Walter was my first friend at Section. My only friend. Maybe I consider him my friend because he doesn't treat me any differently than he did then, when I was new and insecure. He has no agenda, no conditions. He is just Walter and I'm just Sugar. I don't have to pretend with him or hold back.

I have to admit that he scared me a little at first. I thought he was sort of an old scoundrel, but I think maybe he was just lonely. Back then I was still leery of every man I met. I figure that Walter made those occasionally off-colour remarks to me because he was stuck mentally in a sixties Hugh Hefner time warp or something. If I'd have come back on to him, he'd have fainted. Well, I think he might have. Back in those days I didn't quite know what to make of him. He dresses a little weird, like a Hells Angel who mated with a tree hugger and that voice send shivers through you at first until you get used to it and then it's like whiskey and black velvet and you want to hear it all the time. I never tire of hearing his stories. Walter a story teller extra ordinaire.

I'd been in Section about a year when he started telling me that I reminded him of a Valkyrie. Walter's grandmother was of Scadinavian origin. He described her as a pipe smoking, hard drinking old crone from Denmark who took a switch to his butt on numerous occasions, but apparently, like Walter, she always had a story to tell. He told me how he'd climb up on her knee and ask her to tell them to him over and over until he knew them off by heart. He told me once that he hoped to pass them on to his own children. I don't think he has any children of his own, but I'm happy to let him tell his tales to me. I draw the line at climbing up on his knee, though he has suggested it once or twice. Sometimes they're outrageous stories about things he's seen, or a little ribald anecdote and sometimes they're just memories from when he was very young, but never anything really personal about how he ended up here, though I'd love to know all about it. He doesn't talk much about the others either, especially Michael. Walter knows how to keep his share of the secrets. I think I've heard the Valkyrie one about a hundred times.

It's a story about Sigurd, the last of the Volsung clan. This Sigurd was a Dane said to be descended from gods. He was high born and handsome, so handsome that he was almost beautiful. All of the women loved him. Gee, I wonder who that sounds like. He was dark haired and light eyed as are many of the Danes and brave as a lion. He'd barely reached manhood when he slew his first dragon. Then he had a bath in the dragon's blood but missed a small place below his left shoulder, just near the vicinity of his heart. The dragon's blood made every part of him invincible, all but his heart. That was his weakness.

Sigurd liked adventure. One day as he was riding his horse Greyfell, he saw smoke rising from the mountain. He rode up and found that the peak was ringed by ramparts of fire. He decided to ride through the fiery coals. His horse went willingly and Sigurd was not burned for he was brave and unconquerable. It the top of the peak he found what looked to be a tomb, a stone bier, and on the bier lay the golden armour clad body of a warrior. He slipped the helmet from the head of the warrior, then stepped back in awe as ropes of golden hair fell free. It was a woman. She had a beautiful but sad face and Sigurd's heart began to pound wildly in his chest with an instant and overwhelming love. The woman had been sleeping but he had awakened her.

For a moment she just stared at him, rather gravely, before she leapt off the bier and held her sword to his throat for she had been told that humans were not to be trusted. He didn't react, or move to defend himself. He just gazed into eyes the colour of violets. She was the same height as him, almost six feet. They met eye to eye. She pressed the sword to his smooth throat until a tiny bead of blood was drawn. She lowered the sword when he didn't flinch because she knew that she had met her equal. She instantly loved him. Her name was Brynhild and she was a Valkyrie.

She was one of the heroic troop of near goddesses who rode the clouds high above the battlefields. They chose the warriors who would perish in glory. Brynhild had made a mistake and sent a man not ready to die to his death and for this she was condemned to live among mortals and to learn their sorrows. I guess this was the godly equivalent of Section's having you cancelled. Lucky for her though, she just had to lie there in a ring of fire and wait for some hunk to come along and get her out.

I was expecting it to have a happy ending, that the Valkyrie and the handsome dragon slayer would go off and have super babies or something. They did fall in love but they ended up betraying each other. But as Walter told me, in most mythology the endings aren't happy. A lot happened that I left out, but the way Walter preferred to sum it up was that Brynhild's downfall was her lack of trust in Sigurd's love. And Sigurd's was his broken heart. He just grinned at me and said it's so we mere mortals will learn a few lessons by while being highly entertained. I, personally, like the stories where the lovers just ride off into the sunset together. I only like happy endings. Walter laughed and told me that was because I don't know enough about life yet. He's probably right.

I have gone completely off topic again. In any case I was kind of delighted that Walter would compare me to a Valkyrie. A beautiful woman who is almost invincible. The reason I'm writing about Walter in this journal is not just for who might some day read this and know what he means to me. There's been something odd about him of late and it has had me worried.

At Section this mantle of death hangs over our heads at all time. Not just the threat of cancellation, but that knowledge that you could go out on a perfectly straight forward mission and never come back. Walter sees to it that we, as operatives, are linked together in communication and that our weapons and explosives are as safe to handle as possible. He is a genius in that regard. And we all trust him implicitly to protect us from friendly fire, if I can put it that way.

Lately I've noticed a wanness about Walter and he seems a little thinner. I don't think anyone else sees it. Everyone around here is so self-absorbed. I watched one day as he fixed a communicator. His hands seemed to be shaking. He had to set it down and seemed to be taking very deep breaths. He took off his kerchief and used it to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. Something just went still in my heart. I don't know exactly how old he is but I would put him somewhere near sixty. People get sick at Walter's age. The idea that he might be ill terrified me. Just yesterday he was staring off vacantly into space. He didn't rouse until I shook him. He insisted that he was fine and seemed sheepish. Then, in a round about way, quite unlike him, he asked me not to mention it to anyone, especially Michael.

A few days later Walter gave me a gun that didn't discharge properly. Luckily I wasn't hurt in any way or in any danger. I told him privately that the gun was defective. I didn't think it was anything Michael had to concern himself with. Walter just shook his head and said he wondered how a faulty weapon has slipped by him. He looked beaten and old.

If Water lived in what I like to call the real world, he could just retire. Get a little beachfront home somewhere, drink Margaritas and dig for clams. In Section we don't retire to crochet toilet bowl covers and read novels at the beach. We are cancelled. We just cease to be of any use and they get rid of us.

The mission started out like any other. We were sent, eight of us, to destroy a Red Cell operations base just outside of Amsterdam. I can't tell you exactly when things went wrong. It was just this sense of foreboding I had. One of the explosive devices went off far to soon. I jumped out of my skin at the sound of it and forgot my duties. The explosion had come from the direction, Michael had headed. I knew that something had happened to him. I ran like a maniac, heedless of the danger, thinking that he may be dead. I remember thinking that I would die myself if I found him dead. Or maimed. My legs felt like they do in dreams, slow and sluggish like all the adrenalin was in my face. " Oh, God, Walter," I said to no one in particular. " Not again."

Sinclair and I found him beside a dumpster. He wasn't dead. I thought he was at first because he was lying face down, with his legs akimbo. Something kind rose up inside me, this red tide of fear that made my knees weaken and my cheeks grow hot. Then I head him groan as he began to pull himself up. His shoulder was dislocated and there was a gash above one eye. I found out about the shoulder when I tried to jerk him to his feet and get him out of there. Michael turned a rather horrible shade of green but true to his character didn't utter a word. Any human would have been turning the air blue with foul oaths. An operative called Yagudin was hurt pretty badly. The explosives that he was planting detonated prematurely. The force of the explosion had thrown Michael twenty feet into a brick wall. It was my guess that Walter had screwed up somewhere on his calculations when he's prepared the device.

Michael was taken by the med-ops to have his shoulder set. They told me he'd be fine, just needing a sling and pain killers. He didn't appear to be concussed but they'd keep him over night anyway for observation. I wanted to hug Michael with relief. I went off to file my report and return my weapon and communications unit. Walter was not in the munitions bay. Birkoff came beetling over, completely unnerved. He hissed into my ear. " Walter just passed out cold. One minute we were standing there talking and then he fell flat on his face. They're saying he might have had a stroke or something." I could only stare at him in dismay. Oh, God, I thought, what have I done now.

I was not informed of Walter's condition. None of us were. Poor Birky looked positively sick himself. It was my night off and I reluctantly went home, so agitated driving that I went through at least two stop signs. Too unsettled to eat, I just fixed myself a cup of tea and ate a few ginger snaps. All I could think about was Walter, that he might be dead by now and I'd never see him again. That Michael, if not for his catlike ability to escape the reaper, might be dead too. All because I'd kept my mouth shut about my suspicions that Walter might somehow be ill. I sat there sipping my tea and shivering on the chair and then decided that I would have a long hot a shower. Perhaps it would help me to sleep at least.

The shower didn't make me feel better, not even clean. I wrapped myself in a towel and walked barefoot to my room. Michael was standing in the foyer.

" Jesus, Michael. What the hell are you doing here?" I clutched the towel to my breasts. He was standing there, his hair dishevelled, his arm in a sling, a patch of white gauze on his forehead. I knew for a fact that he was supposed to be under observation for a concussion. I didn't suspect for a moment that he was just dying to see me and came straight here. His eyes were livid, his beautiful mouth drawn in a tight line. Obviously he'd had nothing to do with the pain killers because he looked ashen and drained with the pain of his shoulder.

" Maybe you should lock your door if you don't want unwanted guests."

I didn't explain myself. " Is Walter okay? Is that why you're here?"

" They're running tests now. Sinclair told me what you'd said. You knew about this didn't you, Nikita? That Walter was having trouble."

" I didn't know everything. I just suspected. I'm not a doctor, Michael." I lifted my chin, hoping that I looked in control " If you don't mind, I'll get my clothes and go into the bathroom to dress." I didn't wait for him to say he minded. I turned my back to him and grabbed some track pants and a shirt.

I came out of the bathroom. My hair was in wet ribbons and I felt awful. Michael looked worse. I told him to sit and he refused. " fter all this time you'd think you'd have learned. Why didn't you file a report? If any one of our operatives is not at full capacity to perform we all suffer the consequences. Sinclair told me you said something about Walter having screwed up again. How long has this been going on?"

Oh, yea, Michael, I thought. I know all that crap, but don't let me explain myself. Just start in with the lecture. Don't you think I know I screwed up? I just sighed in that way that used to exasperate my teachers, my youth worker, everyone. I have a very bad time with authority figures. I always feel like I'm being backed into a wall. And I hate it when Michael's mad at me. I hate it when he's right. It seems like he's always right. I resent that he'll just spew these admonitions at me so readily. Why can't he tell me personal things so easily? Like how he feels about that night in Lyons. Two years almost and he's never mentioned what occurred between us. I wish he could be as straight forward about that.

I took a deep breath. " I've known for about a week."

" And why didn't you say anything? "

Bile just rose up in me. I spewed the words at him. " Why? So you self-righteous pricks can cancel him? Isn't that what you do to people who don't operate at full capacity, isn't it, Michael? Or is there an old operatives retirement home somewhere I don't know about?"

His voice was measured and cool. Michael is Michael under attack. " A good operative was almost killed as a result of this, Nikita."

I rolled my eyes up to heaven. Help me, I was thinking." I know. And I'm sorry. And I'm sorry about what happened to you, Michael. Okay? I am sorry." The words caught at a lump in my throat. It irks me to say those words. I have to learn to say them with more remorse. I meant the apology with all my heart, but I hated rising to it. It goes back a long way in me. I guess it's because I always expect to hear, " Sorry doesn't cut it" and get beaten anyway. The truth hurts. And so does saying you're sorry. " And I'm so miserable about Walter." I couldn't stop the two big tears that slid out from under my lashes.

He sighed softly. I guess he'd heard it in my voice this time. That I meant it. I wondered what it would mean. A reprimand from Operations or something worse. " They don't think it's anything for concern at this point. He's been on high blood pressure meds and his potassium levels got screwed up. He had a bit of the flu that he didn't want anyone to know about. I guess it all contributed to his confusion lately."

" So they won't cancel him?" Hope made me squeak out the words.

" They knew he had blood pressure problems, Nikita. He has for years. I'm sure they'll try to get him on the mend. Walter is invaluable."

He made me angry again. His composure. That blank look like he didn't have a clue how it is in Section. Everything is just hunky dorry I swiped the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. " That doesn't mean he won't become obsolete one day, like yesterday's vacuum cleaner. I guess it's better not to get attached cause they'll just take him out and shoot him one day like Old Yeller."

Michael just shook his head and frowned. " You have such a way with words. Next time you have a suspicion that there's a problem at Section, say something. You could have saved a lot of grief.." He walked towards the door. " I'm not going to say anything. Sinclair owes me a favour."

I just nodded. I felt relieved but disgusted with myself. I didn't want to show it to Michael. It seemed that I was in his debt again too. And in his bad books. I hate being in his bad books. I guess whatever progress we'd made in the last few months had just slipped through my fingers. With Michael, I am always running up hill and then sliding on my ass all the way back down. The door clicked shut and he was gone.

I was allowed to visit Walter the next day. He looked older, a little shrunken maybe but his eyes were brighter and he wasn't so pale. The first thing he said was: " I'm sorry, sugar. I shouldn't have involved you in this."

I squeezed his hand. " I'm okay about it, Walter. I'm just happy you're better now." He just nodded. We didn't speak much about what had happened and what may happen in the future if he got sick again. I was about to leave when Walter brought it up himself. " I'm getting older, Sugar. One day I'll be useless to Section. At least I won't have to sit in a wheelchair staring at a TV for the rest of my life."

I felt the sting of tears in my throat and eyes. " Walter, can I tell you something?"

" Shoot, Sugar," he said in that whiskey velvet voice.

" I've never said this to anyone before. And no one has ever said it to me either." I could feel my lip trembling. I know I had this awful grin pasted on my face. I took a deep breath and just blurted it out. " I love you, Walter. I really do. I just wanted to tell you that."

I heard a sound and and turned to see Michael. He was looking at me in a curious way. I can't really describe it but it was like he was full of wonder. It made my heart pound. But Michael always does that to me. I was not sure he'd heard what I'd said to Walter. I straightened my shoulders and sniffed.

Walter was clearing his throat. He looked a little teary himself. " Michael. Hi."

" I could come back later."

" No. Stay. Nikita doesn't mind."

Michael nodded and moved forward. He set a little package of those Jello cups on the tray. The blue and red and green jelly glittered cheerfully in the cold, flourescent light. Walter grinned. What a strange and sweet thing for Michael to do, I thought.

" I don't think they have this stuff here. It's required for invalids."

" I'll bet you ate a lot of this stuff as a kid in the hospital." Walter was grinning, ear to ear.

I looked at him. He seemed a little nervous. Michael has spent a lot of time in the hospital as a child?

" Michael had asthma as a kid," said Walter." He was in and out of hospitals for years until he outgrew it. He hated the hospital. Apparently Jello is the only good thing about hospitals."

" Yes, Kita and I played cello too. Don't ask if I wore thick glasses and wore special shoes."

I wasn't going to. I would never think that Michael had been a nerd. It was kind of comforting to think that he had been a scared and lonely child, like me, at one time. Maybe we have more in common than I had thought. I always think of Michael as having sprung from the ground like a flower, in complete and utterly beautiful working order.

I decided to leave then, leave then alone to talk. I bent and kissed Walter's withered cheek. He whispered in my ear. " I love you, too, Sugar."

I swallowed hard. I could not look into Michael's eyes. It was lovely to hear the words even if they weren't quite from the man I yearned to hear them from. I nodded to Michael, got my coat and left them alone.

Later that night when I was lying in bed, I thought of Walter. I would still get to listen to his Valkyrie stories for a few more years if we were lucky and his health held out. I thought of how it felt to have someone, anyone, tell me they loved me. I felt as if I'd been released from the ring of fire that has held my heart prisoner. A sense of peace, utterly still, utterly complete, covered me, warmer than any blanket.

I closed my eyes and drifted. Before sleep claimed me, I had one last thought:

How lucky I am to be loved.

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