"Michael."

Michael halted in mid-stride at the sound of Madeline's voice, stopping in the middle of the hallway, unable to suppress a sigh. Two days of crawling through a Central American jungle in search of a terrorist stronghold and a protracted gun battle with said terrorists, resulting in the deaths of two members of his team and the wounding of four others, only to discover that their quarry had long flown the nest, and he was exhausted and badly in need of a shower, hands still caked with dirt and blood from giving first aid to the wounded team members. Two months had passed since he had been injured during the mission against Xavier and he'd only begun to recover his old stamina, the healing process far slower than he was accustomed to. Even after the Section had come to retrieve him from Magda's house--three days after his arrival--he'd spent a week in Medlab, recuperating, before being allowed to go home and stay there for another week.

Pushing hair from his forehead with the back of his hand and leaving a streak of brown on his skin, he turned to face Madeline as she came up to him, wearing a dark pant suit, brown hair curling around a softly smiling face, brown eyes with a deceptive warmth to them. An artist would of portrayed her as a Mona Lisa or even a Madonna but he himself saw her more as a Greek Siren or even one of the Furies, luring the unsuspecting in with her soft, inviting manner and wreaking destruction in her wake.

He shook his head a little to clear it of the thought and schooled his expression into a calm mask, all but folding his hands behind him as he drew his weary body up to attention. "Yes?"

"I'd like to see you in my office." she said softly.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Do you mind if I clean up first?" he asked dryly, gesturing at himself.

Her mouth curved in a smile, eyes crinkling with amusement. "By all means. An hour." Turning on her heel she went back the way she came. Heaving another sigh, Michael trudged down the hall, stopping at this office to grab clean clothes before going to the gym and the showers, thinking longingly of the bed awaiting him at home and wondering what it was that Madeline wanted of him this time.

Entering the gym he passed Walter and was unsurprised when the older man would not meet his eyes, jaw hardening as he bent his head to ostensibly study something on the floor, visibly shunning Michael. In a small deep part of himself it hurt to have Walter so antagonistic towards him but it was accepted as penance, he could no more tell Walter that Nikita was alive than he could Birkhoff--he himself would face cancellation for helping Nikita escape the Section and he would not draw the other two in with him. And knowing she was safe and free made it easier to face the coldness from the pair...

Grabbing two towels, he went into the showers and set his clean clothing down on a bench, taking the towels to drape them across the door. Sitting down on the bench he unlaced boots and set them aside, stripped off socks and vest to toss them beside boots, pulling shirt up over his head, sore muscles twinging in protest, dropped shirt atop vest and stepped into the shower to strip off the rest of his clothing, tossing them out and onto the floor. Turning on the water as hot as he could bear, he stood under it, letting it wash down over him, thinking that he could spend an hour just standing under the stream, feeling it relax tired, tense muscles, allowed himself to stand there for a few minutes before he reached for soap, scrubbing away dirt and grime, applying shampoo to hair and working it in.

Rinsing off, he kept eyes closed as he reached for the towel, groping fingers encountering it only to feel it slip away, presumably to fall on the floor. Muttering a curse, he wiped at his eyes and squinted as he opened the stall door, starting to bend to retrieve the towel.

"This belong to you?" A tanned arm snaked around the partially opened door, a woman's voice sounding amused, a teasing lilt to the voice, extending the towel. Silently Michael took the towel and wrapped it around his waist, tying it firmly closed, pulled down the second smaller towel to rub his hair as he stepped out of the shower.

A young woman--mid to late twenties--leaned casually against the wall, arms folded across her chest, amusement lighting pixish features, long dark red hair hanging down past her shoulders, green eyes glinting with mischief as they roamed over him, unabashed in her perusal of him, giving a small sigh as her eyes stopped at the towel and then lifted back to meet his level gaze. "You must be Michael."

He gave a slight nod, unconcerned by her steady gaze as he dried off arms and torso, gave damp hair one last rub before setting the towel down with the pile of dirty clothes. Hands on his towel, he looked up at her, eyebrows raised inquiringly, and for a moment thought that she was going to stay while he removed the towel but then she gave an aggravated sigh and moved away, back behind the shelter of a wall, allowing him his privacy.

"I'm Keely." she called, sticking her head briefly around the corner to see he stood with his back to her as he unwound the towel and tossed it aside, getting a nice backside glimpse before she turned her head away.

Pulling on briefs and then pants, Michael zipped them and grabbed the shirt, pulling it on and letting it hang open as he sat down on the bench to don socks and boots. Glancing around the corner again to see him mostly dressed, Keely moved back to stand in her former position and watch him. Raising his head he shoved damp hair back from his face and asked, "You want something?"

"I don't think I know you well enough yet to tell you what I want." said Keely wickedly, getting nothing more than a blink in reaction. A cool one, he was, but there was always a fire lurking somewhere deep inside even the coolest ones...might be hard to melt that exterior but oh what fun there would be in the trying of it. "Just got transferred in, I'm making the rounds, looking the place over, meeting some...interesting people."

Straightening and rising from the bench, Michael buttoned his shirt and tugged fingers through damp hair, wishing he'd thought to bring a comb. Keely watched him in amusement and he resolutely ignored her as he bent to retrieve his dirty clothing, wrapping them in a bundle before leaving the shower area, Keely trailing behind him as he went down the hallway to Madeline's office. At the door he glanced back at her, frowning slightly to see she was still there, curious as to what was going on, and Keely slipped into the office ahead of him, flashing him a grin, Michael following more slowly.

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

Madeline lifted her head to glance from one to the other, smiling slightly. "I see you've already met."

"Oh, aye." said Keely with a nod, smiling widely as Michael came to stand beside her, looking from Madeline to her and then back, eyebrows upraised in mute question.

"Keely has just been transferred here after completing training at the West Coast HQ. We think she will be a great asset." Madeline smiled warmly at the younger woman and then turned her attention to Michael. "We'd like you to take her under your wing, so to speak. She will be accompanying you on any of your missions so that she can learn from your expertise. I'd like you to show her around the Section, acquaint her with the facilities. Consider her to be your shadow."

Michael looked sideways at Keely, who gave him a cheerful grin, and then gave a curt nod. "We'll start first thing in the morning, 5:00 AM at my office. Don't be late." Without waiting for Madeline's dismissal, he left the room.

Once he had gone the grin faded from Keely's face, her expression becoming all business as she went to stand before Madeline's desk, hands folded behind her as she waited for the older woman to speak. Taking a sip of her tea, Madeline set the cup down and raised her head, brown eyes steely. "You are to remain with him at all times. I want a daily report on all his activities, no matter how trivial they may seem."

"I'm just to observe then? And report back to you?" asked Keely steadily, knowing better than to ask what she was supposed to be watching for. She hadn't been with the Section for the last three years as a field operative and not learned a thing...

"Yes, observe. I'm the only one to see the reports." Keely nodded and started to turn, stopping in mid-motion as Madeline said, "Be careful with him. He is a very intelligent man and he can be dangerous as well--don't let him suspect you."

Keely grinned and placed a hand on her chest. "Me? A little colleen from County Cork? Don't worry, he'll be so annoyed with me that he won't suspect I'm anything other than a h---- little recruit." She gave Madeline a little wave as she left the office, the cheerful smile still fixed to her face, and Madeline watched her go, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It wouldn't be as easy to fool Michael as Keely thought but it would give her good practise and keep Michael on his toes, maybe enough that he might actually stumble and give her a clue as to what exactly had transpired at Xavier's warehouse. There was something he was keeping from them about that episode and she didn't like mysteries that she herself did not weave.

Sitting back in her chair, she sipped at her tea and contemplated the file of a new recruit.

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

It was late afternoon, the lunch crowd gone, and the number of patrons at the Strand was sparse enough that Nikita was able to snag a booth next to the huge picture windows that offered a magnificent view of the beach, seagulls swooping through the air and waves crashing on the beach, a few hardy surfers out braving the cool weather and even colder water. As she waited for Sarah to meet her for lunch, she sipped a glass of white wine and looked out the windows, watching a couple stroll hand in hand down the beach, the woman leaning over to lay her head on the man's shoulder, smiled a little and turned her head away.

When she had gotten off the bus here in Santa Maria, with a two hour layover until there was a bus to take her farther north, she hadn't really been expecting to stay, had been just killing time, wandering down the boardwalk and beach, but one look at the ocean and she knew she had to stay. Growing up in the city as she had, she had never really seen the ocean until she had joined the Section and it had always held a fascination for her, the smell of salt in the air, the soft sounds of waves crashing on the beach, the call of the seagulls. She had enough money to get an apartment and to live on until she was able to find a job in a bookstore just off the boardwalk, simply called The Book Shoppe, a short walk from her apartment.

In the time since she had left Michael at Magda's house, she had called the number he'd given her twice, just to leave a message and let him know she was all right, wishing there was a way that she too could be sure he was also well. She still kept the card in her purse, just in case she needed to get in touch with him, to keep up the illusion that there was still a connection with him.

"Late, sorry, too much stuff to do--" Sarah popped down in the booth opposite Nikita, slightly breathless, running a hand through short brown hair as she set down her purse.

"That's okay, I haven't been waiting long." Nikita smiled as the waitress came to deposit another menu, watching Sarah in amusement as she blew a strand of brown hair out of her eyes and opened the menu. "How'd the meeting go?"

"I am going to KILL Colin." said Sarah grimly, shaking her head. "Not only was he late, he screwed up on the presentation, lost half my sketches."

Nikita made a sound of sympathy. "I know how hard you worked on that--"

"Luckily, Randall is the king of bulls---so we still landed the account. I just have to redo all my sketches--I still have the rough drafts so it'll only take me one all-night session." Sarah took a deep breath and let it out in an explosive sigh, smiling with false brightness.. "So how was your day?"

"Nowhere near as exciting as yours." responded Nikita with a laugh. "Caught one of the college kids trying to lift a book, I...convinced him it wasn't a cool thing to do." One thing she could thank the Section for was teaching her the art of intimidation, the kid had been a football player, a little taller than her and much bigger, all set to bluster it out, and all it had taken was a few words and a steely glare to get him to fold and give up the book, eliciting as well a sworn promise that he wouldn't come back. She had turned to see the owner Jim watching her and had expected for him to take her aside, chastise her, but he'd merely grinned and applauded.

"One more screw-up and Colin is going to be sleeping with the fishes." said Sarah darkly, scowling at the menu and finally laying it down as the waitress approached, pad in hand. "Caesar salad with French dressing."

"I'll have the fish and chips." said Nikita, handing over the menu, smiling at the waitress as she nodded, eyes following her as she wound through the restaurant, hearing Sarah talking across from her, complaining about Colin, making the appropiate noises as she glanced over the patrons of the restaurant, an automatic habit even eight months out of the Section.

"So Randall is going to have a big party, there's even going to be a band--want to come?"

"Sounds great." said Nikita distractedly, eyes focusing on one table, catching a flash of a face as the man facing him moved a little, something oddly familiar about, leaned a little over in the booth to get a better look but could only see a man's back. A rustle of movement and squeak of chair as the one she sought moved his chair, bringing him clearly into her line of sight, and she went still as she remembered where she had seen him before, her hand going to pick up the wine glass so that she could take a sip and ease the sudden dryness in her mouth, forcing herself to look away.

The waitress returned with Sarah's salad and she dug in with gusto, not noticing that Nikita had gone very quiet, eyes casually going back to the table and to the man she had seen, to be absolutely certain that it was who she thought. A man that was supposed to be dead, caught in the explosion of a bomb he had placed in a London hotel, hair darker but she--and a lot of other Section operatives--had studied the file intensely enough to know Trevelyan when she saw him. Responsible for more than a dozen bombings across Europe and those were only the ones the Section could tie him to, suspecting him of even more, with a death toll nearing two hundred. For him to be here, in the States, unwatched and unknown, did not bode well...

The setting down of a plate in front of her brought her attention back to the booth and Sarah, who was staring curiously at her, fork poised between salad bowl and mouth, a chunk of lettuce attached to it. "Something wrong?"

"I just...forgot something that I need to do. Very important--" Digging in her purse, Nikita withdrew a ten dollar bill and dropped it on the table, took one last sip of her wine as she got to her feet. "Really sorry, I'll see you later, okay?"

"O-kay..." said Sarah, sounding a little puzzled, and Nikita flashed her a smile as she left the booth, heading out of the restaurant and down the boardwalk, looking for a relatively private phone to make a call to Michael.

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

In the last few days, Michael's patience had been put sorely to the test as Keely attached herself to his side in leech-like fashion, always beside him with a smile, flirting with a cheerful abandon, playing the part of the exuberant Irish lass. And it was a part, designed to throw him off balance, make him think that her sudden appearances were a matter of coincedence, not a carefully plotted surveillance. To add to it, there was suddenly all sorts of little things that needed his attention, requiring long hours at the Section, hours that Keely spent with him, trailing behind him like a faithful little puppy.

Madeline had him under surveillance, that much was certain, but what she suspected he could not be sure; it would be just like her to keep her true intents hidden, up until the moment she sprang it on him, and it was another test of his control to not react, to accept it all calmly. He had even taken to sweeping his apartment nightly for bugs and other electronic devices, to watching for a tail as he headed home each night, forcing himself to stick to the same route so as not to alert Madeline, even if she might already suspect that he knew.

Other than the irritation of her constant flirting, he had found Keely to be a capable operative and that, as much as anything, had alerted him to the fact that she was not what she seemed. She was too good, too quick, to be a recruit just out of training, too self-assured and competent, even given her personality, she would of been just a little bit uncertain as she supposedly came on her "first" mission.

So busy he had forgotten about checking the voice mail for a message from Nikita and he couldn't do that at the Section, had to use a pay phone to access it, finding no time at all to do it during the course of the day. As the day wore on, around 6:00--while Keely was ostensibly working out with the sensei but most likely giving the daily report to Madeline--Michael grabbed his coat and left his office, shutting the door, planning to stop for take out at the Golden Dragon and use a pay phone there. Using his key to lock it he turned to find Keely standing right behind him and could not suppress the flicker of irritation that crossed his features, Keely grinning, seemingly oblivious to it.

"Knocking off for the day?" she asked brightly.

"Yes." Pulling on his coat he started down the hallway, closing his eyes briefly as he heard her following him, running a little to catch up with his longer stride.

"How bout dinner? My treat."

"Some other time, maybe." he said as politely as he could.

Keely moved in front of him and came to a stop, forcing him to stop as well, either that or push her aside. "You don't like me, do you?"

"Does that matter to you?" Michael asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, it does. You don't even really know me, I'd hate for you to make a snap judgement on me--it really wouldn't be fair to me." she added, with just a touch of hurt, expression very serious.

Michael felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth, a smile of admiration, but resisted it, keeping his expression blank. Clever of her, to use his sense of fair play against him, to get him to reconsider his judgement of her by intimating that he was being unfair to make such presumptions. An old ploy, one that he'd seen many recruits under his training try to use, not knowing how useless it was given that he didn't allow emotions to color his decisions.

"Dinner then?" persisted Keely, unable to suppress a triumphant smile, sensing that he was melting just a little.

"You won't take no for an answer, will you?" he asked rhetorically and she gave a shake of her head, smile widening as she saw victory at hand. Michael smiled ruefully and extended his arm, Keely tucking her own through his, and led the way down the hall.

**********

In the last few days, Michael's patience had been put sorely to the test as Keely attached herself to his side in leech-like fashion, always beside him with a smile, flirting with a cheerful abandon, playing the part of the exuberant Irish lass. And it was a part, designed to throw him off balance, make him think that her sudden appearances were a matter of coincedence, not a carefully plotted surveillance. To add to it, there was suddenly all sorts of little things that needed his attention, requiring long hours at the Section, hours that Keely spent with him, trailing behind him like a faithful little puppy.

Madeline had him under surveillance, that much was certain, but what she suspected he could not be sure; it would be just like her to keep her true intents hidden, up until the moment she sprang it on him, and it was another test of his control to not react, to accept it all calmly. He had even taken to sweeping his apartment nightly for bugs and other electronic devices, to watching for a tail as he headed home each night, forcing himself to stick to the same route so as not to alert Madeline, even if she might already suspect that he knew.

Other than the irritation of her constant flirting, he had found Keely to be a capable operative and that, as much as anything, had alerted him to the fact that she was not what she seemed. She was too good, too quick, to be a recruit just out of training, too self-assured and competent, even given her personality, she would of been just a little bit uncertain as she supposedly came on her "first" mission.

So busy he had forgotten about checking the voice mail for a message from Nikita and he couldn't do that at the Section, had to use a pay phone to access it, finding no time at all to do it during the course of the day. As the day wore on, around 6:00--while Keely was ostensibly working out with the sensei but most likely giving the daily report to Madeline--Michael grabbed his coat and left his office, shutting the door, planning to stop for take out at the Golden Dragon and use a pay phone there. Using his key to lock it he turned to find Keely standing right behind him and could not suppress the flicker of irritation that crossed his features, Keely grinning, seemingly oblivious to it.

"Knocking off for the day?" she asked brightly.

"Yes." Pulling on his coat he started down the hallway, closing his eyes briefly as he heard her following him, running a little to catch up with his longer stride.

"How bout dinner? My treat."

"Some other time, maybe." he said as politely as he could.

Keely moved in front of him and came to a stop, forcing him to stop as well, either that or push her aside. "You don't like me, do you?"

"Does that matter to you?" Michael asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, it does. You don't even really know me, I'd hate for you to make a snap judgement on me--it really wouldn't be fair to me." she added, with just a touch of hurt, expression very serious.

Michael felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth, a smile of admiration, but resisted it, keeping his expression blank. Clever of her, to use his sense of fair play against him, to get him to reconsider his judgement of her by intimating that he was being unfair to make such presumptions. An old ploy, one that he'd seen many recruits under his training try to use, not knowing how useless it was given that he didn't allow emotions to color his decisions.

"Dinner then?" persisted Keely, unable to suppress a triumphant smile, sensing that he was melting just a little.

"You won't take no for an answer, will you?" he asked rhetorically and she gave a shake of her head, smile widening as she saw victory at hand. Michael smiled ruefully and extended his arm, Keely tucking her own through his, and led the way down the hall.

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

Rather than the Chinese take-out Michael had been expecting to have for dinner, Keely opted for something a little more elegant, taking him to Rochester's; they ate dinner in virtual silence, Keely offering a comment or two, trying to draw him out a little and giving up the effort when he refused to be drawn. As they finished eating, Keely glanced out across the restaurant and to the dance floor, shifted her attention to Michael, a smile playing on her lips.

"Dance with me." Part command, part challenge, and he was never one to resist a thrown gauntlet, taking one last sip of wine before rising from the booth, extending his hand to her, drawing her up from the booth and leading her out onto the dance floor. Holding her hand, he pulled her close as they moved on the dance floor, his other hand going to her waist.

A wicked smile curving her lips, she placed a hand on his chest and let it trail down past his stomach, fingers trailing across his groin, watching him intently for his reaction. Nothing, not even a flicker in his eyes, and she allowed her fingers to linger, turning him a little so that his body blocked the view of what she was doing from the other dancers, moving closer so that they were just inches apart, openly carressing.

Two can play that game, he thought, and leaned forward to kiss her, a mere brush of his lips against hers, pulling back even as she started to respond, frowning slightly at him. His hand slid under the back of her blouse and then around to the front as he leaned in again, Keely meeting him halfway, mouth pressing hungrily against his, flinching back a little as his hand slid up her blouse to close on one breast, squeezing gently, thumb rubbing across her breast through the silky material of her bra, teasing nipple erect.

And just as quickly he withdrew his hand, pulling back from the kiss, Keely standing still for a moment, eyes half-closed, lips parted, a little flushed, rousing as the music ended and there was a light round of applause. Blinking she looked up at him, seeing him watching her with that cool expression, and she said breathlessly, "Bastard." But she smiled ruefully as she said it, taking away the sting of it.

The music started up again and this time he maintained a distance between them as he took the lead. "Are we done with this part of the game then?" he asked as he guided her across the floor.

Keely laughed, a little shakily but with admiration as well. "I yield--you've obviously had more experience at this than I have. No more of the love-starved recruit act, I promise."

"You're not a recruit." Not a question, just a statement, and Keely shook her head at herself, thinking that she should have listened to Madeline when she had told her to be careful, that he was very intelligent and dangerous. When Madeline had given her this assignment, she'd asked for a little background on him, a glance at his file, only to be met with a stony look and a flat tone as Madeline told her it wasn't necessary. Even though he probably wouldn't believe her if she told him so, she was as much in the dark as he was in regards to why Madeline was having her watch him.

"You're quick." And now he knew and it was going to be harder to keep tabs on him, to stick with her assignment--abruptly she pulled away and headed back for the table, Michael following her at a distance. She sat down at the table and took a healthy gulp of her wine, looking up at Michael as he picked up his coat and put it on. "Going without dessert?" she asked with a half-hearted smile.

"It's been a long day." Opening his wallet he withdrew a bill and dropped it on the table before walking away without so much as another glance at her. Taking another sip of her wine, Keely turned to the dessert menu and contemplated the offerings, looking for something terribly decadent to get rid of this vague feeling of disappointment.

In the lobby, Michael stopped to use the payphone, depositing a quarter in the coin slot and punching in the number for his voice mail, giving the four digit code when it was requested, turning slightly to look back at the restaurant and mark where Keely was sitting, listening as the mechanical voice announced he had three messages.

A vague sound of voices in the background and then Nikita's voice, speaking quickly. "It's me. I have something for you, something important--I need you to call me back soon as you get the message. I'm calling you from a pay phone, the number is 408-555-1231. Uhh--it's Tuesday, 2:12 Pacific time, I'll wait here till 3:30."

Tuesday and this was Thursday...he rubbed his forehead wearily as he waited for the next message, Nikita again, sounding a little harried. "Michael, call me at 408-555-3890. It's urgent." The recording placed the day as Tuesday as well, later in the evening. The third message Nikita as well, telling him again to call her, dated Wednesday this time, telling him that she would be waiting for his call, presumably the number she'd given that of her home number. From the area code it was a Northern California number, somewhere around the Bay Area...

Using his calling card, Michael dialed the number, shifting position as a man entered the rest room right by him, moving back as much as the phone cord allowed. Two rings and it was picked up, Nikita's voice saying, "Hello?"

He came very close to saying "Josephine" but caught himself, said instead, "It's me."

A sigh of relief. "I've been waiting for you to call. I've seen a former...acquaintance of ours that I'm sure you'd be very interested in meeting again."

"Who would that be?" he asked lightly, picking up on the slight strain in her voice. Important indeed...

"Trevelyan." said Nikita succinctly.

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

That gave him pause. "Are you certain?"

"It's him." she said with absolute conviction.

There had always been doubts as to whether or not Trevelyan had died in that bombing two years ago but no evidence to the contrary. Dental records had matched with those of the deceased but that in itself was not conclusive, not in the computer age where records could be easily switched or altered, and there had been no medical records to which a DNA test could be matched...

In the wake of his silence, Nikita continued, "I followed him from the restaurant and tracked him to a house--"

"Do not approach him." said Michael sharply, turning away as a group of patrons drifted past him, lowering his voice. "Stay out of it, I'll come soon as I can." Pinching the bridge of his nose he closed his eyes as he tried to think. He could take this to Madeline and Operations, pass off the information as coming from a contact, but with Keely already watching him and reporting back on his movements they might press him for the identity of his contact--better to go off on his own, gather what intel he could, and contact the nearest substation for backup.

"Michael?" prompted Nikita.

"I'll try to leave tonight--I'll call from the airport for your location."

"I'll be here." An awkward pause and then she said brusquely, "I'll see you then." A click and he hung up as the dial tone came on, turning to go out of the restaurant and coming face to face with Keely.

"So--where are we going?" she asked brightly.

Michael merely looked back at her, eyes cold. "We are not going anywhere." A stress on the word "we" as he moved past her, Keely following him out of the restaurant, hurrying to keep up as he strode for his car.

"We can play this one of two ways, Michael." she called as he stopped at his car, keys in hand, and he lifted his head to regard her, his expression sending a chill down her spine, but she went on doggedly. "You can leave me behind, in which case I will have to go to Madeline and tell her that you made a phone call to person unknown and immediately hopped on a plane to meet that person. Of course Madeline would be very interested to know all about that." His mouth tightened, the only sign of reaction, and Keely added, "Or you can take me with you. Your decision."

Michael moved around the car and to where she stood, Keely taking an uncertain step back, the blank mask firmly in place but a touch of menace in his voice as he said softly, "There's no way you can stay at the Section and not be under my authority during a mission. If you cross me in this, there will be a time and a place--now or in the future--where your life is going to depend on me. I have a long memory and a great deal of patience, Keely."

Keely swallowed hard, her imagination having no trouble in supplying an image of such a situation, and she said, managing to keep her voice from shaking, "If you take me with you, I won't report to Madeline."

"Why?"

"Because, like it or not, she's made me your partner and I stick by my partners." He stared at her hard, no doubt looking for the least sign of insincerity, and then gestured at the passenger side of the car.

"Get in." he ordered tersely as he unlocked the door to his car, flipping the button to unlock her side as well. Getting in, Keely wondered if this was wise to push him, if it wasn't better to just stay here, but then Michael started the car and left the parking lot, heading for the airport.

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

Parking his car in long term parking, Michael popped the trunk and got out of the car, retrieving the suitcase placed there and shutting the trunk. Laying the suitcase on the trunk, he opened it and removed his gun from the shoulder holster to tuck it in with the spare clothing, glanced over at Keely to see her silently extending her own gun. Taking it from her, he placed it in the suitcase and extracted a slim black case from the pocket in the lid of the suitcase, closing it and carrying it with him as he started for the airport.

"Must have been a boy scout." quipped Keely as she hurried to catch up with him, opening her purse to check and make sure she had credit cards and ID with her. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see." he replied brusquely as they reached the airport, glass doors sliding open at their approach. Michael moved to the first pay phone and Keely trailed behind him, glancing around them, the airport a little busier than she had expected it to be for a Thursday night. Digging in coat pockets for pen and paper and only able to find pen, Michael looked to Keely inquiringly and she opened her purse, extracting a small notepad and handing it over to him, he nodding in thanks, tucking phone between chin and shoulder as he punched in a series of numbers, laying the pad on the small ledge under the phone.

He listened for a moment and then said, "I'm at the airport. Give me your location." Keely took a step closer, craning her neck to look curiously at the pad, and Michael gave her a look, Keely raising her hands and moving back so that she was out of ear shot, giving him a little privacy. He nodded, scrawling something down on the pad and then closing the pad, turning his head to scan the counters for various airlines, checking the displays for departing flights, looked down at his watch. "Okay...I probably won't make it in till late--I'll call you in the morning to set up a meet." His expression softened just a little as he nodded at something the person on the other line said, saying in turn, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Hanging up, Michael went straight for the American Airlines counter, Keely following him, a few minutes standing in line and then he went up to the counter, a pretty young brunette standing on the other side, the smile on her face as she saw him not the least bit artificial. Michael placed his arms on the counter, leaning a little forward, and from the widening of the girl's smile, Keely could guess that he was turning on the charm as he asked, "What's the quickest way to get to Oakland, California from here?"

The quickest way turned out to be a flight to Chicago, leaving at 8:47 PM, and from there a flight leaving for Oakland just about an hour after they were scheduled to land, cutting it a little close and not allowing for any kind of delays. When it had come time to pay, Michael had gestured for Keely to use her credit card and she had acquiesced with a sour look at him, knowing exactly why he was doing it; if there was any trouble down the line there was no way she could get out of a share of the responsibility, especially with the transaction record showing that she'd bought the tickets. And of course they might be looking for activity on his card but not hers, considering she was supposed to be his watchdog...

At 8:30 the call came to board and they made their way onto the plane, Keely with a window seat and Michael seated beside her. Watching the other people board, Keely felt a nervous flutter start up in her stomach and she leaned over to say to Michael, "Which part of the plane is it you should be sitting in if the plane goes down? Tail section?"

In the midst of unzipping the black case, he looked at her sideways, mouth twitching as if he were suppressing a smile. "Afraid to fly?"

"Afraid to crash." she muttered, wondering when they started to come around and ask if anyone wanted a drink. "Ever been in a plane crash?" she asked, trying for a light tone and failing.

This time Michael did smile. "I try to jump out of the planes before they crash." he said dryly.

"Didn't happen to bring along a couple of parachutes, did you?" She gripped the armrest as the plane started to move.

"Relax. I've never been on a commercial flight that crashed." He'd been on a few Section transports that had been shot down, of course, but both times he'd walked away from it, the first time with minor injuries and the second without even a scratch--but he doubted she'd find that reassuring. "Just lay back and close your eyes."

"What you can't see, can't hurt you, huh?" But she did as he suggested, leaning the seat back and closing her eyes, still gripping the arm rest as the plane took off, her grip easing once they were airborne. Cautiously she opened her eyes to see the plane was still in one piece and managed to relax, bit by bit, wiping at the sweat on her forehead. The takeoffs were the worst, not to mention the landings, and though the in between made her a little nervous, it was bearable.

Drawing in a deep breath she turned in her chair to watch Michael, his head bent over the screen of a PDA, studying it. "What's in Oakland?"

"Contact." he said distractedly, hitting a key, eyes flicking up and down as he read the screen.

"And the contact has something for you...?" she prompted.

"Need to know basis." he said shortly.

"Right." She was tempted to ask him if he trusted her but she already knew the answer to that; she doubted that there were very many people Michael trusted. And so she let it go, raised her hand as the flight attendant came by and, despite the look Michael gave her, ordered a drink to calm herself.

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

They arrived at Chicago with barely enough time to board, a rougher flight this time, and as soon as they got off the plane, Keely would have liked to drop down and kiss the carpeted floor but she restrained herself, hurrying to keep pace with Michael as he made his way through the airport and to baggage claim.

"See about renting a car while I get the suitcase." said Michael over his shoulder to her and she nodded, going off to the nearest car rental. With his attention divided between her and the baggage carousel, Michael used a pay phone to call Nikita again, getting the name of the city--Santa Maria--she lived in and an idea of how far it was from Oakland. At least ninety minutes from the airport and by the time they drove there it would be too late to find a place to stay--better to get a hotel room close to the airport and leave early in the morning.

With suitcase in hand he met Keely as she returned from the rental agency, car keys in hand, and with the rental car they drove to the nearest airport to take adjoining rooms. It occurred to him briefly to leave her here, take the car and meet Nikita on his own, but then she'd end up going back to Madeline and the last thing he needed was the Section looking for him with Nikita in the vicinity. So he stayed in his hotel room, getting a total of four hours of sleep, spending the remaining few hours till dawn looking over the list of substations in this area, downloaded onto the PDA from the main computer. Closest one was in Sausalito, just outside of San Francisco--he noted the phone number and the appropriate codes for contact and shut the PDA off, going to rouse Keely.

Half an hour later and they were on the road, a yawning Keely seated beside him drinking coffee, delayed a little by the morning traffic but arriving at Santa Maria just a little over two hours later. First thing they stopped by another hotel to get rooms and as Keely followed him into his room, plopping down on the bed, he set his suitcase down and removed first her gun and then his, slipping his into the shoulder holster and leaving the PDA in the suitcase.

"I'm starved." said Keely with a yawn. "Breakfast?"

"You go ahead--I'll be down in a few minutes."

Nodding, Keely left the room and once she was gone, Michael took a moment to scrawl a note, telling her he would be back by afternoon at latest, leaving it lying on the bed with the keys to the rental car, and left the hotel, taking a taxi.

He met Nikita in a small cafe just off the boardwalk, had stood for a moment unobserved to watch her as she sat at a table, sipping from a mug, looking far more at peace than she ever had before, all the old tension and unhappiness melted away. For that alone, to see the genuine smile light her beautiful features as she saw him, anything that he had to do seemed worthwhile, any burden borne made all the lighter. She rose from the table, extending her hands, and he took her hands, giving her a kiss on the cheek, Nikita moving around the table to give him a fierce hug. He stood still for a moment, a little startled, and then put his arms around her to return the embrace.

"How have you been?" she asked, pulling back to look him over. Thin still but not as bad as the last time she had seen him, with that same calm but a little life behind it, a warmth rarely glimpsed.

"Good. You?"

"Close enough to perfect." Nikita found herself grinning like an idiot, despite the seriousness of the situation, obscurely glad to see him again, found herself wanting to just keep touching him but knowing how he felt about that, restraining herself. A million things she wanted to ask, people to ask about--Walter, Birkhoff--but instead she kept to the business at hand, reaching for her purse and withdrawing a folded piece of paper, Michael moving the chair closer to sit down beside her as she spread the paper out. She found it hard to concentrate with him sitting so near, leaning close to her, one arm draped casually across the back of her chair, a lock of hair hanging down as he bent his head over the paper, and her fingers itched to push it back behind his ear but she forced herself to look down at the paper, clearing her throat.

"I followed him to a house--1217 Meadowbrook Lane. I watched the house a little, didn't want to be too obvious about it. It's set back a bit off the road by a driveway, there's no visible security around it." She had sketched the house as best she could from memory, a two-story Victorian, a genteel shabbiness about it.

Studying the paper briefly, Michael nodded and folded it, sticking it into the inside breast pocket of his leather jacket, withdrew pen and paper and wrote down the name of his hotel and room number. "This is where I'm staying."

Taking the piece of paper with a nod, Nikita looked down at it for a moment, sudden realization hitting her, reaching out to grasp his sleeve as he started to rise and stopping him, Michael looking down at her. "You're going in alone?"

"It's a cold op, Nikita. I'm just going in to gather intel."

She couldn't suppress a flash of irritation. "You should have backup." But she knew why he wouldn't, why he was going out on his own--because he didn't want her associated with this.

"I'll call you." he promised, as much concession as he'd make.

"You'd better." she responded grimly, still frowning as she watched him leave the cafe.

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

Keely had sat down in the hotel restaurant for half an hour, cooling her heels, before going back upstairs and to Michael's room. It didn't take much jimmying to get his door open and she saw immeaditly that the room was empty, went to the bed and picked up the note that lay there, reading it aloud.

"Keely--back by afternoon by latest. Wait here." Crumpling the note she threw it on the floor and sat down on the bed. Ditched me, she thought in annoyance, I should of seen it coming too. First impulse told her to call it in, that since he'd taken off, any promises were null and void, but a cooler, more rational voice told her that he wouldn't go into an untenable situation without backup. And so she made herself sit back and wait.

Nikita spent the day sitting at her apartment waiting for Michael's call, unable to concentrate on anything, book or TV. Made herself eat lunch and sit on the couch to wait again, time dragging slowly by, and by the time it was 3:47 and more than six hours had passed since she'd seen Michael, she gathered keys and coat, locking the door behind her and heading for the hotel he was staying at.

Taking the elevator up to the second floor, she stopped at 212 and knocked on the door, standing in front of it with hands shoved into her pockets, glancing up and down the hallway. The door opened and a young woman stood there, long dark red hair pulled back in a pony tail, pretty in a gamine way, dressed casually in dark green slacks and dark green tweed blazer with ivory blouse, staring back at her, expression curious.

"Sorry--I was looking for someone..."

Even as she started to back away the young woman said, "For Michael?" At the wariness in Nikita's eyes, she said, with a disarming smile, "I'm Keely. You must be his contact."

Reason told her to turn around and walk out of here, it was suicidally stupid of her to get back in with the Section after all the trouble Michael had gone to get her out, but she was the only one that knew where he'd gone... "Yes. He's not here?"

"Ditched me." said Keely with a rueful grin as she studied the other woman, seeing concern in her light blue eyes, the concern for someone she cared about, not just an acquaintance. And wanted to ask who she was but knew she wouldn't tell her... "He's been gone all day."

"Damn." muttered Nikita, slapping the side of her leg. "Shouldn't of let him go in alone..."

"You know where he is?" asked Keely sharply, opening the door wider and gesturing for her to come in. "Can you tell me?"

Nikita entered the hotel room, hearing the door shut behind her, the act of stepping through the door symbolic, going back into that old life and the door closing her off from the life she might have had, shoulders slumping a little but knowing she had no other choice. "I'll take you there."

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

With Nikita to guide her, Keely drove to the house, passing by it twice before going to park along the road and pull out a map, spreading it across the dashboard so that any passerby might think she was lost and had pulled to the side of the road to check the map. Nikita bent her head over the map as Keely looked out the passenger side window, a pair of miniature binoculars held to her eyes as she studied the house. Long driveway, smooth pavement, ringed by trees on each side, giving the place a pretty appearance but not making it very defensible...

"We'll have to go in after dark." said Nikita, not lifting her head from her perusal of the map.

We? thought Keely, raising her eyebrows, but she had already guessed that this young woman was something more than just another contact of Michael's. "I don't know if you getting involved is a good idea--"

"My choice to make."

Okay... "So you gotta name? You know mine, only fair I should know yours."

Nikita cast her a sideways glance, evaluating her, looking for any sign of duplicity but seeing only an honest desire to know. "Nikki." she said finally.

Keely nodded, a mute gesture of thanks for the trust, and lifted the binoculars again, focusing on the house. "After dark then." Sweeping the binoculars over the house she studied the exterior, a little heartened to see it looked like any other house in the neighborhood, there wasn't any obvious attempts to fortify it. "Basement is probably the most likely place they'd hold him...if he's still here." Or still alive, she added mentally.

Nikita's head lifted, blue eyes regarding her somberly, as if she too had the same thought, and then looked away, mouth tightening. "We've stayed here long enough." she said brusquely, folding up the map and shoving it into the glove compartment, a hand lifting to shield her eyes from the setting sun.

With a sigh, Keely placed the binoculars down on the seat beside her and started the car, heading back for the motel.

Back at the motel, they seperated, Nikita returning to her apartment to change and retrieve her gun, still kept after all this time, and once it was dark the two of them would head out, both dressed in black, Nikita with long blond hair tucked up under a ski cap. Looking at herself in the mirror of the bathroom in Keely's hotel room as she wound her hair into a bun and pulled the cap down over it, she stood there and just stared, seeing herself as she had been with the Section, falling as easily into the old routines as if she had never left. Had the Section become so much a part of her, pervaded her being so much that she would never be the same again? That she could never go back to the person she had been before the Section?

"Nikki."

Nikita tore her eyes away from her reflection in the mirror and looked at Keely as she stood in the doorway, expression oddly hesitant, lowered her head, shoving a last persistent lock of hair up into the cap and straightening, her gun a solid prescence against the small of her back. "Let's go."

Nodding Keely led the way out of the hotel room and down to the lobby, out the front and to the parking lot. They parked the car two blocks over and walked the rest of the distance, finding to their luck that the street light just beside the driveway had gone out, staying off the paved road of the driveway as they made their way to the house. Not to the front but around to the back, hunching down against the house and beside a window, opening onto the basement, Nikita keeping watch while Keely used a thin piece of metal, sliding it under the top half of the window frame and wriggling it to push the latch back.

Once she had the latch moved, Keely touched Nikita's arm and the other woman gripped the bottom edge of the window to pull it up, wincing as it squeaked and forcing herself to go slower, moving it up inch by agonizing inch, just enough so that she could squeeze through. Keely tapped her shoulder and passed her a flashlight as Nikita twisted her torso to look at her, half in and half out, Nikita nodding in thanks and flicking the flashlight on, shining it at the floor beneath her to make sure it was clear. Turning off the flashlight, she tucked it down the front of her pants and slipped through the window, dropping down to the basement floor and crouching there for a long moment, listening intently for any sound that indicated someone else might be in here.

Straightening, she pulled the flashlight out and turned it on, shielding the beam with her hand as she moved to a stack of boxes, stopping to run the flashlight over them, head turned to the side as she tried to decipher the writing on them. French...something about handling, danger--a hiss from Keely distracted her and she glanced back at the window to see Keely pointing to her watch, gesturing for her to keep going. Still glancing at the boxes as she walked past them, she tripped over something and put out a hand to steady herself, shining the flashlight down to see what had blocked her path.

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

Michael turned his head away from the brightness of the beam, drawing his legs up and away from her feet, slumped back againt the wall, arms drawn up and wrists cuffed to pipe that ran along the wall. Kneeling before him she reached out to touch him on the cheek but he jerked his head back at the feel of her fingers, squinting against the light as she played it over him, the handcuff chain clinking as he shifted position; looking at him, she experienced a weird sense of deja vu, remembering Morocco and the cages, seeing him when their captors had brought him back from his own torture session, ashen, blood trailing from ears and nose, the same as now but with a cut on the top of his head that had sent a stream of blood down the left side of his face.

Swallowing hard, she lowered the flashlight to the floor, enough of its light spilling up that she could see him dimly, placed her hands on either side of his head and held him firmly even as he instinctively tried to pull free. "Michael, it's me..." she whispered, leaning in close, stroking his cheek reassuringly.

"Nikita?" From the way he squinted at her, he was having trouble focusing his eyes, wincing as she touched his head, eyes drifting closed. Nasty looking cut but not too serious, she was worried more about the possibilites of a concussion, one hand dropping to give his shoulder a shake to rouse him. Wearily he opened his eyes to look at her, a little more focused this time, and she turned her attention to his wrists and handcuffs, searching in her pocket for the pick she'd brought. "Have to get you out of here--"

"What're you doing?" Keely's low voiced hiss carried across the basement and Nikita rose from where she was kneeling beside Michael, squeezing his shoulder briefly before she went to the window, Keely with her head through it, agitated.

"We have to get him out of here."

Keely shook her head rapidly. "No way we're going to be able to get him up through the window, even if we could, we can't carry him back to the car, it's going to be a little too obvious, us dragging him along." She turned her head to look behind her and then back to Nikita, expression intent. "We know he's here, we come back with help first thing in the morning." As Nikita started to shake her head, Keely said quietly, "What good are we going to do him, we get caught too? Come on--" She gestured at her, slipping back out of the window.

Reluctantly Nikita went back to Michael and said softly, "Will come back for you, I promise."

He gave a small nod, eyes closing. "Go."

Cupping his head in her hands, she leaned forward to place a kiss on his forehead and rose to go back to the window, grasping the ledge and pulling herself up, Keely reaching in to grab the back of her shirt and pull her out. With a last glance back at the basement, Nikita got to her feet and followed Keely away from the house and back to their car.

As promised, Keely made a phone call to a local substation and had Nikita wait in the hotel room while she went out to meet the team. As they had done the night before the team approached from a distance, six besides Keely, surrounding the house and then moving in, sweeping quickly through the house, searching room by room. Keely took the basement along with another operative only to find it absolutely empty, no boxes, nothing to indicate that anyone had ever been here, walked slowly over to the wall where Michael had been the night before, the only trace of his prescence a smear of blood down the wall.

Going back upstairs, the mask drawn up over her head, she met the leader of the team, Royce, who shook his head, automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. "House is completely clean, no one here."

"They were here last night." said Keely flatly.

Royce lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "They're gone now."

"Damn it!" She hit the side of her leg in frustration and stalked out of the house, going to sit down on the porch, tugging the mask off her head. Gone and there was little chance they'd catch up with Michael or his captors, not even a clue as to where they might of gone...and for all she knew Michael was dead, they'd just elected to dump his body somewhere else, rather than leave him in the basement. She had to report this to Madeline now...

Returning to the van, she commandeered a notebook computer and headed back to the hotel room, where Nikita was pacing the length of the room, twisting a lock of blond hair endlessly around her finger, halting in mid stride as the door opened and turning slowly to look at Keely, expression still. "Michael--?"

"He's gone." said Keely reluctantly, setting the notebook computer down on the dresser. "The house has been cleaned out, they must have left sometime during the night. I'm sorry..." she added lamely.

Nikita turned away, back stiff, and was silent for a long moment, arms wrapped around herself, then slowly turned back, features set into a hard mask. "Set up a link with the Section HQ."

Frowning, Keely nonetheless did as she asked, flipping open the lid to the computer and turning on the power, typing in the sequence that would connect them to the Section's network. Nikita came to stand behind her as the connection was made and the familiar face of Birkhoff appeared on the screen, a candy bar wrapper clutched in one hand, looking a little irritated as he met Keely's eyes. "What--" Then his attention shifted to Nikita standing behind her and even through the poor resolution of the link she could see the blood draining from his face. "Nikita?"

Keely looked over her shoulder at Nikita, seeing her smile slightly, a sad smile, then back to Birkhoff, who looked stunned. "Hey, Birkhoff. Get me Madeline."

"Uhh...sure--" A brief moment of an empty screen and then Madeline's familiar visage, staring out at them, showing a sudden acute surprise as she saw Nikita, fading almost as quickly.

"Hello, Madeline." said Nikita with a sigh, shoulders slumping a little in defeat.

***********

The car that pulled into the driveway was a plain, dark and unremarkable, just another sedan that would have flowed easily along with the sea of commuter traffic, as the man that emerged from the car would have blended seamlessly with any of his fellow commuters. Blond hair short and carefully styled, body lean and trim from workouts at the local health club, dark glasses hiding hazel eyes, wearing a plain but expensive navy suit, the blazer to it carried over one shoulder as he left the car and walked up to the house, a modest looking two story structure. With keys in hand he unlocked the door and stepped into the house, automatically shutting the door behind him but stopping short of locking it as he caught the distinctive odor of smoke, looked around the living room to see the ash tray--empty and clean when he had left this morning--filled with cigarette butts, a pack of them lying half-empty next to it, a lighter beside it.

Walking into the kitchen his lips thinned as he saw coffee mugs and plates sitting in the sink, turned from the kitchen and went to the living room closet, taking a box down from the shelf and removing the gun inside, setting box down on floor while he checked the clip for amount of rounds, gun in hand as he started to move through the house, checking for his unexpected guests. Up the stairs to check the bedrooms first, finding no hint of a prescence, then back down stairs to check den and the small office, going at last to the locked door just off the kitchen and digging in his pockets for his keys, bending a little to see the telltale scratches on the lock indicating it had been picked.

Shoving the gun behind the waistband of his pants he unlocked the door and pulled it open, flipped on the light switch and saw along the wall three boxes that had not been there before, and beyond them, in the far corner, a huddled shape. Cautiously he moved past the boxes and to the form slumped in the corner, giving it a nudge with one foot and getting no response, kneeled beside and extended a hand to grasp a handful of brown hair and lift the man's head. That seemed to rouse the man, cuffed hands coming up to bat at his hand, a frown creasing the man's brow as he drew back, and the other let him, muttering a curse as he got to his feet and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him and locking it.

Striding back to the front of the house he came to a halt at the sound of a faint creak and drew his gun as he approached the living room, seeing long legs stretched out to rest on the coffee table, an arm draped across the armrest of the chair, a tendril of smoke floating up to the ceiling. Gun still in hand he rounded the chair to stare at the man seated there, tall and dark-haired, dressed casually in slacks and turtle neck, head turning to look at him, lit cigarette clasped between two fingers, a slow smile curving thin lips.

"Hullo, John."

"And what the hell are you doing here?" demanded John, anger giving his voice an edge and bringing with it the Irish accent he worked so hard to overcome, slapping the gun down onto the coffee table as he stood in front of Trevelyan. "You aren't supposed to contact me here."

"I ran into a minor snag." drawled Trevelyan, taking a puff of his cigarette and exhaling smoke.

"Oh, aye, I saw your *minor* snag!" John drew in a deep breath, hands on his hips. "Two questions: who is he and why the hell did you bring him here of all places?"

Trevelyan raised his shoulders in a shrug. "As to who he is--I've yet to be able to convince him to confide in me. The safe house was no longer safe and of course the first one I thought of was my old friend--"

"Who is he?" said John through his teeth.

Trevelyan lifted his head to meet his eyes, his own mild. "I've told you--I don't know. And since I'm not sure which agency he belongs to and whether he might of reported to said agency in regards to my *resurrection*, I've elected to hang on to him, until I can wring it out of him." A deep drag and he blew smoke in John's direction, supremely unconcerned.

"If you won't put a bullet in his head, then I will--" Years spent building a reputation, a cover here, and John would be damned if he'd allow one man to ruin all he'd worked for, grabbed the gun and moved to leave the room.

"No." John stopped at the flat tone of Trevelyan's voice, the man sitting up now, putting out his cigarette in the ash tray, shifting position to stare coldly at John. "Our plans are seriously at risk here, for all we know my *death* has been suspect all along and if this man turns up dead then the alert will go out."

"He doesn't have to turn up..." muttered John grimly.

"No, but if he fails to report in, the results will be the same. And I would like to have another go at...persuading my guest to tell all." Trevelyan smiled again, a cruel smile this time, and knowing him as he did, John felt a moment's pity for the poor sod. But only for a moment...

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

Seeing Madeline over the link, Nikita had felt a small sense of satisfaction at the shock the older woman showed before she regained her composure but the satisfaction was short-lived as she had laid out the situation as quickly as she could, telling her what she had told Michael about Trevelyan and where she had seen him. Keely had chimed in her own account of the failed rescue attempt and for a long time Madeline had been silent then had told them she would be coming in. And so they had waited for her arrival, both with some trepidation, Keely for her failure to report in on Michael's movements and Nikita for the Section's reaction to the news that she hadn't died in the suicide mission.

It wasn't until the next day that Madeline arrived at the hotel room, with only Birkhoff in tow, no other operatives. Keely was the one to open the door, Madeline only giving her a cursory glance, her attention immeaditly focused on Nikita, sitting on the edge of the bed. Slowly Madeline walked over to the bed to study Nikita and Nikita met her eyes squarely, chin lifted, letting nothing at all show in her expression, none of the fear or despair.

"I should put you on a transport back to the Section." said Madeline evenly, folding her arms over her chest, no warmth at all in her, all cool steely resolve.

"I didn't have to call you, Madeline." Nikita slid off the bed to stand before the other woman, looking down at her from her greater height, using the small psychological advantage. "I could havewalked away from this and you would of never known I was still alive."

"But you couldn't." A cool smile curved Madeline's lips, a touch of malice in her eyes. "Because of Michael."

A weakness that Madeline would not hesitate to exploit...Nikita closed her eyes briefly, drawing strength, and squared her shoulders. "Finding him and Trevelyan is the important thing here, Madeline. Once that is done, I'll surrender to whatever judgement the Section makes."

Madeline studied her for a long moment and then gave a nod. "Agreed. I want to be apprised of any progress that you make." Her gaze fastened on Keely and brown eyes hardened, a look that warned her she would have to explain later why she had failed to report, and Keely suppressed a shiver, managing to keep her own expression blank by sheer will. Turning on her heel Madeline left the hotel room, shutting the door behind her, and Keely's shoulders sagged in relief, going to a chair to sit down. Madeline was the last person you wanted as an enemy in the Section...

Birkhoff set his computer down on the dresser and Nikita walked slowly over to him, one hand extending to touch him and withdrawing, unsure exactly of his reaction. Breathing deeply he turned to look at her, eyes a little bright behind his glasses, and said haltingly, "I thought...we both thought...that Michael let you--" He trailed off, voice thick, one hand going up to brush impatiently at his cheek and a tear that had escaped his eye.

"I know." Nikita put her arms around him and gave him a hug, feeling him stiff in her embrace and then slowly relax, one hand coming up to pat her awkwardly on the back. "You know, I actually missed you." She put a teasing note in her voice as she said it, drawing back, rubbing the top of his head, Birkhoff ducking away with a small grin. "So...let's get to it. What have you got on Trevelyan?"

Flipping open his notebook computer, Birkhoff tapped a key and on the screen came the profile for Trevelyan, including as well a small snapshot. "On the flight over I've been cross-referencing, drawing up a list of any known associates, going over all his old activities. Most of the people he's worked with in the past are either dead or in prison--I've made up a list of those that are considered at large."

"He has something in the works, that's got to be why he's surfaced now." And why he might keep Michael alive, rather than execute him on the spot, unsure of who was aware he was still alive, perhaps even until whatever plan he had was set in motion... "There has to be some kind of event that's drawn him out--check for that as well."

"Right." said Birkhoff absently, seemingly absorbed with the computer and Nikita moved away, her mind already occupied with possible scenarios, thinking of what exactly Trevelyan might have planned, turned back as Birkhoff said her name. He cleared his throat, looking a little uncomfortable, and then finally said, "I'm glad you're alive."

"Me, too." she responded with a smile and turned away, the smile fading as she wondered for how much longer. And as quickly she banished the thought, setting herself in mission mode.

**********

"Who do you work for?"

A jolt of pain accompanied the question, rousing Michael from semi-consciousness, slumped in the chair he'd been cuffed to, lacking the strength to even do so much as lift his head. Footsteps around him, barely discernible over the sound of his own labored breathing, and a hand seizing his chin, fingers biting cruelly into his flesh, forcing his head up, voice louder as the question was repeated. The same question asked over and over, followed by whatever means his interrogator had at his disposal to inflict pain, be it electrical shock or simple physical blows, his interrogator possessed of a seemingly endless patience, voice utterly calm as he asked the questions, no hint of anger or impatience at Michael's continued silence.

The mark of a good interrogator, to not allow the subject's lack of response to perturb him, to maintain that calm--how many times had he himself stood and watched with that same calm as a subject was reduced to whimpers and pleas to stop, swearing to tell anything only to have it stop. Had also worked with recruits, training them how to withstand such torture, as he himself had been trained, showing them how to focus on the pain, let it swell up and consume you, take you down into the darkness that offered a brief respite from it...

"Hey, hey--" A slap to the cheek bringing him back from the brink even as his head started to slump in his captor's grip, blinked against the trickles of sweat that ran down into his eyes, burning them, and tried to focus on the face before him, Trevelyan's face, but it was too much of an effort and he let his eyes close. A second harder slap, rocking his head and making his ears ring, serving not to rouse but to send him back into darkness.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, the sound of arguing voices gradually penetrating his dazed mind. "I've learned a few tricks from the Brits--I can get something out of him."

"You've learned how to beat a man to death, you mean." Trevelyan's voice, dripping scorn. "For all your posturing your people are little more than common street thugs, with as much finesse. A more subtle approach is called for here."

"And while you play with him here the mission is in jeopardy--" The other man's voice, sounding furious.

"Don't worry--the Prime Minister will meet the fiery death you wish on him. As long as we keep him here there's no chance that anyone will know what we're about." Prime Minister--somewhere in the back of his mind a connection was made but he couldn't concentrate on it, discern the importance of it, a stab of pain going through his head as his hair was seized and his head pulled up. "One last attempt to wring something out of him--I'd suppose you'd object to us dirtying up your home anymore, d'ye have a place where I can take him, a place where blood may be spilled and easily cleaned up?"

"Garage." said the other man tersely.

His head was released, allowing him to slump once again, a clink of metal and his wrists were freed but he was too far gone to act on that freedom. One arm was taken to pull him up from the chair, someone else coming to take his other arm, dragging him out of the room.

Another day wasted, spent going over the information Birkhoff had managed to compile on Trevelyan, an appallingly large amount of information, tracking his activities from brushes with the law in his teens to his adult career, listing everyone that he could even remotely be connected to--from the IRA to Hamas--and other possibilities. Nikita had continued with her portion of the research long into the night, after even Birkhoff had gone to bed, and when she had finally dozed off, head laid down next to one of the substation's computers, it had been to have nightmares about Michael being tortured, a disembodied observer, unable to intervene, forced to watch as he was killed. She'd awoken from that dream with a sob catching in her throat, face wet with tears, stomach twisted with dread, a feeling that carried through the day.

"Here--"

Nikita lifted her head from its resting place against one upturned hand at the sound of Birkhoff's voice, focusing on the print-out Birkhoff waved in front of her, dismayingly thick. "You've got to be kidding." Reluctantly she took it from Birkhoff and straightened, slapping the print-out down on the counter in front of her and turning in her chair to look at Birkhoff. "Exactly how much time do you think we have here, Birkhoff?"

Birkhoff bristled at her tone, his own concern for Michael--grudging as it might be--making him a little irritable himself. "Hey, I've narrowed it done as much as I can--"

"We'll split it up between us." That from Keely, reaching over Nikita's shoulder to pick up the papers, her other hand closing briefly on Nikita's shoulder. "I'm sure Birkhoff's just being thorough, we can probably discount a lot of these fairly quickly."

Wearily Nikita rubbed her eyes and managed a wan smile, turning to look at Birkhoff. "Sorry."

Birkhoff gave her an awkward part on her shoulder and she drew in a deep breath, accepting her portion of the print-out from Keely and setting to work; true to what Keely had said, a good many of them could be discounted and with an eye to some event in the future that had to be tied in with Trevelyan and whatever associate he was working with, it made the list smaller.

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

"Two strong possibilites--the Israeli Prime Minister is supposed to be meeting with the government's represenative to the UN to discuss the starting up of new peace talks with Arafat, rumors say that they might even get Arafat and his people to come. Another one is the British Prime Minister is going to be in the country to have a clandestine meeting with members of the Sinn Fein, a meeting that's been arranged by some local politicians that have an interest in seeing the peace talks continue between the IRA and the British government." said Birkhoff, adjusting his glasses as he read from the notes he'd taken.

Nikita rifled through her sheaf of paper, glancing over marked off names, looking for a name that would be connected with either of these men. "Hamas for one, right? Or just a rogue faction that isn't prepared to settle for the scraps Israel tosses them?"

"For some, fighting's the thing--if it's not over land, then it's over some difference in religion." said Keely with a sigh. "The war there has gone on too long to be settled so quickly--just as it has in my homeland. Could be Hamas or even members of Arafat's own organization--or even some Israeli hardliners that don't want to give up any of their land."

Nikita shook her head. "Looks like Trevelyan's had dealings more with the Palestinian side of it. Rumored to have provided training in the placement of bombs--" She shuffled through the papers, looking for one in particular, extracted the desired page and scanned it. "Okay, we have a few people that are here in the States--" Quickly she circled the names and passed them over to Birkhoff, who glanced them over and gave a nod.

"Right, I'll work on locations for them. We can send some people out to check on them." Walking quickly away, he went back to this own computer.

"There's one not too far from here that we can check out, a John O'Rourke. He's got ties to Trevelyan, albeit somewhat distant ones--he's even done some time for incidents in Northern Ireland." Keely laid a paper down in front of Nikita, pointing the name out on the list. "Running under the alias of John Reed here."

Nikita felt a faint glimmer of excitement and tried to contain it, lest this prove to be a disappointment. "That would make sense--Trevelyan would find it easier to hide out in Great Britian than, say, Israel, and he's involved himself in a few of the IRA's high-profile bombings." She raised her feet to push them against the desk, sending her chair rolling backwards and turning it so that she faced Birkhoff, tapping away at his computer. "Get an address for John Reed, Keely and I will take that one."

Birkhoff gave a distracted nod, expression intent as he scanned his monitor screen. "Got it--Deerfield, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago, address is 1518 Polk St. Will contact the local substation, let them know you're on your way."

"Let's go." said Nikita to Keely, grabbing her coat from the back of her chair and pulling it on, heading out of the room with a brisk walk, not even waiting for Keely. Keely flashed Birkhoff a smile of thanks and hurried after the other woman.

Five hours later and they were at the substation outside of Chicago, a short drive from Deerfield, the senior operative for the substation--Jameson--already with a detailed street map of Deerfield, the location of Reed's house highlighted on it, Jameson--a man in his late thirties and of average height, bearded, dark hair going gray at the temples--leaning over the map to give a review of the neighbor- hood.

"Upper middle class, quiet, well kept, kind of neighborhood where people still stroll down the sidewalks after dark. It'll look a little obvious if we go in with a black van." he added dryly.

"We're just doing a recon--I've got the perfect approach." Nikita took the cap she'd held in one hand and placed it on top of her head, giving a bright smile as she tugged the brim down, the letters on the cap spelling out PIZZA PATSO. "Pizza delivery."

Jameson nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It'll work."

"I'll be wearing a comlink, you can monitor. I can probably get past the front door, do a check of the living room. Not expecting Trevelyan to be out in plain sight but..." She gave a shrug of her shoulders.

"Let's move on it." said Jameson, straightening from the table. "I can even get some people to jog through the neighborhood, be close enough to lend you assistance if you need it."

Nikita nodded. "Then let's do it."

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

"Two strong possibilites--the Israeli Prime Minister is supposed to be meeting with the government's represenative to the UN to discuss the starting up of new peace talks with Arafat, rumors say that they might even get Arafat and his people to come. Another one is the British Prime Minister is going to be in the country to have a clandestine meeting with members of the Sinn Fein, a meeting that's been arranged by some local politicians that have an interest in seeing the peace talks continue between the IRA and the British government." said Birkhoff, adjusting his glasses as he read from the notes he'd taken.

Nikita rifled through her sheaf of paper, glancing over marked off names, looking for a name that would be connected with either of these men. "Hamas for one, right? Or just a rogue faction that isn't prepared to settle for the scraps Israel tosses them?"

"For some, fighting's the thing--if it's not over land, then it's over some difference in religion." said Keely with a sigh. "The war there has gone on too long to be settled so quickly--just as it has in my homeland. Could be Hamas or even members of Arafat's own organization--or even some Israeli hardliners that don't want to give up any of their land."

Nikita shook her head. "Looks like Trevelyan's had dealings more with the Palestinian side of it. Rumored to have provided training in the placement of bombs--" She shuffled through the papers, looking for one in particular, extracted the desired page and scanned it. "Okay, we have a few people that are here in the States--" Quickly she circled the names and passed them over to Birkhoff, who glanced them over and gave a nod.

"Right, I'll work on locations for them. We can send some people out to check on them." Walking quickly away, he went back to this own computer.

"There's one not too far from here that we can check out, a John O'Rourke. He's got ties to Trevelyan, albeit somewhat distant ones--he's even done some time for incidents in Northern Ireland." Keely laid a paper down in front of Nikita, pointing the name out on the list. "Running under the alias of John Reed here."

Nikita felt a faint glimmer of excitement and tried to contain it, lest this prove to be a disappointment. "That would make sense--Trevelyan would find it easier to hide out in Great Britian than, say, Israel, and he's involved himself in a few of the IRA's high-profile bombings." She raised her feet to push them against the desk, sending her chair rolling backwards and turning it so that she faced Birkhoff, tapping away at his computer. "Get an address for John Reed, Keely and I will take that one."

Birkhoff gave a distracted nod, expression intent as he scanned his monitor screen. "Got it--Deerfield, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago, address is 1518 Polk St. Will contact the local substation, let them know you're on your way."

"Let's go." said Nikita to Keely, grabbing her coat from the back of her chair and pulling it on, heading out of the room with a brisk walk, not even waiting for Keely. Keely flashed Birkhoff a smile of thanks and hurried after the other woman.

Five hours later and they were at the substation outside of Chicago, a short drive from Deerfield, the senior operative for the substation--Jameson--already with a detailed street map of Deerfield, the location of Reed's house highlighted on it, Jameson--a man in his late thirties and of average height, bearded, dark hair going gray at the temples--leaning over the map to give a review of the neighbor- hood.

"Upper middle class, quiet, well kept, kind of neighborhood where people still stroll down the sidewalks after dark. It'll look a little obvious if we go in with a black van." he added dryly.

"We're just doing a recon--I've got the perfect approach." Nikita took the cap she'd held in one hand and placed it on top of her head, giving a bright smile as she tugged the brim down, the letters on the cap spelling out PIZZA PATSO. "Pizza delivery."

Jameson nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It'll work."

"I'll be wearing a comlink, you can monitor. I can probably get past the front door, do a check of the living room. Not expecting Trevelyan to be out in plain sight but..." She gave a shrug of her shoulders.

"Let's move on it." said Jameson, straightening from the table. "I can even get some people to jog through the neighborhood, be close enough to lend you assistance if you need it."

Nikita nodded. "Then let's do it."

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

At first John had been a little concerned that his neighbors might hear noises from the garage but Trevelyan had assured him with a negligent wave that their "guest" hadn't made a sound so far and wasn't likely to start, and true to Trevelyan's word, he hadn't, revealing no more than he had before, even after all they did to him. John had looked in a time or two but as quickly disappeared, not liking the methods Trevelyan employed and feeling a stronger sense of pity for the sod, at least his way would be quick and clean, a bullet through the back of the head and a shallow grave, not the lingering death Trevelyan dealt.

Three days till the Prime Minister's arrival and the banquet, two days in which Trevelyan could toy with the man, giving an airy promise that he'd dispose of the man before he left for Boston. By now John was sick of the whole business, wanting it over and Trevelyan out of his life again, sometimes thinking that not even killing the Prime Minister was worth this...

But thankfully when he'd come home from work today Trevelyan had not been here and he'd poured himself a couple of drinks as he sat in the living room, loosening his tie, the suit coat tossed over the back of his chair, feet up and eyes closed as he sipped whisky and let the warmth of it soothe his nerves. Working on his second whisky, he turned on the TV and set the channel to CNN, watching a report on peace negotiations between Israel and the PLO, thinking of how many parallels there were between both factions and his own people, all consumed in a battle for their perceived homeland...

The ringing of the doorbell roused him from his musings and he pushed down the footrest, setting his drink down on the coffee table as he got to his feet and went to the front door, pausing to look through the little peep hole at the person on the other side. A young woman, half-turned away from him, wearing a blue cap with the words PIZZA PATSO written on it, a bright blue windbreaker worn over a blue shirt, the shirt bearing the name Pizza Patso as well, navy slacks and athletic shoes, blowing gum as she turned to face the door, a red bag balanced on one hand, blond hair hanging down over her shoulders. Very nice looking too, he thought, and opened the door just far enough to stick his head out.

"Yes?"

The young woman smiled at him, a bright smile, and took a half-step forward, shifting the red bag to both hands. "Hi, pizza delivery."

"I didn't order a pizza." said John flatly, narrowing his eyes a little.

The young woman frowned a little, digging in her pocket for a scrap of paper and looking from it to his door, eyes shifting to him. "Is this 1518 Polk Street? John Reed? 555-3349?"

"Yesss..." Shouldn't of had that second drink, he was slurring just a little, and he made a conscious effort to speak more clearly. "But I did not order a pizza."

The young woman gave a sigh, shoulders slumping, nose wrinkling as she studied the scrap of paper very carefully. "I'm sure I wrote it down right--it's only my second day..." she confessed to John, giving him a slightly harried smile. "Seeing parts of the city I didn't know existed--sure you didn't order a pizza?" A hopeful smile this time and John found himself melting a little under the warmth of those blue eyes, the girl adding, "If I go back there with another pizza undelivered, they're going to can me for sure."

"What's on it?" asked John, opening the door wider, allowing her to cross the threshold.

She grinned and moved from the hallway to the kitchen, laying the bag down on the counter and unfastening it, removing the still steaming pizza box and opening the lid. "Pepperoni and sausage. Still hot!"

"How much?" His wallet was on his dresser in the bedroom, he'd have to go back for it...

"$15.38. God, I really appreciate this--" she said as he went back to his bedroom, her voice carrying. "They'd have my head if I came back with another one--they already think I'm enough of a ditz."

"No problem." He called back as he entered his bedroom, going for the dresser and his wallet, thinking that pizza sounded good and it even smelled good, with a little sweet talking he might even convince her to stick around and share some of it with him...

A footstep behind him and even as he started to turn he felt the muzzle of a gun press into the back of his neck, making him freeze. "Where is he?" asked the young woman crisply.

"Who?" asked John, already knowing who exactly she meant, cursing inwardly. Damn Trevelyan for bringing this trouble here...

She showed her impatience by digging the barrel into his flesh, making him wince. "Trevelyan. And my friend." John remained silent and the young woman clicked the safety back on her gun. "Where?"

"Trevelyan's not here." said John grudgingly.

"And...?" she prompted, pressing the muzzle harder into his neck.

"Garage."

"Garage--get the van up into the driveway." said the young woman aloud and gave him a push. "Down on your knees."

Slowly John obeyed, starting to move his head but stopping in mid-motion as the muzzle pressed against the back of his head. "So you're going to shoot me? Just like that?"

"No. But you're going to wish I did." A hard blow against the back of his head sent him down into unconsciousness, sprawling on the floor.

Shoving her gun back into her pocket, Nikita regarded the unconscious man briefly then moved quickly through the house, heading for the garage, even as the front door opened and Keely came inside, Jameson trailing behind her. Opening the door to the garage, she flipped the light switch and saw Michael almost immediately, strung up by his wrists, the rope that bound them tossed over a support beam in the ceiling, pulled taut so that his toes barely touched the floor and all his weight was suspended from his wrists and shoulders, bare torso covered with burns and cuts, blood streaking his skin as well.

Dragging over a small step ladder she extended her hand wordlessly to Jameson, who gave her a knife, and reached up to cut him free, Jameson supporting him as he slumped, jumped down off the ladder to shed her jacket and drape it over Michael, taking one wrist to feel for a pulse and letting out a sigh of relief at finding one. He looked like hell but he was alive at least...

"Let's get him out of here." she said curtly to Jameson, taking one of Michael's arms and pulling him up, Jameson taking the other, the two of them half-carrying, half-dragging him out of the garage, Keely following.

************ Epilogue

It didn't take long to get the information they needed out of O'Rourke; two hours of interrogation and he not only gave up the name of Trevelyan's intended target--the British Prime Minister--he also gave the name of the hotel in Boston Trevelyan was to be registered in. A team was sent to pick up Trevelyan just as he checked in at the hotel and it was accomplished without so much as a shot fired, Trevelyan whisked away to whatever fate the Section had for him.

Of course it was done without the participation of Nikita and Keely, who accompanied Michael back to the Section, where they were immeaditly seperated, Nikita and Keely confined to quarters and Michael placed in Medlab for treatment. He'd been conscious enough on the trip back to register Nikita's prescence and know what that meant, had wanted to talk to her, tell her what story to pass on to Madeline and Operations, but the med tech on the transport had given him a sedative and he'd drifted in and out of consciousness, never coherent enough to speak to her before they got back.

His first day in Medlab he spent sleeping, exhaustion helped by the painkillers, and on the second day he ventured briefly out of the bed to test the door, finding it secured as he'd suspected, returned to the bed to wait for the inevitable visit. It came later in the day, as he lay dozing, the sound of the door opening rousing him, turning his head on the pillow to look at the door and watch as Madeline entered, a small smile curving lips, the smile not reaching her eyes, hands clasped before her as she came up to the bed. It was exactly like the first time he had seen her, all those years ago, coming to his room to offer him a new life with the Section--so much time passed, so much had changed, and while the boy he had been wasn't prepared to die, the man was willing to accept the judgement, might even welcome it.

She came to a halt just beside the bed, one hand going up to idly push a lock of hair out of his eyes, Michael allowing it, showing no change at all in his expression, merely looking back at her. She trailed fingers down his cheek, watching him, and then drew her hand back, head tilted a little to the side as she asked, "Why did you do it, Michael?"

"What did you think I would do when I knew she was going to be sacrificed?" he asked in return.

Madeline sighed and folded her arms over her chest. "I *thought* that you would realize it was the best thing for Nikita, the only thing we could do. She was no longer capable of performing her duties." There was a faint tone of reprimand in her voice.

It surprised that she knew him so little, that she thought he would go blindly along with this--hadn't she been the one in the past to prod him about his feelings for Nikita, to make him acknowledge, if only to himself, that they existed? "I did what was best for her. I set her free."

"So you admit it."

"Yes."

Another sigh and Madeline made her way down the bed, around the foot of it and up to the other side, hand trailing along the blankets. "And what would you do in our place? What judgement would you pass?"

Even now, faced with the reality of his death, Michael felt no fear, only acceptance and maybe even relief, drawing in a deep cleansing breath. "An operative's loyalty must be to the Section first--if the operative places personal loyalties above those to the Section then his committment to the Section's goals is in doubt. And if he cannot perform, then he must be cancelled."

"So you understand." stated Madeline.

"Yes."

A small shake of her head. "No pleas for your life? No attempts at justification?"

"In the eyes of the Section what I did was wrong, I accept that. But I...couldn't let her die." I can't protect you anymore, he had said to Nikita in her apartment, but he had found one last way to aid her, one way to set her free and give her back her life. He turned his head to look at Madeline, keeping his expression calm, knowing that no display of emotion would sway her. "I told her to run. If I hadn't she would have died in there--I should be the one that's punished, not her."

From Madeline only a blank look as answer, turning on her heel to walk to the door, heels clicking on the floor, the door shutting behind her with an awful finality.

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

It was the same room Nikita had lived in during her two years of training, stripped and cleaned of the traces she'd left on it, the "decorating" she'd done to make the place her own, but still recognizable as her room. Two days spent confined to it, occassionally pacing, doing whatever she could to distract herself from the fact that this had become a prison cell, the Section's version of death row, and any time now she would be taken from here and to one of the little white rooms where operatives--deemed no longer Section material--were taken to be cancelled.

Nine months of freedom, of having a life again outside, and now she would die. Part of her would have preferred that she had just died in that warehouse, hadn't been given the seductive taste of freedom only to have it snatched from her grasp, but in these last few hours she could remember what it was like to be free of the Section again, living life on her own terms, making her own choices, and cherish that small amount of happiness she'd felt.

It was the morning of the third day that the door opened and Madeline came inside, smiling at her, that as much as anything putting Nikita's back up, rising from her bed to face Madeline.

"How's Michael?" she asked.

"Recovering." responded Madeline calmly.

"He had nothing to do with my running--"

"Nikita." Madeline cut her off in mid-sentence, taking a step forward, giving a little shake of her head. "Don't bother. Michael's already confessed."

Of course he would--even if they'd allowed her the chance to talk to him, no matter what assurances he might have made to her otherwise, he would have still confessed his involvement in the matter to Madeline, if only to spare Nikita. And right now she would have liked nothing more than to slap him upside the head... "So what happens now?"

"Now...we have a little talk." Madeline gestured at the bed. "Sit." Nikita glared at her in response and Madeline drew up a chair, gesturing again to the bed, Nikita finally sinking down on it. "For what he did, Michael should be cancelled, as well as you. But losing him would be a setback at this point so we are prepared to forgive him--and you--your transgressions."

"Really?" asked Nikita skeptically, eyebrows raised, trying to smother that small treacherous hope that rose in her breast, borne of the part of her that wasn't ready to die.

"Michael's continued survival depends on your performance with the Section. As long as you play the dutiful operative, he will live. The moment you step out of bounds again, he will die--and you will witness it." Nikita stared at her, wondering how she could of ever seen this woman as a mother figure, how she could of ever regarded her as something remotely human, and Madeline returned her gaze levelly, brown eyes hard.

"You're going to play us against each other then--tell each of us that the other's survival depends on our behavior." Nikita gave a bitter laugh and shook her head as realization set in. "You're very good, Madeline. You couldn't keep either of us with the simple threat of death so you use us against each other, knowing that we'll both be so eager to leap to the defense of the other that we'll agree to it."

"So you agree."

"You knew I would." said Nikita without heat, turning away from Madeline, not wanting the other woman to see the tears that had sprung to her eyes, listening as the other woman got to her feet and walked to the door, only then turning to face her, eyes bright with the threat of tears and yet hard. "Madeline." Madeline looked back over her shoulder at Nikita and Nikita said, "Don't push me too hard. I'm not going to sacrifice all my scruples, not even for Michael."

Madeline smiled slightly, her expression saying "we'll see" as much as actual words, and opened the door, slipping out and letting it clang shut behind her. Only then did Nikita let her shoulders slump and the tears fall, laying her head down on the pillow and burying her face against it, the pillow muffling her sobs. As quickly as they had come the tears were spent and she wiped her cheeks, heart hardening as she sat up on the bed, clenching the pillow against her. She'd return, do what they told her, but she had now a new found resolve to keep to her ideals, to not let the Section bury them, she would find a way to reconcile her own beliefs with what she had to do. And with that thought came a smile, small but wicked--if they thought her cowed, chained by the threat against Michael's life...they had another think coming.

End

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