"Walter, can I ask you something?"

"What's on your mind, Jase?"

"What's with boss lady lately? She seems about ready to loose it. At the Heinz mission briefing, she tore Sam a new one just for asking if there was back-up. Now she's sent Rameriz to Abeyance 'cause she wounded that driver. This just isn't Operation's style."

"Yeah, I heard about Rameriz, but Sam? Boy, that *is* pushing it! He's the best Team Leader this place has seen in months. I know she's under stress, with a capital 'S'; Oversight and Centre's watching everything she does. I'll talk to her."

You watch as he fusses over the new recruits. The sight takes you back to a time when you were someone else, someone you’re not sure you even remember now.

When he’s alone, you stroll into Munitions. His face lights up, and you desperately fight the urge to throw your arms around him and let him hug you and tell you that everything is going to be okay.

“Thanks for helping with the Martinez problem.”

“I’ll always have your back, Sugar.” His grin falters. “After all, it’s just you and me now.”

The words burn a hole in your heart.

Nikita hit the button that darkened the perch. The door shut automatically. All was silent.

Sunday. Where was God in the middle of all this?

She opened Walter's latest present. Curious... a CD of Verdi's Requiem. She put the disk in her computer and sat back.

Beauty mesmerized her as she listened to its quiet opening. Absentmindedly, she pulled the liner notes and began reading the libretto.

'...King of Glory... free the souls of all the faithful dead... nor will they fall into darkness. But let the holy Michael, the standard-bearer, lead them into the holy light...'

Courage. Strength. Faith.

This was a job she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy. She had never appreciated how horrible it would be to have this job. Of course, she never aspired to have this job either. Full of life and death decisions that never got any easier or seemed to lessen over time. How, why, would anyone want or covet this job? If they only knew. Nikita sighed and looked at the report on another Level 5 Operative who thought they had the 'right stuff.' Maybe she should let them go for it, she ruminated. Maybe she would finally get some peace.

After Walter died, so many things had to change that it was several weeks before she noticed it.

“Operations, there’s a call from Center.”

They were all gone now -- everyone she’d started with, everyone that knew her then.

“Ah, Ms. Jones...”

There was no one left who called her by her name. They all knew it, but they were more comfortable dealing with a title than a person. It was always “Operations” or “Ms. Jones,” “Ma’am” or the occasional “Sir.”

Is this how it begins, thinking of people as things to be used, when nobody calls you by name?