Author's Note: This story is dedicated to Madeline's daughter (Jenni), my online Mommy (Tracie), my friend living in a tree outside of Roy's farmhouse (Seige), Natasha, Pookie (Nikki) and my editors. The characters weren't mine (obviously), but the story is completey orignial.

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Chapter 1

There was a knock at the door. Nikita turned the stove off, leaving the popcorn to fend for itself. "Coming!" she yelled over the loud music pulsing from her sound system. She ran to turn the volume off, then jogged to the door and looked through the spy hole. Michael. [Dammit]

She opened the door halfway and looked out, straight faced.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

Her heart sank. She wished she could refuse him. Jurgen had been right, when he was alive: She was a slave to the gaze of his ever shifting green-gray eyes.

"Of course." she answered in the flattest voice she could muster, opening the door further. She walked to the stereo and pretended to busy herself while he entered and took in the surroundings.

"You redecorated."

"I know."

"It looks nice."

Nikita stopped what she was doing and glanced at him briefly. [What's he up to?]

He walked into the kitchen and stood over the stove.

"Popcorn?"

Nikita stood up and turned to him. She locked her arms defensively around her chest, trying to box in some strength. She needed it in order to force herself to spit out the thoughts in her head.

"Look Michael, I know you didn't come here to see my apartment."

He looked up at her, but gave no response.

"If you have something to say to me, then say it or leave."

She headed to the door, opened it, and held it open for him. He walked over to her slowly, stopping only a few inches from her body. His eyes surveyed her warming face. He put his hand over hers and loosened her grip on her door handle. Her hand dropped involuntarily and he pushed the door so it eased shut and clicked into place. Her hand was now soft and manipulatable in his. He drew in her other hand, and held them both close to him. She tried her best to keep her gaze stoic and locked on his face, ignoring her insubordinate body; she found this incredibly hard.

He placed both her hands on his sides. His hands grazed over her forearms, his eyes never leaving hers.

Nikita could now feel the slightest touch of his body to hers, and wasn't sure which one of them had moved closer. She fought viciously inside herself not to succumb to him. His hands, now on her upper arms, made her body shiver and she knew she was losing this battle for her soul. He had seized her heart once before and she knew from experience that it wasn't safe with him.

"We're going on a new mission tomorrow." he said in a whisper soft voice. (Everything about him was seductively intoxicating except the words spoken.) They shook her awake like a blast of cold water.

She cocked her head in curiosity. "I know. I was at the briefing."

He stared into her eyes intently. She tried to read his face for some kind of hint, some clue as to what he wanted from her, but even without the chilling ice-covered stare that locked away any emotion, he could still block her.

Michael, what are you really doing here? I think I deserve to know that much."

"Nothing, I just wanted to see you again before we left" he said. His eyes were so gently focused on her. The feeling of his eyes in hers was as soft and alluring as the gentle caress of his fingers on her back. All of this made it that much harder to believe the cruel accusations spinning in her mind, the certainty of her brain that his purposes were part of a darker plan. She wanted so badly to love him and yet . . .

Her thoughts of doubt culminated finally into words. "Why?" she said, calling upon every fiber of willpower she possessed. "Why now Michael? You had so many opportunities before to win me over. You think I'm going to trust you now after everything you've-" God, she still couldn't say it to his face [Everything you've done to me?]. She took the door handle in her hand again and pulled it open. "I think you should go."

He paused. He scanned her eyes to measure the sincerity of the order, and found it. He dropped his arms from around her and stepped away. He couldn't help but feel a touch of guilty pride in knowing that it was he who had made her this strong. The thought made him smile as he backed away to the door.

Nonetheless, he was disappointed he would never have a chance to tell her . . . He took her free hand in his and kissed it.

"Goodbye Nikita" he said. He crossed back over the threshold.

She closed the door, sunk to the ground, and buried her head in her knees, trying to make some sense out of what she had just done.

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Chapter 2

Twenty four hours later Nikita found herself sitting outside a dark building, clad in black from head to toe, with several other acquaintances from Section One. The purpose of their meeting had been explained the previous morning at a briefing: Red Cell had renovated the crumbling building before her into a chemical weapons laboratory. This run-down factory-type building was serendipidously located only blocks from her neighborhood, and hence, just a little too close to Section headquarters for comfort.

She had been designated a post on the periphery team to protect Michael as he snuck in to plant a bomb. An almost routine job. Her mind, aware of the simplicity of the task at hand, found time to wonder as she crouched on the corner of the building checking for stray Red Cell guards. Thoughts of Michael and his recent strange behavior floated aimlessly through Nikita's brain, like autumn leaves caught in a breeze.

"See anything yet, Nikita?"

Sudden words broke her thought pattern suddenly. "No Birkoff. Nobody's out here but us."

"Good." he said. Listening, she could hear the sound of his fingers sweeping across his keyboard.

"Michael, how much more time do you need?"

"Twenty seconds."

"Good. Do you think you'll need help getting out of there?"

"No. Send everyone back. I'm putting it in now."

"Alright you heard him, all teams back in the van now," Birkoff said.

Under the cover of night, seven armed shadows ran until they merged into one and then crept back into the black vehicle in which they had arrived. Nikita shut the door.

"All are in Michael," Birkoff reported. "Waiting on you."

Through the ear piece still in her ear, Nikita heard two silenced shots fired.

"I've been detected." Michael came back. "I'm going to arm the charge from here."

Birkoff sat up. "What? Michael are you crazy?"

Nikita's ears pricked up. "Bomb is armed." she heard Michael's voice say.

"Oh no . . ." Birkoff murmured, typing quickly. "He can't be serious."

"How long is the timer?" Nikita said, looking over Birkoff's shoulder.

"Not long enough. He's got about . . . ten seconds."

Her eyes widened. Ten seconds? "Michael?" she whispered into the com until on her head. "Michael are you there? It's Nikita."

Eight seconds.

"Michael, can you hear me?" Her voice said, a little louder.

Six seconds.

"Get out of there Michael. Now." [Please] Her voice was louder. She could hear traces of fear in her own demand. Her pulse intensified. She heard nothing. No sound came from the other end of the com link.

Four seconds.

She yanked the door to the van open, despite belated attempts by fellow operatives to restrain her. She burst from the inside and stumbled into the darkness a few steps. She listened. Crickets. Benign, innocent crickets chirped cheerfully in the darkness, in sharp contrast to the panicked chaos that was pricking her stomach, choking her mind.

Two seconds.

"Michael . . ." she whispered into the night.

Listening hard, she heard breathing on the other end of her com link. Her eyes widened as she heard his voice again.

"Nikita get away . . ."

A moment later, a burst of light and heat enveloped the sky. Night became day for one fraction of a second before a giant cloud of red-orange flame rose from the ground and swallowed the building. The sounds of an explosion deafened the seven people sitting in the van to the sound of Nikita's scream. A fellow operative grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and hoisted her inside the van. The door shut and immediately they were set into motion, back to the Section.

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Chapter 3

The drive back was silent. Everyone's eyes were intensely focused on anything but the shaking woman on the floor of the van, not that Nikita would have noticed any of them staring at her anyway. She shivered throughout the entire ride, not feeling cold in the least. By the time the van stopped, she had wasted all her energy and she sat limp on the ground, feeling nothing.

The door reopened, and each body exited one by one. Nikita stayed planted on the floor, still stunned. Her peripheral senses did catch fragments of a conversation between Operations and Birkoff as Birkoff exited the van and headed back to the main building of Section One.

"Did everything go as planned?"

"Yeah, just about. Minimal losses. The media will probably get a hold of this one because the building was in the middle of town, not something you can easily hide. We have a cover alrea-"

"Wait a minute." he older man said. "Minimal losses? We weren't expecting any on this mission. Who was lost?"

Birkoff sighed uncomfortably. Nikita didn't see it, but he shot a glance at her without even thinking about it. Operations turned too, and saw the back of Nikita's leg though the opening of the van.

"Michael." Birkoff said quietly.

All noise stopped. She could feel his stare on her. She didn't care. Michael was dead. She sat there, feeling dead herself, uncaring, as she was scrutinized by the calculating mind of that government bureaucrat. She didn't care if the god-awful man saw everything that Michael had ever meant to her. What did it matter now? He could have stared at her forever and she wouldn't have felt the least flicker of discomfort.

"I see" he said, and he walked on. Both men disappeared around a corner.

Nikita sat numb and lifeless, sprawled across the inside of the van for some time. She didn't feel anything. She tried to come to some conclusion about what she felt, and found nothing. Her mind kept turning the facts over and over, picking them apart and analyzing, like a scientist examining a specimen.

[Michael's dead. I am alive. He spoke to me. What did he say? Why did he do that?] The words came to mind in such a dry, sterile, objective tone that almost made her feel guilty about her numbness. After quite some time, the sound of clicking heels in her direction broke her thoughts and made her look up.

A soft woman's voice permeated the room. "Nikita?" The sound of the heals came closer and the woman's head leaned her head into the van, and smiled at Nikita gently.

"Hello Madeline." Nikita answered tonelessly. Her thoughts just hovering above indifference, but she did notice that Madeline looked nice, as usual. Her suit was beige, with a low cut but still professional neckline, and a matching jacket. She had the same elegant beauty that Nikita had always admired since her first day in Section One. At a time of emotional crisis like this, her radiance was almost a comfort.

"Let take a walk" she said.

"Where are we going?"

"How about back to your apartment?" she said, still smiling warmly. "You could use some rest."

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Chapter 4

They didn't talk until they reached the street, which gave Nikita some time just to walk silently, to make sure she was still in control of her own body. Her legs worked, despite her own doubts, which was all she needed for the journey. Everything within the last few hours seemed like a surreal, warped version of her already warped life. She was surprised to discover daylight when she reached the street. Had she really been sitting in that van so long?

She couldn't tell. She hadn't noticed, until she started walking, how tired she actually was.

Madeline spoke first. Indeed, Nikita was too tired to say much.

"It would appear that Michael's really gone this time. Its hard to believe. I didn't think I would live to see this day."

Nikita said nothing.

Do you want to know something about that building you were at last night?" she asked. Nikita shrugged. "It was the building where Simone died."

The name gave her a certain jolt of energy. It would probably forever have that power over her, even now that Michael was gone. "It was?"

Madeline nodded. "Red Cell's had that building for a long time. Simone was shot in there. Michael was overseeing the mission and heard the gunshot on his com link. He had to be restrained by four men to keep from running in the building and killing himself trying to get to her. He went in after the mission, but she was gone along with every trace of Red Cell."

Nikita hung on every word. "And what else? What happened to Michael after that?"

Madeline sighed. "After that, nothing. Michael shut down. For a long time, he associated himself only with death. He didn't talk to anyone; he lost contact with everyone and everything, speaking only when spoken to. He was a walking corpse."

Nikita shivered. It hurt having Madeline talk this way. It was actually painful to her senses. The sunlight on the streets seemed too bright, the sounds of bird chirping too loud, the sidewalk too hard. Still, she had to hear more. She kept walking.

"He felt guilty for staying alive. All he thought about was her. I've wondered even up till this day if he still carried that guilt with him. I guess I have my answer now."

Nikita disassociated herself with the words escaping her lips. The mouth was driven by a perverse, obsessive need to know the truth, despite the horror it might inflict on her already strained psyche.

"So this really was a suicide? I thought Michael cared about his own honor more than that."

"I don't think he saw it that way," Madeline reflected. "In his mind, part of him died a long time ago. He must have been looking for a way out for a long time. When this mission came, he most likely viewed it as a poetic and fitting end to his physical life: he had chance to fix what went wrong the first time."

[Doesn't seem all that poetic to me] Nikita thought sourly. [He's still dead]

The two women reached the front steps of Nikita's building and stopped. Nikita felt a wave of relief in seeing the familiar, cheerful setting again. She began walking up the steps, driven by a magnetic force that made her almost forget Madeline, still standing on the sidewalk.

"Nikita," Madeline said, recalling her attention. Nikita turned and Madeline walked up the steps closer. "There is a reason I am telling you this, and it's important that you understand it." She checked to make sure she had the full attention of her charge. "I tell you because I want to be sure we don't a have repeat of what happened last night. Michael was one of our best. It would be more than unfortunate if this sort of behavior became a trend in our operatives."

She looked down a moment, and that back into Nikita's face. "Also, I want to make sure that you know that death is not a way of life." She paused. "I don't know what you think of us, Nikita, but we really don't like when this happens either. Michael was a good person."

With that, Madeline turned around and walked back the way she came. Nikita stood on the step a second, feeling very tired indeed. She turned back to the building and opened the door. Almost mindlessly, she walked in, trudged up the stairs to her floor, found her room, and turned the key in the lock. She shut the door behind her and turned on the television where she saw an aerial view of some rubble which was the remains of a building. She looked at the screen for a few seconds, emotionlessly, and then walked to the bathroom where she promptly threw up.

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Chapter 5

She stayed perched over the toilet bowl for quite some time, purging everything in her stomach. The numbness was thawing, and what she felt underneath was a horrible inferno of guilt. Her body convulsed over and over, spilling everything from within, until her throat burned unbearably. But she bore it anyway. She needed some kind of formal agony, some form of penance for the awful guilt that wouldn't leave the pit of her bowels. The perpetual lump in her throat and stomach made her whole body ache.

He knew, he knew what he was going to do from the start. He knew when he planted that bomb that he wasn't going to come out. He knew when he stepped in the van even.

[Oh god] she realized, making the lump in her stomach just a little heavier, [He knew when he came into my apartment last night. That's why he came in the first place. He came looking for a reason not to . . . oh God-] She threw up again.

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Chapter 6

He was standing in his office holding a thin cigar in his fingers when he heard her enter. She was dressed in another one of her usual modestly elegant suits and heals that he always had, and probably always would, admired. Her soft usual soft expression was accentuated with passive sorrow. She stood in the doorway.

"How's Nikita?" he asked.

Madeline crossed her arms, sighed, and walked towards him. "I don't know. She could go either way at this point. There wasn't much I could do for her."

"Where is she now? Still in the van?"

"I took her back to her apartment. We talked. I think she has to work this through by herself. She most likely won't take any help from us in any case."

He nodded and sunk into his chair. He put the cigar in an ash tray on his desk and took off his glasses.

"God" he said, mostly to himself, "How could we have lost Michael?"

She walked casually up to his chair and put a hand on his shoulder as she starred aimlessly out the window. "I don't know," she answered quietly.

A silence passed.

"You know," he said to her finally, "I always expected it would be him, the he would be the next in line to take my place. I never would have guessed he would . . ."

She squeezed his shoulder lightly in a sympathetic, calming gesture. "We all expected it would be him" she said gently, leaning over next to his ear. "Michael and Simone were always the most logical choices for the succession."

She sighed lightly and stood back up. "We just have to find someone else now. It does mean starting over, but Michael is not an irreplaceable loss. We have to move past this as quickly as possible. (We always survive. That's our function.)"

He nodded passively, still staring at his desktop. "What about Nikita? What do we do about her?"

She thought for a moment. "Its too early to know what to do. Let's see how she deals with her pain in her work and then we can judge. Who knows? This experience might be good for her. In the meantime, I think surveillance on her apartment is unnecessary. Her thoughts aren't on escape right now."

He turned his chair around and looked up at her. "You're sure?"

She nodded. "Yes."

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Chapter 7

She reached out and grabbed onto the sink. She held it tight and used it to pull the rest of her dead weight up off the floor. She flushed the toilet. She felt . . . dizzy. There was an emptiness in her that exceeded anything she had ever felt before. It made the room colorless. It made the world empty and silent. Mindlessly, she turned the faucet on and cupped her hands under the running water. She ducked her head down to meet the water, which instantly cooled her red hot face. It felt good, really good. She pulled her head up once, only to breathe.

After several minutes, she forgot her pain momentarily. She turned the water off and reached for a towel. She covered her face in the warm terry cloth until it was dry, and then she looked up to examine herself in the mirror above the sink.

Her momentary ease evaporated. In the reflection, she saw her face first: puffy bloodshot eyes with every other feature pale and clammy. But as she looked closer, she saw another face reflected from somewhere behind her. The other face had brown hair, green eyes, and dirt smeared unevenly across its cheeks and chin, as if it had narrowly escaped some horrible accident . . . God, he looked so perfect. As perfect as two nights ago when he had been holding her in the doorway, hoping to say goodbye.

"No!" she screamed, her whole body shaking in a tremendous sob. "No!" She took the cup on the sink, the one that held her toothbrush, and she threw it with all her strength at the glass. The mirror shattered and jagged shards of glass fell into the sink in front of her. The ghost image was gone. She sunk to her knees, sobbing loudly, uncontrollably.

"No no no!" she screamed, coughing and choking. She got up again, still sobbing, still pouring tears from her eyes. She clutched the sides of the sink for leverage. Tears fell onto the broken pieces of her mirror, and through blurred vision, Nikita looked down at her own splintered reflection staring back at her.

The very top piece of glass was a particularly large fragment with a blade-like tip. Nikita stared at it a moment, regaining control of herself, and picked it up. She examined it, turning it over in her fingers. She was still sobbing, but not as severely.

She took a firm grasp of the glass by its thicker end. She stood away from the sink and sunk back onto her knees. She tilted her head back and brushed away some loose hair from her neck. [If Michael can do it, so can I] She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes . . .

Before she could make her next move, she felt her hand being swung backwards and grasped tight about the wrist. She was hoisted to her feet and almost thrown against the opposite wall. She felt both of her hands pinned against the wall of the bathroom by some incredible force. It tightened its grip until she dropped the glass on the floor. She opened her eyes.

A very angry pair of green eyes burned back at her. The intensity of the anger distorted the features, but the face was still unmistakable. His breath was uneven with rage and . . . fear? His stare shifted rapidly from on eye to another.

Her pulse raced. Her head swam. Her eyes widened, and she searched for something to say, but her mind was moving to quickly for the rest of her body to catch up.

"Michael . . ." she whispered.

She started to cry again, but the tears she shed carried away her pain. Confusion took the place of pain; but it was a confusion that could wait. She shook with relief and she smiled through streams of tears. "Oh my God..."

He loosened his grip and unfastened her from the wall, his anger subsiding into empathy. He drew her in, holding her close to him. She sunk into his arms. He held her tightly, partially to keep her from falling, partially just to remember what it felt like to hold her. Wonderful. She buried her head in his shoulder until she had purged the sob in her stomach. He held her protectively until the moment passed, whispering gently "It's alright now 'Kita."

She lifted her head finally and looked at him. She kissed him greedily. She needed to feal him, to feel his body alive and safe around her. His hands embraced her neck, gently tracing the lines of the tears away with his fingers as he held her in a kiss. He had escaped death for her; he came to her tired, battered, scarred and dirty, and all hers. She simply forgot her pain. All the pain of the last twenty four hours was instantly erased from her memory.

It didn't matter. He did.

They became merely two souls merging, completing each other in a supernatural bond. It was a bond that defied explanation. It defied logic, reason, understanding, and above all, it defied the explicit, mandatory code of indifference that was Section One.

In the bond of hungry kisses, Michael drew her from the bathroom and into the bedroom where she collapsed on top of him on the bed. The door blew shut.

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Chapter 8

She awoke much later and found herself on her bed, naked, and in Michael's arms. It was dark outside and a silver moon shown in on them. The fear that had shook her from unconsciousness was swept away the instant she realized where she was: in his arms. Nikita could not remember a time where she had felt this perfectly content in her life. She settled back down onto his chest but not before noticing that his eyes were open and wide awake. He traced his fingers across her shoulder, trying to coax her back to sleep. She shut her eyes and relished the feeling, but didn't sleep.

"Michael, what happened? Why did you do that last night?" Her words were spoken softly but they were still serious, and demanding of an answer.

"I had to" he said. "That was the building where-"

"I know." she said quickly, not wishing to hear the name Simone at that moment. "Madeline told me."

"I had to see." he said. "If I had that moment back again, I wanted to know if it was possible. If she could still have been saved . . ."

She propped herself up on an elbow and looked at him. "And was it possible?"

He looked at nothing, and with the empty eyes of the kind Nikita had never seen, he answered. "Yes."

She thought a moment. "If it was possible, then why didn't you stay? Why didn't you stay there and die with her?"

He looked away.

She pushed further, not resigning herself to silence and unanswered mysteries.

"No I'm serious. Why didn't you stay in there, Michael? If you loved her so much, why not die with her memory? What brought you back?"

He looked at her guilty, almost angrily. "You did." He said finally. "I heard your voice on the com link. I thought about you . . . I couldn't leave you alone in Section. You'd die without me."

A flicker of happiness and also indignation shot through her, but both passed. She lay back down again, next to his heart, which softly beat at her ear.

"Sorry." she said.

"You don't know how the Section works, Nikita. That's your one weakness. When I heard your voice, I knew I couldn't leave you. It was too dangerous for you to be there without me."

"Dangerous how?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" he asked.

She sat up. After all all this time, was it possible he would still try to keep secrets from her? "Yes."

He sat up too, putting his feet on the floor and resting his elbows on his knees. He faced away from her. "They would cancel you."

"Really?" she said doubtfully. "I seem to remember Madeline telling me once that I was a good operative, if I could keep my humanity in check."

"They wouldn't keep you." he said sullenly.

"Why?"

He looked her in the eye. "Because the only reason they brought you in in the first place was to find a replacement for Simone for my benefit." he said flatly.

She stared at him with the same shocked expression as if he had hit her.

"What?" she whispered.

He nodded. "They think I don't know it."

"Wait a minute, what are you talking about?"

"Simone and I were the ones unofficially chosen as next in command after Operations and Madeline. We all knew it. Everyone in Section knew. It brought Simone and I closer. Maybe too close." he reflected, his tone only half- neutral. "After she . . . died, my performance level dropped. They considered me unfocused. They would have probably canceled me if I hadn't been so valuable before. I was brought in more than once to have talks with Madeline, but it didn't help. They kept me in close observation for while too. Then one day they stopped. They left me alone entirely. It was the day they told me I was going to train you."

"Michael why are you telling me this?" she asked, feeling suddenly ill.

"They expected that caring for you would take my mind from her and perhaps bring me back to my performance level before she died. They still needed someone to be the next Operations, and I had the potential, I just needed something to care about so that I would be under control. Initially, that was your main purpose Nikita. If I die, you have no purpose."

Emotions spun through her head that could only be paralleled with suffering another explosion, except this one made her angry, not scared. She tightened her jaw and stared at him fiercely for a moment. "I don't believe you."

"Really?" he said. "How many operatives do you think Section One has that are first time felons they found on the street corner?"

The words were poisonous, but true. Nikita knew it. She was too upset to be angry. She sunk down onto the bed, and curled into a ball, facing away from him. She let tears fall silently from her eyes. From behind her, she felt his arm come around her, drawing her close to him once again, and his face coming close to hers.

"I'm sorry I told you." he said softly. He rested his head on hers, his mouth just behind her ear.

"Too late now." she said, turning away from his kindness. "What's going to happen to me when they call me back?"

He brushed some hair off her neck and kissed it. "Nothing." he said.

She turned over to face him, full of fear. "Nothing?"

"Nothing. I'll protect you."

Chapter 9

The next time Nikita opened her eyes, her room was filled with golden sunlight of a fresh new morning. She rolled over, reached one arm out, and touched . . . nothing. She sat up and looked around. She was alone.

In the periphery of her vision, she saw a broken cup surrounded by microscopic glittering shards of glass, formally her mirror. Her bathroom door was open. Everything was exactly how she had remembered it from the day before except . . . Michael was gone.

She found a tee shirt on the floor and threw it over hear head quickly, then walked out of her bedroom and into the living room. There she found what she was looking for: Michael was leaning against her refrigerator, waiting for her. His eyes were calm and his face expressionless as he stared at her. He was fully dressed in the clothes he had been wearing the night before, the black operative suit of Section One.

She sighed, shaking away her momentary nervousness. She approached him and rested her head on his chest.

"I almost expected not to find you." she said. "I thought I'd wake up, and realize it had all been a dream."

"A good dream?" he asked, stroking her hair.

She looked up into his eyes and smiled. "Yes, very good."

He gazed at her beautiful face overcome by state of mind he hadn't felt in a lifetime, a state he couldn't describe. He only knew that he wanted her company, in these moments when he didn't have to be the model operative of the agency he worked for. He loved watching her smile at him. Such moments washed away all the horrible times when he had to endure her hatred, well deserved hatred, of him and Section life. In the back of his mind, his professional programming was still flashing red ominous warnings of the dangers of falling in love, but it was too late. He saw Nikita's smile and was lost in it. She kissed his chin coyly. He kept his thoughtful gaze on her, bent his neck down and kissed her lips softly. They stayed locked in a deep kiss for several minutes.

And then the phone rang.

She jumped at the sudden noise initially. Michael's body too tensed. On the second ring, she grudgingly separated herself from him and put on hand on the phone to pick it up. Michael's hand came down heavily upon hers and held the receiver in place.

"Its them." he said, transforming immediately into an operative once more.

"You're sure?" she said. The phone rang again.

"Yes. Be careful about your voice fluctuations. They might suspect something if you don't sound like you've been grieving all night."

They exchanged a long glance over the incessant ringing. She looked unsure, but took in a breath and nodded. He took his hand off the phone. They kept their eyes locked on each other.

"Hello?" she said.

Josephine?"

Nikita flinched. The accent was distinctly less European than what he was used to. The voice she was used to, however, belonged to the stoic face in front of her, lending support simply through its presence. The voice on the phone was also familiarity feminine. Madeline.

"Yes?" she said.

"Come in. We need to talk."

Her pulse quickened."I . . . haven't been feeling very well today." she said in a voice racked with uncertainty. Uncertainty was dangerous around Madeline.

"I understand." Madeline answered, in her patented sympathetic response. "We were hesitant to call. But something new just came up, and we need you here. You will be in my office in one hour, Nikita."

She heard a click, and then a dial tone. Her heart was beating too fast for her to think straight. She put the phone down and looked up at Michael.

It was Madeline." she said.

"You have to go now?"

She nodded. "Do you?"

"Yes" he said.

She couldn't tell what Michael was feeling, but she knew that separating from him was the very last thing she wanted to do at the moment. Then again, what choice did she have? She couldn't think of anything she hated more. It was Section that made Michael become that other person she couldn't trust . . . or love. Only Section. For just this once, she had separated him from it, and now it had returned in vicious retaliation. One moment's happiness was being stolen away again by that oppressive government agency.

He was at the door first. He looked like an operative again, not exactly the same as the Michael from the night before.

"Where are you going to go now?" she asked, standing in threshold to her apartment. He was already in the hall, putting his coat on.

"You'll see me again." he said.

"I hope so." She walked to him with the intention of receiving one last embrace before he disappeared. He stepped away, blocking her with an stony ambiance.

She stared at him a second. His eyes were expressionless; his gaze, shifting. She had already lost him to the Section. She stepped back a few paces.

"Goodbye Michael." she said. She shut the door. [Goodbye]

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Chapter 10

A revelation came to her as she opened the door and faced Section One once more: everyone expected her to be grieving. She was now obliged to undergo another ambiguous test. The Section would be watching her every move to see how she controlled an inner conflict, but she had none to control. As she took her first s into the building, her brain was concentrating heavily on exactly how to act. Too little emotion would be cause for suspicion; Too much would be grounds for cancellation. With this in mind, Nikita focused her eyes on the floor, trying not to draw any attention as she headed towards Madeline's office. A familiar voice stopped her.

"Nikita?"

She turned, and saw a friendly old face standing behind a table of assorted weapons. The figure was clad in his usual bandanna, leather jacket and jeans.

"Hi Walter!" she said cheerfully.

He approached and hugged her in a sympathetic gesture. "You . . . ok? How you holding up?"

"Pretty good, I guess." she said less cheerfully, remembering her obligation to sobriety.

He patted her back tenderly. "Well, that's good. Its really too bad when these things happen. I'm sorry about . . . what you're going through."

"Yeah," she said evasively, eager to change the subject. "Do you know what they called me in for so suddenly?"

He lowered his eyes and returned to his worktable. She followed. "Yeah." he said. "I think I do. There was a security breach of some kind last night. Nothing was stolen, but the hacker accessed some pretty sensitive material. Got Operations spooked. He's calling a lot of the cold ops in to find out what this is all about."

"Is that it?"

He shrugged. "I think so."

"Well, is it going to take very long?"

"Not if you don't know anything, it wont." he said, staring at her. She shrugged. [Don't ask me] He looked down at his tools again. She grabbed her purse and turned to go to Madeline's office.

"By the way, how'd you sleep last night?" he said. "Heard there were noises commin' from your apartment so loud the neighbors were gonna complain."

She froze.

"What are you talking about?" she said, spinning around.

He smiled. Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest. "Oh, so I guess they didn't tell you." he said. "Well, they cut the surveillance over your apartment last night. They figured they'd give you a break. Think about it: you could have brought me over, sugar, and neither the Section or the neighbors would have known. I'm good like that."

She had completely forgotten about the cameras in her room. Dazed, she flashed him a bewildered smile. Walter winked back then returned to his work. She stood frozen in place, deciding what to feel. The fear inside her spiked to new heights only to be washed away with the knowledge that she and Michael had not been discovered. She felt light-headed and confused as she walked to Madeline's office. However, the dizziness was quickly expelled by the serious stare of Operations that greeted her the second she opened the door. The gravity of the atmosphere easily expelled all her preoccupations and she slid timidly into the chair in front of Madeline's desk.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked meekly.

Madeline, seated behind the desk, looked at her Operations to begin. "Yes," he said. "Let's start with what you were doing last night."

Once again Nikita's heart dropped again into her stomach. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her eyes shifting quickly from one face to another.

"Well?" he said.

"I . . . was in my apartment all last night."

"And did you use your computer at all during that time?" he asked gravely.

"My computer?"

"I would prefer not to play games with you right now, Nikita. Just answer the question: were you using your computer last night, yes or no."

"No." she said. "No I didn't use my computer at all."

He looked at Madeline. She nodded at him. He untensed his body and stepped away. Nikita breathed a sigh of relief. They believed her. She didn't know why they shouldn't believe her, but it didn't matter. They could scare her lifeless regardless of the truth.

"Mind telling me what this is all about?" she asked defensively.

"Last night we had a breach of security in our computer systems." Operations said more passively. "Whoever it was knew our system very well."

Nikita raised an eyebrow. "And you think I did it?"

"No" Madeline said. "In fact, we know it wasn't you."

"Then why am I here?"

Madeline sat back in her chair. "There is evidence of a transference of data. That means two people must have communicated through the computer systems. If that's true, then that means someone on the inside was assisting the intruder. Vital information could possibly have been leaked. We think you might have been the person on the inside."

"And why would you think that?" Nikita asked nervously.

"Because we traced the break in to the building you blew up yesterday." Operations said irritably, turning around and glaring at her. "And there is a very good chance it was Michael who was receiving it."

Her blood ran cold. "Michael?" Something in her voice was going to make them realize the truth, or maybe something in her eyes. She wanted so badly to bolt out the door and run home, but she was immobilized with fear. "Are you sure?"

"We can't be completely sure of anything." Madeline said turning to her computer. She typed in a few keys and then turned her monitor to Nikita. She saw the layout of a subterranean tunnel system in the screen. "But we can say with some assurance that the signal come from somewhere in this complex."

"What is that?" Nikita asked.

"It was what was under the building blown up two nights ago. Study it, because you're going there tonight to rescue Michael."

"Alone?"

"Birkoff will lend technical support to you from the van, as usual."

The pit of her stomach felt like it was being filled with ice. She sensed vaguely that there was something wrong with this mission. A thick silence descended upon the room. Nikita kept her eyes downcast, focused intensely on anything but the other two people. They focused on her.

Operations broke the silence. "Dismissed." he said. Nikita stood up and left.

"You didn't tell her everything." Operations said once the door was closed again.

"No" Madeline answered, looking thoughtfully out over the balcony. "I didn't."

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Chapter 11

The trip to the former Red Cell base was short. From the time Nikita had left the van, only two minutes passed before she found the entrance to the underground chambers. She descended underground quickly, with Birkoff's voice at her ear every step of the way.

"Bear to your right" Birkoff directed. On his computer, he watched a yellow dot maneuver to the southeast corner of the screen. His eyes moved rapidly from this picture to the tiny numbers whizzing along the bottom of his monitor. "Good. Now you should be at a crossroads."

"Which way Birkoff?" Nikita asked.

"To get to their computer mainframe you have to take . . . the left tunnel. That's probably where Michael contacted us." he said. His eye scanned across the vast plethora of information on his screen once more. "No wait!" he said suddenly, but not soon enough. His com link went dead and he watched in horror as the dot on his screen stopped moving.

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Chapter 12

The first bursts of gunfire caught her off guard. She dropped to the ground. She barely had enough time to aim her guns in retaliation before she was encircled by shouting men. Nikita tried to get up in a retreat, but as soon as she was able to pull herself to her knees, she felt the blunt end of a gun come barreling down upon her cheek, knocking her head to the cement floor.

Disoriented and numb with pain, Nikita moaned softly while two strong men dragged her down the tunnel into darkness. If the blow to her head hadn't flooded her senses with pain, she could have counted the number of people who had captured her. But, in her weakened state, she had no idea how strong the opposing force was. That was dangerous.

After several painful minutes, the men finally stopped and Nikita was hoisted into a chair. Her head was pounding madly. For a moment, she was surrounded only by silence and darkness. Nikita could hear the sound of her own breathing, and she could see nothing. She thought of Michael.

Someone pulled the chain to a light switch and the room glowed under one faint yellow bulb. The light stung her eyes so she kept them shut for the first few seconds. Footsteps approached her.

"You're from Section One, aren't you?" a foreign male voice asked.

Nikita opened her eyes and looked up dizzily. A broad shouldered man in a business suit was standing squarely in the middle of the room, between her and the light. Nikita could only see his ominous outline. Behind him, she saw two men with hand guns, one in each corner. She suspected there were two more behind her at the other corners. She looked back at the man immediately in front of her again. His hand struck her face fiercely, hitting the same tender spot where the gun had hit previously. Her whole head stung inhumanely.

"Answer me!" he commanded, leaning over her. The impact left her powerless; her head hung down limp on her shoulders like a rag doll's. She moaned again softly, but said nothing.

The man stood up straight again. "You know, you're actually a very lucky girl" he said, pacing around her slowly. She was reminded of a lion circling its kill. Or a vulture. Or Operations.

"You aren't the first female operative to be captured and tortured here. There was another, a few years ago when we worked in conjunction with Glass Curtain."

The words barely registered in Nikita's brain as she drifted in and out of consciousness. [Michael . . . ]

"You might have known her. Her name saw Simone."

Nikita's head bolted up suddenly and she looked vengefully at the shadow figure. She couldn't see the smile creep across his lips, but she could feel it like a cancer spreading across her heart.

"Oh, so you did know her?" he said. "Good. Because you're going to find out first hand exactly how we broke down her body as well as her mind before turning her over to Sparks. That is," he said, brushing a few loose strands of hair off her face, "unless you're willing to talk to us now, and spare yourself."

She dropped her head again and said nothing.

He punched her across the face once more. "Fine have it your way," he growled.

He then pulled her too her feet and hit her squarely in the center of her stomach. She doubled over; he hit her in the middle of her spine. She fell to the floor. He started to kick her. Pain exploded from every nerve ending in her body. She wished to God she could die.

And then suddenly, she heard gunshots. Mercifully, the sound distracted her attacker and she was granted peace. She heard an inhuman scream. A heavy thud announced that something had toppled to the ground at her side. Nikita rolled over onto her stomach and looked around. Three men lay dead on the floor at three different corners of the room. The man in the dark business suit, the one that had left her broken and stinging on the floor, was at her side on the ground. Another figure was on top of the man, hitting him wildly.

The man's head was lifted, then plunged heavily into the concrete floor, then lifted again. The eyes of the new aggressor were filled with an unfathomable rage.

Nikita took grasp the situation immediately. "Michael stop!" she cried, using the last threads of energy she possessed.

He turned to her and dropped the limp body.

"Stop." she said again.

He turned to the bloody man under him, then looked back at her, and then back at the man. He grabbed the man by the hair and came close to his ear. "This isn't half of what you deserve." he whispered viciously. He stood up, took his gun in his hand. "This is for Simone" he said, gripping the handle of the gun tightly, "my wife." He fired.

Silence.

Nikita sighed and closed her eyes. [It's over.] She lay on her back and rested her tired mind and her damaged body. After a few minutes, she became aware of a strange muffled noise coming from somewhere else in the room that aroused her to wake up. She turned her head, and saw Michael on his knees in front of the dead man. Nikita crawled over to him.

"Michael?"

He looked up at her. Nikita froze. The pain in his eyes chilled her. [Had he been crying?]

The self-controlled mission leader and expert assassin of Section One was no more. She stared at him, at a face with more anguish than could be expressed by a river of tears, and she began to cry. He looked lost. He looked completely different from the person who had conditioned her into stone. She cried for him. All she saw now was a man, a man who had lost his wife to a black, heartless world of espionage. She saw hate in his eyes, and love, and pain, for maybe the first time since she had met him. So many sensations overloaded her mind as she absorbed, in every possible context, what she was witnessing. She pulled herself into a fight fetal ball, crying.

She was crying the tears he needed to cry. He had never wept at all to his memory, not even after he lost Simone. Such was the price he had paid for joining Section One. Now this stranger off the streets had come into his life and was cleansing him of his torment, washing it all away in her loving tears.

He still couldn't believe she loved him. Watching her now, he felt something inside him that hadn't existed before. He pulled himself to his feet, walked over to her, and came down beside her, drawing her close to him.

For the first time in a long time, he wanted to live, to live with her, to love her, and to just be with her. He held her tightly, rocking her back and forth, while tears flowed from her eyes. He needed her. He could feel his own dependency in his disparate clutching of her body. But he couldn't stop himself. He held her tightly, kissing her, rocking her. He buried his head in her, taking her in with all his senses. Nikita fell asleep in his arms.

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Chapter 13

When she awoke again, she was still in Michael's arms, but together they were moving. She could see in his eyes that the walls were back up, imprisoning his emotions once again. She didn't know when the next time she would see him so openly again, but she was fairly certain it wasn't to be soon. As soon as he noticed she had stirred, he stopped moving.

"You alright?" he asked.

"I'll think so." she said. She raised her hand and ran her fingers through his hair dreamily. He didn't respond. Her smile faded.

"Can you walk?"

"I don't know" she said. He set her legs down on the ground. She stood on them, slightly dizzy. She still had tremendous pain pulsing through her upper torso, but she was otherwise intact. "My head's spinning." she said.

He looked her over. It was obvious, by his examination, that she had suffered severe internal damages; she needed to get back to the Section headquarters as quickly as possible. He just hoped it would be soon enough. "Stay close to me." he said in his flat, operative tone. It was a command, not an invitation.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"We're getting out of here. We're walking back to the Section."

"Walking? But Birkoff's waiting in the van just outside..."

"He went back to the Section a long time ago. We have to get out before they bury us alive in here."

"Bury us alive? That was never in the mission profi-" she stopped herself. [How would he know anything about the mission profile, unless . . .] She turned and stared at him. [ He knew?]

He kept his eyes forward, looking for the ladder. "Its not what you think." he said softly.

She clenched her jaw. "Not what I think?" she said, and for once, seeing every dark corner of his mind with full, sickening clarity. "You know everything about this mission, don't you? It was a suicide mission, wasn't it? You probably worked it all out with Operations. If I couldn't deliver you back to the Section, they were going to kill us both, is that it?"

He stared straight ahead and kept walking. "Yes" he said.

She shuddered, and even darker thoughts raced across her mind. "You knew about all of this from the very beginning then; from the moment you stepped into my apartment." she said, thinking back to the night before.

The idea made her stomach churn and her head spin. Her pulse was surging fitfully though her blood vessels.

He didn't answer. He couldn't answer. She was getting worked up. He knew by looking at her that her bruised organs were hemorrhaging. It would only be a matter of time . . .

"Tell me," she asked, "did you sit in Operations' office and discuss how you would 'die' that night when the building exploded?" Michael started walking faster. She jogged to catch up. [Any moment now . . .] "Or did you two discuss what would be the best way to seduce me, that night before the original mission?"

"Operations had nothing to do with this." Michael interrupted. He stopped and looked her in the eye so she could see the truth for herself. "He doesn't know about us, Nikita."

"You're right" she sneered. "Because there is no 'us'. Not anymore." She was wavering. He braced himself to catch her. Already, her eyes were rolling around in their sockets.

"Don't say that" he said.

She fell. He caught her.

"Forgive me Nikita."

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Chapter 14

Madeline and Michael stood at an observatory window looking over the Medlab, where an angelic Nikita lay sleeping on a white gurney. Both were content to simply watch the young operative as she slept soundly in the white room.

"Have you come to your final decision yet?" Madeline asked softly.

"Not quite yet." he answered, looking down at his angel at peace. "Its hard to tell whether or not I can prepare for a life like yours in Section since she's shown-"

"That's not what I meant." Madeline said, looking up at him. Her eyes' expression communicated that they both knew exactly what she meant. "Emotionally, is she the one you choose Michael?"

He looked at Madeline briefly, and then directed his gaze back onto his beautiful angel as she lay motionlessly in her white tomb.

"Michael," she said, commanding his full attention, "I don't think I need to tell you how important this decision is for you, and for the Section. You don't have to choose now, but by the same token, you can't take forever making up your mind. I can't give you another night together to help you decide. It's too risky. We were both nearly discovered by the internet trace this time. Operations would not cancel me if he knew we were securing your succession into his position, but it might not be his decision to make. So please Michael, tell me, is she the one you choose, or should we move on?"

He opened his mouth to speak then shut it again, hesitantly. He looked up at Madeline, letting her see his conflict, reflected plainly in his eyes. "I don't want her . . ." he said softly.

She cocked her head in curiosity. "Are you sure?"

He looked away, trying to find the right words to express his thoughts. "I don't want to need her this much."

Madeline stared at him expressionlessly. She reached out and lifted his chin, turning his face towards her own. She looked at him. "Then you've already made your choice." she said. She turned on her heal and walked away, leaving him to guard over his comatose charge.

[Well done Michael] she thought to herself, smiling. She wouldn't have to call Disposal today.

The End