The characters of La Femme Nikita remain the property of WB and Fireworks Entertainment and USA. No infringement of copyright is intended. There is a tiny amount of dialogue in this story that also belongs to them, and there is occasional coarse language to be found. The title is from a wonderful song by Garbage.

She watched him walk away from them and took an almost shaky breath, unhappily conscious of the fact that her pulse was fluttering faster than usual. This sense of being out of the loop...it was not only unfamiliar, it was intolerable.

Licking her suddenly dry lips, she glanced sideways at her companion. To show any hint of uncertainty in front of him was unacceptable, and yet she knew she must voice her concerns.

She cleared her throat discreetly and turned to the man standing next to her. "We may have some problems with him."

Operations sighed heavily and looked at her, irritation tightening his face as he raised an eyebrow in a silent request for clarification. Madeline turned to stare again at Michael as he stalked through Section before glancing quickly at Operations, smiling slightly to soften the blow of her words.

"There was something between them."

It galled her to say it, but there was no point hiding the truth from her companion. She had not thought that the bond between their best Level Five Operative and his material had gone any further than a mutual sexual attraction, an attraction that she knew Michael would not have made the mistake of acting upon.

As much as it pained her to admit it, she had been mistaken. Michael's reaction to Nikita's death was more than that of a mentor who had lost his student. It was that of a bereaved lover, a man stricken with grief and loss...and anger. Madeline frowned, remembering the split-second frisson of fear that had stiffened her spine as she had looked into Michael's eyes and seen the extent of his rage.

The sound of Operations' gravelly voice brought her back to the present. "The question is now..." Their eyes met in a look of pure understanding as he voiced the question to which Madeline was afraid she already knew the answer. "...can he let it go?"

Knowing that she couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear, Madeline only replied calmly.

"I don't know."

Operations scowled with displeasure as he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. He drew out a slim packet of cigars and his lighter, deliberately ignoring Madeline's moue of distaste. Lighting the cigarillo, he blew out a puff of fragrant smoke and stared down upon Section with narrowed eyes.

"Why didn't you warn me that this might happen?"

His unspoken accusation chafed her slightly wounded pride and she stepped closer to him, ignoring the cigar smoke that irritated her eyes. Madeline held his gaze, gratified to see the familiar flicker of longing in the depths of his eyes as she touched his arm lightly. She smiled as she watched his inner struggle, torn between his need to be in control and his need for her. Inevitably, his face softened and Madeline felt the balance of power shift once more. With quiet satisfaction, she allowed herself to admit her error.

"It appears we may have misjudged the depth of his attachment to Nikita."

Operations inhaled a last deep lungful of smoke and crushed out the cigar, watching the glowing tip flicker and die. He glanced up at Madeline with displeasure.

"She caused us nothing but trouble from day one. Now that she's gone, how much longer will she keep causing us trouble?"

"I'm not sure." Madeline turned to stare unseeingly through the viewing window, her mind whirring with possible scenarios.

"What about the Vachek mission?" Operations turned on his heel and started to pace the length of his office. "What if he compromises his cover?"

"He won't."

Operations stopped in his tracks and gave her a sardonic smile.

"You sound very sure of that. What makes you so certain that we haven't misjudged that situation as well?"

Stung by his lack of faith, she returned his brittle smile with one of her own. "His son."

Operations stared at her for a moment before nodding his head in acknowledgment of her logic. "Point taken." He paused for a moment, reaching for his cigars again. "Put a watch on him, just to be sure. And perhaps we should provide Michael with some sort of...distraction?"

Madeline smiled as they exchanged a knowing glance. She had already come to the same conclusion. "Of course."

#*#*#*#*#

Hopelessly adrift in the eyes of the ghost again
down on my knees and my hands in the air again
pushing my face in the memory of you again
but I never know if it's real

Untitled - The Cure

Nikita came awake with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in bed before she was truly awake, her hands still clawing at the twisted sheets.

Closing her eyes tightly, she placed a hand over her heart, feeling it madly fluttering beneath her splayed fingers. Suddenly claustrophobic, she yanked the bedclothes back and swung her feet to the floor, struggling to get her breathing under control. Nikita dropped her head into her hands in frustration as the memory of what had woken her came flooding back.

What the hell was that? Even as she demanded an answer of her subconscious mind, she knew exactly what that had been. "That" had been yet another one of those damn dreams. She rubbed her hands across her face, wiping the cold sweat from her skin, her heart sinking.

It was that dream. Not the nightmare that jolted her awake so often, the nightmare in which she was trapped as the Freedom League base camp burned, screaming silently as the flames licked at her skin. This was the dream that left her sweating and restless, gasping for air...a dream in which a very different kind of heat licked at her skin. Nikita hugged her crossed arms to her chest, hating the way the already aching tips of her breasts stiffened further.

It's been five weeks, she thought in despair. How much longer will I dream of them? She shook her head as though trying to rid herself of her next thought, but it was too late. How much longer would she dream of him?

By sheer force of will, she had managed to keep thoughts of Michael at bay during the day, but he stalked her dreams, his face and touch tormenting her as she slept. She would wake up with his name lingering on her lips, her body roused to a fever-hot ache by vivid imaginations of his hands on her skin, his mouth on her body, his lips at her breast.

Nikita felt the all too familiar flicker of desire tug warmly in her belly, and flopped back onto the bed in defeat, shivering as the cool night air fluttered over her flushed skin. I'll never get back to sleep now, she thought, and reached for her wristwatch on the makeshift nightstand, grimacing as she noted the time. 3:00am. Wonderful. She turned over onto her side, willing her treacherous body to cool down, to calm down.

Reaching over, Nikita dropped the watch back onto the nightstand, trying to avoid looking at the other items on the tabletop and failing miserably. The screen of the PDA that Michael had pressed into her hand the night he set her free glowed feebly in the darkness, a constant reminder of a past she was trying so hard to escape. Guilt welled up inside her as she thought of his messages. Always the same four words...a terse little enquiry that seemed to speak volumes. He seemed angry with her, but maybe he just needed to know that she was alive.

So why don't I just answer him?

She knew the answer. She was afraid.

Nikita felt tears prick warmly behind her eyelids and closed them tightly, not wanting to think about what Michael might be feeling. She couldn't remember the last time a day had passed without the PDA beeping at her imploringly. Michael didn't know if she was dead or alive, and she couldn't find the courage to let him know. She had sat with the PDA in front of her so many times, her fingers poised above the keys...but had never replied.

She had tried to ignore the messages by keeping the panel switched off, but would only last an hour or so before she turned it back on. It was her last connection to a world she despised...so why couldn't she destroy it? Even as she asked her self the question, Nikita reached out a hand and touched the small screen, knowing full well why she hadn't. It was her last connection to Michael as well, and she just couldn't let it go.

Nikita sighed and flipped over onto her back, realising that sleep was going to elude her yet again. She had spent so many nights like this, lying awake in the darkness with only her muddled thoughts for company. After resisting for so long, she finally let herself peer into the hidden recesses of her mind and heart...and suddenly the truth she had spent three years denying no longer had the power to frighten her.

She wanted him.

She ached for him with a passion she was afraid she would never feel again. Michael had wanted her too. She knew that now, despite the fact that he had never let what was so obviously between them overwhelm him. Not like it always seemed to overwhelm her. Nikita closed her eyes, thinking of how he had come to her apartment the night before the abeyance mission. Had that been the real Michael? Nikita let out a frustrated sigh. She didn't know. What she did know was that the memory of Michael cradling her in his arms as she wept had been one of the few things that had sustained her in the first few weeks out of Section.

But he had let her go, and she was never going back. There was nothing either of them could do about it.

Every time he sent a message, she felt restless for hours afterwards. Why hadn't he given up? How could he bring himself to keep sending that same message, day after day, knowing that she may be dead? His doggedness despite her continued silence both alarmed and thrilled her.

Her chest tightened as the sorrow she had pushed deep down inside suddenly flickered to life. She would rather die than go back to Section. To see Michael again, or even respond to his messages, would be crazy. She wouldn't be able to see him just the once, she knew that now...and that would be her downfall. As much as she hated to believe it, now that she was on the outside, Michael and Section were one and the same. The enemy.

Trying to distract herself from this painful thought, she let her eyes wander about the dimly lit room, taking in the threadbare walls, the peeling paint on the ceiling, listening to the creaks and moans that only an eighty-year-old wooden boarding house can make.

This wasn't freedom, not by a long shot.

#######

Is there no pity sitting in the clouds
That sees into the bottom of my grief? - William Shakespeare

Michael studied the sleeping recruit without interest. According to her file, her name was Therese. A petite brunette this time, he noted dispassionately. If the situation wasn't so gut-searingly painful, he might have almost found it amusing. Madeline must have been undecided as to whether to distract him from his memories of Simone or Nikita, so he had conveniently been presented with two new recruits.

Lauren had been assigned to him last week, a tall blonde with wide blue eyes and a smart mouth. After five minutes in her company, he found himself longing for Nikita with a ferocity that made him want to lash out at the pale imitation that Madeline had forced upon him.

Hours later, sitting in his office, he could barely remember making the routine 'welcome' speech to Therese, or taking Lauren through her paces in the dojo. It was a blur of action and reaction. Michael smiled a bitter smile that his Section training had become so ingrained that he could perform these tasks while his mind and heart were thousands of miles away.

The week after Nikita's 'death', Madeline had actually asked him if he wanted to visit her apartment before it was stripped bare. Taken aback by the pure rush of pain that had swept through him, he managed to politely decline her seemingly magnanimous offer before walking unsteadily to the bathroom where he had been violently sick.

Six weeks without her. Six weeks of not knowing. Six weeks of choking back his growing fear that she was indeed dead. Six weeks of feeling as though his heart had been shredded, unbidden memories pressing down mercilessly on the ragged edges of the raw wound of her loss. At this moment, he would have given his life to see her familiar figure loping through the hallways.

If she is alive, she is free. Who am I to wish her back into this hell? He swallowed the sudden lump of misery thickening his throat and reached out a hand to disable the surveillance on his office.

Michael had hoped...had actually prayed that his life would eventually return to the way it was before she had burst into his world and knocked him off balance. In fact, he wasn't sure how he was going to bear it if he wasn't able to find the strength to purge her from his mind.

He couldn't do it. He saw her everywhere, in everything around him. In the hallways of Section...in his home...during every single damn mission.

Everywhere.

He trailed his fingers across the top of the closed laptop, knowing that he shouldn't, but also knowing that he would. It had become a daily personal struggle...the futile attempt to quell his new obsession. From the moment he awakened from a restless sleep, he would be filled with the urge to tap out those four words...reaching out to a woman he couldn't accept was gone. Sometimes he actually made it halfway through the day before he admitted defeat and sent the message.

He booted up the laptop, lightly drumming his fingers on the desktop as he waited. Michael used a number of secure channels to send this daily plea and always performed a back trace. Unless Section knew exactly what they were looking for, they weren't going to find a thing.

No replies to encrypted message.

The words glowed up at him. Michael closed his eyes, frustration warring with anger. If she's alive, why the hell doesn't she let me know? Nikita would have realised almost instantly that he was the one who had orchestrated her escape. Why won't she answer? Is she afraid that I would try to bring her back in?

His conscience twinged at the thought. Would you? Would you bring her back in if you could?

Michael's hands hovered above the keyboard, slowly typing the words that his fingers now knew by heart.

NIKITA, ARE YOU THERE?

He pressed 'send', already knowing the answer to his own question, shame sweeping through him as he finally acknowledged the brutal truth. Michael closed his eyes once more, his mind flooding with the images of Nikita he could no longer keep at bay.

Yes, he thought fiercely. I would.

#####

Just when I think I'm winning
When I've broken every door
The ghosts of my life
Blow wilder then before

Ghosts - Japan

Nikita eyed her backpack and duffel bag, neatly packed, zipped and awaiting her attention. All my worldly possessions, she mused with bravado, trying to quell the pang of unhappiness the thought provoked.

She wouldn't be sorry to leave. A month of picking up glasses and working behind the bar in a nightclub had left her with two things. Enough money to leave Berlin, and an aversion to the techno music she had previously loved. Nikita walked to the small window and gazed sightlessly through the smudged glass. Something had happened last night. Something that would have meant nothing to anyone else, but which was enough to bring everything rushing back, everything that she was trying so hard to forget.

It had been late, nearly four in the morning. She was about to finish her shift when she heard the yelling. Her instincts kicked in, and before she could stop herself she darted through the thinning crowd, only to find one of the other female bar staff being aggressively 'felt up' by a male almost twice her size. Nikita took one look at the man's dilated pupils and knew that they were in trouble. She had no idea what he was on, but he was clearly not in the mood to listen to reason.

For a few seconds, Nikita was torn. She had no wish to draw attention to herself, but there was no way she was going to leave this girl to fend off that idiot alone. Taking a deep breath, she let her Section training take over, her hand shooting out to grasp the man's throat before she consciously knew what she was doing. He blinked and she tightened her grip, watching with detached satisfaction as his face coloured and then paled. He dropped his hands and the girl lost no time in scrambling away, taking refuge behind Nikita.

She was saved from any further effort by the arrival of the manager and one of his lackeys. watching as the bouncer dragged the now semi-unconscious patron towards the exit before turning away, hoping to melt into the crowd unnoticed.

Luck, however, was not on her side.

"That was great, Nik."

Gritting her teeth, Nikita looked up to find the club's manager regarding her with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

She shrugged and tried to brush past him as she replied. "It was nothing."

"No, that was really something. It usually takes two of our guys to subdue Nicholas." He smirked at her. "He's quite a handful, if you know what I mean."

Reluctantly accepting the fact that she couldn't politely extract herself from the conversation just yet, Nikita stared at him. "So why do you keep letting him in?"

Her boss rubbed his thumb and index finger together in the universal sign. "He's loaded...or rather, his father is. Daddy is a part-owner of the club." At Nikita's look of disgust, he only shrugged. "We keep his boy out of trouble, and he keeps the money pouring in."

Nikita could think of no polite reply to this statement, so she merely smiled and tried to brush past him once more. The hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks.

"Listen...Nik...I'm in a bit of a bind. Dominic, one of our bouncers, quit last night and I haven't been able to find a replacement on such short notice."

Nikita narrowed her eyes at him, sensing what was coming. "What does this have to do with me?"

"You're wasted working behind the bar. I want to put you on the front door...you know, security. It's more money, and you wouldn't have to be pulling beers for these slobs in here."

Nikita looked away, considering. She was getting pretty tired of smelling like a brewery twenty-four hours a day.

"I'll think about it."

"Why don't you give it a try tomorrow night? See if you can handle it?"

Nikita had no doubt she could handle it...she just wasn't sure she wanted to utilise those particular talents. It made her feel uneasy, but more money was more money.

"Fine...tomorrow night then."

"Great. I won't be here, but Frederick will be able to show you the ropes." He turned to walk away, but swivelled around quickly, as though remembering something. "Oh, almost forgot. This was Dominic's...you'll need to wear it."

She looked down at his open palm, her blood turning to ice when she saw what he was offering her. It was a black earpiece, a cheap imitation of a Section issued comm unit. The past punched her in the stomach, and nausea clawed at her insides. Shocked by the violence of her reaction, she could only shake her head mutely.

Her employer looked at her curiously. "What's wrong?" He held it out to her. " It's only an earpiece so you can communicate with the rest of the security team."

Nikita shook her head again. She could taste the fear at the back of her throat, and was overcome by the urge to run. With a supreme effort, she cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry. I don't think I'll be able to accept your offer." Her voice sounded shaky.

He stared at her. "You wanna be stuck behind that bar for the rest of your life?"

The impulse to flee was now so strong that Nikita could hardly take in what he was saying. The blood roaring in her ears, all she could hear was her own inner voice screaming at her to run.

"No. I...uh..." She pulled her black bartender's apron up over her head and handed it to him with a trembling hand. "I'm sorry...I gotta go."

She had fled back to her dingy room in the boarding house as though the devil was at her heels, packing her bags in a blur of clothing and shoes before seeking out the elderly landlady. The old lady protested as Nikita rushed her through the settlement of her bill, but her complaints fell on deaf ears.

Now, sitting in her room waiting until it was time to leave for the train station, she dropped her head into her hands. She had the terrible sinking feeling that no matter where she ran, it would never be far enough.

####

It's wrong to feel this way
I know it's wrong
I know it's bad
To only see what isn't there
To want and want and never have

Everything But The Girl

"I don't understand, Michael." Elena looked at her husband in exasperation. "I thought you wanted to go to Bordeaux for the weekend."

Michael quelled the guilt that swept over him when he saw the disappointment etched on Elena's face. "I know. I did. But work has gone crazy. It's a bad time right now."

He reached out to touch her face but she moved out of reach, putting her coffee cup down on the kitchen bench with a dull thump before turning away. "It's never a good time lately, is it?"

Michael stared at his wife's back, knowing by the slight tremour of her shoulders that she was fighting the urge to cry. Startled by the unfamiliar sound of his mother's voice raised in anger, Adam stopped playing with his wooden blocks and started to wail.

Michael slid off the kitchen stool and walked over to his son, scooping him up into his arms in one smooth movement. Adam hiccupped a few times but soon quieted as Michael patted him gently on the back, crooning to him under his breath.

"Michael, what's the matter? Is there something wrong at work? You seem so unhappy."

Michael cringed inwardly at the softly spoken questions. Elena had been clingy and slightly moody since he had suggested trying to get in touch with her father three weeks ago. He knew now that he had pushed her too hard, but he hadn't been thinking straight. All he could see was the possible light at the end of this dark tunnel in which he was trapped, a restless desperation making him too single-minded.

There was another reason for Elena's unhappiness. They hadn't made love for over a week...not since the night she had turned to him in the darkness of their bedroom, kissed him and told him that she wanted to have another child.

The very thought of it had sent a fevered wave of panic crashing over him, and he hadn't been able to find the right words to cover his shocked silence. The discussion had ended before it even begun. Elena had turned her back on him and gone to sleep angry, her silent tears a stinging reproach for his callousness. Michael had lain awake in the darkness, unable to find the strength to comfort her.

Until Madeline had pointed out that he was in danger of compromising his deep cover, Michael had spent every other night at Section for the last two months whether he was needed there or not. Knowing he was only making things worse, but unable to control the compulsive need to be where he felt Nikita's presence the most, he buried himself in profiles and psyche reports. But the hollow ache deep inside him wouldn't go away, no matter where or how he sought release.

In the beginning, he had sought comfort in Elena's arms, in their bed. The uncharacteristic violence of his lovemaking had shocked her at first, but she had soon been swept up in the wave of physical sensation that he created for her.

At first, it worked. For a short time, he could forget. Forget the roar of the flames as they ate away at the Freedom League base. Forget the hatred in Walter and Birkoff's eyes whenever they looked at him.

But being in Elena's arms was never enough to chase the constant thoughts of Nikita from his mind, or ease his increasing fears that she was dead. Every time he left Elena's bed, he hated himself more and more.

Frustration.

Hopelessness.

Fear.

Longing.

Michael could feel himself drowning in a mire of despair, and nothing he did could break the stranglehold of the grief that had wrapped itself around his heart. He despised himself for trying to forget Nikita in the warmth of Elena's body...he had used her in the worst possible way, and she deserved so much more.

He looked at her now, this innocent that Section had chosen to help them bring down an evil man who happened to be her father. Michael put Adam back down on the floor to play with his toys and wrapped his arms around his wife, gathering her close to his heart.

"I'm sorry. You're right. Things are a little stressful at work. I shouldn't have brought my worries home." Michael heard himself saying the words, faintly surprised at how normal they sounded.

Elena tilted her head back and smiled through her tears.

"I forgive you." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, her mouth warm and insistent, her body shifting against his in unmistakable invitation. "I'm sure you can find a way to make it up to me?"

Despite the warmth of the kitchen, Michael shivered. The temptation to forget, if only for a fleeting moment, was too strong to resist. He gave Elena a small smile and ran his hands lightly down her back before stepping out of her embrace for a moment to check on their son. Seeing that Adam had fallen asleep next to his pile of toys, Michael took his wife by the hand and led her toward their room.

"I'm sure I can."

#####

Out amongst the walking wounded
Every face on every train is you and me and him and her
Somedays I think I could go insane

Everything But The Girl

Walter watched Michael walk toward him, and had to fight the urge to slam the metal gate down in his face.

Look at him, Walter thought bitterly. Strutting around here as though nothing happened.

He had seen Michael yesterday with one of the new recruits...that blonde one. What was her name again? Walter wracked his brain, finally coming up with a name. Lauren. Legs that went on forever, long blonde hair and an innocent air about her. He had to hand it to Madeline...she sure knew how to pick them.

He was embarrassed to admit it, but when he'd seen Lauren strolling along beside Michael toward Munitions yesterday, he'd thought his heart actually might stop. For a split-second, he could have sworn it was...

Walter blinked, looking down at the panel he was sweeping as his eyes blurred with tears. When would it stop, this hollow ache inside? For the first few weeks after they'd lost her, it was all he could do to get up in the mornings, and for the first time in his long life...he had felt very old.

The only two things he had to hang onto were his memories of Nikita...and the anger that burnt deep inside his gut when he thought of the people who had taken her life. Madeline. Operations. Michael.

I had my orders.

God damn it, why hadn't Michael told him? Between the two of them, they might have been able to work something out. Oh, he understood why Michael hadn't wanted to let Birkoff know what was happening...the kid was too unpredictable. You never knew if he was going to play ball or play by the book. But damn it, he was different. How long had Michael known him? He knew how the game was played in here. You nod and take their orders, and then you do it your own way.

Walter cleared his throat and tossed aside the panel he had finally finished sweeping and glared at Michael as he approached. Before all this shit went down, Walter would have staked his life on the belief that he wouldn't be the only one grieving if they ever lost Nikita. He had never been able to shake the feeling that Michael felt a hell of lot more for his young recruit than he ever let on. Walter scowled as his sense of justice began to reluctantly re-assert itself. To be fair to Michael, it can't have been easy for him. Juggling his time between that wide-eyed Vachek girl-child, their baby and his Section duties must have taking nearly every ounce of energy he had.

When Section introduced the wild card of a blonde-haired, strong-willed, irrepressible Valkyrie that Michael couldn't seem to keep his eyes off into the mix, things had been bound to get more than a little interesting.

He had been so sure that Michael cared enough about Nikita to keep her safe. To be proved wrong was a betrayal so devastating that Walter could hardly stand to look at him. They had wanted to be rid of her...and Michael had stood by and let them do it.

"I need these in an hour."

Walter's head snapped up at the sound of Michael's voice. He had been so immersed in his unhappy thoughts that he hadn't noticed Michael standing beside him. Walter looked at the panel in Michael's outstretched hand before flicking a disdainful glance up at him. The sarcastic reply hovering on his lips died a silent death as he looked into Michael's eyes.

The man was hurting.

The blank mask was firmly in place, but there was nothing Michael could do to disguise the empty desolation at the back of his eyes. For the first time in over two months, Walter took a good look at the man standing beside him. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and his face seemed leaner, harder. Walter watched as Michael reached out to drop the panel on the bench top in front of Walter, noticing with a reluctantly sympathetic pang that the younger man seemed to have lost a hell of a lot of weight.

Momentarily pushing aside the resentment that had been his constant companion for weeks, he cleared his throat before replying in a carefully neutral voice.

"I'll have them ready for you."

Michael looked at him with those empty eyes, and Walter almost shivered. Someone's walking over my grave, he thought with a shudder. Walter stared as Michael turned and walked slowly away, his usually confident gait almost hesitant, as though he wasn't quite sure where he wanted to go.

Poor kid, Walter thought before he could stop himself.

#####

What is it that I think I need?
Is there love in me that wants to be freed?
Or is it selfishness and ego
we carry with us everywhere that we go?
This feeling that life's incomplete
- do you feel that too?

Everything But The Girl

The soccer ball came out of nowhere. If it hadn't been for her Section-honed reflexes, Nikita later thought ruefully, she would have had a nasty bump on her head. She bent and picked up the ball seconds before a small boy burst through a gap in the hedge like a miniature whirling dervish.

He pulled up short at the sight of the strange woman holding his soccer ball, a dark red flush staining the pale coffee coloured skin of his neck and face. He looked down and shuffled his feet, overcome by shyness.

Nikita took one look at him and was gone...totally smitten in the blink of an eye. Smiling, she bent down and caught his eye.

"Hi there. Is this is your ball?"

More shuffling of feet, but at last a hesitant reply.

"Yes."

Nikita tossed the soccer ball from one hand to the other. "That's a pretty mighty kicking boot you've got there."

The boy lifted his head from an intent perusal of his sneakers and beamed at her shyly.

"Do you like soccer?" His accent was a wonderfully exotic mixture of goodness-knows-what that had her instantly aware of her own broad drawl.

Nikita wracked her brain, frantically trying to think of the last time she had even seen a game of anything being played. Soccer....World Cup...got it.

Having remembered that much, she was rather sketchy on the details, so opted for the vague approach. "Oh yeah, it's a good game."

The child's eyes lit up. "Would you like to play?"

Nikita sighed. She had arrived in Lyons just over an hour ago and at this very moment was supposed to be looking for a job and somewhere to crash for the night. She had only come to the park to find a moment's peace and to catch her breath after the long train journey from Berlin. Nikita looked down at the boy's eager face and knew that she was a goner.

"What's your name?"

"Joseph "

Nikita stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Joseph. My name is Nikita."

He regarded her outstretched hand, and she saw his shyness melt away almost instantly. He shook her hand importantly before impatiently gesturing that she should drop the ball on the ground.

Fifteen minutes later, Nikita was aching in places she'd forgotten she had. She'd hit the dirt more than once, while Joseph had literally run rings around her. After slipping over a third time, she called 'time out' from her seat on the ground, much to his disappointment.

He sat beside her and regarding her seriously. "You're really bad at this."

Nikita looked at him, slightly shocked, before starting to laugh, a deep throaty chuckle that even to her own ears sounded rusty with disuse. With a pang, she realized that she couldn't actually remember the last time that she had laughed out loud. The thought that this child was the first person that she had connected with in nearly two months was instantly sobering. Wanting to distract herself from the sudden feeling of emptiness that washed over her, Nikita gazed around the park. Catching sight of a small girl playing on a swing set nearby, she was instantly struck by the child's likeness to the boy sitting beside her. Seeing how he was studiously ignoring the other child, she took a wild guess.

"Is that your little sister?"

He looked at the little girl with a faint scowl, as though considering disowning her, but finally shrugged.

"Yeah...that's Holly."

"That's a pretty name...is Holly's birthday near Christmas?"

His eyes widened, and Nikita's insides did a funny little lurch. Could this kid be any cuter?

"Yeah...how did you know?" Nikita bit the inside of her lip and tried to look serious as he tossed his sister another sideways glance and sighed wearily. "We always have to have a birthday cake for her the day after Santa comes." She smiled at him, silently laughing at the concept of always as viewed by a seven year old. Holly couldn't have been more than two and a half.

"Joseph...I certainly hope that you're not bothering that lady."

Nikita and the boy both turned at the sound of the melodic female voice. Nikita quickly got to her feet, self-consciously brushing the dirt from the seat of her pants as she caught sight of the woman she assumed was Joseph's mother.

She was beautiful. Her skin was a shade darker than her children's, her closely cropped hair the colour of an English toffee. Nikita shuffled her feet slightly, feeling more gauche than ever.

This is just fabulous. I'm modeling homeless chic and now it looks like I'm going to have to strike up a conversation with someone who looks like Halle Berry's twin sister.

Then the woman smiled at her and Nikita felt her awkwardness dissolving under her warmth gaze. She opened her mouth to speak but Joseph was too quick for her.

"No, mama. We were just talking about Holly and when her birthday is."

Nikita flushed with embarrassment. Great...now I sound like a potential child stalker. She cleared her throat noisily and held her now dirt-free hand out to the other woman.

"Your children are beautiful and they're not bothering me at all. My name is Nikita."

Joseph's mother's smile widened as she took Nikita's outstretched hand in hers. "I'm pleased to hear that my children are behaving themselves, and I am very pleased to meet you, Nikita. I'm Tahlia." Her lilting speech instantly made Nikita think of clear blue water and white sand. West Indian? Wherever she was from, Nikita could have sat and listened to her all day.

The boy put his hand on his mother's arm, almost too excited to get the words out. "She played soccer with me, Mama."

"Did she?" Tahlia smiled at her son indulgently before glancing up at Nikita again. Despite the other woman's friendliness, Nikita got the distinct impression that she was being quietly sized up, evaluated and pronounced judgment upon.

She evidently passed, for Tahlia smiled at her warmly and rolled her eyes. "Then you're a braver woman than I, Nikita. If you play soccer with him even once, you are then doomed to an eternity of grass stains and a sore backside."

They grinned at each other over the top of Joseph's head, and Nikita felt the ice packed around her heart thaw just a little.

The trick is to keep breathing, she thought to herself.