"The meeting is scheduled for 1030, A has asked for a pre-meeting with you to discuss agenda item two, at 1000. That gives you" he checks his watch, "45 minutes to cover the material, will that be sufficient?"

I gaze at him, momentarily surprised that the morning has all but disappeared.

"Sir?"

"Yes, that's fine. What else?"

He checks his pad, face screwing up into such comic expressions that I have a momentary ache for *my* Birkoff.

"Council is expected to run until at least 1400, I've kept the next hour clear as a contingency as the agenda is full. Zed has asked you to review Grade A priorities from the Flash List prior to sending them on to Centre by 1830, you have a 1700 teleconference scheduled with NATO chiefs to discuss file 1267780, which is in your secure box. I assume you have already finished the Section reports, which only leaves clearance of profiles for upcomings which are due by 2200, these are in your electronic in-box." With that he looks up at me, expectantly.

"I want you to schedule a meeting with Mr Jones and Madeline before 1800 today."

He looks confused, checks his pad again. "That will be difficult" he nods, fingers working quickly on the keypad.

"It shouldn't take long, no more than ten minutes. I also want you to contact the Sentinel, as soon as we are finished here. Instruct them to retrieve some equipment from the Centre and bring it here, before 1200. I'll provide the specifications and location. I also want the names of the personnel at Section One and the Centre that have been working on file GMXN42, have them quarantined pending my further instructions."

He keys all this in, then looks up.

"Is that all?"

"Yes, thank you, for now."

He smiles, closing his notepad. Picks up the locked case that sits by his legs, places it on a corner of the desk. Looking confused again.

"Vincent asked me to pass this information on to you. He said it would help with the research you've been doing this morning."

I smile wryly, opening the case with my code, flicking quickly through files. My smile broadens. Nature vs nurture, Vincent is certainly a Birkoff. This gets me thinking as I stare at Alex who is waiting apprehensively at the door, unsure if he has been dismissed.

"Thank you Alex. I'll be sure to let Vincent know they will be useful."

He nods, hesitantly, turns to leave. Nurture vs nature, I smile to myself.

"Alex"

He turns instantly, waiting.

"Perhaps you could help me too."

Alex beams. "Of course."

It's a liberating emotion - trust.

Part Ten

Nikita leaned back in the chair, soaking up the utter quiet of the room. A pencil rolled slowly between her fingers as she contemplated the flowers on the desk. A riot of colour against the cool white of the walls and deep green carpet. An eclectic assortment of artwork dotted each vertical surface. One, in particular, had taken her fancy. An abstract watercolour, just to the left of the desk. After a long while staring at it she discovered it appeared to be a tangle of sunglasses. Even more curious was the large glass tube that zigzagged across the opposite wall. Smiling she stood, wandered over to run a hand across the warm surface. It glowed gently, illuminating the room with a soft radiance. Sunshine, here in the bowels of Section. She couldn't help laughing out loud.

A soft chime made her turn, doors opening soundlessly and for a brief moment she could hear the harsh noise of section before they closed again. Locking in the peace.

"Wow" Quinn whispered, looking around. "I wouldn't have recognised it. I always felt like I was walking into the parlour of the Adams family when Madeline had this office. But this is... so different."

Nikita looked over at her, irritated by the comment, and the intrusion.

"What can I do for you?" she asked curtly, siting back behind the desk, comforted by the soft green leather of the chair. Her chair. Her office.

"You wanted to look over the Middleton profile once we finished the sims" O'Brien announced, passing a disc over to her, sliding into one of the chairs opposite the desk.

She nodded, turned to the computer screen on the side arm of the desk, slipped the disc into the drive mounted to the underside. Opened the files, impressed with the speed of the new machine. Her fingers worked the keyboard easily, pleased to back be in control.

Her sessions with Madeline had stopped, abruptly, two weeks ago. No explanations, no repercussions. And no contact from Madeline, or Mr Jones, since then. Returning to Section, Operations had told her she had a week's downtime, seemed almost happy about it. The first few days had been bad, she was shaky and paranoid. Walter had arrived, unannounced, nervous. Dropped off a package that he said had mysteriously appeared at his home. He sat with her for a while, conversation stilted as they both looked uncertainly at the package. Offered to hang around while she opened it but she ushered him away, convincing him she would be okay. She had unwrapped the package as though it might contain a bomb. But all it contained was a file and three small, white pills in a ziplock bag with instructions to take one each day. The file described in great detail what had been done to her, this time and last time. She read it from cover to cover, three times. On the third day she took it out on to her verandah and burned it in the barbeque. When she got back to Section a couple of days later she went straight out on a mission, only to return to... this.

"It looks okay, I've made a few adjustments." Clicking the disc out of the drive she spun around, "have you picked your team?" she asked O'Brien, handing the disc to Quinn.

"Yes, I've included the selection in the manifest. We'll be a bit stretched for the next couple of weeks with the activity in the Balkan's and western Africa."

"I'll have a look at it. Is that all?" she asked, desperate to have then gone.

O'Brien looked to Quinn then back to her, nodded, rose to leave, hesitated.

"Operations indicated you'll be taking charge of the manifesto and clearing all the mission profiles from here on."

"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?" she smiled, retribution tasted sweet, sometimes.

"No, it's just that... I thought..."

"Keep doing that O'Brien, and you'll do just fine."

"Keep doing what?" he asked, annoyed.

"Thinking" she smiled sweetly.

With a frown he turned and left, followed by a smiling Quinn.

The door closed, to silence. Alone again.

Looking around the room she savoured each tender detail, a convergence of obsession animating the inanimate.

She smiled. No, not alone anymore.

It was here, in this room, all around her.

Hope.

It burned as bright as daylight, thawing the cold that kept her in their shadow.

Finally, hope.

**Finis**

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