This story contains spoilers for Walk on By (including dialogue taken directly from that episode) and should be considered rated "R" for language. All the characters of LFN remain the property of WB, USA and Fireworks Entertainment. No copyright infringement is intended.

~*~*~*~

April, 1999

Checking my watch, I lean back against the wall of the ready room, grateful for the solid coolness against my spine. Exhaustion has crept into my very bones, but it's not from the high mission frequency. Ever since Jamie swaggered in to Section a week ago, my sleep has been fractured by dreams, images of the life I thought I'd left behind.

Oh god, what a mess. I feel as though everything has been turned on its head. Life in Section isn't exactly a haven of stability, but Jamie's arrival has knocked me sideways.

Michael's noticed I'm distracted, of course. That's no big surprise. The way he's been watching me lately, I don't think I could scratch my nose without him knowing it. But I have the sinking feeling he's also noticed the way Jamie keeps tagging after me. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was jealous. If I were in a better frame of mind, I'd find the notion appealing.

But right now, I'm too mixed up to appreciate the fact that Michael might be jealous. Encountering Jamie, a face from the past I never thought I'd see again, has sent me hurtling backwards in time. To a time I'd rather forget.

For the first few days, I was too surprised by Jamie's sudden arrival in Section to feel anything but uneasy. In the back of my mind, I knew I needed to tell Madeline about our shared past before she found out for herself. But I didn't. I felt almost protective towards Jamie.

Please note. I felt almost protective. Past tense. Not any more, not since our extraction of Groves last night. I'd like to put Jamie's mistake down to inexperience, but my gut tells me that callousness was the more likely cause. I mentally replay our exchange once again, remembering the utter disregard in Jamie's voice.

"I'm just going to drop him."

"Don't shoot, they could be innocent."

"No, I'm just going to shoot."

The more things change, the more they stay the same, I think bitterly. Jamie's still the same selfish jerk he was six years ago. He didn't care about anyone else then, and he doesn't care about anyone else now. His behaviour last night proved that. Worse than that, it also opened up a great big Pandora's box of memories, memories I'd much rather have left buried way, way down.

But it's too late. The past is closing in on me, chasing away the last six years effortlessly. I close my eyes as it all comes rushing back, pouring over me in a hot wave of misery. Waiting for Jamie to meet me in the ready room, I wrap my arms around myself and remember the night Sheridan died.

~*~*~*~*~

April, 1993

"C'mon, Nik, you've been staring at those fucking paintings for hours!" Sheridan tugs at the sleeve of my coat, trying to drag me away from the sidewalk artists. "I'm hungry, let's go."

I flash him a pleading smile. "Just a few more minutes...this stuff is amazing." I pull my arm out of his grasp and walk past the last few displays. Paintings. Sketches. Wood carvings. One day, I vow to myself. One day I'll carry one of these beautiful things home to my own place, and my biggest problem will be deciding where to put it.

I sigh and look down at my stained running shoes, the ripped hems of my too-big jeans. Yeah, right. Maybe I'll drive them home in the back seat of my BMW while I'm at it. Suddenly depressed, I shake my head and turn my back on the artwork.

At my side, Sheridan is literally bouncing up and down. "Finally. Let's go."

We walk along the streets, heading towards our street, hands in our pockets, elbows out. Kings of all we survey. Friends, and otherwise, call out from various nooks and crannies as we pass by. Sheila is sitting on the ground in front of the all-night liquor store, as usual. She says the pink neon light from the store sign is flattering to the skin tones. I guess when you're a smack addict, you've gotta use whatever you can. She gives us a bleary wave, and goes back to staring at the passing cars. Seeing Sheila always makes my stomach curl up at the edges, as though I've just swallowed a gallon of boiling water and my insides are shrinking. I'll never stick a needle in my body. Never. Never in a million years.

Sheridan is humming tunelessly under his breath, his normally easy stride rushed tonight. When we reach the corner, he stops, and shuffles his feet. "Listen Nik, I'll meet you at Jimmy Soo's in a little while, okay?" He gives me a little smile when he mentions our local hot dog cart owner, but then he looks away quickly, as though he doesn't want to meet my eyes.

"I thought you were hungry."

"I am." He fidgets for a few seconds, jerks his head toward the next block. "But I gotta see a man about a dog first."

His words give me a terrible feeling of déjà vu. I narrow my eyes at him. "What sort of dog?"

Sheridan doesn't answer. He just balls up his fists and shoves them deep into the pockets of his baggy trousers, very carefully avoiding my gaze.

"Sheridan?" I grab his arm, and wrench him around to face me. "No. Not this shit again. You told me you were clean!"

He looks at me with pain-filled, hollow eyes. "I am, I mean, I will be." When he licks his lips nervously, I notice how dry and cracked they are. A wave of guilt crashes over me. You were too busy looking at the pretty pictures to see that one of your best friends is going downhill fast.

"You're using again." My words come out flat, but I can hear the fear in my voice. The fear that one of these days I'm going to wake up, only to find that Sheridan didn't.

"Only a few times. And this is my last, I swear." Sheridan clutches at my arm, his eyes wide, anxious to convince me. Anxious to convince himself. "Jamie's got some great shit. Top grade gear. He said he'd cut me a deal if I tried it out for him." He smiles nervously, then looks away when he sees the look in my eyes.

Jamie. The slimiest, sneakiest player on the street. Tall, broad-shouldered, college jock handsome. I've lost count of the number of times that dirtbag has tried to hit on me. The thought of sleeping with him makes my skin crawl, but unfortunately saying 'no' only seems to turn him on more. Doesn't mean he spends his time pining over me, of course. He bunks down with a different girl every week, the girls that can't seem to see past the pretty packaging to the core of swamp slime that makes up Jamie's conscience.

And now Sheridan was following him around like a little lost puppy. Screw that. Angry beyond belief, I reach out and tug on Sheridan's chin-length black dreadlocks, yanking his head back. He might be two years older than me, but he's still a foot shorter. He has no choice but to look at me. "Don't give me that crap! Jamie's the biggest scumbag on this planet, and you know it. He'd say anything to get you to buy his shit!" Sheridan grunts in pain and tries to pull away from me, but I just tighten my grip on his hair and pull him a little closer. Passersby are beginning to stare, but I don't care. I can't let him do this.

"Jamie says jump and you say 'how high?' This is such bullshit, Sheridan!!"

"Nik, it's not like that!" Sheridan puts his hand flat on my chest, between my breasts, and shoves me away, hard. I stagger backwards, swearing under my breath. We stand staring at each other. It's freezing out here tonight, but Sheridan's forehead is gleaming with sweat. I wrap my arms around myself to keep warm, wishing I could wrap them around Sheridan to keep him alive, knowing he's already made up his mind.

God damn you, Jamie.

"Fine. Just go." Fear makes my tongue cruel. "I'm sick of being your nursemaid. Find someone else. I quit."

Sheridan just shakes his head at me, his eyes red-rimmed and empty. "Just one last time, I swear." He reaches out a hand to touch my arm, and then pulls it back. "I'm sorry, Nik." With that, he spins on his heel and strides off down the street, looking for his hit, looking for Jamie.

Blinking away angry tears, I turn and head for Jimmy Soo's. What I really want to do is follow Sheridan so I can beat the crap out of Jamie, but that would be a bad idea. The fact he wants to screw me won't stop Jamie from beating the crap out of me right back. He's bigger and stronger than me, and he fights dirty. All I can do is hang out and wait for Sheridan to resurface, wait for him to come floating back to our temporary digs with little pin eyes so I can keep him from throwing up all over place. Such a nice life I lead, I think angrily as I kick a crushed beer can along the pavement. Anything would be better than this.

Anything.

~*~*~*~*~

April, 1999

Standing in Section, six years later, my eyes fill with tears.

"Just one last time, Nik, I swear."

The tears spill over, blurring my vision. Oh, God. It had been the last time, the last hit Sheridan would ever buy. It had been hours later when I'd finally found him, lying in the stinking alley behind the pool hall. He was already cold, his lips a pale blue. The stench of sickness had been in the air, too strong for the light drizzling rain to wash away. My stomach heaving, I'd knelt down beside his body, touched his cold face with trembling fingers. His eyes had been still open, staring with bewilderment up into the leaden night sky. Bowing my head, I'd sat on the cold, wet ground and wept for him. Wept for myself. Wept for everything both of us would never have.

I never saw Jamie again after that night. He was always on the move, always one step ahead of anyone who might be looking for him with less than friendly intent. And a few months later, I walked down the wrong alley at the wrong time, and my life on the streets was over.

And now, seeing him has brought back that searing sense of loss, the empty ache of guilt and sorrow that I carried with me for so long after Sheridan's death. Brought back to life all those nasty little demons I usually pretend I've vanquished. And I hate him for making me remember.

When I hear footsteps in the hallway, I quickly wipe my eyes. There's no way I'm going to let him see me crying. Jamie saunters into the room, bravado oozing from every pore. "Hey." He looks around, his lips slightly pursed. "I didn't even know this area existed. I always wondered if there was someplace we could talk."

He's still as handsome as ever, with what my mother would have called a 'shit-eating grin' plastered across his pretty face. Classy lady, my mother. She and Jamie would have gotten along very well together. They could have discussed their philosophy of looking out for Number One, ad nauseum.

I look at his handsome, heartless face, and rage streaks though me. I push myself away from the wall and walk slowly toward him, my hands curled into tight, angry fists. "When I tell you to meet me at two minutes past the hour, that's when you show up."

He shrugs carelessly. "Whatever."

I step right up to him. Right in his face. I can hardly get the words out. I can feel my whole body shaking with anger. "This place tolerates no mistakes. You should get used to it."

Jamie only smirks at me again, and the rage simmering inside my heart boils over, spilling through my veins. I'm in the middle of Section, but I don't care. I grab a handful of his jacket and slam my fist into his gut, hitting him with the force of six years of pent-up, long-submerged despair and anger. He grunts softly and staggers back, but not before I manage to slap him across the face. Hard.

Panting, we stare at each other. Jamie's eyes are wide with shock. "What are you doing?" He takes a step toward me, malice glittering in his pale blue eyes. I grip the lapels of his jacket and pull his face close to mine, so close I can feel his hot breath on my face.

"I'm giving you a fraction of what you deserve for what you did to Sheridan." All my tears have gone. All I can hear in my voice is cold, hard anger.

Jamie now looks confused as well as angry. "Sheridan? What did I do to him?"

I tighten my grip on his jacket, furious. "Sold him dope that killed him." Jamie's expression becomes pinched, but he says nothing. "Recall?"

He doesn't answer me. I stare at him, trying to find some scrap of remorse in his empty, charming face, until I can no longer stand being so close to him. I let go of his jacket and push him away, my heart hammering against my ribs. Damn you, Jamie. Damn you for making me remember.

Jamie sighs dramatically. "I was messed up back then, Nikita." He gives me a knowing little smile. "I think we all were. Come on, you going to help me out here or not?"

My temples are throbbing with a headache that's blinding in its suddenness. "I don't know yet."

He smiles at me, a charming smile that has worked on women a lot wilier than I am. "I could use some help from a friend."

My anger flares again. "I'm not your friend. I was never your friend, Jamie."

He shrugs. "Well, you're the closest thing I've got in this place." Jamie looks at me carefully, his eyes hard. "Did you tell them I screwed up in the alley?"

I exhale deeply, trying to get my ricocheting emotions back under control. "No, not yet."

Another smug smile. "Good. Don't."

So much for controlling my temper. Taking two quick steps toward him, I hiss into his face, startled by the venom in my voice. "You don't talk to me like that, Jamie." I suck in a deep, gulping breath, trying to keep it together.

He recoils slightly in the face of my attack, but recovers quickly. He grabs my arm, and gives it a little shake. "You want to do this?"

I only stare at him coldly. He hesitates for a few seconds, and then turns on the charm. His voice drops a few octaves, and the smile is back on his face. "You know one thing you were always good at? Making deals. Pack of cigarettes, place to crash. Remember?"

Unimpressed by his attempt at conversation, I fold my arms and give him a hard look. "What's your deal?"

A calculating look gleams in his eyes. "It's real simple. You help me, I'll help you."

A feeling of hopelessness floods my heart. Jamie will always be Jamie. And Sheridan will always be dead. Nothing I do or say now can change either of those unhappy truths. Sick of the sight of him, I shake my head at Jamie and turn away. As I walk away from him, I throw one last barb over my shoulder. "You don't have anything that I want."

It might just be my imagination, but it sounds as though Jamie snickers softly before he answers. I brush it off and keep walking, not knowing his answer is about to tear a new hole in my heart, and make my knees buckle under me. That it will make me swing around to face him, the blood freezing in my veins.

"What about your mother?

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