I bury my face in the crook of Michael's neck, softly inhaling the warm scent of his skin. His hands are gentle on my hair and back, and I can hardly believe that this is Michael, the same Michael that I have known for three years.

His chest rises and falls in tune with mine, and I can feel the steady beat of his heart. I stay quite still, afraid of shattering the sense of peace that fell on me the moment Michael took me in his arms. Three nights ago, he held me and I could barely control the rush of desire. But this is different. This is not a mission. This is dangerously real and the sheer weight of my feelings on top of everything else that happened this day is suddenly terrifying. Easing my arms from around his waist, I pull away. He lets me, but his eyes caress my face with an intensity that dries my mouth.

Giving my arm a final reassuring squeeze, Michael drops his hands, takes a step back and walks slowly to the kitchen. I watch his every movement as he pulls a bottle of water from the refrigerator and fills a glass before coming back to me.

"Drink this."

I have no interest in swilling water, but the unexpected tenderness of the gesture almost undoes me. I take the glass from him a shaky smile, and slowly sip the cold water as Michael moves almost aimlessly around my apartment. There is silence between us, but it is not an awkward one.

Walking into the kitchen to put the empty glass in the sink, my stomach flips over when Michael's voice, tight with quiet fury, breaks the silence.

"What is this?"

Shit!

Heart pounding, I turn to see exactly what I was dreading. Michael is standing in front of my laptop. Shame snatches my voice, and I can only look at him helplessly.

"Nikita." Michael stares at me, his eyes dark with anger. When I say nothing, he stalks around the table, furious. I take an involuntary step back, frightened by his intensity.

Standing in front of me, he takes a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest as though he dearly wants to strangle me but is trying to restrain himself. All the fire has gone out of his voice. "Why?"

I close my eyes, and feel tears prickle behind my lids. "Because I can't do this any more, Michael." I open my eyes to find him looking at me with a sadness that almost makes me weep. "I just can't..."

He raises a gentle hand to my hair once again, a strange replay of his earlier actions.

"You can...you will." His light eyes dance across my face, touching my lips in a visual caress that sends a hot shiver across my skin.

"Why?" The word comes out on a sob, a desperate plea for understanding. Hypocritical as it may seem, I desperately want him to give me a reason to keep going...to keep living.

Our eyes meet. Unnerved by the fierce longing I see in his face, I look away, words falling from my mouth in a nervous rush.

"Nothing I do seems to make a difference." Michael watches me, waiting. "I've taken so many lives that I've lost count. Do you have any idea of how that makes me feel?!"

"Yes."

His quiet reply sends a flush of embarrassment up my throat, warming my face. Of course he does...he's been living in this hell much longer than I have. Shit, I don't even know what he did to end up in Section. For all I know, he was like me...an innocent.

Michael drops his hand and steps back, looking around the apartment as though searching for the right words. "The difference that we make is not always obvious." He turns back to me, his eyes watching for my reaction.

"It's just that..." My voice trails off miserably as I think of what happened earlier. Guilt rips through me and I can no longer keep my distraught thoughts to myself.

"I left him there, Michael!" I close my eyes tightly, but all I can see is Stanley, his happiness to see me...his excitement that I was there to save him...and his shock when I turned my back.

Nikita...where are you going?

Oh god. My body starts to shake, and through a haze of shame I feel Michael's touch on my shoulders, his voice breaking through my fevered thoughts.

"Nikita." I shake my head at him, mute with shame, and pull away. Walking swiftly to the French doors, I rip them open. The cold of the night brushes against my flushed skin as my lungs fill with the chilled air.

"What about all the innocents that you have saved?" Michael has come to stand behind me, his words quietly insistent.

"What about them?" I wipe my hands across my wet face, too exhausted to care about appearances.

"There are thousands of people who are alive today because of the things that you have done."

I turn to look at him warily. I want to believe him, but thinking of Shays has slammed the despair back into my soul. "There will be other people to do my job, Michael." My insinuation hits home and he narrows his eyes before taking two quick steps to bring him to my side.

He's angry. His face tight with controlled passion, he leans forward and speaks quite deliberately into my ear.

"I would have never thought you a coward, Nikita."

~*~*~*~

Nikita's eyes flash blue fire as she recoils from me. She opens her mouth to speak but no words come out - she's literally speechless with rage.

The hurt in her eyes is almost too painful to bear, but this is the only way. Anger will make her stronger and I will say anything, do anything to bring her back from the dark place she has retreated to.

I look at her calmly. "It takes strength and courage to do what we do...to be able put aside our selfish fears and concerns and act for the good of others." Nikita clenches her fists her sides and glares at me with a loathing that sends a painful rush of regret through me, but I force myself to carry on. "Operations was right about you." She narrows her eyes at me, her breathing uneven and agitated. "You lack discipline."

Direct hit. Her eyes snapping with anger, Nikita lets out a shaky breath and looks at me in outrage. "So I'm a coward because I refused to kill an innocent in cold blood?!"

"No. This has nothing to do with Shays. This is about you, and what you were planning to do here tonight."

Her pale face suffuses with color as her eyes fill with tears, and it's all I can do not to take her in my arms again. "What I decide to do with my life is none of your business, Michael!"

"Is that really what you think?" She presses her lips together in a tight line and stays silent, but when she looks at me I see the truth glowing at the back of her eyes. "What about the other people who care about you?"

She turns to stare out the French doors, unable to meet my eyes.

"What about Birkoff?" Nikita blanches, biting her lip hard as she hangs her head. Hardening my heart, I aim for her Archilles heel.

"What about Walter?"

Her head snaps back and she looks at me with angry despair as I goad her again. "They need you more than you realise. Have you even thought what this would do to them?"

I try to speak calmly, but every word feels torn from deep inside. The Vachek mission stretches out endlessly in my mind's eye. If it does end within five years as profiled, the after effects will be just as damaging. Nikita will find out about Adam and Elena eventually. Nothing can stay hidden forever, not even in Section.

How can I burden Nikita with the truth of my feelings for her, knowing full well that nothing can ever come of them? And yet...I need her more than she realises...and she truly has no idea what losing her would do to me. Hiding behind Walter and Birkoff and using her feelings for them instead of being honest with her is a cheap shot, but I no longer care about what is honorable...not tonight.

Nikita raises her hands in a helpless gesture, unable to hold back her tears. Sadness thickens my throat as I struggle to keep my own emotions under control. I put a gentle hand on her shoulder and she looks up at me, misery tightening her face.

"You are not a coward." She shuts her eyes tightly, and my heart clenches with sadness. "You can do this. No matter what you think now, you are strong enough." I take her cold hand in mine. Nikita opens her eyes in recognition as I repeat the words I spoke to her only a few weeks ago, a promise that I realize I will do anything to keep. "I'll help you get through this."

"And Sh-Shays?" She stumbles slightly over his name, guilt dancing across her pale face.

"A convergence plan has been profiled. It's not a hopeless situation." I wince inwardly at the half-truth, but it's what she needs to hear.

We look at each other in silence for a long moment before she turns and stares out at the city lights.

"Can we get him out, Michael?"

I hesitate for a split-second. Her deceptive air of composure doesn't hide her inner turmoil, and the last thing I want to do is shatter whatever hope she has left. But I won't lie to her either.

"I don't know."

Nikita turns around, and my heart aches at the painful resignation in her eyes. After a few seconds of silence, she nods and walks back into the living area, wiping her eyes. I watch her, fighting the urge to follow. The sense of desperation has left me, but the memory of holding her to my heart lingers stubbornly, leaving behind a very different urgency.

My pulse quickens as she turns to meet my eyes, a dangerous combination of adrenaline and desire subtly changing the almost comfortable silence between us into something quite different. The exhilarating rush of relief has pushed aside all thoughts of the obligations that exist outside that door, sending my emotions into a confused spiral of need and fear. Intoxicatingly aware of the knife-edge of temptation that we are both walking, I wait silently as Nikita moves slowly toward me, all too conscious of the danger of forgetting one's obligations.

Suddenly, Nikita gives me a hesitant smile that seems to dissipate the heady atmosphere. "You said that Walter and Birkoff would miss me...that they need me." I swallow hard, instinctively knowing what is coming.

"How about you, Michael?" Rather than a statement intended to provoke a reaction, Nikita's question seems borne of genuine curiosity. "Would you miss me?"

My breath catches in my throat as I bite back the words that I suddenly long to tell her. I can't. Not now...not yet. Perhaps never. I look into her clear blue eyes and struggle to accept the painful reality that is my life.

Before I can speak, the quiet chirping of my cell phone pierces the sudden tension between us, and Nikita looks away, frustration flickering across her face. She turns her back on me, trailing her fingertips along the top of the kitchen bench.

I take a deep breath. "Yes."

The cell phone continues to shrill softly, and Nikita turns to look at me, taken aback by the sound. My pulse pounding in my head, I meet her startled gaze calmly. We hold a long look, my unexpected answer stretching the silence between us. After a few seconds, Nikita nods at me, a small smile of satisfaction curving her mouth. I pull the phone out of my pocket and finally answer it.

"Yes?"

"Jacques." Madeline's voice is its usual serene lilt, and yet the fact that she is calling me in personally sends a flicker of apprehension down my spine.

"Yes."

"Come in." With that, she terminates the connection. I flip the phone closed and look at Nikita.

"I have to go in."

Nikita nods casually and follows me to the door as I start to leave. As I reach for the handle, she reaches for my arm. I turn and study her face anxiously for a few seconds, suddenly afraid of what I may find in her eyes. There is no sign of her previous distress, but the relief that rushes through me quickly turns into cautious anticipation as Nikita's hand tightens and she leans towards me. I hold my breath as she gently brushes her lips against my cheek.

It's a chaste kiss that is almost over before it begins, but my heart is hammering violently in my chest as she pulls away, and I have no idea how I stop myself from reaching for her.

"Thank you."

I look at her. Her eyes are red, but the tears have stopped. "For what?"

"For being brutally honest."

Guilt twitches in my gut. I don't deserve her thanks. I have been far from honest with her...about everything. I wrench the door open, suddenly grateful for Madeline's summons. The brief touch of Nikita's lips has only served to ignite my senses. I step into the hallway, the blood rolling hotly through my veins as I turn back to meet her eyes.

"Get some rest."

~*~*~*~

Michael closes the door softly behind him. I stand and gaze around the apartment for a few moments, a bone deep weariness taking hold of my body and mind. Wandering slowly onto the balcony, I shake my head, trying to make sense of my confused feelings.

Am I a coward? I lean my elbows on the railing and stare unseeing at the city lights below. I didn't think I was, but now...I rub my swollen eyes. I'm not so sure.

Despite Michael's assertion, I'm still don't know I have the strength to do this. I close my eyes tightly, trying to control the tears that sting the back of my eyes. I told Birkoff once that dying was all too easy, that living was the scary part. Was that really only a few months ago? I was cruel in my desperation to save him from himself. I hug my crossed arms to my chest and think once more of Michael's cool ruthlessness, his seemingly uncaring assessment of my weaknesses.

I would have never thought you a coward, Nikita.

Michael dealt with my despair tonight using the same tactics that I used on Birkoff. I smile wryly, shaking my head in grudging admiration. He knew exactly what buttons to press to make me furious, to make me want to prove him wrong. Damn him. How does he always manage to manipulate me with such ease?

The utter despair that had swallowed my soul has slowly started to recede, but the ache of guilt still sits like a stone in the pit of my stomach. To leave Shays in the hands of the Freedom League was a terrible mistake that I will never be able to undo. And yet I know in my heart...if I was able to relive today over and over again, I would never be able to fire that bullet. If that makes me a coward, so be it. Cancellation is just another word for murder, and I pray to God that I will never be able to calmly take the life of an innocent.

Michael flung another truth in my face. Killing myself won't bring Shays back. All it would bring is pain and sorrow to people that I care about. Michael won the battle the moment he forced me to think of the affect that my death would have on those I love.

The thought of Michael sends my thoughts down another, more complicated path. I replay our conversation in my mind, dissecting it word by word. My pulse leaps in my throat at the memory of Michael holding me in his arms. What happened between us tonight? Did he come here as my friend, or...

My skin flushes with the warmth of embarrassment. I kissed him. I actually kissed him. God, what was I thinking? I saw the heat suddenly flare behind his eyes, and felt an almost overwhelming urge to run. I frown to myself, desperately trying to work out the tangled mass of feeling inside me. Did I only dare kiss him because I knew he couldn't stay?

The cool breeze ruffles my hair, and my pulse flutters in my throat as I brush the strands out of my eyes, the action recalling Michael's tender touch. He'd looked at me as though he was seeing me for the first time, so silent as he reached out a gentle hand...as though no words could explain what he was thinking.

Would you miss me? I was so nervous, I was sure that he would hear the frantic thudding of my heart. To be totally honest, I think I only found the courage to ask the question because I didn't expect an answer.

I touch my forehead with a shaking hand and the sparkling lights blur and begin to dance in front of my eyes. Michael may have used emotion to control me tonight, but as I stand here...alive...there is no anger in my heart towards him.

I want to live.

More importantly...I want to live long enough to prove Madeline wrong. I close my eyes and stretch my arms above my head, feeling the aching muscles twinge in protest. I want to live, but right now...all I want to do is sleep. All the adrenaline has seeped away, leaving me feeling exhausted but surprisingly calm. As though on automatic pilot, I go through the motions of locking the French doors and turning off the lights. As tempting as my bed looks, I know I won't be able to sleep until I have washed this day away. Yawning, I strip off the dusty field clothes and fling them into the laundry hamper, barely resisting the urge to throw them into the garbage bin instead. By the time I have finished showering, I'm so tired that it takes all the energy I have to clean my teeth and comb out my wet hair.

It's after midnight by the time I crawl into bed, but for once, I don't lie awake staring at the ceiling, and if I dream, I don't remember.

~*~*~*~

Section is relatively quiet, the silence broken only by the low murmur of voices and the ever-present hum of technology.

Madeline is not in her office. I walk quickly through Section, assuming that I will find her with Operations, my head spinning with thoughts of Nikita and how close I came to losing her tonight. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I take a deep breath and clamp down on my errant thoughts. A private briefing with Madeline and Operations is never easy, and I can't afford to appear distracted.

They are deep in conversation when I enter the room. When they catch sight of me, the conversation dies mid-sentence as they turn to face me.

"You wanted to see me?"

Operations clears his throat and begins to speak, his voice harshly urgent. "Comm. has run an analysis. There is no way to surgically remedy the situation." I look at him with barely concealed surprise. Why was I ordered to come up with a viable profile if Comm. was running the analysis?

Madeline is no less insistent. "Shays is not equipped to hold out. Tyler will have the formula, if he doesn't already."

I have no chance to respond before Operations begins again. "We've worked up a containment plan." My mind races furiously, alarm growing with every word that he utters.

"The team has already been selected. They will consist of six members of the abeyance pool. Only the mobile control team will be returning." His eyes bore into mine, every single word pounding into my skull. "You, Walter...and Birkoff."

He pauses, and the strange sense of conspiratorial tension in the room increases. I can feel the weight of Madeline's stare as Operations continues to speak. "The other six will be sacrificed."

Sacrificed. The word continues to echo dully in my mind, Madeline's soft voice filtering through a haze of suspicion.

"Needless to say, you are the only operative who has the intelligence on this mission."

I turn slightly to meet her eyes but her expression is unreadable. I think of Nikita, of the disaster that is Shays and Tyler. Sacrificed. Not trusting myself to speak without betraying my unspoken fear, I nod to Madeline and slowly leave the room feeling as though I've been punched in the stomach.

Operations' final words batter my mind. The other six will be sacrificed. The use of such a high number of abeyance operatives is unusual, but that isn't what is now making me so uneasy.

While Operations was speaking, I observed Madeline out of the corner of my eye. She was watching me intently, searching too avidly for any reaction to his words. I reach my office, still replaying the briefing in my mind. They had carefully avoided looking at each other during our short conversation, a conversation that on reflection seems to have been carefully rehearsed.

A search of Nikita's personnel file reveals little. Her status remains unchanged, the only new information being that she is down tomorrow. There is no mention of the aborted Shays mission, and this alone is enough to set my nerves on edge.

I stare at the screen in front of me, unable to shake the lingering impression of anxiety that both Madeline and Operations were projecting. It almost seemed as though they were worried about my reaction to the directive. Why would I object to the use of abeyance operatives unless...my mind falters, unwilling to face the implications of Madeline and Operations' behaviour.

Nikita.

No. I frown. It's impossible. There are certain procedures that are observed when an operative is placed in Abeyance. One of these is the formal notification given to that operative's mentor, if the operative is level two or lower. I attempt to reassure myself even as my own intuition threats to shatter the fragile peace of mind to which I am stubbornly clinging. Every instinct I have regarding the ways of Section is screaming for attention.

I close down the file and leave my office, noting with grim satisfaction that Birkoff is quite alone in Comm. Scanning the area for any sign of Madeline or Operations, I approach Birkoff silently, making him jump at the sound of my voice.

"I want an updated summary of the abeyance database."

Birkoff's eyes widen, and he looks around cautiously before he whispers his reply. "Michael, you know I can't do that...that's level eight clearance. I can't do it without clearance from Opera..."

"Now, Birkoff."

He looks at me unhappily. "You know that it will be logged as being viewed from my station."

"Reroute it to my office."

Birkoff is looking over his shoulder in a panic. "But it will still be logged as having been accessed."

"See to it that it isn't."

"But if I get caught..." Birkoff turns back to face me, his protest dying on his lips as his eyes meet mine. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair before turning his attention back to his computer, letting out a defeated sigh as he begins to type.

"You'll have it in two minutes."

Leaving a disgruntled Birkoff in my wake, I walk swiftly through Section back to my office.

The abeyance list is waiting for me, and I am quite confident that there will be no record of it having been accessed. Birkoff has tagged six files for my attention...the next six operatives to be deployed on abeyance missions. I scroll quickly through the files, scanning the data, my stomach churning as I frantically search for a name that I do not want to find.

David Rowe...Grace Emerton...Robyna Kilmartin...Daniel Baron...Russell Gibbs...Nathan Byrnes.

Her name isn't there. She's not in abeyance. The relief is almost overwhelming, and yet...

Something's not right.

~*~*~*~

I switch off the engine, wondering not for the first time just what I am doing here. The surveillance of Nikita's apartment should have been enough to reassure me, but it wasn't. When I checked the live feed twenty minutes ago, she was sleeping. I watched her toss and turn for a few moments, realizing without surprise that I would not be able to relax until I saw for myself that she had pulled back from the edge.

It's two o'clock in the morning, and the apartment block is quiet and still. I pause outside Nikita's door for a few moments, the key pressed cold and hard into my palm. I would prefer not to enter the apartment uninvited while Nikita sleeps, but any lingering doubts have been swept aside by a sense of danger that I can't ignore.

The other six will be sacrificed.

The laptop has been closed. I boot it up quickly and search her files, my anxiety easing when I find no sign of the note that Nikita had written. With a heavy sigh of relief, I close the computer down and walk silently through the kitchen. The cupboard door squeaks quietly as I open it. I freeze for a few seconds, but there is no sound from the bedroom, and I cautiously reach into the cupboard. Her gun is pushed to the back of the cupboard with the safety on, and the clip is nowhere to be seen.

Thank God.

My gaze wanders instinctively toward Nikita's bedroom, and I hold my breath as I listen to the sound of her soft breathing. Knowing that she is sleeping not more than five feet away is exquisite torture, and I can feel my resolve weakening with every second that I stay here. I close my eyes, remembering the desire that had traveled through my body like an electrical shock when Nikita brushed her lips against my skin.

It was a kiss that was given freely rather than taken. It was not a caress meant to maintain profile or a response that I seduced out of her. The gesture came from her heart, and the simplicity of the feelings behind it set off a fierce chain reaction of longing that I am still struggling to comprehend.

I stand here, remembering Nikita's grief and pain, and I am suddenly ashamed of the baseness of my thoughts. I came here earlier tonight as her mentor and her friend, not her lover...and yet I will not deny that I want her. I crave her on every level imaginable...her body, her mind, her heart...and it's slowly tearing me apart from the inside. I wish things could be different. I have wished for so many things over the last three years that I no longer allowed myself to think of them. I wish I were free to walk up these stairs, wake Nikita and tell her that I can't imagine my life without her in it. I love my son dearly and yet, at this moment in time, I wish that Salla Vachek had never sired a daughter.

My thoughts a fusion of need and resentment, I take only one step toward the staircase before I turn and quietly open the door, closing and locking it from the outside...quickly, before I can change my mind.

~*~*~*~

"Josephine." I sit up groggily, pushing the hair out of my eyes sleepily as the unfamiliar voice rumbles in my ear.

"Yep?" I cover the receiver and cough dryly.

"Come in."

There go my plans for an afternoon nap. Irritated, I hang up the phone and throw back the covers, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Head in my hands, I glare at the now silent telephone as though it is to blame. I am supposed to be on a day's downtime, you know.

At least I managed to grab a few hours for myself. I'd woken up this morning feeling almost light-hearted, buoyed by a sense of peace that I haven't felt for a very long time.

I went for a long run, altering the usual route so I could pass by my favourite patisserie. Chocolate croissant firmly in hand, I went back to my park bench. I'm still not sure why...I just had this feeling that I needed to reclaim everything that had once given my pleasure...to take back what had been tainted by fear and sorrow.

The same young couple were there again, pushing their baby in a stroller, the mother laughing as the ducks squabbled at the edge of the pond over the scraps of bread that she was throwing. I ate my breakfast and watched them with dry eyes and a heart that only hurt a little, realizing at last that while I would never stop thinking about what can't be, I could still dream about that which might be...one day.

I came back to the apartment and indulged in a cleaning frenzy that ranged from stripping the sheets from my bed to be washed to sorting through my old clothes. I felt rejuvenated, as though I was ripping away the darkness that had smothered me for months, as though I was finally becoming myself again. The last thing I remember was stretching out on my bed for an afternoon nap, exhausted by my sudden burst of energy.

Standing now in the kitchen in my bathrobe, I watch the steam rise from the spout of the nearly boiled kettle and wonder why it wasn't Michael who called me in. If I was a paranoid girl, I think dryly, I might think that he was avoiding me after last night. I wouldn't really blame him...I'm feeling a bit weird about it myself this morning. But whatever happens now, I'm glad that I saw another side of him last night. I actually felt comfortable with him, and it was an amazing feeling. And as for kissing him...I square my shoulders, feeling the tell tale blush of colour rising in my face...he can make of that whatever he wants.

I get dressed quickly, cheered by the thought that Shays could be the reason that I've been called in. Michael was more honest than I wanted him to be when I asked him about Stanley last night. The familiar twinge of guilt flutters in my chest, but I take a deep breath and push it aside. If we can save him, I'll be the happiest girl in Section. If we can't...I close my eyes, not wanting to finish the thought, but knowing that I have to face the reality of the situation. If we can't, then I'll have to deal with it as best I can.

I grab my jacket and head for the door, taking one last look around my freshly cleaned apartment with satisfaction, unable to stop myself rearranging the living room furniture in my mind. I need a change. Tomorrow...I'll do it tomorrow.

It may not be the life I want, but at the moment...it's the only one I've got.

~*~*~*~

The briefing room is filled with operatives that I have never worked with. I know Grace Emerton slightly, but we've never been assigned to the same team before. The other four are complete strangers, and I can't deny that it makes me slightly uneasy. I haven't laid eyes on Michael since I arrived half an hour ago, and when the briefing starts without him, my curiosity grows. Where is he?

Operations seems more annoyed with me than usual today, but even he can't ruffle my new-found composure. "The Freedom League may have already broken Shays." I look at him coolly as he frowns pointedly in my direction, determined not to give him the satisfaction of rattling me.

"It goes without saying that Shays' formula cannot be allowed to be used, by the Freedom League or anyone else. If Tyler has already extracted the formula from Shays, he will waste no time in putting it to good use." He pauses and looks at each of us in turn. "The Freedom League base is to be completely incinerated. Leave nothing and no-one standing. Is that understood?"

"What about Shays?"

I can almost hear the collective sigh from the other operatives as all eyes shift towards me. Operations turns more slowly, his pale eyes locking onto mine, but he says nothing. I stare at him, silently demanding an answer to my question. He sighs dramatically and looks at me with barely concealed irritation. "Michael will make that call on site." Strangely enough, his answer reassures me. I had begun to wonder if Michael was even leading this mission.

He turns his back and addresses the rest of the team. "The details are on your panels, and Walter will brief you en route regarding the containment procedure. Remember this...there is no room for error. I want that base gone."

His gaze flicks back to me, his face darkening with indecipherable emotion. "Michael is waiting for you all in van access. Good luck."

~*~*~*~

I look at Madeline and suppress a sigh of frustration. We have gone over this profile so many times that I could run the sequence in my sleep. When I protested that I needed to attend the briefing, she casually decreed that Operations would handle it and that I was needed in Systems. Her words were more than enough to re-ignite my suspicions, despite the fact that I had already checked and rechecked both Nikita's file and the Abeyance database.

She's not in Abeyance. She's not profiled on this mission. She's on a day's down time.

No matter how many times I've checked the files, it hasn't taken away the bitter tang of dread that is burning the back of my throat. I've been in Section long enough to know that nothing is as it seems.

Finally, Madeline checks her watch. "You should get to van access. The team will be meeting you there in two minutes."

I nod to her impatiently, the mantra of denial still running through my mind. She's not in abeyance. She's not profiled on this mission. She's on a day's down time.

Madeline starts to walk alongside me as though she means to provide an escort. Why? Her part in this mission should have ended with the abeyance directive. The feeling that I am deliberately being kept occupied increases, and a rush of panic flutters through me.

To my relief, Madeline stops just before the access corridor, her dark eyes sweeping over my face. "I hope it all goes well."

Her uncharacteristic sentiment ringing hollowly in my ears, I nod and walk away, my heartbeat picking up speed with every step I take. The hallway is empty, but the sound of boots thudding heavily on the hard floor warns of the team's imminent arrival.

Feeling strangely short of breath, I lean back against the open access door and watch the abeyance operatives come into view.

Rowe.

Emerton.

Kilmartin.

Baron.

Gibbs.

The sweat trickles coldly down my back as I wait for Byrnes to arrive, the hard knot of fear in the middle of my chest tightening with every passing second. A flash of blonde hair stops my heart and freezes my blood as my nightmare becomes reality.

Nikita.

I can't breathe.

Fear grips my lungs in a slowly twisting vice, the world tilting crazily on its axis as Nikita turns the corner with her head bowed, long blonde hair hiding her face as she adjusts her thigh holster.

The other six will be sacrificed.

My thoughts annihilated by shock, I can only watch in mute horror as Nikita walks slowly toward me.

No.

"Michael?" She stops in front of me with concern etched on her face, her eyes searching mine. "What's wrong?"

Her softly spoken question punches me in the heart as the recent memory of her swaying toward me in a black dress down this very corridor rips through my mind. I dully realize that we have had this conversation before, and the cruel difference that these three days have made to our lives cleaves my soul in two.

I struggle to answer her through the lump of anguish thickening my throat. "Nothing."

Everything.

Nikita smiles, her face brightening as she reaches out and gives me a reassuring pat on the arm. The warmth of her hand seeps through the material to warm my cold flesh, but the caress is over too soon, and she walks past me into the loading bay.

The back of my neck pricks with the sensation of being watched, and pure rage sweeps through me. Fists clench unconsciously, I turn my head and meet Madeline's callous gaze without surprise.

The crushing weight of seven years of serving Section without question slams into me as I stare at Madeline, her stance of silent intimidation rousing a wave of hatred so intense that I have to look away.

The blood roaring through my veins, I walk slowly through to the waiting transport with one single thought beating a furious tattoo into my consciousness.

I won't let them do this.

Nikita catches my eye and smiles as I enter the van, sparking a furious resentment that rips through me. How dare they?

Despite all that Section has put her through, after everything that I have done to her, Nikita has survived. She has pulled herself back from the brink of despair by sheer willpower, and seems to have made peace with her demons. In spite of her many clashes with Madeline and Operations, her loyalty to the Section remains intact. She is a good operative.

I watch her grinning at Birkoff over a private joke and my anger intensifies. Nikita's skills in the field are outstanding, her compassion for humanity an intrinsic part of her psyche...but instead of using her to their advantage, Section plans to snuff out her life without a second thought.

No.

I close my eyes as images flash through my mind. For seven years, I have done everything that has demanded of me without question. I have killed and tortured for the Section. I have lost Simone, and at this moment I cannot even bear to think about what is ahead for Adam and Elena.

Desperation floods my mind, washing away all thoughts of obligation and loyalty. I glance up at Nikita as she sits talking to Birkoff. Startled anew by the fierce swell of emotion that engulfs me, I look away and reach unobtrusively for the laptop.

No. I will not let this happen.

I am not going to lose her.

~*~*~*~

I stand and move away from the team, unable to bear being so close to Nikita, knowing what is about to play out.

It's done. The plan that had been vaguely skirting my subconscious ever since that intense briefing with Operations and Madeline has been put into motion. A message on delayed send will be relayed to the small field PDA that I will give to Nikita before she enters the Freedom League base. I have performed a back trace on the message so that there is no possibility of it being logged. Section will never see it.

I will never see it again either, but there is no need. Every word is already scorched onto my memory, each one like a knife sliding between my ribs.

I have no concern about any reprisals that may come my way. With the smallest of mercies, once this is over, Nikita will be alive. She will be free. For now, that is all that matters.

~*~*~*~

I fidget with the zipper of my jacket and eye Michael surreptitiously, trying to work out exactly what is going on with him. He's standing alone on the other side of the van with his arms crossed, not looking at anyone.

And just what was wrong with him in van access? He looked as though he'd seen a ghost, the blood draining from his face in a heartbeat. I don't think I've never seen anyone turn that pale that fast. It was as though I was the last person he expected to see. I don't know why. I've been involved with this Shays thing from the beginning...he shouldn't be surprised that I'm here. And how could he not have known that I was going to be on his team? That doesn't make any sense at all...It must be something else that's bothering him.

I sit back in my chair, taking the opportunity to study Michael while he's not looking. As usual, he's spent nearly the entire journey totally engrossed in his laptop, probably running through the sequence for the hundredth time. He said that nothing was wrong. Yeah, right. If nothing is wrong, why is he acting as though the world is about to end? Everyone else seems oblivious to his mood, but I know Michael. And I know that he is stressed out and trying to conceal it. I can almost feel him growing tenser with every new mile we put between Section and ourselves.

Perhaps it's because of Stanley. If he's already decided that Shays is acceptable collateral, then he obviously won't be looking forward to telling me. If we weren't surrounded by this crowd, I could ease his mind maybe, make it easier for him by telling him that it's okay...that I know what has to be done.

But we're not alone, and there's nothing I want to say to Michael in front of these people. I finally tear my eyes away from him to watch Walter doing mysterious things to the charges that we'll be setting. Feeling my eyes on him, he looks up and gives me a leer and a smile, and I choke back a chuckle. Any time, anywhere...he never disappoints me. How could I have ever thought of leaving him behind?

Feeling slightly crowded, I frown at Rowe as his arm brushes against mine. He's sitting next to me, fiddling inexpertly with his gun. He sighs impatiently and looks at me. "I can't get this plugged in."

I look over at the mess he's made of the sighting connection. "It doesn't go there." I pick up the wire and connect it to the right port.

"Oh, right...right. They changed that." Rowe stares at the weapon as though he's never seen a gun before. "I haven't been out in over three months."

Three months? I've never heard of a level one being on downtime for that long. "Why not?"

"I don't know. I think it's because I screwed up in Zaire."

"Really." I frown and try to catch Michael's eye, trying to silently convey my apprehension. What is Rowe doing on this mission if he hasn't been active for three months? Michael's eyes meet mine only fleetingly before he begins to speak in a curiously flat voice.

"Walter's prepared the C-4. You'll each be given a charge. Birkoff will give you specific coordinates and access pathways to get there."

Walter looks up from his screen. "Once you plant the explosive, signal me." He holds up two fingers. "Two pulses."

Grace frowns. "That's a lot of juice." She narrows her eyes at Walter. "How're we getting out of there?"

Interesting question. Michael cuts in smoothly before Walter has a chance to reply. "You'll be given instructions. Keep your channels open." The van glides to a smooth stop, and I feel the adrenalin start. It's a rush I could well live without, but at this point, I'm happy with anything that will help me get through the night.

Birkoff's fingers clatter over his keyboard. "We're at alpha point."

Feeling as though I'm being watched, I look up to find Michael staring at me with an odd intensity. He looks away quickly and I realize sadly that his thoughts are once again distant and out of my reach. I grab my field kit and stash it inside my jacket as I watch Michael motion toward the door with a jerk of his head.

"Let's go."

~*~*~*~

It seems strange to be back at the warehouse, and anxiety flickers to life in my belly. It looks very different...the full moon only seems to have made the building more impenetrable, more foreboding. I look at the operatives around me and realize with a pang of guilt that if I had done things differently the first time, we wouldn't have to be here now. But I can't undo what I did...all I can do now is pray that we're in time to salvage the situation without anyone else having to die.

I hang back as the rest of the team make their way toward the wire fence, knowing that this is my last chance to speak to Michael alone. He's leaning against the van, staring intently at the Freedom League base, almost oblivious to everything around him.

"Michael, what about Shays?"

A fierce energy flares behind his eyes as he turns to me. "He's collateral."

It's the answer I was expecting, but it still hurts. I know that it has to be like this, but I can't help trying one more time.

"And if I can get him out?"

Michael hardly waits for me to finish speaking before he answers, his voice rough. "Don't try. It'll compromise everything."

Whatever. We both know that if there is a way to get Stanley out alive, I will do just that. I sigh silently and turn to leave. I just want this mission over and done with. Michael's hand on my arm startles me and I look at him in surprise. He pulls me closer, his eyes never leaving mine. "It is important you understand this."

Puzzled by his odd intensity, I just nod at him, my mind already inside the Freedom League base. I have to save Stanley. I can't let him die. Please let him still be alive.

"Nikita..." I look at him impatiently. Michael hesitates for a few seconds before pulling something out of the pocket of his leather jacket with his free hand. "If anything goes wrong and your comm. unit fails..." He puts a small PDA in my palm, his hand lingering, almost as though he wants to close my fingers over the device. Finally pulling his hand away, he speaks again, his voice low and urgent.

"Keep an eye on this." His other hand tightens on my arm. "We'll be able to communicate...from anywhere."

His fingers are digging into my arm so hard that the skin starts to tingle uncomfortably under his touch, and my pulse quickens as I suddenly grasp the subtle desperation in his voice. We'll be able to communicate from anywhere. His urgent words echo in my mind. If something goes wrong...

Why the sudden concern that my comm. unit may fail? I have never once needed to use a PDA as backup. The small twinge of apprehension flutters and grows into a feeling of cold dread. I stare at the PDA in my hand, then at the darkened building in front of us. "Michael, what's going on?"

He lets go of my arm so abruptly that I feel strangely off balance without his touch.

"Go. "

His soft reply is little more than a hoarse whisper, but it sends a shiver of unease down my spine. Confused, I turn to look at him. It's the last night of the full moon, and I can see him clearly. Unblinking, Michael returns my stare, and the breath catches painfully in my chest. His eyes are glittering with a fierce desolation that confuses and frightens me, and as we stare at each other I can feel the waves of tension dancing all around us. Apprehension floods my mind and I look away in confusion.

Something's not right.

~*~*~*~

Nikita turns away frowning, but I sense that her mind is already focused on Stanley Shays and her desire to remedy what she sees as her betrayal of him. I know her too well. She will try to save him. I'm counting on it. According to the thermal scan, Shays is being held only metres from a ground floor emergency exit. For the first time, I am praying for Nikita to disobey my direct orders. I stand and watch her walk away, unable to stop myself from wishing bitterly that Shays was already dead.

Nikita runs swiftly down the gentle slope of the embankment, ducking under the wire fence before darting quickly to her point of entry. Hopeless despair seizes my heart, and the impulse to stop her grows stronger with every step she takes. I clench my fists, letting the fingernails dig sharply into my palms as I watch her quickly scale the side of the building. But the pain does nothing to distract me from the brutal reality.

As painful as it is, I can't bring myself to look away. It's almost as though I need to imprint her image onto my mind, my heart. My unspoken fear surges forward...I can't lose her. She's all I have. The blood roaring in my ears, I have to use every bit of self-control to not abort the mission. Reason struggles to overcome panic. If I abort now, it will mean cancellation for both of us. This way, there is still a chance. Suddenly agitated, I start to second-guess myself. I should have told her to extract Shays.

No. I had to follow the profile to the letter to avoid suspicion. She has the PDA. The warning message is on a delayed send. Nikita will have two minutes to get clear of the building before detonation. She is a good operative. She can do it.

A little taunting voice stings me. Even if she does survive, you will never see her again. Either way, you've lost her.

Birkoff and Walter are still monitoring the team from inside the van, but I can't bear to join them, not while I can still see her. Birkoff's voice is suddenly loud in my comm. unit.

"Okay, Nikita. Are you in position?"

There is a slight pause as Nikita swings her body up onto the roof, her slightly breathless reply piercing my heart. "Almost there, Birkoff."

A strange numbness creeping along my veins, I can only stand in the doorway of the vehicle and watch Nikita run along the flat section of roof, feeling the life drain out of my soul with every step she takes. She disappears from sight, and the realization that she is gone slams into me like a body blow.

I'll never see her again.

~*~*~*~

Walter and Birkoff are intently watching their respective panels when I finally enter inside the vehicle. I almost turn around again when I realize that Birkoff has Nikita's comm. unit channel on speaker.

I close my eyes in despair at the thought that this may be the last time I hear her voice. There are a few seconds silence before Nikita checks in with Birkoff. "I'm inside."

Birkoff brings up a new screen. "Your point two is to the north."

Slightly breathless, Nikita confirms his instructions. "Point two...thirty seconds." We wait in silence until her next report half a minute later. "Second position covered."

Almost nauseous with anxiety, I watch Birkoff rapidly typing in the commands that will lead Nikita to ground zero. "Continue to plant on point."

Gunfire crackles faintly from the speaker followed by Nikita's tense voice. "We've been detected, Birkoff."

He shakes his head as if Nikita can actually see him. "Doesn't matter. Get to your position."

Walter looks up from his screen. "Nikita's in place."

A thrill of fear shoots through me as I look at Walter. Once the sequence has commenced, there is no turning back, for Nikita...or myself.

"Start the sequence."

Walter nods at me, and it's done.

"All charges set." Birkoff relaxes slightly now that the explosives are in place. He tilts his head to one side, stretching his neck muscles before turning to me. "What's our exit strategy?"

"Tell everyone to hold their positions." A surprised silence greets my directive. Birkoff hesitates, looking at me with confusion in his eyes.

Acid stings the back of my throat, making it hard to say the words that can only mean death for anyone still inside the building. "Do it."

Birkoff suddenly looks very young as he speaks into the comm. microphone, his eyes never leaving mine. "All positions...stand by." He cuts the audio connection and looks away with a frown.

He knows.

Walter looks at me uneasily. "Hey, Michael, we're armed." I say nothing, and his voice becomes rough with fright. "Get them out of there, now!"

The blood pounds painfully in my temples. The temptation to do what Walter is demanding is almost overwhelming. I can feel cold sweat running down my back as I somehow manage to answer him. "That's not the mission profile."

"Not the mission profile?!" All the colour drains from his face, his eyes widening in shocked disbelief. "Nikita's in there!"

A panicked disembodied voice leaps out of the speaker. In the fog of anguish clouding my mind, one thought struggles free. Thank God...it's not Nikita's voice. "Birkoff, what are we waiting for? Get us out of here!"

Walter's face tightens and he reaches for the detonator in a panic. He knows, too. I can't let him interfere. If we abort, Nikita will be cancelled as soon as we returned to Section. I can't let that happen. I grab his arm tightly, ripping my gun from its holster at the same time. Walter freezes, staring with horrified shock at the gun pointed at his forehead.

His teary eyes meet mine, the anguish in his face only a reflection of my own grief. I take a deep breath and release his arm before pulling the detonator out of his reach. "I said...that's not the mission profile."

~*~*~*~

The C4 is set. I've sent Walter two pulses to let him know that I'm ready. So why aren't we pulling out? I glance around. Stanley. If there's been a tactical delay, I can get him out. I have time...I can do it. I leave my position and start to edge along the darkened corridor, wondering if they would be foolish enough to keep him in the same holding area this whole time.

My pulse starts to race as I consider the possibility that I could right the wrong that I have done, that I could still save Stanley's life. Michael's strangely urgent plea flashes into my mind, but I push it away. He couldn't have known that there would be time to get him out.

I finally reach the open storage room and scan it quickly. For a few seconds, I can't quite comprehend what I'm seeing. I've found Stanley, but he's lying in what looks like a hospital bed. Oh no...

"Stanley!" Why is he hooked up to so many IV drips? I look him over quickly, and when my gazes reaches his feet my whole body goes cold. Oh my god...his feet. His poor feet... Nauseated, I have to look away. His feet look like so much minced meat and I have no idea how I stop myself from throwing up. I touch his shoulder reassuringly, unsure if he can even hear me. "Stanley, I'm going to get you out of here."

He only groans, a low moan of pain that makes my blood boil. Those bastards! Distracted by Stanley's agony, a blurred movement is the only warning I have before bullets are suddenly flying around the room. My mind registers that the shooter is Tyler only seconds before my arm starts to burn with an incredible stinging pain, the bicep feeling as though it's dissolving beneath the skin. Shit! I clutch at a metal pole to steady myself, wincing with pain. Tyler is still firing. My god...Stanley!

Enraged, I pull myself back up, ignoring the internal fire ripping through my left shoulder. I glance quickly at Stanley, only to discover that the back of the bed is riddled with bullet holes. Shaking all over, I call out his name quietly. "Stanley?" I know in my heart that he's gone, but I don't want to believe it.

Blood has started to seep through the back of the bed, and I stare in horror at the red liquid staining the wood. I hear Tyler breathing heavily nearby and rage sweeps through me, sending adrenalin pumping into my blood. Half-blinded by tears, I push myself to my feet, my mind gripped by a white-hot hatred. Tyler turns to me but never gets a chance to fire his weapon before I empty my clip into him...without a second's hesitation.

The sound of his body hitting the ground with a dull thud brings me back to my senses, the pain in my arm radiating hotly through my entire body. It takes me a few seconds to realize that the buzzing in my ears is not a reaction to the gunfire but is actually coming from the PDA that Michael gave me.

Confused, I pull it from my pocket and stare in bewilderment at the words on the small screen.

SUICIDE
MISSION.
YOU'RE FREE.
RUN.
DON'T RETURN.

The PDA starts to shake in my hand. I look around the room in confusion. Is this some kind of sick joke? I stare down at the words again as though expecting them to change into something that actually makes sense.

Suicide mission? Comprehension slams into me like a ton of bricks. We were never meant to get out of here. Feeling as though someone else is controlling my body, I turn off the PDA and gaze helplessly at Stanley's body. I'm sorry...so sorry.

You're free. Run.

Pain shoots through my body as I start to run towards the secondary egress, but fear overrides every other physical sensation. My breath burns my lungs as I literally run for my life.

Run...you're free.

Oh my god...it was an abeyance mission all along. Michael gave the order to start the sequence while we were already inside...while I was still inside. Why? Why?

The emergency exit suddenly looms up in front of me and I rip the door open, dashing out into the cold night air. My shoulder feeling as though it is burning from the inside out, I manage to stumble twenty yards before the air around me flashes white and the whole world explodes.

~*~*~*~

Fifteen seconds.

How can it be that such a short space of time can pass so slowly? Every second feels like an hour. It seems like an eternity since I gave the order that would give Nikita her freedom, one way or the other. I lower my gun, click off the safety and lay it on the seat beside me.

Walter stares at the timer that is slowly counting down the remaining seconds of my team, unshed tears of angry frustration glittering in his eyes. I stare unseeing at the wall of the van interior. She had enough time. I see Birkoff bow his head and hide a pale face behind hands that are starting to shake.

00:00

The van rocks gently with the force of the blast. Feeling strangely numb, I can hear the crackle and hiss of the fire as it swallows up the old wooden building, and something deep inside me shrivels and dies as though those same flames are licking along my veins.

The silence inside the vehicle is deafening, broken only by the sound of Walter's labored breathing. Unable to face the sorrow and anger I know I will see in their eyes, I don't look at either man as I pull the cell phone out of my pocket and press #1.

The line is picked up after one ring, an all too familiar voice quickly on the other end. "Yes?"

"Sequence completed."

Operations' reply is like a hot knife twisting deep in my gut. "Good work, Michael." Speechless with rage, I hang up without replying, my thoughts a furious tangle of misery and hope.

She only had two minutes to clear the building...it wasn't enough time.

No. I know her too well. Nikita would have gone looking for Shays. She would have had enough time.

I place the phone on the bench with exaggerated care and finally raise my eyes. Walter and Birkoff are staring at me in shock, absolutely desolate. The urge to tell them everything, that I have done what I could to save her, almost overcomes me. I can't. If...I swallow hard...if Nikita survived the blast, she will be free of Section forever. No one can know she is still alive. I can't jeopardise her second chance in a vain attempt to exonerate myself.

No longer caring about the hatred shimmering in Walter's eyes, I take a deep breath and put my gun away. "Let's go."