"We are who we pretend to be, so we must be careful about whom we pretend to be." -Kurt Vunnegut

Chapter 1

She was tired. She dug through her purse and fished out a ring of keys. Blindly, she found her apartment door, shoved a key into the lock, and stepped into a womb of silence. She closed the door and stood in the still darkness a moment. She didn’t want to turn on the lights. Perhaps, in the darkness, she could forget who she was.

"Nikita?"

Her eyes flew open, but saw nothing. A hand brushed across her arm. His hand. His fingers trailed softly down her forearm, then across her palm, then loosely interlaced with her fingers. From somewhere in front of her, she could feel his approach; his breath tickled the back of her neck as he came closer; they were separated in all but their intertwined fingers, but still close. She was tired. She wanted to lean against his larger form and sleep. But she didn’t.

"Hello Michael," she murmured sleepily. "What do you want?"

There was a brief silence. He trailed his thumb across her palm hypnotically. She broke from him, oblivious, and went to her pantry. She didn’t feel his fingers reaching slightly to hers as she parted. She was too tired. She leaned against the refrigerator, closed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "Nothing."

"Why did you come then?" she asked, yawning.

He walked towards her slowly. "I wanted to see how you were doing," he said.

She straightened herself a little and lifted her gaze. Moonlight from the windows behind him accented his outline, but hid his expression. "Why?"

He glanced over her shoulder aversively. "Do I need a reason?"

Nikita blinked. A familiar disorientation settled on her senses, but only for a second.

"Operatives aren’t supposed to care for each other." She stated tentatively.

He looked away.

"You’re a level five operative for the most clandestine covert organization on earth. You aren’t supposed to care about anything, Michael." She smiled at him cynically. "Not even me."

He turned and studied her, his countenance grew more stoic as the seconds passed.

"You’re probably right." he said, turning to the door. "It was a mistake to come."

She stepped between him and his exit. "But then, why did you come? Is the mission going to be exceptionally hard this time? Do you feel I need a good reason to trust you? Is that why you’re here?" Her eyes were sharp and probing. She was angry. "You’re never going to stop lying to me, are you? I guess you just don’t understand me."

"There is a mission tomorrow." he said calmly. "But that isn’t why I came."

"Of course not."

He caressed her neck gently; such an intimate gesture she could not shake off, even at the height of her resolve. No, she would not be trapped this time. She wouldn’t let herself be . . . She couldn’t . . .

"Why . . . are . . . you . . . here . . ." she asked, using her best attempt at a demand.

He moved closer. Silently. He curled his free arm around her back. They touched. She was losing.

"I wanted to see you," he whispered. "Once more before . . ."

"Michael, what-"

His lips absorbed hers tensely at first, then he eased away softly. She followed him as he retracted, unconscious of the action. Her eyes were closed, but she thought she felt him smile slightly.

She gasped and sat up. He was gone, and she was alone. The same dream . . . She flopped back down onto her pillow and cursed herself for it.

Chapter 2

Michael, Nikita, Birkoff and Madeline quickly took their seats at the briefing table, and waited attentively.

He appeared from the side door they all knew led from his office, talking as he entered. "His name is Jeremy Logan," he began. He punched a button and a face appeared in the air between him and his listeners. "He was, up until a week ago, a talented American bomb maker and hacker employed by extremist groups in middle eastern countries for their petty border skirmishes. Seven days ago, however, Red Cell discovered him and requested his services for a more long-term project. Mr. Logan accepted."

"Six years ago he hacked into one of our outposts in Asia and obtained some basic information about us." Birkoff explained. "We tracked him for a long time, but could never get to him. He told us in advance that if he ever ‘disappeared’, it would have diplomatic consequences in countries we don’t want to touch. We’ve monitored every piece of information that’s been leaked to him, and none of it is too damaging, so his priority was eventually downgraded until we almost forgot about him."

Operations placed his hands flat on the table and leaned ominously towards the other members. "He’s been hired to destroy the Agency."

"How do we intercept?" Michael asked calmly.

Operations’ steel gray eyes cut across the table to Madeline then quickly retreated. "We don’t." he answered.

Nikita’s eyes drifted cautiously to Madeline, and noticed that she was not looking at either Operations or at the image of the target. She simply sat, hands folded in front of her on the table, with an expressionless gaze.

"Mr. Logan has assured us that any attempts on his life will result in reciprocity from Red Cell." Operations continued. "So our present course of action is to comply with his wishes until a weakness can be found and exploited. Yesterday, he contacted us with this information."

"What does he want?" Michael asked.

Operations turned off the projection. "He wants to see two representatives from Section at a specified location in twenty four hours. He has requested that they come unarmed, unwired, and alone."

"In fact," Operations continued, casting a calm, suspicious gaze upon Nikita, "Mr. Logan has specifically requested operatives Nikita and Michael."

Both pairs of eyes rose to meet Operations’ sharply.

"Why?" Michael questioned.

"We don’t know yet." His hawk eyed stare burned into Nikita with unbearable intensity. She called upon every fiber of her resolve to keep from flinching. Slowly, mercifully, he walked away. "Michael, I need to see you in my office." he said over his shoulder.

He left. Michael followed.

Chapter 3

Nikita rubbed her eyes, mentally recomposed herself, and slowly rose from the table.

"Nikita . . . sit."

There was an odd tone in Madeline’s voice. Nikita lowered herself back into the chair slowly, but this time, it was not force, nor rank that compelled her. It was sympathy. Looking into the woman’s dark eyes, and they looked strangely different.

Madeline’s gaze remained unfocused, as it had been earlier. The emptiness which had drawn Madeline’s attention must be, Nikita judged, a very frightening thing. "Operations" she murmured, "he . . . is probably arranging for Michael to kill Jeremy Logan after the mission."

A familiar apprehension settled in the pit of Nikita’s stomach. "Do you want me to try to stop Michael?" she asked uneasily.

Madeline was silent for a moment. "No," she said distractedly. "No." She turned to Nikita, but kept her eyes on the table. She stared specifically at her own withered hands. "After the mission. I want you to report to me."

Nikita relaxed. "Is that all?" she said.

"Yes," Madeline said softly. "That’s all."

Nikita watched her carefully. "Madeline, what’s going on?"

Madeline closed her eyes. A faint smile, a desperately sad smile, incomprehensible to anyone but the wearer, touched Madeline’s lips. "That will be all Nikita. Thank you."

Chapter 4

The house was elegant in its unpretentious charm. It was white, simple, but well crafted. It wasn’t small, but far from lavish. The steps leading onto the open front porch were white trim. The front door was mahogany, with a intricate carving decorating its surface. Even the doorbell was framed with an elaborate wrought iron casing. Nikita smiled as she touched her finger to it. Michael surveyed the New England property indifferently.

A butler met them and led them inside a room with large vaulted ceilings. Nikita removed her sunglasses to marvel at their beauty. She walked lazily behind Michael, absorbing all she could of the elegance of the rooms. They stopped in front of a glass conservatory, and the butler left. Two security men at the threshold of the room searched Michael for weapons quickly and then let him pass. Nikita approached. She couldn’t help but squirm as the men’s hands roamed her body. They let her pass more slowly, and not without a few smiles left on their mouths. Inside, Jeremy sat on a couch reading a newspaper. Nikita was struck by his youth. He looked no older than twenty three, she guessed. And yet something in his manner made him appear much older. He put down the paper as Michael came forward.

"You are Jeremy Logan?" Michael asked.

"Yes." he said, rising politely. "And that makes you Michael." He glanced at Nikita and smiled graciously. "And Nikita."

"Hi." she said, smiling humbly.

"We came as you asked." Michael said. "No wires, no guns . . ."

Jeremy nodded casually and reseated himself, ushering Nikita to do the same. "I know you did. Oh, by the way," he said, with beaming, humorous eyes, "this house isn’t as big as it looks. We only have one guest bedroom with a king-size. Will that be a problem?"

Michael sat with his eyes firmly on Logan. "What do you want from us?"

Jeremy shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "Not yet anyway. Nigel, show our guests to their room. Don’t worry. We’ll talk later."

Michael did not stand as one of the men at the door reemerged. "We have done everything you asked," he said calmly, resolutely. "Give Section what it wants."

"I’m not negotiating with Section. I’m negotiating with you." Jeremy said impatiently. "Besides, what makes you think I have changed my mind about my plans?" Amusement, too, crossed his face with this. He picked up his newspaper again, and withdrew behind it. "We’ll talk about the future of Section at dinner."

Michael rose slowly. Nikita followed.

Chapter 5

He heard footsteps approaching. Birkoff snapped his head in the direction of the sound for only fraction of a second before returning his eyes to the hypnotic blue of his monitor. "What do you need?" he asked.

"Give me satellite surveillance on the Logan property."

Birkoff stopped typing. He swiveled around in his chair and studied Madeline. "What?"

"You heard me."

Birkoff stared at her, forehead crunched in concern. The sound of her voice just then . . . He turned slowly back to his screen, refocusing his attention.

He cleared his throat and tried to bury the awkwardness he felt inwardly. "I thought we weren’t supposed to have surveillance on that site."

"We’re not. Use a commercial satellite."

Birkoff typed, and suddenly the screen beside him lit up. On it, an aerial view of a Victorian house centered in an open green pasture appeared. They both turned to it. A small, obscure object on the screen moved away from the central house and towards the flower garden behind it. Madeline pointed to the moving form.

"Enhance that."

Birkoff typed a few more keys and the object became a man. He glanced at Madeline quickly, but her stare remained indecipherable. The man’s face was focused, and Birkoff stopped typing. "There." he said finally. "Is that good enough?"

Madeline inspected the image carefully without speaking, and apparently, without hearing him.

"Madeline?" Her eyes were busy absorbing in the image of the man. Birkoff sighed. "What do you want me to do with this?"

"Nothing." Madeline answered, standing up straight again. "Thank you Birkoff."

"Are you-"

"What?" she snapped, her eyes focused on him intensely, subtly daring him to ask his question.

He retreated to his computer screen quickly. "Never mind."

She walked away. He watched her leave when he was sure her back was to him.

"Madeline," Operations called from across the room. She turned and waited as he approached. "Will you join me in my office?"

She paused, then slowly followed in the direction he led. They disappeared down a hallway together. Birkoff kept his eyes to his screen, but strained to listen.

"I reviewed all the sims." he said, stopping when he guessed they were out of earshot. "His death cannot be avoided."

"I know." she answered curtly.

"Madeline." He took her hand. She met his clumsy effort at sympathy with cold, disinterested eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words were hard to muster.

"I’m sorry."

She said nothing. She removed her hand from his and walked away alone.

Chapter 6

Michael was waiting beside the table as the host entered. Jeremy directed Nikita to the chair beside Michael and then took his place.

"Well," Jeremy said amicably as he fell into his chair, "Considering that none of us have much to be thankful for, let’s skip grace and just start the meal, shall we?" He picked up his spoon and dipped it into the soup.

"Tell us what you want with Section," Michael said immediately.

Jeremy looked at him, lowered his spoon and folded his hands in front of him on the table. He thought a moment. "What do you call the man you work for?" he asked finally.

Michael eyed him carefully. "Why?"

"Because I want to know what I should call him." he answered. "I wouldn’t want to use a name that might offend him."

"Operations," Nikita offered. "We call him Operations."

A poisoned smile crawled over the young man’s mouth. "How fitting. He no longer has a name. He has finally forsaken his own humanity." Jeremy leaned back in his chair. "Did he ever tell you why I’ve tracked Section all these years? Did he give you a reason why I’m going to destroy it?"

Michael gave no answer.

"Operations killed my parents." Jeremy said ruefully.

Nikita laid down her spoon. She wasn’t hungry suddenly.

"If Operations is in charge of Section One, then it is impossible for it to be a respectable institution. It has to be stopped." He sighed and looked away. "I wish" he said distantly, "that I could give you proof that I am right on the matter, but I can’t." He turned his eyes to Nikita. "But I know Section is evil. And I am going to destroy it."

Nikita dropped her eyes and folded her hands in her lap, unnerved by his stare.

"I won’t ask for your cooperation or your involvement in any way." he continued. "I called you here because I don’t want you to die when I destroy Section One." He paused. "I’m setting you free."

No one spoke. Neither operative looked at the other. Jeremy picked up his spoon and dipped it back into his soup.

"I’ll give you the night to think it over."

Chapter 7

The door opened. He did not smile as she entered, as was a customary ritual. Instead, he pushed a button in front of him, blacking out the windows of the balcony to outside viewers.

"You lied to me." she said softly.

"No, I underestimated." he answered coolly. After a pause, he added more gently "I didn’t lie to you, Madeline."

She was silent. The dampening silence grew more insufferable by the second. He wanted to turn, he wanted to do something, anything else besides stand with his back to her stoically and wait.

"Tell me how it happened." she said. He turned around sharply with surprised, piercing eyes. "That night, when you were in his room." she continued smoothly, "Tell me again."

He sighed and removed his glasses, polishing a lens with his pocket handkerchief. "I thought he would die in his sleep. Obviously, he wasn’t asleep."

She nodded reflectively. "So you turned on the gas and let him asphyxiate?"

"Yes." he answered, replacing his glasses. He glanced at her, agitated, then turned away. Her hollow eyes saw nothing. "Madeline, I-"

"Don’t." she threatened in a low, soft purr. "Don’t even pretend to understand what it feels like. You can’t."

"Any feelings of resentment you may bear . . . I want you to know that you made the right choice-"

"I said don’t." she repeated, fixing her eyes upon him with a burning stare.

"I didn’t mean for this to happen," he shot back defensively. "You know that."

Her nerves flared briefly. "So that makes it alright?" she said. "What do you want me to say? That I forgive you?" Her voice was rising in volume as she spoke.

He grabbed her shoulders and squeezed them tightly, his eyes wrathful. "Don’t pretend you don’t understand this Madeline. The greater good has to apply to us too. It's your job to understand-"

"What about your job? You didn’t do it back then. Now its too late-"

"This isn’t easy for me either, Madeline." he seethed, pulling her close to his face. "Don’t make me the enemy."

Her stare darted from one eye to the other. She waited a moment. "Who else is there?"

He paled, fear replacing anger. His grip disintegrated, and she pulled herself free violently. Under her vengeful glare, he looked suddenly very old and very, very tired. He turned back to the balcony, and gripped it, with his head lowered. Defeated. Madeline smoothed her wrinkled clothes and watched.

"Leave." he whispered.

When he raised his head, she was already gone.

Chapter 8

He just wanted to hear the sound of her breathing, the sound of life flowing through her body in time to the tranquil sounds of the late spring evening. Her head on the pillow lay so perfectly that unfamiliar eyes may have mistaken her for an angel of Michelangelo’s hand. But he knew better.

He knew a million days he had spent watching her: watching her grow, watching her learn, watching her fight, watching her love. At first she was young, raw, and innocent. She was unfocused and wild, but yet so passionately alive, he couldn't help but love and envy her. Still, she had to be trained. She had to learn, to accept defeat, to understand the meaning of "greater good": the meaning of Section One if ever it had one.

She grew up. He had taken her life away.

A torturous, guilty blackness creeped into his stomach at this thought. He closed his eyes and tried to drown memories in the enchanting rhythm of her breathing. He had a million bad memories to erase; more that involved her than he wanted to admit.

He swept a wandering strand of blonde away from her eyes with a delicate finger. He hated the loneliness; he was far away from the comfortable place where she slept. He would never know its warmth.

He didn’t dream.

Her head shifted on the pillow and he lifted his hand from her hair. How can angels not cringe at the touch of the damned? What could he hope to accomplish by touching her? Redemption? Justification? Love? He closed his eyes again, but could find no relief from these masochitisic questions. Her slow breathing resumed. It wasn’t working.

He squeezed his eyes painfully tighter. Ancient phrase crossed his mind. "Let he amongst us without sin be the first to condemn." Maybe this was his condemnation: a million nights of these unrequited touches.

Honor.

Duty.

He used to be willing to sacrifice his life for these words. Now he hardly understood them. When had they ceased to be the same? Serving a cause, dying for a belief . . . Duty. The word was a quagmire signifying both good and evil now. He purified the world at a cost to his conscience. If he could do his job to the best of his ability, he would have honor. His cause was just. He would be a hero . . .

Now he wasn’t sure. He was lost.

He watched her sleep.

Gently, he touched his fingers velvety to her cheek and caressed it. This simple, cleansing action pained and relieved him equally.

She smiled.

His hand froze. He studied the curve of her lips. After a short moment, the smile faded and a small, unintelligible noise escaped her lips. It was a needful sound. A request. Michael traced a finger down her cheek again and her smiled widened in gratitude. She nuzzled her head closer to his touch. Again, he was enchanted. He almost smiled. His fingers fell carelessly across her lips.

Her mouth moved soundlessly. He moved his thumb aside to see the words formed. Then his body froze. He looked at the angelic face before him, its serene smile, and was paralyzed. Her lips moved again and he clasped his hands in a silent prayer. He bowed his head low with shame.

"I love you, Michael."

He sat in the pale moonlight alone, hating Section One.

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"What we do here is ensure the safety of every man, woman and child in this so-called civilized world. There is such a thing as evil. It exists. It’s an insidious force that trickles down to innocent people. And when we stop that force, we save those innocent people." --Operations

Chapter 9

"Birkoff!" Operations barked, as he walked briskly across the floor of Section. Birkoff turned. "Have you gotten all the profile updates ready?"

He looked back at his screen quickly. "I’m finishing now."

"Madeline needs them." he said over his shoulder, never slowing his pace.

He nodded and turned back to his work. After a minute of typing, he paused. "Oh no." he murmured.

"What’s up?" Walter said, leaning on his chair.

Birkoff turned his screen up towards him. "Look at this." he said.

Walter examined the profile and his smile dropped. "Nikita?"

"Yeah. I know." He shook his head. "This can’t be right."

"I don’t believe it." Walter whispered.

Birkoff leaned on one hand, thinking. "He must still be angry about the Adrian situation."

"But she’s one of the best operatives we have. He can’t just cancel her for trying to defend what we stand for."

Birkoff shook his head. "There’s something wrong with this mission. Something’s been wrong from the very beginning." He got up quickly from his chair, and pulled a small CD from its drive.

"Where you going?"

"To Madeline." he said.

Walter watched him until Madeline’s door opened.

Birkoff froze in the doorway. She looked up from her desk.

"What is it Birkoff?" she asked, returning to papers in front of her. He was stuck by the softness in her voice.

"I . . . I found . . . um . . . I think I found a discrepancy in the profile logs."

He put forward the disk in his hand. She looked up at him. "Show me."

He inserted the small CD into her hard drive and walked around the desk to stand behind her. He brought Nikita’s file onto the screen. Madeline studied it. "It says she’s due to be canceled on this mission."

"Right." he murmured. "But look. She’s not an abeyance op. In fact, all her stats show improvement. I don’t think its right . . . It must be a computer glitch or something."

Madeline shook her head. "It was no glitch. Operations wants her dead."

Birkoff sighed. "Oh." he said softly. He didn't bother to conceal his anguish to Madeline as he looked mournfully at the picture of Nikita. He turned slowly to leave.

"Birkoff?"

He turned.

"Can you do something for me?"

Chapter 10

Jeremy opened the door to his study to find it already occupied. "Good morning" he said cordially.

Nikita turned, only for a moment, then recoiled herself into her chair and gazed out the window again. His expression was cordial, but questioning.

She smiled. "I had a nightmare."

He chuckled softly. "About Section One or about Michael?"

She twisted her body around the chair towards him. "What does Section know about him?"

Jeremy shrugged. "What’s important to Section One is inconsequential in the rest of the world, Nikita."

"I hate Section" she said distantly.

He squeezed her shoulder. "I know. I do too."

She gazed out the window again. "Is he capable of being different?"

"Of course. He’s still a person."

She shrugged carelessly. "Maybe . . ."

The study door opened again and Michael stepped through it. They both turned to him. Jeremy quickly snapped his hand away from her.

"Well," he said, smoothing his shirt, "Are we ready to begin?"

"Yes." Michael answered.

Chapter 11

"Wake up Birkoff!"

His eyes flew open and he jerked his head off the table. He rubbed his eyes and checked his watch. Eight fifteen. Someday, he promised himself, he would stop downloading games in the middle of the night and actually get some sleep. "Yes?" he yawned.

"Patch me into C channel."

Birkoff turned to Operations quizzically. "I thought C channel was inactive."

"It has live audio on the Logan house."

"I thought-"

"Michael was fitted with a microphone and tracker before we left."

Operations picked up a ear piece and fitted it into his ear. Birkoff studied him incredulously. "He doesn’t know it’s there." Operations explained.

Birkoff sighed, shook his head slightly, and keyed in the connection code.

Chapter 12

Michael got up slowly. "We have come to a decision."

Jeremy acknowledged this with a nod, and sat down politely in his chair.

"We have decided to decline your offer and take you back to Section where you will be canceled."

Jeremy raised an cynical eyebrow. He didn’t speak immediately. "Is this both of your decisions or just yours Michael?"

Michael gave no answer. Jeremy rose and began to pace as he spoke. "You know, this is quite interesting." he said. "I thought you would be the only two people in Section who would have the courage to defy it in the name of justice. Perhaps I thought you were capable of seeing Section for what it really is. I guess I was wrong " he cast a quick glance at Michael. Jeremy returned the blank stare being fed to him with one of his own. "You will not take me back to Section. I will not be ‘canceled’."

"You don’t have a choice" Michael explained patiently.

Jeremy smiled at her then walked to his bookcase. He removed several books and revealed plainly a knob attached to a steel baking. He turned the knob and removed a thick file from a wall safe. "This" he said, waving it in front of them, "is a file which chronicles Section’s activities in world affairs, and implicates Section One in the deaths of thousands of innocent people, my mother and father included. It also contains an incomplete copy of the infamous ‘Directory’ Section lost sometime over a year ago." He grinned. "You could take it, or you could kill me, but how would you know I don’t have a copy somewhere else?"

Chapter 13

"Christ!" Operations hissed angrily, gripping the sides of the table tighter. "We’ve been breached."

Birkoff shook his head. "I don’t see how. This almost impossible. I mean, I guess it’s possible that he could have traced some of our junk data-"

Operations pounded the table impatiently and began pacing. "Forget how Birkoff. He has evidence. He said he had a copy."

"I know. There’s no way to scan the house for a copy. You’d need someone on site to do it manually."

"A man as smart as Logan would not keep his collateral so close."

"Yes, he would." A calm feminine voice interjected.

They both turned around. Madeline stood stoically before them with her hands crossed in front of her.

"How long have your been standing there?" Operations asked.

"Long enough." she said as she approached them and stood behind Birkoff.

Operations voice lowered slightly. "Madeline, you don’t have to be here if-"

"Yes I do." she answered. She picked up an earpiece.

Chapter 14

"Your parents were never killed by Section" Michael said. "You made that story up to win our trust so that you could use us."

Jeremy pointed an angry finger at Michael. "That is not true!"

"You killed your two parents and then ran away from home. You disappeared, changed your identity and were adopted by a rich family. The police had no suspects after you-"

"Stop it! That's not how it happens and you know it. Section knows it!"

Michael listened to the tirade patiently. Jeremy opened the pale folder and pulled out a newspaper clipping. He slammed the article down on the table inches from Nikita. She jumped. She cast a sympathetic look to Jeremy’s pained face and then looked at the paper underneath his hand. Jeremy turned back to Michael angrily.

"Read that. Whatever information you were given by Section was wrong, a lie. Section One killed my parents."

Nikita unfolded the newspaper section and looked at the picture of Jeremy in the arms of an older woman. A man stood behind him. His mother and father.

"Please don’t make this harder than it has to be." Michael said.

Her heart caught in her throat. The paper in her fingers trembled in her unsteady hands. "No. . ."

"It already is harder than it has to be. Don’t make me kill you both for-"

"You will come with us, Mr. Logan."

"The hell I-"

"Jeremy" Nikita interrupted, rising tentatively. She looked at the picture. "Is this your mother in the picture?"

Both men turned to her, surprised by her presence. "Yes" he said.

Nikita looked to Michael. Terrified. "Michael abort."

"You don’t have the authority-"

"Forget the mission profile, Michael." She grabbed his wrist. "We have to abort."

He reversed her grip, and spun her around. She struggled. "Michael please . . . We can’t . . ."

"Nikita, stop." he whispered.

She struggled more frantically. "But we can’t kill him. We can’t-"

He grasped her tighter and pulled her tightly against him. "Nikita stop. Now."

"Look!" She held up the paper. Michael examined the picture and released her. He took the small scrap of paper in his hands and studied it carefully. They both looked at Jeremy.

"Madeline’s son . . ." he murmured.

Chapter 15

"Madeline’s son . . ."

The words echoed through the empty halls of Section One. Before he could stop himself, Birkoff swiveled around in his chair and stared. His eyes were wide and his mouth gaped open, but neither he nor Madeline noticed. She looked down evasively. No one spoke. Every question he had wanted to ask since the beginning of the mission were suddenly erased form his memory. Madeline’s son . . .

"Birkoff, we’re losing our transmi-"

A loud succession of blasts broke the silence. Machine gun fire. Birkoff turned back to the panel of computers in front of him and lowered the volume.

"What the hell is that?" Operations demanded.

"Gunfire." Birkoff said quietly.

"Who is shooting? Jeremy’s men?"

"No," Birkoff said, "ours."

"Excuse me?" Operations asked incredulously. Birkoff looked at his shoes, but Operations grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around roughly. "Precisely how did you come to the decision you could authorize . . ."

He caught Madeline’s gaze out of the corner of his eye. Birkoff was looking at her too. He had found his answer.

Chapter 16

Nikita ducked and grabbed Jeremy as she dropped to the floor. The window behind them shattered, and glass fell onto their backs. They watched as the wall on the opposite side of the room was quickly distorted. She covered her ears and scanned the room, looking for Michael, but didn’t find him.

"What’s going on?" Jeremy yelled to her over the noise.

"I have no idea." she yelled back.

"I thought I said no guns."

"I know. I didn’t know about this."

Another loud explosion shook the room and they covered their ears again. The large oak door on the other end of the house blew apart as a wave of black suited men with large guns strapped to their shoulders flooded the house. At about the same moment, a separate stream of men, Jeremy’s men, ran in the house from behind them. Nikita raised her head slightly to look again for Michael.

Chaos unfolded before them. The dark bodies of Section One operatives in black gear raced into the room only to be plowed down by the bullets of Jeremy’s body guards. Nikita rolled onto her back and kicked, swiping a line of Jeremy’s men onto the ground. She got to her knees in time to counteract a fist lunging at her face. As she struggled, another body guard attacked from behind, elbowing her in the spine. She fell and soon was immersed in a pile of three men struggling to restrain her.

She broke from the pile. A swift kick dispatched the first man. The second she had to struggle before a punch knocked him out. The third grabbed her from behind. She fought with him blindly. He stopped short and at the same moment they were both looking through the barrel of a gun. A split second later, the gun fired and the man’s grip on Nikita loosened as he fell to the ground, dead. She smiled briefly at Michael then rose to her knees. He didn’t lower the gun from her forehead. She stopped and looked at him curiously.

"Michael?"

His hand might have been shaking. She couldn’t tell. She didn’t trust her eyes. She understood what emotion lay behind their indecipherable stare: He was frightened. Comprehension replaced confusion. The unraveled mystery laid bare before her was a gruesome one that sickened her the longer she studied it.

"Nikita, I’m . . ." His voice was colored with an choking sound.

"Sorry?" she questioned.

"I have no choice." he whispered.

She shook her head sadly. "You’ve chosen Section." She looked at the gun again and then closed her eyes. She didn’t like looking at a trigger pointed at her. She didn’t like seeing Michael at the other end of the gun. "I didn’t think it would be you, Michael." she admitted quietly.

"Nikita . . . please"

"Go ahead." she said.

At first she heard nothing, and almost opened her eyes again. Then sound of bullets leaving the gun stung her ears. Two shots. She felt them puncture the air as they were released.

She opened her eyes. Behind her, two men fell to the ground dead. One landed beside her, and she recognized the face of Jeremy Logan on the dead body. Their was still a ringing in her ears, despite the silencer. He dropped the gun and looked at her. She breathed and closed her eyes thankfully. She was still alive.

When she looked up again, Michael was gone.

Chapter 17

As he entered, he was again unsure of what to say. He hated his uncomfortability with the woman he had known better than any other. She didn’t acknowledge his entrance in any way when he stepped through the doorway.

"The mission was a success." he said.

Silence. She looked up coldly.

"The house is being destroyed." he continued. "Section’s integrity is intact. We had complete containment."

More silence. He looked down at his folded hands. "I just thought you’d like to know." he said. He turned to the door, but stopped in front of it. He couldn’t leave. Not yet. "Madeline, say something."

He turned back around and found her staring steadily at him. The look in her eyes was something he feared more than the dark glares she could cast.

She was studying him.

Her eyes were completely void of any sort of emotion at all. She looked at him in the same manor she would examine a foreign object. He had become a stranger in her eyes. She never said a word. He knew that no matter how he asked, even if he begged, she wouldn’t. He even found himself wanting to beg her forgiveness. He wanted to win her back. But as he looked into her cold, hostile eyes, he was paralyzed.

"I’ll be in my office." he murmured coarsely. He trudged through the office door, humbled by an immeasurable weight of guilt.

Chapter 18

They rode back together, the only two survivors of the encounter at the Logan house. They both saw a Housekeeping team enter as they left. They both saw the elegant Logan mansion swallowed in flames from the rear view mirror. They didn’t look back again after that.

They reentered Section One drearily. He walked swiftly to his meeting with Operations while she meandered more slowly, somewhat aimlessly, through the dark halls of Section.

"Nikita?"

She turned and laid wearily eyes upon a familiar face. "Hi Birkoff." she said softly.

"Madeline wants to see you." he said. She nodded and turned towards Madeline’s office. He got up. "We were listening . . . to the mission this morning."

She turned around again. "You were? I thought there wasn’t any-"

"Yeah, I know. We lied. But we could hear what was happening for a little while. Kinda scary huh?"

She sighed and then nodded a little. "Yeah is was." she said softly.

He squeezed her hand. "I’m glad you changed the mission profile. A lot of us are."

She smiled. "Thanks Birkoff."

Chapter 19

Michael entered unnoticed. Operations attention was on the gray metal gun in his hands. He rubbed a white cloth over it, slowly.

"You wanted to see me?" Michael asked.

"Nikita’s still alive" he said, "isn’t she?"

"Yes." Michael answered.

"Why?"

Michael gave no answer. Operations turned the clip over in his fingers. Michael noticed it casually. It was loaded. "I could have you canceled for disobedience," Operations mused carelessly. He shoved the clip deep into the silver gun.

"You could." Michael agreed solemnly.

Operations shook his head slowly and gripped the gun in one hand. His finger snaked around the trigger. Michael watched cautiously, but his superior took no notice.

"What does it get us?"

Michael was silent. Operations turned the gun over slowly, watching the light slide over the shining barrel. "And what does it get us?" he asked again. "We kill the fathers and mothers of children and support serial killers and call ourselves heroes. And why? Because we know the most important, most miserable secret about life." He smiled darkly at the gun. Michael eyed the barrel tensely. "We know that evil is more powerful than good. That’s why we exist. We fight evil with evil in order to preserve the good on this planet. We’ve got the most damned responsibility in the whole world." he paused and released the safety catch. "What does that make us? What are we?"

"I don’t know." Michael said calmly.

He shook his head. "I don’t either."

Michael moved forward slowly. Cautiously, deliberately, Michael closed his hand around the barrel of the gun and tugged it free. Operations looked at him. "It isn’t a question for us," Michael said. He carefully placed the gun in his coat pocket. "If we question why our judgment is compromised and we can no longer fight, for evil or for good."

Operations stared at him. After a minute, he turned away. "Dismissed."

"And Nikita?" Michael asked.

He looked away wearily. "Your choice. For good or evil."

Michael nodded, then left.

Chapter 20

Nikita didn’t speak as she entered the office. She slid into the chair in front of Madeline’s desk with her hands knitted nervously together.

"He was a good person," she said into her lap. Madeline said nothing. "You would have liked the man he had become. He was strong, and smart. He had your eyes."

Madeline looked up, not unfriendly. Nikita fidgeted nervously. "You knew he would die from the beginning, didn’t you?"

Madeline nodded. "Yes, I knew." she said quietly.

Nikita looked away and bit her lip. "I’m sorry." she mumbled.

Madeline smiled. "It’s alright."

Looking into her brown eyes, Nikita knew it was a lie. However, she didn’t know what else to say. "Is there anything else?" Nikita asked.

"No. You can go."

Nikita stood and turned to leave. She stopped just before the door. "You would have been proud if him." she said over her shoulder.

Chapter 21

The door was unlocked and opened a crack when he arrived. He pushed it open gently and looked into an apartment filled with the low, flickering light of many aromatic candles. She stood at the threshold of her two big French doors on the opposite side of the room. Her back was to him.

"I thought you might come." she said plainly.

He closed the door behind him and looked around the dark room.

"It was in the mission profile for me to die, wasn’t it? You were ordered to cancel me."

"Yes." he said.

She turned around. "But you didn’t."

"No."

She sighed wearily and leaned against the window frame. Her eyelids covered eyes heavy with fatigue. "Am I still in abeyance then?"

He came closer and leaned against the window frame beside her. "You were never in abeyance. Operations thought you would be rebellious after Adrian, but he changed his mind. Section doesn’t want you dead anymore."

She winced as he talked, but couldn't bring herself to open her eyes. "Why do we do this, Michael?" she murmured. "Why do we hurt each other?"

He came slightly closer and placed a hand on her shoulder affectionately. "I don’t know."

Her eyes opened and burned into his squarely. "Well I’m sick of it." She shrugged her shoulder away from his touch. "I don’t need you to seduce me anymore to make me obey. I’d appreciate being treated like a person for once, not a toy. I think it’s time."

He replaced his hand at his side, but kept two keen eyes on her. He felt strangely relieved at her assertion, and strikingly proud. "Alright." he conceded.

She pressed further. "I’m serious Michael. I hate being the subject of your mind games. I won’t do it anymore."

"Is that what you think?" he asked softly.

She turned away. "I don’t know," she admitted honestly. "I don’t know what we are."

He was silent.

"I think . . . that . . . we should be . . ."

"Friends?" he completed.

She nodded and looked out into the darkness, out into the free sky. He studied her. The night’s silence impressed upon them a meditative peace. The unity of simply being near each other in a soundless place was more fulfilling than any physical love he had ever known. She reached for his hand and entwined her fingers with his. This single action brought the first smile to his face that he could remember. Maybe this was his redemption.

They stood there long into the night. Found.

The End