Prologue

Bangkok, like so many other capital cities, never slept. Though it was well past three o'clock in the morning the streets of the red light district were packed with an eclectic mix of partygoers, prostitutes and curious tourists. The weather was oppressively warm, and the grinding beat of heavy techno music could be heard blaring through the open doors of several dance clubs.

Michael paid no attention to the cacophony of sounds which attacked him from every direction as he strode purposefully through the cluttered streets in search of his prey. He was dressed in unrelieved black, from the soles of his boots to the collar of the unbuttoned silk trenchcoat which flared gracefully in his wake. His hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail, a pair of dark glasses concealing the occidental origin of his eyes.

Street pedestrians instinctively stepped back to allow him to pass, a reflex action in response to the almost tangible sense of danger that radiated from him. He was oblivious to their acts of obeisance and continued his brisk pace through the path that was rapidly clearing before him.

Several minutes later he left the crowds behind and turned down a nondescript alley. The space was deserted, which was not surprising considering the overpowering scent of stale urine and rotting cardboard which hovered in the humid air. Moving forward, Michael's senses quickly locked in on the sound of heavy breathing off to his left. In one seamless motion he drew his weapon, cocked it and pivoted to face the figure cowering in the shadows.

"I missed you in Singapore," he stated softly in Thai.

Defeated, the figure slowly rose from its crouched position and stepped forward. The dim light from a distant street light revealed a short, trim Asian man in rumpled linen clothing. Under different circumstances the man might have been considered handsome, or at least distinguished, but at the moment he was dirty and in desperate need of a shave and hot shower. Michael could actually smell his fear.

"I want the location. Now." Michael demanded curtly, his patience wearing thin. He'd been tracking the little ferret up the Malay peninsula for 24 hours straight, without rest, and was running on pure adrenaline.

"Do I look stupid?" the man squeaked rhetorically in a high-pitched voice that made Michael's ears bleed.

Repressing the desire to inflict immediate and serious bodily harm, Michael grabbed his quarry by the neck and pushed him back against the alley wall. "Don't make me repeat myself," he growled, his tone as dark and menacing as his appearance.

"If I tell you, will you guarantee safe passage?" The man gulped loudly, apparently recovering his wits enough to attempt a bargain. He tried to sound mildly cajoling but came off as whining instead.

His question was answered with a swift punch to the gut. Michael had no time for games… he had no time, period.

"WHERE is it?" He demanded yet again, all patience gone. Beneath the mirrored planes of his glasses Michael's green eyes burned with hostile intent. The cowering piece of trash before him represented his only link to the information that would enable him to locate Nikita.

Sensing the rage simmering just beneath the surface of his captor, the man did the only thing he could. He started to talk.

***********

(One week earlier…)

Distracted momentarily while typing a mission plan, Michael gave a frustrated sigh and reached up to rub the back of his neck. He had been sitting most of the afternoon and the lack of physical activity was making him antsy. Worse, it was causing his mind to wander.

It had been three weeks since the mission against Armel. Three weeks since he had made love to Nikita. Three weeks since he had admitted in a rare flash of truthfulness that he was conflicted.

"Conflicted."

He muttered the word disgustedly under his breath. What an understatement. His head and his heart were at war, each abrading the other until he felt his entire body was going to implode. Playing Nikita's husband had hit a little too close to home for Michael's comfort… The mission had made him want things he knew he could not have, and he still had not readjusted to the status quo. He wanted Nikita physically, emotionally… permanently. But he couldn't let himself have her. Section exploited their relationship enough as it was.

In those rare moments late at night when he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit that the root of his conflict was fear. Fear that he would let her into his heart and she would leave. Fear that she would die. Although he told himself that he was protecting her for her own good, he knew deep down that he was also protecting himself. Having experienced her imagined loss once already, Michael knew that he would not survive the occurrence again.

So he kept her at bay with polite rebuttals and tales of high priority missions that demanded his undivided attention. Surprisingly, Nikita accepted his need for space. Which was not to say that she had stopped trying to lure him away for hot café mochas… She still asked, she just didn't put up much of a fight when he refused. She merely stood in his office, lounging against his door frame giving him a small knowing smile as he relayed his latest excuse. A tilt of the head accompanied with a low laugh and she would disappear back down the hallway from whence she came.

Truthfully, her complacency was making him slightly nervous, which only caused him to become even more immersed in his work.

Letting out another sigh, Michael turned back to his computer and soon became so engrossed in the task at hand that he barely heard the knock against his door. Expecting to find Nikita attempting once again to entice him away for a snack break, he was surprised to look up and discover Sayles leaning against his door jamb instead. Sayles was a team leader who had transferred to Headquarters shortly after the incident the previous year with Red Cell. Michael did not know him very well, but he respected his ability and his dedication to the job.

Curious as to Sayles' reason for stopping by, Michael paused his hands above his keyboard and fixed his visitor with a calm stare. "Yes?"

"I was wondering if you had a minute," Sayles asked hesitantly, immediately catching Michael's attention. Sayles was a tall, powerfully built man with pale skin, jet black hair and dark brown eyes. He tended to issue commands in a loud, almost militaristic voice, and was not prone to asking tentative questions. To say that Michael was intrigued by his placid demeanor would be an understatement.

"By all means," Michael responded graciously, indicating with his hand that Sayles should have a seat.

When Sayles was safely ensconced in the chair across from Michael's desk, he rubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. Then, he began to speak in a low monotone. "I lost Campbell and Hernandez on a mission this morning…"

"I'm sorry," Michael replied, and meant it. Campbell and Hernandez had been good agents.

"…thanks…Anyway, over the past few months three of my other agents have also been killed in action. To put it bluntly, my team is depleted and morale is shot to hell..." He continued to run his hand back and forth across his skull, a nervous gesture that conveyed to Michael just how serious the situation must be. In the year or so he had known Sayles he didn't think he had ever seen him so off kilter.

"I realize that I am imposing on you by even asking this, but I am at the end of my rope." He paused speaking to fix Michael with a direct stare. "I want to borrow Nikita."

Michael was floored by the request, although his outward appearance gave no indication of that fact. Borrow Nikita? His immediate reaction was to refuse. Just because he was avoiding her, didn't mean that Sayles could have her… Then again, he admitted to himself with more than a little guilt, a transfer would give him some desperately needed personal space. Despite the fact that Nikita was tolerating Michael's need for distance, her physical presence was a distraction in and of itself.

Sayles watched Michael warily, waiting for a response to his request. He could practically hear the wheels of Michael's mind turning as he assimilated the pros and cons of loaning out his protégé.

"Why Nikita?" Michael was curious to know. If he did support the transfer, he wanted to make sure it was for the right reasons.

"You trained her, Michael. Need I say more?"

Michael considered him for a moment, weighing his response and finding it insufficient. "Yes." He leaned back in his chair and waited for Sayles to continue.

"Nikita is unconventional, but she's rapidly acquiring one hell of a reputation as a top operative. It's not just that she's smart and she's on the fast track…" Sayles paused, considering the best way to describe why he wanted Nikita. "Her skill is deceptive," he finally managed. "She's effective without being threatening. My team is going through an adjustment period… I need a soft touch."

As Michael listened to Sayles explain his rationale for requesting Nikita, it occurred to him that the transfer might not be such a bad idea after all. Sayles' team was a secondary player within the Section hierarchy, mainly limited to intelligence gathering and back up field work. Many of his operatives were marginal performers, which accounted for the rash of recent mission-related casualties. Nikita would shine like a diamond of the first water in such an environment. Time with Sayles' group would give her a chance to gain confidence in her skills, while exposing her to minimal danger.

The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that the transfer would be beneficial. A little time apart could be healthy for them both.

Fixing Sayles with a very cool, very direct stare, he informed him that he could have Nikita on a temporary, trial basis. Implicit in the piercing gaze of Michael's eyes as he verbalized his agreement, however, was the understanding that if any harm befell Nikita during said transfer, Sayles would answer to Michael. Personally.

Sayles exited the office with visible relief, then proceeded to Madeline's office to inform her of the change in personnel.

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

Fresh from her discussion with Sayles, Madeline slowly meandered through Section on her way to see Operations. She would have preferred to walk swiftly, but the situation demanded subterfuge. There could be no suspicion that one discussion had led to another. Too much was at stake.

When she was comfortable that enough time had elapsed, she ascended the stairs to the command center. She found Operations standing at his window, musing, as was often his habit. Ordinarily they would engage in some sort of superfluous discussion before they got to the business at hand, but today Madeline did not bother.

"There's been a development with Sayles," she stated firmly as she moved into the room.

Operations didn't turn around. "Oh?" He sounded mildly curious, as though he were giving Madeline half of his attention while he continued to mull over whatever had been occupying his thoughts before she entered.

"He just approached Michael about borrowing Nikita for a few upcoming missions."

"Gee," he cracked sarcastically, "did he ask Michael for her hand?" Operations continued to be annoyed by the bond between Michael and his student, and made no effort to hide that fact from Madeline.

Ignoring his bait, Madeline got to the reason for her visit. "Michael said yes."

"What?" Operations couldn't suppress his surprise at this information. Michael said yes? Turning to face Madeline, he searched her face for confirmation of what his ears had just heard. Finding it, he took a deep breath and cursed.

"My sentiments exactly."

Madeline moved over toward the window as she spoke, and the pair of them stood quietly for a few moments digesting this new piece of information.

It was Operations who finally broke the silence. "Does he suspect?"

"I'm not sure. I saw nothing overt in his eyes or demeanor to give that indication, but we both know that means nothing. Although he's an extrovert, Sayles is almost as adept as Michael at hiding his true emotions." Madeline sighed, suddenly conscious of the fact that it was late and she had forgotten to eat dinner. "I'm worried that there is a correlation between the request and the deaths of Campbell and Hernandez."

Operations, who had been drawing the same conclusion, nodded. "Have you been able to prove friendly fire?"

"No, and if I investigate further I'll draw attention to the inquiry." In other words, it was a dead issue. Literally.

"I assume you approved the transfer?" Operations questioned.

"Yes," Madeline replied. In truth, she'd had no choice. Since Michael had already approved the request, Sayles might have become suspicious if Madeline had countermanded it.

The fact that Michael had approved the transfer bothered Madeline. She prided herself on her ability to anticipate the actions of her operatives, and she did not enjoy admitting that Michael had completely surprised her with his agreement. It was totally out of character for him, especially considering how well he and Nikita had worked together on the Armel mission. Unless…

Her thoughts turned momentarily back to the mission in search of a possible cause for Michael's current behavior.

It was unnerving how easily the pair had slipped into a loving, caring relationship. They took every opportunity to touch each other, and developed an annoying habit of conducting conversations that seemed to be in code, as if every phrase was a cover for a deeper meaning that only Michael and Nikita understood. After the first few days Madeline had abandoned any attempt at deciphering their dialogue.

The decision to prod Nikita into sleeping with Michael did not come from a desire on Madeline's part to validate the mission. No, Madeline gave the order because she wanted to see for herself just how deep the connection between Michael and Nikita was. Now, she had her answer.

Having seen Michael with other Section operatives, Madeline was able to easily discern that what happened between the pair that night had been real. Michael had been trained to satisfy his partners, but with Nikita his attentions bordered on worship. He exhibited a level of care and tenderness which actually made Madeline feel guilty for spying.

In short, they had made love. Which, Madeline suddenly realized, would explain Michael's decision to approve the temporary transfer. He was running scared, burying himself in his work and shutting himself off from his emotions. In what had become a classic pattern, he was pushing Nikita away before she could get too close. Problem was, Nikita was already in. Michael just hadn't accepted it. Yet.

Madeline allowed herself a small smile at the thought of the mighty Michael running scared… Section's most formidable operative felled by a gamine smile and a pair of blue eyes. Who'd have thought?

Operations watched the corners of Madeline's mouth lift and was at a complete loss to explain what might be causing it. There was no humor in this situation that he could see. Despite the fact that he and Madeline had been working together for well over a decade, there were days when she remained a complete mystery.

"Yes?" he asked searchingly, bringing Madeline back from her reverie.

She stared at him, noting his irritated confusion, and decided to keep her suppositions to herself. Considering how resentful Operations already was of Nikita's hold over his prize pupil, the information would only serve to inflame him. In her opinion, he was difficult enough already.

Besides, whatever Michael's motivations, the damage was done.

The sequence was in place.

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

Nikita strolled in to Section the next morning dressed in an ensemble that could only be described as retro funk. Loose chiffon blouse, long straight skirt, tank top and platform shoes. Her hair was in a loose topknot that left several strands falling to frame her face.

Placing her sunglasses in her bag she wormed her way through the communications area to Birkoff's console. He seemed to be working intently on a project and did not notice her approach.

She swatted him playfully on the back of the head, causing him to jerk suddenly and almost dislodge a can of soda. "You rang?"

"Wha-- ?" He grabbed quickly for the soda, grasping it just before it toppled onto his keyboard. He breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that he wouldn't have to explain to Procurement why he needed a new keyboard. Again.

He turned to face the cause of the interruption and found that his neck was craning higher than usual. Sliding his eyes downward over Nikita's slender form, he noticed a pair of black silk platforms with little cherry tomatoes on them. Squinting in an attempt to verify the existence of such a horribly tacky pair of shoes, he raised his eyes back to her face.

"Aren't you tall enough already?" he asked disdainfully, still annoyed about the soda.

Nikita fixed him with a cheery smile. "You can never be too tall or too thin, Birkoff." Coming from anyone else it would have been an obnoxious thing to say, but somehow Nikita made it funny. Birkoff just nodded his head from side to side. Women. Secretly, they all envied Imelda Marcos her closet.

"Madeline wants to see you."

"Is there a mission up?" Nikita asked with mild curiosity.

Birkoff shrugged in response. "She didn't say."

"She never does." Nikita playfully mussed Birkoff's hair and turned to leave. "See ya."

He watched her depart, taking in her bouncing step and happy disposition. She'd been like that ever since the Armel mission. Michael must be as good as they say, Birkoff thought fleetingly as he turned back to work. Some guys had all the luck.

******

Nikita's happy mood deflated exponentially the closer she came to Madeline's office. By the time she reached the door she had schooled her features into a calm mask in hopes that she would be able to maintain her composure for the duration of the meeting. Sometimes she succeeded, sometimes not. It had become a sort of game to see how long she could last.

Entering the room, Nikita found Madeline seated at her desk sipping a cup of morning tea. Such a civilized habit for such a barbaric place, Nikita mused as she descended the stairs. She wondered why Madeline had called her in. She'd long since abandoned her hobby of sassing Operations, and to the best of her knowledge she had been performing well on her missions, so she was at a bit of a loss to explain the summons.

"You wanted to see me?" Nikita asked placidly as she came to stand before Madeline's desk, hands clasped before her.

Madeline was startled for a moment by the familiarity of the phrase. Michael used it regularly, with the exact same inflection. "Yes, please, have a seat." She smiled warmly and nodded toward the empty chair to Nikita's right.

Nikita sat, waiting.

"You are being temporarily assigned to Green Team under the direction of Sayles."

Beyond a slight widening of the eyes, Nikita's expression did not waver. "Reassigned." She repeated the word back to Madeline. Testing it. Assimilating it. Accustoming herself to its full meaning. "Is there a problem with my work?"

"Not at all," Madeline replied, surprised that Nikita was showing so little reaction. "It was your reputation as a skilled operative that led Sayles to request you personally."

"Request me."

Madeline regarded Nikita for a moment, wishing she would cease with the mimicry. It was a habit Nikita had developed recently to shield her emotions and it was proving very successful. To wit, at the moment Madeline had no idea what the young blond was thinking.

"Yes, request you." Two could play this game.

Nikita nodded, accepting the information at face value. "What is the expected duration of the transfer?"

"Shouldn't be too long, a few weeks. Perhaps a month or two." Nikita seemed to perk up at such a short assignment, but Madeline couldn't be sure. "Sayles is reorganizing the team and needs temporary assistance while we arrange for a few transfers from other substations."

Again, Nikita nodded, her face devoid of expression.

"Do you have any questions?" Madeline asked, hoping Nikita would reveal her inner thoughts through a particular line of inquiry.

"No."

So much for that idea, Madeline thought, admitting defeat. Chalk one up for Nikita. "Good. You have a briefing at 13:00. You can meet your new team then."

Nikita gave Madeline a small, half smile as she rose and exited the room. Mentally she congratulated herself on a job well done. She was pissed beyond belief and she bet Madeline didn't have a clue.

She was right.

******

"Dammit!" Nikita muttered with frustration as she walked down the corridor away from Madeline's office. She was suddenly glad that she'd worn the platform shoes today. Their loud clomping gave her a perverse sense of satisfaction. Every step was like a mini temper tantrum.

He was pushing her away. Again.

Cold fury washed through her. He'd admitted he cared, he'd actually said OUT LOUD that he had feelings for her, and now he was exiling her to work on another team. Well, she wouldn't let him. He couldn't make love to her like that and then expunge her from his life. No way.

Pausing mid stride, Nikita ordered herself to get a grip. She hadn't even spoken with Michael yet and she'd already hung him out to dry. If they were ever going to have a relationship she had to learn to give him the benefit of doubt.

Her current relationship with Michael, if it could even be called that, was a classic case of one step forward, two steps back. He'd managed to go three whole weeks this time before retreating, so she supposed this was a good sign on one level. And, she admitted, he was making a concerted effort to be honest with her about his feelings. As long as he was truthful, she was willing to go along. If he needed space she would respect it for the simple reason that, as a result of the Armel mission, she was now secure in his affection. She was slowly learning that when Michael pushed her away, it was more of a defensive than offensive move. He was protecting himself, not rejecting her.

Nikita also recognized that she'd probably been a little too aggressive with the coffee invitations.

Her steps soon brought her to Michael's office. Peering in the window, she found him furiously typing on his keyboard. He sensed rather than saw her presence as she entered the room and assumed her standard pose against his door frame.

"Yes?" He gave her a quick, sweeping glance as he continued to type.

"I've been informed that I'm on loan to Sayles," she stated in a calm voice. "Anything I should know?"

Michael kept his head down. He'd been dreading this conversation from the moment Sayles had left his office the day before. "No."

When no response was forthcoming from Nikita, he stopped typing and raised his eyes to hers. She had tilted her head to the side, and was standing there considering him. "No?" she questioned, "Are you sure about that?" She continued to stare, waiting. She wanted to hear him say it.

Michael had hoped she would be satisfied with a simple answer, but knew better. When had anything with Nikita ever been simple? "Sayles needs the help,…" he explained as he looked off to the side. Gathering courage, he continued, "… and I need some space. It's temporary, Nikita…"

Michael stared at her, his voice trailing off, waiting for the explosion which he was sure would come. To his surprise, it didn't.

Instead, Nikita pushed herself off the door frame to stand upright and then fixed him with a genuine smile. "I know…. Be patient…. I understand, Michael."

And she did. As Michael had spoken, Nikita saw his mask falter for a moment. She saw the naked appeal in his eyes coupled with the ever-present internal conflicts raging within. She wished that he didn't feel the need to distance himself from her, but as long as he was honest about it she would respect his wishes. How could she say that she cared for him and then add to his misery?

However, just because she was acquiescing, didn't mean she was going to make it easy for him.

Fixing Michael with a lascivious stare, she slowly walked over to his desk and leaned across it. He remained motionless as she approached, but his eyes tracked her every movement as she raised her hand and gently cupped his chin. She brought her face to within inches of his. "I'm still available, if you want to… talk." She finished the sentence in a low, throaty voice that implied talking wasn't what she had in mind at all.

Michael rewarded Nikita with a half smile as she released his face and stepped back. "I'll keep that under advisement."

She slowly made her way to the door, throwing "See that you do" out behind her as she exited. Michael watched her until she was out sight, then returned to his work. The half smile remained on his face for some time.

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

At the appointed time Nikita made her way to the briefing area. Apparently Green Team assembled early for these types of things, because she was the last to arrive. Great first impression, Nikita, she chastised herself as she entered the room.

"Nice of you to join us," Operations drawled as she sat in the nearest available chair.

Biting back the snappy retort that hovered just on the edge of her tongue, Nikita acknowledged his comment with a saccharine smile and secretly wished that she hadn't abandoned her hobby of taunting him during briefings. It may not have been conducive to a long life in Section, but it sure was fun.

Operations seemed to sense her exact thoughts as he paused to raise an eyebrow at Nikita and pin her with a penetrating glare. She smiled guiltily back, earning an exasperated but amused response from her leader. Every now and then Operations found himself drawn to the same irreverent side of her nature that so fascinated Michael. Truly, she was a breath of fresh air in an otherwise stale environment. Of course, he'd die before he'd ever admit that to her. She was enough of a discipline problem as it was.

The other operatives around the table took notice of the unspoken exchange. As the only operative on record to have ever successfully avoided cancellation, Nikita occupied a unique position within Section. This, combined with the omnipresent rumors about her and Michael, caused her to become a regular feature on the underground gossip chains. It was universally acknowledged that in order for Nikita to get away with the disobedient stunts that she regularly pulled, she must really be good. Also, she was genuinely well liked. Michael was not the only one who responded to the warmth of her personality.

Green team was happy to have her, if only for a short while.

Operations read the silent approval in the other operatives' eyes and was momentarily surprised. He had become so accustomed to identifying Nikita as Michael's material that it never really occurred to him that she had developed a separate identity among her peers. A separate - positive - identity, he amended. Perhaps Sayles' request was genuine after all, he surmised. He hoped that it was.

Suddenly aware of the fact that the room had gone silent and five pairs of eyes were staring at him expectantly, Operations began the briefing.

A click of the remote device in his hand and the vid-screen flared to life.

The mission sounded like a textbook surveillance job in progress, the type of assignment that Michael and Nikita ate for breakfast. Only half listening to Operations, Nikita took the opportunity to glance surreptitiously around the table at her new team.

Sayles was immediately to her left, an attractive man with a powerful, well-muscled physique. He had a reputation as a stern, yet fair, taskmaster. Beyond that, she couldn't say. Although he was uncharacteristically exuberant for a cold op, his effusive behavior seemed almost like a shield.

Come to think of it, Nikita realized, it was exactly like a shield. Sayles protected himself with idle chatter much the same way Michael guarded himself with silence. It was an unsettling parallel. Somehow, she found Michael's reticence more honest.

To the other side of Nikita was Connor, a younger operative still in his probationary period. Connor was Sayles' material, but Nikita had met him briefly during a few training scenarios in which she had assisted.

A product of an average middle class upbringing gone awry, Connor was intelligent without being particularly street savvy. His sandy brown hair, light eyes and generally nondescript appearance made him perfect for cold op work. He blended into the background so effortlessly that not even Operations could really remember what he looked like unless he was staring him in the face. His personality, like his physical appearance, did not leave much of an impression.

Down at the far end of the table sat Simon, the designated communications expert for the mission. He had come a long way from the snot nosed cadet who'd tried to one-up Birkoff the previous year. Nikita secretly believed that Birkoff could take full credit for the change, as she had watched him carefully and unerringly teach the young man to think first, act later. Simon would never be Birkoff, but he was more than competent at his job. Lately, Nikita had actually found herself enjoying his company.

Suddenly a loud snort from the operative next to Sayles startled Nikita out of her thoughts.

"Another chip hunt?" The woman exclaimed in an exasperated tone.

Nikita locked her jaw and hoped to God she could get through the next minute without bursting out laughing. Chip hunt? Whoever this chick was, Nikita thought she had cojones of cast iron.

"Gia," Operations began in a warning tone, "Focus!"

Gia? So THIS was the famous Gia?… Nikita leaned forward to get a better look and cast a conspiratorial smile at the young woman. Rumor had it that Gia had earned her place in Section because she'd killed a man who'd condescended to pat her on the head and remark that she was 'cute.' The story may or may not have been true, but it had reached urban myth proportions to the point that it was universally accepted as gospel. No one with a modicum of intelligence was willing to incur Gia's wrath by asking if the tale was true… so it lived. And grew.

Truthfully, Gia was cute. She was a short, petite woman with a heart shaped face framed by a riot of black curls. A light dusting of freckles covered a perky button nose. It was well known that she compensated for her adorable appearance with black belt equivalents in three different martial arts, and rumor had it she wielded a kick that could knock Jean-Claude Van Damme on his well-toned ass.

As Gia returned Nikita's smile, a pair of dimples appeared. In that moment, when the two women smiled, an immediate friendship was formed. They'd never spoken, but they knew each other by reputation. Each sensed an ally in the other.

Operations witnessed the rapport between the two women and felt a feeling of acute unease pool in his gut. Nikita. Gia. Together. The possibilities were too frightening to contemplate. For a moment he felt as though his heart had actually stopped. Turning to Madeline, he could see that she was rapidly reaching the same conclusion. They'd been so wrapped up in the Sayles issue that they didn't even stop to consider the other members of his team. There was a reason that the two female operatives had never been paired on a mission before. They were entirely too much alike.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, Operations resumed the briefing.

"Nikita?" he demanded, causing her to swivel back around to face the vid screen. "For your information, this is a priority one mission. Two agents have already been killed. I suggest you pay attention."

Duly castigated, Nikita paid attention. Apparently this wasn't a textbook case after all.

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

"Since some of your minds have been wandering," Operations began in a sarcastic tone, looking pointedly at Nikita, "let me start from the beginning."

A chill seemed to ripple through the briefing room as Operations summarily stared down Nikita, his eyes boring into hers, willing her to understand that her reassignment was not going to be the proverbial walk in the park that she had probably anticipated. Nikita stared back, seemingly unperturbed by Operations' perusal.

Internally, however, she was alarmed. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something going on that she was missing. If it had been Michael staring at her from across the briefing table, she would have intuitively understood what he was trying to communicate. But her perception did not extend to Operations… The intent behind his gaze remained a complete mystery.

Ice cold eyes swept over the assembled team as Operations began to speak.

"As you are well aware, yesterday we lost Campbell and Hernandez on what appeared to be a routine intelligence gathering mission. They were attempting to extract information regarding this man…"

The vid screen morphed to show a tall, lanky man in his late twenties.

"…Brian Schmidt. Schmidt is a contract employee at the Agency. He's a brilliant computer prodigy who, we believe, has managed to access encrypted internal files which contain the full schematic and underground access routes for Section One."

A collective gasp seemed to emerge from the group. Wandering thoughts on who had killed Campbell and Hernandez were supplanted with a much larger, more dangerous issue. What Operations was describing was a security breach of epic proportions.

"How is that possible?" Gia asked, all traces of waspish humor fading from her face. "Why does the Agency even have that information?"

"A very good question, but one that is irrelevant to your purpose." Operations remarked. "Bottom line: it's out there, he's got it, he plans to sell it, and I want it back. I don't need to explain to you people what will happen if that information falls into the wrong hands." Operations looked more serious than Nikita had seen him in some time. She suddenly felt guilty for her earlier, disruptive thoughts. If ever there was a time to focus, now was it.

Nikita straightened in her chair and addressed Operations in a businesslike tone of voice. "What's the plan?"

He seemed pleased at her immediate grasp both of the seriousness of the situation, and the importance of cutting to the chase. Michael had trained her well.

"For now, 'round the clock surveillance on Schmidt. A thorough search of his residence, office and car has turned up nothing. Without knowing exactly where the schematic is, or what form it is in, our only option is to monitor him until he makes a move. Chances are probable that he will not access the information until just before the sale.

"Two man cells will conduct the surveillance on a rotating eight hour basis," Operations continued. "Mowen is currently in place. Sayles and Connor will team up, as will Nikita and Gia. All teams will converge when the sale goes down."

"Any word on the buyers?" Nikita asked, wondering why Sayles wasn't asking the questions. He was, after all, team leader.

"Not yet. Campbell and Hernandez were en route to meet with a contact regarding the sale, but they were gunned down prior to making contact." Operations looked like he wanted to elaborate on the subject, but was choosing not to. Nikita couldn't help but wonder why. "We are working on locating the buyer through a separate resource. For the moment, you need only be concerned with Schmidt.

"See your PDAs for more detailed information, as well as surveillance schedules." Operations paused for a moment, dropping his chin just low enough so that his eyes could address the group from over the rims of his glasses. "I expect your performance on this mission to be exemplary. We cannot afford any mistakes."

The briefing, which had begun on a rather lighthearted note, ended in silence. The team slowly exited the area, PDAs in hand, to review the mission plan. Nikita and Gia shared a tentative smile as they wandered over to Walter's workstation to pick up the necessary gear.

It was Gia who decided to interject a little levity into the situation. Gazing exaggeratedly up at Nikita, she remarked, "If we're going to be working together, you'd better lose those shoes."

*****

"Hey, Walter!" Nikita greeted her surrogate father as she and Gia wandered in to Section's ammunition depot two days later. "Here's your gear back."

"Hey, yourself." He responded warmly. "Just leave it on the table." Turning to Gia, he gave her a friendly leer. "Anyone ever tell you you're just as cute as a button?"

Nikita choked back on her laughter and watched as Gia's eyes narrowed to minuscule slits.

"Once." The arched eyebrow which accompanied Gia's response was self-explanatory.

After two days of surveillance involving long periods of time with nothing better to do than sit and talk, Nikita knew for a fact that the rumor about Gia's recruitment was completely false. Still, it was amusing to see how the young woman milked it for all it was worth.

Gia managed to maintain her stern expression for almost a minute before she burst out laughing. Walter was an entity unto himself. "That's it…We've been on surveillance for two full days and I am too far gone to banter with the likes of you, Walter." She sighed dramatically, stretching her arms over her head, then continued. "We have the evening off, and I intend to go home.. eat… and sleep…" Another arched eyebrow headed off the comment that was rapidly formulating on Walter's tongue. "…alone."

Walter looked chagrined that he hadn't even been allowed the opportunity to comment. Oh well, he'd get her next time.

Gia turned to leave. "Nikita, I'll see you tomorrow at 07:00?"

"Yeah. See you then."

As Gia walked rapidly away, Nikita remained behind, idly toying with a pair of wire cutters that were lying on the table. The old man watched her for a moment, smiling, as he noted how terribly transparent she was when she wanted to talk.

"Yes?" he asked, knowing there was a specific purpose for her continued presence.

Nikita merely sighed in response, twirling the cutters in her hands as she gingerly sat on a nearby stool. As much as she wanted to talk to Walter, she wanted to talk to Michael more. Raising her eyes to meet Walter's expectant gaze she opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it. A quick hop off the stool and she was gone.

Walter watched her retreating back with a stunned expression on his face. Sugar had just pulled a 'Michael.' Hell must have finally frozen over.

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

Nikita walked rapidly through the communications area on her way to Michael's office. She nodded brusquely at Gail, who was huddled over a terminal reviewing some simulations with Simon. Birkoff was seated at his desk nearby, dividing his attention between watching his computer monitor and admiring the hemline of Gail's miniskirt. He was leaning back in his chair just enough to capture the information scrolling across his screen while simultaneously enjoying the view as Gail leaned even further over Simon's keyboard to initiate a search pattern.

Nikita couldn't help but laugh to herself as she resisted the urge to tease Birkoff about his wandering eyes. She'd done it once in the past and he had become so flustered and florid with embarrassment that she'd vowed never to do it again. At least, never in the presence of other operatives. As for when they were alone… She allowed herself a grin at the ribbing she was going to give Birkoff next time she got him by himself.

As Nikita neared Michael's office, she slowed. It suddenly occurred to her that in seeking him out she was violating her unspoken promise to respect his need for space. The last thing she wanted to do was exasperate him.

Problem was, she really needed his opinion. Walter may have been her mainstay for personal advice, but he was no help when it came to tacticals and strategy. In that area - among others - Michael reigned supreme. If anyone could help her work through her unease with her current assignment, it would be him.

She finally reasoned that since her interest in him at the moment was purely professional, her interruption did not infringe on the spirit of their agreement. As long as she didn't violate his personal space, or make overtly suggestive remarks, she didn't see what harm a little conversation could do.

Fully justified in her decision to seek him out, Nikita entered Michael's office only to find that he was not there.

"Figures," she muttered under her breath. Taking his absence as a hint she expelled a deep breath and turned to leave. Perhaps she would be able to catch him early tomorrow morning before she was scheduled to meet up with Gia.

She didn't even notice him in the doorway until she collided with his very hard, very strong chest. He raised his arms in a defensive move and connected with her shoulders, gently pushing her back a step.

"Michael!" she exclaimed, both surprised and pleased to see him.

He merely stared at her in response, his hands firm against her shoulders despite that fact that she had regained her balance. His eyes traced the contours of her face, darting back and forth between her eyes and her lips.

"I - ah - thought you had gone for the day," Nikita stammered nervously, inhaling his subtle fragrance. Standing there, seeing him, feeling the heat of his hands through the fabric of her shirt, she no longer felt secure in her ability to remain professional. She wanted much more than his opinion.

"No, I have some things to finish up here." His eyes continued to flicker up and down, eyes to lips, lips to eyes… Nikita felt her face grow warm in response to his visual caress.

Reminding herself of the seriousness of the situation, she clamped down on her hormones and gave Michael a serious businesslike look. "I need to talk to you," she began earnestly. "It's serious."

"Hungry?"

"What?" was her eloquent response. Hungry? Now there was a loaded question… She searched his face for any underlying meaning to the question, but found none. His features were as inscrutable as ever.

"We can talk over dinner, " he explained, revealing a slight lift of his eyebrows.

Nikita stared at him in mild confusion, more than a little baffled at his invitation. He hadn't asked her out to dinner in several months, not since right before he went into mandatory refusal, and that invitation had been rapidly rescinded on the grounds that he didn't want her to become his 'weakness.' Not three days ago she had stood in this very office and listened to him tell her in no uncertain terms that he needed to distance himself from her.

Now he wanted to have dinner.

A part of her wanted to turn him down just to be perverse, but another part of her couldn't deny that this invitation was what she had been working toward ever since the Armel mission had ended and Michael had been honest with her about his conflicted emotions. She'd reasoned that if she respected his wishes, if she was patient, he would ultimately come around. Had she known how effective a mere transfer would be to her cause she would have put in a request long ago.

"Okay, sure," she nodded, determined not to appear over-eager. "Dinner would be fine."

Michael seemed almost relieved at Nikita's acceptance of his offer. Releasing his arms from her shoulders he stepped back and allowed her to precede him out of the office and down the corridor. No one noticed the pair leave Section, especially Birkoff.

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

Michael brought Nikita to a rather boisterous Asian restaurant in the heart of the city. While he would have preferred a more intimate setting for their first dinner out, he reasoned that it would be easier for them to carry on an information-sensitive conversation in a place where the noise level was above normal.

The interior was completely modern, with strong splashes of cobalt and lime green against exposed brick walls and galvanized steel. The loft-like space had been converted from an old warehouse, and still retained the distressed wood floors to prove it. Michael thought it looked like a second rate designer's bad acid trip. However, he withstood the decor because the food was excellent.

Nikita responded positively to the bohemian environment, developing an immediate affinity for its brash, impudent style. As the pair were escorted to a booth in the back of the restaurant her eyes roamed everywhere, scanning not out of professional habit but of personal curiosity. Her mind was already formulating new ways to revitalize her apartment.

If Nikita only had eyes for the room, then Michael only had eyes for Nikita.

When he'd seen her earlier in his office she'd been a welcome sight. It had only been three days since their last talk, but he had missed her. When he'd asked so bluntly for space he didn't really think she would listen; she certainly hadn't in the past. Her version of patience tended to be so radically different from his own.

To his surprise, she did listen. Although she had been in and out of Section picking up equipment for her current assignment not once had she come by to say hello or ask him out for coffee. It wasn't that Michael intended to accept any such invitations, but he was a bit put out that she hadn't asked. He'd come to view them as affirmations of her affection. Perhaps in some small way his efforts to push her away were also a test of her feelings. A test of how serious she was in her desire to forge a relationship outside of Section.

He was at a loss to explain what had prompted the dinner invitation. It was an impetuous act, which was completely out of character. One minute he was heading back to his office to finish some work for an early morning briefing, next thing he knew he was in his car with Nikita heading downtown.

It was evening, he rationalized. He was hungry, she looked good enough to eat…

"What did Sayles say when he asked for me?"

Michael's attention was immediately diverted from thoughts of nibbling on Nikita's collarbone. Not so much from the question itself, but by the tone of voice which accompanied it. Nikita often had a tendency to behave very coyly when they were completely alone. There was no such intent in her question.

"Why do you ask?" Michael replied, answering her question with a question of his own. His response was not intended to annoy. Rather, it was an interrogative technique which was so ingrained he wasn't even aware that he did it.

"Don't pull that Socratic stuff with me tonight, Michael," Nikita cautioned. "Just answer the question."

Heeding her warning, he relayed the meeting with Sayles, stopping intermittently as their waiter took their order, then delivered their drinks and food. Nikita simply nodded as Michael spoke and assimilated the information. Unfortunately, it provided her with no additional insight.

The tone of the dinner was somewhat of a surprise to Michael. Nikita had obviously been very serious when she'd indicated that she needed to talk. A half hour into the conversation and Michael had no idea what was driving it, or, for that matter, what was driving her.

"If I may repeat my earlier question," Michael asked as his fingers delicately traced the stem of his wineglass, "why are you asking? What did you really want to speak to me about?"

She paused, considering him as he effortlessly manipulated a piece of sushi with a pair of chopsticks. She had to remind herself that the reason for this impromptu meal had nothing to do with the sensual way in which his tongue captured each tiny piece of food. Nothing at all.

"Something's off on this mission. I can feel it." She stated her belief firmly, emphatically.

"How?"

Such a simple question, thought Nikita, yet so difficult to formulate a response. How could she quantify her intuition? Section dealt in facts, not emotions, yet she had learned more and more to rely on her gut instinct. It had proved right too many times not to be taken seriously.

Michael watched her struggle with the question and wondered at her mission assignment. Section protocol dictated that information as to missions in progress was on a need to know basis only, to the point that teams often worked in tandem with each other without even realizing it. Despite this practice, Michael's security clearance was such that he could pretty much access any active mission in progress, at any time.

But not Nikita's mission.

As soon as he'd heard that she'd been briefed for a mission he logged on to the system to evaluate her assignment. To his complete surprise he was denied access to the file. The parameters had been blocked. Which immediately begged the question, what was it that Madeline and Operations were hiding? What didn't they want him - or anyone else - to know?

The lack of access had pricked at the back of his mind for the past few days until he finally attributed it to an attempt on Madeline's part to isolate him from Nikita, to solidify the transfer. Unlike Nikita, he did not trust his intuition.

However, as he sat there listening to Nikita, watching her struggle to verbalize her thoughts, his earlier feelings of unease were renewed. He may not have trusted his own intuition, but he was slowly learning to trust Nikita's. He regretfully acknowledged that the transfer had been a mistake.

"Describe the mission parameters," he asked, in a direct violation of Section policy.

Michael would never have admitted it, but he was having a difficult time dealing with the fact that Nikita was out of his direct control. He might keep his distance from her, but at the same time he had an almost compulsive need to verify her safety. He knew that there was no one in Section, not even Walter, who cared for her as much as he did. At least when she was his material he knew that she was as protected as was possible within Section. But he had no way of knowing her status when she was with Sayles. To him she could be expendable.

It was this final thought, combined with a situation in which he was denied direct access to her file, which caused him to ask the question. He had to know.

Nikita's eyes widened in response to Michael's query, but she answered. It was, after all, why they were having dinner. Slowly and accurately Nikita related a summary of the initial briefing and a detailed account of her surveillance records for the past two days.

"…What it all boils down to is unacceptable risk," Nikita finished. It was the best term she could think of to describe her misgivings about the mission. "If what Operations says is true, this could potentially be a breach of security which rivals the loss of the directory…"

Nikita paused as her water glass was refilled, then continued.

"…and who does he have working on this critical assignment? You? No, he has a substandard team populated with borderline abeyance cases. Don't get me wrong, I love Gia to death, she's the most fun I've ever had on a surveillance assignment, but her mouth makes her dangerous. And Connor? He's an indecisive milquetoast…"

"If the threat was real, Operations would have his best people on it. Anything less would be unacceptable." Michael summarized, looking worried.

"Exactly…," agreed Nikita. "Section would be on full alert. As it is…"

Michael agreed with Nikita's assessment of the situation. The potential loss of an architectural schematic would have immediately fallen in his team's lap. It wasn't that Michael had delusions of grandeur about his ability… it was simply that he was the best operative for the job. To Operations the risk of having any other operative, or any other team, execute the mission would be unacceptable. The information was just too valuable. He shuddered at the thought of what an organization like Red Cell could do with it.

So why Sayles? Even more importantly to Michael, why Nikita? She was right when she'd stated that Sayles' team was populated with substandard operatives. What was going on?

The fact that Michael had been locked out of the mission file suddenly became much more significant.

Long after dinner had ended and the pair had finished a pot of black tea they debated possible scenarios. The same questions kept popping up… Why wasn't the assignment given to Michael, and why did Sayles request Nikita? The answers remained elusive.

As they departed, Michael resolved to do some research, and Nikita resolved to find a subtle way to interrogate Sayles.

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

Always the consummate gentleman, Michael insisted on walking Nikita to her door after he had driven her home from dinner. If it hadn't been the polite thing to do, he probably would have invented a reason to do it as he wasn't quite ready for the evening to end. Despite knowing that every minute spent with Nikita was a minute longer that he would have to spend back at Section later, he found himself lingering.

When Nikita had fished her key out of her bag he calmly took it from her, opened the apartment door and walked inside. Nikita stood just inside the door and watched in mild amusement as Michael navigated his way through the darkened kitchen, around the bar and into the main living area. She was never quite sure if his habitual reconnaissance of her apartment was an attempt to search for hostiles or mark his territory. Either way, it was a protective gesture that she found endearing.

Upon finishing his scan of the area Michael came to stand before Nikita, who had wandered over to lean against her counter. The pungent smell of sulfur wafted toward him as she struck a match and lit a candle. The small, flickering flame provided the only illumination in the room. By tacit agreement, the lights remained off.

"Can I get you a drink?" she offered casually.

"No, I need to get back." he replied softly.

Encountering Nikita's raised eyebrow, he elaborated. "I have some tacticals to finish for a 7:00am briefing." His eyes scanned her face, drifting back and forth between her eyes and her mouth.

"Oh," Nikita nodded in understanding, not really having expected Michael to accept her invitation in the first place. If there weren't tacticals to finish she was sure that he would have created an alternate excuse to justify his departure. He had made it unequivocally clear when she was transferred to Sayles' team that he needed his space.

Still, he had asked her out for dinner. Did she imagine the fleeting look of longing that he had given her when he'd declined the drink? Had his eyes really caressed her lips? Despite his policy of maintaining a careful distance, did he think about her the same way she thought about him? Were his barriers weakening?

There was one way to find out.

Tugging lightly on his sleeve as he turned to leave she fixed him with an impish grin. "You know, Michael, when you walk a girl home after an evening out it's customary to give her a goodnight kiss."

Her eyes sparkled in the dim light of the room, baiting him. Daring him to break out of his self-imposed monastic existence.

Michael regarded her with amusement, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Is that a fact?" His voice was low, seductive. Nikita could feel it reverberating against her heart.

She remained silent, eyes dancing, the naughty grin fading to a winsome smile.

Ever so slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he leaned toward Nikita and placed a chaste, whisper-soft kiss against her parted lips. She held her breath as he reached forward and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, his hand trailing slowly down her face, her neck, her shoulder, her arm, her hand…

"Goodnight, Nikita…" he murmured, turning yet again to leave.

He got as far as the door before her throaty, seductive voice stopped him dead in his tracks. "I think we both know you can do better than that, Michael."

Michael shut his eyes in a fruitless attempt to combat her assault on his senses, as if by removing her image from his sight he could recover his reason before he started something he knew he could not, would not, finish… But he found he could not resist. She lured him like a siren, the cadence of her voice beckoning him back toward where she stood.

Why not? he asked himself silently. Why not, just for a moment, forget about Section, forget about tomorrow… forget about everything except the beautiful woman standing before him.

As Michael slowly advanced toward Nikita she watched in fascination as his eyes darkened with unrestrained passion. He stalked toward her purposefully, as if he had made a sudden decision and intended to act on it as soon as possible.

Nikita stood still, transfixed, as the space between them became smaller and smaller. Although it was she who had initiated the game, it was up to Michael to finish it. She ceded control willingly. Expectantly.

Coming to stand before her Michael roughly hooked an arm around her hip and pulled her toward him. As she collided with his chest his lips collided with hers, kissing her thoroughly, expertly. Nipping her lower lip, licking the inside of her upper lip, blending his tongue seamlessly with hers. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, gripping her hair, massaging her breasts, teasing her nipples until they were so taut they hurt. By the time he was through Nikita was as limp as a rag doll, sagging against him in a futile attempt to stand upright. Her legs felt like jelly.

Michael gazed down at her thoroughly debauched appearance and fixed her with a look of pure, unadulterated male satisfaction.

"Better?" he asked innocently, mockingly, his breath puffing against her ear.

"Yes…much…" she drawled breathlessly, "thank you."

Her eyes were luminous, glowing with passion. She desperately wanted him to finish what he had started, but she recognized that he wasn't ready for the aftermath… Yet.

Michael pulled back and beamed a small, tender smile. He brushed a gentle kiss against her forehead and turned, once again, to leave. He paused for a moment in the open doorway, filing away a final mental image of Nikita to add to his already overflowing gallery. She stood alone in the center of the apartment, an ethereal vision illuminated only by the muted glow of candlelight. Their eyes met, and held, for what seemed an eternity.

Breaking the silence, Nikita's voice carried softly across the room. "I miss having you beside me at night."

It was an honest admission, but one that Nikita hadn't planned on sharing. She hadn't even realized she'd verbalized the thought until Michael's entire demeanor shifted from sated to shuttered in a matter of seconds.

Cursing herself mentally for breaking the moment by pushing too hard, she realized that a retraction was pointless once the words were out. She could not retrieve them, so she waited calmly for his reaction. She hoped with all her heart that he would confess to missing her as well, but recognized that it was probably too soon for such an admission. Michael was a man of honor, and would not verbally commit to her until he had resolved the conflicts raging inside him.

In a painfully familiar gesture, Michael opened his mouth as if he were going to reply, then changed his mind and exited the room swiftly without speaking. The hollow click of the door closing behind him signaled the end of the evening.

Reaching up to stroke her sensitized lips, Nikita stared absently ahead, lost in thought. A small, secret smile slowly began to spread across her face. Michael may not have been able to tell her what she wanted to hear, but his actions spoke volumes.

Hugging herself with unrestrained joy, she trotted upstairs to take a very long, very cool shower. She never even noticed that her shirt was completely unbuttoned.

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

After leaving Nikita's apartment Michael took the long route back to Section, driving aimlessly in his car attempting to figure out where exactly his carefully laid plan to remain distant had gone wrong. He refused to accept his physical reaction to her presence as the sole determinant. He was a rational, controlled creature who did not act on impulse. At least, he had been until recently. Nikita had been able to breach that behavioral barrier somehow, and now no matter how hard he tried to resurrect it, it fell to pieces in her presence. Every time he thought the wall was rebuilt, he discovered it was only an illusion, a flimsy trompe l'oeil rendering exposed by the bright light of her smile.

Solving nothing, he finally returned to his office and spent the better part of the night completing the tacticals for his early morning briefing. He grabbed a few hours of sleep in his quarters, but found his dreams disturbed by a continuous loop of their earlier encounter. As kisses went, it had been spectacular. Their best yet. His body shuddered, startled awake at the thought that they were getting better. After that night on the boat he didn't think improvement was possible.

It was.

Sighing, staring sightlessly at the shadowy ceiling above, he admitted for the second time that evening that his decision to approve Nikita's transfer had been a mistake. Letting her go had been even more distracting to his conflicted soul than keeping her close. That knowledge, and the oddly calming effect it had on his psyche, was perhaps the only positive outcome resulting from the event. At least he knew for sure that she belonged with his team, that she belonged with him. The question now was how to get her back. He couldn't very well go to Madeline after only four days and inform her that he'd made a mistake. Such a move would invite a battery of questions that were best left unanswered.

Eventually abandoning the idea of sleep altogether, he returned to his office and forced himself to focus on his upcoming mission. His team was going into play that morning, and he had to make sure they were letter perfect. He'd filled Nikita's slot with a relatively new female operative whose scores were good enough to get her past training, but were not terribly confidence inspiring. Michael had some definite reservations about her long-term efficacy as a cold op so he took time to devise a series of counterstrategies to ensure that the mission objectives would be met in case she encountered problems.

It turned out his fears were well founded. The operative did stumble, and a standard search and retrieve mission was almost compromised because of it. Michael had been forced to implement a new tactical on site midway though the mission and the entire procedure ended up taking most of the day. The objective was achieved, but not without the loss of civilian life. That the losses were considered acceptable collateral did not make them any more palatable.

The operative would be lucky to survive her probationary period, Michael though ruefully as he exited the mission van and headed toward his office. He certainly didn't plan to use her again… which, he happily realized, left Nikita's slot wide open. Perhaps he would simply inform Madeline that as a result of today's mission he needed Nikita back on his team. It was a true statement, although more for his personal than professional benefit…Yes, that would do nicely…A plausible scenario that wouldn't generate any difficult questions…

Buoyed by this self-serving turn of logic, he walked swiftly down the entrance corridor to seek out Madeline, only to discover Nikita heading toward him in full mission gear. He was shocked, to say the least. Wasn't she on surveillance? Had the chip been located? He'd been so busy with his own responsibilities that he hadn't had a chance to renew his efforts to break the encryption code on her mission profile. In light of his decision to annul her transfer he had hoped it would not be necessary.

Nikita read the questions in Michael's eyes as she approached him. A slight widening of his pupils, an infinitesimal lift of one eyebrow… signals no one else would notice, but to which she found herself attuned. It was uncanny how easily she could read him now. The face which she had once assumed to be devoid of emotion was actually full of it, if you knew where to look.

"The chip was traced through the buyer," she answered in response to his unspoken question. "The meet is set for tonight."

Michael nodded, giving Nikita a swift appraisal as he did so. She looked different… on edge… her posture lacked its usual loose carriage, there was a slight tightening to her eyes.

"Did you talk with Sayles?" Michael whispered, moving his body to within inches of hers.

"No… I tried, but Gia and I were watching Schmidt most of the day, then word came down that the meet was set…" Her voice trailed off momentarily as Gia walked by. They stepped back from each other in unison.

"Hey! Long time no see, partner!" She interrupted, chuckling at her own humor. They'd only been apart for about half an hour. "You ready to go?"

"In a minute…" Nikita tried her best to look nonchalant and hoped Gia bought it. "We just have a few things to discuss."

Gia looked from Nikita's smiling face to Michael's serious one, wisely deciding to leave the pair in peace. Whatever they were discussing, it looked intense. Of course, everything about Michael was intense, or so she'd heard…

"Okay… see you at egress." Gia hefted a black bag from one shoulder to the other and headed off down the hallway.

When she was safely out of earshot, Nikita continued. "Doesn't matter now, anyway."

Doesn't matter? Michael repeated to himself. That was an awfully defeatist statement for Nikita… Last night she had seemed so curious, so concerned… now she seemed almost… resigned.

Something had changed. Michael was sure of it. Where Nikita was just learning to read Michael, Michael had been perfecting his ability to read her from the day she'd first entered Section. Looking at her, he could tell that the mission parameters had been altered from what she had understood them to be the previous evening. She was hiding something… He opened his mouth to ask what…

"Nikita!" It was Simon, laden with com equipment for the mission, calling over his shoulder as he walked rapidly down the corridor. "Did Madeline find you?"

Secretive blue eyes met widening green ones. "Yeah. She found me."

"Good." He disappeared around the corner and into the awaiting transport.

Nikita could see the new questions burning in Michael's eyes, but she couldn't respond. Not here. Not now. And there was no other time. There might never be one again. She mapped his features with her eyes, tracing a path from his eyes to his lips as she had seen him do so many times before. Was this why he did it? To commit her features to memory?

He stepped toward her, closing the gap they had created when Gia first walked by. Attempting yet again to speak he found his shoulder slapped forcefully by a meaty, muscular hand.

"Thanks for the loan, Michael!" Sayles practically boomed in his military style voice. "Nikita's been great." Sayles grinned at the pair good-naturedly, ever the hale fellow well met. Nikita was shocked at such a flagrant violation of Michael's personal space. Not even she would behave like that without some form of provocation.

She couldn't help but notice how the two men, standing so close together, were a stereotypical study in contrasts. Next to Michael's silent, predatory grace Sayles' bonhomie seemed almost garish. His gestures were too large, his voice too forced. His overtures of thanks seemed strained, as if he were masking a bout of nervousness. Considering her earlier discussion with Madeline, Nikita rather imagined that he was.

Sensing that Sayles wasn't leaving until she did, Nikita asked if she and Michael could have a minute.

"Okay…but just one," he waggled a playful finger at Nikita as he ambled off. "We leave in three."

Alone with Michael, for a moment at least, Nikita reached up to touch the same shoulder that Sayles had slapped just before. It probably wasn't a particularly wise move considering anyone could come along at any time, but Nikita couldn't help it. Knowing Michael's tendency toward self-immolation, she had to absolve him of any guilt over the transfer. If anything went wrong while she was on loan to Sayles' team he would be left twisting in the wind, blaming himself, much like he had after the death of Simone. But what could she say?

There really was nothing to say that she hadn't said in his office earlier that week, or in her apartment the previous night. There could be no doubt as to her understanding of his motives, or her acceptance of his distance. After last night, there could be no doubt of her affection. He would just have to believe.

She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, her eyes resuming their memorization of his features. "I'll wait for you."

Michael didn't like that statement at all. 'Wait for him' where? To do what? It almost sounded like good-bye. Opening his mouth to reply, he found himself interrupted yet again.

"Nikita!" It was Sayles… time was up.

"Coming!" Fixing Michael with a final, blinding smile that communicated all of the love in her heart, she released his shoulder and headed off toward egress.

Michael's hand grabbed her forearm and pulled her back so that her face was just inches from his. He wanted to drag her away until she told him where she was going, what she was doing, but he knew that wasn't possible. She wasn't on his team, and he no longer had that right. He could only comfort himself with the knowledge that she was as good an operative as he believed her to be. She was a survivor. She had to be…Because the alternative was unacceptable.

"Trust your instincts." His eyes willed her to take care of herself the best way she knew how… by trusting in herself, her abilities. It was probably the highest compliment he had ever paid her.

Her posture, and her eyes, softened. "I will," she whispered, turning yet again to leave. She wanted so badly to press her lips against his, to lose herself in his embrace for one final moment, but she knew she could not. She had a mission, potentially the most important one of her Section career. She had to focus.

As Michael watched her retreating form a sense of foreboding slowly unfurled inside him, twisting his stomach into a series of tightly coiled knots. She might not be his material at the moment, but he'd be damned if he was going to sit by and do nothing. There were too many questions left unanswered. If Nikita couldn't tell him he would simply find out for himself.

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

Wasting no time, Michael went straight to the communications area to find Birkoff.

Section's young computer genius was seated at his terminal, his back straight and his feet firmly planted on the ground. His fingers practically flew across his keyboard as his eyes peered owlishly at his monitor from behind amber-tinted glasses. Fully focused, he was oblivious to Michael's silent approach.

"Birkoff," Michael interrupted softly, gliding into view.

"Yeah?" Birkoff responded, only half listening. If he had been surprised at Michael's sudden intrusion he gave no indication. His gaze never left his monitor.

"Birkoff." Michael's voice was harder now, demanding full attention.

The typing stopped. Birkoff swiveled in his chair to face Michael, his eyes fixating on the center button of Michael's jacket before slowly moving upward. "Yes?"

"I need the background on Nikita's current mission profile."

Birkoff stared at him, pretending to misunderstand. "Is your computer down?"

"No, the file is encrypted and I don't have time to hack into it."

Birkoff had the grace to look uncomfortable as he denied the request. "Sorry, Michael," he replied in a genuinely regretful tone. "You know I can't do that."

"You have in the past," Michael countered, unfazed by Birkoff's reluctance. They'd had this discussion many times before. In the end, Birkoff always agreed.

"Yeah, well, this time is different."

"How?" Michael questioned. He stood with legs braced apart, hands clasped loosely in front. The posture appeared relaxed, but was in actuality quite tense. Birkoff could see the muscles of his arms clenching and unclenching underneath tailored folds of soft, black wool.

"I designed the encryption."

*****

The van was silent as the team headed for the meet, each operative only too aware of the importance of the chip which was to be rescued.

The vehicle slowly wound its way through disintegrating, pockmarked streets to arrive at the city's waterfront. Not wanting to announce their presence, the operatives abandoned the van far from the actual meet site, leaving Simon alone inside to monitor communications and relay field commands. Sayles was in play and would run the operation on site.

Nikita assumed position just inside an abandoned warehouse door that provided a clear view of the dock where the meet would go down. Gia was close by, hiding in a similar space in the building next door. The male operatives were outside masquerading as vagrants and longshoremen. Their instructions were to wait for the actual buy to take place, then move as a unit to contain all parties involved. Operations was of the opinion that they might as well pick up the buyer while they were retrieving the chip, if only to confirm which organization was trying to purchase the information.

Mission intelligence stated that Schmidt was to meet Edward Tran, a Singapore businessman who used his import/export business as a cover to move all sorts of merchandise. Tran's main concern was the brokering of information, and the schematic to Section One would be sure to provide him with a lucrative feather in his already impressive cap. He was known to have close ties to Red Cell and it was assumed that he was acting on their behalf.

At the mere thought of Red Cell Nikita still had flashes of her capture and interrogation…Images of rats that continued to haunt her dreams… She could feel the heat generated by the flaming cage, the acrid smell of burning animal flesh, the high-pitched sound of their cries as their teeth nipped and their claws scratched at her face, searching for an exit that was not possible…

The memories no longer caused her fear. On the contrary, they fed a desire for revenge that manifested itself in a clarity of purpose and a level of performance that Nikita was only able to match in situations in which Michael was in danger. Already she could feel the slow rush of adrenaline in her bloodstream. A slight quickening of her pulse. A sense of anticipation that was almost sexual in its intensity…

She crouched in her position, gun drawn, and waited.

*****

After Birkoff divulged his role in the encryption of Nikita's mission file Michael simply stared at the young man, gauging his commitment, and recognized that he was not going to cave in on this particular issue. As annoyed as he was by Birkoff's unwavering loyalty to Section, Michael respected it. A part of him would have been disappointed had Birkoff called up the file.

Conceding defeat, Michael abandoned the communications area without another word and headed for his office. Minutes later he sat at his computer, eyes glued to the screen as text rapidly scrolled before him.

If he could not access the file, he would circumvent it. Whatever was driving this particular mission had to have roots in previous outings. It was up to him to reconstruct the past to define the present.

He accessed personnel files, past mission files… anything and everything… searching for modes of behavior, similarities in mission profiles, inconsistencies in reports. Slowly, over time, a pattern emerged. A faint history of clues barely perceptible unless one was looking.

The gears in Michael's mind slid into place with a click so powerful as to be almost audible. His breath caught, his muscles tensed involuntarily. He was conscious of only one thing: Nikita was in danger.

Looking at his watch he realized hours had passed. He was seized with a sudden fear that the knowledge had come too late, that events were in motion over which he had no control. He closed his eyes and sent a fervent prayer to a God he had abandoned long ago. Then, in a burst of energy, he stood up and strode from the room.

*****

"Any word?" Operations asked Madeline as she entered his office.

"Not yet," she responded in a calm voice which belied the tension she felt. "The team is in place. The meet should go down any minute… Birkoff is in communication with Simon and will notify us when it is time."

Operations nodded, wishing desperately for a cigar. For a jolt of nicotine to calm his nerves. "Did you speak with her?"

"Yes."

"How much did you tell her?"

"Not much. Just enough to direct her in the event she is captured."

He nodded again, confident that Madeline had handled the matter with her usual blend of ruthless sensitivity, then turned his attention to the scene below. Michael was storming toward the communications area looking as if he intended to destroy anything in his path. Surveillance had reported that Michael and Nikita had gone out for dinner the previous evening. Operations wondered what they had discussed. How much, if anything, Michael knew…

Curious, he increased the volume on his link to Birkoff's speakerphone just as Michael stepped up to the platform and grabbed the young man by the shoulders.

"Queue up the Sayles mission, NOW." Michael's voice cracked across the tower room, enhanced by the quality of the listening devices. Operations could see Birkoff looking almost terrified by the controlled violence emanating from Michael. He imagined this was the first time the young man had ever had the full force of Michael's fury directed at him. For the uninitiated, he figured it was something to behold.

Still, Operations was happy to see that the young man didn't kowtow to the request. With a subtle shift of his eyes, Birkoff peered beyond Michael to the glass panels above, meeting Operations' steely gaze, wordlessly asking for his approval of Michael's request.

Operations tipped his head, conveying his consent. He and Madeline both listened as Simon's active mission channel communications became audible.

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

"I've got Schmidt on visual. He's heading North toward the pier." Connor's voice was clear through the com link in Nikita's ear.

"Any sign of Tran?" asked Sayles.

"None yet."

Nikita shifted her position slightly to get a better view of the area. She saw Schmidt as he approached the site. Having been watching him for the better part of a week, she was able to note that he did not seem particularly tense. At least, no more so than usual. She would have expected an amateur such as himself to be a little more wary of his situation. Perhaps he was cocky, perhaps he was clueless. Time would tell.

He leaned against a pole, his beige jacket shifting in and out of focus in the twilight, and waited.

The team knew that Tran was taking the meet, but their intelligence did not extend to the mode of transportation that was going to bring him there. Connor was watching the approaching street while Sayles and a few others were monitoring the waterfront. No one paid much attention to the sky, so it was with some surprise that Nikita registered the sound of a helicopter descending from above. The loud whirring of the rotating blades echoed the beat of Nikita's heart. And so it begins, she thought with no small degree of trepidation.

The adrenaline was coursing through her bloodstream now.

*****

Michael inserted a com link into his ear and listened to the communications between Connor and Sayles, satisfied that there might still be time. The meet had not yet occurred.

"I need a secure channel to Nikita," he ordered, not caring what Birkoff thought of the request. He'd deal with the repercussions later, once she was safe.

As Birkoff was in the process of setting one up via satellite, the sound of intermittent gunfire over the channel startled them both. Gia swore softly over the link, Connor screamed that he needed back-up. Nikita was ordering everyone to be calm. Sayles was strangely silent.

Birkoff typed furiously, the tapping of his keys an eerie accompaniment to the staccato sounds of automatic weapons firing.

"We've been ambushed!" Simon's voice exploded across the communications area on a separate channel. "Repeat. All groups under attack. Looks like Red Cell…They're in a helicopter." He began to swear, swiftly and fluently. "I've got agents down… the team is hit. I can't raise Sayles, I think he's down, too."

*****

Nikita watched the helicopter land, saw the figures in black combat gear jump to the pavement below, roll for cover and begin opening fire. Tran was nowhere in sight. Her team, which was woefully untrained for direct combat situations, began to fall apart. Gia abandoned her post to run toward Schmidt, desperate to reach him before their attackers did. She needn't have bothered.

As if in slow motion Nikita saw Schmidt go down, the white plume of a tranq dart jutting from his neck. Gia soon followed, a bullet fired directly into her chest sending her flying backwards.

Impotent, knowing it was futile to fight, Nikita could only stand by and watch, relaying intel back to Simon, saving her strength for the revenge she planned to exact at a later date. There were too many attackers. Section was outmanned and outgunned. Firing her weapon would only alert the enemy to her presence.

As she glanced intently out the window she never heard the figure approach her from behind. The faint pop of a silenced pistol, a burning sensation against her neck, then… nothing.

*****

"How much longer?" urged Michael, pacing like a caged panther.

"I'm typing as fast as I can!" Birkoff responded, feeding off Michael's fear. He could feel small drops of sweat start to trickle down the small of his back.

Simon's voice continued its play by play, growing more despondent with each passing minute. Michael hadn't heard Nikita report in for a while. Sayles was still AWOL. It was a coincidence that left him cold.

"It's up!" Birkoff practically shouted, but it was too late. No sooner had the fight begun than it had ended. The enemy had retreated back to its helicopter and Housekeeping was en route for clean up.

Michael pressed the link against his ear. "Nikita, are you there?" It was a phrase he had hoped never to use again.

No answer, just a crackle of audio feedback.

He repeated the request, his voice resigned. "Nikita, report. Are you there?"

Silence.

Birkoff turned to face Michael, his face filled with disbelief. "Is she….?" He couldn't bring himself to say it.

Michael knew that her lack of response could be due to injury, or even death, but he doubted it. His fears were confirmed when Housekeeping reported back with their findings. The team had been decimated: Five casualties, two wounded, two missing… Nikita and Sayles nowhere to be found…

Michael looked at Birkoff, his face filled with pain, with fear. "No," he responded, his voice a pale echo of its earlier thunder, "…worse."

The two men stared at one another, each wearing an identical expression of dawning horror.

They were interrupted by the sound of Operations' voice over the intercom. "Michael. My office. Now!"

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

Michael took a deep breath as he climbed the stairs leading to the control room. He was dreading the upcoming confrontation, yet at the same time he was looking forward to it.

He went on the offensive the minute he entered the room. "Sayles is a mole for Red Cell," he stated, daring Operations to deny it. "This whole mission has been a set up from the start." He was indignant at not having been informed of the plan from the beginning, and it showed.

Madeline observed him quietly from the corner of the room, noting the barely concealed rage simmering under the surface. The real source of his anger was self-directed, of that she was sure. He was furious with himself for placing Nikita in danger. That he did it unknowingly was no consolation… If anything, it just added insult to injury.

"Yes, on both counts," responded Operations, challenging Michael to doubt the wisdom of the plan. It was apparent in the tone of his voice that he had failed to understand the effect that Nikita's capture was having on Michael. He had not studied the Armel mission tapes as Madeline had. He did not know the true depth of the connection between Michael and Nikita. He was unaware of just how close Michael was to the edge…

Recognizing the need for kid gloves, Madeline stepped forward to address Michael directly, assuming command of the conversation. "We believe that Sayles was captured and reprogrammed during the war with Red Cell last year. He disappeared for about a week, then resurfaced with a story about evading the assassins in his apartment and fleeing to the streets until everything blew over."

Madeline moved to stand by Operations, and the united pair faced Michael as she continued.

"I handled his debrief personally. It was my decision to keep him on staff despite our reservations about his loyalty. There's something to be said for keeping your enemy close…So, we had him transferred here." She gave Michael a questioning look, to which he responded with a slight nod. He understood her motivations. Had he been in her position he would have done the same thing.

Seeing she had his approval, Madeline continued. "Since then we've used him to feed false intel, among other things. However, when the incident with Jenna occurred earlier this Spring, we decided it was time to purge him. The risk of having him on staff was starting to outweigh his usefulness as a tool for disinformation."

Michael didn't need to ask why they hadn't just cancelled Sayles. The lure of using him against Red Cell would have been too potent to dismiss. The potential to harm the other organization was just too great.

"You dangled the schematic in front of him because you knew he wouldn't be able to resist stealing it?" Michael asked, already knowing the answer to his question.

"Yes," Madeline replied, unperturbed by the fact the Michael seemed to know all about the mission parameters. Even as she had instructed Birkoff to lock the file she had known that Michael would find a way to access the information. He was unstoppable where Nikita was concerned. "Schmidt actually works for us; he's been a part of the plan from the beginning. Tran, the buyer, was a member of our Green List until today. We're considering his actions to be a double cross, so he is now considered fully expendable."

Michael nodded. He'd make sure he was the one to inform Tran of his fall from grace…personally. "What is the chip, exactly?" He knew it wasn't the real schematic. Operations would never let that information loose, even as a decoy.

"It's a timed computer virus, scheduled to activate twenty-four hours after the encryption on the chip is broken. By the time Red Cell realizes what they've downloaded it will be too late. It will have spread, and their network will be destroyed."

Michael wandered over the window, making sure his face was averted from his superiors as he asked his next question. He was sure he would externalize emotions they didn't need to see. "And Nikita?"

"We're assuming that she's a sort of hostess gift for Red Cell command. Sayles is defecting, after all, and needs to make his mark with their organization."

Michael turned to face Madeline, an incredulous expression on his face, all thoughts of concealing his emotions gone. "And you agreed? Nikita is one of Section's best agents and you just gave her to them?"

"No, Michael, you did," Madeline countered, placing blame where blame was due. "We just took advantage of the situation."

Michael didn't even respond to her comment. He couldn't. She was right. What had he done? He closed his eyes briefly in an effort to regain his control.

Madeline felt a pang of regret for what she'd just said, but she wasn't going to let Michael think they did not value Nikita's life. He had to understand the dilemma he'd put them in when he'd approved Sayles' request for a transfer. Madeline would have never placed Nikita in such a dangerous situation on purpose, but neither was she going to create a security risk to the organization by protecting her from it, either.

Michael regarded Madeline speculatively for a moment, as if a thought had just crossed his mind. He'd been so taken aback by the first part of her response to his question that he'd ignored the second. "Took advantage?"

"She knows."

"She knows?" Michael echoed. Of course. That must have been the conversation she'd had with Madeline that afternoon.

"She doesn't know everything," Madeline clarified. "Just that Sayles is a double agent and he has most likely targeted her for capture. As far as she knows the schematic is real."

"Do you think she will break?" Operations asked Michael, finally joining the conversation. It was a powerfully cruel question, because if she wasn't expected to break there would be no reason to risk additional lives rescuing her.

She could be sacrificed.

Michael hesitated, feeling his head starting to pound. If it was any other operative he knew what his decision would be, what it must be. But it wasn't just any other operative. It was Nikita. And she was 'waiting' for him.

Operations had unknowingly, or perhaps knowingly, asked him to choose… Section or Nikita… His worst nightmare come to life. If he told the truth, he would sacrifice the only person on earth who mattered to him. If he lied, he might be allowed to save Nikita, but he would dishonor himself and the Section. He would also label her as weak, which was tantamount to a death sentence for a cold op. There was no positive outcome.

He opened his mouth and died a small death as he whispered, "No, she won't break." They would never know what that statement had cost him. He felt as though he was amputating a part of his soul, the only part that was still functioning.

Madeline watched Michael, positive that he had no idea just how obvious his dilemma was. She turned to Operations and could see that he too felt Michael's pain, his conflict. Perhaps he understood more about Michael and Nikita's relationship than she gave him credit for, Madeline mused. They shared a small smile, remembering a time when they had been in a similar situation and passed a similar test.

It was Operations who finally replied to Michael's statement. His tone was almost paternal as he said "Go."

Michael could only stare, sure that he had misunderstood.

"As long as you continue to value Section codes and standards above all else, we will not stand in the way of your association with Nikita. If there comes a time in which you place her above Section, that association will be terminated." His voice was still paternal, but tinged with an implacable resolve. "Am I making myself clear?"

Michael merely nodded, his lips curling ever so slightly into a half smile. Then he was gone.

Operations turned to face Madeline. "Do you think he'll succeed?"

"I hope so," she responded. "Because if Nikita dies, Michael is sure to follow."

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

Nikita awoke in MedLab, her body bruised and tired. The steady beeping of her heart monitor was the first indication of her location. After some prodding she managed to lift her eyelids, heavy from too much sleep, and observe her surroundings. The sterile white walls, stainless steel bed frame and scratchy sheets were only too familiar. As was the antiseptic smell…

Closing her eyes, she completed an inventory of her body, searching for the injury that had brought her there. Her toes worked, her fingers all seemed to be attached, no broken ribs were impeding her ability to breathe. No casts were constricting her movement.

Her eyelids fluttered open again as she slowly raised an arm to inspect her face. The movement shifted the IV catheter in her arm, causing her to wince in pain. No, no broken bones on her face. No stitches or lacerations.

Oddly, she couldn't recollect how she had arrived there, and there didn't seem to be any wounds to tell the tale for her. She tried to raise herself into a sitting position but found she did not have the strength. A peculiar feeling of lassitude was taking hold.

She was vaguely aware of the door opening. As she turned her head toward the noise she found a very subdued Sayles standing at her side, gazing down at her with an expression of concern. "How are you feeling?" he asked, giving her the standard Section question for injured personnel.

"I'll be fine," she replied, the standard Section response. "What happened?"

"You took a bullet to the vest and got knocked out as you hit the ground."

"Oh." As explanations went, it sounded plausible enough, although she liked to think that she was a little more coordinated than that. She wondered where everyone was, why Michael or Walter or Birkoff weren't standing in Sayles' place at her bedside. Any why did she feel so… woozy?

"Can I get you anything?" Sayles asked softly. So solicitous, so caring.

"Water." Her voice practically croaked. Anything liquid, she thought indiscriminately, anything to get rid of the bitter taste in her mouth. It tasted like she'd been chewing burnt nuts or something equally distasteful. When did she ever…? Years of Section training kicked into high gear. What she was sensing was the aftertaste of several known truth serums, or hallucinogens. Oh, God, she panicked… how long had she been under? Her disorientation multiplied, feeding on itself. Had this been going on for days, or was it just starting? Was it over and she was recovering?

Looking back to Sayles, she found him still standing by her bedside, holding her hand in his, staring down at her with concerned brown eyes.

Her mind flashed to a different picture of those brown eyes, one in which they were angry, burning with hostility. A warehouse. An image jaggedly reflected in a cracked window pane. Sayles, standing behind her, with a gun raised. She felt herself inhale sharply. He fired. A stinging sensation…

Another pair of eyes, a softer brown but no less ruthless. Calculating. A warning, something about Red Cell. A possible set up. A secondary mission… disinformation.

She was so confused. She had to focus. But she couldn't seem to… What was going on? She was in MedLab, wasn't she? She spied a lab technician in the corner of the room, a young Asian man with wire rimmed glasses and a white coat. She didn't recognize him, but there were plenty of MedLab personnel she had not met. She had hoped to keep it that way.

She closed her eyes, summoning whatever equilibrium she could. She remembered green eyes, filled with concern, telling her to trust her instincts. A lilting voice, lyrical. Michael. She could feel her mind starting to clear, reasserting itself.

Her instincts were telling her that something was dreadfully wrong.

"Where is everyone?" A subtle probe, asked with guileless blue eyes.

Sayles grinned. "If you mean Michael, he's on a mission, thank the Lord. Because when he finds out that you got hurt on my watch I may have to arrange a transfer of my own… to Siberia!" He laughed, amused at his joke. Nikita watched as he glanced quickly at a mirror across the room, two-way she was sure, then returned his attention to her.

"When you're feeling better, I'd like to debrief you." His voice reverted back to its earlier, concerned tone.

Well, that answers that question, she thought. She might be in MedLab, but she wasn't in Section One. Team Leaders did not debrief their own missions. She wondered if Sayles was aware of his slip… He must have felt that she would be too doped up to notice the breach in protocol.

Madeline's warning had come true. Sayles had defected to Red Cell and taken her along as a welcoming present. A replacement for Jenna, no doubt.

Red Cell wasn't going to interrogate her, they were going to reprogram her. And it looked like they were just getting started…

As intimidating as that knowledge was, it gave her a sense of power. Of control. As long as they had no idea that she was aware of their plan, she had the edge. Provided she was able to keep a clear head.

She accepted the fact that Section would not be mounting an immediate rescue attempt. Madeline had told her as much when she'd called her into her office to inform her of their suspicions about Sayles. If she was captured, she was to feed whatever false intelligence was possible. They would certainly try to extract her, but if she was taken to Red Cell headquarters it would be virtually impossible to succeed.

Closing her eyes, she feigned sleep until she heard Sayles leave the room. She had to appear more affected by the medication than she was so they wouldn't be tempted to increase the dosage. If that happened, she might truly lose control.

We'll see just who gets reprogrammed, she thought maliciously as she fought to maintain her tenuous hold on reality. If she did go down, she was going to make damn sure she brought Sayles with her.

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

Nikita's abduction rocked Birkoff to the core.

He had always thought of himself as one of the good guys. One of the members of Walter's 'five percent' club. He used his skills to protect his co-workers, not harm them, and he rarely, if ever, found himself in a position in which he was expected to lie. He certainly wasn't expected to kill. And yet… circuitously… he had done all of these things.

He now felt dirty. Sullied.

When Madeline had asked him to build a virus capable of annihilating an enemy computer system he was overjoyed. It was a fun assignment, a challenge. He never, not even for a moment, considered the real world ramifications of his work. It had all seemed so abstract as he had sat hiding in his quarters, music blaring, programming the code. It wasn't until he had looked into Michael's eyes and seen the naked pain that his work had indirectly caused that his assignment had ceased to be a game. Earlier feelings of pride at a job well done were replaced by shame and self-loathing. He had known, but said nothing. That he was following orders was no consolation.

Was this how Michael felt after a mission, he wondered? Was this how he lived from day to day? He found himself feeling an emotion that he had never felt toward Michael before… sympathy.

Fueled by concern for a woman he loved like an older sister, and energized by his own guilt, he assumed immediate control of intelligence gathering for the rescue mission. Before Michael had even asked for his assistance he had managed to track Nikita a few miles from the ambush site. When her signal disappeared, he switched to satellite and pinpointed her location further. When that failed, he pinpointed Edward Tran in Singapore and decoded several transmissions indicating the chip, and the hostages, were heading to a substation in Southeast Asia.

Now, only hours later, Birkoff found himself seated in a Section jet speeding toward Singapore where Michael intended to rendezvous with Tran.

Unable to sleep despite the late hour, he tried to focus on the mission and not the sense of guilt that continued to gnaw away at his gut. It was almost as if he'd made a subliminal bargain with himself that if Nikita was brought back safely then he would be excused of any wrongdoing. His fingers itched for a keyboard, anything, to keep his mind occupied… but his usual electronic toys interfered with the plane's navigation system.

Sighing, his eyes turned to the other team members who were all sleeping in anticipation of an active day. Mowen was on board, as was Gia, who had had taken a direct hit to her vest during the ambush but still insisted on coming. No sooner had she marched into Section than she had shown up in Michael's office demanding to assist with the rescue. She too had a score to settle with Sayles.

There were a few others including the remaining members of Green Team who had survived the assault, as well as a medic. Birkoff had avoided the medic thus far, not wanting to accept that fact that her presence would be necessary.

And, of course, there was Michael…

He wasn't sleeping, either. He sat perfectly still, his eyes staring unseeing out the window at the black night sky. Birkoff had to remind himself that machines didn't require sleep… And that is exactly what Michael was at the moment: a machine.

The Michael who exited the control tower earlier that evening in no way resembled the distraught figure who had entered it. It was as if during his conversation with Operations and Madeline, Michael had been transformed. He had become a machine in every sense of the word… He exhibited no outward displays of emotion, spoke without inflection and worked tirelessly without rest or food. One could almost say that he had reverted back to the Michael of yore, the one who had shut off all normal human emotions after Simone's death, until one remembered the purpose of his mission.

Birkoff could not know the guilt that plagued Michael, but he could sense it. In that moment when they had stood together in the communications area waiting for Housekeeping to report their findings he had seen into Michael's soul… they had looked into each other's eyes and seen a mutual love, one platonic and one romantic, for Nikita. Birkoff knew that Michael had allowed Nikita's transfer… he knew what he would feel in such a situation… and he could imagine Michael feeling the same. If not worse…

Easing himself out of his seat he quietly walked over to where Michael was sitting and perched on the edge of the chair facing him. His eyes were earnest as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and began to speak.

"Michael?"

Seeing no response, Birkoff continued. "Michael… there's something you should know. I knew… I knew from the beginning…"

Michael's face registered no initial response to Birkoff's admission, not that Birkoff had really expected one. Michael's green eyes remained shuttered, the planes of his face immobile. His hands remained securely in his lap.

"…I created the computer virus, I loaded it. When Sayles chose Nikita for the mission I didn't say anything, but I knew." His voice tapered off, then regained its strength. "I could have warned her… told her to stay away… but I didn't…"

Perhaps Birkoff was looking for absolution, perhaps not. He just knew that Michael needed to understand his role in this fiasco. He couldn't have Michael shoulder all of the blame. It wasn't his fault.

"…I just thought you should know," he finished, wondering if Michael had even heard his confession.

Michael turned his head and gave Birkoff his full attention, finally noticing the magnitude of guilt which the young man was carrying. While the burden in no way approached Michael's, it was nonetheless quite real to the one who possessed it. Exhibiting the first signs of emotion since he had exited the command center Michael reached over and placed a comforting hand on Birkoff's shoulder. His voice was quiet as he murmured, "You did the right thing, Birkoff… The job comes first."

Michael wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Birkoff, or himself.

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

Nikita's feigned sleep soon became real. She awoke sometime later, disoriented and thirsty, to discover that the water she had requested earlier had been left on a tray by the side of her bed. Yet, in her drugged condition, she was unable to move her arms with enough coordination to grasp the cup. She gave a cry of frustration as her hand misjudged the distance to the table and knocked the tray, and all of its contents, to the ground.

Perhaps they were going to torture her after all… Death by dehydration…

Moaning, she fell back against her pillow, completely unaware of the figures which monitored her from the room next door. The stuccoed ceiling was starting to spin… each glob of paint a sunburst spiraling toward her, lancing her eyes with pain. She allowed her lids to drift shut, protecting herself from the light even as she fought the urge to sleep.

She could feel the drugs getting stronger and knew that she was running out of time… Soon she would be too incoherent to retaliate. She needed Sayles now, while she was still capable exacting revenge.

As if summoned, he appeared before her, gently lifting her head and placing a glass of cool water against her parched lips. "Better?" he asked, his voiced laced with concern.

She could only nod in response, not trusting herself to speak. His brown eyes were so convincingly tender as he gazed down at her that she found herself feeling almost grateful for his attention. Grateful? She clamped down on that emotion immediately, scared that Red Cell was already starting to get to her. She ordered herself yet again to focus… Her mind was under attack, not her body… Sayles WAS the enemy…

She recalled fleetingly how Section agents were trained to embrace pain. When captured and tortured they learned to endure physical abuse by accepting it, absorbing the shock of each blow and using that energy to feed their own internal resistance. Ultimately, they learned to split themselves in two… body and spirit… so that the pain ceased to become a tool that could make them break. Strength through division.

The object of reprogramming was the exact opposite. Captors used drugs to encourage a feeling of separation, to divide the mind from the body and thereby conquer it, rendering it open to alternate possibilities. Acceptance in such a scenario equated defeat. Unity of mind and body was the only means for survival… Even as she knew this intellectually, Nikita did not know how to fight it physically. The drugs were too strong… Looking at Sayles, hating him with a vehemence that was murderous in its intensity, she realized it was now or never…

"Why are you still here?" she asked curiously, innocently.

"In MedLab?"

"No, Section."

Any confusion Sayles may have felt toward her question was superceded by his delight that Nikita had not even questioned his ruse about still being in Section… Her acceptance would make her reprogramming that much easier… Tilting his head slightly to the side he favored her with another special smile. "Why would I leave?" His tone intimated that he remained only for her.

Eyelids at half mast, she informed him sleepily, "I thought you were going undercover with Red Cell."

Sayles' face registered complete shock at her words, and she watched with secret satisfaction as his eyes dilated in fear and his breathing became uneven. Reaching a wobbly hand to grasp his forearm in a gesture of support, she drove the knife home. "It's okay, Operations told me about your plan to fake your defection… I'm sorry it didn't work out."

Within moments a six foot five 'lab technician' with biceps the size of Sayles' head entered the room, informing her former colleague that he was needed for a consultation…immediately. As Nikita lapsed once again into dreamless sleep, she comforted herself with the knowledge that her mission was complete. Any information that Sayles had leaked, or planned to leak, would now be considered suspect.

Now, all she had to do was stay alive for Michael…

Despite Madeline's misgivings about the feasibility of a rescue attempt, Nikita knew that Michael would find a way. Somehow, he always did.

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

Michale stood before Tran, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of his neck, pressing him solidly against the alley wall.

"WHERE is it?" he repeated, demanding the location of the Red Cell substation. The stench of stale urine which had assaulted him when he first entered the alley seemed to be growing stronger. Raising an eyebrow, he looked down and noticed a suspicious wet patch spreading across the front of Tran's linen trousers. Disgusted at the man's weakness, he squeezed harder…

Tran continued to cower, his knees quaking as Michael's hands increased their pressure against his neck. He considered himself a businessman… He dealt in information, not violence. When he'd agreed to help Red Cell procure the schematic for Section One, no one had told him they'd be abducting an agent, too. No one told him they'd be abducting Nikita… He may not have ever met the woman, but he'd been on the Section Green List long enough to know that she was under Michael's protection. Any harm that befell her was considered a direct attack against him. And anyone who was anyone in the intelligence community knew better than to purposefully go up against Michael.

The minute Tran had heard exactly who'd been captured, knowing that Michael would retaliate against all parties involved, he'd hightailed it out of his office in Singapore and headed for sanctuary at the Red Cell substation in Bangkok. He'd almost reached it when he noticed a figure dressed entirely in black pursuing him through the crowded streets of the red light district…

He'd tried to evade the angel of darkness, even as he'd known that his capture was inevitable…

Now, feeling himself grow dizzy from lack of oxygen, he accepted his fate. The man before him would not relent until he received the location… And once that location was verified, he would label Tran as expendable. And that would be that.

Wishing to die as quickly and as painlessly as possible, Tran looked up at Michael's face and gave him the information he requested. Nikita was at the Bangkok substation, just a few blocks away. She had been targeted for reprogramming and was currently housed in their medical unit undergoing preparatory drug conditioning.

His last sight in life was of himself, reflected in the mirrors of Michael's dark glasses, looking pale and afraid.

*****

Floating in a semi-conscious state, Nikita was rudely jarred back to reality by the feel of her IV being violently ripped from her arm. "Take her," demanded a gravely voice as strong hands hauled her into a sitting position and yanked her off her bed. Unable to see, too drugged to stand on her own, she found herself half-pulled, half-dragged out of her room and down a long corridor.

Chaotic noises reached her ears as she felt herself pass through some sort of communications area… Voices panicked, screaming for some type of back-up… Then silence, the grate of a heavy steel door and the feel of a cold, formless chair.

A bright light reflected off stark white walls was the first sight she registered. In time, she became aware of people… The tall, burly man who had masqueraded as the lab technician. A beautiful mulatto who looked strangely like Jenna. An elderly Inquisitor with piercing coal eyes and a coral kerchief tied about his throat.

"Tell us about the virus," the Inquisitor demanded, leaning over to grab her by the hair.

"Virus?" Nikita replied, genuinely confused.

Her question was rewarded with a sharp slap to the face, strong enough to cause her ears to ring. "Don't play stupid," the older man warned, "tell me what I want to know and we'll go easy. Continue pretending ignorance and we'll make your life a living Hell."

"You mean it's not one already?" she replied, unable to resist the taunt.

Another sharp slap, followed by a concentrated blow to the solar plexus.

Without the intravenous flow of drugs Nikita felt her mind slowly start to clear. She wondered dimly what it was they wanted to know… Why had they switched tactics? She knew she'd been convincing with Sayles… There was no reason for them to suspect that she was aware that she was anywhere other than Section's MedLab. There was no reason to abort a seemingly successful reprogramming attempt unless there was information they needed that outweighed her value as a convert… But what could it be?

She endured blow after blow in silent, painful confusion. What virus? They attacked her while seated, then strapped her to the wall and continued their interrogation. She remained impassive, relieved that finally she had the freedom to separate her body from her mind. She could not reveal what she did not know.

After a while the pain did not even register, and she slipped mercifully out of consciousness.

*****

In the end, Nikita's rescue was almost too easy.

Red Cell's substation, which was housed in a ground level warehouse in the red light district, was rendered defenseless by the computer virus. All surveillance equipment was down, and their personnel were focused on internal rather than external threats. As the team slipped inside they encountered no resistance. Working their way deeper into the building they unearthed the occasional operative, but were able to dispatch each one quietly and discretely.

It was almost as if Michael could sense her presence… Navigating his way toward the medical unit he suddenly stopped, turned and headed off in the opposite direction. Mowen and Gia shared a glance, then turned to follow him.

He stopped before a heavy door with a small, square window and peered inside to see three agents conferring in the far corner. On the opposite side of the room was Nikita… His heart stopped as he saw her, blond hair matted and covering her face, her body draped listlessly against the wall. She was breathing, but seemed to have difficulty doing so.

Turning the door handle, it never occurred to him that he would not succeed. He gained entrance to the room, surprising the individuals inside, and fired.

Three shots, three corpses.

Moving quickly, he crossed to the other side of the room and released Nikita from her bonds. She moaned quietly as she fell, telling him in no uncertain terms to "go to Hell" as he hugged her against him. He murmured quietly in her ear, telling her that everything was okay, and she seemed to calm down. Her hand reflexively clutched his shoulder for support, as if she subconsciously understood that Michael had arrived and the inquisition had stopped. That she was safe…

"Target acquired," he voiced into his com link. "Detonate charges."

Within seconds a series of timed explosions shook the building, distracting all available personnel.

"Cover me," he instructed Mowen and Gia as he gathered her in his capable arms and carried her out of the room. They exited the structure quietly in the ensuing chaos, without incident, and soon were speeding toward the airstrip where transport awaited.

Not once did Michael release Nikita from his embrace. As she drifted in and out of consciousness he continued to soothe her, gently stroking her hair, running his hands softly against her face. When they reached the jet, he held her hand as the medic installed her in a private room, evaluated her injuries and gave her a sedative to promote a restful sleep.

Sensing that Michael did more to ease Nikita's pain than any drug she could give, the medic left the pair in peace in the back section of the plane as she turned off the lights and closed the connecting door. Within seconds Michael had climbed onto Nikita's makeshift hospital bed and gathered her once again into his arms. For the first time since she had been taken he allowed himself the escape of sleep.

***********

Nikita awoke, once again, to find herself surrounded by the familiar sounds of MedLab.

Whereas before when she'd been injured there was something oddly comforting about the steady beeping of monitors and medical equipment, since it meant that she was safe, this time there was only a frightening sense of unease. She lay in bed with her eyes closed, unsure of her location, feeling a residual sense of disorientation, wondering if she was still with Red Cell or if she had indeed been rescued.

She remembered being pulled from her bed and taken to an interrogation room… A virus. Something about a virus… Then, blissful unconsciousness… and Michael.

She remembered Michael. His hands against her face, the calming sound of his voice. Could she have imagined him? Fabricated him as a way to deal with the interrogation? Considering the events of the past few days, anything was possible… She opened her eyes and scanned the area for confirmation of her location. It looked like MedLab, it sounded like MedLab, it certainly smelled like MedLab. But history had proven that these were no longer reliable signs.

Red Cell had managed to screw with her mind yet again… and she hated them for it. She hated the fact that she no longer trusted her ability to gauge her surroundings. There was some comfort in the knowledge that her earlier intuition had been right. Had she not trusted it as Michael had told her to, she might never have realized that Sayles was anything other than a concerned Team Leader caring for a member of his staff.

She hoped that Red Cell had been particularly attentive when they'd removed Sayles from her room. She hoped that he'd died a slow and painful death… he deserved it.

Her breath caught as footsteps approached and the doors to her room slid open. She debated closing her eyes and feigning sleep, then decided to face whomever it was. If she started doubting herself, if she started doubting her abilities, then they would win. And she had no intention of letting that happen… rescue or no rescue.

Nikita breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Madeline, knowing that as much as Red Cell might like to manufacture a clone, she was truly one of a kind… Her presence meant that Nikita was in Section, and she was safe. Michael had found her.

"Welcome back," Madeline greeted as she moved to stand near the edge of Nikita's bed. Her brown eyes seemed almost warm and if Nikita hadn't known better she'd have sworn Madeline was actually glad to see her safe and relatively sound. "You've been out for forty-eight hours. How are you feeling?"

Nikita did not bother responding to the greeting at first. She merely lay there, adjusting to the time differential, regarding Madeline with slightly squinting eyes, trying to decide if Madeline really cared or if she was asking the question out of courtesy. Deciding on the latter, she gave the standard Section response. "I'll be fine." She recognized that her voice sounded weak as she said it, but she couldn't summon the strength to increase the volume.

Madeline nodded, not having expected any different answer. "I thought you'd be happy to know that we have full closure."

She proceeded to outline the full mission scenario for Nikita, starting with Sayles' capture during the war with Red Cell and moving up through the events of the past few days. Nikita had been with Section long enough to understand why the information regarding the virus had been withheld… As annoyed as she was at not being trusted with the full plan, she accepted why she was not. She couldn't have told Red Cell what she didn't know.

"What about Schmidt?" Nikita asked, feeling an odd connection to the man she'd been tailing for the past week. She wondered if he'd had any idea what he was getting into when he'd begun his assignment.

"He was killed within hours of his capture. His body was found not far from the Bangkok substation." Madeline's voice was matter-of-fact, as if she'd written him off before he'd even started. No surprise there.

"And the virus?"

"Near as we can tell it was effective. Part of the program triggered an uplink to our satellite so we were able to download the information as it was destroyed. Birkoff is going through it now, but it looks solid."

Nikita nodded slowly, starting to fall back asleep. Despite being comatose for close to two days upon her return to Section, her body had not been able to purge all of the toxins from her system and her attention span was extremely limited. She could have sworn she'd heard Madeline say "good work" as she left, but she couldn't be sure. She was still feeling somewhat psychotic from the drug cocktail Red Cell had served. And Madeline rarely gave compliments.

As the day passed Nikita existed in a sort of waking sleep in which she would doze off only to be woken up by a well-wishing visitor. She felt terrible… Her entire body was bruised from the beating she'd taken and her head felt like an army of little gremlins wielding sledgehammers had taken it hostage. And then there was the nausea… But still, it was nice to see familiar faces.

Birkoff was the first to come by, both to check on her status and to apologize for his role in bringing it about. Nikita swiftly disabused him of any guilt, much as Michael had, informing him that he had acted correctly. Feeling generous, she even complimented him on the success of his virus. He ducked his head in a gesture of awkward embarrassment and fled the room before she could compliment him further. If Nikita's ribs hadn't hurt so much she'd have laughed.

Mowen and Gia popped in… Walter actually brought flowers… But no Michael.

If Nikita hadn't had vague flashes of him rescuing her she would have thought that he didn't care. It both frustrated and elated her to realize that the opposite was true. He cared too much. He'd risked himself, again, to find her. According to Walter he'd gone without sleep for two days to bring her to safety. Then, he'd collapsed on the plane with her in his arms… She had a hazy memory of waking up in his embrace, content despite her injuries, willing to endure the pain if it meant she could be held by him. He'd kissed her as she'd stirred, quieting her, and then she had fallen back asleep…

Next thing she knew she was in MedLab. Alone.

Sighing, Nikita realized Michael was falling back into his predictable pattern of emotional retreat. If he was going to come see her he'd have been by the minute she woke up, if not earlier. Since he hadn't been by, he wasn't going to… She knew him well enough to know that he was taking full responsibility for her injuries and he was steeling himself to reject her yet again in some misguided attempt to protect her from his evil ways. One step forward, two steps back… Their dance was becoming tiresome, and it was making her irritated.

Why was it so damn hard for him to admit how he felt? Within seconds her mood swung from passive to aggressive. A part of her knew she was still reacting to the drugs in her system, but she was beyond caring. She was pissed off, she hurt physically, his absence was hurting her emotionally, and she was leaving. She used to find MedLab annoying… Now, courtesy of Red Cell, she absolutely hated it.

If she had to feel this bad, she would do it in the privacy of her own home.

Summoning strength she didn't even know she had, she sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed and hopped to the floor. Before the nurse on duty was even able to approach her she'd pulled out her IV and demanded to be released.

When Michael had conquered whatever demons needed conquering he could find her at home.

Like she'd said earlier, she'd be waiting.

*****

Nikita's suppositions about Michael were entirely correct.

During the two-day period in which Nikita was comatose in MedLab the rational, clinical side of his personality took control. The one that told him to stay away. To protect himself.

Even knowing that a 'relationship' with Nikita was now sanctioned, he found himself unable to pursue one. To pursue her. His mind was consumed with the knowledge that his actions had come very close to causing her death. He had always been afraid that someday he would really hurt her, and now he had. As much as he wanted to pull her close, he knew that for her safety he had to push her away.

It was selfish of him to want her, and so he denied himself the possibility of her company. He sat in his office typing mission reports even as he knew she was in MedLab wondering why he hadn't been by to see her.

His thoughts were interrupted by Walter, who waltzed in with a broad grin on his face. "She's awake!" he practically exclaimed. He was so sure that Michael would be overjoyed to hear the news that he didn't even bother to knock.

"Yes, I know," Michael responded, continuing to type. He'd checked on her progress via computer continually since she'd been admitted. He knew that her injuries were not severe… No broken bones, just serious bruising. Her interrogators hadn't had much time to inflict damage due to the level of psychotropic drugs that were in her system. She'd passed out before they could really get started.

"You know?" Walter replied, his tone clearly indicating that if Michael knew, why was he sitting in his office and not in MedLab?

Walter was at a loss to explain Michael's behavior. He'd heard from Birkoff that Michael had been almost embarrassingly attentive to Nikita on the plane trip back from Bangkok, going so far as to caress her in front of other operatives and even sleep in the same bed with her. Granted, they were sleeping the sleep of the totally exhausted, but still… And then, upon reaching Section, he'd deposited her in MedLab and stayed completely away. As far as Walter knew, he hadn't been by to visit her once.

Their relationship was just plain weird, he surmised. However, it was obvious to Walter that Nikita loved Michael, and he was rather like a parent in that he wanted to give her whatever she wanted to make her happy. Did Michael love Nikita? Staring at the young man, Walter felt pretty sure that he did. He was just scared… Scared and guilty. Still beating himself up over the fact that he'd allowed Nikita to fall victim to Red Cell.

Well, maybe it was time someone gave him a wake-up call. Told him to take off the damn hair shirt. He might be third in command, but he wasn't infallible. He'd have forgiven Nikita for the same mistake, not that it even was a mistake, so there was no reason he shouldn't be able to forgive himself.

"You pushed her away and she got hurt," he stated matter-of-factly. "Deal with it."

Michael gave no outward response to Walter's comment, which only angered the man further. He knew there were emotions buried underneath that calm surface, he just needed to figure out how to bring them out. Deciding subtlety was ineffective, he tried a bolder approach.

His voice took on the sarcastic sing-song quality that he sometimes used when he was relaying information that he considered to be patently obvious. "The moral of this particular story is not to keep her at arms length, it's to STOP pushing her away!" He punctuated his sentence with a forceful slap of his hand against Michael's desk top.

Michael ignored Walter's sudden display. He merely stopped typing and fixed the older man with a calm stare. "Are you finished?"

"I guess so." Walter replied, resigning himself to failure. He was annoyed at Michael's reticence, but he didn't know what else to say. Unable to resist, he let loose an exaggerated huff of air as he departed the room. He was careful not to slam the door, although he did close it with more force than usual. As he walked past Michael's windows Walter noticed that he'd resumed typing as if nothing had even happened.

"Chicken!" He muttered disdainfully, heading b