The large cumbersome coffin was being carried into the chapel and Brian watched the process with detached indifference. At least...on the outside. On the inside, his stomach was churning and his chest was aching painfully.

Justin was in that box.

But...he couldn't be in that box. Didn't they know that Justin was afraid of enclosed spaces?

He watched the scene unfold. The minister went through the motions as Jennifer and Craig huddled together on the front bench, Jen crying out in despair as her ex husband tried to hold back his own tears, pain and regret etched deeply into the man's face. Molly sat next to Jennifer, holding her mother's hand and staring at the coffin as if it were some bomb about to go off and kill them all.

The next few rows where filled with Justin's family. The same family that had disowned him and refused to speak to him not so long ago. Justin would get a kick out of seeing them there now. All of them crying and blubbering like they'd lost their best friend. Guilt is a bitch, he guessed.

Justin's real family sat on the last few rows of the small chapel. Vic and Michael sat on either side of Deb, trying to comfort the woman that couldn't have been more upset if it had been her own son. Ben squeezed Michael's hand, being the ever-supportive one, knowing that his lover was simply holding it all together for Deb. Emmett was going on, what appeared to be, his fifth hankie in the last hour and Ted had him in his arms, trying to comfort his friend as best he could. Melanie and Lindsay both sitting there misty-eyed, staring straight ahead. Both of the women where still recovering from the shock of it all, much like he was. Gus had wanted to come and see Justin, but the girls had been adamant that this funeral would not be the one that introduced their son to the concept of death. Not Justin's funeral. It was all too...close.

Many of Justin's classmates, from both St. James and PIFA, filled the rest of the seats and the rest all stood around the perimeter of the room. All of them staring in a daze, unable to believe that one of their own - someone no older than them, with such a bright future ahead of him - was now gone.

"...now if anyone would like to say a word or two..."

Brian was up before the minister could finish his sentence. He had no idea where the urge had come from, but he knew...he had to say something.

Standing at the podium, he stared out into the massive crowd that seemed to choke the small church. All eyes were upon him, minus Jennifer and Craig, who were still caught up in their grief. The others stared at him - some worried that he might say something he shouldn't, others worried that he might embarrass himself and the rest of them. Little did they know...

"Justin..." he faltered for a moment, the words caught in his throat. "Justin...Taylor...was more than just a great friend...to so many of us. He was an amazing person. No, he wasn't perfect. He would be the first one to tell you that. But he had a heart bigger than any of us could imagine. And he proved it time and time again. Forgiving the unforgivable," I glance at Craig, but the words aren't just for him. They're for Hobbs and for himself and for everyone that ever slighted Justin, the list too long to recount. "and loving the unlovable." Now...that was all Brian.

"And we..." He looked down at the box that sat in front of him and swallowed with great difficulty. "We all loved him too. We just...didn't tell him. Show him. Enough. I loved you, Justin," he whispered, forgetting the small microphone that invaded his space. Finally, it was Jen's pitiful wail that brought him back. But...he still had to say goodbye.

They'd left the casket closed, due to so much structural damage. No one could have beared to see him that way. But...he'd already seen it all. Lifting the lid of the heavy, ornately carved, wooden box, Brian placed his hand over Justin's, where it was laying on his stomach. Ignoring the shocked gasps all around him, he closed his eyes and opened them for one final look at the man he loved.

Only...it wasn't Justin. Instead, Brian saw himself lying in the casket, deathly pale and staring up at him, grinning wickedly. "What good are you doing here?" The corpse asked cryptically his hands shooting out to grab him.

Brian awoke as he rolled off of the sofa and landed on the cold floor with a thud. "Shit!" he swore softly, his breath coming in loud gasps. "Fucking nightmare!"

He automatically padded across the loft toward the kitchen and stiffly poured himself a drink. He was sweating as though he had just run a marathon, but he couldn't even tell as the core of his being felt frozen and numb.

That was the fifth time he had been subjected to the same nightmare, he realized as he threw back a shot of Beam, the burning rush of the bourbon not even giving him pause. Everything seemed accurate enough, right up until the casket fiasco. Maybe he should have actually done that. Then maybe he could have been having nightmares about seeing Justin lying there instead of himself. Of course...he had THAT dream too. That was dream number one actually.

He could only assume that it was the impending anniversary of Justin's death that was bringing the nightmares about. In exactly one day it would be one year ago that he had found Justin.

When he had rushed into Justin and Monty's apartment, he had found no trace of either man. Until he had gotten to the bedroom. For some reason he had been afraid to check in there for fear he might see something he really didn't want to see. And...as it turned out, he had been right.

Sprawled out in the middle of the large bed was Justin. Or...what he could have only assumed was Justin. The body had fit the description, the blonde hair was just the right shade. But the face... All gone with a gun in the mouth. It had been a gory scene and it had taken a great deal of deep breathing to keep himself from throwing up.

He had called 911, not sure who to ask for. The ambulance would have been fairly redundant and...what could a cop do? So he had explained the situation and left it to the operator to dispatch the proper unit.

He had gone about everything as detached as humanly possible. But...that was his lover. That was his Justin, lying there. A small gun curled in his limp fingers and a suicide note folded neatly and placed upon the bedside table.

The scene haunted him. The image of his lifeless, disfigured love, forever to be with him. But it was the note that was driving him on. Keeping him going on his impossible quest.

To Whom It May Concern,

If you find this letter, please see that it's delivered to my mother, Jennifer Taylor.

Mom, please remember that I love you. Thank you for always doing what you thought was right. Tell Molly I love her and...don't let her think too badly about her big brother. Oh - and tell dad that I forgive him. And I love him too.

Deb, you were like a second mother to me. Thank you for always keeping the door open for me when I needed it. Vic - take care of Deb and everyone else but most of all yourself. You're our role model - our mentor - and you'll have to be there for Gus and Mol when they're old enough to need you too.

To the gang (Em, Michael, Ted, etc...) You accepted me and were my brothers for many years. Thank you for the good times and the bad but mostly for all the in-betweens that made life what it was.

Mel and Lindsay, I love you both. You were wonderful teachers and friends and you let me into your lives without question and gave me yet another family that I could call my own. Take care of Gus. Make sure he doesn't forget me.

Finally...Brian... I know that nothing I can possibly say will be sufficient in expressing what you've meant to me. But thank you...for my life.

I am sorry that I must do this to you all. But...Monty...has gone. He left me today. And I can't imagine a life without him. Nor do I want to have to.

My love to you all,

Justin

From beginning to end, the letter didn't sit well with Brian. Not only because it was Justin's final farewell, but because it didn't SOUND like a suicide letter.

The others thought he was simply holding too tightly to the past. And to the regrets he wasn't supposed to be feeling. But he knew Justin. Well enough to know that something was off with the whole situation.

Why, for one, would Justin promise to leave Monty and live with him and then kill himself after Monty walked out? None of it added up. And to the detriment of his health, both mental and physical, as well as pissing off Vance with his accumulating absences from work, Brian had taken all measures possible and pursued every avenue he could think of to figure out even where to begin.

All he had been able to come up with, was that Justin had been murdered. And if that was the case, Brian wasn't going to rest until it was over. Until he found out what really happened and someone was made to pay for taking Justin away from him.

***

Justin groaned as he finished his last sit up and flopped back onto the mat behind him. It had been quite a full day of training - weapons, hand-to-hand, tactical and...French lessons - and he was now content to simply stare at the blank grey ceiling above him.

There was something to be said about the sedate colors that adorned Section's walls. At first, he had passed them off as boring and bland. Nothing that he would care to look at for an extended amount of time. But, after months of doing little more than staring at those same walls, they became his mind's only real exit. The blacks, whites and steel greys were just sterile enough to aid him in clearing his mind when he needed to and he had become rather good at meditation.

These days, getting out of his body, even for a brief moment, was the only way he got out of Section. He had been outside very few times in the past year and each time he was accompanied by several armed guards that would watch his every movement, listen to every word he spoke, and report everything back to Nikita. All in the name of protecting their own little asylum.

"Hey Justin," he heard one of the other recruits call out to him as he entered the training room, a small polite smile on his face. Billy was new. They had brought him in two months before and had yet to break him of his hopes of leaving. Thus he still smiled at life. Still marveled at another day of being alive.

Justin was no longer that naive nor that lucky. He had seen enough, learned enough from Nikita, that any innocence he might have still maintained after his first twenty years on earth, had been whittled away to near nothingness.

"Hey," he replied shortly, not wanting or caring to make friends with his fellow inmate.

"Wanna spar? I have some time to kill before George comes back in," Billy said, referring to the operative that had been assigned to train him.

Justin eyed the other man wearily. Could it be a test? Section had a lot of those. Tests, they called them. Another name for mind-games. He wouldn't put it past the lot of them to have gone through that much trouble, simply to trip him up - making him believe that Billy was just another new recruit. He nodded slowly and stood, meeting the tall, well-muscled man in the middle of the sparring ring.

"Just remember to take it easy on me. I'm still a little new at this," Billy said quickly, seeing the steely look in Justin's eyes. He took a slightly hesitant step forward and Justin took that for the sign to begin.

Without warning, the slight blonde simply crouched down and swept his leg out, catching Billy's own legs and collapsing the man back onto his back within seconds. Justin stood and bounced ever so lightly on his toes, not so much that anyone would be able to see the movement, but just enough to expel a little nervous energy.

"Wow...that..." Billy began as he stood up, scratching his head and looking slightly dazed at having been caught off guard. Before he could finish his statement, Justin had already struck the taller man's chin with his palm, driving his head backwards and sending Billy toppling to the mat once again, with the force of the strike.

"Shit, man!" Billy swore, agitated, as he staggered to his feet, foolishly opening himself up for another attack.

Justin drew his leg into his chest quickly and turned his hip over, readying himself for a side kick, but before he could lunge towards his opponent, Nikita's voice boomed over the entire room. "Justin!"

With a step backwards, he looked up to the catwalk above him and saw Nikita staring down at him intently. He couldn't read the look, but he was sure it didn't bode well for him.

Seeing a slight movement out of the corner of his eye, Justin realized that Billy was taking advantage of his averted attention. For that split second he actually wondered if he really was being tested or if Billy was just so foolish as to continue in the presence of their superior. With a graceful step to the side, a turn, and a twist of his arm, he soon had the new recruit in a wrist lock that could have easily broken his arm if Justin were to move forward even one inch.

"Justin...why don't you call it a night," Nikita suggested, sounding as if she were calmly trying to talk a jumper down from the window ledge.

"Yeah. Sure," he said tersely, releasing his hold on Billy's arm and wrist.

He got the feeling, as he climbed the grated metal steps and exited the room, that something was about to happen. Since he had been around her almost every day for the past year, Justin had gotten pretty good at reading Nikita's moods, but today he could tell that she had been holding back. And even now, with her stare burning a hole in the back of his retreating head, he knew that something was up. Something big. Something to do with him. And there was no doubt in his mind that his fate would soon be well and truly sealed.

***

"It's a bad idea."

"Okay... For the sake of argument, why is it a bad idea?"

"He isn't ready," Kelly repeated for what seemed like the nine-hundredth time.

Nikita gave the younger man a sidelong glance and smiled. "He's...quite beautiful," she said, walking around to the other side of Kelly's desk and leaning against the side. "Haven't you noticed?" She crossed her arms and arched a finely shaped brow at him.

Kelly pursed his lips and ran his fingers through his long blue hair. "Difficult not to," he admitted, somewhat reluctantly. "And though beauty is a great asset for an operative...it cannot make up for all that he lacks."

"What is he lacking? He's brilliant, talented...he's picked up on every aspect of his training twice as fast as the average recruit."

"I realize that. But his psych evaluation is much...messier than most."

"This is news to me," Nikita remarked disapprovingly. If there was anything she didn't like, it was finding out that information was being withheld. As the head of Section, she had to be aware of all factors, else lives could be on the line. Every decision was a crucial one, and even the smallest details could make or break the strongest unit. "In what way?"

Kelly sat in his chair quietly, giving her an oddly blank stare. One that reminded her all too much of his predecessor, Madeline. The one she used when it seemed that she was trying to read into a person's very being. Finally he shrugged, "He still has issues about violence, stemming from his own bashing."

"Funny," she smirked. "He didn't seem to have all that many issues when I walked in on him kicking another recruit's ass this afternoon. They were sparring," she clarified.

The younger man seemed surprised by the news, but went on building his case against Justin. "He is still very much attached to his family."

"So?"

"It's a weakness. It could be used against him."

"Kelly...we all have weaknesses." Nikita said, with a knowing look. A heavy sigh was all she received in response. "Well?"

"You know that I will not stand against your decision. But I can't support it either. If you do this, it could very well blow up in all our faces."

"He's ready," Nikita said flatly.

Just then, there was a rapping at the door. "Enter," Kelly called out. The door slid open and Walter trudged inside, looking a little too reserved as he tended to do in the presence of Kelly. "Yes?"

The old man's keen eyes snapped to where Kelly sat, obviously annoyed by the impatience he heard in the younger man's voice. "I need to speak with Operations."

"Of course," Nikita brusquely took the man's elbow and walked him out. "Kelly and I were done anyway."

"What was that about?" Walter asked, once they were a good distance away from Kelly's office. "The little shit looked like he was about to blow a gasket."

Nikita smirked, despite herself. "How could you tell?"

"It's in the eyes," he said simply, not giving any more secrets away.

"So what did you want to see me about?"

"Wanted to ask how the kid's doin'."

She stared at him for a second, weighing out just how much to tell him. "Fine."

"Uh-huh."

"What?"

"Fine? That's code for ‘something's up'."

She rolled her eyes at the man and they continued down the corridor until they entered her own office. Though sparsely decorated with a few plants and flowers as well as a large glass table that served as her desk, it spoke volumes about what her life had come to. It was so bare and yet so telling. She not only had to play the part, but she was beginning to feel the part of the cold-hearted detached bitch. And the feeling hadn't been sitting well with her for a long time.

Taking a seat in one of the high back chairs that lined the table, Walter sat staring at her, waiting for her to say whatever she might need to say. "Okay. Fine. Justin is doing wonderfully. He's extremely good at problem solving, he's up to four fluent languages already, he's gonna rival you soon with his knowledge of the weapons he's trained with so far, and ..." she paused for a minute, looking away with a rueful smile on her face, "he beats me more times than not in hand-to-hand."

Walter's brow shot up and he whistled quietly. "Sounds like he's doin' pretty good then."

"Better."

"No surprise there, sugar. You did train him, after all."

She could hear the unasked question on the tip of his tongue. But ignored it. She didn't want to think about her reasons behind training Justin. She was Section's Operations and therefore in charge of overseeing all missions and operatives. All activity in Section One. But...not training recruits. It was like a CEO training the new kid in the mailroom. Yet Justin was something special. He was different, she could tell from the start. And somehow she couldn't see giving him over to one of the many capable operatives to be trained like just another mindless machine. She didn't want to see that spark of life leave his eyes.

Of course, so far, even she had failed at that. With every passing day, no matter what she tried to do to prevent it, he was slipping further into despair. He never showed it, not directly to her, but she knew the signs. She had been there before, time and time again. It was the reason she had vied for his early movement into operative status. She hoped that maybe, if he could get outside, feel like he had even a semblance of a real life... Maybe that would bring back his smile.

With decision green-lighted in her mind, she nodded absently and began making a mental list of what had to be done. "Walter, I need you to ready a few things for me."

"Sure. When do you need ‘em by?"

"Tomorrow night," she said, scribbling a few notes on a sheet of paper. Handing him the list, the older man looked at it suspiciously. "Problem?"

"When did I become the wardrobe department of this little getup?"

"C'mon Walter. Help me out. It's either you or Kelly."

"Oh. Well if you put it that way..!" She watched him leave the room, intent on finding what she needed, thankful that he hadn't asked about the reason behind the request. But she knew that his questions would come soon enough. Maybe by then she would have a plausible answer.

***

"What are you doing?" Brian asked, a mocking smile in his voice.

Justin laughed at himself and grinned up at his lover, who was now standing directly over him. "Getting some sun."

"Okay," Brian snickered. "Did you remember to apply sun-block so that you don't burn?"

He stuck his tongue out and rolled onto his stomach on the towel that he had spread out beside the large picture window in the loft, making sure to shake his ass seductively before settling down again.

"Only you," he heard Brian say with a highly amused air.

"Well it's fucking ten below out there. And I'm tired of the pasty look. This happens every winter," Justin ranted. "Every ounce of color drains from my body and by the time summer comes back around, I look like some sort of ghost. Fucking Casper. That's me!."

"They do have tanning beds for these things, ya know."

"Brian," he began, exasperated by his lover's suggestion. "Do you have any idea how harmful those things are to your body?"

"About as harmful as sitting beside a window, moving every five seconds when the angle of the sun changes?"

"And how is that harmful?"

"Because if you keep flashing your dick and your ass on rotation, like you've been doing for the last hour, I'm going to have to ravish you."

"Ravish me, huh?"

"Yes. Thoroughly."

With overdramatized movements, Justin stood, moved his towel a few inches over and stretched out once again on his back. He closed his eyes and then cracked one open, waving Brian aside. "Do you mind? You're blocking my rays."

"That's it!" Brian jumped on top of him and began placing pecking kisses all up and down his body. Ravishing him, just as promised.

***

At five o'clock on the dot, just like every single morning for the last year, Justin's eyes popped open and he sighed heavily, feeling extremely confused and suffocated by his surroundings.

Then he remembered his dream.

He had been reliving a memory. The time that Brian had caught him sun-bathing in the loft. His teasing had provoked Brian and the rest of the day had been spent wrapped in his beach towel, in front of that large open window, until the sun had finally disappeared over the horizon and they began to get cold. Then they had moved into the bedroom, where they had proceeded to experiment with activities that might warm them both.

He hadn't only saw what had happened, he had felt it too. So deep within him, he had felt every touch. Every caress. Every kiss. And the warmth. Oh! The warmth that he so missed. The warmth that he could no longer achieve. Not here. Not in that place. And now...now all he felt was the thin padding of his bunk beneath him and the darkness that he usually savored, strangling him.

Before he could move to turn the might light on, his door slid open and the task was done for him. "Morning!"

He grumbled a ‘morning' in return and rubbed the sleep from his eyes quickly, in time to see Walter hanging clothing on a hook on the wall. Not just any clothes, but civilian clothing! Khaki pants and a dark blue sweater as far as he could tell.

"W-What's going on?" he asked quietly, not trusting his own voice. Could they be...? No. They wouldn't let him leave. Perhaps he was still dreaming.

Walter smiled down at him and he wondered, not for the first time, if the old man had some sort of mental defect. He always seemed to be in a good enough mood. Never completely blank-faced as so many of the other people in Section where, Walter reminded him of a question on one of Kelly's bullshit psych evaluations. The question that asked which element did not belong with a set ; cat, dog, bird, or shoe? Walter was definitely a shoe.

"Ni-Operations is taking you out tonight."

"Why?" he asked, his suspicions already raised.

The older man shrugged and smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in the slacks. "All I know is that she asked me to bring you proper clothing for a casual night out."

But Justin wasn't buying it. It was as if there was something else the man wasn't saying. As if he were stopping himself before he completed his sentence.

"Casual night out?" Walter nodded. "What time should I be ready?"

"Operations didn't specify. But I'm sure she'll let you know soon enough."

Still curious, but not really feeling up to prying the answers out of Walter, Justin nodded and stood, beginning to stretch out his arms and back from his tense sleep. Walter watched him for a minute and Justin was more than aware that he wasn't leaving. As if the extra person's presence was sucking all of the oxygen from the small room. "Anything else?" he finally asked, feeling a little like a zoo exhibit, being unabashedly stared at.

"Well...I just...um-have fun tonight. And...keep your eyes open, ya know? Always keep your eyes open."

"O-kaaaaay. Eyes open. Check. Anything else?"

Still smiling slightly, Walter shook his head and backed out of the room, giving a small wave before he disappeared down the hallway.

"What the fuck was that?" He looked back at the clothes that were hanging colorfully, like splashes of paint on a blank canvas. "And what the fuck is with that?"

Changing into his uniform black gi pants and nothing else, he set off for the training room, hoping to get in a few sparring sessions if nothing else. Maybe the new guy, Billy, would be in there again. Justin had a feeling that Billy might be more of a challenge that day and he was definitely in need of working off a little tension.

***

The phone was ringing. He had been wondering when the first call would come. They had all been dreading this day. And now... they were all going to try and clear their own consciences by making sure poor old Brian didn't do himself in over the whole thing.

"Brian! Brian, I know you're there! Cynthia said you took the day off! Big surprise," Michael muttered into the answering machine. "Look," he spoke, his voice softening, "I just wanted to...say hi. See how you're doing okay? I love you. Call me if you need...anything. Okay? Bye."

Brian rolled his eyes and remained where he had been sitting all morning. Right beneath the large window that had seen so many good times. He had gone to bed early the night before and the images of the dream that had awoken him around midnight had been with him all day long. He could still see him and Justin rolling around on the floor laughing, their limbs tangled up in an oversized beach towel.

He bit his lip hard, drawing no blood, but leaving a deep purple mark that was sure to be there for a day or two.

"What happened?" he asked aloud to the empty loft. He had been doing that all morning as well. Talking to himself. He had finally pulled a picture of Justin out of the drawer beside his bed and had set it up, facing him, on the coffee table. Now...he was speaking to it. Which, he admitted, was no less bizarre, but it made him feel slightly better, having the image of the blonde's smiling face to focus on.

"What happened to you?" he asked of the picture.

Again the phone rang. Again he rolled his eyes.

"Brian? You there? Cynthia said you had taken the day off. Um...guess you're off...doing something...else." Lindsay babbled on, indicating that she was worried and trying not to show it. "Oh - Gus did the cutest thing this morning. He's also been asking for you. Why don't you...come over this afternoon and see him? I know he'd love that. Well...gotta go. My break's almost over... Love you, Bri. Mmm-bye."

He wasn't sure what they were expecting him to do. It wasn't as if he was going to go all Romeo and Juliet on them and kill himself too. "O happy dagger," he mumbled, as he pushed himself up and made his way to the kitchen. Passing the sink, he fingered one of the dirty knives that he had used the day before to make himself a sandwich. "This is thy sheath." He mimed stabbing himself in the center of his chest and then laughed as he realized he would have to play Juliet. "Little fucker," he said, filling a glass with about half an inch of beam. "Only he could make me into the weepy widow."

Returning to his spot against the wall, he swirled the amber liquid in his glass absently. He wouldn't get drunk. That would just be feeding the entire problem. He had actually done really well about drinking less and less lately. But with the dreams...

Just as he had put the glass to his lips, the phone's subdued ring, once again echoed through the loft, halting his movements

"Briiiiiiaaaan," Emmett sing-songed into the machine. "Michael told me you had the day off. I too have a free day. I was wondering if you might want to go shopping? Spend a little money on things we don't need. Or...a lot of money, in your case. Or...the gym? We could go check out that new trainer!" The offer was amazingly tempting, but the blue eyes staring at him from the photo told him he would be going nowhere. "Well...just give me a call, k? We can do...something. Byeeee!"

Shaking his head over the whole thing, he pushed aside all thoughts the perhaps he really was pathetic if everyone was going to so much trouble to make sure he wasn't...trying to...scarf it. He would start putting things back together tomorrow. He would. He would go to work and call everyone back and tell them to shove their good will calls, just like he always did.

But today was all his. And today would be spent alone. With his memories and dreams.

With a glass raised, he smiled at the photo before him. "To your health. Wherever you may be." He sipped the Beam but his eyes never left Justin's face, now distorted through the thick bottomed glass.

***

"Ready to go?" Nikita asked Justin as she stood patiently in his doorway.

Justin looked up from where he sat on the edge of his bunk tying his shoe and nodded. He stood and she was taken aback by the sight of him. Showered, shaved and bedecked in his new outfit, compliments of Walter, he looked just as he should. Like a young man about to hit the town.

"I've gone up a size," he said uncertainly as Nikita started her small black Mercedes and pulled away from the curb into the heavy flow of traffic.

"Pardon?"

"I've gone up a size...in clothing. I didn't think the sweater was going to fit." He picked at the hem of the elegant azure sweater and gave her a half smile.

"Of course you've gone up a size. Have you looked in a mirror lately? We actually need to start toning those muscles down a little," she said, making a mental note to restructure his schedule for less weight training.

"Why?"

"We don't want you looking like some muscle-bound freak."

He smiled at the mere idea. "I seriously doubt I could ever look like a muscle-bound freak. Besides, what would it matter if I did?"

Nikita considered her options. What was just the right amount of information to tell him so that he didn't get upset or offended? He wasn't the type to take kindly to someone controlling and manipulating him so blatantly as they actually were. As they had to. "Justin...you've been blessed with a beautiful body. And the face of an angel," she said softly.

"Thanks," he smiled and blushed, "but, ya know, I'm not interested in you...in THAT way."

Nikita laughed at his obvious ribbing, happy that he felt comfortable enough to make jokes. He was playing his role perfectly, whether he knew it or not. "My loss. But seriously...you are going to hold that youthful beauty for years to come."

"I know. It's a curse. I'm gonna look like a fucking teenager forever."

"Not a curse. A gift. Youth is often mistaken for innocence." He scoffed but she went on, ignoring his reaction. "Innocence...or at least the appearance of innocence, is a great asset. And beauty is another. You can get into places - situations - that a normal operative wouldn't be able to."

"So...you WANT me to look like a kid?" He asked, amazed and struck by the idea.

As they pulled up to the curb of their destination, Nikita tilted her head to the side and looked at him closely. He seemed jumpy but was covering it very well. "Let's not talk about that tonight. You should enjoy yourself. Alright?" He finally nodded and gave her a small smile. "Good. Now let's go."

***

After a delicious meal at a very quiet bistro, Justin marveled at the fact that he was actually in Paris. It was unbelievable. All these years he had wanted to travel to Europe. A whirlwind tour of every museum and point of interest that he could possible see. Nothing would be passed over.

Monty had told him they would go one day. And he had been thrilled by the idea. Later, with the idea firmly planted in his head, he had dreamed of him and Brian making the once in a lifetime trip together. Now he was actually there, had been there for a year, and he could think of nothing but going home. He hadn't even bothered to ask if he might be able to take a tour or something. What fun would it be alone?

Still, the night was a beautiful one and he was intent on having a night that was filled with more than staring at Section's walls.

Nikita had been wonderful company. She had been charming and funny and had told him several great stories about her childhood. Nothing too in depth, but enough for him to get a better sense of what the woman was all about. Though she was usually hard as nails in her role as Section's Operations, she had always taken more of a gentle approach with him. He found it difficult to think of her as his superior, as he had once or twice found himself listing her as a friend in his mind.

"We're here," she announced, spreading her arms wide as they stopped in front of a tall brick building. The building itself looked ancient and at one time he would have taken note of the fine arches and amazing architecture, comparing its form and clean lines to something he had once studied in school. But now...he looked up and began pulling the building apart in his mind.

Three floors high. Three windows on each level. One main entrance, probably another in the rear. Sloping roof. All things he had been taught to take notice of and account for, so that no area would be a surprise to him, should he have to move through and/or leave the building quickly.

"Where's here?"

"I thought you might enjoy this. There's a gallery opening tonight," she explained, ushering him in through the front entrance. "It's for the students at the university across the street."

"So...these are student works?" She smiled at him and motioned for him to began looking around.

As he looked, he actually began to relax. He started enjoying himself and the art that surrounded him. There were so many amazing pieces in the small gallery. One girl had formed an entire series of life-size butterflies out of folded paper. They covered an entire wall and had a small fan blowing on them from above so that they all fluttered in the breeze, looking real and very much like a living rainbow.

Another piece was from a painting major who had been experimenting with color theory. The entire landscape of Paris had been done in complementary colors. So instead of the sparse greens that dotted the city, there were bright reds, making the scene seem to be on fire.

So engrossed was he in the works of what should have been his peers in the art world, he didn't even notice that Nikita had maneuvered him into a far corner.

"There's a small hallway behind this partition," she whispered against his cheek. "At the end, there's a door."

"What?" he asked, suddenly feeling the urge to run as fast and as far away as possible.

"There's a lock on the door. Simple key lock - easy to pick. Four flights down there's another hallway. This one has a pressure sensor. It knows when someone is entering. You have to get around it. Passed that hallway is a lab," she pressed something into the palm of his hand discreetly.

He curled his fingers tightly around the round disk now in his possession and felt fear and anger rise in his throat, choking him like so much bile. "You will place this disk on a flat surface. Any flat surface will do. And press the center. You will have exactly three minutes to get out of the building." All of this was said with a voice completely devoid of feeling and Justin wanted to scream at the woman for her seeming betrayal.

"There will be a car waiting in front of the bistro. If you aren't there in ten minutes...I leave. Be there in TEN minutes," she stressed, leaving no doubt that it was a direct command that he WOULD make it, or else.

Casually she turned and walked away, pausing for a moment to look at one or two more paintings. Before she slipped out the door, she turned and gave him a fleeting glance. One would almost think that she was as nervous as he was. Though he couldn't see how that was possible.

His training kicking in like an automatic pilot, he smoothly turned the corner and entered the first hallway.

The door lock was a breeze, as he used one of the picks that he had been instructed to keep in his shoe at all times. Four flights of stairs into the basement were taken on light feet, as he moved silently through the stairwell. The second hallway proved to be more of a challenge. With the floor marked with sensors, he knew there would be no way to judge where he may or may not step, short of ripping up the floor tiling. But that would be something of a moot point.

Noting that the ceiling was indeed open and the building's plumbing system exposed, he took a deep breath and jumped up, grabbing onto the sturdiest pipe with both hands. After assessing the distance he would have to travel to completely clear the sensors, Justin set about moving forward, hand over hand, keeping a steady hold onto the pipe.

About halfway, he heard someone coming out of the lab and swung his lower half up until his feet hooked onto the pipe as well. Shimming on arm up, he used the extra leverage to pull himself completely into the ceiling and sat completely still as he waited for the people to pass.

They were a man and a woman, both in lab coats and both looking quite young. Definitely no older than himself. But, putting that thought aside, he had noticed that they didn't have to enter a code to deactivate the floor sensors until they were right upon the actual corridor. That would save him about five feet.

As soon as it was clear, he dropped back down and continued on, finally swinging down onto the black and white tiled floor. At the entrance to the lab, he held himself against the outside door and glanced inside briefly. What appeared to be a dozen or so students were all working diligently around the harmless looking counter tops. Nothing more than a few beakers and a test tube or two, littered their work spaces. But it had never occurred to him to ask exactly what he would have to be doing when he was trained how to construct and activate bombs like the small disk that he held in his hand. He hadn't bothered to find out what the bombs would be used for.

And he certainly hadn't expected to be killing students. Innocent students.

Still...something in Justin wouldn't let him walk out without completing his task. So strong was his trust in his instincts that Nikita was on the right side. He would trust her. This once. And beyond that point...he would demand to know. To have explanations.

Slipping quickly into the lab, hoping to appear as though he belonged there, Justin kneeled down next to the first table he came to and reached up to put the disk on the top surface, next to a pile of science books.

"Hey! What are you doing?" A girl asked, approaching him from behind.

Justin stood and backed slowly towards the door, his hands up in front of him, the picture of innocence. "Sorry. I...got lost."

"How did you get in here?"

"Someone let me in," he glanced at his watch that was just below eye level. He had four minutes to get back to the bistro and he had yet to activate the bomb. "Lab coat? Dark hair," he said, remembering the man that had passed beneath him in the hallway.

"Oh. Dr. Krandle? Oh...well if he..." She looked a bit confused but no longer suspicious of him.

Taking his chance, he put a slight amount of pressure on the middle of the disk and felt the heat already radiating from the initial chemical reaction within the finely crafted object. Another Walter original.

Marking on his watch that he had exactly three minutes to get back to Nikita and just under two to get out of the building, he quickly exited the lab and sprinted across the hallway. As the sensors were activated, there was no alarm to be heard, but that didn't mean his intrusion had gone unnoticed. Soon he saw a glass wall descending to block the exit to the lab. With everything he had, he dropped and rolled beneath, barely clearing the small space before the glass sealed with a thud.

***

Justin couldn't get it out of his mind. As Nikita sped down the road, destination unknown, he stared out of the window. Fire fighters and police passed them going towards the gallery and Justin felt his stomach lurch.

"You okay?"

"All those people..."

"Justin... The gallery had just closed. Everyone should have been out around the same time you made it into the lab."

"But those innocent students... They were no older than me. What? Why did I have to do that? Why did you make me do that?" He asked, struggling to keep his voice level.

"Those...innocent students...were all very aware of what they were doing."

"What were they doing that was so wrong? Wrong enough to blow up half a city block?"

Nikita smiled sadly. "They were working on chemical weapons. Using the university as a front to fence their goods to the highest bidder. The distribution of anything in that lab would have resulted in thousands of deaths. If not more."

"So...kill a few to save a thousand? It seems -"

"Fucked?" Justin nodded. "I know. I know it does. But...the ends do justify the means. Sometimes," she added as an afterthought.

They drove on in silence, Justin not bothering to question where they might be going, though he knew it was in the opposite direction of Section.

Finally she pulled into a parking garage and they climbed a small round stairway to the second floor of what seemed to be a loft.

"Is this where you live?"

"No. It's where you live."

Justin was baffled. "What?"

She used a key and opened the door to the apartment door. "This is where you're going to live now." She smiled at him, though it seemed more a smile of regret than of pride. "You've done well. I've upgraded you. Obviously. After tonight...you're an operative."

"Wait... I thought it would be two years."

"You're an exception. There's at least one to every rule."

"And I'm the lucky little one," he replied somewhat sarcastically, feeling overwhelmed by everything.

"You could say that. Now, everything you need is on the kitchen counter there. Um...a new driver's license, credit cards..."

"But...what am I supposed to do now?"

"We'll contact you. It could be in five minutes or it could be five weeks. But...we'll be in touch. Your codename is Jean." She walked to the door and turned, a pained look on her face. "And if anyone asks...you've just dropped out of college. Gonna do the starting artist thing for a while."

"Nikita," he called out before she could close the door. She stuck her head back inside. "Thank you," he said softly. Taking a last look around the apartment, she nodded and left.

Taking a long look around the place, Justin was utterly amazed. They had managed, down to the blue lights, an exact replica of Brian's loft.

Quietly, he climbed the stairs into the bedroom, sunk down on the expensive navy silk sheets and curled up on his side. His last conscious thought was that they had forgotten Brian's smell on the pillows.

***

The next morning, Justin sat on the pristine white sofa and watched the news. Every channel was filled with images of the still burning gallery remains. Police had no idea what had caused the explosion, but they were assuming that it had something to do with the science lab that was located in the basement. It was being passed off as an accident and as far as they could tell only a handful of people had been killed. It was certainly a tragedy, the news reporter had said.

Justin had to agree with that. It was indeed a tragedy. Courtesy of Section One.

The phone rang from his desk, which sat in the exact location that Brian's sat, breaking the quiet of his new home. Picking up the cordless, he didn't even have a chance to say hello when he heard Nikita's voice.

"Jean."

To Be Continued...