TITLE: After All
AUTHOR: Shelley Kinsman
E-MAIL ADDRESS: weretiger@iname.com
SPOILER ALERT: A whole bunch of episodes, up to the third season episode, Walk on By. This story takes place after that episode, but before Third Party Ripoff. If you've seen it, you'll know why.

DISCLAIMER: La Femme Nikita belongs to Warner Bros., the USA Network, and a large number of other people who are much more creative than I am. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm only borrowing them. The song After All is the love theme from the movie Chances Are, and belongs to Cher, and to Geffen Records, and I borrowed it because it's what gave me the idea for this story in the first place.

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I cannot stress enough how much I need feedback on this story. It's the first story that I've ever posted, and I have a beta-reader, of sorts, who continually tells me the same thing; "I like it. It's great. I wouldn't change a thing." Which is a great ego boost for all of two seconds, and then that little demon of self-doubt comes back to sit on my shoulder, and then I start thinking that she just doesn't want to hurt my feelings, just like, when you were a kid, and your mom told you that your artwork was great. So anyway, please, please, please, tell me what you think. I love to write, and I'll write more, if anyone thinks its worth-while. But if it sucks, and you all hate it, tell me that, too, so I won't subject you to anymore of my crap. :-)

After All written by Weretiger

Well here we are again
I guess it must be fate
We've tried it on our own
But deep inside we've known
We'd be back to set things straight

I still remember when
Your kiss was so brand new
Every memory repeats
Every step I take retreats
Every journey always brings me back to you

After all the stops and starts
We keep coming back to these two hearts
Two angels who've been rescued from the fall
And after all that we've been through
It all comes down to me and you
I guess it's meant to be, forever you and me
After all

When love is truly right
It lives from year to year
It changes as it goes
Oh and on the way it grows
But it never disappears

After all the stops and starts
We keep coming back to these two hearts
Two angels who've been rescued from the fall
And after all that we've been through
It all comes down to me and you
I guess it's meant to be, forever you and me
After all

Always just beyond my touch
Though I've needed you so much
After all what else is living for
After all the stops and starts
We keep coming back to these two hearts
Two angels who've been rescued from the fall
And after all that we've been through
It all comes down to me and you
I guess it's meant to be, forever you and me
After all

- Cher, and Peter Cetara

Michael stood in front of Nikita's apartment, awkwardly fidgeting from foot to foot for a long moment, before finally drawing a deep breath, and rapping on her door.

He heard her muffled "come in" and slowly pushed the door open, then felt a momentary twinge of anger at her carelessness, leaving the door open that way. It bothered him that she cared so little for her own safety, when it was of paramount importance to him, but reason overtook anger a moment later, and he realized that it probably hadn't been open that long. She was expecting him, had invited him to dinner, actually, and knowing that he was always prompt, had probably flipped the deadbolt off on her last pass by the door.

Michael walked in, then closed the door and bolted it behind him, turning to see Nikita doing a jig, or at least, her version of it, across the kitchen floor, a white apron tied around her waist. She danced up in front of him, gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, and sauntered back to the stove.

"It's almost ready. Why don't you have a seat?"

He nodded, removed his coat, and laid it across the back of one of her kitchen chairs, then put the wine bottle he'd been carrying down on the table.

"Do you have a corkscrew?"

"In there," she answered without looking, pointing vaguely in the direction of one of her kitchen drawers. He wasn't sure which one, so he took a wild stab, and was rewarded to find it, sitting on top of the pile. He took it back to his seat, uncorking the wine and watching as Nikita put the last touches on dinner.

She always looked so happy here, away from Section. Young and innocent; an angel. His angel. She'd saved him from danger, time and again, and even more than that, she'd saved him from himself; from his own self-destructive nature. And how had he repaid her. He'd taken an innocent; in his heart, he'd known she was innocent from the moment he met her, and turned her into a killer. The first time she'd killed a man had been to save his life. She'd suffered through torture, and then broken only to save him. And he'd nearly gone through with killing her. In a moment of mercy, he'd given her the means to escape, and then had spent every day for the next six months wondering if she'd made it, and dying inside for fear that he'd never see her again.

You're the only part of me that isn't dead. Nikita. Are you there? I thought I'd lost you. You never had me.

Then he'd found her again, and the death wish he'd been nursing those long months was gone, in the instant he'd set eyes on her. And then he'd brought his angel back to hell, and she'd come willingly.

I came back for you.

Only to have him hurt and betray her time and again. And yet she stayed. Not with Section, because in that, she didn't have a choice. But she stayed with him, and for that, he would be forever grateful. She was his only light, in an otherwise desolate world of darkness and all he seemed to bring her was pain.

He was startled from his thoughts by a plate landing in front of him. He looked up to see her smile softly.

"Penny for your thoughts."

"I was just... thinking about you."

"Good thoughts, I hope."

"You're my angel, 'Kita. The only completely good thing in my life. I could never think anything bad about you."

"Well that's good to know. So, what do you think?"

"Think?" He stared at her blankly.

"About dinner," she said through a bite of chicken, as she waved at his plate with her fork.

"Oh." He took a bite, chewed and swallowed, then gave her a small smile. "It's good."

They ate in silence after that, but it was the comfortable silence of two people who were familiar, as they were with no other, and they had the radio to keep them company.

A short while later Nikita stood up, and held out her hand. "Dance with me, Michael."

He stood up and took her hand, then led her into the living room. He slid in close to her, his right hand settling possessively on her hip, his left cradling her right against his chest. They rocked slowly back and forth together, not really keeping time with the music, and not really caring either.

The song ended, and a new one began. Michael vaguely recognized it as Cher and Peter Cetara singing After All, but it wasn't until a moment later that he really heard the words.

...After all the stops and starts
We keep coming back to these two hearts
Two angels who've been rescued from the fall...

He stiffened in her arms. Two angels. She was an angel. He was... nothing like her. She was an angel sent from heaven, with wings of ivory and a golden halo, and eyes that had to be the color of the sky above the garden of Eden. And he, well, if he was an angel, then he was the angel of death.

The only part of me that's not dead is you.

He pulled back and looked into her eyes. Saw the trust, and the innocence that still lived on in her soul, despite all that he had done to kill it. Despite all the betrayals and the lies.

I came back for you.

"Michael what is it?"

He swallowed hard and tried to speak, but nothing would come out.

"Michael, are you all right?"

When he didn't answer Nikita led him to the couch, gently forcing him to sit. She traced her index finger along his eyebrow, as his pale green eyes bored into hers.

"Michael? Michael, you're scaring me. What's wrong?"

He didn't deserve her. She was everything that was good and right about the world. She was the one who had restored the life to a soul he had thought long dead. And when he had given up on life, not once, but twice, she had been there. To protect him, when he hadn't had the strength or the will to do it himself, and to drag him back from the brink, when the time had been right. And what had he ever done for her. Nearly got her killed. Lied to her time and again. Turned her into a whore, for the sake of a mission. And made her mother believe she was dead, for the second time.

That's the kindest thing you've ever done for me.

If that was the kindest thing he'd ever done for her, then theirs was a relationship desperately lacking in kindness. In his heart he knew that if he really loved her, he needed to get as far away from her as he could. That would truly be the kindest thing. And it was going to kill him, slowly.

"I'm sorry," he choked out the words. "I'm sorry. I have to go." He staggered up from the couch, unable to meet her eyes any longer. He managed to fumble the door open, not even stopping to grab his coat. Then he turned, finally meeting her eyes, and for once, let her read through his own eyes what was in his heart.

"Michael, wait. Don't go. I..."

"I'm sorry."

Then he was gone.

Nikita stormed through the halls of Section, looking for Michael. It seemed she did that a lot. His reaction last night had been very much un-like him, and she was worried. Normally he would grow cold, and emotionally distant, cutting her off from the part of him that she loved, becoming Section's automaton once again. But last night had been different. She'd seen it while he was sitting at the table, waiting for her to finish dinner. Then he'd seemed to snap out of it, and she'd thought everything was fine. She'd asked him to dance, and he'd led her out into the living room, wrapping his arms around her, and leading her in a chaste but passionate dance, until suddenly he'd stiffened, and a look had come over his face that she'd seen only a few times before. The day he'd lost Simone for the second time. When she'd found him sitting in his loft, staring at the TV, where a picture of his son was frozen in time. And although she hadn't recognized it then, she'd seen it on the day they'd met.

He had looked... lost. Utterly and completely lost, but where his eyes usually showed nothing, they had brimmed with emotions; pain and fear being foremost, but certainly not the only ones. He'd looked as if he was going to be physically ill, and she'd made him sit, waiting for him to grow cold again, and hide behind his Section mask. But he hadn't. He'd tried to say something, but it never came out, and then he'd simply stared into her eyes for an endless moment, before choking out two words, in a voice so strangled with emotion it was barely recognizable as his.

I'm sorry.

Then he'd staggered to the door, and fumbled awkwardly with the lock for much longer than it should have taken him to get it open. Finally he'd turned to her, letting her read in his eyes what he couldn't manage to say in words.

I love you.

And something else that she couldn't quite place. Then he'd been out the door and down the hall, before she could think of a thing that would make him stay.

She'd wanted to say it back. Tell him that she loved him; had for a long time. But she was too stunned by what she'd read in his eyes, and instinctively, she knew that would have only made him run faster. So she'd said nothing, and let him go, giving him the space he needed. Then she'd spent a sleepless night tossing in her bed, and worrying about him; out in the cold weather, without a coat, and alone without his sense of self-preservation intact. She'd known that instinctively as well. All the times she'd seen that look on him, had one thing in common, at least in varying degrees. He'd stopped caring about himself. He was giving up. And that was something that terrified Nikita above all else.

So now here she was, looking for Michael, and not having a lot of luck. She'd checked his loft on her way into Section, and was sure he hadn't been back at all the previous night. He wasn't in his office. Walter hadn't seen him, and neither had Birkoff. All in all, this meant one of two things. One, he had spent the night out alone, or two, he had spent the night in his quarters in Section, and just hadn't ventured out yet. Nikita hoped desperately for the latter. She was on her way to his quarters now, and if he wasn't there, she had only one option left.

Madeline. And that was an option she didn't really want to think about right now.

Nikita stopped in front of Michael's door and knocked softly. There was no answer, so she knocked again, harder this time. Still no answer. She keyed in the lock combination and the door slid open. Then she stepped inside and stopped, allowing her eyes to become accustomed to the low light, as the door slid shut behind her.

She heard his breathing before she could actually see him in the darkness, and the air rushed out of her in a sigh of relief. Then she squinted around the room, her eyes coming to rest on the bed. He was asleep sitting up, his back resting against the corner of the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, and his head resting on his knees.

Nikita stood for a long moment, simply watching him sleep, and then she did something that no one else in Section would ever think about doing, much less get away with. She crossed the room, and sat down on the edge of his bed, brushing a strand of hair gently back from his face. His eyes came open instantly at her touch, and for the briefest of moments, a small smile creased his lips. Then his mask was back in place.

"Nikita? What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. I was worried."

"I'm fine."

Same old Michael. She wasn't surprised.

"Michael, we need to talk about what happened last night."

"No. I'm sorry Nikita. I won't do this anymore. Not to you."

"What do you mean?"

"Everything I do, no matter what the reason, ends up hurting you. I won't do it anymore." There was an ominous note to his voice that Nikita didn't like. She was about to reply, when Operations' voice cut in over the intercom.

"Michael. I need you in the war room. Five minutes."

"I'm on my way."

Michael looked at Nikita. "I'm sorry."

Then he was gone. Again. This time though, Nikita didn't just let him leave. She gave him a head start, then followed, passing the war room, and heading straight to Birkoff's desk.

She stopped in front of the young man, pinned him with crystal blue eyes, and cut right to the chase.

"Michael's going out. What's the mission?"

"Search and retrieval. One of our level one operatives was caught on the last mission. We've got to get him back. Or make sure that he doesn't divulge any of our secrets. They're sending Michael and Davenport."

"Just two?"

"Yeah. It's gonna be rough. They have to get in and out undetected, or it's not gonna happen."

"What are the odds?"

Birkoff couldn't meet her eyes. "If they're caught inside the compound, it's gonna be a real bitch getting out. It's not exactly a suicide mission, but it's the next best thing."

When he finally looked up, she was already gone.

Nikita knocked on Madeline's door, then without waiting for a reply, stormed in and announced. "You can't send Michael on this mission."

Madeline didn't even look up. She was used to Nikita's interruptions by now. "And why is that?" she asked evenly.

"If he goes on that mission, he won't be coming back."

"You know that's always a possibility, Nikita. With any mission that goes out."

"No. He WILL NOT be coming back. I know this."

Now Madeline did look up. "Why do you say that, Nikita?"

"He's given up again. I don't know why. I don't know what triggered it. I just know it's happened. And if he goes out on that mission, you'll have one less level five operative when it's all over."

"All right, Nikita. Tell me what happened. Exactly."

"I don't know. He came over for dinner. I asked him to dance. We weren't talking. We'd hardly said anything all night. Then he just stiffened up. Said he was sorry. And he left."

"Then how do you know that he's given up?"

"I could see it in his eyes."

"Michael never shows anything in his eyes."

"I know. I've only seen him like that a couple of times before, and it was never good."

"Do you think he'll botch the mission?"

"No. He'll reach end game. But he won't come back. You have to keep him from going."

"Nikita, we need him. He's our best operative. If anyone can get the job done, it's Michael."

"Then take Davenport off."

"Why?" Madeline asked quietly, unflappable as always.

"Send me instead."

"Why?"

"Michael works better with me than with anyone else. And I can make him care enough to get him home. If not for himself, he'll do it for me."

"Are you willing to bet your life on that? Because that's what you'll be doing. Betting your life."

"Any day."

"All right, Nikita. I'll send you..."

"Thank you, Madeline."

"Wait. I'm not finished. Before I go to Operations and tell him to break the profile and send you instead, I have to ask you one thing. And I need you to be honest with me, because the safety of Section is riding on this."

Nikita looked Madeline dead in the eye. "Ask."

"Do you know what this mission is, exactly?"

"It's a retrieval mission."

"Yes. But if he can't be retrieved, the operative is to be cancelled. He's fresh out of training, but he knows enough to be very damaging to Section if it gets out. He's never been interrogated before, and we aren't sure if he'll break or not, thus the order for cancellation if necessary. Both team members need to be able to carry out this directive. Michael can do it. Davenport can too. So now, I'm asking. Can you? If Michael goes down, and you're on your own, can you achieve end game? Be honest with me, Nikita. Can you do it?"

"Yes." There was a quiver in her voice, but her eyes told the truth. She didn't like it, but she would do what she had to, if not for Section, then for Michael.

"Go get ready. I'll talk to Operations."

Operations stood in his loft, looking down at the bustle of activity in comm. He heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching, and then the slightest brush of fabric against his shoulder.

"I'm changing the profile," Madeline said without preamble.

He arched an eyebrow. "Care to tell me why?"

"I'm sending Nikita instead of Davenport."

He noticed her avoidance of the question, but he didn't call her on it. "Do you think that's wise?"

"Yes. Michael and Nikita are the best team. They have better communication between them, than any other pair of operatives we have. They trust each other implicitly. If this is going to work, we need the best we've got."

"All right. Nikita will go. But you knew all this when you profiled the mission in the first place. Are you going to tell me what it was that Nikita said to you, that made you change your mind?"

Madeline looked up at him then. Her face was still an impassive mask, but to him, the shock registered plainly. He'd known it was Nikita's idea all along. She studied him for a moment, realized that the question was a request, and not an order, and shook her head.

"You're going to have to trust me on this one, Paul." She didn't think he'd really want to know that one half of the team he was sending on a possible suicide mission, quite possibly had a death wish.

He nodded at that, then shot her a wry smile. "You'd probably better get down to egress. Davenport won't take this particularly well."

"Of course," she said, then nodded and left, mumbling under breath, "Neither will Michael."

He almost asked her what she'd said, but then thought better of it. He probably didn't want to know.

Nikita rushed up to van egress, out of breath, and trying to get her other arm into the sleeve of her jacket. Davenport and Michael were already there, talking to Madeline. By the look on his face, Davenport wasn't exactly impressed, but he was taking it better than Nikita would have thought. Michael, on the other hand, was white-knuckling his assault rifle, and his jaw muscles were clenched tight. For him, it was the equivalent of a temper tantrum.

All three looked up. Davenport shot her a smile, and gave her a light punch on the arm.

"Good luck, Nikita. Be safe." Then he walked away, leaving Nikita watching the staring contest between Madeline and Michael.

"So, we're all set then?" Nikita asked quietly.

"Yes. You'd best get going."

Nikita nodded and headed for the van. Michael stayed a moment longer, looking at Madeline, then finally nodded and followed Nikita into the van.

"Michael...,"

"We need to go over the briefing," he said quietly, effectively cutting her off.

She nodded, then listened solemnly as he detailed the mission for her, since she'd missed the briefing at Section. It took twenty minutes to go over everything, then they made the rest of the trip in silence.

When the van pulled up to the drop-off point, Nikita and Michael slid silently from the back doors and disappeared swiftly into the woods. It would be a five mile trek through the forest to reach the compound. Then they had to infiltrate the compound without detection, retrieve Miller, and get to the pick-up point, a mile away.

Both had slipped effortlessly into combat mode the instant they'd exited the van and were communicating silently in that special way that only they shared, as they forced their way through the dense brush.

It was tough going. It was nearly an hour later that they emerged from the brush, sweating and out of breath, hands and faces covered in bramble scratches.

"Which way?" she asked, panting hard.

"That way."

Dusk had fallen as they were making their way through the bush, and now it was nearly full dark. They were counting on the darkness to provide what little cover there would be, and even then, it wasn't going to do much.

They by-passed the alarm on the perimeter fence and slipped across the compound, Michael in the lead, and Nikita covering the rear. She felt safe, or at least, as safe as she could on a mission like this. She knew that Michael didn't believe she was capable of canceling Miller, if he was taken down, and so he would be in top form on the way in. It would be on the way out that she would have to worry.

Getting into the building turned out to be much easier than they thought. It worried Nikita a little, but given that Michael was foremost on her mind, she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

They slid silently down the hall, stopping in front of the last door on the right. Michael stood watch, while Nikita jimmied the door open and slipped inside. Miller was sprawled on the floor, bruised and bloody, but still alive. Nikita crossed the room and shook his shoulder.

"Miller. We're getting you out of here."

He roused from his sleep, squinted up at Nikita through swollen eyelids, and spat a wad of bloody saliva onto the toe of her boot. "Commie bastards aren't getting anything out of me."

Nikita looked down at her boot, then turned to look wryly at Michael. "I guess we can safely say that he hasn't spilled his guts yet."

"You're probably right. Can you get him up?"

"Miller! Wake up. We're getting you out of here."

"Nikita?"

"Yeah. Can you get up?"

"Yeah. Give me a hand."

Nikita leaned down and hauled him to his feet. "Let's go. Can you handle a weapon?"

"If you've got an extra one."

"Here." She handed him her back-up pistol and watched as he checked the magazine and chambered the first round. He gave her a grim smile, then nodded at Michael.

"I'm ready."

"Good. I'll take point. Nikita, guard the rear. Miller, stay in the middle and try to keep up."

They both nodded, and Michael led the way back down the hall. The first sign that something was wrong was the sound of a bullet hitting the wall next to Nikita's head. The next shot hit her high in the shoulder, spinning her around and slamming her into the doorframe.

"Sonofabitch!"

She pulled herself upright, and began spraying bullets back down the hall. Michael knocked Miller out of the way, then stepped up beside Nikita, firing his weapon with one hand, and hooking Nikita under her bad arm with the other, to keep her on her feet.

Miller managed to pull himself up, and started to lay down covering fire for his would-be rescuers, giving them enough time to duck back into the relative safety of the doorway.

"Is it bad?"

"No. It's just a flesh wound. I'll be fine."

"You're sure," he asked, eyeing the blood staining her jacket.

"Positive. How many are there? Could you tell?"

"At least five. Probably more on the way."

"So. Back out the way we came?"

"Yes. But we need a distraction."

"I've got it covered." She pulled a grenade from a pocket in the back of her mission jacket and held it up for Miller to see. He nodded. She pulled the pin with her teeth, then lobbed the grenade down the hall. The explosion was deafening in the confined space, but even before the debris had settled, the three of them were sprinting for the end of the hall.

They made it out of the building, stopping in the bushes outside to regroup. "Miller. If we get separated, the pick-up point is a mile from here. Due east. A van will be waiting in the clearing."

"Got it."

"We came in over there." Nikita pointed to a spot across the compound, about two hundred metres away. "Is everybody...."

Whatever she'd been about to ask was drowned out by the sound of automatic gunfire. They ducked down and returned fire, but it quickly became obvious they would have to move soon, or they'd be trapped. Nikita grabbed Michael by the sleeve, and pulled him close so she could speak into his ear.

"We have to go. Now."

"I know. Take Miller. Get to the pick-up point. I'll cover you. Meet you there."

"Oh, no you don't. We are not separating."

"Nikita, follow your orders."

"No."

"What's gotten into you?"

"I don't trust you."

"What? You've always trusted me to protect you."

"I trust you to cover me. I don't trust you to follow me. If I leave you here, I'll never see you again, and don't even think about lying to me Michael. Not this time. Not about this."

His eyes sought hers, but he didn't answer. She was right. He couldn't lie to her about this.

"All right. We go on three."

Nikita nodded, then held up three fingers to Miller, who gave the thumbs up to show he understood. Michael held up his hand, fist closed. He glanced first at Miller, then at Nikita, to make sure they were watching him count off, since they wouldn't be able to hear him. He extended his index finger, then his middle finger, then a brief second later his ring finger popped up.

"Go."

They jumped up and sprinted for the fence, occasionally firing short bursts behind them for cover. As they skidded up to the fence, Nikita grabbed Miller by the back of his jacket, pushing him through the opening in the chain link.

"Michael. Go."

He was about to argue, when a bullet hit him in the back of the thigh, dropping him to his knees.

"Michael!"

"Nikita. Go. You have to go without me."

"No."

On the other side of the fence, Miller stood up and raised his gun. Nikita yelled his name and slapped the fence to get his attention. He looked at her, eyes wide.

"Go. Get to the pick-up point."

"I'm not going to just leave you here."

"Yes, you are. Go. Run. Don't look back." When he remained where he was, she levelled her gun at his head. "I said NOW."

"I won't forget what you did for me." Then he turned and fled.

"Nikita, you too."

"No. Not without you."

"I won't make it."

"Then we'll die together."

"No. Don't say that. I can't watch them hurt you."

"Then you'll have to kill me yourself."

He looked as if he was going to be sick.

"If you can't do it, then move. Now. Because I'm not leaving you."

He pulled himself up, and edged through the gap in the fence, then turned to cover Nikita as she came through after him. She pulled another grenade from her jacket, pulled the pin and hurled it over the fence, into the midst of the oncoming terrorists. It would slow them down, but not stop them completely. She didn't stop to examine the carnage she'd caused, simply hiked Michael's arm over her shoulder, and hooked her left arm through his belt to support him. Then they began the arduous hike to safety.

Nikita could see the blood dripping down Michael's pantleg, and knew she'd have to get it stopped soon, or he would never make it to the van. She also knew they had to get to cover, or it wouldn't matter.

By the time they reached the half-way mark, Michael was leaning heavily on Nikita for support, and he was dragging his wounded leg, rather than actually walking on it. She knew it couldn't be put off any longer, so she led him off the path, laying him down in the bushes to tend to his wound.

"Nikita, please. Leave me here. I won't make it. I'll just drag you down with me. You can make it if you go now. Please. Go."

"Shut up, Michael. Just shut up. I'm not leaving you. I won't, so just give it up," she fairly screamed at him, her voice becoming more strident and ringing with each word.

"Nikita, please. I'm not worth it. All I do is hurt you. I gave you your freedom, and then I took it away again. You could have had a real life, but instead, you're stuck in Section. All I do is hurt you. And yet you stay. Why? Why won't you just go?"

"God! For someone so smart, you can be really stupid at times. Don't you get it yet? I love you. I won't go because I love you. And as for you letting me go, and then bringing me back again, I told you before. I came back for you. I'd rather live half a life, with you in it, than be free, and never see you again. Life without you means nothing. Whether it's at Section, or somewhere else. That's why I won't go. I'd rather die, here, with you now, then go back and live without you. So, if you care about me at all, you will get up, and you will try."

She finished cinching the bandage around his leg and waited. She expected him to move. To get up and try. Or to refuse completely. What she got was one simple word, and totally not what she was expecting.

"Why?"

The question completely took the wind out of her sails, deflating the balloon of righteous anger that had buoyed her up a moment before, and her voice was soft again as she replied.

"Why what?"

"Why do you love me?"

"Because..., you're you. Because you're a good man, underneath that Section exterior. Because I've seen what's in your heart. I've seen what happens when you let someone in. I've seen the grief and anguish that you've suffered through, and what it's done to you. No one who feels as much as you do, can be the heartless bastard that you seem to think you are. And I know that the things you've done, the lies you've told me, were for my own protection. They hurt. I won't lie to you. They really hurt. But I know why you did them, and as strange as this may sound, it's part of the reason why I love you. You always put your own feelings aside, to try to do right by me, even if you thought it would make me hate you. And now, because you think you're protecting me, you're willing to step out of my life, even though I know it's ripping your guts apart inside, and you'd rather be dead than feel that way. And I know how you feel, because I feel the same. I couldn't live with myself, if I left you here. We're meant to be together. Soulmates, Michael. And you don't get to chose your soulmate. That's just the way it is. So, either we live together, or we die together. Your choice."

She got the last words out in a rush, then stopped, locking her eyes to his, and waited for his answer.

"We live. Together."

She stood then, caught the arm he extended to her, and pulled him to his feet. She secured his arm around her shoulder again, and got a good grip on his belt.

"You ready?"

"Yes."

They set off, the pace slower, since they were staying off the path, but it was safer that way. They straggled out of the bushes twenty minutes later, both covered in sweat, and gasping for breath, Michael's head lolling against Nikita's shoulder. To Nikita's surprise, the van was still there.

Overcoming her shock, Nikita threw herself towards it, dragging Michael with her. She threw open the back of the van, to see Miller, holding his gun to the driver's head. He grinned when he saw them, and moved forward to help lift Michael into the van.

"I couldn't leave till I was sure you weren't coming," Miller said, by way of explanation. "And he didn't want to stay."

"Thanks. I owe you one."

"No. I'll be paying off what I owe you for a long time to come. I..." Miller trailed off, his eyes growing wide. Nikita read the look for what it was, and spun, raising her weapon and squeezing the trigger. She took out the first two, before a searing pain exploded in her side, and she was knocked back against the van, striking her head against the door. She slid slowly to the ground, and the last thing she saw, before she passed out was Michael, snatching the gun from her hand and spraying down the clearing.

Nikita awoke in Medlab, sixteen hours later. The wounds in her shoulder and side were stitched and bandaged, and a thick, white square of gauze covered her right temple, where she'd sliced a two inch gash in the soft flesh, hitting the van door. She started up, but gentle hands held her back.

"Nikita. It's all right. Be calm."

"Madeline?" Nikita managed to squeak, in a voice that sounded like a rusty door hinge. She squinted her eyes against the brightness of the fluorescent lights, and tried to focus on the figure above her.

"Yes, Nikita. It's me."

"Where's Michael?"

"He's okay, Nikita. He's right here. He lost a lot of blood, and he wouldn't rest until he was sure you were all right. He's sleeping now. We gave him something for the pain." A euphemism for the fact that they'd had to hold him down, and then inject him with enough sedative to drop a small elephant, just to get him to rest.

Nikita let her head drop to the pillow, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. "And Miller?"

"He's fine. We treated him, and sent him back to his quarters to rest. I understand from Michael that he acquitted himself rather well, and that he didn't give up anything to the terrorists."

"He's a solid young man. He was worth saving."

"I'm glad you were able to. It's always a waste to lose a good operative like Miller."

"Yeah. It is." She fought back a yawn and lost, not bothering to cover her mouth. "Sorry."

"No. I'm sorry. I should let you rest. I'll see you later, Nikita. Be well." Madeline turned to go, then as an afterthought, turned back when she reached the door. "Thank you for bringing him back."

Nikita nodded. She had no doubt that it wasn't Miller that Madeline was talking about. Then her head hit the pillow, and two seconds later, she was fast asleep.

Michael crept awkwardly into Medlab, a crutch under one arm, and Nikita's portable stereo in the other hand. Birkoff had just delivered it. He had wanted to go for it himself, but Madeline had ordered him confined to Medlab. He'd snuck out, of course, long enough to coerce Birkoff into making a raid on Nikita's apartment, and then again to talk to the young man on the phone, when Birkoff had discovered that the CD Michael wanted simply was not a part of Nikita's collection. This small problem had necessitated a side-trip to the mall, and now Michael owed Birkoff two month's worth of junk food in payment for the favor. He sighed, thinking about how much candy Birkoff consumed, and wondered idly how much it was going to cost him.

He set up the stereo, cueing up the CD to the song he was after, put the remote in his pocket and sat down on the bed, waiting for his angel to wake up.

As it turned out, Michael didn't have long to wait. She sighed deeply, then came up to her good elbow, to find him staring at her. A smile creased her lips, and she sat up awkwardly, rubbing groggily at her eyes.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm all right. You?"

"Better, now." He gave her a shy smile, then slid from the bed and came towards her, moving with a pronounced limp. He'd changed from Medlab whites into his athletic gear, but the black tank top and jogging pants only served to highlight the palor of his skin, and the stark whiteness of the bandage across his left cheekbone. There was another across his right forearm, where he'd ripped the IV line out, during the struggle to sedate him, and even the bagginess of his sweatpants did nothing to hide the bandage wrapped around his upper thigh. His face was scratched, and his lips were almost white, but his eyes were more alive than she'd seen in a long time.

He stopped in front of Nikita. "It's occurred to me that I still owe you a dance."

Confusion crossed her face for a split second, then understanding dawned, and she smiled at him. He held out his hand, his pale green eyes gazing lovingly into hers.

"May I have this dance?"

"Of course."

Nikita slid from the bed, and moved slowly into Michael's arms. He hit the play button, then dropped the remote onto the bed behind Nikita. Music filled the empty sickbay, and they began to rock slowly together. They held each other close, his lips pressed in an almost-kiss against the curve of her neck, her cheek resting lightly against his.

The dance was slow, the two dancers moving painfully. Eventually they stopped dancing all together, content to simply hold each other while the music played. It wasn't until the song was nearly over that Nikita finally recognized it for what it was. It was the song that had been playing the night that Michael had walked out on her. It was his way of saying that he believed what she had told him in the woods. And that he felt the same. She smiled, then leaned up and kissed him gently on the lips, as the final words of the song echoed through Medlab.

I guess it's meant to be, forever you and me...
...after all.

The End