NC-17

Author's Note: HELLO ALL! This story is going to be co-authored by GHOST!! (((Twin))) It's a little bit risque. Basically I've been wanting to do a story that deals with Mikey and the fact that Section asks him to WHORE for them. Different lists have talked about how it effects Nikita when she's asked to seduce someone...but she's never had to go ALL THE WAY..thanks to SPYBOY!! BUT...what does whoring do to MIKEY'S PSYCHE?? That is the QUESTION! If this story disturbs you in anyway...just email me and I'll take you off the list THANKS...now I hope you ENJOY! :D

Nikita studied the mark. Guther Vandreeser. He was holding court at a private table on the second level of the night club. He owned the place, so he was King.

A bevy of, scantily-clad, beautiful women surrounded him and Nikita sighed. She was rather scantily-clad herself in a golden, lyrca, mini dress. Just a simple halter that barely covered her behind. Rolling her eyes, Nikita made her second attempt of the evening, her mission being to get Gunther's attention. So far shehad been ignored. But only by him. Every other man in the club, and quite a few women, were more than a little intrigued by Nikita. She hated assignments like this one.

"I'm going in for another round," Nikita whispered, knowing that Michael and Birkhoff were listening to her from the van.

Drink in hand, Nikita made another circuit around Gunther's table. She sashayed her hips and drew several men to her like a moth to a flame. Nikita flirted with them, hoping to draw Gunther's attention. Thought she had it made when he suddenly looked her way, only to realize that Gunter wasn't staring at her, but at the ass of the man who was groping her. Suddenly it all made sense. The little things Nikita had seen but hadn't registered. Until now. She fended off her admirers and headed to a somewhat private alcove so she could update Michael.

"It's a no go guys," Nikita drawled.

"What's wrong?" Michael asked.

"Gunther isn't interested in me," Nikita replied. She sensed that Michael wanted to sigh in frustration, but of course he resisted the urge.

Michael's voice was whisper soft as he ordered, "Find a way."

Nikita did sigh. "It's a lost cause. I'm not his type. Or should I say...gender?"

"What is she talking about?" Birkhoff asked, looking up at Michael and frowning.

"Gunther is gay," Michael replied, catching on right away.

Nikita laughed. "Bingo, Michael. What now? Madeline goofed this time." The thought delighted Nikita.

Michael was already punching a number into his cell phone. "Hang on," he ordered Nikita, then he glanced down at Birkhoff. "Hook us into conference call."

"Done," Birkhoff replied, a moment later. Now he, Michael and Nikita would all be able to hear the phone call.

"Yes?" said a voice, on the other end of the line. Madeline's.

Michael took a moment to explain the situation, with Nikita adding a point or two. "Do you want us to come in?" Michael asked.

Madeline was silent for a moment. She was not pleased that the intel they had acquired on Gunther had not included that he was gay. But Madeline was quick to adapt. "No," she replied. "Nikita, stay in position," she ordered. "Michael...I want you to go in and connect with Gunther. You know what to do."

"Of course," Michael replied, earning an odd look from Birkhoff. Which he ignored.

"Keep me updated," Madeline replied, then she broke the connection.

Michael handed Birkhoff the phone, then he shrugged off his coat and blazer. Underneath he was wearing a sleeveless, black, t-shirt that outlined the muscles of his chest. His black pants clung to his long legs and tight butt like a second skin. Michael knew exactly what was expected of him. He would do the job.

Nikita had an idea of what was expected of Michael as well. "I'll be looking for you," she drawled, amusement tinging her voice.

It would be interesting watching Michael using his charm to seduce another man.

All he had to do was lure Gunther out of the club and into the van. It wouldn't be easy. Gunther Vandreeser hadn't left the premises in over fifteen years.

Michael had his work cut out for him.

------------------------

"Hot damn!" Nikita hissed, as she watched Michael working his magic. He had entered the club twenty minutes ago and already had claimed center stage. Men and women alike were drawn to his blatant sensuality. After ordering a shot of Jim Beam and drinking it down smooth, Michael had set his sights on a hot redhead in a skin tight black mini skirt. The two were now dancing to a sensuous beat.

Nikita felt her passion burning as was unable to look away. Michael's every move was pure sex. But not obvious and tacky. Rather it was erotic and sublime. Nikita wasn't the only one who had noticed the couple. Gunther was drawn to the balcony of the second level and his eyes were locked on Michael. He licked his lips as he watched the young man then he whispered in the ear of one of his bodyguards.

When the song ended, Michael kissed the redhead then escorted her off the floor.

He found Nikita waiting for him and accepted the drink she held out to him. "Thank you," he said, offering a smile. Michael was still playing his part.

"I think you got Gunther's attention," Nikita drawled, leaning into Michael so that her lips brushed his ear. As if she were flirting with him. Which wasn't a bad idea, Nikita was thinking. But she knew Michael would not be willing to play the game. He was focused only on the job. "Body guard as ten o'clock," Nikita hissed.

"Call me," Michael drawled, pretending that he and Nikita might get together later. All part of the *dating* game. Or perhaps *mating* was a better word.

That's why everyone had come to the club. To find a partner. Someone to share the night with. Michael could relate. He turned as if to walk away from her, butwas just checking out the muscle walking towards him. The man stopped two feet in front of Michael.

Muscle man smiled. "My boss would like to buy you a drink," he said in a gravelly voice.

Michael held up the glass in his hand. "I already have one," he countered. "Thanks anyway."

"Mr. Vandreeser owns this club," Muscles explained. "It would be rude not to accept his offer."

"He'll get over it," Michael drawled, then he turned his back on the big guy and faded into the crowd. When Michael reached the bar, he knew it wouldn't be long before Gunther Vandreeser joined him. Then it would be a simple enough matter to lure him outside to the waiting van. Or so Michael hoped.

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

As his bodyguard returned to him with the young man's refusal, Gunther waved him aside and made his way towards the bar, studying the young man as he moved closer.

The young man leaned casually back against the bar, arms resting against the counter, long legs stretched out before him, one leg crossed over the other. A long lock of brown hair fell across his forehead and the long-legged brunette beside him reached out to tuck the hair back behind his ear, letting her knuckles brush against his cheek.

With a slow smile the young man straightened, taking her hand to place a kiss in the center of her palm, curling his fingers around hers as his other hand held her arm. His mouth travelled down to the pulse in her wrist and slowly up her arm, to the crook in her elbow, making his way inexorably up to her slim throat.

He swept her hair back from her face with one hand while his mouth met hers in a long kiss. The young woman's hand wandered from his waist down one thigh, brushing briefly across firm buttock before lifting to wind fingers in his hair.

At last they broke off the kiss, the young woman pressing something into the young man's hand, giving his cheek a parting caress before she moved on. He tucked the paper into a pant pocket and turned to the bar to order a drink.

Gunther moved up beside him, giving the bartender a nod as he set a shot glass down in front of the young man. When the young man dug into his pocket to pay for the drink, the bartender shook his head. "Compliments of Mr. Vandreesen." he said, with a nod to Gunther, and moved off down the bar.

The young man turned to face Gunther, the glass held casually between long fingers, an eyebrow arched as he regarded Gunther coolly.

"I'm not in the habit of letting strange men buy me drinks."

"I'm Gunther Vandreesen. I own this club." The bartender returned to place a drink down in front of him and Gunther took a small sip of it before setting it down, examining the young man with minute care. Such a splendid creature...beautiful and arrogant in his beauty...just the way he liked them. "And you are...?"

"Michael." said the young man with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"There--now we're not strangers."

Michael lifted his glass in a mock salute and tossed the shot of Jim Beam down, leaning once again on the bar as he gave Gunther an insolent once over, the tip of his tongue darting briefly out from between sensual lips.

"And to what do I owe the honor of your presence, Mr. Vandreesen?" And tilted his head back a little to look up at him, exposing the long line of his throat, gray eyes mocking.

"I'd like to invite you to a...private party." breathed Gunther, itching to touch the young man's hair, to see if it was as silky to the touch as it looked.

"Sorry...but I only play at my house." said Michael, running a finger along the inside of his shot glass and raising his finger to his mouth to lick it clean of the last residue of alcohol.

Gunther's mouth went dry as he watched the young man clean his finger with the delicacy and self-absorption of a cat. "I could make it worth your while..."

Michael took a step closer to him, till only inches seperated them, and extended a hand to brush fingertips across Gunther's chest. "I'm not a pro...Gunther. What I do..." Fingers moved up to brush up Gunther's jaw, a little feathery caress, moving to run one finger across his lower lip. "I do for fun..." He leaned closer, allowing his lips to just brush Gunther's cheek, and then drew back, reaching to the other man's drink to pluck the maraschino cherry from it.

Raising it to his lips he slid it into his mouth and bit into it, seperating the stem from the cherry. Swallowing the cherry, he placed the stem on the tip of his tongue and Gunther watched mesmerized as the muscles in his lean jaw moved, Michael's lips parting to remove the stem from his tongue. Lifting it to show that it was now knotted, he dropped it into Gunther's hand and gave him a slow sexy smile before he stalked off.

Gunther followed him out of the club and practically into the waiting arms of the rest of the Section team.

With Gunther Vandreesen tucked away and awaiting the not-at-all tender mercies of Madeline, Nikita found herself pausing as she went by Michael's office, finding him at his desk, no doubt doing his report on the mission. She sighed to see that he once more wore his blazer, covering up the nice view, and went to perch one hip on the edge of the desk, aware of how the movement made the minidress slide even higher up her thigh, if possible, showing even more skin. But for all the attention that Michael paid her, she might as well have been covered head to toe in sackcloth.

"Michael."

He lifted his head from his computer, looking as if he had just noticed her presence there. "Yes?"

"That was quite a good trick, getting Gunther out. I didn't think you could do it." But then she should have known better--one dance and a kiss and she had abandoned plans to escape the Section, chosen to remain in the Section rather than go with Eric. All because of some mad notion that Michael genuinely cared for her...

Nikita shifted postion, sliding off the desk, and folded arms over her chest as she regarded Michael, his profile to her as he switched his attention back to the computer.

"Tell me, Michael--doesn't it make you feel dirty...to use yourself like that? To dangle yourself like so much bait before the target?"

"It's part of the job, Nikita. Another skill we're taught to use." said Michael dismissively, not taking his eyes from the monitor screen as fingers tapped at the keys.

Nikita leaned over to place a hand over Michael's and he looked up at her, grey eyes cool as they met hers. No anger, just a sense of disinterest in the topic...as if it didn't concern him.

"Would you have gone all the way? Slept with him to get him to come out?"

"It wasn't necessary, Nikita." replied Michael calmly.

"But would you have?" she persisted. "If that was the only way you could have gotten Gunther out of the club...would you have slept with him?"

Not even the tiniest pause before he said simply, "Yes."

Nikita drew her hand back, a slight frown creasing her brow. "And how would that have made you feel? To prostitute yourself for the Section?"

Leaning back in his chair, he regarded her levelly. "It's part of the job, Nikita. It means nothing."

And she could see that he believed that, sincerely believed it would not touch him.

She gave a slow shake of her head in disbelief and stalked out of the office, unaware of Michael's eyes following her as she went. And that it took him nearly an hour to focus once again on his report.

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

Nikita headed for Michael's office. They hadn't really talked since the Gunter Vandreesen mission and Nikita was still disturbed by their conversation. Until now, she hadn't really thought about Michael's sexuality being used as a weapon for the Section. Sure, she had seen him seduce Lisa Fanning into betraying her husband, but that had been the only time. Then there was Viscano, but that *affair* had been one-sided on Viscano's part. Nikita was unaware of any other seductions Michael might have been involved in. Then reminded herself that after fourteen years with Section, he had to have seduced more than his fair share of women. Michael was sensuality personified. Section wouldn't miss a chance to use it.

But Nikita hadn't really thought about Michael using his charm on another man. The closest they had come to that was Bauer. Nikita remembered how Madeline had warned her that Perry Bauer would hit on her. Then had added to Michael that the scum ball might hit on him as well. At the time, when her feelings towards Michael had been raw, Nikita had been amused. After seeing Michael's performance with Gunther and his confession that he would have gone *all the way* for the job, Nikita was not amused. She was confused, and angry. For the past two nights she'd suffered nightmares about the time she had allowed a Red Cell agent, named Jenna, to seduce her. And had even seduced back, all in the name of the job. But in the back of Nikita's mind, it never would have gone all the way.

As she turned the corner and strode down the corridor to Michael's office, she glanced over at the training arena then stopped dead in her tracks. Michael was there with a female recruit. It took Nikita surprise. She knew the girl. Her name was Shelby. Shelby with the mouth and the attitude. Rather like Viscano, only tenfold. Shelby hated the world. Just yesterday, Nikita had gone to Madeline to see if she might talk to the girl, but Madeline had assured her that the problem was being taken care of. Nikita had assumed that Madeline meant cancelled. She hadn't argued the point, knowing it would be useless to do so.

But Nikita was relieved to see that Shelby was alive. And in that moment realization struck. Michael was the one taking care of the problem. And Nikita could guess how. Another seduction.

The thought made her angry and she wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if she had a claim on Michael. Far from it. But Section did own him. He was their puppet and he danced to their every whim. Nikita remained where she was, watching through the window as Michael and Shelby confronted each other. He was teaching her martial arts.

Nikita winced as Shelby took a fall, landing hard on her back. Then bit her lip as she watched Michael kneel beside her. The seduction had begun. And Michael knew just how to play it. Shelby wasn't one for soft words and gentle caresses.

She was a street rat, like Nikita had been. Only Shelby had run a gang. She had done things to earn her place in Section and she liked things rough. And that's what Michael gave her. He pinned Shelby's arms over her head after she tried to punch him, then he kissed her.

Nikita felt a thrill of desire as she watched. Michael had been forceful with her on the boat, but it hadn't lasted. All too soon he had melted into her embrace and it occurred to her that in that moment, she had had control over him. But the moment was long gone. Now Michael had eyes only for Shelby. As Nikita watched the kiss turn into something more she felt angry. Not so much a jealous anger, but a righteous one. Nikita felt this was wrong. Section had no right to ask Michael to whore himself for them. And she was certain that this seduction would go all the way. Would have to in order to keep Shelby in line. And Michael would never question it. But Nikita would and did, and she intended to have a talk about it. With Madeline. That decided, Nikita turned on her heel and retraced her steps, carrying her far away from the seduction. But she carried the image of Michael and Shelby with her.

Madeline smiled at Nikita from across the desk. She had listened to the young woman state her concerns and now it was her turn to ask questions. "Why do you care?" Madeline countered.

The question stopped Nikita cold. She had told Madeline about seeing Michael and Shelby together. Had also mentioned her talk with Michael after the Gunther mission and how he had admitted to the fact that he would have gone all the way, if neccessary. Nikita had expected Madeline to tell her to mind her own business. Not to ask her why she cared.

"I...I'm just concerned," she stuttered in reply.

"About Michael?" Madeline prompted. She wasn't about to let Nikita off the hook.

"Yes," Nikita hissed. "About Michael." No sense in lying about it. Madeline would know the truth. "Michael's emotional status is shaky at best. Forcing him to whore his body can't be healthy. And since he's Section One's top operative, I should think you would be concerned with that, Madeline." Nikita felt pleased with herself for her snappy comeback.

Madeline's smile didn't waver. "I know my job, Nikita," she drawled. "Do you?"

Eyes flashing, Nikita shot back, "I did your job for a while, Madeline," she reminded the other woman.

"Yes, you did," Madeline allowed. "And you lied to people, betrayed them, became almost...intoxicated....by the rush of power. I remember well. Do you?"

"I shouldn't have come!" Nikita hissed, rising from her chair.

Madeline nodded. "You're right. You shouldn't have." That said, she returned her attention to her monitor and the files she had been studying.

Nikita bit back a hot retort and strode from the room. She practically ran down the corridor and slammed into a solid figure. Michael. Nikita felt his hands grasp her shoulders to steady her on her feet. She noticed that he was still in exercise clothing. Black tank top and sweats. And that his skin was slightly damp, his hair curling about his face instead of combed back sleek and smooth, as it usually was. His wildness invoked in Nikita visions of their lovemaking. Michael had been more beautiful than a dream. Shaking her head, Nikita dispelled the images.

"Can we talk, Michael?" she asked, and felt him step away from her, dropping his hands.

"I'm busy," he replied. It was a standard answer for Michael and one that he often used to protect himself from Nikita's intense regard. He felt the heat of her gaze now and wanted to escape. But he didn't let her see that. His expression was a mask, his eyes devoid of emotion.

"It's about Shelby," Nikita countered, side-stepping to block Michael when he tried to step around her.

Michael swallowed a sigh. "What about her?" he question, his voice a soft whisper.

Nikita locked eyes with Michael, wishing he would drop his shields for just one moment and let her see inside his soul. Let her see the truth. "Have you slept with her yet?" Nikita hissed, firing the question like a bullet from a gun.

"Not yet," Michael drawled, not reacting beyond a tilt of his head, even though the impact of the question rocked him. He saw that Nikita was equally stunned and took advantage of the moment to slip away.

"Damn you, Michael," Nikita whispered. Then she headed out the other way. She needed to be alone.

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

Shelby sat slumped in the chair, legs deliberately spread as far apart as the lavender skirt allowed, blowing a long lock of auburn hair out of her eyes as she regarded Michael with a mutinous expression. The high heels were gone, kicked off one by one, and the lavender jacket tossed aside, so that she wore only the white silk camisole underneath it. Jeanne had stalked into Michael's office just a few minutes ago, throwing her hands up and swearing that she would have no more to do with the ill-mannered brat--she was now Michael's responsibility.

Looking at her he was strongly reminded of Nikita in her first year of training, the same attitude, the same defiance...and the same stubborn refusal to be molded. But whereas Nikita had been an innocent, Shelby was most definitely not.

The crimes she had been accused of were real and she would have no compunction about killing so there would be no problem with that. What she needed to learn was that she had other weapons in her arsenal--that her body could be as efficient a weapon as a gun and far more deadly...

Suppressing a sigh, Michael went to pick up the high heels and walked to Shelby's chair, kneeling to sit one shoe on the floor and wrapping fingers around her ankle as he started to place the shoe on her foot. Scowling, she tried to tug free of his hand and he tightened his hold on her ankle, fingers digging hard enough into her flesh that she let out a hiss of pain. Raising his head, he caught her eyes as she started to lift her other foot to kick him and lifted an eyebrow, challenging her to do just that and promising her that she would not like the consequences.

Red lips twisted in an angry sneer but she held still as he slipped her foot into the high heeled shoe, fingers gentle now on her ankle and giving it a light caress before going to her other ankle. Slipping the other shoe onto her foot, Michael slid his hand up her slim calf and under her knee, till the palm of his hand lay underneath her thigh. His other hand grasped her calf and he slowly lifted her leg to cross it over the other one, setting her in a more lady-like position before taking a step back.

"Your proficiency in weapons is more than satisfactory. You have the ability to think on your feet, to process a situation rapidly and find a solution." A self-satisfied smirk curved her mouth and the corners of Michael's lips lifted in brief response. "But sometimes a situation calls for...subtlety. A...softer approach."

"Sex." said Shelby flatly.

Michael inclined his head. "The actual act is not always required...merely the suggestion of the possibility. A seduction can prove as much a weapon as a gun, far more insidious. Demonstrate." he ordered, standing back with arms at his sides.

Rising from her chair, Shelby stalked over to him and reached up one long-nailed hand to sink fingers into his hair, dragging his head down so that she could claim his mouth, grinding her body against his. His fingers wrapped around her wrist to squeeze hard, forcing her to release her grip on his hair, and then he thrust her from him.

"Seduce...not attack." said Michael dryly. "Like...so..." And he reached out to cup her face in his hands, leaning forward to brush her lips with his, a light caress. Drew back to see that her eyes had closed, lips parted slightly, and went in for another, longer kiss, Shelby following him with her mouth this time.

Breaking the kiss he traced the line of her full mouth with his fingertip, his other hand sliding down her throat, down shoulder and bare arm to fold fingers around hers, drawing her arm around his waist.

Another kiss, deeper, harder, her lips parting under the gentle pressure of his tongue, allowing him access to her mouth. One hand stroked her thigh while the other slid between them to brush fingers across her breasts in light, gentle strokes, Shelby moaning against his mouth and arching up into his caress.

And as quickly as he had started, he stopped, drawing away from her to study her with his typical detachment. She stood swaying for a moment and then eyes opened to stare at him in a mixture of frustrated desire and anger.

"You bastard..."

He smiled slightly, a smile that did not reach cool grey eyes. "That is how it's done. For most of the marks you will meet, a soft approach will be far more welcomed than an aggressive one. For now, we will work on subtle." From the desk he picked up the lavender jacket that went with the skirt and moved around her, slipping it onto her arms and turning her so that he could button it. She shivered at the feel of his fingers against the bare skin of her shoulders and took a step back.

"I can do it." snapped Shelby and buttoned up the jacket in short, angry motions.

Michael stepped forward to straighten the collar and she allowed it, even though hazel eyes flashed with anger.

"Come." said Michael simply and walked out of the room, trusting that she would follow him. And after a moment the click of her heels indicated that she was following, albeit reluctantly.

-----------------------------

"Him." Michael's warm breath stirred her hair as he placed lips close to her ear, so that Shelby could hear him over the pounding beat of industrial music.

She looked in the indicated direction and saw a man with short-cropped blond hair and wire-rimmed glasses, still clad in his corporate uniform, though the blazer was unbuttoned and tie was gone.

"He has on him a security pass. Take it from him...but make sure that he doesn't know you've taken it. Be...discreet."

Shelby hesitated, shooting a wary glance at Michael over her shoulder. To be out of the Section--just nine months into her training--was unusual enough; to be given an actual assignment all the more unusual. And it made her suspicious, considering that she knew she had to be in deep shit for her attitude.

"Go." said Michael, giving her a nudge, and she obeyed reluctantly, giving Michael one more penetrating look before she moved through the crowd and for her intended target. Michael took a small sip of his drink and watched as she approached the target.

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

Shelby was proud of herself. In fact, she couldn't stop smiling. She had secured the security pass and now she was dancing in Michael's arms. He hadn't said a words as he had taken it from her and slipped it in his pocket. Shelby had expected them to leave immediately, but Michael had asked her for a dance.

Heaven was in his arms. Since she had done so well seducing the mark, Shelby decided to test some of her new found skills on Michael. From the day he had greeted her in the white room, Shelby had been wanting to bed him. Now seemed like the perfect opportunity. So she slid her fingers into his hair, remembering to be gentle, then pulled his head down for a kiss.

Michael allowed the kiss, his eyes locked on Shelby's face all the while. Let her tongue slip into his mouth, let her taste him. Felt her hands moved from his hair to glide down his back the onto his buttocks where she pressed him against her, her hips swaying. Wanting to arouse him. Michael didn't respond. He simply let Shelby do what she wished until the song ended, then he broke her embrace and whispered, "You have alot to learn." That said, and ignoring the fury that blazed from her eyes, Michael took Shelby by the arm and led her from the club.

They returned to Section. Shelby hadn't said a word since the club. But as they passed by Walter's station, she saw a familiar face. The corporate man from the club. The nerd she had pilfered the security pass from. He was Section. It hadn't been a real mission, Shelby realized. It had been a test. Before she could comment the man joined them, ignoring her to speak to Michael.

"She needs practice," said the operative named Stone.

"Work with her," Michael replied, then he turned away and strode down the corridor feeling Shelby's hot gaze burning into his back. He shrugged it off.

Nikita was waiting for Michael around the corner. She had been watching the exchange between him, Shelby and Stone. "How's it going with Shelby?" Nikita queried as she fell into step with Michael.

He glanced over at her then blinked. "Slowly," Michael allowed. "She has alot to learn."

"Bet you can't wait to teach her," Nikita drawled, and she couldn't keep the pain she was feeling from coloring her face. Cursed herself for it and stopped walking, intending to turn away. But Michael grabbed her arm.

"I didn't sleep with her, Nikita," he said soflty. Michael's eyes flickered over Nikita's face. He wished he could kiss away her pain, but that would be folly for them both. Especially for him. Nikita was his weakness. All of Section knew it.

She pulled her arm free then sighed. "But you will sleep with her," Nikita stated, hands planted on hips, eyes flashing Michael a challenge to deny it.

He accepted the challenge. "No," Michael whispered, then he explained. Nikita deserved that much, and Michael truly wanted her to understand. "Shelby is possessive by nature. If I slept with her she would become too attached."

"I see," Nikita hissed, and the pain she felt only increased. Not for herself this time, but for Michael. It hurt her to think that he saw sleeping with someone as simply part of the job. No emotional attachment. Not that he wasn't capable of emotion. Nikita knew he was. Even though she wished she could believe otherwise at times.

She reached out and laid her palm against Michael's cheek, feeling the rasp of his stubble against her sensitive skin, and remembering how it had felt when he'd kissed her on the boat. Shook away the memory and whispered, "You shouldn't have to do this. Madeline has no right."

"It's part of the job, Nikita," Michael replied. "Let it go." That said he stepped back, away from her touch, turning away from the pain in her beautiful eyes and continued on to his office. He had a report to write.

Nikita was surprised when Madeline asked her to assist Michael in training one of the recruits. Collins. He was six weeks away from making Cold Op. After reading his file, understanding began to dawn. Collins was blatantly gay. Nikita glared at Madeline.

"What now?" she hissed. "You expect Michael to seduce him?"

"I expect Michael to teach him how to seduce," Madeline replied. "Although Collins prefers men, he needs to learn to seduce women. Preferably by example. It doesn't come easily to him."

"I bet it did for Michael." The words were out before Nikita could stop them and she was horrified at herself.

Madeline merely smiled. "Michael is unique. His sensuality is like an aura. He's blantantly sexual, yet knows how to tone it down. It's useful to us."

Nikita shook her head. "I bet. So...tell me something, Madeline," she prompted. "Who trained Michael in the art of seduction? You?"

"In part," Madeline allowed, her eyes never leaving Nikita's face. Then she added, "Along with Jurgen."

"How nice," Nikita drawled, forcing herself not to show any reaction. Inside she was shaking. But she rose from her chair with Collins' file still clutched in her hand, and exited the room. She needed to talk with Michael.

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

The training room resembled that of a drawing room in some old English manner; wood paneling on the walls, the carpet a deep luxurious brown shag, a brown leather armchair set beside the bookshelves, a couch upholstered in dark red velvet set before a fireplace. Collins stood before the fireplace--cold and empty, the warmth of fire a distant memory--eyes fixed on Michael before him; he was a man of average height and appearance, nothing especially noteworthy about him, but he had a boyish quality to him, the kind of open, earnest-looking features that inspired trust. Light brown hair worn just a little longer than the norm, guileless brown eyes--your average former Eagle scout from next door...if that Eagle scout had earned merit badges in drug dealing.

"Part of the art of seduction is seeing to it that the intended target is open to it. If there isn't an attraction there, then nothing will come of it. What you must do is create that attraction, feed it."

Collins made a face and crossed his arms over his chest. "Your body--your nature--isn't so easily controlled."

"Isn't it?" returned Michael and took a step towards him, reaching out a hand to wind fingers in Collins' hair as he gave him a slow, deep kiss. A momentary withdrawal, Michael's eyes heavy-lidded as he gazed at Collins, lips slightly parted, and then his mouth came down again on the other man's, hungry and insistent. And then he stepped back, to leave Collins standing there, weaving as he leaned a little forward, eyes closed and mouth open.

It took Collins a moment to recover, a faint flush staining his cheeks, and Michael continued with his lecture, as if nothing had transpired.

"The body can be controlled, as can your physical reactions. You act as a mirror to the target--you project what they want to see. Who--what--the target is should have no meaning. Only the performance--"

The sound of the door opening brought their attention to it and the person slipping inside. Nikita flashed an insincere smile of regret and walked to Michael. "Madeline thought you would want this."

Seeing that it was Collins' file--which he had already studied extensively--Michael quirked an eyebrow at this obvious falsehood but let it go, turning a little to face Collins.

"Observe." He took the file from Nikita's hand and went to lay it on a nearby desk, returning to Nikita to stand before her, suppressing a smile as she regarded him warily.

"I need your...assistance in this lesson."

Frowning Nikita gave a slow, reluctant nod and Michael reached out to take her ponytail, working it free of the scrunchie that bound it, combing fingers through golden hair and pulling it down to her shoulders. Smoothed a golden wing of it back from her face and pressed his lips to her forehead, a light feathery kiss, sending a tingle of warmth through her. Splayed fingers slid down her cheek to cup her jaw, thumb rubbing the underside of it as he tipped her head back to meet his mouth.

Collins' presence was soon forgotten in the sweetness of Michael's mouth, Nikita parting lips to allow his tongue entrance, her hands winding in his hair to bring him closer to her. Moaned against his mouth as she felt his palm slide over one silk-covered breast, one pass and then a second before slipping inside her blouse to cup bare breast, kneading it gently.

Without even realizing he was guiding her, Nikita felt the back of her knees strike the couch and at Michael's urging she sat down on it. He broke the kiss, tongue giving her lips a brief flick, and then his mouth moved down slender throat as hands tugged her blouse open to bare small breasts. His tongue traced a path down from her collarbone and the cleft between breasts, running across the underside of first one breast and then the other. Teasingly he pressed kisses to her breasts, mouth and tongue moving over every part of her breasts save the nipples that stood erect, aching for attention.

She arched her back, wriggling in an attempt to reach his mouth, and he drew back to gaze down at her, flushed and eyes dark with desire.

"Michael...please..." she moaned, threading fingers through his hair to pull his head down. And gasped as he took a nipple between his lips, nibbling on it before he began to suck on it, Nikita moaning her appreciation as he lathed her nipple with his talented tongue.

A hand slid up her skirt, pulling it up to expose long leg and garter, across thigh and to the center of her, already damp and ready. She bit her lip hard as she felt his fingers slide under the thin silk barrier of her panties, to gently rub her, and pressed eagerly against his hand, letting herself sink back on the couch, eyes closed as she gave herself up to the sensations that rushed through her. She mewed in disappointment as Michael's mouth released her nipple, sliding out saliva-coated from between his lips, but he was moving over her, still rubbing her even as he took her hand to slide it down his own trousers, to show her that he was hard and ready for her.

Grey eyes gazed into hers with an unspoken question and she nodded in response, reaching eager hands to loosen his trousers and free him. Shoving her skirt up to her waist he twisted her panties to the side, allowing just enough room for him to go into her. She arched her back as he slid inside, legs spreading to allow him better access, and encouraged him with hands and thrusts of her hips to go harder, faster. The two of them straining together, all else forgotten in the moment of their union, and Nikita cried out with her explosive orgasm, muscles tightening on him and drawing his own release.

He lay still in her for a moment and then slowly withdrew, rising from the couch to straighten clothing before turning to the dumbfounded Collins. "There is an art to this, in knowing where to touch, how to elicit a response. To know what to say, what to do, and achieve the desired results. Whether it is the gatheringof information...or the establishing of an emotional tie that will bind the target to you."

His words washed over Nikita in a scalding, acid tide, stripping from her all conceptions, all silly ideals, bringing to her the sudden horrifying thought that all along what had happened between them had been some part of Michael's master plan. That he felt no more for her than he had any mark he was sent to woo and bed...

Cheeks flaming she tugged her clothing back together and rose from the couch, so angry and humiliated that she was shaking, blue eyes glittering as she met Michael's cool grey ones. Oh, how she wanted to slap him, to claw at that perfect face--with an effort she reined in her temper, taking a step towards him. From the flash of uncertainity in his eyes she could see that he didn't know how she would react, expecting perhaps a blow or at the least a verbal assault...but instead she gave him a kiss, molding her body briefly to his, letting him feel every inch of her, the softness of breasts against his chest and the warmth of her groin to his.

"That is the last time that you will touch me like that." she said to him, stroking his cheek, voice velvet soft but with steel under it, and drew away to stalk out of the room. And managed to not slam the door behind her, swiping angrily at the tears sparking in her eyes.

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

Nikita entered Michael's office, her face set in a cool mask. She didn't want to be there, didn't want to see him again, especially so soon after what had happened, but knew she had no choice. They worked as a team too often for her to be able to keep her distance. And Michael had called her in. Nikita figured to brief her on a mission. She was wrong.

"Sit down," Michael entreatied, the moment Nikita had entered the room. He closed the door then moved to stand at the side of his desk. Facing her, but not looking at her directly. "About Collins..." he began.

"Forget it!" Nikita shouted, rising from the chair and heading for the door, only to have Michael cut her off. "I'm not talking about this!" she hissed at him. Then she moved away from him, crossing over behind his desk.

Michael followed, but not too close. He didn't understand Nikita's anger towards him, but he wanted to. "What happened was a training lesson," Michael said softly. "You knew you were being sent to help me. I warned you."

Nikita wouldn't admit that she had forgotten. Shouldn't have, not with Collins in the room the entire time. Realized that Michael wasn't entirely to blame. But she was still hurt and angry, and tears sparkled in her eyes as she turned to face him. "Tell me the truth, Michael, if you can. The times we were together....were they real? Or just a lesson?"

"It was real for me," Michael whispered. "With Collins...it was as real as it could be."

"I don't think I understand," Nikita confessed.

Michael resisted the urge to sigh. He moved to her but didn't touch Nikita. He could see that she didn't want that and he wouldn't push her. Not this time. But he would attempt to explain, if he could. "What I do for Section isn't easy for me, Nikita. In spite of what I did to you. In spite of what I tried to teach Collins. With everyone else it's just....the job. With you...it's different." He fell silent.

Nikita wasn't ready to let him off the hook. "Different how?" she prompted.

"I want to be with you," Michael confessed. "The other times...the other people...it's what Section wants. But not with you, Nikita. Believe that."

"I want to believe you, Michael," Nikita allowed. And she did, desperately so. Searched his beautiful eyes and saw truth shining there. It surprised her that he would allow her past his shields, if only for a moment. "Why do you let them do this to you?" she beseeched. "They use you like a whore."

Michael knew he couldn't make her understand so he didn't bother. He would simply continue doing what had to be done, including protecting Nikita from the harsher realities of Section One. "I have to go," he said softly, and it was thetruth. He was already late for a briefing with Madeline.

Nikita nodded. "Sure...go." It was what he did best. She watched him glide over to the door, open it, then stride down the corridor. "Damn you, Michael," Nikitawhispered, when she was alone. Then she headed out as well, her mind filled with chaos.

Madeline studied the profile on the monitor screen. Michael's. She had some concerns of late but shared them with no one. Had considered calling Michael in for a counseling session but knew that he would only tell her what she wanted to hear. Michael would never open up his heart or soul to her. Madeline had learned that long ago. Not that she had time to worry about that now. She heard the buzz signalling a presence and the doors whooshed open.

"Hello, Michael," Madeline said in greeting as the operative entered the room.

"You wanted to see me," Michael countered, moving to stand before Madeline's desk.

"Yes...I have a mission for you," Madeline gestured to the chair next to Michael and waited until he was seated to continue. "You'll be solo on this one. The details have been downloaded to your computer, but I wanted to go over the profile with you."

Michael blinked. "Of course." He offered nothing else. So far this was nothing out of the ordinary.

Madeline offered a smile. It stopped just short of reaching her eyes. "We need you to get close to a woman named Valerie Casio. She's forty-five years old and runs a male escort service that mob connected." Madeline paused to rise from her chair and glided around to the front of her desk, leaning back against it and crossing her arms over her chest. "Ms. Casio is a talker....when she has sex. We want you to get her to talk about one Antonio Fabrizi. Find out who he is, what he is and why he's in town."

"Is that all?" Michael queried. It seemed pretty cut and dried to him. Just another, simple, seduction. Something Section wanted, just as he had told Nikita. A sudden image of the beautiful blond danced in Michael's head, distracting him.

"That's not all," Madeline responded. She could see that Michael had left her for a moment, and she waited for his eyes to meet hers before she explained.

"Ms. Casio likes...kinky...sex. We've set you up as a potential escort. She likes to try out the new employees...so to speak. She's auditioning you on the recommendation of a trusted friend. Don't disappoint her, Michael."

He blinked again. "What do you suggest?" Michael prompted, knowing that Madeline's profile would be detailed and precise. He would only need to follow it and Valerie Casio would be in the bag.

Madeline smiled again. "Let her be in control. Whatever she wants to do to you, allow it. Understand?"

"Yes," Michael replied, although he felt a vague sense of unease. Still, he rose to his feet and headed for the door. "When do I leave?" he questioned, as the doors opened.

"Six hours," Madeline replied, then she watched him leave the room.

------------------------------------

Valerie Casio was an attactive woman. Forty-five but looked younger. She was in excellent shape, which was shown to advantage in a leather bra and g-string. When Michael knocked on her bedroom door, having been escorted there by Ms. Casio's secretary, he was greeted with a French kiss which he returned in measure.

"The French do it best," Valerie purred, as she closed the door behind Michael, discreetly locking it, then took his arm and led him to the center of the room.

She made him stand there while she walked around him, making an inspection. Madeline had dressed Michael in black leather pants that clung to his legs and buttocks like a second skin and a white, low cut, tank top under a black, leather blazer. Michael allowed Valerie to remove the jacket and stood docile as her hands glided over him, one cupping over the bulge between his legs. Let himself grow hard as she kneaded him, kissed her back when she thrust her tongue in his mouth.

Valerie had only just begun. She was a strong woman and she grasped the tank top in both hands and ripped it open, then licked her way from Michael's collar bone down to his navel. Then she pushed him towards the bed, shoving him down then reaching for leather straps to bind his wrists. Michael made a show of protest, claiming that he wanted to be able to touch her, but was silenced with a hard kiss.

Michael shut out his natural instincts, detaching himself from what he was really feeling and allowing only those emotions that were expected of him. Even when Valerie opened a drawer full of sex toys and began to use them on him, Michael reacted appropriately. Some of the things she did to him were degrading.Others were painful. But he accepted them all without a word of complaint. He did the job and got the information needed. Madeline had been right. Valerie Casio was a talker. He left her place at dawn and found himself heading for home rather than section.

Michael's first stop was the shower. The stench of sex clung to his clothes and his skin. He stood beneath the hot spray and scrubbed his body till it was flushed red. Shampooed his hair then did it again. Stepped out of the shower, wrapped himself in a robe, then brushed his teeth three times. Avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror then reached for the blow dryer. Styled his hair then dressed. Soon he was heading back to Section.

Valerie Casio sat across from Madeline. She was the profiler for Section Five. In other words, she performed the same duties as Madeline did at Section One. The mission with Michael had been created by Madeline. Not exactly a test, more a means of studying Michael.

"He did everything expected of him," Valerie reiterated. "And he did it very well. Had it been a legit mission, I would have told him everything."

Madeline nodded. "How did he react to the things you did to him?"

"Hard to say," Valerie confessed. She combed her fingers through her short, black hair and sighed. "Michael...acted...convincingly. That's what you've trained him to do. I could almost see him detaching himself from what I was doing to him. Yet he gave the appropriate responses....as I said."

"Is he all right?" Madeline prompted. She knew she was too close to the situation to tell. Michael was too careful around her.

Valerie answered carefully. "I don't think so. Michael is very fragile emotionally. That's why he's erected such strong shields. But too much is expected of him and he makes certain he delivers. He's going to break."

Madeline rubbed her fingertips against her temples to ease the throbbing pain of a tension headache. "Can you help him?" she asked, softly. "We don't want to lose Michael."

"I think I can help," Valerie allowed. "But you'll have to give me full access to him. We can't do this here, Madeline. I need to get Michael away from Section One."

"Where to?" Madeline queried.

Valerie smiled. "My place." By that she meant Section Five.

Madeline knew she had to agree. "I'll send the med team to sedate Michael. Then you can take him. How long...do you think?"

"I can't say right now," Valerie replied. "I'll keep you updated."

"Fine," Madeline whispered, then she reached for the phone.

---------------------------------

With the return of consciousness came as well the awareness that he was in a strange place. It was an instinct Michael had honed over the years, to be so completely aware of his surroundings that even the most minute change would register with him immediately. A sound, a smell, a sense of movement--any change in his environment and even the deepest sleep was broken... Save for when he was drugged of course, he reflected ruefully.

Pushing back the blanket that covered him, he sat up in the bed, eyes flicking around the room to take in his surroundings, an assessment so automatic that it was rarely thought on. Bed in the center of the room, head of it against the wall, walls bare and painted beige rather than white, a wooden chair set a few feet from the bed. The door plain, ordinary...but deceptive; not only would it be secured from the other side it would also be reinforced, preventing an unwarranted departure.

His last memory was of Madeline summoning him to her office, ostensibly to discuss the mission against Valerie Casio, and then...nothing. Until he had awoken here.

Anyone else would have gone over the events of that mission, tried to determine where they had failed, what they had done to deserve this, would have run the gamut of emotions from denial to fear...but being who he was and accustomed as he was to the vagaries of the Section, Michael merely sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap, waiting for someone to come.

Perhaps an hour passed before he heard the soft whoosh of released air as the lock was disengaged, the door opening. In the doorway stood the woman he had known as Valerie Casio, dressed in a black pantsuit, a slight smile of welcome on her features as she brought a tray into him.

"I thought we'd start with breakfast." she said as she came to set the tray down on the foot of the bed.

His eyes skimmed over the tray and then lifted back to hers in cool consideration. No demands to know where he was, no questions as to why he was here...even if he was inclined to ask, he knew that the desired answer would not be forthcoming.

"When you're done, come in to see me. Just go out the door, take a right--my office is at the end of the hall." She flashed him another quick smile and then turned on her heel to exit the room, shutting--but not locking--the door behind her.

Eggs, toast, a bowl of fruit, a small serving of jam, coffee and juice--he took a sip of the coffee and nibbled on the toast, ignoring the demands of a stomach that desired something more. When he was done with toast and coffee, he rose from the bed and went to try the door, half-suspecting that it would not open under his hand but open it did. He followed the woman's directions, going to the door at the end of the hall and entering the office.

Valerie sat behind a massive oak desk, head bent over a report, the surface of the desk a neat clutter of books and knicknacks. The overall tone of the office was one of warmth and comfort, from oak paneled walls hung with brightly colored scenery paintings to the wooden coat rack set in one corner, a floor to ceiling bookcase dominating the wall opposite from her desk. In front of her desk was set an armchair and it was to that she gestured, eyes not lifting from her report.

"Have a seat."

Michael hesitated for a moment, torn between acceptance and refusal, considering each in turn. To refuse would be to indicate reluctance to participate, even hostility, and consequently open himself to an even more intense scrutiny than he was no doubt already in for...and so he sank down into the chair. Soft and comfortable under him, not overly so, just enough that one would want to sink into it, to relax...

Deliberately he sat forward in the chair, hands placed in his lap, and waited. Scratching something down on a notepad, Valerie lifted her head and set the report to the side. "Sorry...you know how it goes. Never enough time--" A self-deprecating smile as she reached for her coffee mug and took a sip, leaning back in her chair, head tilted a little to the side as she regarded him. "You should have questions."

"Should I?" he asked politely.

Valerie smiled, inclining her head to acknowledge the point, moving her chair a little from side to side. "Anyone else that has been brought to me does. One of the more popular ones is: why am I here? What have I done wrong?"

"If it's something I'm meant to know...then I'm sure you'll tell me." replied Michael ironically.

Interesting response, thought Valerie. It could be read so many different ways--indications of complacency, of subserviency, even submissiveness. Or a subtle attitude of defiance, the words laced with sarcasm. Having read his file extensively, she knew that Michael would balk at very little of what the Section asked of him--the only point on which he seemed to hold steady was any action regarding his former material Nikita.

With him honesty could be a disarming approach and so she chose that. "My name *is* Valerie. I'm a profiler for Section Five."

Though it did not show in eyes or posture that calm pronouncement chilled him to the bone. Section Five specialized in analyzing and reprogramming operatives--as well as select marks--that were deemed to have value to the Section and in needing of being salvaged. Only those considered damaged were sent to Section Five...

"Then my question should be...why am I here? Correct?" asked Michael with a cool smile and detachment he did not feel. On the heels of his first reaction had come resentment and anger, so strong it surprised him--he did everything that the Section asked of him, performed to the utmost of his abilities with an excellent rate of success...so why was he here? Drugged and thrown into this place as if he were a new recruit headed for the abeyance pool...

"Why do you think you're here, Michael?" asked Valerie curiously, setting her mug down to steeple fingers under her chin as she studied him for his reaction.

She could nearly see the mental gears shifting as his focus turned inward and marvelled at the control he held over himself. But all the same behind those walls he was cracked and bleeding...

"Because I am not up to Section standards." The slightest trace of bitterness colored his words and from the way his mouth tightened, it was not something he had meant to show.

"Do you believe that, Michael?"

A slight minute shift in the chair was the only reaction he gave but it spoke as loudly as a shout, exposing his irritation. "Does it matter what I believe?" he returned smoothly.

They could volley all day and not get anywhere--bluntness would work with him better than the subtle fencing and so she went with bluntness. "You are here because the Section has perceived a potential problem in you...and wants to remedy it. How long you are here...will be determined by how cooperative you are."

The snapping of shields into place was almost audible as Michael sat up straight in the chair. "Understood." he said coldly.

Valerie suppressed a sigh as she saw him distancing himself. "You will place yourself at my disposal, at any hour of the day. There will be no outside communications and no exit from the facility--other than that, you are free to go where you like. We're done for the day."

Nodding curtly Michael rose from the chair to stride out of the office. Valerie sat for a moment, gazing after him, as she contemplated how she would continue with this. She had been given carte blanche in her treatment...but he would require a far more subtle approach than her regular clientele. If he was able to play mind games with Madeline and come away from them relatively unscathed, then he was going to be a formidable opponent.

Good thing that she loved a challenge, she reflected ruefully and turned to her computer, to set up a plan of attack.

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

Valerie planned her first attack very carefully. She slipped into Michael's room at two AM, expecting him to be asleep. According to his file, Michael was subject to nightmares, but seemed able to sleep in the hours between one AM and four AM on average. Moving over to the bed, she could see that he was lying on his back, on top of the covers, dressed in sweats and a tank top. Valerie smiled to herself as she reached out to touch his face. Mistake number one. Her wrist was grabbed in a vise-like grip and Valerie found herself tumbled over Michael's body, landing on her back with him pressed down over her.

"Nice move," she said softly, letting him know her identity. She knew that Michael was capable of killing her with his bare hands.

"What do you want?" Michael asked, easing up on his grip but not releasing Valerie entirely. He could very well guess that her appearance was part of his *therapy*.

"I want to know what goes on inside your head, Michael," Valerie replied, honestly. And she wondered how Michael would deal with the truth. He wasn't used to it, of that she was certain. Section was all about subterfuge and lies.

Michael shifted off of Valerie, releasing her as he rolled off the bed and stood beside it. He reached for the lamp on the small table and clicked it on. Warm light filled the room. "You don't do want to go there," he said softly.

Valerie sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, yet remained seated. "I'm not afraid, Michael," she said softly, her eyes locked on his beautiful face. "Are you?"

"Fear is irrelevant," he Michael stated, locking his gaze on Valerie's. He would not let her break down his shields. Refused to let her in. She would be smart to give up trying now, yet he knew that she wouldn't. "What do you want from me?" he queried, adding a nuance to his first question since her arrival.

"Interesting choice of words," Valerie countered, rising from the bed now. "What do *I* want from you?" she repeated, he voice going soft and seductive. She let Michael see lust shimmer in her eyes and it was genuine. Valerie had not enjoyed the kinkier things she had done to Michael during the so-called mission he thought he had been on. But he had fulfilled her in a way no man had done in a long time. If ever. Michael was a man who had been created for a woman's pleasure. He wore his sensuality like an aura. Section knew how powerful it was and had no qualms about exploiting it...or Michael. And therein lay the problem.

Michael accepted the guilt and shame that was part and parcel of every seduction. Absorbing it as his due. He had no sense of self-worth. It was a penance, plain and simple. But one that could, and would, destroy him in time.

Michael let a slight smile curve his lips. He knew what Valerie was doing and he met her half way. When she had stepped to within reaching distance, Michael wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled Valerie against his body. One hand tangled in her hair as he bent his head and claimed a kiss. Michael let his tongue taste every inch of her mouth. Only once he felt Valerie tremble did Michael release her, stepping back to regard her with eyes that betrayed no emotion.

"Was it good for you," he whispered, tonelessly.

Valerie pressed a hand to her swollen lips, gathering the tattered remains of her control about her with great dignity, then she laughed. "Very good, Michael," she declared. "You understand the concept of sarcasm. You also understand the basic concept of my attraction to you. Does it bother you?"

"What?" he countered, at a loss as to what she was asking.

"Women being attracted to you on a purely physical level," Valerie replied. She returned to the bed and sat down once more. Her pulse was still racing, but her composure was restored. Playing games with Michael was dangerous. Valerie would not underestimate him again. "Does it bother you, Michael, that most women wouldn't give a shit whether or not you possessed a brain?"

Michael blinked. "I don't care what most women think," he replied, without hesitation.

Valerie believed him, to an extent. Michael would not allow himself to care. "What about Simone?" she queried, and watched him closely. Michael's eyes flashed for a moment, with pain. Valerie was sure of it. Score one for her. "Did you care what she thought?"

"Simone is dead," Michael stated, flatly. "She has nothing to do with this."

"We can't seperate ourselves from the past, Michael," Valerie countered, her tone warm and compassionate. She was testing very means of reaching Michael, gauging his response in an attempt to recognize and define his needs. That would be step one in the healing process. And that was what she wanted to do, Valerie realized. She wanted to help Michael heal. Knew that Section One cared only that he was patched up and returned to them in working order. Able to function properly to do the job and that was that. But she wanted more. "Our past shapes our future."

Michael almost laughed, but swallowed it down and locked eyes with Valerie once more. "I don't worry about the future," he replied.

Valerie knew why. "You don't believe you'll have one," she stated simply.

"I'm a cold op," Michael replied. "My days are numbered."

"I don't know...you've lasted for fourteen years, Michael," Valerie drawled. "That's quite the record."

Michael blinked once, twice. "I'll get lucky..." he whispered, breaking off as he realized how much he had given away with those three, simple, words.

Valerie resisted the urge to jump up and down and cheer. Michael might just have well have shouted to the world that he had an innate desire to die. That he considered life to be his sentence for his sins. A *life* sentence as it were. But redemption would always be out of reach for Michael. At least in his mind.

"Goodnight, Michael," she said softly, rising from the bed and gliding towards the door. She let herself out as quietly as she had come.

"Nikita..." Michael whispered her name as he moved to the lamp and switched it off, plunging the room back into darkness. The only place he felt safe. The darkness was his friend.

--------------------------------

"Are you making any progress?" Madeline queried. She was speaking to Valerie on the phone. Five days had passed since Michael had been taken to Section Five.

"A little," Valerie allowed. She refused to give details. Although she respected Madeline, Valerie knew that they used very different methods in their work. "I'm going to need time," she stated.

Madeline sighed. "How much time?" Operations wanted Michael back and fully functional.

Valerie was silent for a moment as she considered her answer. Then she said, "I'll call you." With that she hung up. It was time for another session with Michael.

----------------------

At 9:00 AM Valerie went in search of Michael, choosing to have their session today outside of her office. Since he'd been allowed to roam the complex, she didn't really expect to see him in his room but all the same stopped there first. Given what she knew about him, she guessed that he would either be at the gun range or the gym. No one at the range and she headed for the gym, where she found Michael.

He was seated on one of the benches, wiping sweat from forehead and neck with a handtowel, and lifted his head at her approach. Clad in loose pants and a sweat-dampened tank top, strands of damp hair curling around his face, he still managed to look delectable, sweat and all.

Sitting down on another bench, she was silent for a moment, just watching him as he wiped off arms and the top of his chest. Admittedly not out of respect for him but because she was enjoying the view, she thought ruefully. Only when he had set the towel aside did she speak.

"What would you want to talk about, Michael?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Want?" he echoed, voice dryly ironic.

"Participation is generally the key in any successful attempt at counseling." replied Valerie mildly.

"And generally the patient comes to his or her sessions voluntarily." returned Michael, eyes and tone cool.

Valerie smiled slightly. "You know that the Section views you--and your fellow operatives as a commodity. If there is something broken, they will make an attempt to fix it, but if the operative proves to require too much work, they will toss them aside. The Section sent you to me because they see that you need fixing. And all they care about is me slapping a patch on you and sending you back to them. I want to do more than that."

"Why?" he asked, eyes boring hard into hers, looking for subterfuge, dissemblence.

"For one thing--you will do far more for the Section if the process is more complete. For another...just because you need it."

Michael was silent, studying her for a long moment, and then gave a slight shake of his head. "I don't need healing." he said coldly.

"Don't you?" Holding up her hand, she ticked off her fingers. "Your parents died when you were sixteen, leaving you to care for a ten-year-old sister. When you were nineteen, you were taken away from your sister, declared dead to the world and tossed into the Section. Never to see your only family again. The only other family connection you were able to make was with Simone...and then she died. You have no friends in Section, no one that you have attempted to make an emotional connection with...save one."

"And your point is...?" No emotion at all in his eyes, not even a hint of anger, just an...emptiness that was at once frightening and unutterably sad.

"You've come to see living as a penance for the wrongs you've committed. You are so determined to not enjoy a moment of your life that the moment someone becomes too close, you push them away. As you have with Nikita." That hit scored, as she had known it would, and as a result she could see him physically and mentally withdraw back into his shell, into that place inside himself where nothing could reach him.

But still she had to try to reach him again. "You see her as a weakness...but she can be your greatest strength, Michael. Because of her, a part of you that you thought was dead, burned away by the losses of your past, lives again. Letting yourself *feel* is not wrong, Michael. What you must come to terms with is the fact that the person you were all those years ago is not dead...he's merely been sleeping. You need to learn to integrate that self with this present self."

Slowly Michael rose from the bench, looking very tired. "I can't be who I was...and be who I am now. It's not possible." And without another word he left her alone in the gym, pondering that last statement.

----------------------

The sessions followed that same pattern.

An intricate dance or even a fencing match--a subtle thrust and parry, a lunge and a turning aside of the blade. From time to time, Valerie was able to draw blood...but the wound was quickly cauterized and forgotten. No progress to be made and it frustrated the hell out of her-- just when she thought that she had chiseled through one wall, another one was thrown up to take its place...and she was once again successfully barred from penetration.

And so she had to turn to one last weapon in her arsenal...