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

Author's Note: *Rated TIC, for Tongue In Cheek*

Thanks to the movie Analyze This for a line, and whoever wrote Davenport's Diary-I don't know your name, but I borrowed one of your lines, and I thank you here publicly.

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

La Femme Mikita, Prologue~

Section One-

End of Season Three

The cruel "reprogramming" of Nikita leaves Michael, Section One's premier Level Five Operative, alone and despondent- a broken shell of a man.

As his performance appraisal number slips down another notch to 98.8%, Madeline is forced to take desperate steps. Only SHE is bold enough to make the tough decision, to call for what is necessary-

The complete and total destruction of Michael, Section's finest.

With Operations by her side, she keeps vigil near the sterile ward, as the medical team works feverishly, round the clock.

They WILL rebuild him.

They HAVE the technology.

Michael Samuelle

A new man-

Better-

Faster-

Stronger-

Gay...

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

"GAY?" bellowed Operations. He reached for the Maalox.

Madeline smiled serenely, "It's the only logical course. We'll never have to worry about Michael and Nikita's relationship again." She laid a finger along side her nose, breathing deeply. If only Jurgen hadn't died-

If only she hadn't thrown out all those Peter Allen records.

Paul's eyes narrowed in thin, suspicious lines, "Well, alright," he grumbled, "But if I go homo he's canceled!"

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

Walter and Birkhoff sat glumly in Comm.

"Christ," swore the older man, "Since Michael's gone gay he's got more women after him than ever!"

"It's so unfair," Birkhoff whined, "They're all trying to convert him back. He should leave the chicks for the rest of us!"

Walter fiddled angrily with an exploding lipstick. "I'm calling my Union Rep--there's gotta be a lawsuit here somewhere!" He paused and snapped his fingers, "Hey-that's it--Birkhoff, get Michael to make a pass, then we sue him for sexual harassment!" He saw the boy's face. "What? Just go over there and wiggle your butt in front of him."

Birkhoff shifted uncomfortably, "Oh, I don't know Walter. Another time, maybe--these new pants make my thighs look so fat!"

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

Madeline and Operations stood side by side in the aerie.

"You have to admit," she said, "He always was a snappy dresser."

Operations stared down at the lower level and lit a cigarette, "Yes, but that tutu--"

"I think it's original," she defended, her hand caressing the silky tailored suit Michael had brought her from Milan.

"I picked it out especially for you," he'd whispered. And then, leaning closer, purring in a way that made her knees weak, "With matching leather...shoes."

The fashion tips alone were enough to make Madeline wish she'd turned him years ago.

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

He sat motionless at the dressing table, gazing deeply in the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.

"Michael?"

Reluctantly, he turned away from the mirror, "What now, Nikita?"

"You said you'd French-braid my hair."

"Ooh, right- sorry, I forgot!" He lept up. "-But you didn't apply that hot oil and seaweed paste I told you about--your ends are going to be completely frizzed!"

"You know I don't have time for that crap, Michael," Nikita snapped, laying her MP-5 on the counter and beginning to break it down. "I've got more important things to do!"

(Since her "reprogramming", Nikita had begun to explore her "inner life", resulting in a subscription to Soldier of Fortune, an appetite for beef, and a disdain for any clothing that didn't have large, convenient Velcro closures. She had recently begun work on a set of wire sculptures called "Torture Techniques of World War II-an Homage.")

The New Nikita in camouflage and flak jackets wasn't tacky, thank God. But those drab olive fatigues were murder on her pale skin, and he was desperate to make her over.

But first things first!

Michael tightened the turban around his auburn hair and began applying an herbal toning mask with a steady hand.

Being the top Agent in Section One was very jarring to one's nerves!

He'd never noticed Before; now he couldn't believe he'd never taken advantage of fourteen years worth of Personal and Sick time!

That's RIGHT-

What about Michael's needs?

He needed to refresh and relax, pamper himself with a massage, some aromatherapy- before he could even think of working his magic on someone else!

An hour later, Michael sat in the steaming tub, his mask hardening, engrossed in a copy of the Wall Street Journal, while Nikita teetered behind him on the rim, working industriously.

"Oh my God!" he squealed suddenly.

"WHAT? Where?" She whipped twin Baby Uzis out of her bra and aimed them both at the door, a grenade dangling from its pin between her teeth.

"Compaq just took another nose-dive, and I own 500 shares! They supply all our computers-what the H-E double L is their problem!"

"Shhhaaa, Michael-they were low bidder, remember?" She rolled her eyes and replaced the weapons.

Hel-lo.

He sighed dramatically, further depressed at the sight of his day old manicure, "I can't take this-I need a tall mochaccino from Starbucks."

"But I'm not done waxing your-"

"Nikita!" he huffed, "This is important! I'm getting a headache-"

She shook her head, strapped on an ammo belt and then stopped, staring at him with hurt, accusing blue eyes.

"You know, Michael-sometimes I just don't know who you are anymore."

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

Later that day-

"Ok, put me down now."

Nikita hovered over a sofa and let Michael slide off her back. "Geez, Michael, couldn't you have made it the last two hundred yards on your own?" She massaged an aching disk, wishing for some Ben Gay.

"But Nikita- it's raining-I couldn't risk a spot on my new suede boots!"

In the midst of a crowd of male operatives, Walter and Birkhoff watched the proceedings, glowering angrily. It was bad enough that Michael had monopolized Nikita when he was straight-but now that he was gay-.

The taunt emerged from somewhere among the onlookers.

"Faghag!"

An outraged gasp arose from a group of Michael's new, best girlfriends.

Nearby, Davenport whirled, "Hey!" he roared, "Stow that sh!t!"

From their position at the surveillance monitor, Madeleine and Paul exchanged worried glances.

"You know what this means, don't you-"

Operations nodded grimly, reaching for the Alka-Selzer, "Oh yeah-"

Sensitivity training.

* * * * * * *

"Good morning, friends. My name is Ms. Bunnie Featherhead, and today, we'll begin a caring and sharing Dialogue that celebrates the specialness inside each and every one of you."

In the front row, Nikita slumped in a surly pique. First, Michael had tricked her into wearing moisturizer and then Madeline had made her remove all weapons before entering the room. Her day already sucked"-

"On the desk in front of each of you is a Feeling Basket-"

Michael straightened suddenly, his offended eye drawn to the painful clash of colors in the Ms. Bunnie's scarf.

He felt an anxiety attack coming on-

Who would be gauche enough to mix turquoise and green?

He gasped aloud. RED CELL, that's who!

He rose and in quick, deft motion, tore the Karl Lagerfeld tie from around his neck and tackled Ms. Featherhead, strangling her with the silken length, taking care not to wrinkle the front façade.

Everyone clapped and crowded around the hero. Walter shuffled his feet and said gruffly, "You're all right, Michael-even if you do carry a handbag."

Operations and Madeline beamed proudly.

But Michael ignored them all, his green eyes searching out and focusing on a single individual-

Nikita.

She eyed him uncertainly. Could this relationship be saved?

The room was thick with tension, as the assembled agents watched azure and emerald eyes engage in a dramatic stare-down.

Suddenly Nikita grinned, tossing an arm around Michael's head, squeezing him in an affectionate chokehold.

"Aw, Michael," she chortled, "I'll wax your ass any day!"

~The End~

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