or were you simply...tired of her?"

Rage surged in him, a hot, red tide, and for one long moment he was very tempted to give in to it, to change here and now, show Michael his other side. Use the power of the Crow to win his freedom, to get away from this place--it was so close, within his reach, and all he had to do was reach out to it--

Resolutely he thrust it down, the effort of resisting it making him tremble, and drew in a shaky breath, willing himself to be calm. "I didn't do it," he stated flatly.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "So...you are innocent. Simply wrongfully convicted..." He let a trace of skepticism show in his voice.

"Yes," said Eric through his teeth, glaring at the other man. Remembered his lawyer's skepticism, his accusations...as well as the accusations of the D.A. And Funboy on the stand, with that smug smile directed at Eric as he said, bitch didn't suffer enough. Shelly crying out his name and Funboy laughing as he and the others hurt her, begging him to help her but there was nothing he could do, nothing--

He found himself staring down at his wrists, the restraining cuffs now torn free, and slowly lifted his hands, staring down at them. And then lifted his eyes to meet those of Michael's, the gray eyes not even flickering with surprise at seeing him free. "I am innocent," said Eric softly, slipping off the bed. Idly he stripped first one cuff then the other off, feeling that almost giddy surge of power that his transformation brought. The feeling of invincibility, as if there was nothing that he could not do...

Michael remained still, allowing Eric to approach him, and Eric lashed out to grasp the other man's hand, tightening his grip when Michael would have pulled free. From the contact came a flood of images--of a younger Michael with a dark haired girl that was his sister, the love between them all too plain to see...and then the sorrow of parting from her. Of Michael standing over the dead body of his friend and the young woman Nikita behind him, Michael's pain and grief and self-hatred consuming him. Betraying his friend, who had been little more than a murderer, and wanting to pay with his own life for that betrayal--

Michael broke free, stumbling back from Eric with wide eyes, and rubbed his wrist as he stared at the young man. At his touch, Michael had relived that moment in the dingy apartment, heard again the echo of the shot and not felt not the pain of a bullet tearing through his flesh...but the pain of knowing that he had betrayed his old friend. And wishing that Nikita had allowed Rene to kill him, to end this sham of an existence...

"He was a killer, Michael. Maybe he was your friend...but that doesn't change what he was. And in your heart...you know that." Eric felt a flash of sympathy for the other man, knowing now what lurked beneath that calm surface. How he castigated himself more than any other could...

Slowly, carefully, Michael retreated from Eric, not wanting to risk another touch, and moved to the door, still watching Eric as he unlocked the door and slipped out of it. Eric watched him go and returned to sit on the bed with a sigh. Well, he wasn't out of here...but it looked like Round One went to him. Round Two...was going to be much harder, he was certain.

Madeline stood beside Operations, watching Michael and Eric Draven. The two men were in the exercise arena and Michael was putting Eric through his paces. Or, perhaps, it was the other way around. For Michael hit the mat nine times out of ten.

"He's highly skilled," Madeline commented, her eyes on Eric. "Better than our trainers."

"Yes...he is," Operations conceded. "I understand Walter is impressed with his shooting abilities, and that he's picked up on the computers quite readily."

Madeline turned to Operations and nodded. "That's right. Michael needs to test his tactical skills more fully, but Eric has done well with Birkhoff's simulations."

Operations was pleased. "The other testing had proven...interesting...I understand." By that he meant the tests that Madeline had run to ascertain that Eric Draven truly was immortal.

"He can't be killed," Madeline replied. "Not by any of our means, anyway. Stabbing or bullets can slow him down but not stop him. He is affected by some drugs, but recovers more quickly than anyone else would. Basically...Eric Draven is invincible."

"We can use that," Operations purred, his eyes glowing fever-bright with anticipation. Draven could be the operative that he had always hoped Michael would be. Would have been, Operations amended, had it not been for Nikita's influence. Not that he had totally given up on Michael yet. Perhaps the young man simply needed some competition. "Have we tested his Valentine status yet?" Operations inquired.

Madeline shook her head. "Not yet," she allowed. "I've made plans for tonight."

Operations was thoughtful. "Who with?"

"Myself," Madeline stated, taking note of Operations look of surprise. But he recovered swiftly and she made further comment. "For what you have in mind, I need to train him myself."

"You've been reading my mind again, Madeline," Operations chided her. But affectionately. "I would like to use Draven on the VanDreser mission," he confessed. "He fits your profile to a T."

Folding her arms over her waist, Madeline let a smile curve her lips. The VanDreser case was top priority for Section. The wife of an IRA terrorist that had died in a plane crash had taken up her husband's cause and his business. She was targeting the US politicos and Section had been contacted by the CIA and asked to help. Discreetly, of course. Operations had agreed, for to succeed would mean that the CIA owed Section a favor. A big one. "Draven is Lila's type," she conceded. "But we have to move fast. I don't know if he's ready. And I'm certain he's not willing."

Operations shrugged. "Find a reason to make him willing," he ordered, then he turned his attention back to the action in the arena. Michael was hitting the mat again. Operations grinned, then turned and walked away.

Eric glared down at Michael. "Don't you ever give up?" he hissed. With each attack, Michael had increased the intensity until Eric was afraid he might have to do some serious, bodily, damage to the other man just to get him to back off. Eric had thought that the combat was intended to be an exercise, but it was beginning to feel personal.

Michael's answer was to rise to his feet and attack again. Only to find himself on his back with Draven straddling him. Then he felt palms against his temples and Michael jerked in response to the images that filled his head. A collage of events the washed over him in waves. It took a moment for him to realize that he was seeing Eric Draven's death. And the brutal rape and torture of Shelly Webster. He saw Eric rising from the grave, and the vengeance that the young man sought agains those who had done him and Shelly harm. In the beat of a heart, Michael saw the truth.

With a curse, Eric released Michael and rose to his feet. He didn't know why he had felt compelled to share his past with the other man. They had nothing in common. Yet, a part of Eric felt a kindred spirit in Michael. And he realized now that he was hoping that Michael would be his ticket to freedom. That he would help Eric to be free.

"I'm sorry," Michael whispered, as he rose to his feet. He studied Eric for a long moment then stated, "I can't help you." Michael might have said more but the phone rang. He answered it, listened, the hung up. "Shower and change," Michael ordered Eric. "Madeline wants to see you." With that he glided away, but he couldn't shake the sorrow and regret that dogged him. Eric Draven deserved to be free. But life wasn't fair, Michael reminded himself, as he pulled his mask firmly back into place.

Leder smiled as he studied the invitation in front of him. It came from the wife of an old acquaintance. Patrick O'Riley was dead but his wife Lila VanDresser was carrying on his work. She was a headstrong and independant woman. In her forties, but very beautiful. Leder was looking forward to seeing her again. Especially since it seemed they were both in a position to help each other. Folding the invitation and sliding it into his pocket, Leder rose from behind his desk. He needed to find something to wear for the party. Tonight was going to be a a most interesting evening to be sure.

Eric emerged from the shower to find clothing laid out for him, a simple but stylish black suit, and once dressed he was taken not to Madeline's office but down another corridor, a door opened for him and his escort indicating he should enter. Stepping through the door, Eric turned as it slid shut behind him and then faced forward once again, to see before him an elegantly set table, candles providing an additional light in the dimly lit room.

"Have a seat."

He turned to see Madeline move from a corner of the room, dressed in a form-fitting dress of deep burgundy velvet, clinging to her slim curves, and watched as she sank gracefully down into a chair of her own, lifting a flute of champagne to take a delicate sip.

Slowly Eric pulled out a chair and sat down, a faint frown furrowing his brow as he looked from the china plate before him to Madeline. "What game is this?" he asked warily.

Setting down the flute, Madeline steepled her fingers and gave him a soft smile. "I've been reviewing your progress. Walter says that you have a natural apptitude for weapons...and the sims we've run indicate you have tactical skills as well. From your sessions with Michael, we've seen that your proficiency in the martial arts more than exceeds our expectations. But there are...other aspects to your training that need to be explored."

Rising from her chair she walked slowly around the table and Eric suppressed the urge to turn and watch her, facing resolutely forward even as she halted behind him. "There are times when a more...subtle approach is called for." He shivered as her fingertips slid across his shoulder in a soft caress, lifting to tug through thick strands of dark hair. "By using one's physical charms, one can fell a target as surely as a bullet." Her warm breath puffed in his ear, sending another shiver through him, and her lips brushed briefly against the nape of his neck, fingers stroking through his hair as she drew back.

Eric jerked around in the chair to glare at her. "By fucking them, you mean."

Madeline raised an eyebrow. "I would not put it so crudely...but yes. Some will require a little more attention, a little more wooing, but others simply want to be fucked."

"And I'm here...so you can give me a test drive?" At Madeline's slight smile and incline of her head, Eric blushed and pushed his chair back, rising from the chair. "You're going to have to get your jollies somewhere else--I'm not playing this game." Cheeks still hot with embarrassment and anger, he strode for the door.

"The girl--her name is Sarah...correct?" At the door Eric froze, his throat closing at her words, made no less menacing by the softness of her speech. "Sarah Mohr, daughter of Darla Mohr. I understand that you and your girlfriend served as something of a surrogate family to her and that you are very...close to her. There are so many things that can happen to someone as young as she..." Slowly Eric turned to face Madeline again, his hands tightening into fists, and Madeline met his gaze squarely. "And Detective Albrecht...or rather, Officer Albrecht. Police work can be very dangerous...and all the more dangerous for a patrol officer. He could stop the wrong car...or enter a dark alley..."

"You'd hurt them...to make me cooperate?" hissed Eric.

Madeline smiled thinly, a cold smile. "We wouldn't have to hurt them...would we, Eric?" And indicated with her hand the chair that Eric had abandoned.

Swallowing hard, Eric went to sit down again and Madeline took the chair opposite him, smiling with poisonous sweetness as she took a sip of champagne.

Lila VanDresser ran a finger along the rim of her champagne glass, allowing her eyes to roam the dining room hall. In a business sense this dinner had been a success but now that business was done, she was finding herself to be bored of the company. Since Patrick's death, she had worked to find solace in the company of several young men, quickly used and discarded, none exactly what she was looking for.

None like...him.

Her gaze skimmed across a young man in black and returned to him, eyes narrowing as she studied him. Young, exotically handsome, cutting an elegant figure in a black tuxedo with white dress shirt and its banded collar, long dark hair drawn back in a ponytail that added a rakish look to him. A lock of dark hair had come free of its ponytail to spill across his forehead in an appealingly boyish way and his eyes were dark and intense as they met hers. Eyes that revealed the passionate soul inside him, as strong in his passions as he was his anger. Someone that wouldn't easily acede to her every whim, like so many of her recent lovers had. Someone as dangerous in his own way as Patrick had been...

Licking her lips, she went to him, hips swaying gently.

Eric watched Lila VanDresser cross the room, his stomach clenching with nervousness. He didn't like this, not at all, playing on a woman's lust...but there wasn't any choice. With the lives of his friends at stake, he had to play the game, as much as he hated it. So he forced himself to smile as Lila came forward, aware of Nikita and Michael lurking in the crowd.

And the smile froze on his face as he saw a figure detach itself from the crowd to intercept Lila, a hand touching her arm. Lila smiled and gave the man a kiss on the cheek in greeting, speaking softly to him. The man threw back his head and laughed, white teeth flashing in a wide grin, and Eric found himself moving forward as he stared at the man the Section knew as Klaus Leder.

Lila found herself distracted. She was pleased to see Klaus Leder, but she was more interested in the exotic young man she had spotted than in her old friend. "If you will excuse me, Klaus," Lila said softly. "There's someone I must introduce myself too."

Leder knew Lila VanDreser all too well. "Another stud muffin?" he teased. "Who this time?" He turned to follow the track of her eyes and smiled as he recognized who neared them. "The little Crow," Klaus whispered to himself. "How fortunate."

"What did you say?" Lila prompted, forcing her attention back to Klaus. The young man was drawing nearer and he was all the more beautiful up close. She wanted him.

"Nothing," Klaus replied. He would not give the game away. Lila's invitation was more fortuitious than he had expected. The Little Crow needed to be taught a lesson.

Lila nodded, her attention already further distracted by the newcomer. She stepped away from Klaus to meet him. "And you are?" Lila offered in greeting.

Eric had to focus his concentration in order to reply. He was drawn to the Snake. "I'm...I'm Eric," he managed to reply. But smiling at Lila took an effort. "Nice party," Eric commented.

"I don't recall an Eric on the invitation list," Lila countered, as her eyes roved over the gorgeous young man. She would have said more but Klaus was at her elbow so she made introductions. "Eric...meet Klaus Leder. An old friend of mine."

"Nice meeting you...Eric..." Klaus stated, as he held out his right hand.

Eric wanted to ignore it but he knew that he was being watched. Knew, also, that Michael and Nikita had to be as surprised as he was by Leder's presence. But he didn't know the half of it.

Michael was already in contact with Operations via Birkhoff. He waited for a reply as to how to proceed. Then he passed along the orders to Eric who wore a comlink. "Engage Leder in conversation and get him outside, south terrace. Then await further instructions." Operations wanted both Leder and Lila VanDreser, with Leder as top priority as far as Section was concerned.

"Nice meeting you," Eric said, finally, as he shook Leder's hand. He would do as Michael ordered, for now. Simply because he had no choice. But Eric knew that Section was out of their league when it came to Leder. They could not fight immortality, nor could they even imagine the evil that lurked in Leder's soul. Eric got another taste of it as Leder, firmly, clasped his hand.

"What do you do, Eric?" Leder queried, with sincere interest. He knew what the young man was and now he wanted to know who he was.

Eric pulled his hand free of Leder's and shrugged. "I dabble in the arts," he replied, keeping to the cover profile that Madeline had created for him. "Music, art...things like that."

Lila decided it was time to get back into the conversation. Preferably to be the center of Eric's attention. "Tell me more," she invited, linking one arm with Eric's and leading him off to one side of the room.

"There's not much to tell," Eric stated, smiling to himself as he realized that Lila was guiding him over to the south Terrace and that Leder was trailing behind them. This was going to be far too easy. A moment later they were standing outside.

"Hold position," Michael ordered.

Eric froze to the spot, waiting for the next command.

It was quick in coming. "Gardens to your left," Michael whispered. "Entrance to the maze." He and the rest of the team would ambush Leder and Lila VanDreser there.

"I smell roses," Eric declared, shifting his gaze to his left. "You have gardens on the grounds."

"They're quite beautiful," Lila conceded. "Shall I show them to you, Eric?" There was a place in the maze where she could take him for privacy. It would give her the perfect oppurtunity to ravish him and be ravished in return.

Eric offered Lila a dazzling smile. "Please," he requested. Then he turned to Leder and queried, "Are you coming?"

Leder chuckled at the look on Lila's face and replied, "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Her arm linked through Eric's, Lila led him out to the garden, the maze--meticulously shaped from thick green hedges--laid out before them. Eric looked over his shoulder to see if Leder was still following them and Leder smiled at him, a dark smile filled with promise that sent a shiver down Eric's spine. The slide of Lila's hand from stomach down to groin distracted him from Leder and he reached down to take her hand, bringing it up to press a kiss against it as they halted before the entrance.

"Get ready," came Michael's soft voice in his ear and with an effort, Eric did not look for the approaching operatives, merely concentrated on Lila before him as she draped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down for a long, deep kiss. From the corner of his eye he could see Leder moving closer to them and he broke off the kiss, giving Lila a sexy smile as he drew her closer to the entrance of the maze and out of the line of fire.

"Now."

At that terse word, operatives emerged from the maze, guns out and trained on Leder as they moved to circle him. Only to fall under a sudden barrage, bodies twisting under the impact of bullets. Eric moved automatically to place himself between Lila and the bullets but neither of them were the intended targets, only the operatives that sought to capture them, four men clad in black suits striding forward to check the fallen bodies for signs of life.

From one Leder took a gun and jacked the slide, smiling as he aimed the gun at Eric. "So there is more to you than there seems to be, little Crow," he said softly. Smile still in place, he fired twice, hitting Eric directly in the chest. Reeling from the impact of the bullets, Eric fell to his knees and Leder strode forward to put one last bullet in his head, watching as the young man slumped--seemingly dead--to the ground.

"What...what are you doing?" cried Lila, staring down in disbelief at the still form of Eric.

"Saving both of our asses, Lila. So do shut up and come along like a good little girl." Reaching down, Leder grasped one limp arm and hauled Eric up to toss him over one shoulder. And nodded to his men to follow as he set off.

"Well?"

Operations spat out the single word from between clenched teeth, glaring at the calm figure that stood before him, seemingly unconcerned by this debacle.

"The team was eliminated. By the time another could be scrambled, Leder was gone," replied Michael, hands clasped behind him as he faced Operations, gazing levelly at the older man.

"And with our new operative, no less!" snarled Operations as he stalked an angry circle around Michael.

"Leder's presence was...unanticipated. There was nothing in the intel to indicate an association between Leder and Van Dressler...or even O'Reilly." Michael paused, watching Operations' eyes narrow as the information sank in, and then added, "As you yourself know...sir."

Pale eyes glittering dangerously, Operations faced Michael, hands on hips and face just inches from Michael. "That's no excuse and you know it. Considering your level of expertise--" he sneered the word, "--you should have planned for this eventuality."

"We can track Eric's movements."

Taking a step back, Operations made an angry gesture of dismissal. "With his unique physiology, implanting a tracker was impossible."

"Internally, yes. But there are other places. A ring...or a necklace."

Operations whirled at the soft sound of Madeline's voice, watching as she moved to join them, a frown creasing his brow. And then smoothed as he remembered the necklace Eric had worn, a chain bearing what looked to be an engagement ring. "Start the trace," he barked at Michael.

With a brief inclination of his head, Michael took a step back and pivoted, striding for the door. When he had gone, Operations turned to Madeline and arched an eyebrow at the satisfied look she wore. "You might have told me what you were planning," he grumbled.

Madeline lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug. "It seemed the best way to flush Leder. And there was no time," she added with a small apologetic smile.

Suppressing a sigh at her obvious insincerity, Operations moved past her and tossed over his shoulder, "See if you can find the time to keep me advised of the progress on tracking Eric and Leder."

The corners of Madeline's mouth curved in a cheshire smile as she regarded Operations' retreating back and then she turned to attend to her own business.

At the sound of an opening door, Eric twisted as far around as the chains would allow to glare in the direction of the door, drawing his knees up to his chest in a bid for modesty. When he'd regained awareness, it had been to find himself shut away in a small room, chained to the wall and stripped of his clothing. All he had on him was the necklace bearing the ring he had given Shelly...

Leder entered the room, allowing his gaze to sweep over Eric's bare form and laughing as the young man blushed at his regard. "Time for us to talk, little Crow..." he said as he shut the door behind him, his other hand lifting to show the dagger he held.

Eric tried not to flinch as the cold blade of the dagger was dragged across his skin. He glared at Leder, not for a moment fearing for his life but, rather, fearing the evil that seemed to emanate from the man. An evil that boded ill for the living. "What do you want from me?" Eric demanded.

Leder laughed, drawing the edge of the blade over the perfect skin that covered Eric's rock-hard bicep. "I want your soul," he whispered softly. "That...and all that you know about Section One."

"My soul isn't up for grabs!" Eric hissed. "And as for Section...All I know is that they're an entity I can live without." There was no reason for Eric to protect Section after what they had done to him, but he found himself doing so anyway. It was the lesser of the two evils somehow.

"What a pretty Crow you are," Leder purred, his hand now running over Eric's smooth skin. He was pleased when the young man shivered. "Don't you like me?" Leder queried, his mouth quirked in a cruel grin. "I like you, Eric. Very much."

Eric knew what this was leading up to. "I won't turn, Leder," he stated emphatically, his eyes burning like twin coals. "I'll die a Crow."

Leder sighed. "You don't know what you're missing, little one," he drawled. "But that can be remedied. Very easily." That said, Leder placed the point of the knife against Eric's throat.

Michael studied the red blip on the screen of the handheld tracking device. "Got him," he said softly.

Madeline's voice came floating back to him. "Go in," she ordered. "We want both Draven and Leder."

"Who's priority?" Michael questioned.

There was a long pause before Madeline replied, "Draven."

Michael blinked, but that was his only reaction to the surprise he felt. "Understood," he stated, then he pocketed the tracker and turned to face his team. He gave instructions then they moved out. The six man unit would cover the perimeter while Michael went inside to make the retrieval. A simple plan, but he could not predict the consequences of the mission. Not in his wildest dreams.

Leder sensed that something was wrong. He turned too late, feeling the dart enter his flesh, quickly followed by another. But his constitution was strong and he was able to draw his gun and turn and fire before the sedative took effect.

Eric had been blind to what was occurring. He was in transition, changing from sub-human to Crow...to something else. Leder had stabbed him in the heart with the Snake dagger, then he had mingled their blood. More for ritual than anything else and Eric now fought against the darkness. If he let it take him he was lost. He would be the darkness. A snake. Only as Leder fell did Eric see the figure in black. Knew it even though a mask covered the face. "Michael..." Eric whispered, then he gasped as the other man crumpled. The strength of his transition enabled Eric to break his chains and he forget his nakedness as he moved to Michael's side. Pulled off the mask to check for a pulse and gasped as what he saw.

A flash of images filled Eric's mind. Nightmare images of Michael's death. But it was not a lasting death, for the other man was one such as Eric. Should Michael die he would become a Crow. "Shit!" Eric hissed, then he jumped as a voice echoed in the air. He realized it came from the comunit Michael was wearing. One of the other operatives asking for orders. "Get the hell out!" Eric shouted, for he knew that all hell would break loose soon.

Just then the door to the room opened and Eric was ready. He downed the guard that entered, one of Leder's men, and quickly stripped him of his black jumpsuit and boots. Eric swiftly dressed then hauled Michael over his shoulder. He would return for Leder some other time. If there was time, for Eric could feel his soul burning. Time was running out. Right now he had to think of Michael, so he headed for the window and leapt out into the night.

Operations was not a happy man. He glared at Madeline as she entered his office. "Bad news!" he hissed.

Madeline nodded. "Yes," she confirmed. They had learned of the loss of Draven and Michael minutes ago, but had held out hope about Leder. "Target has disappeared," Madeline stated. "No trace, but I've told Birkhoff to work on it till the trail is dead."

"I want them all back!" Operations shouted.

"Of course," Madeline replied, then she exited as quietly as she had entered.

The pounding on his front door roused Dr. Dorsett from sleep, struggling to unentangle legs from the blankets that had wrapped around them. Tossed across a chair beside the bed was a robe and he fumbled his arms through the sleeves, blinking rapidly to clear the fog from his eyes as he staggered to the dresser to retrieve his glasses. Stumbling over the shoes he'd discarded earlier on the floor, he barked his shin on the corner of the dresser, the pain sharp enough to make his eyes water.

Rubbing his leg with one hand, he hooked the glasses over his ears with the other as he made his way to the front door of his apartment. Running a hand over rumpled, thinning hair to smooth it, he tugged the robe closed as he undid the padlock and hauled the door open, to blink owlishly at the two figures that stood before it.

"Eric?" he said, blinking again in disbelief.

Eric Draven stood in his doorway, supporting the slumped figure of another man who--at a first casual glance--bore an eerie resemblance to Eric, pale and clad in black as he was. But this one bled in a way that Eric didn't...

"Need your help, Doc," said Eric softly and automatically Dorsett moved forward to take one limp arm, helping Eric to carry the man to the nearby couch, laying him out on it. The man's head rolled limply to one side, long lashes fluttering briefly only to still once again, his skin bearing an ashen tint and a sheen of sweat. From under the left shoulder of his shirt came a trail of white cloth, providing the bulge in the breast of his shirt, and Dorsett lifted the material away, grimacing as he saw blood-stained cloth.

Lifting his eyes he met those of Eric and flinched at seeing burning dark eyes set in the white mask of the Crow. Remembered the lab of the Lazarus project and those glittering mad eyes glaring at him, the spirit of the Crow in complete control of Eric's body, the steadying balance that Eric's soul provided gone.

"What...happened?" stuttered Dorsett.

"He's been shot. He needs your help," said Eric tersely.

"Help? But--but--I'm not a--I don't have the license to--"

The words died at the hard look Eric gave him, the young man leaning forward a little and one hand lifting as if he would grab Dorsett...only for the fingers of his hand to curl tightly together, clenching as his hand lowered. Drawing in a deep breath in a visible effort to steady himself, Eric said softly, "If you don't help him, he's going to die. And if he dies, he'll become like me..." He laid a hand on the man's forehead and the man stirred under his touch, a frown creasing his brow, stilling only when Eric removed his hand. Eric's head lifted, to show not the white mask but his own familiar features, a plea in his dark eyes. "Don't let him die."

It had been a long time since medical school--his training had been limited to the areas of the mind-- "I'll do my best," said Dorsett, mind already whirling with thoughts of treatment as he looked down at his new patient. "How do I contact--" He looked up only to see the door shutting...and Eric gone.

Sighing, Dorsett went to get his medical bag.

"Any progress?"

With an effort, Birkhoff held himself still, resisting the urge to squirm in his chair. He shifted his attention from the screen before him to Madeline, standing just behind his chair, and swallowed hard before replying.

"Leder and Van Dresser--we haven't been able to locate either."

Madeline gave a curt nod, having already accepted that eventuality. "And...?" she prompted.

"The signal on Draven, it's fluctuating too much to gain a lock." Birkhoff swallowed again as Madeline's eyes narrowed and hastened to add, "But I think I've gotten a location from Michael's comunit. A team has been sent to investigate."

For a long moment Madeline merely stared at him, till he felt sweat trickling down from his forehead, and then spun on her heel to stalk away. "Keep me apprised," she tossed over her shoulder.

Letting out a shaky breath, Birkhoff turned once more to his screen, nervously running a hand over the top of his head. And wet his lips as he set his attention once more to locating Draven.

With a sweep of his arm, Eric sent the door to his apartment closed and stumbled inside, one hand going out to the nearest wall. Slowly he slid down it, arms wrapped tightly around himself, and closed his eyes, turning his attention inward.

He could feel the Snake's blood in him--its influence--as a dark tendril worming its way through him, leaving a heavy lassitude in its wake that threatened to drown him. A voice whispering in his mind, exhorting him to give in to the darkness, to let loose all his anger and hate, a seductive purr that was so very hard to shut out--

He freed one hand to feel for the necklace he still wore and the ring he had given Shelly...but a hand laid over his to stop him. Eric opened his eyes to see Shelly kneeling before him, clad in a long white lace gown, her heart shaped features framed by auburn curls tumbling down to her shoulders. A smile curved her lips as she folded her fingers around his and brought his hand up to press a kiss against the back of it.

"Shelly..." Tears pricked in his eyes at seeing her and he averted his head, feeling the darkness surge in him. Didn't want to taint her with it--

"It's alright." She cupped his chin in one hand and lifted it so that his eyes met hers again, her other hand lifting to stroke his cheek. "It's been so hard for you--you have struggled so much--" Eric closed his eyes at the soft stroke of her fingers, the warmth of her touch calming him in a way nothing could. "When all you had to do...was give in..."

Eric's eyes flew open to stare in disbelief at Shelly, her fingers winding in the chain of his necklace. The smile that curved her lovely mouth turned cold and hard as she gave a yank to the chain, breaking it. Tossing it aside, the ring he had given her tinkling as it rolled across the floor, and then rising, laughing as her features blurred, her form elongating...

"Did you think I would give up on you so easily, little Crow?" grinned Leder as he crouched before Eric, chuckling at seeing the horror in the young man's eyes. And reached down to grasp one arm, hauling Eric up to his feet, his other hand rising to stab something into the side of his throat and sending him down into darkness.

Madeline held Operations' gaze. "We have nothing," she calmly announced.

"Nothing," Operations repeated, his tone as ice-cold as his pale eyes. He was not pleased. Twenty hours had passed without any information on the whereabouts of Michael, Eric Draven or Leder. "When do you suppose we'll have...something?" Operations queried, keeping his temper in check only with effort.

"I don't know," Madeline confessed, somewhat painfully. She was not used to feeling helpless, but that was how she felt at the moment. They had no way of finding Michael or Eric, and no connection to Leder at this time. It was almost as if the three men had disappeared off the face of the earth.

Operations let a cold smile curve his thin lips. "Call me if the situation changes," he ordered, then he stalked from the room. He had no doubt that Madeline would do everything in her power to find Michael and Eric. She knew that, regardless of his feelings for her, he would cancel her in a heartbeat if she failed.

Dorsett studied the young man on the bed. He didn't look so good. Already pale, the man looked like death warmed over. His skin was clammy and his breathing shallow. He had lost far too much blood for Dorsett's liking and it was probable that he would die. "I don't even know your name," Dorsett whispered.

"Michael."

"You're awake." The statement was one of total surprise.

Michael shifted on the bed and instantly regretted it as pain washed over him. "Where...am I?" he asked, each word costing him precious strength.

Dorsett grimaced. "My place," he answered, realizing that he was being obtuse. "Uh...I'm a friend of Eric's. He brought you to me. I'm...a doctor."

"Where...is Eric?" Michael prompted. He couldn't recall ever having felt so tired, but now was not the time for weakness. He had a mission to complete.

"I haven't a clue where Eric is," Dorsett confessed, one hand pressing against Michael's chest when the young man tried to rise. Wasn't neccessary to restrain him for Michael was far to weak to stand.

Wincing in pain as he strained to force his muscles to obey his commands, Michael finally collapsed back against the pillows, unresisting as darkness washed over him. Today was a good day to die. His only regret was that he would not be able to say goodbye to Nikita.

Eric paced the confines of the room he was locked it. No windows, only a metal door, and the walls were made of stone. It reminded Eric of a medieval cell and he shivered from the cold that seemed to permeate his bones. This place emanated evil.

"Hello, little Crow." Leder was smiling as he entered the cell, the metal door creaking as it closed behind him. "How are you feeling?" The drug he had injected Eric with had been very strong. Even for the constitution of an immortal.

"What do you want from me?" Eric demanded. He stood with his feet apart, arms folded over his chest. Battle ready stance, Eric realized. He was prepared to fight for his freedom. Prepared to die.

Leder laughed, a cold echo of sound that seemed to bounce off the stone walls. "What do I want?" he repeated, his voice a slow drawl as he began pacing around Eric's slight form. "I want you to join me, little Crow," Leder announced. "I want you to embrace the darkness."

Eric let a smile curve his lips as he taunted, "You've got a better chance of seeing God." A pause, then he continued, "And we both know that's not gonna happen in this lifetime. Or any other."

"You don't really have a choice, Eric," Leder reminded the young man. "You can feel my blood in you already...can't you?"

"I feel slightly nauseous...if that's what you mean," Eric shot back. He did feel the darkness and the evil, but he'd be damned before he'd admit it to Leder. Not that he didn't already feel as if he was damned. Life as a Crow was no picnic.

Leder heaved a sigh, but he wasn't really upset. Draven was rather amusing, and he had a power...an aura...that excited Leder. "We belong together...little Crow," he crooned, as he glided closer. Then he attacked, slamming Eric back against the cold wall and pinning him there with his larger bulk. "We are the perfect blend of good and evil, Eric. Light and dark melding together into an allegiance of unstoppable power."

Eric shifted against Leder, trying to find ground so that he could toss the other man away, but Leder was too strong and Eric was still feeling the effects of the drug. "I'll die before I become like you!" Eric hissed.

"But you are me," Leder announced, as his fingers curled in Eric's long hair, yanking the young man's head back so that he could stab him with another needle full of drugs. He caught Eric as the young man collapsed, then carried him from the room. It was time to complete the change.

The room was not small...but to Eric it felt cramped, confined, as if the walls were moving slowly and inexorably inward. For the last few hours he'd sat huddled in a corner, drawing as tightly in on himself as he could, knees pressed against his chest and arms wrapped around them, consumed by alternating waves of heat and cold as he tried to battle the darkness in him. Knowing it was a losing battle...but unable to stop struggling, even to the end. Even so he was nearing the end of his strength, his resistance flagging as mental and physical exhaustion claimed its toll. It would be so much easier to just give in, to let it take him--

"Hey, cousin."

Eric raised his head at the sound of a familiar voice and gave a toss of his head to clear sweat-dampened hair from his eyes, blinking as the salty tang of sweat burned his eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw a figure squatting before him and it took a moment for his weary mind to process who--or what--it was: the Skull Cowboy. He blinked again, to see if the image would vanish like the mirage he thought it might be, but the Skull Cowboy grinned back at him, raising a finger to push the brim of his round black hat back on his forehead as he studied Eric.

"You don't look very good, cousin," he said critically, wrinkling his nose as he took in rumpled clothing and tangled dark hair.

"Why are you here?" Eric demanded hoarsely.

Shaking his head slightly, the Skull Cowboy made a tsking sound, ignoring Eric's question. "Yeah, you look like you're just giving up, cousin. Thought you had more fight in you than that," he added chidingly, shaking his head sorrowfully.

"What more do you want from me?" The cry came from deep within him, vocalizing all the pain and grief and anger, the uncertainity and fear and hopelessness that had lurked deep inside him for so long. It gave him the strength to push himself up to his feet, hands knotting at his sides as his slim form trembled as much from anger as exhaustion. "What more do I have to give? What do I have to do to make it right? To get...back?"

Smoothly the Skull Cowboy rose to his feet, the mockery and humor gone from his dark eyes. "Be true to yourself," he said simply.

The anger fled Eric in a rush, leaving him shaken and spent, sinking back down to the floor. Be true to yourself--how simple that sounded...but it wasn't simple at all. Not when he was no longer sure who he was...

"There's someone that needs you, cousin. Someone that's tottering on the abyss right now...and all it'll take is one little push to send him over. Someone that can do far more damage than a Snake ever dreamed of..."

Eric lifted his head to look up into the grave features of the Skull Cowboy. "Michael..." he breathed, remembering what he had seen. That Michael would become like him should he die...or worse.

Folding his arms over his chest, the Skull Cowboy regarded the young man as he slowly gathered himself together, drawing on hidden reserves to battle the darkness in him. Knew that it was the only way to reach Eric, to give him someone else other than himself to focus on. For himself Eric might give up the fight...but for another soul he'd fight to the end. Allowing a satisfied smile to curve his lips, he stepped back, fading away.

Dorsett held one limp wrist between his fingers, eyes on his watch as he checked the young man's pulse. Looked down at his patient and his stomach twisted at seeing the other's pallor. He'd done what he could, but the young man was still losing blood and fading at an alarming rate.

Lowering the young man's wrist to the bed, Dorsett rose to pace restlessly around the room, stroking his chin. He had to take the young man to a hospital, where he could be tended properly--needed blood transfusion, maybe even surgery...

And there would be police involved, reports to file, questions to be answered...which of course he had no answers for. If the young man was in trouble, then his situation would be even worse--

Worse than dying? asked a sarcastic inner voice.

Heaving a sigh, Dorsett strode quickly to the bedstand and the phone that lay there, snatching it up to dial 911.

It had been six hours since Eric's last injection, and Leder unlocked the door to his cell, confident that enough time had passed for Eric to be changed. With Eric beside him, there would be nothing he could not do, the world would be his to take. His first goal would be to destroy the Section, simply because they'd had the temerity to attack him...and from there...the opportunities were...endless.

Opening the door, Leder stepped into the cell, pausing before the huddled figure of the little Crow. A cruel smile curved his lips as he asked softly, "How are you feeling, Eric?"

Eric's head lifted and through a damp, tangled curtain of dark hair shone the white mask of the Crow, mockery glittering in dark eyes as black lips curled in a feral grin. "Oh, just peachy keen. But you--you're in for a world of hurt, Mr. Snake." And came to his feet faster than Leder would have thought possible, one long leg flashing up and out to clip him hard on the chin, sending him staggering back. Another kick sent him down to his knees and the Crow swooped down on him, grasping the shoulders of his coat to throw him hard against the wall.

From his pocket clattered another syringe and Eric snatched it up, eying it with exaggerated curiosity. "Ohh...and what's this? I wonder what it does..." Even as Leder tried to rise, Eric was on him, stabbing the syringe into his throat and depressing the plunger. "Say goodnight, Gracie..." he crooned as he released Leder to fall limply to the ground, waiting until the Snake was still before he retrieved the keys and got out of there.

Once again Dorsett was roused from sleep--not by the pounding on the door but a grip on his shoulder, shaking him till he came up from uneasy sleep. He focused on Eric before him, an Eric looking frayed around the edges but otherwise whole, his hand tightening on Dorsett's shoulder to give him another shake.

"Michael--where's Michael?" demanded Eric.

"Michael...?" repeated Dorsett dumbly, struggling to remember who "Michael" was...and sagging as he realized it was the name of the one Eric had told him to save. "He's at the hospital."

"How is--" Eric broke off at the bleak look in Dorsett's eyes and hauled Dorsett to his feet, fingers curling tight in the material of Dorsett's shirt. He couldn't be too late, he just couldn't-- "Take me to him," he whispered.

Nodding, Dorsett reached up to uncurl Eric's fingers from his shirt, not meeting the young man's eyes as he led the way.

He lay on a stretcher, a white sheet drawn up just past his waist, the pale skin of his chest streaked with blood and a tube extruding from below his ribs, another tube inserted between his lips. His eyes were partially closed, showing a hint of white, and pale features were slack, as expressionless in death as he had been in life.

Eric reached out a trembling hand to touch Michael's cheek and halted short of contact, clasping his hands together. From behind him Dorsett stepped closer and spoke in a soft, hushed voice. "They did what they could...but it was too late. There was damage to one of the arteries and he bled out--"

Eric nodded slowly, knowing that if he touched Michael, he would see what they had done to save him...efforts that were not enough. Efforts that hadn't been enough to save Shelly either--

"Eric..." He turned his head as Dorsett laid a hand on his shoulder and drew in a deep breath before stepping up to the stretcher. He slid one arm underneath Michael's knees and the other around his shoulders, lifting him gently from the stretcher and turning to face Dorsett. A frown creased the older man's brow as he asked, "What are you doing?"

"I have to get him out of here," said Eric softly. Before the Section tracked Michael down...and took him away. The Section would realize quickly what a weapon it had...and exploit it ruthlessly. And that was something Eric was determined to stop. He had failed to save Michael's life...but his soul...that was still there. There was still the possibility that could be saved... "Please," he said to Dorsett.

Heaving a sigh, Dorsett nodded and went to the door of the morgue. "I'll...distract them or something." He shook his head as he went to do just that, providing Eric with the opportunity to slip out of there, Michael in his arms.

His first impulse had been to take Michael to his apartment, but he'd known that it would be one of the first places the Section would look. And so Eric had brought him down to an old quonset hut on the waterfront, laying Michael gently out on the ground and taking up position to watch him. Not at all certain how long it would take for him to rise, if it would be hours or days or months--however long, he would wait it out.

One day blurred into two and then three, as Eric waited for Michael's return. Prowling the hut restlessly as he waited...only to halt as out of the corner of his eye he caught a jerk of movement. Quickly he went to Michael's side, watching anxiously as his arms and legs jerked spasmodically, Michael's head lolling to one side. His eyes fluttered open to stare blindly at Eric, trembling hands lifting so that he could study them, and Eric extended a hand to him, but Michael shied back, confusion darkening his gray eyes as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

"What--what--" Trembling fingers plucked at the white sheet that covered him, pulling it up, and Michael lifted his head, eyes wide and lost as he stared at Eric.

"It's okay, Michael. It's me, Eric..." Slowly Eric inched forward, hands lifting to place his palms on either side of Michael's head. Licking his lips, Eric closed his eyes and opened himself up to Michael, letting him see what had happened.

He felt Michael jerk under the flood of images and tried to control what the other saw... but like a babe seeking nourishment, Michael drew greedily on the memories, seeking to restore what he had lost. And abruptly the connection was broken, Michael pulling away as Eric sank back on his heels, as shaken from their rapport as Michael, to watch Michael curl in on himself.

"I...remember..." His lean form trembled spasmodically and slowly Michael lifted his head to show to Eric the same visage he'd glimpsed in a broken mirror, the first time he had changed. Gray eyes pale and glittering in the white face, burning with the need for vengenance...as Eric had. "I remember...everything." whispered Michael, rising smoothly to his feet.

"Michael--" Belatedly Eric reached for him, but caught only the trailing edge of his sheet, Michael vanishing before he could even think to stop him.

Eric forced himself to remember the images he had received from Michael, going back to when Michael had first come to Section. He had to try and figure out where Michael would go. Eric's first thought was that he would want revenge on Section, but he reminded himself that he was projecting his own emotions in that regard. Michael was a different cat. He did things his own way. Methodically and scientifically. Emotions were easily cast aside by Michael. Only problem being that a Crow was pure emotion.

That was the other thing that bothered Eric. When he had touched Michael to give him the memories of what had happened to him, Eric had sensed that something was wrong. That Michael was darker than he should be. And in that moment realization occurred. Michael was not a Crow, he was a Snake. "Impossible!" Eric hissed to himself. He had touched Michael's soul. He knew that the other man was good deep inside. He should not be a Snake.

"It's not all about what should or shouldn't be," purred a musical voice.

Eric whirled to see the Skull Cowboy standing behind him. "What the hell are you doing here?" Eric snarled. He was in no mood to be preached at. But then he absorbed what the Cowboy had said. "What do you mean?" he prompted.

The Skull Cowboy shrugged. "Your friend is...good. But he doesn't believe it of himself. Mind over matter, Eric. If he thinks he's been a bad boy...then a bad boy he shall be."

"I don't believe that!" Eric shot back. "I was the ultimate bad boy...and I came back a Crow."

"You had Shelly's love wrapped around you, Eric. It was a part of you," Skull Cowboy explained. "You believed in it, and believed yourself worthy of it. You believed in her. That's what made the difference. Shelly was a good judge of character."

Eric refused to except this line of reasoning. "Michael loves a woman...and she loves him. She's good...pure. An innocent forced to do bad things. That should have made him a Crow."

Skull Cowboy shook his head sadly. "Ah...but does she believe in him?" he challenged. "That is...the question." That said, the Skull Cowboy vanished in a silver haze.

"Shit!" Eric muttered. He hated when the Cowboy popped in an out on him like that, but supposed it was only fair since he did the same thing to Albrecht. "Where are you Michael?" Eric wondered aloud. Then he headed for the door.

Michael did want revenge, but first he wanted to be dressed, so he broke into a clothing store, outfitting himself in black leather pants, a black t-shirt and a black leather duster. Black leather boots completed the outfit. Becoming like Eric wasn't such a big change for Michael. He had always been the Man in Black. What had changed was that now he was indestructable, the way Section had always liked to believe. The way he had pretended to be for so long.

The oddest thing about the change was how he felt. The guilt was gone, but his mind was filled with a million questions. Why had he been chosen? Michael believed that Eric had come back to right the wrong done to him and Shelly. But Michael deserved his fate. Deserved Section. He was not an innocent. Never had been. Perhaps it was the death of his own soul that he was here to avenge. No matter now. Michael had a plan of action. He would take back the soul of a true innocent. Nikita. He could not give her a new life, but he could make the one that had been forced upon her...better. Section One had turned into something vile. Nikita could change it. He would pave the way for her to do so. It was only a matter of timing now.

With a smile curving his lips, Michael stepped through the door and into the night.

Eric made the only decision he could. He headed back to Section One. Knew the path he had to take thanks to Michael. It was the only way he could protect Michael from doing something stupid and rash. Not that the other man was prone to such actions, but there was always a first time. Especially when the love of a woman was involved. And Eric knew, without a doubt, that Michael loved Nikita. That he would die for her gladly. Only now he could not die, which scared the hell out of Eric. That, and the fact that Michael was a Snake. That made him far more dangerous an enemy than Leder could ever hope to be. To Eric, or Section One.

From his station, Birkhoff saw something that nearly made him fall out of his chair. He contacted Madeline immediately. "Eric's back," Birkhoff announced.

Madeline was silent for a moment. Somewhat stunned. "Back...where?" she queried, her eyes flickering over to Operations, who was perched on the corner of her desk.

"Back here," Birkhoff stated. "He's at Egress. Area 13."

"Send an escort for him," Madeline ordered, then she cut the connection, swiveling in her chair to face Operations. "What would you like done with young Mr. Draven?" she questioned.

Operations smiled. "I'll trust you to do what it takes," he replied, then he exited the room.

Flanked by two operatives, Eric entered Madeline's office to find the woman seated behind her desk, awaiting him. At a curt nod from her the two operatives departed, leaving them alone, and Madeline gestured to the chair before her desk. Crossing his arms over his chest, Eric ignored the seat, moving to face her, and Madeline leaned back a little in her chair to regard him.

"To say that I'm surprised to see you back here would be an understatement," she said dryly, an eyebrow arching quizzically. "Why are you here?"

"Not by choice," responded Eric frankly. "I'm here about Michael."

"I see." Steepling her fingers, Madeline's gaze sharpened, her voice deceptively soft as she asked, "What has happened?"

Eric was silent for a moment, studying the woman before him for some clue as to how she felt about Michael and seeing nothing. Considered for a moment touching her and attempting to get an understanding...but realized that he didn't want even a second's glimpse into this woman's soul...if she had one. "He's...dead."

There was a flicker of something in Madeline's eyes, too quick for Eric to put an emotion to, and then gone, her eyes narrowing a little. "But not gone," she stated flatly. "Like you."

"Yes," agreed Eric reluctantly.

"Interesting..." said Madeline reflectively, her eyes going distant for a moment as she contemplated the news. In her eyes he could see cold calculation as she determined what advantage this would offer her and the ruthless master she served, sending a chill down his spine as she focused that cold gaze on him again. "Again, I'd ask--why are you here?" There was a note of curiosity in her voice.

Taking a step forward, Eric laid his hands down on the surface of her desk, leaning forward a little. "You had Michael in life. I'm not going to let you have him in death."

"Really?" Amusement showed in a lazy smile, Madeline leaning back in her chair and folding her hands in her lap as she regarded him.

"What he is now...he's beyond your control. You might be able to cage him for a time... but you'll never really hold him. Not again."

Madeline gave a slight shrug, her eyes hooding. "We have the means to control him."

Eric shook his head and pushed away from the desk with a sound of irritation. "He's not Michael anymore. He's...different." He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, remembering what it had been like when he'd first come back. Not knowing at first who he was or what had happened to him...not till he'd stepped through the door of the apartment he'd shared with Shelly. And then it had all come crashing down on him, nearly smothering him under its oppressive weight. If not for her influence, he would have been lost a long time ago...

"You couldn't really keep him in line by threatening his life--now...you can't kill him. You can try to dangle Nikita's life before him..." he added, mouth twisting at seeing her brief nod of acknowledgement to his intuition. "But what good is that if he decides that she's better off dead and with him, instead of trapped here?"

From the slight narrowing of her eyes Eric knew that he'd scored a hit, her expression smoothing a moment later. "You'll find him for us," she said silkily.

Again Eric shook his head. "No. I don't know why the hell I'm bothering...but I'm here to save you--Section--from Michael. And to save Michael from himself." It had occured to him that he could grab Nikita and take her away from here...but that wouldn't solve everything. With Nikita gone, Michael's focus might turn back to the Section...and that would prove his downfall. Hadn't been able to save his life...but Eric would do what he could to save his soul.

"I think you are forgetting what we have against you," said Madeline.

Eric showed his teeth in a feral smile. "I'm not forgetting--I've taken care of it. My friends are somewhere that you can't reach them." It had taken far too much precious time to convince Albrecht to go underground but he'd managed it, knowing that Albrecht wouldn't have any real trouble convincing Darla to come, along with Sarah. "I'm not here to play Let's Make a Deal. You don't want my help...then I'm out of here." At her silence, Eric shrugged and turned to go for the door, pausing to toss over his shoulder. "Of course you know as well as I do the first person he's going to see as a threat to Nikita. And I'm sure you know how Michael will deal with that threat." Continued silence and Eric moved to the door, only to stop at Madeline's soft call.

Slowly he turned back to face her, Madeline rising from behind her desk to move around it. "You want something from us."

The knot of tension between his shoulders loosened a little. "Just a little cooperation. Access to certain resources. And your promise that you'll let me deal with him."

"Certainly," said Madeline smoothly.

Eric blinked at her quick agreement, eyes narrowing as he studied her but there was nothing to read in her expression or eyes...and he was more certain than ever that he did not want to try to pick up anything from her by touching her. "One more thing, Madeline. If I were you, I'd start being very concerned about Nikita's health right now. She's probably the only thing that keeps Michael balanced right now." And with that he stepped out the door.

It was easy for Michael to gather what he needed. Across the world there were hundreds of safehouses for operatives in the field, where they could connect with the Section, send communiques and receive debriefs, plus any supplies they might be needing. Michael had made a point in the past to locate those seldom used, in case he would need an anonymous place to hole up, and it was to one of them he went now, to retrieve the intel he would need. Access to the intel was difficult to get but not impossible--he wouldn't ever be on Birkoff's level but he'd learned enough over the years to be formidable in his own right.

Trying to remove Nikita from the Section was impossible. Section wouldn't let her go, they'd hunt her for the rest of her days. He could stay beside her, try to protect her, but eventually someone would make it past his guard and Nikita would die. And so she'd have to stay with Section. But that didn't mean he couldn't remove those that were a direct threat to her life and soul...

Take out Operations. And Madeline if she was elected his successor.

Operations' home address was among the intel he'd seized. He would observe the other man's daily routine and determine the best time to take him. Kill him. Destroy him as he'd destroyed so many others. Tear him limb from limb--

Michael shook his head to clear those dark thoughts from it but he could not suppress the small dark voice that spoke in his head. That urged him to make Operations suffer as he had...

Shivering, he stood still as a statue in the shadows, watching as Operations emerged from a limo to stride up the sidewalk to his house.

Operations entered his house and headed straight for the livingroom. There was a wet bar in the corner and he poured himself a liberal amount of Scotch. It had been a trying day. He was still replaying his conversation with Madeline over in his head. The things she had told him about Michael, and the deal she had agreed to with Eric. Of course, they would only be using Eric to get to Michael. Both men would end up in Section's possession in the end.

So wrapped up was he in his thoughts and in the taste of the Scotch as he rolled it on his tongue, Operations did not see, or sense, the shadow that entered the room. Too late he realized that he was not alone. In the blink of an eye he fell into darkness, but he saw the face of death staring down at him. Michael.

Nikita was worried. She had spent a frustrating ten minutes trying to get information out of Madeline. Something was wrong with Michael, Nikita could feel it. A part of her was afraid that he was dead. Tears filled her eyes at the thought and she headed for the exit. Once outside, Nikita began walking. She walked for hours, finally ending up in a park near her apartment. For a time she watched children playing, but that only made her sadder. As Nikita forced herself to rise, intending to head home, she sensed a presence. She turned and gasped. "Eric..."

"I need your help," he whispered, reaching out to Nikita to draw her into the shadows. The moment Eric made contact with Nikita's hand he saw a flash of images. Her and Michael making love. The two of them working as a team in spite of their differences. Love and hate at war with each other. Nikita loved Michael, but sometimes she didn't like him much. But the love would win out, Eric knew. He was counting on it to save Michael's life. To safe Nikita's life as well. Eric knew that giving a choice between Michael and Nikita, Section One would choose Michael every time.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Nikita hissed, even as she followed Eric. From the moment she had meant the young man, Nikita had felt drawn to him in some way. She knew that he understood her better than she understood herself. A part of Nikita needed Eric to make sense of her confusion. But she had thought he was gone for good. "Section will be looking for you," Nikita warned.

Eric smiled, but it was a cold curve of his lips. "They already found me," he allowed. "Or...rather...I found them." Eric shook his head and raised a hand to stall Nikita's questions. "All that matters right now is Michael," he said, gazing deep into Nikita's eyes. "He needs you."

Nikita felt relief wash over her. "Then...he's alive."

"More or less," Eric replied, honestly.

"What the hell does that mean?" Nikita shot back, as a chill crept over her spine.

Eric pulled her away. Time was of the essance now. "I'll explain later," he promised. "Right now...we have to save Michael's soul."

Nikita dug in her heels, coming to a stop. "I'm not sure he has a soul to save," she whispered.

"He does," Eric assured her, and he touched Nikita's face to let her see Michael's love and torment. It took only a moment, and Eric caught Nikita when her knees buckled. Then he waited.

"Let's go," Nikita decided in a heartbeat. Determination and tears glittered in her eyes and she followed in Eric's wake.

He sat in a chair, arms and legs bound cruelly tight to it, rough rope drawn across his chest to keep him upright, the inner flesh of his wrists red and abraded from the rough rope. Somewhere there was the monotonous drip-drip of water, unnaturally loud in the sudden silence--or maybe it wasn't water at all. Maybe it was blood, blood from poor Jeffries drip-dripping as the young soldier hung from his ankles. With an effort, he turned that thought aside, focusing blearily on the person that stood before him, his vision slowly clearing.

And with a jolt Operations realized that it was Michael who stood before him, not the VC interrogator that had worked so diligently to break him. That he was not in a thatched hut, with rough-hewn planking beneath his feet, but in what looked to be a basement. Cement walls around him, a pipe running overhead, moisture leaking from its smooth surface providing the drip-drip he'd heard. Strapped into the chair that held him and securely restrained, as he found when he made a single effort to rise, subsiding to give Michael an icy glare as the younger man stepped closer.

"Well?" he rasped, resisting the urge to wet dry lips.

Michael came to a halt before him and Operations felt a chill go down his spine at seeing the dark fury in the younger man's normally unexpressive eyes. He had seen Michael give vent to that fury that lurked somewhere deep inside him perhaps twice... and both those times there had been someone--or something--that had pulled Michael back from the abyss, from allowing the rage to utterly consume him. But now--

Michael's hand reached for him only to halt just inches away, a tremor going through him as fingers curled into fist, and he took a step back from Operations, forcing fingers to uncurl and averting his eyes from the challenge in Operations' pale ones. Despite the older man's show of antagonism, he could smell the fear underneath it--fear...fear of him. A fear that the...thing...that lived inside him drank in greedily, drawing strength from the other's fear.

Kill him, whispered the Crow in a sibilant hiss. Do it. Do it now. You know you want to...

In his hand he could feel the cold metal of his gun, his fingers molding to it, knowing it as intimately as a lover. He didn't even remember drawing it but here it was, a familiar weight in his hand, an extension of himself, as much a part of him as an arm or leg.

He deserves to die...

Michael shuddered as the words were whispered seemingly in his ear. Could almost feel an arm sliding across his shoulders, the press of a body against his and the Crow's warm breath in his ear as it spoke to him. He's taken from you everything that you've loved. Everything that you've held dear. Your sister...Simone... A brush of fingers along his cheek and then the Crow's whisper. Adam... Another shudder coursed through him, the words striking a deep chord as the Crow had known it would. After all, the Crow was a part of him...and who better knew how to hurt you than your own self?

He'll destroy Nikita, purred the Crow. He'll take her soul--like he took yours. Like he took so many others. He'll make her like you--just another killing machine for his use. And she'll be dead...just as surely as if he put a bullet through her head.

"No..." whispered Michael, taking another step back from Operations, unaware of the sharp uneasy glance the other man gave him.

Can't kill Daddy? mocked the Crow. Then let me do it. Let me out...and I'll kill him. He could feel the Crow's eagerness, the fury and hate radiating from it, its desire to inflict pain solely for the pleasure of it. A part of himself that Michael didn't like to acknowledge existed...and yet did. Kill him...and that bitch... An image of Madeline flashed through his mind, on her knees before him, his gun to her head. Kill them...and Nikita will be safe. You know that...

"Shut up..." whispered Michael, lifting a hand to cover his eyes, as if he could block out the Crow's voice.

Nikita...she's so close. She's just teetering on the brink. One step...and thar she goes. Past redemption...like you. Do you want that for her? demanded the Crow. Let me out... and I'll take care of it. I'll make it all better, Mikey...

"Let me go, Michael." Michael's head snapped up at Operations' order, the other man's eyes glinting as he stared at Michael. "And I might forget about all this--"

"Shut...up!" His hand came up to smash across Operations' mouth before he even realized what he was doing and the older man's head rocked with the blow, a thin trickle of blood coming from split lip. The Crow rose eagerly in him, drawn out by his fury and violence, and Michael struggled to hold it at bay even as he hissed, "I can kill you...right here, right now."

Operations' lip curled. "You don't have it in you," he sneered.

Grasping a handful of Operations' shirt, Michael leaned closer, teeth bared in a vicious smile. "You don't want to see what I have in me. You really don't." With an effort, he loosened his grip on the other man's shirt and forced himself to turn, striding quickly away from Operations.

Once Michael's footsteps had receded, Operations let himself sag into the chair and berated himself for pushing just a little too hard. For a moment, he had been sure that Michael would pull the trigger...

The door was closed but the doorknob turned under Eric's hand, allowing him and Nikita entrance to the hall. From its cool surface he got brief impressions of an odd mix of weariness, determination, and regret...but nothing from Michael. He went inside first, quickly scanning the rooms to find them empty, and returned to the living room, to find Nikita kneeling before the wet bar, picking up a small shot glass. She ran a finger along the inside of the glass to find it still wet and touched the tip of her tongue experimentally to her finger.

"Scotch..." On the bar was an opened bottle and as she allowed her eyes to travel down the length of it she saw a smear of blood along its surface. "Here..." she said to Eric, gesturing to the bar.

"Michael's already got here." Eric touched the bar, seeing Operations before it, drink in hand, turning as he sensed someone--something--in the room. And seeing Michael before the darkness took him...

"He's taken Operations?" asked Nikita with a frown.

Eric nodded. "We've got to go--there might not be much time--"

"Whoa!" Nikita caught his arm as he started to go past her and pulled him to a halt. "Time for explanations, Eric."

Eric pulled free of her hand with a sound of irritation. "I told you--there's no time. We have to find Michael and stop him--"

"Before he kills Operations?" Nikita shook her head, crossing arms over her chest. "Why bother?" she asked bitterly.

"This isn't for Operations, this is for Michael, Nikita. If he kills Operations, he's damning himself. Because once he lets the genie out of the bottle, it doesn't want to go back in. And believe me--it can be a very evil genie." He'd had his own struggles with his Crow...but Michael--as repressed as he was, his Crow would probably be even stronger. And newly risen he would still be confused, more inclined to listen to it...

Again Nikita shook her head. "I still don't get it--what's made him change like this?"

Striving to smother his impatience, Eric ran a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping as he heaved a sigh. "He died, Nikita. Died...and came back...like me. And now if we don't stop him, he's going to lose the only thing he has left t