It had been four weeks since Nikita's death and Michael was becoming more and more sullen and despondent as each day passed. At first, he seemed fine, almost as if nothing had happened. But then he'd begun to grow quiet and non-responsive. Madeline knew they were in trouble when Michael stood up and left in the middle of a briefing, heading for his office and slamming and locking the door behind him. Operations was furious, in part, Madeline knew, because canceling Nikita was going to cost them Michael as well.

Michael had stayed in his office all night alone. He sat staring blankly at the message on the computer screen. He'd been trying consistently to contact Nikita since that first night. He tried every chance he got. He'd lost track of the numbers of times. Fifty? One hundred? Still, she did not respond. As the weeks wore on, the messages became more and more desperate. He stared at the most recent message, the one that had gone out at 4:00 am: Nikita, please respond. It's Michael. Where are you? Please respond!

There was a knock at the door. Michael rubbed his eyes. He did not want to see anyone or talk to anyone. The knock again. It was insistent. He took a short breath, stood and went to the door. It was Madeline. She seemed a bit surprised when he opened the door. It didn't stop her from following him into the office. She left the door open behind her. He went and took his seat behind the desk. "I have to talk to you," she said.

"What about?" He stared through her at the open doorway. She came around his desk. He reached up slowly and lowered the laptop screen.

She stood before him, stroked his cheek softly and lifted his chin so he had to look at her. "I have something that I think will make you feel better," she said. "My office. Ten minutes." She turned and left, leaving the door open behind her.

He didn't want to talk to Madeline. He didn't want to leave his office. He didn't want to do anything. He lifted the laptop screen and read again the last message that he'd sent: Nikita, please respond. It's Michael. Where are you? Please respond!

He looked back up at the doorway and thought of the many times Nikita had stood there, sometimes to talk about a mission, sometimes angry or bitter about something he'd done, sometimes just to say hello.

He looked back down to the computer and decided to type another message. His hands were unsteady on the keyboard: Nikita, it's Michael. I need to know you're okay. Please, please let me know you're okay. His hands began to shake. He hit send quickly, then turned in his chair to face the wall, his arms hugging his body.

He felt a presence in his office and turned back to see Walter standing in the doorway. The two men eyed one another. Finally, Walter took a few steps into the office. Michael continued to gaze at the doorway.

"How could you do it?" Walter asked. He walked up to the desk, placed his hands on the edge and leaned forward. He looked for some sign of emotion on Michael's face and saw none. "I know you're a cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch who'll do anything just because the Section tells you to, but this was Nikita!" he spat.

Michael looked up at him, and Walter was surprised to see his eyes were moist and almost desperate.

Michael looked at him a long time, then finally spoke. "I tried to save her," he said, his voice a whisper.

"What?" Walter asked. "What do you mean?"

Michael looked down, deep sadness now in his eyes. "It doesn't matter. I failed. She's dead." With those words, Michael's lower lip began to quiver. In a rush, he stood and almost ran from the office.

*******

He headed for Madeline's office. He didn't want to see or talk to her but he had nowhere else to go. He had to get away from Walter. When Michael entered her office, she stood to greet him. "I'm glad you're here," she said, more relieved than glad. "Come in. Take a seat."

He sat in a chair in front of her desk. She sat next to him. "How are you doing?" she asked gently. "Who cares?" "I care." He thought for a second that perhaps she did care, as much as she could, but then it didn't matter. He knew the Section better than he knew himself. And he knew they'd calculated exactly how much effort they could expend on him before he became a complete liability. This was why Madeline needed to talk to him. To see how far he'd fallen. "Michael?"

"What?" "We didn't realize how much Nikita's loss would affect you." She reached out and touched his arm. He tried to pull away, but she persisted. "I want you to know, I am profoundly sorry." She paused. "But it's over. You must let it go."

"I killed her," he whispered.

"You did not."

"I'm responsible."

"You were following orders."

Michael glared at her. "Nikita's dead!" he cried, frustrated and angry that she would not acknowledge the fact that Nikita's death mattered. He lowered his head and brought his hands to his temples.

Madeline stood and moved behind him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and rubbed gently. Finally, she said, "I told you have I something that will make you feel better." She walked around her desk and pulled a file folder from her top drawer. She held it out to Michael. He did not take it. "Don't you want to know what this is?" she asked.

Michael suspected what it was but didn't want to know.

She set the folder on the edge of the desk. "Her name is Felicia," Madeline began.

Michael felt his heart sink.

"She's from California. She's going to need your supervision if she's to make it through training."

Michael felt tired, so tired he couldn't speak. He brought his hands to his temples again and tried to rub away the ache that had filled his head since that night.

"Michael?"

"I can't do this anymore," he said. Then he stood up and left.

*******

On the slow walk back to his office, thoughts of Nikita filled Michael's mind. He couldn't stop them anymore. He remembered his instructions to her clearly. To take the pager. To keep an eye on it because he might need to contact her. She'd taken it and run off to the building with the rest of the team.

When she didn't respond to his messages at first, Michael thought she was afraid that it was the Section trying to find her. But then, as the weeks passed and she still didn't respond, Michael finally convinced himself that she had not heard the page, that she had not gotten his message, that she was too busy setting charges, or fighting, or trying to rescue Stanley, and she had died in the explosion.

But now as he entered his office, a new and horrifying possibility entered his mind, a possibility that knocked the breath out of him as he accepted it as truth: She had heard the page. She had gotten the message. But she had not had time to get out of the building. He'd left her ten seconds. He'd thought that would be enough time. But it had not been.

He began to tremble as his mind raced through what he now knew happened. She heard the page. She read the message. She knew she was going to die. And she knew he had sent her to her death.

As images of the explosions flooded his mind, he began to shake uncontrollably. He choked in a breath, then threw back his head, screaming "No!" As the last of his breath left him, he fell to his knees, sobbing. He cried until his eyes were so swollen he could not see. Then he fell against the desk and pounded his head against it.

He wanted to die. He'd left her ten seconds. It was not enough time. He thought of her again. Hearing the page. Reading the message. Trying to escape. Feeling complete terror when she knew she was going to die. Feeling complete hatred of him as shrapnel tore into her, slicing her open, and flames burst around her, burning and melting the flesh from her body. He began to sob again and fell to the floor.

He felt strong hands lifting him from the floor and guiding him to lie on the sofa. Then he felt a needle prick his arm. As the drug took effect and sent him into a deep sleep, he hoped this was the Section canceling him.

*******

After Michael had run from the office, Walter stayed behind, trying to figure out what he meant, "I tried to save her." Walter went to sit behind Michael's desk then saw the message that made his stomach drop. Nikita, it's Michael. I need to know you're okay. Please, please let me know you're okay.

Walter checked the message log and found dozens of messages Michael had been sending since that night. He had tried to save her, to warn her about the suicide mission. He thought back to that night, trying to remember the details. He'd been with Nikita and Michael the whole time and had not heard him warn her. Warning her early, though, would have meant giving her the opportunity to try to save the others and Michael would not have allowed that. Walter knew he must have sent her in with a separate com unit to warn her right before the blast. And now that she wasn't responding, he had convinced himself she was dead. But Walter knew that conclusion was unwarranted. Perhaps she was not receiving his messages, the com unit was broken or simply out of range. Perhaps she was receiving the messages but was choosing not to respond.

Walter realized he had to talk with Michael and make him understand that Nikita might be alive. He closed the laptop and headed out the door in the direction Michael had gone. On his way down the hall, he approached Operation's office. Operations was on the telephone and the door was ajar.

As Walter passed the open door, he caught part of a conversation that made him stop cold. "I know it's Michael, but we have no choice. At this point, cancellation is the only option. You know this." Walter turned on his heel and headed straight for Birkoff.

He gave Birkoff a few seconds for the shock that Nikita might still be alive to wear off then quickly explained the situation: Michael was in danger of being canceled unless they could convince him Nikita was all right. What it would take to convince him of that, Walter did not know. The fact that Nikita had not been responding to his messages for a month was all the evidence Michael needed to convince him she was dead. But Birkoff knew and insisted that receiving a message and responding to it were two entirely different functions. If they could determine that the messages had been received, that would be enough to convince Michael she was okay.

Birkoff knew that Michael would have tuned the com unit to an unused frequency. He was sure if he could work with Michael's laptop, he could determine that frequency and whether the messages had been received. The two men headed quickly for Michael's office.

They found him slumped on the floor, sobbing. Walter told Birkoff to stay with him while he ran to Medlab and stole valium and a hypodermic. He returned quickly, lifted Michael up and walked him to the sofa, then sedated him.

After an hour of work, Birkoff was able to determine that the first message after the explosion, but only the first Nikita, are you there? had been received. They were elated. Walter hurried over to the sofa to wake Michael.

"Michael, wake up," Walter said, shaking him. "Wake up. Nikita's alive!"

Michael was slow to come around, still extremely groggy from the valium. "What are you talking about?" he mumbled.

"Nikita's all right. Birkoff was able to track the transmission. She received the first message you sent after the explosion, Michael. She's alive."

Michael eyed him suspiciously. "If she were alive, she would have responded," he said slowly, his voice low.

Birkoff stood and came over and knelt before Michael. "She only received the first message," he said gently. "She must have disconnected the com unit off after that. She doesn't know how hard you've been trying to contact her."

"You're lying. You're both lying," Michael said angrily.

"No, we're not," Birkoff insisted.

"Michael, you have to listen to us," Walter said. "Nikita is alive."

"She's dead. I killed her. I know it."

Walter didn't want to tell him what he'd overheard, but had to do something to get through to him. "Michael, she's alive. It's very important you believe us and snap out of this."

"Why?"

"Because if you don't, they are going to cancel you."

Birkoff shot Walter a worried look, concerned how Michael would respond. Walter locked eyes with Birkoff as he continued. "I overheard Operations give the order."

Both men looked at Michael. His face was expressionless but his eyes held profound sadness and pain.

"I know that. And I don't care," Michael finally said softly. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters." He stood slowly, unsteadily, and walked over to his chair. He sat down and turned his back to them. "Please, leave me alone," he said.

After a moment, realizing they weren't going to get through to him then, Birkoff and Walter left the office, closing the door behind them.

They quickly decided they needed to meet outside of the Section to discuss their plans. They worked over coffee at the corner shop. Birkoff needed to work with a com unit to determine if there was any way to trace them without the power being on. Walter needed to figure out a way to buy Michael more time. He would talk with Madeline. If anyone could postpone the order, it would be Madeline. They left without finishing their coffee and hurried back to the Section.

Birkoff headed for his quarters and Walter headed for Madeline's office.

*******

Walter entered Madeline's office without knocking. He found her sitting on the sofa, pages and photos from Michael's file spread over the coffee table and cushions. She glanced up, startled.

"Sorry," Walter said.

"It's okay," she responded, drawing some of the pages into an uneven stack. "What can I do for you?"

"It's about Michael," Walter began, nodding toward her papers.

"What about him?"

"I know the Section isn't going to put up with him much longer in the state he's in," Walter began. Madeline looked away. "I think I can help him."

"How?"

"Look, for a while there, before Simone, then after Simone and before Nikita, I was the closest thing to a friend Michael had. If anybody can get through to him now, I think it's me." He waited. Madeline offered nothing. "Can I have a week?" he tried.

"I can't promise anything," Madeline said.

"Please."

Madeline looked down at the papers and photos around her. They stirred more memories than she wanted. Michael meant so much to her, more than she would admit to anyone. She owed him this much. "You have a week," she said. Walter quickly thanked her and hurried out of the room.

*******

Walter and Birkoff took Michael's laptop and a com unit and sequestered themselves in Birkoff's room. For four days, between his regular duties and this, Birkoff worked nearly around the clock. He studied the schematics. He sent messages from Michael's laptop to the com unit. Then he turned the unit off and ran diagnostics, trying to find a way to make a connection. He was getting nowhere. He'd never felt so frustrated in his life.

"You need a break," Walter told him.

"There's no time," he insisted.

"There's no time for you to be so stressed you can't think straight."

Birkoff scowled and pushed his chair back from the table. "I don't know why I can't make this work," he muttered.

"Give it time," Walter said.

"We don't have time!"

"We have a three days, Birkoff."

"To do everything! We don't know where Nikita is. She could be anywhere! We'll need time to go to where she is, to track her down, to convince her to come back..."

"You let me worry about that," Walter said. He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder and squeezed firmly. "We each have a role to play here. You locate her. I'll bring her back." Walter walked over to the sofa and sat down. "I have a feeling that I'll either be able to convince Nikita to come back right away, or not at all. So take as much time as you need..."

"But she could be..." Walter stopped Birkoff before he could insist she could be as far away as Madagascar.

"You do your job. I'll do mine. That's the way we work around here. Now, take a break. Get a Coke."

Birkoff stood begrudgingly from the table and sulked over to kitchen. He wasn't used to failure or frustration. It didn't set well. He pulled a can of Coke from his refrigerator and popped it open. He sat thinking about com unit components as he drank. A small plastic casing, silicon chips, micro-nickel-cadmium battery pack. Nothing useful. Birkoff finished his Coke and went back to Walter.

"That wasn't much of a break," Walter said.

"There is no way to control the com unit from a remote location, period. The best we can do is keep scanning her frequency and hope she turns it on." "And if she doesn't turn it on, there's nothing to trace."

Birkoff shook his head. "If only there was something in the unit itself that we could trace, but there's nothing. Plastic, inert metal..." The look of sudden realization on Walter's face made Birkoff stop talking in mid-sentence. "What? You know a way to trace plastic?"

"No. But what if he didn't send her in with a com unit?"

"What do you mean?"

"We've been assuming he sent her in with a second com unit. Check the inventory. See if there's a unit missing."

Birkoff quickly called up the inventory on his laptop. "No, they're all accounted for."

"So he sent her in with something else!"

"Yeah, but what?" Birkoff asked, scanning through the inventory of all the other communication devices. "Nothing's missing."

"I think I might have an idea." Walter stood up and headed for the door.

"What? Tell me!" Birkoff shouted, hurrying after him.

"I've been working on a prototype for a new communications device, an interactive pager. One with an unrestricted range," Walter said, his voice lowered. "Michael knew about it. He knew I had built a prototype to experiment with. Now, don't you think if he wanted to communicate with Nikita without anyone knowing about it, without any standard devices coming up missing, don't you think he just might grab my prototype?"

"Well, yeah, if it worked..."

"Of course it worked," Walter snapped. He opened the door to his lab and hurried to the bench. "I haven't worked on it for a couple of months," he said, scanning the bench. He began pulling boxes from underneath. "Got busy with some other things. Here," he said, finding a particular box, bringing it up and carefully dumping its contents on the bench. He sifted through the pile of components. "It's not here. That son-of-a... He took it!"

"Okay, great, but just how does that help us?" Birkoff asked.

"It can be controlled from a remote location."

Birkoff's mouth fell open. "Walter, this is great!" Birkoff said excitedly, grabbing his arm. "We can trace her now." He paused then spoke quietly, his smile fading. "Assuming she still has it."

They looked at each other, knowing that if Nikita didn't have the pager in her possession, there would be no way of finding her in time. Walter picked up the schematics for his prototype and headed back with Birkoff to his room to start the search.

*******

Nikita had just finished serving her fourteenth ham and cheese omelette of the morning when AdaSue called her over to the counter. "Honey, I hate to ask you this, but can you cover for me tonight? Sam just called and he's got tickets to Garth! Won 'em from Double-Z. I've just been dyin' to go. Do you mind?" She had her hands clasped over her chest and bobbed up and down.

"Of course not, AdaSue," Nikita said, smiling. "I don't have anything else to do, really. I was going to paint the kitchen, but that can wait."

"You are such a sweetheart!" AdaSue exclaimed. "Joe, ain't she a sweetheart," she called back to the cook. "And you listen to me, you do not have to paint that kitchen. That's Sam's job."

"I don't mind at all. I like painting."

"Well, all right. Just so you know you don't have to."

"I know."

A customer came in and sat at the counter.

"I'll get this one," AdaSue said. "Looks like 12 needs more coffee." She nodded toward the man turned halfway around in booth 12, craning his neck to find his waitress.

"I'm on it," Nikita said, picking up the coffee pot. "Can't deny a man his coffee."

*******

"Shelton," Birkoff said, dumbfounded, staring at the blip on the map.

"Shelton?"

"Shelton. Two towns away."

Walter stood there shaking his head. "Hide in plain sight." He marked the coordinates on the map, patted Birkoff on the back, then headed out.

Walter took the train to Shelton and walked from shop to shop in the area Birkoff had pinpointed, showing a picture of Nikita and asking if anyone had seen the young woman. After an hour, he came upon AdaSue's Diner, a place that offered constant hot coffee and the best donuts in a 15 mile radius. Walter was barely seated when AdaSue walked up to him.

"Coffee, mister?" she asked.

"Yeah," Walter muttered, looking up, then, "yes, please." AdaSue was prettier than her name sounded. Walter hadn't been out in a while.

"You take cream with that?" AdaSue continued.

"No, black," Walter said. He waited until AdaSue brought the coffee, then said, "I'm looking for my niece. She's tall. Blonde. Very pretty. Got to town about a month ago."

"Sounds like Josey," AdaSue said.

"Josey?" Walter repeated, then understood. "Josephine," he said. "Have you seen her?"

"Why are you looking for her?" AdaSue asked, suddenly a little wary.

"There's an illness in the family. It's pretty serious. I need to let her know." He saw AdaSue was still suspicious. "She left the family in a bit of a huff," he said. "She hasn't contacted anyone since she left. All I know is that she was heading here. Can you help me?"

"Yeah, I think I can. Hold on a minute." AdaSue left and disappeared into the kitchen. She came back about five minutes later. "You're Uncle Walter, right?" she asked.

"Yes," Walter said, his heart starting to pound faster.

"Josey's upstairs on her break right now."

"What?"

"She works here. I hired her. Sorry, you know, but I couldn't tell you without checking with her first."

"Of course." Walter tried to contain his excitement.

"Anyway, she said she'll meet you outside in the park, just across the street there. She said to give her a couple minutes."

"Thank you," Walter said, fishing for his wallet and pulling out his cash.

"I didn't tell her about the family illness," AdaSue said. "I just told her you needed to talk to her about something important."

"Okay. Good. Thanks." He handed her a five dollar bill and told her to keep the change. She watched him leave the diner and hurry across the street.

*******

Walter stood waiting by a park bench near the frozen fountain. Nikita approached him and sat down on the bench.

"Hello, Walter," she said, not looking around.

"Hello, sugar," Walter answered. He sat down next to her. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing well. And you?"

"I'm okay." There was a pause. "Nikita, you need to come back."

"Why?"

"It's Michael. He thinks you're dead. It's tearing him apart."

"Well, tell him I'm not dead."

"I've done that. He doesn't believe me."

"Why not?"

"He thinks I'm lying. The fact that you didn't respond to any of his messages is all he needs to know you're dead."

"Messages?" Nikita asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, messages. Many, many messages. Through the pager he gave you."

She thought for a second. "Well, then I'll respond to him through the pager."

"He'll think Birkoff rigged it."

"Then let me call him," she tried.

"Nikita, we both know a call can be faked."

"Then bring him to me, Walter."

"He won't leave the Section. Nikita, he won't even leave his office. He's not eating, he's not sleeping. He's not even working."

"I find that hard to believe," she said.

"Believe it. I'm not lying to you when I tell you he's not going to last much longer unless he knows you're okay."

Nikita eyed him suspiciously. "What do you mean, Walter?"

"It's serious, sugar." He took her hands and looked her in the eye. "I don't want to upset you, but I overheard Operations giving the order to have him canceled."

"What?" She stared hard at Walter, looking for any signs of deceit. She saw none, but she wouldn't let herself believe it. "They would never cancel Michael," she insisted. She pulled her hands away.

"The only reason he's still alive is because I went to Madeline and begged her to give me a week with him."

"No."

"I told her I thought I could get through to him. Birkoff and I spent that time looking for you. We're almost out of time now. You need to come back."

Nikita looked away. She felt a heaviness in her chest and closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to make it go away. Finally, she said to him in a whisper, "Walter, I don't know if I can come back."

"You have to."

"Being in the Section was killing me, Walter. You knew it. Michael knew it. Everybody knew it."

"You're one of the best operatives the Section's ever had."

"But I wasn't meant for the Section. I don't belong there."

Walter looked at her hard. "Where do you belong, Nikita?"

"Anywhere but there." She looked away.

"Here?"

There was a long pause. "I don't know."

"Where you were before the Section?" Walter asked. Nikita shifted on the cold park bench and crossed her arms. "On the streets," he continued. "In prison."

Nikita scratched her head and looked away. "That's where you'd still be if it weren't for the Section."

"Are you saying I owe them something?"

"Maybe I am. Look, Nikita, I know you don't like the Section's ways, but you have to admit it serves a greater purpose. When you are with Section One, whether you admit it or not, you are working for the greater good."

"So what if that's true, Walter? So long as I was there, I couldn't focus on that end. Unlike the rest of you, I could never see past the means. The lies, the betrayal...the killing. We were engaged in the very behavior we were trying to stop!"

Walter pursed his lips and swallowed. "That may be so, Nikita. But Section One is the last line of defense against a lot of evil people whose ends do not justify their means. Have you ever thought about it that way?"

Nikita paused. She had thought about it that way. She'd thought about it every way. And still she kept coming to the same conclusion. Even though it was true that Section One fought the most evil people on earth, when she had to hurt innocent people, and kill innocent people, to do it, it ate away at her humanity. Section One had trained her, molded her into a person who could be cold and devious, who could lie and steal, and who could kill in cold blood. She admitted to herself a long time ago they would not have been able to do that if she did have it in her. The one part of her that was left untouched, though, was her humanity. If she had to lose that, she'd lose herself.

"Walter, if I stayed in the Section much longer, I was going to lose myself."

"What does that mean, Nikita?" Walter asked, squinting his eyes.

"I was losing my humanity, Walter."

"No, you weren't, Nikita. You never lose your humanity. You either have it or you don't. I think you were just finding a way to work in the Section without constantly torturing yourself. I think you were finding a way to shelter your humanity, to keep it intact."

"By doing what?"

"By learning to focus on the end."

Nikita took a deep breath and let it out loudly. "I don't think so, Walter."

"I do think so, sugar," he insisted. "I think you're beginning to see that even now. I think you're realizing that you have a place in the Section. You just needed a little time away for that to be clear."

Nikita was shaking her head. "No, Walter. I don't have a place in the Section. I don't want to have a place in the Section."

"Then why'd you keep the pager?"

"What?"

"It's how we traced you. Why'd you keep the pager?"

Nikita lowered her head. "I don't know."

"I think you do know. I think it's because you wanted the option of coming back."

"No, you're wrong."

"Then why'd you stay so close? Shelton's only two towns away."

"I'm getting my bearings," she said after a minute.

"I don't think so. I think you wanted the option of coming back in case once you got outside you realized that you do belong in the Section."

"Even if that is the case, which it's not, things are working out for me here. I have a job, a place to stay, I'm making friends..."

"Is that what you want me to tell Michael?"

"Yes! Tell him that! He was the one who set me free. He knew what the Section was doing to me. He was the only one who cared enough to..." She stopped in mid-sentence, almost choking on her words.

Nikita stood and walked quickly away from Walter, stopping abruptly at the fountain. She stared at the ice-glazed sculpture then let her gaze wander to the people walking through the park. Some were in pairs, others by themselves, but all were moving quickly through the cold, winter air. A month ago, she would have felt separated from them, a stranger to them, different. But recently, she had begun to feel a part of them. She began to feel like someone who was free. She felt Walter come up behind her.

"What are you thinking about, Nikita?"

"How I'm free now," she said, with a catch in her voice. "Free to do whatever I want. Whenever I want. And free to not do what I don't want to do."

"So you're not coming back."

Nikita's eyes grew moist and her lower lip began to tremble. She quickly brought a gloved hand to her face. "I can't."

"All right, then. Goodbye." Walter turned and walked away slowly. Nikita watched him go. Tears began to pool in her eyes and spill down her face. She thought of her years at the Section, all the fear and pain and death. She thought again of the changes in herself over that time, and how only over the past few days had she begun to feel human again. Then she thought about what Walter said of her never losing her humanity, just sheltering it temporarily, and she wondered if that could be true. And then came thoughts of Michael, thoughts she had been trying to keep out of her head since that night. She had started to say it herself: He was the only one who cared enough about her to set her free. And now, if what Walter was saying was true, Michael needed her. More than he ever had before. He needed her to save his life.

She caught up with Walter at the edge of the park. "I don't know what to do, Walter," she said, her voice plaintive. "Tell me what to do."

"Nikita, Michael can't live with himself thinking he's responsible for your death. Do you think you'll be able to live with yourself knowing you're responsible for his?"

She sniffed and wiped her eyes. Then she slowly shook her head.

"Then come back with me."

Nikita took one last look at the people in the park. She prayed what Walter had said about her humanity was true. She took a deep breath and turned back to him. "Okay," she said. "Let's go back."

Walter went with Nikita to her apartment. It was an efficiency above the restaurant where she'd taken the job as a waitress, trading work for room and board. She began to gather some of her things, but Walter told her she would have to leave them. She reluctantly followed him downstairs to say goodbye to AdaSue.

AdaSue was disappointed Josey had to leave so soon, especially since she'd fit in so well and was picking up the business like a pro. But Nikita explained she had to, that her uncle had come to let her know of an illness in the family and she had to go home. She'd send for her things later.

She apologized for having to leave in a such a rush, and for not being able to cover for AdaSue that night. AdaSue told her not to give it a second thought, gave her a huge hug and insisted she take two carry-out lunches for the trip. She told Walter that Josey was welcome back anytime, then gave him a hug, too. Walter said, "Come on, Josey, we have to go," and held the door open for her. Nikita took one last look around the restaurant, gave AdaSue another hug, then headed out the door.

On the train ride back to the Section, Walter called Birkoff. "Birkoff, I'm headed back."

"Are you alone?"

"No."

Birkoff was so relieved, all he could say was, "I can't believe it."

"Believe it," Walter said. "You know what to do. Two hours, fifteen minutes."

"Yes, I'm on it."

Walter turned off the phone and looked over at Nikita. "We have a plan to keep Operations and Madeline occupied until I get you into the building."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"System-wide failure."

"You two don't fool around," she said, joking, trying to keep her spirits up.

"We can't miss a beat on this one, sugar. There's too much at stake."

"I think I'm aware of that, Walter."

"You're worried."

"Of course I'm worried! They tried to cancel me."

"And they know now that it was a huge mistake. They'll be thrilled that you're alive."

"I hope so."

Walter spent the rest of the trip making calls to contacts to establish a cover story for Nikita. Nikita spent her time looking out the window and watching the trees as they rushed past. She thought back to the night of her escape and remembered the rushing trees and the full moon. And the pager as she looked down to read Michael's message. If only I responded, she thought.

*******

Exactly two hours and fifteen minutes later back at the Section, the system-wide failure guaranteed that Operations and Madeline were hovering over Birkoff until he diagnosed the problem and got the system back up. Walter was able to bring Nikita in undetected, and he headed with her to Michael's office.

Walter opened the door to the darkened office and ushered Nikita in. Michael lay on the sofa. He was facing away from them.

"Michael," Walter said, "get up. I've brought Nikita."

After a long pause, Michael whispered, "Why do you keep doing this?" His voice was hoarse and tinged with profound pain. "Leave me alone."

Walter pressed his hand against the small of Nikita's back, urging her forward. Nikita felt very nervous, but stepped forward. She said softly, "Michael, it's me. It's Nikita."

Michael froze. He felt his stomach drop and his heart begin to beat hard in his chest. This is a dream, he told himself. Just another dream. But then he heard her voice again.

"Michael?"

He slowly moved his eyes to look toward her voice. He saw her standing in the middle of the room. Just as he'd seen her every night. Every night when she'd come to him and he would rush to her. Only to have her vanish as he reached her. Or to catch fire and burn before his eyes. Or to shatter into thousands of pieces and blast past him as he grasped for her.

"Michael?"

He heard the anxiety rise in her voice. He sat up slowly, then stood unsteadily. He knew he was dreaming, but this one felt different. She started toward him but he raised his arm urgently to stop her. "No!" he cried. He didn't want the dream to end yet. It felt more real this time and he wanted it to last.

She stopped, uncertain. "What's wrong?" she asked. She could see he was trembling.

His face was shadowed with grief and his voice was a whisper. "This isn't real. You're not really here."

"I am here, Michael." She took a step closer.

He shouted "No!" again. She stopped. "Please," he cried. "If I touch you, you'll disappear."

"No, Michael, I won't disappear."

"It's true, Michael," Walter said from the doorway. "She's really here."

Nikita moved toward him very slowly. Tears welled in Michael's eyes and began to spill down his face. As she reached him, she held out her hand slowly to him and pressed her finger against his palm. He felt the pressure of her touch, the warmth of her finger against his flesh. His mouth fell open as he looked amazed at her finger against his palm. He slowly closed his hand around her finger and held it tightly. Then he looked up and fixed his eyes on hers.

He was shaking visibly, but he slowly placed his left hand over his right, switching his grasp without letting go, without looking away. Then he moved his right hand up her arm and across her shoulder, all the time keeping his eyes firmly fixed on her face.

Nikita had begun to cry. He ran his fingers gently over her face, tracing the trail of her tears. He opened his mouth to speak but could not. Nikita stepped forward to press herself against him. She held him tightly against her.

He pressed his face against hers and her hair clung to his cheek from his tears. He held her close and rocked her gently back and forth as he began to sob.

Walter stepped out of the office, quietly pulling the door shut behind him.

The power came back up, but Michael's office stayed dark. He'd been keeping the lights off.

"I thought you were dead," Michael whispered after many minutes.

"I'm okay," Nikita said. He was still trembling and Nikita held him close. "Michael, I'm so sorry I didn't respond. I didn't know."

"It doesn't matter," Michael said. "You're alive. You're here." He kissed her cheek then pulled back to look at her, still holding her shoulders firmly. He brushed the hair from her face then wiped the tears from his own eyes. "You came back," he whispered, it was almost a question.

"I came back for you."

He felt his knees go weak. "You're not safe here," he said, desperate. "They tried to cancel you." Tears were welling in his eyes again. If they discovered her, he would be responsible for her death again.

"No, Michael, it's okay," she told him. "Walter has it all figured out." She coaxed him toward the couch and sat down next to him. "We're going to say I was chasing Tyler out of the building when the blast went off. That I was thrown clear, but knocked unconscious. We'll say I've been in a hospital in Shelton for the past month. And that he saw my picture on a flier on a visit there."

"You were in Shelton?" he interrupted, astonished to learn she was so close.

"Yes," she admitted, then continued. "We'll say he got me out of the hospital and brought me here."

"They'll never believe that," Michael said, unconvinced.

"No, we've been through everything. Walter has contacts in that town. It's okay."

"But they gave orders to cancel you," he insisted. "There's no guarantee they won't do it again."

"Yes there is," she said.

"What?"

"You." Michael looked at her, confused. "Walter told me everything, Michael. They won't cancel me because they've seen what doing that did to you. You're too important to them to lose. They won't risk it again."

They were silent for a moment as they stared into each other's eyes. Finally, Nikita spoke. "I had no idea how you felt, Michael," she whispered.

"Neither did I," he said.

He looked down at her hands in his. He'd been holding them the whole time. He looked up and gazed into her beautiful eyes. They were shimmering with tears. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them softly. Then, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. He released her hands and put his hands to her head to gently stroke her hair. He ran the tip of his tongue along the curve of her lips, and she parted her lips to let him slip his tongue inside. He tasted the sweetness of her mouth as he ran his tongue along hers. They held each other as their kiss deepened. After a long while, they parted.

Nikita glanced up and noticed that Walter had returned and was waiting quietly by the door. "Madeline wants to see you both in her office," he said. Nikita started to stand, but Michael took her hand and pulled her to sit back down. He shifted so that he faced her directly. He held her hands and looked deeply into her eyes.

"No matter what happens," he began, "I need to you to know something." She waited. "You mean the world to me," he said. "I love you, Nikita."

She felt tears forming in her eyes again and quickly wiped them away. "I love you, too, Michael," she whispered.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed his neck softly. He kissed her lips again, then they stood up together to walk with Walter to Madeline's office.

*******

Madeline was standing by her desk, waiting for them. They came in and stood in the middle of the room. She dismissed Walter, shutting the door behind him. Then she walked back to Nikita and Michael, circling them slowly, then stopping to stand before them. She eyed them cautiously, uncertainly. For a long time, no one said anything. Finally, Madeline turned and went to sit behind her desk. She spoke without looking up.

"Needless to say, nothing like this has ever happened here before." She looked up at them. "I'll need to meet with Operations and explain the situation." They were silent. "Nikita, has Walter told me everything?"

Nikita glanced at Michael then said, "I believe so. I don't remember much."

Madeline looked from Nikita to Michael, then back again. "You look none the worse for wear," she said to her. "Michael, on the other hand, is a mess." She stood and walked over to Nikita. "Take him home. Clean him up. Make him eat something and get some sleep. Then be back here tomorrow morning by 7:00 am, both of you."

"Yes, ma'am," Nikita said. She took Michael's arm and coaxed him to the door. Madeline called out to him, "Michael." He stopped and turned. "I know you must be very relieved." She looked at Nikita. "He was worried sick."

"I know," Nikita said, then to Michael, "Come on, let's get you home."

Operations waited until he heard the door shut before coming down the stairs. "Quite a surprising turn of events," he said, as he stepped from the landing to the floor.

"Quite," Madeline agreed.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know yet."

"But you do know we're not hearing the whole story."

"Obviously. But what that story is might take a while to discover."

"Hmph," he said with a scowl. "I want this situation resolved as soon as possible. Let's send a team to Shelton."

"Solomon can lead it," Madeline suggested.

"Good. And you should have another talk with Walter."

Madeline nodded and picked up the phone.

*******

As Nikita and Michael walked down the hall, she got a good look at him in decent lighting for the first time. He looked terrible, pale and haggard and thin. Her heart went out to him. She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. He squeezed back.

"We'll get you home so you can rest," she said. "Do you have a car here?"

"We're close enough to walk," he said.

"Do we go by a market?" she asked. "I suspect you don't have any food."

"There's one near my building."

"Great, let's go."

They emerged from the Section into the bright light of the noonday winter sun. Michael squinted his eyes. He'd been living in his darkened office so long, the light hurt. He quickly brought out his sunglasses and slipped them on as he continued with Nikita down the street.

They stopped at the market and Nikita bought what she needed to make Italian, the only thing she was any good at cooking besides desserts. Then they headed home.

Nikita wasn't surprised at the starkness of Michael's apartment when she walked in. The one visible plant was wilted from a month of neglect. A fine layer of dust coated the lacquered coffee, end and dining room tables, made all the more barren by the conspicuous lack of anything even resembling a knick-knack. She couldn't stop herself from thinking this place needs a woman's touch.

"It's not much," Michael said, as he watched her take in the apartment. "I don't spend much time here."

"You do have something to cook with, don't you?"

"That much I have," he said, gesturing in the direction of the kitchen. "I enjoy cooking, actually. When I have the chance."

"Well, this meal's my job," Nikita said as she entered the kitchen and began to poke through his cupboards for pots. "You're job is to go take a shower and shave."

"Don't go anywhere," he said.

"I won't. Promise."

He stepped up to her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him for a long, soft kiss. She ran her hands through his hair then rubbed gently across his shoulders. He broke the kiss and nuzzled his face into her neck. "I've never been happier than I am right now," he whispered.

Nikita squeezed him tightly then kissed his cheek. "Just wait till you taste my cooking," she said. "Now go, get in the shower." She nudged him out of the kitchen then went to the sink to run water for the pasta.

Nikita had never seen anyone enjoy her spaghetti and meatballs as much as Michael did. He ate one plate then asked for seconds. She had found a bottle of merlot on his wine rack and that went quickly. Nikita cleared the table while Michael went to look for another bottle.

"No merlot," he said, coming into the kitchen. "Cabernet?"

"My favorite," Nikita said.

"You said merlot was your favorite."

"Merlot is my favorite with dinner wine. Cabernet is my favorite after dinner wine."

"Oh, I see. Shall we have this in the living room?" he asked. "I can build a fire."

"That would be perfect."

He went off to start the fire while she finished stacking dishes. She entered the living room to find him pouring the wine.

"For you," he said, handing her a glass.

"Thank you," she said, smiling, as she took a seat on the sofa. He sat next to her, turning slightly so he could look at her while they talked.

For a long time, they sat in silence, sipping their wine. Finally, Michael spoke. "I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow," he said.

"Let's not worry about that now," Nikita said. She took another sip of wine. "Right now, I want to hear about you. You don't have to tell me everything, or anything that will make you uncomfortable. But tell me something. I've known you for three years and I know so little."

Michael smiled and took a drink of his wine. "What do you want to know?" he asked.

"What you want me to know," she said.

"That's not very helpful."

"Here," she said, taking his glass from him then patting her lap, "lie down. Relax. It'll help you open up."

He didn't need any encouragement as he turned around and swung his legs up on the sofa, then lay back, resting his head in her lap. Nikita began to stroke his hair. He closed his eyes and was silent for a long time. "I'm not used to talking about myself," he finally said. "It's difficult."

"We'll start with something easy, then. Where were you born?"

"In Sarzeau, in the Bretagne province of France."

"Tell me about Sarzeau."

"I don't remember much. We moved when I was four. I never went back."

"Well, where did you grow up, then?"

"No one place, really. We moved a lot. My father had to keep looking for work."

Nikita decided this line of questioning was going nowhere, so changed the subject. "Forget about that. Tell me about your favorite place now."

"Kalymnos," he answered without having to think, "one of the smaller Greek isles. It's a poor island. No tourists ever go there. The people mainly fish for sponge. It's almost a one-family town. Everyone's either a Petrou by birth or marriage, it seems. I found it when I took some time off a couple of years ago."

"It's been longer than a couple of years. You haven't taken time off since I've known you."

Michael thought a moment. "Six years ago."

Nikita resisted the urge to remind him he worked too much and instead asked, "What did you do there?"

"Read. Painted. Drank too much ouzo."

"Sounds wonderful."

"It was." He fell silent as he thought back to his time in Kalymnos. He felt himself becoming more and more relaxed as Nikita stroked her hand through his hair. He felt for her free hand and took it in his. "I'd like to take you there," he said.

"I'd like to go." She continued stroking his hair. She noticed his eyes were getting heavy. "I didn't know you painted," she said.

"A little. Watercolors." He nodded toward the far wall. Nikita looked over and saw a painting of fishing boats anchored to a weathered dock off a small, rocky beach. The water and sky were so clear and blue that where they met was almost seamless.

"Kalymnos?" she asked.

"Yes."

"It's beautiful."

"Yes." He took a deep breath and turned his head to nuzzle his cheek against her stomach. "Tell me about your favorite place," he said, closing his eyes.

She had to think for a while and at that couldn't come up with any place she especially liked. She started to tell him as much then realized he was asleep. She watched him sleep for a while, then lay her head back and closed her eyes. I think this might be my favorite place, she thought, then drifted off to sleep.

*******

Back at the Section, Madeline was interrogating Walter as Operations watched through the one- way mirror. Walter knew he was behind there, and he knew that Walter knew, but it would be bad form to give up the pretense.

"Tell me again why you went to Shelton," Madeline said. She circled the chair Walter sat in, then took a seat behind him on the sofa.

"Like I already told you, I needed time outside of here. I was getting nowhere with Michael. I knew I was running out of time. I had to clear my head. I'd been to Shelton before. It's a nice little town. So I went there."

"You just went there."

"Yes."

"To clear your mind."

"Yes."

"Leaving Michael here."

"I tried to get him to go. He wouldn't listen to me."

Madeline got up from the sofa and moved to stand behind him. "That seems a little strange, Walter. You make up your mind to go to Shelton because you're frustrated with your lack of progress with Michael, yet you try to get him to go with you."

"I don't know what your mean."

"If you're frustrated enough to leave town, you should be too frustrated to attempt to get him to go along at least at that moment."

Walter pursed his lips a took a breath. It was a very subtle point, but Madeline often made the most progress with subtle points. Tiny cracks in the psychological coherence of a story were all she needed to uncover a sham. Walter knew exactly what he was up against. He was in for a long night.

"I was. But then it hit me, if I was heading to Shelton for a break, maybe that's what Michael needed, too. The minute he said no, I was outta there."

Madeline glanced up at the one-way mirror then turned and went back to the sofa to sit. "Birkoff's not been getting much sleep lately," she began.

*******

The fire had been reduced to embers as Michael and Nikita lay sleeping for hours on the sofa. Nikita woke up and tried to stretch a kink out of her neck without waking Michael, but he stirred, then sat up yawning.

"I fell asleep," he said.

"Me, too." She stretched her arms out above her and turned her head back and forth. "It feels late," she observed.

The room was dark except for the light from the embers, so Michael held his arm out to try to read his watch. "It's a little after 8:00," he said.

"That's what I hate about winter," Nikita said. "It gets dark so early."

Michael stood up and went to poke at the fire. He stirred the embers then placed two smaller logs on the grate. He used the bellows until the flames caught. He turned to see Nikita sitting cross- legged on the sofa, rubbing the back of her neck.

He set the bellows down and went over to her. "Stiff neck?" he asked.

"Yeah, I slept funny," she said.

"Let me help." He sat behind her and brushed her hair out of the way, then placed his hands on her neck and began to rub. He rubbed his thumbs in small circular motions up and down her neck then squeezed and rubbed her shoulders, pressing his fingers into her muscles until he felt her begin to relax.

"Oh, that feels wonderful," Nikita sighed as she stretched and pushed against his hands.

"I've always been pretty good at this," Michael whispered. "Lie down. Let me do your back."

Nikita hesitated just for a moment, but then kicked off her shoes and turned to lie on her stomach, hugging a throw pillow under her head. Michael knelt beside her and placed his hands on her back, then began to rub firmly up and down. He ran his thumbs all along her spine then along her shoulder blades then moved up to her shoulders.

"You know, I should be doing this for you," Nikita said.

"You can. In a little while." He moved his hands back down and slipped them under her sweater. A shiver ran through her body as Nikita felt his hands on her skin.

He rubbed for a while under the sweater then slowly pushed it up. Nikita brought her arms from under the pillow and held them out, allowing Michael to pull the sweater over her head. Michael unhooked her bra and slipped it from her, and Nikita settled herself again.

He continued the massage, rubbing slowly, methodically, up and down her back, over her shoulders and down her arms, then to her back again. Finally, he leaned forward and kissed her neck. She turned her head and kissed him as he slipped his hands under her to feel her breasts.

Nikita felt the shiver again, and this time it moved deep inside her. She felt herself grow moist. She let out a small sigh as Michael gently squeezed her breasts. She kissed him again then turned over all the way to show herself to him.

He smiled at her and leaned in to kiss her once more, then moved down to kiss and suck her breasts. He ran the tip of his tongue around each nipple and sucked and nipped at them gently. Nikita held his head and ran her hands through his hair, and after a while, pulled him back up for more kisses.

She opened her mouth to him as he pushed his tongue inside. As he explored her mouth with his tongue, he moved a hand down her side and over her hip then down her leg to slip it underneath her skirt. He ran his hand along her inner thigh and then rubbed his fingers over her, caressing her through already moist panties.

Nikita drew her knee up to give him greater access, and he slipped his hand underneath her panties and pushed a finger up inside her. She let out a slight gasp, then moaned as he caressed inside her, pulling his finger in and out with long, slow strokes. He pushed a second finger inside and she moaned deeply. He found her clit with his thumb and rubbed around and around while Nikita shuddered underneath him.

"Oh, Michael," she moaned, as she thrust against his fingers, "oh, god, that feels wonderful."

She moved her hands down his chest and stomach and felt his hardened penis through his pants. She squeezed and stroked him through his clothing. She heard him let out a deep sigh and felt him press against her. She felt for his belt and released it, then pulled down his zipper. She reached and pushed her hand through his pants and briefs to grasp him firmly. He moaned as she began to rub up and down his shaft.

"We have to get these clothes off," Nikita said after a while, breathless.

"You're right," Michael said, and slipped his other hand under her skirt to pull off her panties. She released her grip to unzip her skirt and pull it off over her head as Michael took off his shirt, kicked off his shoes and socks, then pulled off his pants and briefs.

"I think that was a record," Nikita teased, as Michael stood and pulled her up to him.

"We need the bedroom," he said and lifted her up to carry her there. Nikita nuzzled and nipped at his neck as he walked her down the hall then finally set her down beside the bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. Then she pulled away and turned to draw back the covers.

She climbed in and held her hand out to him. He took her hand and let her pull him to her. She spread her legs and he settled himself between them. He rested his weight on his forearms as he leaned in to kiss her. He moved his hips until he found her opening then slowly began to push inside.

They stared into each other's eyes as he entered her bit by bit, pulling out slightly then pushing in deeper. Finally, he gave one last hard push and was in her completely. Nikita threw back her head and gasped at the size of him. Then she opened her eyes and pulled him to her.

He lay there kissing her, resting inside her, simply enjoying the feeling of being in her, soft and wet and warm. "You feel good," he whispered.

"You feel good, too," she said, then sighed with satisfaction as he began to move in and out with long, slow strokes. She splayed her knees and tilted her hips to take him in deeper and he groaned with the sensation.

Nikita felt the warmth rising deep inside her as he bore into her, his thick, hard cock stretching her, pushing against her softness as she was opened wider than she thought possible. Then, he raised himself up on his hands and pulled out of her almost entirely. She gave a small cry of protest but then began to moan as he started pumping into her with short, quick strokes, stimulating the most sensitive outer part of her vagina with the thick head of his hard cock. Her moans became high-pitched gasps as she felt herself begin to climax. She felt the tingling, aching, throbbing of orgasm deep inside her as it filled her and washed over her and she arched her back and screamed.

When she came, Michael felt the pulse and pull of her muscles around his cock and he plunged deep inside her, pumping her frantically. Nikita cried out again when he shoved himself all the way in, and thrust against him to keep him inside. His breaths came hard as her spasms squeezed and sucked his cock, and pulled him over the top.

He held himself above her, still breathing unsteadily, until she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down. He lay on top of her and when he caught his breath, started kissing her softly on her neck. She ran her hands up and down his strong back, moving them lower to squeeze his ass, then moving them up again to lightly scratch his back. Finally he lifted himself up on one arm and looked deeply into her eyes. "I love you so much, Nikita," he said.

"I love you, too, Michael." He bent to kiss her once more before he pulled out, but she held him and whispered in his ear. "Please stay inside me, Michael. I want you to stay inside me."

"All right," he said, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her with him to lie on their sides. She wrapped her left leg around his back and they kissed again. Then he nestled his face against her neck, and shortly fell asleep. Nikita lay there holding him, feeling him inside her, and feeling his breath against her neck. She felt safe, and warm, and very, very happy. She didn't know how long the feeling would last, but she prayed it would be forever.

She awoke the next morning as Michael was climbing back into bed. "What time is it?" she asked.

"A little before five," he said, pulling her to him and holding her close, as he rubbed his hands up and down her back.

"We don't have to be in until 7:00," she said, as she moved her hand in small circles over his chest and down his stomach, brushing lightly over his penis then gently cupping and squeezing his testicles. She raised herself on an elbow. "Can you think of anything to do to fill the time?"

"It seems you have an idea," he observed.

"I think I do." She leaned down and kissed him full on the mouth as she continued massaging his balls. She pulled away from his mouth to kiss his chin, then neck, then chest, stopping to suck and tease each nipple, then moved down his stomach and slowed as she approached his hardening penis.

She brushed her lips over the head of his cock, blowing hot breath on him then pulling her lips tight to make the air blow cool. He shivered. She wet her lips and then pressed them against him, rubbing her mouth up and down his shaft. She stiffened her tongue and wiggled it up and down his now fully-erect penis, paying extra attention to the sensitive tip. She heard him moan as she slipped the head of his cock into her mouth and began to suck. She took him in fully, sucking firmly as she moved her mouth up and down his shaft.

Michael reached out for Nikita, running his hand down her back then over her ass, then rubbing between her legs. He slipped two fingers into her easily. She was dripping wet. He began to pull his fingers in and out, rubbing firmly against her vaginal walls. She moaned and sucked him harder.

His hand fell from her as waves of sensation flooded him and he began to gently thrust against her mouth. She knew he would come at any moment and she desperately wanted him inside her, so she gave him one last hard suck, then she straddled him, positioned herself, and sat down hard.

She gasped again at his size as he filled her entirely. Then she tightened her muscles around him and lifted herself up slightly, then released her grip and lowered herself onto him again. She kept up the motion, establishing a steady rhythm. He thrust against her, pushing himself deeper inside. Nikita gasped with each thrust.

Michael reached up and wove his fingers into hers, then pressed their hands against her breasts, squeezing and rubbing gently. After a while, he pulled his hands away slowly and slid them down her stomach, pushing his fingers into her bush, feeling for her clit. He found it and rubbed the hard little nub in small, quick circles.

Nikita rode him harder, feeling her orgasm rise and swell within her, until she threw her head back and came, screaming. She was riding him so hard, he began to buck up underneath her, thrusting even deeper inside. He held her hips and pulled her down on him, as he gave one last thrust, shuddering as he came.

She fell on top of him, breathless. They lay there holding each other until their breathing steadied.

"God, that was good," she finally said. She could feel his penis shift inside her as his erection softened.

"We should have done this a long time ago," he agreed, and squeezed her gently.

"We'll just have to do it more often to make up for lost time."

"A very good plan."

She lifted her head and kissed him twice, lingering with the second kiss. "Shower?" she asked, eyeing him teasingly.

"Another good plan," he said.

"Give me a couple minutes, then join me," she said, then lifted herself off him.

His penis fell soft and moist against his stomach. He watched her as she walked naked into the bathroom. He waited until he heard the shower begin to run then pulled his legs from under the covers and got up to join her.

The bathroom already was beginning to get steamy as Michael entered the room. He shut the door quickly behind him to not let any of the warmth escape, then pulled the shower curtain aside and stepped in to join Nikita. They stood together under the hot stream of water as they embraced in a passionate kiss.

Nikita felt for the bar of soap and began to rub it up and down his back. She built up a lather then set the bar aside to concentrate both hands on his body.

Michael meanwhile had reached for the bottle of shampoo and had worked some into her hair, massaging his fingertips into her scalp and running his hands through her long, wet hair.

He pulled her into the stream of water to keep the soap from stinging her eyes. She felt the bubbles wash down her face and neck, then moved her head from the stream of water, blinked open her eyes and smiled at Michael. She moved her hands down to squeeze his ass. He brought his hands around to gently cup her breasts. His strong hands squeezing her breasts felt magnificent and Nikita pushed herself against him hard. She felt for his penis and grasped and stroked it firmly, feeling the skin move over the hardened core.

Michael moaned softly and kissed his way to her mouth. "Do you like it from behind," he asked, his lips still touching hers.

"Very much," she answered, her voice filled with passion.

He took her shoulders and turned her away from him. She reached forward and braced herself against the shower wall, eagerly anticipating the feel of his cock inside her.

He ran his hands down her back and over her hips then between her legs, spreading her. She squatted slightly then went up on the balls of her feet. He slipped his penis between her legs and moved it back and forth, teasing her. She began to whimper for him, pressing back against him, reaching between her legs to guide him into her.

"Be patient," he whispered.

She moved her hand back to the shower stall wall as she said, "But I need you inside me, Michael. Please."

"Very well." He placed his cock at her entrance and penetrated her with a swift, hard thrust. She gasped as the sensation tore through her, making her insides tingle and her toes curl.

"Oh, Michael, yes, please, do it hard," she cried.

He held onto her hips and pumped her with deep, hard, fast strokes, his thrusts cushioned by the softness of her ass. She squealed with delight as the sensations rippled through her and made her mouth water and her whole body quiver, the angle and depth of penetration almost more than she could take.

"Oh....Michael...god..." she breathed, and then she climaxed, her quick, shallow breaths almost shrieks.

Again, the feel of her squeezing around him, pulling him in. Michael let himself go with it, pounding into her hard and deep as his orgasm took him and threw him into ecstacy.

He fell against her and prayed she could support the both of them until he could collect himself. Nikita stood slowly, with Michael still leaning against her. She turned and nudged him back under the stream of water, letting it wash the hair back from his face. Then she traded places with him and washed her hair back. That done, she drew him to her for more kisses. He held her close and tight, and she again felt the happiness she'd felt the night before.

"I love you, Michael," she said.

"I love you, too."

They stood there holding each other until the water began to run cold.

*******

The night had been all in all unproductive from Madeline's point of view. She'd questioned Walter for over four hours, then had Birkoff dragged from his room to question him for two hours about his actions the past week, focusing on his possession of Michael's laptop and the disassembled modem and com unit, and still she'd come up with nothing concrete.

The team dispatched to Shelton had come back with a couple of weathered fliers with Nikita's picture, "Do you know this woman?" and the hospital's telephone number on them. They had reports from hospital employees and two police detectives about the unidentified young woman who'd been in a coma for almost a month. She'd come to a few days ago, saying only that her name was Josephine, uncertain of anything else.

And then, fortunately, there was an uncle who'd contacted police, saying his niece had been traveling on winter break from university and hadn't returned on schedule. When she saw him, she recognized him immediately. Hospital and police officials were relieved to discharge her after tests showed everything was fine.

The team couldn't find the hard copy of Nikita's medical records and didn't have the time to break into the police station. Madeline had Birkoff dragged from his room again and ordered him to break into the computer systems and get copies of the files, which he was able to do easily.

With all of that, she knew that this was not the truth. While everything held together, it held together too well, almost as if someone had put it together. Operations was convinced Nikita had staged an escape and Walter had managed to find her and bring her back to protect Michael, but Madeline didn't like the feel of that, either. There had been nothing taken from Nikita's apartment, not even a pair of sunglasses was unaccounted for. That was not the behavior of someone planning an escape, not even a Section-trained cold op. Something would be missing. Walter's story made more sense than that.

After a long, hard night with too much coffee and too many cigarettes, Operations and Madeline sat down at 6:00 am to plan their next move.

"Considering we can't be sure of anything right now," Madeline began, "let's start at the end instead of the beginning and work from there. How would you like all of this to turn out?"

Operations didn't have to think. "I would like Michael back to normal and Nikita canceled."

"Unfortunately, we have learned from experience that those two things are incompatible," Madeline said, stating fact. "Which is more important to you?"

"Keeping Nikita around here is a mistake. She's been an acceptable operative, but she's a bad influence."

"So we move her out of operative status. Put her behind the lines. Give her assignments that won't challenge her morals."

"If we make one concession like that, we end up making a thousand. You know that!" Operations snapped.

"Then we cancel them both," Madeline stated.

"I didn't say that."

"I think you did."

"Michael's the best operative we have."

"A few days ago you gave the order to cancel him."

"I know what I did. But maybe things can be different now. Maybe he can snap out of it."

"Why?"

"You know why because Nikita's alive."

"So we let them both live."

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" Operations shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. "Dammit!"

Madeline approached him slowly and let her hand settle on his fist. "Let me ask you again. How would you like all of this to turn out?"

*******

Michael made coffee and he and Nikita drank a cup in silence. They left for Section One at 6:40, making it to Madeline's office by 6:58. Michael knocked at the door and opened it when she said, "Come."

Michael entered first. Nikita followed, closing the door behind her. They found Madeline seated at her desk and Operations standing against the far wall. The office smelled of stale smoke and coffee.

There was an uneasy silence while they waited for Madeline or Operations to say something. Nikita toyed with the idea of saying she was happy to be back, but thought better of it. Then thoughts of her night with Michael came to her and she found herself smiling involuntarily.

"You're smiling, Nikita," Madeline said, breaking the silence.

"Um, just happy to be back," Nikita said quickly.

"Really?" Operations said, pushing himself from the wall and approaching her. "I never thought I would hear you say that."

"Really? Why?" she asked. She did it against her better judgment, but Operations' smugness was annoying her. He never thought he would hear her say that, or anything else for that matter, because he'd had her canceled. She would not let him know she knew that, of course, but she could prod him some all the same.

"Oh, come on, Nikita," Operations said, "we both know you've been unhappy here, very unhappy." He easily dodged the challenge.

"Well, compared to where I found myself, this is infinitely better." Michael bumped into her slightly.

"It must be frightening waking up in a hospital not knowing who you are," Madeline said.

"Yes, it was," Nikita said. "It was like trying to remember a word, or a title, or something that's just on the tip of your tongue. All I could get was Josephine, and I knew that wasn't right." Everyone knew Nikita had been trained to feign amnesia and was fully versed in the symptoms. There was nothing to pin down here.

"We're in a bit of a bind, Nikita," Operations said, standing right in front of her. "As you are aware, we thought you'd been killed in the blast. Everyone else was." He watched her face closely and saw her eyes grow moist. She turned her head. "You didn't know that?"

"No," she said softly, trying to cover for her tears. "I didn't realize..."

"You didn't tell her?" he asked, turning to Michael.

"I didn't want to upset her," Michael said, covering for her.

"What happened?" Nikita asked, careful to keep any hint of accusation from her voice.

"Timing device error," Michael said.

"What?"

"One went off prematurely, we're not sure which, and it set off the others." Nikita was surprised to find herself trembling. "So if I hadn't been chasing Tyler..." She let her voice trail off.

Operations finished for her, "You'd be dead."

"All the evidence indicated that you were in the building," Madeline said. "There was no image of your tracer exiting."

Nikita swallowed, then shrugged her eyebrows and shook her head. "It must have come off."

"It was serendipity that Walter even found you, then," Madeline said, "considering we weren't looking. You'd still be in Shelton if it weren't for him."

"Yes, I know," Nikita said, her voice bordering on melancholy.

"There's no sign of Tyler anywhere," Operations said, breaking her reverie. "If you were chasing him out of the building, don't you think he would have survived the blast, too?"

"Maybe he doubled back," Nikita said. "It was dark. It was very hard to see."

"Or he could be in hiding," Michael offered. "We can keep an eye out for him."

Operations eyed them both. There was silence again. Operations turned away from Nikita and walked back to the wall. He lit a cigarette. Madeline looked from Nikita to Michael, trying to make eye contact.

Michael glanced up and met her eyes, and decided he'd take the conversation in a direction he wanted. "I've spoken with Nikita," he began. "She's ready to get back to work. I think, under the circumstances, it would be best to start her off with something not too demanding."

"Did you have something in mind?" Madeline asked.

Michael wanted to say that she could help him get his own work back on track, since he'd been effectively doing nothing for a month, but thought it best not to mention that. Then it occurred to him he hadn't been keeping up with anything in the Section, so he had no idea what to suggest. He glanced away. "No, I don't."

"Well, I do," she said. She stood and approached Nikita. "Nikita, I don't know quite how to say this, but, well, we broke down your apartment. You understand. We thought you were dead."

Nikita knew this had been coming but it hit her hard all the same. She took a breath and nodded.

"I thought maybe so," she said.

"You can have another one, of course. There are three ready. You can have your choice. Perhaps Michael can show them to you."

"That'd be nice," she said.

Madeline went behind her desk and pulled out three file folders, then walked up and handed them to Michael. "I'm fond of the one on Yorktown," she said, "but then, that's just me."

"We'll look at that one first," Michael said, taking the folders. "Is that all?"

"Yes," Madeline said. "For now."

Michael put his hand on Nikita's back and nudged her toward the door.

"Nikita," Operations called. Nikita stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "Welcome back."

She eyed him, then forced a smile. "Thank you." Michael nudged her again and she headed out the door.

"Do you think she knows?" Operations asked, after they'd left. He approached Madeline and stood behind her.

"Yes, I think she does."

"Do you think it's enough to keep her in line?"

"It just might be." Madeline turned and looked at him. "You saw how shaken she was."

"Yes."

"We'll keep a close eye on her. Start her back slowly, like Michael suggested."

"And if it doesn't work out?"

Madeline took her seat behind her desk. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she said, with a tired sigh. "For now, don't you just want things to get back to normal around here?"

"That would be nice," Operations said. He crushed out his cigarette and headed toward the door. "I'll be in my office," he said over his shoulder as he pushed open the door and left.

Madeline waited until the door closed, then pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk. She reached deep into the drawer and pulled out Michael's laptop. She turned it on and opened the message log, made a copy for her personal file on him, then shut down the machine.

She'd been suspicious when Michael had closed it during her visit to his office a few days ago, and had grown even more so when Birkoff was able to produce a work order to substantiate his claim that he had Michael's laptop in his possession because of modem failure. Michael hadn't been filling out work orders as of late.

She'd retrieved the laptop while Operations met with Solomon to discuss the results of the mission to Shelton. The message log had been deleted but not overwritten. When she recovered it, she knew immediately what had happened. She cared too much about Michael to destroy him by revealing this truth. So long as their elaborate fabrication held up, she was not going to be the one to tell. She knew the real story, and that was all that mattered to her. Having Nikita back meant having Michael back, something else, she decided, that mattered to her.

*******

Nikita and Michael visited all three apartments, had brunch at a small cafe, and ended up back at the apartment on Yorktown. It was closest in layout to the one she had before. It wasn't quite as contemporary, but Nikita could work on that. She would take this one.

She was looking out the bay window at the view when Michael approached her from behind and hugged her.

"Looking at apartments is hard work," he said.

"Yes, definitely," she agreed.

"I'm feeling tense," he whispered. "I'm wondering if you could rub my back."

She turned to him and smiled. "Yes, definitely."

The End.