Spoiler: A few hours after Mercy.

Scene opens with Nikita on a west bound train.

Nikita had just resettled herself after turning off the PDA. Again. Her 3rd hour as a fugitive, and already problems were looming. Namely, the three bullets lodged in her left chest. These lovely items had rendered her arm numb and unusable. It just hung there, lifeless.

What the hell could she do? If she acknowledged Michael’s attempts at contact, he would surely be at risk. If she didn’t, she would likely die from these goddamn wounds. ***He told me not to attempt a rescue. Idiot.***

She was no doctor, but she’d been shot enough to know. It was only a matter of time before her body began shutting down. However, reality still didn’t slap her in the face for another 2 hours. That was when she began coughing up blood. Two of the bullets had hit a lung. It was becoming difficult to breath.

She look at the full moon, reviewing her options.

**I’m on the run from Section, with no idea where to go. I’ve got 3 bullets in me. I’m bleeding. If I go to a hospital, Section will find me in a hot minute. If I go for medical treatment of any kind, Section will find me. Of course, if I die, Section will most certainly find me. Regardless, Michael’s days would be numbered. ***

"Shit."

Nikita had purposefully ignored the first 5 messages from Michael. Every hour on the hour and he had written the same damn thing. She knew she shouldn’t answer. Keeping her eyes open was getting tougher. Her badly damaged body fought it’s futile battle. Counting pre-mission time, she had been up for 27 hours. The last 6, fighting for her life. Things weren’t going well. As they frequently said in Med. Lab, she was ‘circling the drain’.

Buzz Buzz. ……………..Buzz Buzz.

"Nikita, are you there?"

Nikita waited, giving herself time to reconsider. Reluctantly, she typed the simplest of words. "Yes." Pressing the SEND button, the weight of Section resumed it’s place on her now wounded shoulder.

Michael’s hopes soared right off the proverbial scale. She was alive. He could barely type he was so relieved. "Are you OK?" He pushed the SEND button and waited.

He was expecting her usual response. However, what he read on the screen brought him up short. He re-read it.

"Shot."

Michael’s heart was in his throat, tightness gripped his chest. The air in his office became heavy with tension. He looked out his office window into the main room. Nothing. Checking the time, 04:20, most everyone had gone.

"How bad?"
SEND

"Bad"
SEND

Blood drained from his face.

"Location?"
SEND.

"Train-Sault Ste. Marie. 1 hr."
Was she doing the right thing?

SEND.

Racing through the rolodex in his head, he remembered.

"Victor Eulong,
45 Rue de Palm,
Sault Ste. Marie,
68-568-9998"
SEND.

Michael went AWOL. Madeline may not expect it, but would understand it. He figured he had about 12-16 hours before the questions would begin.

Nikita wrote the address on her shirt. She no longer trusted her memory. Relief flooded over her. She knew she had done the right thing. She just might live through this after all.

Michael messaged Victor, alerting him of her arrival.

********

It was her own coughing that woke her. The racking violence had placed Nikita just this side of panic. She reigned in her frayed emotions. Looking down at her hand, she saw a bright red wad of phlegm. More good news.

The train prepared for its arrival at the station. She tried to stand, but began feeling dizzy and sick to her stomach. "No, No, No. You will NOT pass out." Ordering herself into another attempt, she stood and staggered ‘at’ the door rather than ‘to’ the door. Her hips bouncing off every row of seats along the way. There was but one thing on her mind. ***Get off the train.*** ***Get off the train.***

Peripheral vision going fast, she saw a wooden bench and headed towards it. She never made it. Her vision simply blinked out. But not before she felt a pair of arms cinch around her waist as her body crumpled.

*******

5 HOURS LATER:

Pain.

More Pain.

Fucking PAIN!!

Nikita came out of her darkness, trying to sit up. Trying to get away from the pain.

Lights. Bright lights.

Cold. Very cold.

An unfamiliar voice faded in, becoming louder. "Nikita! Stop fighting. You’re safe. You’re safe here. My name is Victor. Michael is coming. Stop fighting me."

"Michael?" barely a whisper.

"Yes, now lay still. There are more stitches to put in."

Nikita nodded her head and returned to the cold metal table. Memory of her situation returned, along with the pain and fear.

*******

1 HOUR LATER:

Victor was rounding the kitchen counter when a shadow fell across the hallway. He knew who it was. "She’s in the basement."

The shadow moved back out of sight. Victor followed. At the bottom of the steps, a door was barred with a dead bolt lock. Michael waited as Victor fished the key out of his pocket. "How long do I have this time?"

"2 maybe 3 hours." Michael looked him in the eye. "There was no one else."

"This is the last time Michael." Victor placed a death grip around Michael’s arm and gave it a firm tug. "Understood?"

Michael nodded in agreement.

When Michael entered the semi-operating room, he had to avert his eyes at what he found. The room was a total disaster. There was blood everywhere. Surgical paraphernalia, bandages, and linens were strewn all about the room. All were soaked with blood. On the gurney, in the middle of the mess, lay Nikita. Just below her left breast there were things sticking out of her. Two IV’s were giving her fluids and one was giving her blood. "Report"

Victor raised an eyebrow in defiance. "I no longer answer to you."

It was all Michael could do to keep his face passive, and his voice calm. "Report,….. please"

Now that he had that straightened out, Victor shifted gears into doctor mode.

As Victor spoke, Michael walked around the gurney surveying Nikita’s injuries. She lay there nude to the waist. Her skin was stained orange-brown from the sterilization solution. He pulled a brown leaf from her tangled hair. His own chest becoming tighter and tighter with anxiety.

"Three bullets. Left brachial plexus took one, partial paralysis of the left arm. Two bullets to her left upper lung, resulting in a grade ‘2’ Hemo- pneumothorax." After taking a slow drink of coffee, he continued.

"Treatment in progress: Chest tube in place to restore lung expansion and drain blood. IV’s for fluid and blood replacement. Prognosis: Paralysis temporary, resolving in 2 - 4 months. Hemo-pneumothorax will resolve in about 3 days." Victor sat and waited, finishing his coffee.

"Can she be moved?"

Victor answered quietly, but with the slightest hint of menace. "If she were in a hospital, no. Not for 3 or 4 days. Since she isn’t, yes. The sooner the better."

Michael looked through him, anger rising, only to be pushed back down. "Best scenario?"

Long pause, "After this last unit of blood infuses……. 2 hours."

Michael stared up at the corner of the room. "How many units has she had?"

"This makes number 2."

Taking slow, measured steps, Michael moved to sit beside Victor. "I need to get her out of here but not too far. Any suggestions?"

Victor sighed. This was really putting him out. "If I give you a place, will you please stop using me as your personal surgeon?"

Michael gave him a look of warning. Then, relenting, he nodded his head.

Victor got up to leave. "I’ll make the call." "Oh, if she wakes up, you’d better hold on to her. She fights dirty, and if she undoes my hard work……." He left the message hanging in the air.

Michael had to smile about that. "Yes, she does fight dirty."

Sure enough, about half an hour later, the strength that was ‘Nikita’, re- awakened with full force.

Arms flailing and mouth about to let loose with a scream, she heard something.

"Nikita, it’s Michael. I’m here."

She calmed as if the wind had been let out of her sails. Opening one eye cautiously, she found him leaning over her. Still very sleepy, "I’m such an idiot. Thank you for trying to get me out. I imagine we’re both in deep for this".

"It’s not over yet. I’m going to move you in about an hour, but I can’t stay."

"I know." Nikita drifted back to sleep.

Victor gave Michael the location of a farm house an hours drive north. Nikita slept most of the way, though she tried not to. She didn’t want to waste this time with Michael.

"Nikita, why did you not answer me?"

"Oh, lets not go into that. You know I couldn’t. If I weren’t in real trouble, I wouldn’t have this time." Pause. "How are Walter and Birkoff?"

"They think you're dead, and that I killed you. Walter would like to kill me himself. They’re not speaking."

Soon they arrived at the farm house. It was pretty remote. Very unlikely anyone would look here.

"Who lives here Michael?"

"No one right now. The owners are in Asia for 4 more months. Victor will come and remove the chest tube in 3 days. You will be on your own ‘til then. Will you be all right?"

"I guess I’ll have to be."

"Here is your PDA. If there is an emergency, don’t contact Victor directly. Go through me. It’s safer for him."

"Who is he, anyway?"

Long pause. Major indecision by Michael……………… "He’s my brother."

Once again, the wind got punched right out of her lungs. What little there was, anyway. She was too stunned to speak, so she just sat and processed this bombshell.

They arrived and entered the house. Michael went about checking power, supplies, security measures etc. He unloaded what supplies he had brought along and made sure Nikita was comfortable. He wasn’t in the house for more that 45 minutes.

"I have to go now. There will be questions."

"Well, I have a few myself. For instance, how ..."

Michael cut her off with that familiar tone. "Not now Nikita, It’s not important."

He knew he had to get out of there quickly. If he stayed any longer, he would say something he might regret. "Now that I know you’re safe, I won’t contact you if you don’t want me to."

"Michael, the more we contact each other, the likelier we will be discovered. You know that. Don’t make me say it."

"You’re right. I’ll contact you on the first week on each month. How would that be?"

"I would like that very much. But, if Madeline gets suspicious…… try once every 3 months."

"Done."

Michael moved towards the door, but stopped when he heard her try to speak. He turned to acknowledge her. "Something else?"

Hesitantly, "I don’t know….. if I can do this."

Michael walked to her. Leaning over her, he kissed her on both cheeks. "You are stronger than you look."

Before he pulled away, she clutched his collar with her good arm. She kissed him firmly on the lips. Then, in a faint whisper, "I’m scared".

Michael returned her kiss. "I am too."

The door closed. Nikita listened to the crunching of gravel as the car drove away. She listened for several minutes, hoping he would return.

*******

6 months later:

Michael spotted the package in front of his door, and approached with caution. Upon inspection, he saw no markings of any kind. His suspicion growing, he was about to call Section when he spotted it. On the lower left corner was the letter ‘J’.

He brought it into his apartment and opened it. There was but one thing inside. A small sculpture made of red electrical wire. It was in the shape of the infinity sign, ‘8’. Michael smiled.

The next day at Section, he was walking by Birkoff’s area and stopped in mid stride. Birkoff looked up as Michael’s head did a casual ‘look around’. No one was watching. Birkoff followed Michael’s eyes to the wire sculpture on the second shelf. It was partially hidden behind his joy stick. It was in the shape of a square but had three ripples on one side. Birkoff moved the piece of art deeper under the shelf. Their eyes locked and Birkoff said only one thing. "You’re forgiven." Then he resumed his work.

Michael’s heart was thumping loudly as he walked straight over to Walter’s nook. Walter looked up from his bomb, blinking. The detail glasses magnified his eyes four fold. Michael looked at him passively, but Walter knew what he was asking. Standing, Walter walked to the back corner of his space and moved some tools around, seemingly looking for something. One of the items he moved, was a red wire in the shape of a circle, with a white wire wrapped once. It pointed towards the center of the circle.

When Walter turned around, Michael pulled the ‘8’ from his pocket, just enough for the old man to see. The two men locked eyes, as understanding passed between them. Walter smiled, nodded, and returned to work.

All three men were at peace. Everything was all right now.

END