Darwin was sporting a new bruise over his right eye Nikita noted, underestimating his opponent again, most likely. Neil followed behind him, then Jasmine, lifting her heavy hair off her neck. As Claire entered the range of the camera, Nikita could hear her bitter voice.

"...this is such a waste of time," she was saying softly to Trent. Unfortunately for Claire, she was standing directly under the hidden camera and Nikita had no difficulty understanding every word. "All this is doing is prolonging the inevitable."

"What are you talking about?" Trent had lowered his voice as well to avoid being overheard by the other trainees.

Claire snorted derisively. "A day, a week... it doesn't matter. None of us are getting out of here alive."

"How do you know that?" Nikita was pleased to hear a note of challenge in Trent's voice. Finally he's beginning to question, to push back, she thought.

They were moving beyond the range of the microphone as they neared the locker rooms. "Don't be such an idiot," Claire began, her voice dwindling away to an unintelligible murmur.

Long fingers reached over her shoulder and flicked off the sound. Nikita was startled, but controlled her instinctive twitch of surprise. Michael's ability to awaken without any movement, to seamlessly transition from heavy sleep to full awareness never ceased to amaze her. There had been no change in his breathing, no tiny tremor to warn her that he was rousing.

"Did you sleep?" His voice was husky and laden with sleepiness.

She turned in his arms and kissed him softly. "A little. You?"

"Enough."

His lips softened as he kissed her thoroughly; his hands brushed up her spine and she arched toward him, feeling the first stirrings of renewed desire ripple through her and echo back from him.

With a slow exhalation, he broke their embrace and pulled back slightly from her.

The urge to touch him was so strong; she reached out to stroke his jaw, the coarse bristle of his beard stubble pricking her fingertips. She bit back the impulse to sigh: duty calls.

She sat up and his arms fell away. Her voice was muffled as she bent down to gather her clothing. "I'd better hurry if I want to meet them after their showers." She took a few steps toward the bathroom, planning on taking a quick rinse herself. At the doorway, she turned back to look at Michael.

He had already shifted back to operative mode. Rolled onto his side, the sheet twisted around his hips and legs, he was staring intently at the monitor, reviewing all the accumulated information from the past hour.

***

She was showered, dressed and waiting before the recruits were done. They fell into place behind her and she led them to the Comm for computer instruction. Two hours later, they were in the gym again, exercising.

Nikita spotted Michael's lithe form as he came around the corner. She glanced at her watch, thinking perhaps she had fallen off schedule. No, there was still another hour before dinner.

Michael moved soundlessly, but every one of the recruits was aware of his presence. One by one they stopped their work, turning to look at the silent man outside the fencing.

"We have a mission. There's a briefing in one hour." Michael's voice was flat.

Is this it? She gave him a hard stare; his face was blank, his eyes closed and shuttered against her, revealing nothing.

The recruits had burst out in an explosion of voices. Nikita silenced them with a gesture. "One hour. Get your shower and meet at Comm. Don't be late."

She turned back to Michael, preparing to demand some answers. He was gone.

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

The team surrounded Michael and the holo-screen. Michael pressed the button and a man's face appeared. "Crystal Sky is a small organization, with only one identified cell. This man is Doc Lesham, known to be one of the leaders."

Lesham was a rather small man, with unruly brown hair and striking deep green eyes. Although not an old man, he appeared prematurely aged, with deep lines cut on either side of his mouth and around his eyes.

Next to Lesham's face was a rolling scroll of information. From her seat on Michael's right Nikita stared at it, absorbing the pertinent data about their opponent. Late 30's, unmarried, known for his radical theories and cold-blooded willingness to achieve his goals. A partial listing of his targets followed, prominently headed by the destruction of Section 8.

"Preliminary intel indicates Crystal Sky's base of operations to be within this perimeter," Michael continued. The holo-screen changed to an overview of the site, remote wooded acreage . "The area is approximately ten square kilometers: off road, natural cover. Our objective is field recon, lair identification, and intelligence gathering only."

Was this the expected mission, or just a wet run? Nikita suppressed a shudder. This mission seemed simple and straightforward... yet her instincts were screaming that there was more here than Michael had been told. She ran her eyes over the group, reading the confident body language of the teens.

To her right, Nikita heard Neil's whisper. "Easy."

Darwin snorted softly in response. "It's a Catholic schoolgirl on a Saturday night."

"Everything will be sent to Section One for analysis and procedure." Michael pointedly ignored their comments.

Mimicking the schoolboy he never was, Darwin raised his hand and asked his question in a spuriously high voice. "Oh, sir? Are we gonna get to kill some people?"

Nikita saw Michael's fingers twitch in annoyance and rose to her feet. Whether this was the final goal for which the team had been groomed or not, there was no way to avoid going out on this mission. "Okay, Trent will be handling field comm. Jasmine, you're recon leader. Darwin..." she gave him a severe stare, "you'll be our weapons and ordnance specialist. Further details are on your panels. Go get your gear and get ready."

"Be at egress in forty-five minutes," Michael added. "That's all."

Together, they watched the recruits walk away down the hall, their steps jaunty, their young voices raised in excitement.

Nikita suddenly felt very old and very tired. "Do you think they'll make it?"

Michael turned to her and stroked her cheek gently with the backs of his fingers. "No."

It hurt. As much as she knew he was right, and as hard as she had tried to prevent herself from becoming attached to the material, the knowledge that they were too new, too green, too untried for this mission stabbed her like a knife. She closed her eyes, unwilling to let Michael see her weakness.

She felt his lips brush her temple gently. "We've done everything possible to make them ready," he reminded her. "Get your gear."

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

Nikita stepped into the temporary armory, where the recruits were putting on their gear and loading their weapons. Their initial excitement had faded and the room was silent as they buckled on the bulletproof vests and holsters.

Darwin tossed a pistol to each of the trainees, "Glocks, what we've been working with in the firing range." He glanced over at Nikita. "You want Glocks too?"

"Berettas." Michael appeared behind her.

"What ever the man wants, the man gets." Darwin rummaged in a drawer and laid two guns on the counter, sliding accompanying clips across to them.

Picking up the pistol, Nikita slid it into the holster on her thigh. She turned and eyed the recruits again, her face solemn. "No matter how simple the mission seems, things can always go wrong," she pointed out quietly. "Be prepared for anything." Five pairs of eyes, blue and brown, dropped beneath her cold glance.

Michael turned back to Darwin. "Everyone needs an automatic rifle."

***

It was very quiet in the van for most of the trip. Michael was downloading updated intell from Section on the van's laptop computer; Nikita sat across from him, studying the recruits.

Trent was fiddling idly with his rifle. Claire sat silently, biting her nails while Jasmine stared sightlessly at the gray wall over Michael's head. Neil was looking determinedly at the floor. And Darwin...

"Five minutes out. Get ready." Michael's voice was toneless. Nikita knew it was his 'mission voice': calm, passionless and completely controlled; but she wondered briefly how the recruits reacted to his icy demeanor.

Darwin let out a rebel yell, startling everyone. "It's game day. Check it out boys and girls!" He lowered the mirror he had been holding and showed off the streaks of camouflage makeup smeared on his forehead and under his eyes. "I am ferocious and ready to kick some ass!"

"I'd go easy on the Cover Girl if I were you." Jasmine's voice was dry.

Giving her a leer from under a raised eyebrow, Darwin leaned over. "Don't get too close to my fire," he warned. "You might get burned." The remainder of his team snickered nervously, releasing some of the building tension.

Michael ignored their humor. "Birkoff, give me a perimeter sweep."

Nikita picked up her comm unit and affixed behind her right ear. Picking up the container, she passed it to the recruits, supervising to determine that each unit was placed properly.

"I have you entering the target zone," Birkoff's calm voice came over the earpiece. "Perimeter is clean."

Michael rose to his feet and ran his eyes over the recruits. Darwin gave him a cheeky grin. "Moving to first mark," Michael responded.

"Good luck." His voice was so soft, Nikita wasn't positive she even heard Birkoff correctly. She glanced at Michael; his eyes were focused on the wall over Neil's head, but Nikita caught the slight tension in his jaw. The uncomfortable sensation of danger trickled down her spine.

Turning her attention to the recruits, Nikita maintained her cold mien. "Stay on 'B' channel; weapons on safety only. If you see anything you think is hot, tell myself or Michael." Her eyes rested briefly on Darwin; he puckered his lips and blew her a kiss. She had to restrain herself from slamming his head against the wall of the van: Didn't he get it? This wasn't a sim.

Michael stood at the door, his hand resting on the handle. His pale green eyes met Nikita's over the heads of the rising recruits. "Birkoff. Final scan of the area."

He knew. This entire mission didn't smell right and he knew it. Nikita swallowed the surge of fury that rose within her and felt the flow of adrenaline begin to burn in her veins.

"You're good to go." Birkoff's voice had returned to its usual cool competency.

Michael opened the door and a blast of frigid winter air surged into the van. A few snowflakes whirled in with the wind and settled in his dark hair. With a small pang, Nikita noticed again the faint pale gray strands mixed amid the auburn ones. Some day his luck - our luck - will run out.

Something must have shown on her face; his eyes roved over her face and she felt his concern brush her like a caress. Focus, Nikita, or your luck will run out, she thought and nodded slightly to him, her movement barely perceptible.

"Let's go," Michael said. ************

The air reverberated with the sound of a passing train, whistling as it crossed the bridge overhead. Nikita stayed close to Michael's right side, covering his flank. She shifted her eyes around their surroundings, looking for ... she didn't know what. Something, anything. The earlier sense of disquiet had not dissipated; if anything, it had increased. The fine hairs on the back of her neck were rising; she lifted her rifle into firing position.

Obviously Michael sensed it too. His voice, as soft as always, seemed unnaturally loud in the sudden stillness after the train rumbled away. "Birkoff, what does the sat-thermo say?"

There was a long - an excruciatingly long - pause. Nikita glanced at Michael.

Finally Birkoff responded. "Thermo is cold. Perimeter remains clean, Michael."

Michael stopped moving forward. His back straightened infinitesimally and she felt her muscles tighten in response to the slight movement. "He's lying. They're here. We're bait to draw them out." He glanced quickly at her. "Move them back."

Nikita raised her hand and waved her fingers at the recruits trailing behind them. Before she could speak, the area erupted in gunfire. She whirled and began to fire, the automatic rifle shuddering in her hands. Beside her she could hear the sputtering of Michael's weapon.

Figures appeared at the top of the rise and bullets flew everywhere.

She ran, ducking below a concrete embankment for protection. Peering around the block, she fired again at the approaching hostiles. Adrenaline sang through her veins as she dodged back, crossing to the other side to shoot again.

The recruits dashed by, moving swiftly behind the protective wall of fire being laid down by her and Michael. Their faces were white and taut with fear; she shoved the concern for them aside to concentrate on saving her own life. Off to her right she could see Michael dart around a concrete bridge footing.

They were outnumbered and substantially out-gunned. Nikita shut her mind to any thoughts of the probable outcome and concentrated on laying down a stream of gunfire, sweeping over the area before her to hit the largest possible number of adversaries. Bodies began to fall. She dropped down behind her shelter, her shoulders striking the concrete painfully. Ejecting the empty cartridge, she withdrew a fresh one from her pants pocket, slamming the clip home.

Rising again over the edge of the wall, she pulled the trigger and fired at anything that moved ahead of her, then dropped to the ground. She could hear shouts and cries from the recruits and consciously blocked them out; there was nothing she could do to help them. They would survive or they wouldn't.

Up, fire and drop. She repeated the action several times, then took her chance and ran for another bridge footing, further back and away from the incoming enemies. A bullet skipped off the concrete only inches from her head as she slammed up to the footing. She ducked to the ground and turned to face the oncoming gunfire. From behind her came random shots; at least the trainees weren't too frightened to fire their rifles. Just don't shoot at Michael and me...

As if conjured by her thought, Michael rose from his position at the footing in front of her. Suddenly he reeled and tumbled to the ground.

"Michael!" Heedless of the danger, Nikita ran the few feet to his side, every step seeming to take an eternity. All sound had ceased, except for the pounding of blood in her ears and the fear screaming in her mind. "Michael, can you hear me?" He had fallen face first into the snow and she reached for him with her left hand, struggling to turn his limp body over even as she clung to her gun.

He was pale, so pale. Oh my god, oh my god... A streak of blood trickled from his temple and stained the snow beneath his head. Panic and adrenaline were roaring in her veins; shivering with dread and fright she shook him and he groaned. Relief poured over her like a dousing of ice water; she reached behind and under him to help raise him to his feet. Too late. She could hear the thudding of booted feet only meters away from them. Unthinking, she threw herself over him protectively.

A gloved hand grabbed her arm and she was flung to her back, her weapon snatched simultaneously from her right hand. One of the men grabbed her by her shoulders and lifted her bodily to her feet. She struggled momentarily and a pistol was pointed threateningly to her head. She froze. Her wrists were quickly bound with plastic ties and strong hands held her upper arms firmly as Michael was dragged to his feet. His eyes were slightly glazed and he wobbled briefly before regaining his balance; the bullet graze had dazed him somewhat but apparently he had not sustained any serious injury.

On then did she become aware that the gunfire had not stopped. They were caught and the recruits had fled; but the echo of shots still rang out nearby. Obviously Michael was correct; another Section team was on the perimeter. She was hustled roughly to a van and her head covered with a hood. It was pointless to resist and she obediently climbed into the van and sat. Within seconds someone sat heavily next to her, thigh pressed to thigh.

It was Michael; even blinded by the hood she could sense him. The van lurched as it began to drive away and she clung to the meager comfort of Michael's presence. At least we'll die together...

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

By using all the memory tricks Section had taught her, Nikita knew they hadn't traveled far. She counted the seconds from when the truck began to move, analyzed the sound of the engine to determine their rate of speed. That they were continuing on unpaved road was obvious; she was joggled unmercifully and several times struck Michael with her shoulder as the truck hit a pothole or deep rut.

Thirty seconds to the first turn, right turn, she thought, and began counting again. And straight on until morning, jeered a small voice in her head. You're going to die, what's the point of keeping the directions to your grave? Even if she was willing to completely give up - which she wasn't - Section training was too ingrained to ignore. She continued to count grimly, focusing her mind on memorizing the direction, distracting herself from pointless, futile, useless considerations of what would happen to them when they arrived.

Ten minutes to the next turn, left turn, to a paved surface. Or at least something firmer than a farmer's field. It was only another five minutes until the truck stopped moving and the engine turned off. A secondary location, obviously. With Section operatives overrunning their original location, only fools would return to their headquarters with captives. And whatever else they were, Crystal Sky wasn't composed of idiots. Does Section know of this location? If so, why weren't we told? If not, why not? And will they come for us?

The back door opened with a screech of ungreased hinges and first Michael, then Nikita were unloaded. Still blinded by the hoods over their heads, they were led into a building. Nikita stumbled on the threshold of the doorway; strong male hands tightened painfully on her arms and kept her from falling.

She was thrust unceremoniously into a chair and her hands freed from the plastic restraints. Her ankles and wrists were handcuffed securely to her seat before the hood was pulled from her head. Gratefully, she took a deep breath of cool fresh air and quickly looked around, evaluating her surroundings. The room was bare except for the chairs; Michael was similarly confined next to her. Their captors left, closing the door behind them, and they were alone.

The silence stretched around them; Michael glanced around the room, mimicking Nikita's evaluation and she watched him carefully. Except for the graze wound on his temple and the thin trail of drying blood down his cheek, he seemed to be completely recovered.

Finally Michael's met hers; she glanced at the small glass pane in the door but no one seemed to be observing them.

"What happens now?"

"We wait." His eyes followed hers, flickering over to the door before returning to meet her gaze.

She shifted slightly, trying to relieve the tension in her shoulders. "Why haven't they killed us yet?"

"They're going to trade us for Lesham."

"You're sure Section's got him?"

"They must; otherwise we'd be dead by now. We're the only leverage they've got."

"How long?" She wanted to ask whether Michael thought Operations would agree to a swap, but was too afraid of the answer.

He lifted his shoulders slightly. "I don't know."

Keeping her eyes fixed on his face, she nodded. "How are you feeling?"

His eyes were met hers unblinkingly. "I'm fine," he said, his voice a little hoarse.

She knew he was lying. A wound like that, even a small graze wound, would have given him a terrific headache at the very least. But knowing every moment was precious, she let his lie go unchallenged. It was a matter of pride to him, she knew, that he never show pain or discomfort. And with their lives in the balance - she strongly suspected that Operations wouldn't deal for their lives - it was more important that she spend every last moment silently expressing her love for him.

***

She had given up keeping track of the time - what did it matter, anyway? It was an hour, maybe two, before there was any activity outside their cell.

The sudden increase in movement past the glass window caught Nikita's eyes. Michael had closed his eyes and dropped into a light doze, but he snapped awake at the first rattle at the door.

For one brief, incorrigibly hopeful second, Nikita thought Operations had agreed to an exchange and that their captors were coming to fetch them. But the door didn't open, although the scraping and rattling noises continued.

In the silence, the sudden hissing sound was amplified as loud as thunder.

Michael glanced over to her. "Operations passed on the deal."

She closed her eyes. No! You can't know that... you must be wrong... The cynicism imbued in her spirit over the past several years in Section reared up and caught in her throat. Of course he passed on the deal. Whatever the cost to Section morale and POS, it was worth getting rid of us.

Something rough and warm brushed the very tips of her fingers. She opened her eyes to see Michael's eyes, open, loving and compassionate, on her face; his hand was straining in its cuff toward hers, his fingers outstretched.

She reached for him, grasped his fingers desperately. His hand tightened on hers; she could feel his pulse under her fingertips, the strong beat precisely matching the pounding in her own veins. She kept her eyes fixed on his as the faint sickly-sweet odor began to fill the room.

***

Gunshots.

For a moment, Nikita thought she had gone mad. Or perhaps the gas was causing hallucinations. But the sound repeated: it was gunshots.

Michael's body became rigid, every muscle poised for action. His hand tightened painfully on hers. The hiss of the gas suddenly ceased and the door swung open.

Whatever Nikita was expecting, the rumpled face of Darwin appearing in the doorway wasn't it.

He gave them both a jaunty smile. "Hey, don't look so surprised - I'll be insulted!" He bounded in the room, a pair of bolt cutters in one hand. "Guess you guys want to get outta here, huh?"

It was simpler to cut the chains that connected the handcuffs together than to cut through the cuffs themselves. Both Michael and Nikita jangled softly as they moved. As they exited the room, Michael slipped out the spare gun Darwin carried on his thigh; Claire handed Nikita her pistol.

Jasmine stood several feet away facing the entrance, her rifle cocked and ready to fire. She glanced over her shoulder and a brief grin crossed her tired face. "This way."

She led the way out of the building; Michael one step behind her with his gun cocked and carried high, pointed at the ceiling, Nikita with her pistol carried hip-level to his immediate right. The other trainees had fanned out around them protectively.

Jasmine paused at a doorway, turning back to look over the group. "This is the last room. On the other side is the egress to the field. I don't know what to do once we're there."

Michael nodded. "Just get us out of here. We'll contact Section once we're clear."

With a nod, the girl slipped through the door. Halfway across the room, she slowed, then stopped. Five Section operatives blocked their way, Davenport on point. His weapon was held low across his hips, pointed directly at Michael.

"I have my orders, Michael." Davenport's mouth was twisted with distate.

Michael stepped to the front of his team, his gun hand lowered and aimed back at Davenport. Nikita stepped to his right, covering his flank and the young recruits followed Michael's lead, directing their rifles at the opposing team.

"Not any more," Michael said coolly. "Your orders were given on the assumption I was dead, that the farm team was exposed and had to be eliminated." Trent's gun jerked slightly and Nikita glanced at him; his look of shock was quickly replaced by one of composure and resolve.

Davenport was silent and unmoving as he considered. The seconds ticked by. Finally his weapon dropped, pointed to the floor. "Operations will have my ass for this."

Michael holstered his pistol and the sound of released triggers echoed around them. He met Davenport's eyes. "I know."

Davenport turned and began to lead the group out of the building. "The van is this way."

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

It wasn't until they were in the van and on their way back to Section that Nikita realized Neil was missing.

She looked over the bent head of a member of Davenport's team, who was busily trying to pick the lock to her handcuffs, and met Michael's solemn gaze. He knew already, she thought, irrationally aggravated by the knowledge. He knew and he didn't tell me. Then the logical part of her mind kicked in and she understood he hadn't wanted to distract her from the escape.

"Claire?" She looked at the blond girl, huddled next to Trent. Claire's blue eyes slowly raised to meet hers and Nikita bit her lip at the depth of loss she read there.

"Debrief," Michael said softly. His voice was soft and Nikita understood he was being as understanding as he possibly could be for the young team. Better they purge their guilt here, in safety, than before Madeline or Operations.

Jasmine began to detail the mission, her voice flat and her eyes focused on the wall over Michael's head. "When they started firing... I - I ran. I found some cover and tried to fire back."

"We know," Nikita interjected gently.

"We saw Michael fall..." Unwillingly, Claire's head swiveled to look at Michael's face. He had cleaned the streak of blood from his cheek, but the gash still glistened wetly in the uncertain light. He acknowledged her scrutiny with a brief nod and she took a breath to continue. "We backed off. They were obviously after you two; they didn't shoot at us or try to capture us at all."

"We heard more gunshots," Jasmine added, "and didn't know whether it was reinforcements coming to Crystal Sky."

"That was my team going in," Davenport conceded.

"You have Lesham?" Nikita couldn't resist asking. Davenport simply nodded.

"Then?" Michael brought the conversation back to the debrief.

"Someone came up behind him and held a knife to his throat." Darwin's voice was hoarse and all humor had left his face, leaving him looking empty and defeated. Everyone in the van knew who 'he' was. "I froze up, didn't shoot in time."

There were several minutes of silence; the only sound was the roar of the engine and Michael's fingers on the laptop computer, entering the information.

Nikita watched Michael's face. If anyone was going to say anything, offer any comfort, it would have to be her. Michael understood, better than anyone in the truck, what the recruits were feeling. But he would be unable to express it; that part of his personality had been killed in his years in Section.

She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry to lose Neil. You're going to hate me for saying this, but it happens. It happens every day in Section and I don't have an answer for your next question, which is how do I deal with that?" She shrugged, and ran her eyes over the remaining four members of the team. "You pick yourself up and you go on."

Four pairs of empty shell-shocked eyes looked back at her; then one by one they shifted. Darwin stared at the ceiling. Jasmine closed her eyes. A single tear ran down Claire's cheek and Trent reached over to take her hand in comfort. She stifled a sob and clung tightly to him. Nikita turned away and met Michael's somber gaze. There was nothing more to say.

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

The van arrived at Section and the farm team were the first operatives unloaded. Davenport stood next to the doorway and gestured for his team to disembark as Michael and Nikita gathered the computer and their gear.

When the van was empty, Davenport spoke softly. "I'm sorry."

Nikita glanced over at the burly man. "Davenport, you had your orders. We understand."

"I just -" Davenport stopped and stepped closer. "I don't know why Operations has it out for you two. Whatever his reason, it's not good enough. You two are the best we have. If there's any way I can help you out, let me know."

A long silence descended. Davenport had just declared his loyalty in the event of a coup, and the alliance wasn't to Operations. In other hands, that information could mean his immediate cancellation.

Nikita glanced at Michael. Michael was the touchstone; the vendetta was a personal one waged against him alone, and the loyalty of Section operatives was similarly given to him. His pale gray-green eyes were cold and evaluating.

He nodded his head slightly. "Thank you."

Davenport nodded back. Something very critical had just happened here, the foundations of an alliance were laid. She gave Davenport a very small smile of gratitude. He could have put a bullet in each of them and become Operations' new fair-haired boy; instead he had chosen to ally with Michael. And to risk Operations' wrath and the consequences.

***

The entire team walked through the halls of Section; Michael in the lead, Nikita to his left, the recruits behind them in formation. They were headed for Madeline's office to debrief and entered the main hall of Section. Birkoff glanced up from Comm and gave Nikita a nod; she gave him a wink and a quick smile in return. Michael's step slowed and finally stopped; he turned to look up at Operations' aerie. Nikita did the same, staring impassively at the gray-haired man glowering above them. You want us, bastard? Keep trying. The recruits positioned themselves around them and gazed up as well. The body language was eloquent; their loyalty was to Michael and Nikita, not to Section or the man glaring down at them.

Nikita waited. This was Michael's moment; she would follow his lead. After a long minute, Michael spun gracefully on his heel and exited. Matching her strides with his, Nikita followed. She didn't look back; the message had been sent and received and there was nothing more to say.

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

Nikita stood in Operations' aerie, avoiding her superior's eyes by watching the recruits below her. Trent, as she had expected, had latched onto Birkoff immediately and the two young men had their heads together, deep in conversation. Jasmine stood off to one side, watching the flow of activity around her. Claire stood next to her, her blue eyes fixed up on the office where Nikita now stood. And Darwin... true to form, Darwin was wandering around, touching things that shouldn't be touched and generally making a nuisance of himself.

Debrief with Madeline had been short and to the point. The failure to ransom Michael and Nikita was not mentioned by either side, nor Neil's death.

Operations stepped next to her and looked down on Comm. "George wanted to smoke out Doc Lesham. It was necessary to give Crystal Sky a false sense of victory to draw him out."

"Section Eight?" The words were bitter in Nikita's mouth.

Operations shrugged. "Oversight was planning to shut it down anyway. I simply used it to our advantage."

"Why didn't you use abeyance operatives instead of recruits for bait?" Michael's voice was cool and unemotional.

"Even abeyance operatives were too valuable for this type of mission. No one gives a damn about these kids, not even God."

Nikita swallowed the swell of revulsion that heaved in her stomach. "What will happen to them now?"

Operations turned to her. "They show potential." There was an undercurrent of surprised pleasure in his voice. "I'm sending them to Section Six. They'll train as recruits, in the usual fashion, and execute no-contest missions." He turned back to the glass, looking over the four young people below. Darwin seemed to sense the scrutiny; he looked back up at the aerie and a cocky grin creased his face.

"One day, if they survive, they'll join Section as operatives." The tone of voice indicated that Operations thought this was only a remote possibility.

Nikita clenched her jaw over words she could not say and left. She descended the stairs and stopped at the bottom, breathing heavily. Michael was only a second behind her. His eyes flickered over her face and she turned away, not wanting him to read her barely-controlled emotions.

She began to walk down the hallway to van egress, knowing the recruits would be on their way to Section Six. Michael strode silently beside her.

"What's a no-contest mission?" she grated out.

Michael looked down the hallway, avoiding her gaze. "Any operation with a less than five percent POS."

She stopped and he turned to face her. "Suicide missions." With an effort she kept her voice flat and expressionless. He looked at her, his face gone hard and cold, disguising any emotion he might have felt. She dropped her eyes and began walking again, compelling one foot in front of the other. It was only a few steps to van egress; the door was open and the interior section occupied. Four young faces looked back at her, full of hope and determination. She let her eyes touch each of them, silently memorizing their features.

"Good luck." The words were empty and her voice hoarse with unshed tears. But the recruits seemed to take them at face value; their faces brightened and they all grinned brilliantly back at her. Beside her, Michael stood silent. The heavy metal door slammed shut with a thudding finality.

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

Nikita stood at the window of her apartment, her right hand pressed to the cold glass, as if she could reach through to touch the pouring rain that splattered on the patio outside.

Behind her, Michael approached quietly, a glass of wine in his hand. He offered her a sip and she shook her head negatively.

His callused thumb stroked her cheek, wiping away the lone tear that had trickled down. "Are you crying for them, or for you?"

Letting her breath out in a deep sigh, Nikita rested her head against the frigid window. "Both. Neither. I don't know."

He took her hand and led her back to the couch. Settling himself in the corner, he pulled her down next to him, his arm around her shoulder, holding her head to his broad chest.

"It's not right, Michael," she whispered brokenly. "They deserve better than a 5% chance at survival."

His hand slid up her arm to caress her face in tacit agreement. "Yes."

Silence settled between them; not comfortable one, but an understanding one. His fingers slid under her chin, lifting her face to his. She looked into his gray-green eyes; saw the painful honesty and determination in their peridot depths. "Someday," he said softly, "someday they will have better than that. I swear to you."

Someday. The thought of Michael in Operations' role wasn't a pleasant one to her; they had been down that road before and neither of them had come away unscarred by the experience. But she knew, intrinsically, that eventually Michael would have that job. She could either fight that reality and destroy what little peace they could find with each other, or she could support him. And perhaps, just perhaps, the two of them together could restore Section to Adrian's ideals. And if - a huge IF - the recruits could live long enough, they might someday see the benefits of that change.

It was a goal that would give her life some meaning.

She leaned into him, her lips parted to meet his. Just live, she thought, uncertain whether the thought was for the recruits or for herself and Michael, just stay alive a little while longer.

End.

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