There are times in life where it is not smart to ask questions. Nikita knew this. She knew also that looking down the barrel of a gun was one of those times. "Now what?" slipped through her lips, and Nikita raised her blue pools of innocence to the caramel chocolate colored eyes on the other side of the gun.

They were cold to match the male face that possesed them. His answer was a simple, even elegant, shrug. If she could have struck him, she would have. Ropes, not distance prohibited such action, but her eyes were alive with her desire to hurt him- and he smiled. She spit in his face. He laughed as he wiped her spittle from his face.

"I have been told you have spirit," he said, his voice so quiet that had it not been for the slight echo off the walls she wouldn't have heard him, "but spirit can be killed too." He stopped in front of her now taunting her to repeat her action, yet his face held promises Nikita had no desire to try. Instead her chin went up, as it does when her pride comes to the rescue; her eyes focused on the wall not the man.

The man said nothing. In fact, til the weapon discharged, Nikita wondered what he was going to do. He had shot her. Right through her thigh. She nearly strangled herself keeping most of her agony to herself.

Regardless, her eyes blazed through tears, and she hated the hot streaks that seemed to sled down her cheeks. She switched her weight, now supporting her full weight on one leg, and hell continued.

* * *

Section One

"Where the hell is she?" Operations demanded of Birkoff. He was not at all happy Nikita was taken from her train compartment on the way to a mission. She was supposed to rendevous with Michael. Needless to say, that didn't happen and Section One was being gutted trying to find her with every available resource.

Birkoff felt it worse then anyone however, because Operation's was breathing down his neck.

"I have located her. She is right here," Birkoff said pointing to a section of a building, that was displayed as a 3-D holograph on a table, that was condemned. The place had been a storage hanger, and was scheduled to be demolished in a few hours to make room for a hotel.

At this information Operations said, "Get a team together now. Get her out of there. She has vital information and he probably knows how to get it from her, if he hasn't already. Move." And everyone, including Operations, did- except Michael.

"How many people are around the area? How many entrances and exits? And what people are available," Michael asked and Birkoff, hitting keys like a man indeed possesed, only took a few moments to answer him.

"People present are five, two on each door, and one with Nikita. They are pretty cocky it would seem. Let me check the surrounding area.

Yeah. Very cocky, or they want to get caught. There are two exits, one at the front and one on the right side. That is the room he has Nikita in. There are three people who are not tagged for another mission..." Birkoff was inturrupted.

"Clear Fenton, Stanley, and Bright for this mission," Michael said scanning the screen then pinned Birkoff, "and tell them I want them now." He left and went to see a highly worried Walter.

She woke up and felt equipment on her head, holding her to her chair. She was strapped to something, and she had no idea what was happening. "Oh. Good. You are awake," the mans voice said to her from a drug induced distance. Her head felt fuzzy. She shook it to clear it, but the motion was wasted, and restricted.

"You'll have noticed that there is a camera a few feet in front of you," he said from behind her. She confirmed this by looking in front of her and noticed that there was, indeed, a video camera three feet in front of her. She smiled.

"You'll also notice that you are strapped into a machine of some sort. Can you tell me your name please?" the voice asked kindly.

She thought for a moment, "No."

"You mean you refuse to, or you can't?" The kindness was gone from his voice causing her to shrink a little.

"You asked, "Can you," I said no. I can't. Can you tell me?" she asked as she looked into the camera. She could see herself, a small version, and she was blond. She looked good blond.

A door behind her slammed. She jumped a little, and there was silence. She was now bored of the camera. There was yelling outside, but the voices were too mixed up to tell what they were saying. After a moment, however, she did gather that she wasn't supposed to have lost her memory.

She found that facinating and wondered where she had put it. Or, if she had put it anywhere, and it was the men he was yelling at that had lost it. She wondered why they cared. She sat back in her chair watching a camera that watched her.

The window above her shattered just as popping noises could be heard on the other side of the door. She didn't like this to much. A man was flying through the air. He landed and rolled and to her, he seemed to see everything. And he knocked over the annoying camera. The man was gorgeous. As he rolled, the door opened and closed rapidly as the pops got louder and closer.

She heard the man again from behind her and he was laughing.

The man on the floor was looking over the top of some metal thing and it was pointed at her, and this she liked even less then him through the window. The man's laughter was coming up beside her, so she could finally see him, but just as soon as she could see him out of the corner of her eye, stuff went into her eye after a loud pop. His laughter died, and she was covered in red when she looked down. She had no idea what to do about it, and the new man on the floor seemed to think nothing.

"Are you a robot?" she asked as he got up. The question took him back a bit. She spoke further, "They said I lost my memory, but I don't know when I did that. Then you came with no emotions showing..."

The door behind them busted in, and men in black, like the man in front of her, filled the room.

"Secure here, I'll tend to Nikita," and everyone filed out.

"Did you come here for me?" Nikita asked looking him over from her chair, and he seemed to be doing the same to her. At her question, his eyes avoided hers.

"They shot you," the man said, and he nodded his head down toward her leg then her arm.

"Oh, is that what hurts? Just started to hurt too. What is your name?" She asked cocking her head as he had freed her head from the contraption.

"Michael," he said freeing her hands, "Come on," and she leaned on him as he seemed to want her too. It hurt alot when she tested her leg with her weight, getting to the position of leaning on him, but he seemed to know this and took most of her weight. Her injured arm lay against her side throbbing as her leg was beginning to. She looked down and her pants were red and white. The red was gooey. She focused straight ahead til they got outside, then seeing al the huge equipment outside she looked up and up at a crane with a huge ball on the end.

"Don't say anything while we are in the van," Michael said.

He nodded his head to a man with a hard hat on next to crane, and it started up. Then, they were in the van.

Michael was relieved because even though they had shot her twice, Nikita had said nothing. He wondered why they had cleared her mind as he checked her wounds. They were clean, and tended to, but there was nothing he could do about Emanuel Cleavack's blood and brain residue that clung to her clothes and her hair. "You are telling me that Cleavack had no knowledge that the building was to be torn down?" Operations, at this point, pinned Nikita with his hawk-like eyes. Michael had been doing the talking thus far.

Nikita merely nodded, her calm blue eyes- today with the depth of oceans- blinked up at Operations. Nodding wasn't good enough, she gathered from his tight face.

"He said nothing of the fact; he seemed unconcerned with time," Nikita expained, maintaining eye contact with her supposed superior. She was unconsciously rubbing her arm gently. It was bugging her today, even after all the shots and tests yesterday.

"We're done here," Operations announced as one does when in thought. Michael got up, and Nikita forced herself to follow suit a bit slower, kinda laid back-- like she didn't want to run. They walked in silence to Michael's office. When he walked behind his desk, he drew out the side panel on his desk, punched a few buttons-- and then they could talk.

"Can we go eat? I'm hungry."

"We can eat after we find out if we are slotted for any further missions," his quiet sexy voice said. But it was driving Nikita nuts. Why the hell did he have to use such drama? Who was watching?

"Are we being watched?" Nikita asked abruptly concerned at her thought, though not yet looking for cameras. At his "No," she relaxed.

"Hm, interesting. So, when do we find out if we have missions?"

The door opened and a head popped in, the face was of a young man with glasses. "You're clear," he said, including both in the declaration looking from one to the other.

Nikita smiled at him, "Thank you, Birkoff," she said relieved she had remembered the man's name after a bit of a pause. Birkoff laughed. "Sure," and then he left them to themselves again, shutting the door.

"Let's eat," Nikita said, and with her new exurberance was out of her chair, and at the door.

Michael keyed in a code so they could be heard again.

"Would you like some coffee?" He asked, knowing she had seen him decode the room.

"Love some. The sooner, the better." Her smile struck his gut hard, as with her friendly eyes. Blue. Michael led the way out of Section One.

* * * *

Section One

"Birkoff, who supported Emanuel Cleavack when we found him?" Operations asked from the Perch. Birkoff tapped keys quickly, going through screens like fire through dry grass, until he found what he wanted four seconds later.

"A new organization. Not much information, let me see what I can find here," Birkoff said as he began to get into the challenge of all the layers on this particular group. "They are protecting something.

Let's see what all we can," Birkoff laughed watching his screen. "Nice try," he murmured half cockily but there was respect there too as he manuevered around a few blocks they had set up. Remembering Operations, he sobered saying, "I can give you a report as soon as I have more information."

Operations nodded and the Perch went dark. "You know, the more I get to feeling these wounds, the more I'm not liking.what's his name again?" Nikita was eating pasta, but she had paused with her hand on her wine glass. She was now focused on Michael who was eatting the same pasta, but had speared some of the accompanying chicken to go with it.

"Emanuel Cleavack," Michael supplied unable to stop himself from smiling slightly as he took the bite that was arrested before his lips at her question. Her tone was so innocent, so carefree that he felt her spirit more then ever before. He was not sure how he felt about that. Nor would he let himself consider it any more.

"Ah, yes, not a very nice man he. They said this wasn't supposed to wear off," here she paused looking about her. Again. "You said I live here. Did I decorate this place myself, or did Section?"

"You did," he said watching her as he chewed, then continued, "they said you had to take pain pills in order for them not to wear off." He could find no flaw in all the angles of her face she gave him while she surveyed the rooms.

"Oh yeah," she said with a quick grin aimed at him, she looked around some more at the simple elegance and was pleased it was her creation. "Wow, I'm good," she said suddenly focusing on him again with a smile. Her eyes were soft, and Michael was kicked in the gut with feelings for her anew-- which, was not a new thing.

"Do you like me? I mean, before memory loss, did you?" Michael kept his eyes on hers, looking into her.

"Yes," he said, and forked up another bite of the meal he had made, they hadn't gone for coffee after all. She laughed, and it enchanted him more with the music in it.

"Not because you wanted to then, or it is not as simple as that," her eyes danced with a bit of knowledge as she drank finally from her glass of wine. She studied him knowing he felt something for her. His covering for her at Section told her that much if all the rest he had done since did not.

"Oh! I know what I wanted to ask you!" she said snapping her finger then pointing at him, "Have I been shot before?" Her voice was full of relish. She was very curious about who she used to be, but not sure how far to question Michael on the subject. Was she betraying herself by being this open with him? She let the question drop in her mind. Her spoken question brought a laugh from Michael, unexpected by both of them. He nodded, drank a sip of wine, then clarified.

"Yes, missions are not easy sometimes," and his eyes searched hers once more. She would never be able to indentify the feeling that went through his, but Michael knew it as regret that Section had to be the thing to bring them together. The thought died right after that-- it was not a new thought. It was among a few thoughts that could hurt him. At his answer she leaned forward in her chair and sipped more wine, she had finished her dinner making Michael smile. Some things didn't change it would seem, she still had her appetite. "I did?" she asked with excited interest, "How many times? Worse then this? Have I killed anyone?"

He knew the last question had slipped out, as her eyes were alarmed now. Then they grew worried, "Have I?"

"Yes, but they were bad guys," Michael said putting on a smile for her, he knew she needed it. She looked at him curiously now.

"Perspective that. Some may think Section is bad, right?"

"The bad guys, they don't want to be stopped," he said softly, his green eyes were not defending, just stating fact. She saw that.

"Well, if they shoot people and take their minds, I would agree: they should be stopped regardless of whether they want to be, or not." She drained her wine glass, grabbed the bottle, and filled both their glasses as high as he had: not full, but more then half.

For a moment she was lost in the play of the deep red of the wine and the light going through it inside her glass. She smiled as it was pretty, and soothing. But she didn't know why she needed soothing.

Michael finished his dinner, got up, and stacked her plate on his going into her kitchen. He then placed them in the sink. He ran water over them to gain some time to get himself together. * * *

Section One "The group is Morning Rain," Birkoff began with Operations leaning his hip against Birkoff's computer system, "They started up with trafficking weapons a few years ago then moved into bombings which were done in the morning hours before ten. A few months ago they began to sell themselves out to the highest bidders as a strike team- a "No one owned them, but themselves" philosophy.

The head terrorist, Vincent Portierre, is a 26 year old who dropped out of college when he met up with Dan Davis. Dan Davis had a record already for bombs. Vincent is a bit of a computer geek that pushed a few buttons making Davis's past dissappear- how they didn't track him is beyond me," Birkoff added, making Operations suppress a smile at his arrogance. Operations nodded for him to continue when Birkoff looked up at him.

"They are based nowhere. They move around. Apparently Emanuel Cleavack was a group member who was to be destroyed. He must have caught wind of this. Taking Nikita was to get his status back with Morning Rain. It failed. They refused to back him. Vincent changed the records for the warehouse to be demolished two days before," Birkoff finished looking up from his computer screen to Operations.

"Do we know where they are now?"

"Presently they are in a secluded area of the neighborhood the warehouse was in. Evidently they wanted to watch Cleavack's death. They will move out soon, if they haven't already with our team going in after Nikita," Birkoff said looking back and forth from his computer screen to Operations.

Operations smiled, "Good. Let's get a team in there." Operations patted Birkoff on the shoulder before he left Birkoff to get a team ready to find Morning Rain. * * * "What is that? Oh, a phone...where is the phone?" Nikita looked around while Michael walked from the kitchen to his coat and reached into his coat pocket. He extracted his cell, listened, then said, "Ok," and hung up.

Nikita was looking at him.

"I have to go," he said, and his face held the barest smile for her. "We have a mission; as you are wounded you won't be going on this one," he said softly.

She had no problem hearing him. "I'll just hang out here. Do my nails, play with make-up. You know- bond with myself," she tilted her face at him, innocent eyes met knowing ones. She smiled, and Michael's soul feasted on the picture she made before his mind could toss it out.

He left her with her soft "bye" playing through him-- she'd unconciously made a claim on his mind. When Michael arrived at Section, he was on edge. He buried the knowledge that he was on edge from wanting to both laugh at the irony that his Nikita would revel in the feelings she was bringing out of him, and cry because the Nikita of the moment knew the feelings she brought out of him, but was denied full knowledge that was lost in memories gone.

His soul didn't bury it though, and warred with his mind creating a honed focus for the mission.

* * *

Section One "Have they gone?" Operations asked, now from behind Birkoff who was hitting a few keys to follow what was on the screens before him. "No movement in nine hours," Birkoff reported. He was denied Operations smile. * * * The music was a little loud, the wine was still wet on her lips from her last sip, and she had just started snooping through "her" apartment. Why did she feel guilty? It was her stuff, she had every right to go through it. And yet, this stuff wasn't hers. A knock sounded at the door.

Nikita walked over checked the wall unit and did not recognize the people on the other side. The music was kinda loud, so she'd let them get that out of the way, and then they'd see what happened.

"Just a second," she said, setting her glass down on her breakfast bar, and unlocking her door. The three stood there looking at her. "Can I help you?" Nikita asked with a smile, curiousity on her face.

The younger guy smiled, nodded toward the music, and asked, "We have a bet going, which CD is that?" Nikita laughed, delighted that they hadn't come to ask her to turn it down. She replied, "I wish I could tell you, but I don't know, right off," she added from her gut, "It's a gift I got tonight actually. You like it too huh? He'll be delighted at that, but not that I had it so loud you could enjoy it too," and again she laughed, tilted her head and leaned it against the door. She was in no hurry to turn down music that sang from her soul, filling it with a peace she seemed to continually need.

It took her a moment to realize she was going backwards, through no fault of her own, and she was going to hit her wall. Had they all three really shoved her back, cause it was plain they were all three comming in at her like a mass of seperated three.

No more talking. This time, she was picked up and thrown against her breakfast bar. It was very sturdily made- it didn't give at all.

"What...?" she began her head fuzzy. She shook it and both her mind and vision wavered like spiderwebs masses together on a soft breeze.

They gave her no time, and no explainations; the tall one picked her up and threw her again. Nikita was not at all thrilled any longer.

Something in her mind was niggling at her. She wanted to lash out! She wanted to hit, defend, protect, and Nikita lent herself to instinct.

The next man who stepped forward got her foot in his throat. They tried to grab her arms, but her foot to the side of one man's knee accompanied by a yell releived her of the two small ones. Now for the tall one. But he fell. He fell backwards, and Nikita was floored. She had done nothing.

"Housekeeping, Nikita has been exposed," Michael said from behind her.

She turned, slowly cause she hurt, and he was there: in her house holding a gun. Looking at him, she shook her head and saw his semi smile and all of a sudden she felt the air want to rush out of her, she knew what it meant. She knew him. And she passed out. The End...