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Nikita looked out the window of her apartment thoughtfully before returning to the necessary task of completing her report for Ops. She stared at the last sentence. Target canceled. How many times since she joined Section had she written that statement? She didn't know, and lately, didn't care. Each mission blurred into the next, and each new victim was faceless and utterly insignificant. Was this how she felt about life before Section? Did life have so little meaning then? She couldn't remember.

SECTION

"Nikita," Michael spoke quietly as Nikita strolled by the exercise room. She turned toward him dutifully, her eyes without expression. He was drenched in sweat. She knew how intense his workouts could be. He took in her perfectly coifed hair and dark clothes. A question lit up in his eyes, but he only spoke.

"Operations wants to see you. We are leaving for Luxembourg tonight." Nikita turned away, quickly striding to Operation's office. Michael watched her go.

What is wrong with her? He wondered. He continued to jump rope rapidly. For the past two weeks, she had been acting strangely. She seemed to be withdrawing into herself more and more each day. He hadn't really noticed until today. He stopped and frowned, trying to pinpoint the exact time of change. Three weeks ago, she'd had to kill an innocent bystander who had seen too much. Michael would have done it, but Nikita was the only one in position. Yes. It was after that when the change began. Still, her efficiency on the job was excellent, perhaps even better than before. But Nikita was becoming a shell, and Michael suddenly realized that she had finally become what Section wanted. A perfect killing machine. Another Michael.

"Yes." Nikita stood ramrod straight and waited for Operation's instructions.

"Nikita, you and Michael are going to Luxembourg to stop an assassination attempt. The assassin is a woman named Darlene Quovet. She belongs to an organization we cannot infiltrate. You and Michael must stop her through any means necessary, except death. If you take her by force, she will kill herself. She is also part of a small group of women vigilantes. You may need to be accepted into this group to get close to her. They pose no threat to Section and serve similar interests. The other members of the women's group are not to be involved."

Nikita stared back at Operations dully. "Why don't we just shoot her and be done with it?"

"Because she needs to be brought here for questioning. Do you understand me?" He glared at her before sitting down at his desk and pulling up the view screen.

"This is Darlene Quovet. Find her, and bring her back. Dismissed."

Nikita turned away, then paused. "Why is Michael coming with me?"

"His mission is not your concern." Madeline came out from behind a gray divider and stared evenly at Nikita. "Do your job as quickly as possible. The assassination is to take place three weeks from now." Madeline went back behind the divider, effectively ending the meeting.

LUXEMBOURG

Michael urged Nikita to sleep. "You've been to the club every night for the past two weeks. You need to rest." Nikita looked at Michael, as if assessing him. She noticed that although his words were caring, his voice, face and eyes were the same as always. Dead. It was a look she was trying to perfect.

"You are right, I can't be very efficient if I don't rest. Yes. Thank you. Good night." Her voice was metallic, robotic and cold. She quickly changed her clothes, then promptly reclined on the single bed in the tiny apartment they were sharing. She faced the wall.

Michael gazed at her back. That was the most she had spoken to him in all of the time they were in Luxembourg. Other days, the conversations were always monosyllabic. Him asking, her answering in the shortest way possible. It was unnerving. Plus, whenever she looked him in the eye, her expression was empty.

A few minutes later he could hear her measured breathing as sleep overtook her.

He sat on the side of the bed and let his fingers slowly glide through her hair. Why, Nikita, he thought, why are you this machine now?

Suddenly, she started violently and spoke. "What are you doing? I can't sleep." She rolled over and glared at him. Michael felt like jumping for joy. She had actually shown him an emotion!

Michael felt a crack in his wall. His reaction to her glare was incredible. He took a deep breath. "Nikita, I want to know what is wrong with you."

"Nothing is wrong with me." She stared at the wall. "I still have a week to complete this mission. I'm in the women's group. Darlene Quovet has accepted me. All I have to do is find out the location of the assassination attempt. I'll go to the club now."

Michael felt like wringing her neck. "No. That's not what I meant. What is wrong with YOU?"

Nikita finally looked him in the eyes. "Why?" She demanded. She sat up and faced him squarely.

Michael struggled with his words, obviously uncomfortable. Nikita's eyes narrowed and she enjoyed watching him flounder. Now HE couldn't look her in the eye. He swallowed fitfully, and rubbed his hands together. He stood up and unknowingly paced. "I . . . I don't like to see you like this." He finally said.

"Like what?" She arched her eyebrow at him.

He looked back at her. He stopped pacing. His hands were neatly folded together. He was completely composed. He was suddenly dead again. "Like me."

Nikita's eyes widened in shock. Like me. She couldn't believe it. Me, like Michael. Incredibly the last five weeks came rushing back into her head, images, sounds, people, voices, colors. It made her dizzy. It made her ill. Her hands strayed to her stomach.

She gulped and said, "Michael, I'm not like you. I have a heart."

"You are losing your heart. I'm watching it happen." He looked calmly at her, utterly in control of himself again.

"NO!" Nikita suddenly shot up out bed and yelled in his face. "NO! You are the dead-hearted killer, NOT me, never me!! I still have a soul! I have compassion and love!" She was sobbing and screaming all at once, tears streaming down her face. Her emotions were a rage in her. They came rushing out, a torrent, a flood of pent up forgotten feelings. "You are WRONG!! I will never be you!" She spat out the last words.

"Why did you kill those two women yesterday. The other women were not to be harmed. What possible reason could you have for killing them.?" Michael questioned her viciously, hating himself at the same time.

"What...." She faltered for a moment, her tears stopped momentarily as she gathered her strength. She spoke rapidly. "They saw us meet in the street the day before. I was protecting YOUR identity!" Nikita glared at him again. "I had to do it!"

Michael grabbed her hands and moved his face closer to hers. "My identity . . . did . . . not . . .need . . . protecting . . .from them." He searched her eyes for a glimmer of understanding, but she suddenly went limp in his grasp and fell back to the bed.

"No. . . no . . .no" She moaned, slowly shaking her head back and forth. "It can't be true. I love, I care, I suffer, I feel, it can't be true. I'm not like you." She became more incoherent as her sobs overtook her.

Her agonized cries filled Michael's head. He looked down at her, immediately filled with shame. He sat next to her on the bed and cradled her in his arms.

She groped for him, and clung. Her racking sobs shook her body and his too.

After a time, he began to rock her. There was no sound now, only the creaking of the bed. "Michael?" She whispered.

"Yes, Nikita?"

"Please, help me find my heart again." Her plea broke a part of him deep inside he never knew existed before. He felt weaker than he ever had before in his life. He held her tighter then.

"I will." He vowed. To himself, he thought, maybe I'll find mine too.