I don't believe for a moment that she meant what she said to me. She was setting me free. It was her gift to me for -- what? The Shays mission when I set her free? The innumerable times I've broken protocol to pull her out of danger? The unspoken moments when all I could do was meet her eyes and hope that she would see what I was trying to tell her?

I thought I knew her. I'd made it my second career to know her. My first career has been Section One for too many years, and I never thought there would be another entity to distract me. I was wrong. I think I realized I was lost when she made her first kill. To save my life. I don't know why I didn't hear VanVactor's man behind me.

That's a lie. I do know why. I was completely, utterly focused on Nikita's safety. Had she not been a part of the equation, the original mission would have gone the same as countless other missions. We would have achieved closure the first time, and subsequent missions would not have been necessary.

I can't change the past. I failed. It's ironic that Operations' words, uttered at the beginning of Nikita's tenure as an operative, should come back to mock me now. "If she fails, you fail," he'd said. If any of us had known then what improbable twists our lives would take, perhaps we'd have made different statements, different decisions. But the fact remains - I failed, and I did it, to my dismay, as a direct result of Nikita's influence.

I'd always thought I could influence her, but again, I was wrong. Instead, she'd touched me so deeply she might as well have plunged her fist through my chest and held my bloody heart for ransom. I trained her to survive. I taught her - or tried to teach her - everything I knew, everything I'd had to learn the hard way. I can't even count the number of times I've stared down the barrel of a gun, the point of a knife, or the tip of a poison-filled needle.

I have always been able to separate myself from whatever pain was inflicted on me. It's no secret that I refuse to spend a protracted time in Medlab, no matter how badly I'm wounded. Even so, one word from Nikita could cripple me to the point where Section LabMed looked like ClubMed.

It's all over now. She fooled me so completely that my entire psyche is shattered. I had confidence once - I needed to be positive of things in order to succeed at whatever I did. Now, I doubt my abilities. I question my perceptions - I hesitate where, before, I would have proceeded with surety.

Operations' words should have been, "If you fail, you fail." I know Nikita won't. She learned from one of the best. I suppose I never thought the student would surpass the teacher.

As I sit here in this abandoned warehouse, waiting for Section to find and eliminate me, I can't help but remember the time I walked through Comm after a horribly grisly mission. I was covered in blood - that of enemies and of innocents. Each time a cry had rung out, I'd died a little more, but I was grateful that Nikita hadn't been there. It would have sent her into convulsions, I'm sure of it. I glanced up as I'd headed to debrief and saw her standing behind Birkoff, her eyes wide and appalled. I know she hated me in that moment - I was wearing her nightmare on my clothes and skin.

I still wear the nightmare. Now, though, in addition to her nightmare, I also wear my own, like a badge, like a brand. People see it as plainly as they can see the lines on my face - it's in my eyes, and I can no longer shutter it from the public.

The nightmare I wear - my nightmare - is named Nikita...

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