I heard a voice asking, "What happens after the fire?"
And then the sound of a breaking window
And the scream of a tire
And the sound of a distant gun
And the cry of an angry child
The night is burning hot
But nothing's gonna stop
This game going wild... **

It's been two years since Michael and Adam left me at the bus terminal. Section One isn't the same. I made sure of that. I answer to Center, but since my father is gone, they're like bees without a queen, and anything resembling intelligence and direction is met with something close to adoration.

I hate it. I hate being worshipped - I know I'm nothing exceptional - there are a dozen Level 2 operatives at Section One who could out-perform me. It doesn't help me to do good things for them - for Jason, Jasmine, Walter - I still feel inadequate and impotent. Operations - Paul - had an air of authority and certainty around him, and back when I was a recruit, I was in awe of that aura. As I came to know him - whether it was due to a mission completed to his exacting standards or a reprimand for some minute breach of protocol - I understood why he held that façade so tightly and brandished it like a coat of arms. It was for people like me.

People like me. People who didn't or couldn't fit into the Section mold. People who rebelled, fought, made noise. People who went kicking and screaming. People like me, Marco, Davenport in his own, subdued way, Viscano...

God, I hurt everytime I think about someone I was close to who got killed in the machinery of Section. All those senseless wastes of lives. All those young, vital people who could have lived joyously for about a hundred years, had it not been for an unfortunate path-crossing with Section.

With me. I can't fool myself anymore. I am Section, for better or worse. The remaining operatives don't trust me. They fear me, just as they did Paul - perhaps with good reason. I seem to bring death or pain in whatever my hand touches. There are times - more often now than before - when I feel like I'm cursed. I'm the Black Friday. No matter what I do to ensure the safety of a mission, we still seem to have casualties.

I don't belong here. I'm not a good leader. Michael was a good leader. He knew Section inside and out, and he was the only one who could play their game better than they did. I remember what he told me once - it was during my first full-scale leadership of a team. I'd been so busy - picking my team, plotting the location of the target and the firepower, and trying to read a future that was invisible - that I'd overlooked the obvious. Trust Michael to point out my weakness. "Nikita - if you want to win the game, you have to know the players."

At the time, I'd thought he was mocking me. Now, I realize how seriously I misjudged him. I'm glad I had the presence of mind, and the humility, to listen to him. I profiled each of the leaders, found their weaknesses, and planned the secondary attack to target those weaknesses.

I've never forgotten Michael's words. Not any of them. They keep coming back to me, like all the poetry I learned in grade school. I'll be standing in the shower, scrubbing off the blood from some poor slob I had to interrogate - Madeline was so much better at it - and I'll hear Michael's voice, telling me something that's miraculously pertinent to my situation at the time. It's like he's a Bible, with the perfect scripture to fit my dilemma.

Oh, God. Every time I think of Michael, my body clenches and trembles. I remember every single time we were close - and there weren't that many, no matter what the rumor-mill claims. I hear music, I smell fragrances that bring him to mind. Sometimes, it's all I can do to go on.

I miss him. I want him. I love him. I wish I could shout it into the middle of Section - "I love Michael!" Of course, I can't. I can't show emotion - I'm Operations now, and there's a certain level of decorum to maintain, a required expectation to be met. I'm not immune to cancellation - not even now, not even here. I'm still trapped, only in a more complicated machine. I have less people watching me, but I'm more closely scrutinized than Operation or Madeline ever dreamed of doing.

I miss Michael - I miss him so much. He always was able to ground me - to keep me from doing stupid, emotional things. Toward the end, he was warmer and more loving than I'd ever hoped he could be. He'd trusted me. He'd fought for me. He'd sacrificed for me - ungodly sacrifices that had to have torn him apart.

He'd loved me. He'd loved me. With all we've been through in nearly seven years, I can do nothing less than keep him and Adam free.

I know where they are. Adam was implanted with a tracker. Michael didn't know it - he'd been away on a mission, Elena had gone grocery shopping, and Adam was at pre-school. The whole process had taken less than five minutes - the tracker had been injected into Adam's skin, undetectable to the eye, but registering with Section's primary database.

They're safe - Michael and Adam. I can't even count the number of times I've wanted to sink my files and go straight to where they are. I also can't count the number of times I've talked myself out of such an impetuous, selfish action.

I love Michael. I love him beyond the conventional boundaries. I have to, because we were never conventional. His first gift to me was a gun. My first gift to him was using his gift to save his life by taking another man's life. Neither of us won that round. We both grew stronger, but we didn't grow closer.

I love Michael. It's pointless to deny it. I love him. He's a damaged soul, but I like to think I helped him heal and find his humanity. He'd been through so much - so much hell...

In my new position of authority, such as it is, I could do nothing less than set Michael free, as he'd once done for me. It was my gift to him, and to Adam.

I know where they are. It takes all my willpower not to contact Michael, but I succeed in my battle, every day. He doesn't have anyone else - at least, not that my surveillance can detect. And if he's been clever enough to elude detection - as I know he has - he wants to be left alone. I'll honor that. He knows where to find me, should he ever want to see me again.

I can't save the world. No one person can. I can only save my little corner of the universe, and hope that Michael and Adam will someday be a part of it...

**"After The Fire" - Roger Daltrey

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