Walking down the city streets seeing all the holiday shoppers was bringing painful recollections. Even though it had only been months since she last saw them, it felt like it was forever. Constantly aching for his presence, in this season of giving she knew that she had given him the greatest gift of all – freedom to be with his son. Freedom to give Adam the unconditional love a father could give his child. She only wish her own father had loved her enough to give her the same gift.

The sidewalks were full of last minute shoppers, fighting for entry into and out of the doorways and clutching sharply angled packages close to their bodies for protection.

Michael moved among them without effort, hands thrust deep into his coat pockets, seemingly oblivious to the brightly lit windows and gaudy displays he passed. Somehow the crowds and the walking helped as they always did, and he finally let the memories flow.

His only Christmas tradition, this gift to himself: a remembrance of family and friends, of joy and laughter. A bubble of peace and comfort in the memory of life before . . .

#1

She made her list, checked it twice even. She'd decided to bake Christmas goodies for all of the naughty folks in Section and of course for her nice friend, Walter, too.

When she arrived in Section, she knew half the crew would be sleeping; the rest would be awake. Whether they'd been bad or good, they'd get a present; for goodness sake, she WAS Nikita, afterall. Watching out for Madeline, not crying when nearly caught in the Perch, not even shouting when Michael surprised her in his office, and why? 'Cause Nikita Claus was making her rounds.

*************

If you're not humming 'Santa Claus is Coming to Town' by now, you ~must~ be related to Scrooge.

#2

...It's his birthday today.  I bought him a present. That you can never give him? Yes, that I can never give him.

That conversation rolled around in Nikita's head for hours as she stood in the cold night air, guarding Michael from himself. Until the last few days she believed life had dealt her the short straw. Only now did she realize Michael was paying a far greater price for the gift of living one more day.

And Michael's reward for being Operations' prized top operative? Yet another loved one sacrificed; Michael had just become Section's ultimate victim.

**********

Opening lines courtesy of Gates of Hell, written by Robert Cochran.

Shit. 4:30 on Christmas Eve. There were only a handful of people still in the store - men with glazed eyes; wandering, desperate, clueless, panicked, and buying totally inappropriate last minute gifts for their girlfriends. Why did they wait?

Why did *he* wait? Shit. He should have been here hours ago. Now there was none of the usual frenetic activity for cover.

He tried to look nonchalant. He'd picked up several things he didn't need, as camouflage - gloves, chocolate, a newspaper. A lottery ticket.

Shit. Tinactin. The clerk's meaningless holiday babble never faltered, but she smirked.

Damn mission pants.

"I never asked for your protection."

"Without it, you’d be dead now."

I weighed the options a thousand times. I would have pulled the trigger if Michael hadn't appeared. Why did his embrace change things? Why did he make me want to live? Was it because he wanted to live? Because I made him want to live? Was my inadvertent gift to him a curse instead of a blessing?

We're both alive, each because of the other. A snake swallowing its tail. Or, maybe, a Phoenix rising from the ashes…

I think Madeline and Operations deserve a gift, too.

Us.

The Christmas Eve she was seven, her mother went out and left her alone with the nice man next door. They sat together on his couch, laughing and watching television, making her disappointment go away. Smiling, he dropped a pretty little Christmas present in her lap.

Distracted by the gift, she hardly noticed being pulled onto his lap until she was against something big and hard in his pocket, scared by his sudden funny breathing. She never recalled anything after that—except for one soft sound that gradually became thunder in her memory—the sound of a man's zipper, opening.

"Got a minute?"

"No."

"But it’s Christmas Eve."

He stopped typing. "So?" He didn’t look at her. "Are you worried that I won’t be in bed by the time Santa comes?"

Beneath his petulant tone, she heard a sadness that made her heart ache. "No, I wanted to give you something." She pushed the gift-wrapped video game into his hands. He blinked, then smiled.

"Wow, thanks!" His smile widened as the paper ripped. For a brief moment, he looked like the carefree teenager he should have been.

Her eyes blurred hotly, but she forced a bright smile. "Merry Christmas, Seymour."

First she hinted. Then asked. "Christmas plans, Michael?" He quietly responded he had a mission in Prague. He'd see her after the New Year. She smiled bravely, held her tears and wished him happy holidays.

He heard the joyous sounds of Elena and Adam wrapping gifts. Alone in his study, he reveled in the images of two nights he’d spent with Nikita.

In his palm was a ring. Diamonds, sapphires – for her, perfect, she'd never wear it.

"Oh!" Elena said, drawing him out of his thoughts. "It’s beautiful!"

The gift that couldn't be would mock him daily.

Section always won.

Christmas. For Nikita, it had never been much more than just another day. Her mother had usually been too drunk to bother with gifts and trees. During the years she had lived on the streets, simply finding a place to crash had been gift enough.

Though she longed for more, she expected this year to be no different. She found herself walking into the church where she and Michael sometimes met. Alone in the flickering candlelight, she sat in "their" pew. A small red-velvet bag lay there. Curious about the left-behind gift, she picked it up. The tag read, "Nikita."

#2

With Christmas came a feeling Nikita had become quite familiar with, emptiness. Walking aimlessly through the city, she wasn't surprised to find herself standing before the cathedral.

It had been ten years since Michael had left Section to raise Adam, ten lonely years of bearing the burden of Section. Reaching into her pocket she removed a small, flat stone bearing the inscription, "I can’t live without you."

Rubbing her thumb over the engraving, she remembered finding the worry-stone in a red-velvet bag on this very pew, nine years before; it comforted her.

"Nikita," a soft voice spoke from the shadows.

How long had it been since she wore it? Captured in white gold, the diamond glittered on her finger. The most enduring of stones. And the most precious.

"It's beautiful, unique and powerful just like you." He had said back then.

Now, she wished it could be unbreakable like the two of them. But, in Section, nothing and nobody was unbreakable. Of all people, she should know. Yet, hope refused to abandon her, against all odds and despite herselself. It clung to her soul just like the memory of that gift, the first one she had ever received.