"Nikita's been captured."

Michael's head shot up from the computer screen where he had been keeping himself amused by trying to break into Valerie's private files. A challenge she had given him permission for. He was past two of her flags but now his fingers stilled. "By who?" Michael asked, almost too softly to be heard. He didn't doubt what Valerie told him, her expression was grim.

Valerie locked eyes with Michael. "By Red Cell," she replied. "Nikita was on a mission and no one expected them to be there."

"She's alive?" Michael queried, unaware of the fact that he held his breath as he waited for an answer.

"So far as Section knows," Valerie allowed.

Michael was on his feet. "I want to go in," he stated, his eyes flashing. He was remembering the last time Red Cell had captured Nikita. How terrified she had been of the rats they had used to torture her. Michael couldn't bear the thought of her suffering such a fate again.

Valerie sighed then shook her head. "I'm sorry, Michael," she said softly. "I can't let you go." That said she turned and walked away, allowing him solitude to accept the inevitable.

"Nikita..." Michael whispered, then he got up and changed his clothes. Once he was dressed in as close as he could get to field gear, Michael left his room.

"Good boy," Valerie whispered, as she watched him on her computer from her office. A smile curved her lips as Michael conned a weapon from inventory on the pretence of target practice. He managed to pilfer a few other items as well, then he made his way to transport. Valerie took note of the fact that he could have easily killed the operatives who tried to bar him from leaving, but he merely rendered them unconscious. She called medlab to have them tended to then leaned back in her chair. All she could do now, was wait.

Michael used a laptop to tap into Section One files. He discovered Nikita's mission files and that gave him a location. It didn't mean she would be there now, but it was a place to start. That's where he headed.

Six hours later, Michael reached the location. It had been sanitized, probably by Section One. But Michael didn't care. He had to find a clue to Nikita's whereabouts. Knew that Section would do nothing to save her. Didn't care what would happen to her now. He had only one purpose in mind. Rescue Nikita. He got lucky.

Tapping back into Section files, Michael was able to retrieve the message Red Cell had sent them. A plea bargain for Nikita. Michael knew that Operations would have refused it, but it gave him what he needed. A location. Birkhoff's guess, but that was good enough for Michael. The whiz kid was seldom wrong.

Michael reached the compound and entered with the stealth of a shadow. Time held no meaning for him at this point. He was AWOL and no doubt Valerie had contacted Section One about him. They would come for him but Michael didn't care. Let them come. Nikita would risk everything to save him if the situation were reversed. Had done so more than once in the past. Michael could do no less for her. Wanted to do more. But there was nothing more he could do. Nothing more he could give of himself. He wondered, briefly, if she wouldn't be better off dead.

Maybe that was what he would give Nikita. Freedom, the only way he could.

But those thoughts slipped away as Michael went deeper into the compound.

Something was wrong. There were no guards. Nothing and no one. But Michael kept on, checking rooms for Nikita's presence. At the end of a long hallway he found her. She lay on the floor in a pool of blood. Blond hair stained and matted.

"Nikita..." Michael whispered, and felt his knees buckle. But he wouldn't give in to his weakness. Michael forced himself to move forward. Then he was kneeling by her side, one hand reaching out to roll Nikita towards him so that he could see her face. And as her body shifted, Michael gasped. The woman was not Nikita.

It was then that he heard the sound of footsteps. Turned to see Valerie smiling at him, holding a gun. A tranq gun. Michael stood up and faced her, eyes flashing but mask firmly in place. "Bitch!" he hissed, then he crumpled as two darts imbedded themselves in his flesh and darkness claimed him.

Michael had been awake for a while. He lay still since he had little choice. He was in a white room his wrists bound by padded restraints. He sensed a presence and his eyes flickered towards the door.

Valerie glided into the room and moved to stand beside the bed. She let her fingers tangle in Michael's hair, feeling him go stiff. He was angry but unwilling to unleash that anger. Always in control, that was Michael.

"I'm sorry about deceiving you," Valerie said softly, and felt Michael's start of surprise. Knew that Section One never apologized for it's lies and betrayals.

"Why?" Michael countered, and the simple word asked a million questions.

"I had to know how far you would go to save Nikita," Valerie stated, without hesitation. "I wanted to see if you love her as much as I think you do."

Michael had no response for that so he stared up at the ceiling, waiting for Valerie to continue. When she remained silent he finally spoke. "What happens now?" Michael felt weary. Too worn out to play her games anymore. He wanted to go home. Back to Section One. Back to his job. Back to Nikita.

Valerie touched his face with her fingertips. "I've had Nikita transferred, Michael," she said softly. "She's no longer at Section One. Her present location is no longer any concern of yours. You were right. Nikita is your weakness. Section One wants you back. I'm sending you back."

"When?" Michael queried, forcing the word out past the lump in his throat. Nikita was gone...Nikita was gone...Nikita was gone... The words echoed in his head till he was dizzy.

"Tomorrow," Valerie replied, then she bent and kissed Michael. A soft kiss, devoid of passion. A simple goodbye. She only hoped she was doing the right thing. If this didn't break Michael, then nothing would. And if he wouldn't break, then she couldn't fix him.

"Goodbye," Valerie whispered, then she exited the room.

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

Madeline sat behind her desk, eyes on the monitor screen before her, the fingertips of one hand stroking her temples, the other hand resting beside the keyboard. At the soft sound of her door opening, she shifted her attention from the screen to the man who entered.

Hands shoved in the pockets of his blazer, Operations stalked up to her desk, radiating anger and impatience, body rigid with it. "Have you seen the video on the Borges mission?"

"I'm watching it now." said Madeline with a calm she did not feel, turning her eyes once more to the screen. To see Michael stride up to Roberto Borges, his stride one of supreme indifference, as if he were not surrounded by a half-dozen of Borges' men, as if those same men were not training their guns on him. And winced to hear Michael calmly tell Borges to surrender...or die.

It was an attitude from Michael that they had seen before...and Madeline had hoped not to see again. It had been prevalent following Simone's death...and resurfaced during Nikita's six-month long absence from the Section, a recklessness that bordered on suicidal. Taking calculated risks was something the Section was well versed in, a trait they encouraged in their operatives...but this...this was sheer folly.

Michael had been placed on the team sent to take down Borges...but not as team leader. That position had gone to one of their newer team leaders--Schaefer--and from the beginning there had been a level of discord. Newly placed as he was, Schaefer was not about to give up even the smallest bit of his authority...and especially disinclined to listen to any advice Michael had to offer.

Roberto Borges had his fingers in a great many pies, supplying arms to various terrorist organizations as well as information, and when it had been learned that he was in the midst of finalizing a large deal with a splinter branch of Red Cell, a mission profile had been immediately drafted to stop him. Schaefer's plan of attack had failed miserably, costing him the lives of four operatives, and required a call for reinforcements, which had been seconds away from arriving to help the beleaguered team before Michael had pulled this stunt.

Had walked out during a lull between firing, no gun at all in evidence, and to everyone's mutual disbelief, he had not even been fired on as he approached Borges and told him to surrender. Madeline suppressed a sigh, her fingers rubbing openly at her temples now, as she watched Borges laugh in disbelief, his men joining in on uneasy laughter.

And then from behind him Michael had pulled out a gun, shooting Borges in the head. Turned to calmly fire on his men...even as the backup team arrived. Given that he had been wearing body armor, what hits he had taken had been deflected, leaving only nasty bruises, a minor graze to his arm the most serious of his injuries. Had given his debriefing with his usual composure, weathering Operations' acidic outbursts and obvious disapproval, waiting until the diatribe had ended before politely asking if he was allowed to go.

"I don't like this recklessness." said Operations flatly. "It's getting tiresome."

Under the harshness of his words was a note of concern, one that Madeline shared. What she would not share with him at this point in time was Valerie's plan...for she was not entirely convinced that it would work. And if she was not convinced...then she doubted she could assure Operations that it was for the best.

"I thought you would approve of the seperation." she said mildly.

Operations cast her a waspish look. "Well, the damage has already been done, hasn't it? And need I remind you that it *was* your idea to give her to him in the first place."

Madeline raised her eyebrows a little at that. "Fix him, you said. And at the time you didn't seem to be very particular about how that fixing was done." Her tone was mild but she let a hint of steel creep into it, showing that she would not back down nor accept full responsibility for this. "Nikita has been good for Michael--she has helped him to reconnect with the world." And she'd changed him...made him look to another's safety, placing that safety above the dictates of the Section...

"Whatever scheme you have here, Madeline--it had better work." said Operations coldly and turned to stalk out of the room.

Sighing, Madeline reached to shut off the video just as it began to replay again and reached for her phone.

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

"Michael."

On the screen before him was a profile for one Tommy Cheung, a former member of an influential Hong Kong Triad that had broken apart with the return of Hong Kong to China, now working to build his own power base. Through the import company he owned he shipped everything from opium to stolen technology and he'd recently stumbled on a formula for a biological weapon. A gas that was virtually undetectable, odorless, colorless...but very deadly.

"Michael!"

Michael lifted his head at the sound of Birkhoff's voice, blinking as he transferred his attention from the computer to Birkhoff.

Birkhoff stepped forward, extending a disk, and said, "This is the intel that you wanted on Cheung's known associates." Michael nodded, taking the disk from him and inserting it into his computer, and Birkhoff hesitated, looking at the older man, taking in the circles under his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." said Michael automatically, not even glancing at Birkhoff as he brought up the information on the disk. Birkhoff shifted his weight from foot to foot and then finally turned to leave the office, shaking his head a little.

Michael sat at the desk for a long moment, struggling to focus on the file before him, and then sat back to rub his eyes, finally acknowledging to himself that it was time to stop for the day.

Nearly two weeks had passed since he'd returned to the Section...to find that Valerie had indeed kept her word. Nikita had been transferred but to where he didn't know...and couldn't discover. And the halls of Section seemed to be even emptier, even colder, without her presence.

He kept expecting to turn a corner and see her there, striding purposefully down the hallway, all afire with righteous indignation, to hear that husky voice say his name, to see her sprawled in the chair she had staked a claim to in the debriefing room. Walking through the Section it was as if she had imprinted the very walls with a touch of her essence, like a cat marked with its scent, and there was no part of Section that did not rouse some memory. Good or bad, sad or bittersweet...

Knowing that she was alive was no solace...and he suspected that it wouldn't have been either during that bleak time when he'd no idea if she had escaped the warehouse before it exploded. Hadn't realized before how deeply she had affected him, how her spirit buoyed him...until it was gone and he was left to struggle to remain adrift...alone.

As he was now...

He scarcely slept, ate only when he could no longer ignore the demands of his body, burying himself in his work...as he had before, when the emptiness of his life threatened to swallow him whole. And as before the meaning Section gave to his life dwindled and dwindled, fading to the smallest of specks...and then winking out entirely. And when it reached that point...then he no longer cared for his own survival.

He was nearly to that point now...and it did not bother him in the least. The Section had taken all from him that he had to give...and that which he wouldn't give...and so the final step in the process would be for them to take his life. And now he was more than willing to give it...in order to end this void his life had become.

Sighing Michael pushed up out of his chair and took the disks with him, to plan at home the mission that would be his last.

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

Michael had determined that the easiest way to get close to Tommy Cheung was to get himself introduced as free agent. One for hire. Loyal to the man who paid his fee. To that end, Michael hooked up with one of Tommy's associates and bargained an introduction to the man himself. Easy as pie.

And so it was that Michael found himself in Cheung's company now. With him was a group of his body guards, a half dozen exotic beauties dressed in skimpy dresses and too much lipstick, and one young girl. She looked to be about thirteen and, upon seeing her, Michael froze. The girl had bright blue eyes and pale blond hair, weaved into braids. She was beautiful, fresh faced, innocent.

"Lovely...isn't she?" Cheung drawled, as he gave Michael the once over. Then he glanced at the man standing beside the newcomer and jerked his head. "You can go now, Sammy, you've done your job." As he spoke, Cheung sent Michael a silent message.

Michael got it clear enough. He removed his gun from it's shoulder holster and shot Sammy in the back of the head as the man walked away, believing himself to be heading for freedom. Madeline had determined Sammy to be acceptable collateral at the start of the mission. So far it was going as profiled. The sequence had begun. Michael could see acceptance in Tommy's eyes as he replaced his gun in his holster with cool detachment. "Anything else?" Michael queried.

Cheung grinned and gestured for one of the ladies to bring Michael a glass of amber liquid. "I'm sure I'll think of something," Tommy drawled, holding up his own glass. "For the moment, drink up, Michael. You've just made the team."

"Thank you," Michael replied, as he downed the amber liquid. A strong rum that burned the back of his throat, but he gave no reaction, knowing that Cheung was watching for one. Never give the enemy what he expects. At least not when he expects it. Michael put down the glass, kissed the woman nearest to him, deep and slow, then gestured to his surroundings. Tommy's house on the waterfront. "Nice place," Michael said softly.

"It'll do for now," Cheung allowed. He crooked a finger, gesturing for Michael to move closer. "You know what...I've decided that I do have one more test for you, my friend."

Michael shrugged. "Of course." As he spoke he tapped off the com unit he was wearing. This was where the sequence of events were about to change. He would retrieve the formula and make certain Birkhoff received it. But then it would be over. Michael would not walk away from Tommy Cheung alive. "What do you want me to do?" he queried, not letting his expression slip from it's cold mask. Tommy pointed to the blond haired girl. The child. "Kill her," he said casually, his eyes locked on Michael's face.

"Why?" Michael countered, not haven't meant to ask the question. The blood in his veins suddenly chilled and he had to lock his knees to keep from falling. He must have heard Tommy wrong.

"Because," Cheung replied, his dark eyes flashing. He was deadly serious. "I need to know how...cold...you can be, Michael. I need to be sure you can do the job."

Michael took a deep breath before replying. "I can do the job," he drawled.

Cheung grinned. "Prove it," he demanded. "Kill the girl."

"Waste of time," Michael stated, even as he removed his gun. His left hand went to the gun at the small of his back.

"Do it," Tommy prompted, his eyes glowing with blood lust. He loved the fear that shimmered in the young girl's eyes. Loved the squeal of her protests as she begged for her life. Fear making her paralyzed so that she was unable to run.

Michael looked at the girl, saw her looking at him, her bright eyes begging for mercy. For...Mercy. Michael closed his eyes, and when he opened them he began to fire. But not at the little girl. At Cheung's body guards. Six of them. All dead before knowing what had hit them. Excecpt for the one that had gotten off a lucky shot. The bullet had passed through Michael's left arm, not even slowing him down. Michael noticed that the exotic ladies had run and hid. All but one who had died in the cross fire. That left Tommy.

Cheung faced Michael with both fear and excitement shining from his dark eyes. He held a gun in one hand, pointed at the man in black. But knew that he wouldn't be able to kill the other man in time. But he had one ace in the hole.

And Tommy was a gambler, so he took it. Turned the gun and fired, the bullet slamming into the heart of the blond girl.

"No!" The word was wrung out of Michael like an arrow torn from his flesh. He watched the girl fall and faltered. Just like Tommy expected him too. Knew that Cheung was drawing a bead on him now. That's what Michael had wanted...death.

But instinct took over. Instinct and a need for revenge. His left arm raised and, without taking his eyes off the fallen girl, Michael fired. Heard Tommy cry out, heard the thud of the body hitting the floor. Didn't look to see that he was dead. Knew he was. Michael knew death.

It wasn't over yet, Michael knew. He let his guns drop from fingers that were suddenly numb, then he stepped over to Tommy's body. From the inside, jacket pocket of Cheung's suit, Michael removed an ivory, cigarette case. Inside the case was a small, gold, CD. Michael was certain that it would contain the formula. He tucked the case in his own pocket then turned away. Turned away from the darkness and towards the quickly fading light. Knelt beside the girl and lifted her into his arms. Then he walked away.

Birkhoff had been frantic. When Michael had rendered him deaf and dumb by turning off his comunit, Birkhoff had contacted Operations. He had been told to stand by and that was what he was doing when the door to the van opened and Michael entered. Relief started to wash over Birkhoff until he saw the blond girl in Michael's arms. It was obvious, even to him, that she was dead.

"Who..." Birkhoff began, but broke off when a white case was tossed at him.

"The formula is inside," Michael stated, then he moved to sit in the corner with the young girl cradled on his lap.

"Great," Birkhoff replied, and went immediately to his computer. But even as he linked in to Operations, his eyes never left Michael. The older man was rocking the dead girl and whispering in French. The only word that Birkhoff understood was a name. Nikita. He cleared his throat and declared to Operations, "Sir...we've got a problem."

Madeline was waiting for Michael at transport. She watched him stride out of the van, through the passageway and into the corridor with the girl in his arms.

Moved to stand in front of Michael and nodded to the two men with her to take the girl. The child. One look into Michael's eyes and she knew he was in shock. Not physical so much as mental. It frightened her.

"NO!" Michael reacted to the men who tried to take the girl from him. His Nikita. If they took her he had nothing. All was lost. Hope...innocence. They would bury her and her light forever. Michael couldn't let that happen. Wouldn'tlet that happen. Without letting go of his precious burden, Michael did a good job of keeping the other operatives away from him. Kicked one in the kneecap and shattered it.

"Michael," Madeline whispered, distracting his attention just long enough. She shot him with a tranq gun and closed her eyes as he collapsed. "Take him to level thirteen," Madeline ordered, lifting one hand to signal the medteam crew who had been waiting in the shadows with a gurney. She listened as they loaded Michael onto the table and wheeled him away. Madeline sighed then opened her eyes. Stepped over to the wall on the phone and ordered another med team for the op with the shattered knee. Then told the one who was uninjured, but bruised, to take care of the girl's body. Then Madeline turned and headed down the corridor, her footsteps echoing in the sudden emptiness.

Nikita closed her eyes and fought back tears as she studied Michael through the two way mirror. He was in a circular room, white of course, dressed in whites.

There was a bed in the room but Michael wasn't on it. He was in the corner. Sitting. Knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them...rocking. A silent shadow who was fading away.

"I'm too late," Nikita whispered, her tone colored with an accusation as she glared at Madeline. It was Section's fault that Michael had broken. Section's fault they had pushed her away then pushed him too hard.

Madeline didn't deny Nikita's words. But she refused to give up so easily. "I think you can reach him, Nikita," she said softly. "I think you can bring him back."

"I can't do miracles, Madeline!" Nikita hissed. She had listened to the mumbo jumbo the doctors and Madeline had spouted about Michael's condition. He had suffered a complete mental and emotional breakdown. No outside stimuli could reach him. He was locked inside himself, too far away for anyone, or anything, to touch him. Too far away to come back, Nikita feared.

"You can do anything, Nikita," Madeline countered, then she turned and walked away.

********

Squaring her shoulders, Nikita entered the room and stopped just past the threshold, vaguely aware of the door shutting behind her but her attention focused on the figure that sat against the wall, endlessly rocking. Slowly she approached Michael, moving directly into his field of vision, and knelt before him.

"It's me, Michael." she said softly, gazing into his eyes and feeling frightened by what she saw there. Not the blankness of his Section mask, just...empty. He seemed to be looking directly at her but through her, as if he did not see her, did not see anything outside of some fixed mental image.

She extended a hand to touch him on the cheek, hoping, praying for some reaction, even if it was him flinching away from her touch, but there was nothing. Not a blink or a twitch, nothing to indicate that he was aware of her...

"They did it, didn't they? They finally broke you..." Nikita let out a shaky breath and gently stroked hair back from his eyes, noting that not once did he cease to rock. "They found your point...and they pushed you past it...and *now* they're surprised that you've broken. Want me to put you back together like a jigsaw puzzle...but it's not that easy."

Rage and frustration threatened to choke her--so much Michael had given for the Section, sacrificed for it, and yet that was never enough, they wanted more than just a pound of flesh, they wanted everything that he had to give...and more.

"This is the only way you'll escape them, isn't it? But giving up...is too easy. You're not a quitter, Michael. And I'm not going to let you quit." She said the last fiercely, reaching out to place her hands on either side of his head, drawing him around so that she could look into his eyes, giving him a little shake. "You *are* going to come back, Michael. No matter what I have to do...I'm going to bring you back." She let her hands slide back into his hair and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, rising to move back from him and to the door.

**********

A week passed and there was no progress.

Nikita spent every waking moment with Michael, from breakfast to the nightly ritual of tucking him into bed. He would eat when she fed him but would not take up utensil to feed himself--would take liquids only in the same manner. Moved only when she drew him up to his feet to walk him around the room...but when she brought him to the door, he would sink down to the floor and not be budged, simply sit there rocking.

With a guideline supplied by the Section's doctors, she talked to him, read to him, brought music for him to listen to, any sort of stimuli that might draw a response. Was finally able to indulge in her need to touch him and stroke him...but was frustrated that nothing seemed to reach him.

"I don't know what else you expect me to do." Nikita clapped her hands against her thighs as she paced before Madeline's desk, one hand lifting to strip long blond hair back from her face. "I've done everything I can to reach him...and it's not working."

"Then you need to try harder." said Madeline quietly.

Nikita stalked to her desk, placing the palms of her hands on the surface and leaning across it. "What's happened to him is *not* my doing, Madeline. It's yours. You think he's a wind-up toy, turn him on, turn him off, point him in a direction and watch as he goes, not expecting him to deviate an iota from that path. Guess what, Madeline? Michael *is* human after all...no matter how you've tried to make him otherwise."

"We have done our best with Michael--"

Nikita waved her off, straightening. "Spare me, Madeline. I'm tired of the old party line. If you want Michael healed then it's not going to be done here. He needs to be somewhere else--somewhere that he can feel...safe."

Madeline regarded Nikita for a long moment, the young blond staring defiantly back at her, and then gave a small nod, shifting her attention to her computer. "We'll arrange for you to leave the Section. You will have one month in which to bring Michael back--if by the end of that time he has not satisfactorily recovered, we will have to resort to...other measures."

A chill went through Nikita at the soft mention of "other measures" but she refused to let it deter her. She *would* succeed...there was no other acceptable option. "Thank you." she said grudgingly and turned on her heel to leave Madeline's office.

At first the change in surroundings seemed to be detrimental rather than helpful to Michael's condition. On some deep subconscious level he seemed to be aware that they were no longer in the familiar confines of the Section and the docility of before vanished before a new intractablility. He was resistant to her attempts to lead him around the house and the moment she released his hand he would sit where he stood and proceed to rock again, unresponsive to her gentle attempts to coax him to his feet.

But gradually he seemed to adapt, to fall once more into his childlike state.

Nikita was even able to get him outside and take him for short walks, in the vain hope that being outside might provoke some kind of reaction.

A week passed and then two, with very little progress. She could get him to feed himself to a certain degree...but he often lost interest in the process fairly quickly. At times she fancied she saw a flicker in his eyes, a sign of his impending return...but it was just that, a fancy. For the most part, he was a living, breathing doll, content to go where she led him, moving as she manipulated him, and Nikita began to despair of him breaking out of that self-imposed exile.

As she sat in a chair, Michael sitting on the carpeted floor before her, Nikita drew a brush through damp curls and contemplated failure. When the Section arrived to take them back, they would subject Michael to more extreme measures in an attempt to break through his shell...and she shuddered at the thought of what those measures would entail. Drugs most likely, shock therapy...who knew what lengths they would go to?

She sighed as she drew the brush through his hair. "I've failed you, Michael. I thought that I could bring you back--that our...connection would be enough. That you would want to come back to me--" She paused in mid-stroke, swiping impatiently at the tear that fell from her eye. "I don't blame you for hiding--for not wanting to come back. There's nothing to come back to, is there?" Halting, she let the brush fall to her side and pressed her cheek against the top of his head, closing her eyes against the hot rush of tears. Better to let him die than to submit him to the treatments Section would give him...

A faint sound caught her ear and she lifted her cheek, breath catching in her throat as she leaned forward to look at Michael, seeing that his eyes were closed and a single tear had slid down his cheek. "Michael?" Tried to smother the surge of hope that rose in her breast, unable to withstand the subsequent crashing back to reality.

"Dead..." he whispered, eyes still tightly closed, and a faint shudder went through him. Slowly, heart in her throat, Nikita slipped out of the chair and knelt before Michael, reaching out to touch him on the cheek. His eyes opened, seeing not her but something else, lowering to look down at hands lying in his lap. Turned his hands upward to gaze down at them, horror and pain and grief showing in the depths of his eyes.

"Dead...dead...dead..." He repeated the word in a monosyllabic litany, squeezing hands into fists even as he closed his eyes again, head falling back, neck rigid. Another stronger shudder went through him and lips parted to emit an awful wail, releasing years of pent up grief and rage. Nikita flinched at the ragged sound and reached out to touch him, stroking his hair, his cheek, pulling him around so that he looked into her eyes.

"I'm here, Michael. I'm here--look at me...look at me!"

Grey eyes shimmering with tears finally met hers, seeing her for the first time in weeks, *really* seeing her. One trembling hand lifted, reaching to touch her and then drawing back...only to creep forward again and touch the tips of his fingers to her cheek. At the feel of her warm flesh his features spasmed briefly and he slowly extended his arms to wrap them around her, sinking against her and burrowing his head into her shoulder.

"Shh...it's okay, it's okay." Holding him tightly she rocked him as she murmured words of comfort, tears of her own sliding down her cheeks. Knew that the journey had only just begun, that it would take time to piece Michael's broken psyche back together...but no matter what it took, she would do it...

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

Nikita awoke to the sound of running water. She sat up feeling disoriented then stared at the bed. It was empty. Panic flared up inside her. Michael never left the bed unless she got him up. But then she remembered yesterday. How Michael had finally broken free of his self-imposed exile. How he had seen her and cried as she held him. Both of them weeping for each other and themselves. It had been a healing moment, but all too brief. Michael had become ill then, and Nikita had watched him dash for the bathroom, heaving into the toilet until he was gagging on the emptiness in his stomach. She had put him in the shower then, washing them both. Had done the same thing for the past few weeks and there was still nothing sexual in it.

After the shower Nikita had put Michael to bed. He had fallen into an exhausted sleep and she had sat vigil over him for several hours. Curled up in the lounge chair where she had been sleeping since they'd come to this house. Finally she had fallen into a troubled slumber until now. Until something had stirred her awake. Nikita jumped to her feet and headed for the bathroom. She found Michael standing at the sink, his hands under steaming water running full force, scrubbing at his skin with a bar of soap that was little more than a sliver now.

When they had gone to bed, it had been a full bar. Nikita stared at Michael for a moment and realized he was muttering beneath his breath, with the water running she couldn't hear him. So she moved to the sink to turn off the water then gasped at the sight of his hands. They were red, raw and bleeding. Touching the faucet, NIkita realized that it was burning hot and that Michael had scalded himself.

Michael was upset that Nikita had turned off the water. Didn't she understand that he had to scrub off the blood. The blood of so many dead. Innocent dead. It didn't want to come off, his skin was stained with it. But Michael had to keep trying. He pushed Nikita away from his and reached for the faucets once more. Only to find himself falling.

Nikita had kicked Michael's feet out from under him. She didnt' understand what he was doing, or why, but she knew he needed treatment for his hands and that she had to keep him away from the water. She straddled him where he lay and felt him writhe beneath her. Grabbed his wrists and tried to hold him down. In the past month Michael had lost about fifteen pounds and was weaker than in the past, but he was still stronger than she was and he heaved up beneath Nikita, sending her tumbling off him. She winced then made a decision. As Michael rose to his feet and turned back to the sink, Nikita grabbed the ceramic, potpourri holder from the back of the toilet and clubbed Michael with it, slamming it against the back of his head. She bit her lip as she watched him fall, dropping to her knees to check the damage. The skin was intact and there was only a small lump forming. He should be all right. But Nikita knew she didn't have much time.

She ran for the phone and called Madeline.

"How is he?" Nikita asked, as she slipped into the chair across from Madeline's desk. She hadn't been allowed to be with Michael while he was examined and treated, so had gone to her own quarters and slept. Knew she had needed it.

Madeline smiled at Nikita. "His hands are scalded but the damage isn't severe. They've been wrapped and they should heal without scarring."

Nikita released the breath she had been holding. "Good." She fidgeted in her chair for a moment then said, "You've watched the tapes?" Nikita wasn't naive.

She knew that the house had been monitored, that everything she and Michael had done had been on display. Had checked for the camera's herself. The only place they were absent from was the bathroom.

"I've seen them," Madeline allowed. "I'm pleased with the progress you've made, Nikita."

"Pleased enough to give me more time?" Nikita countered, deciding to be blunt.

Madeline leaned back in her chair. "You have another month."

Nikita felt relief wash over her. "Thank you, Madeline," she said softly. "I know I can help Michael."

"I think you may be the only one who can," Madeline allowed. "I want him to stay here overnight, then you can take him home. He won't be able to use his hands much, they'll be heavily bandaged for a few days."

"That's okay," Nikita replied, a smile curving her lips. "Old routine for me to feed Michael." She rose from her chair and headed for the door, but paused to ask, "Can I see him now?"

Madeline nodded, then watched as Nikita practically ran from the room.

Nikita took Michael back to the place she now considered *their* home. She knew it wouldn't be for much longer, but she had come to accept having to live for the moment. For the most part, Nikita believed she had adjusted to that concept far better than Michael had.

Their days fell into a pattern. Michael would talk to her now, but hesitantly, and not about just anything. Nikita learned to speak to him as she would a child. And he answered her on the same level. Simple answers that oozed innocence, yet resonated with pain. Sometimes it broke her heart to listen to him. But tonight she decided to bring up the subject matter that had been haunting her for the past few days. Michael's repeated whisper of "dead...dead...dead." She reminded him of that moment when he had finally broken out of his shell and felt a moment of panic when Michael slipped off the couch to sit on the floor and began rocking again. He hadn't done that since that night.

"Michael.." she began, moving to sit beside him, but felt relieved when he met her gaze and held it. His eyes were focused and clear.

"All dead," Michael whispered, still rocking.

"Who?" Nikita prompted, reaching out to brush a curl off his forehead. "Who's all dead, Michael?"

He closed his eyes as if trying to block out a memory. Then a sigh escaped Michael and he answered Nikita. "Simone. Dead."

Nikita felt tears fill her eyes. "Yes..I'm sorry."

"Dead.." Michael repeated, then stared down at his hands. The bandages were lighter now for the scalded skin was healing. He had been lucky and didn't realize it. Wouldn't have cared anyway. Michael saw blood staining the pristine white bandages. Blood of the innocent. The innocent dead because of him. His fault.

"Dead..." he whispered and began rocking harder.

"People die, Michael," Nikita stated, wondering what to say to get him to explain what he meant. Then she looked hard at his face, at the pain in jade-green eyes that were wide open now, and she understood. "Michael....you didn't kill Simone," Nikita breathed, as she wrapped her arms around him and rocked with Michael.

He laid his head on her shoulder and sighed again. "Chuck...Jurgen...Rene....Daniel....dead...dead...dead..." he intoned.

Nikita pressed a kiss to Michael's temple. "But...I'm alive," she reminded him. "And I'm here for you, Michael."

"Dead..." he whispered then, "Michael."

"No.." Nikita hissed, then she began to weep.

Michael opened his arms and slid them around Nikita's waist. Now he was the one holding her and one hand clumsily smoothed her hair as hot tears wet Michael's neck.

"Nikita..." he whispered, and a sad smile curved his lips.

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

Leaving the house, Nikita followed the small path through the forest, pulling her sweater more tightly around herself in the chill of late afternoon. A sudden gust of wind lifted blond hair, sending it whipping around her face, and she tucked hair back behind her ears as she continued down the path, following it to its end.

The tree line broke to reveal a large, placid lake and it was at its bank that she found Michael. He sat with his back to her, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them, from his posture gazing out at the lake.

Even without the crunch of leaves underfoot to announce her presence, she knew that he was aware of her...as she was always aware of him. As she had known where he would be when she'd awoken this morning to find him gone...

In jeans and flannel shirt, hair touseled from the wind, he looked younger somehow, vulnerable, more open. Fragile...was another word that came to mind and an apt one to describe him at this point, though it sent a frisson of unease through her. Bit by bit he had returned to himself over the last two weeks, the childlike demeanor slowly fading, a melancholy settling over him. Some of his old calm had returned but it was a brittle calm, a thin shell over the still wounded spirit.

They had a little more than a week remaining...and though a break-through had been achieved, Nikita thought that he was nowhere near ready to return to the Section. To a Section that would see him sufficiently repaired and proceed to use him once again, with no more thought to him than a child to a favorite toy recently broken and then fixed. And would be as callous in their treatment of him as that same child...

"Hey." she said in greeting, moving up behind him.

His shoulders hunched briefly, his only response to her presence, and at the call of a bird Nikita lifted her head to watch a loon skim the surface of the lake, the beat of majestic white wings carrying it up and up as it travelled, till it was lost from sight. Tugging hair back from her eyes, she turned her attention back to Michael's bowed head.

"When do we go back?" he asked in a monotone.

"We have nine days." She shoved her hands in the pockets of her sweater, shivering as another gust of wind cut through the sweater, turning her head into it to clear hair from her face. Stood silent for a long moment, contemplating the wisdom of broaching the subject, and then finally giving voice to the question that had haunted her over the last six weeks.

"What happened to you, Michael?" she asked softly, hunkering down beside him so that she could look into his eyes.

He turned a little away from her, the rapid blinking of his eyes his only reaction, and slowly lowered his chin so that it rested on one upraised knee. Silent for so long that she doubted he would answer but then he finally said, "They wanted to break me...they succeeded." Said without an ounce of emotion, his tone completely flat, but he blinked again, a sparkle of something in the corner of his eye, a hint of moisture. "Wanted to show me that I was weak...and I could be broken."

Nikita slowly nodded, understanding. "I'm your weakness." Bitterness rose in her as she remembered him saying that very thing, in the aftermath of a mission that had set him against his fellow Section operatives. And how he had said that if she had been anyone else...he would have killed her. "Being close to me...it makes you weak, does it?" she asked tightly, pushing up to her feet and wrapping her arms around herself. Why had she thought that things might be different between them? That they could ever be different? She swiped at tears of frustration and despair, turning on her heel to stride away, to leave him there...

"Being close to you...gives me hope." The soft sound of his voice drew her up short and she turned slowly to look at him, his cheek resting now on one knee, face turned towards her. Grey eyes met hers, calm, too calm, his voice soft as he continued. "Hope that I thought I lost a long time ago...along with what innocence I had. Hope I never dared to have...until I met you. I need you, I want you...and it scares me...because it leaves me open, vulnerable. Weak..."

Nikita shook her head, letting out her breath in an exasperated sigh as she sank down beside him. "Needing people--loving people--it doesn't make you weak, Michael. It strengthens you, bolsters you...it doesn't undermine you. You see this desire--this need--as a loss of control...but it's not like that. It's..."

She paused, lifting her hands to inscribe small circles in the air, frustrated as she searched for the right words. "It's like a structure--for it to remain sturdy, it needs a foundation. You tell yourself you don't care...but if you really didn't care, would you still be with the Section? Would you do everything that you do day to day? You *care*, Michael--you *feel*. I know this...as much as you do." She slipped an arm around his shoulders to give him a hug, laying her cheek against the top of his head.

"I'm so tired." whispered Michael, rubbing his cheek against one knee as tears slid from his eyes. "Tired of being alone..."

"You're not alone, Michael. I'm here...and I'm not going to leave you again. I won't let them send me away." she said fiercely, rubbing his shoulder. "I won't let them destroy you."

"I'll be the one to destroy you." he said huskily.

Nikita shook her head adamantly. "No. I don't accept that, Michael. You've had the chance time and time again...and you haven't taken it. You are not the monster that you think you are--that the Section has made you believe you are. It's taken me a long time to see it...but I *do* see it."

Slowly he raised his head, searching her eyes, looking for the least bit of doubt, and she held his gaze, showing him only sincerity and her belief in him. Hesitantly he smiled, a small smile, a sliver of the sun breaking through the clouds to give a glimpse of light, and Nikita put her arms around him to embrace him, the two of them sitting there on the bank of the lake for a long time.

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

Nikita puttered around the kitchen. There wasn't anything to do. It was spotless thanks to Michael. In the past week she had learned just how meticulous he was.

He liked things neat and orderly, not a suprise. That was how he lived his life emotionally. It was a physically and psychological reality as well. And the way Michael conducted his affairs. Both business and personal. The *old* Michael that is. The one who had existed before being broken by Section. The Michael they had created was back and Nikita wanted to weep.

She had done her *job*. That's what Michael would have told her had she said anything to him. But Nikita didn't want it to be this way. If Michael didn't allow himself to change after what had happened, he was setting himself up for another fall. He would shatter again and Nikita feared that the next time she wouldn't be able to put him back together again. Not that she could do anything to change the situation now. They were leaving tomorrow. Returning to Section.

"I'm going for a walk." Michael spoke from the doorway.

"Fine," Nikita replied, whirling around to face him. She didn't bother composing her expression. She wanted Michael to see the truth. So much had changed between them, yet so much was now the same. Michael had erected his shields once more and Nikita feared that this time there were no cracks. At least not between them. Michael would not let her get close to him again.

With a nod, Michael turned and left the house. He had to put distance between himself and Nikita. Michael knew what she was thinking, her eyes revealed everything. But he had warned her that he would destroy her in the end. It couldn't be helped. Nikita was his weakness and they both knew it. Section knew it as well. That was the problem. They would use it against him.

Michael headed for the lake. As he walked he tried to sort out the chaos in his mind. He wanted to find a way to explain to Nikita what he was thinking...doing.

Michael didn't want to keep her in the dark, yet wasn't sure he could express his feelings. He had repressed them for so long. Yet sometimes they had leaked out, because of Nikita. She had the power. But she didn't understand it. Or him.

Michael heaved a sigh of extreme weariness. No longer of the body, but of the soul. How could he explain to Nikita who he was when he didn't know himself. Beyond the obvious. Killer, whore, darkness, death. Michael didn't simply kill bodies, he killed souls. He thought of Lisa Fanning and how he had shattered her world with his seduction. Had justified doing so with the memory of the lives that would be saved. Sacrifice the one for the many. That's how it worked. Yet, when it was over, Michael had felt compelled to help Lisa. To give her a shove in the right direction. He had given her money and words of encouragement. Both were means of obtaining a new life. And Michael had felt regret and envy. Lisa had been willing to die for him. Had suffered pain for him when her husband had beaten her. Michael winced even now, remembering how he had listened to the blows strike her soft flesh.

He would die for Nikita. To that end Michael understood Lisa's sacrifice. Yet his death would have no meaning. It would not set him free. It would not atone for his sins. There was nothing for him to aspire to. Not even death held any meaning to him anymore. All that still mattered to Michael was freedom. The one thing he could never have. Freedom, and Nikita. And loving her. Wanting her. That would destroy her. Michael couldn't bear the thought of her innocence being shattered. Her soul was already tarnished, thanks to him. And every chance Operations had, he would remind Michael that Nikita was still resisting his efforts. That her compassion got in the way of her doing the job to its simple completion. Yet Michael continued to balk at the thought of crushing that compassion. It was his saving grace, as well as Nikita's.

Having reached the lake, Michael stood on the bank and stared at the silvery water. The sun was beginning its descent and the sky was tinged red which reflected off the surface of the gently lapping waves. Michael stared into the water as if it were a mirror. His features were distorted, yet he felt they were a true reflection of himself. He was warped. Damaged. A creature that was scarred and hideous and once again Michael wondered what it was about him that Nikita found to love. Wish he could find it in himself. But that would never happen. There was nothing left inside him to love.

"Michael."

He turned at the sound of his name. Not Nikita's voice, but Madeline's. "Yes?" he whispered, then glanced past her to realize a helicopter was behind her, several yards back. Should have heard it but had been so tuned in to his own self reflection that he hadn't heard a thing.

Madeline moved forward, a smile on her lips. Her eyes flickered over Michael noting that he had gained a few pounds but was still too thin. Yet overall she was pleased to note that the old Michael was back. "Time to come in," she said. "We have a mission for you."

"Of course," Michael replied, the words flowing out of him. Took a step, then paused. "What about Nikita?"

"She'll be contacted," Madeline stated, as she held out one hand like a mother would to a child. "She can drive back tomorrow, as planned."

Michael closed his eyes for a minute and made his choice. It would be easier to go this way. To take the step on his own. Nikita would only make it harder on them both. And there was no other choice. Not for him. The only thing that kept Michael intact was Nikita. And he would do whatever it took to protect her. To keep her intact. He knew that meant being a machine. So be it. And Michael knew that he was stronger for having broken. He knew where all the cracks in his armor had been and now they were sealed. He would not shatter again. Opening his eyes, Michael took that step. Mask in place, eyes blank, he glided past Madeline and took his place in the chopper. It was time to go home.

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

One last sit-up and Nikita fell back with a groan, lying on the floor for a long moment to catch her breath. Sitting up she snagged the bottle of water and took a long sip, drawing her knees up and draping arms across them, wiping sweating forehead off on one arm. Glanced over at the silent phone and thought that it had been a long time since she'd had this much free time between missions...too long.

On one hand she liked the break...but on the other it gave her far too much time to think.

It had been two weeks since she and Michael had returned to the Section--since she had gotten the phone call telling her to come in...telling her as well that Michael had been taken in. And she had seen very little of him since then, no more than quick glimpses in the hallways of Section. No time for even so much as a simple "hi" and no chance of a more lengthy conversation.

Her immediate reaction was that he was avoiding her and on the heels of that had come a hot rush of anger and pain. It had taken her time to work past that, to accept that the Section--in the form of Madeline--was testing his newly-recovered strength, to see if he would break so easily again. And even though it hurt she let that space remain between them, stretching farther and farther day by day.

And with too much time on her hands she found herself turning over and over again what exactly was between them. From the first day she had met him, the attraction had been there; for all her years on the street she had still been innocent and even somewhat naive. And had held to some idealistic vision of what the man she married someday would be like...

Nikita shook her head, a wry smile curving her lips. Of course Michael was all one could want in a man: beautiful, intelligent, charming, even attentive. But the longer she had known him, the more she had wondered how much of that was a role he played...and how much was real. She had seen him play various marks, shifting personalities to fit the mark's desires, and in her darker moods she wondered if he did the same for her. If he had chosen a far more subtle way of controlling her...

And that led her back to the pressing question: did he love her? Could he love her?

She thought that he *did* love her...in his way. She could understand why he held back, intellectually at least; emotionally...she was not so accepting. He offered her rare, tantalizing glimpses of his true self...but the moment she tried to draw him out, a shield would slam into place.

This breakdown of his was part and parcel of the problem.

For six months she had been free of the Section, seperated from him, and he had not known whether she was living or dead...until that night in Lyons, when she had intervened to save his life. And from bits and pieces of what she'd heard from others the separation had not been easy for him--'I didn't realize I needed you so much,' he had said on the boat, the morning after they consummated their "relationship." For the first time she had considered what it had been like for him to lose Simone--had he been so reckless in the wake of that loss? And on its heels had come a more sobering thought-- that perhaps Section had given her to him to train, in order to bring him out of that phase of self-destruction...

He needed her, wanted her...and God help her, but she needed and wanted him with equal fervor. Through all the lies and deceptions, all the little games, she could not give up hope. Or let loose of the fanciful notion that she was the one that would save him from the Section...and himself...

Nikita pushed up to her feet, determined to shake off this fey mood of introspection.

Shower and change, head down to the park--there would be a market there today and she could kill a few hours wandering the booths--

A knock on the door caught her halfway up the small flight of stairs that led to her room and she hesitated, knowing that knock. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned on her heel and strode to the door, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes as she opened the door.

And blinked in surprise--not at seeing Michael there, his knock was all too familiar, but rather in surprise at seeing his attire. Not his basic black but chocolate brown slacks with matching blazer and a brown silk shirt, casual and yet elegant, as he seemed to be in nearly anything he wore. He stood before her, his stance somewhat awkward, as if he were unsure of his welcome, and Nikita leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded over her chest and eyebrows upraised.

"Can we talk?" he asked softly.

"I suppose." she responded, pushing away from the doorjamb and swiping at stray tendrils of hair. He touched her on the arm and she swung around to look at him.

"Not here. I have somewhere else in mind..."

"Okay....just give me a few minutes to shower and dress." She flashed him a quick, almost shy smile and took herself upstairs to find something to wear.

Two hours later and they sat on a blanket, a picnic basket set between them, the remains of their late lunch stacked neatly off to the side. From the hilltop where they sat the city was spread out beneath them; in the growing dusk the lights below sparkled like a field of stars spread out across the velvet darkness of the sky. There had been little conversation between them as they ate and Nikita had allowed it, relishing in this peace between them, thinking that this was probably as close as she was likely to come to a date with Michael.

With a sigh, Nikita turned her attention from the magnificent view and set her eyes on Michael as he proceeded to clear off the blanket, replacing wine and glasses in the basket. "So...why did you bring me here?" she asked curiously.

Shutting the lid on the picnic basket, he met her eyes, a part of him cringing as he saw the skepticism and suspicion she could not completely hide. Wiped hands on his pants and lowered his head as he rose to his feet, finding himself at a loss for words. There were things he had to say...and it was the phrasing that he had difficulty with. A few carefully chosen words and he could destroy what he sensed building between them...but he did not want to do that. As selfish as it was, as harmful as it might be to Nikita...he did not want to let her go. Nor did he want her to think that this would be easy...

"What do you see happening between us?"

The simple question rocked her and she stared hard at him, trying to determine what had prompted such a bald question...but as usual she could not read him.

"I...I really don't know, Michael. I...care for you...I even think I love you..." She ducked her head as she said the last, not ready to meet his eyes.

"And I think you love me..." She slanted him a sideways glance, looking for a reaction and finding none.

More than I should, he thought in a kind of despair, turning away from her.

"Where we are...we can't have the kind of relationship that you want. You need someone that can give you the love and emotional support that you deserve...that I can't give you." He swallowed hard, forcing out the words. "Someone that can make you happy...as I can't."

And suddenly, inexplicably, she found herself very angry. "So this is the blow-off speech, is it? Good food and wine, nice view...and you toss me aside."

She pushed up to her feet, stance pugilant as she faced him, a finger extended to poke him in the chest. "You need me, Michael, just like I need you. When I didn't care what happened to me...you were there to pull me back from the brink,to give me the freedom--the space--I needed. I would have died, Michael, if it hadn't been for you." The anger faded as quickly as it came and she lifted her hand to brush fingers across his cheek. "What would have happened to you...if I hadn't come back?"

Knowing that she was alive and well...it wouldn't have been enough. Not being able to see her again, to hear her voice, to know her touch, to see those beautifully expressive eyes run the gamut of emotions from outrage to passion...

"I would have died." he said softly.

Nikita gave a shaky laugh and put her arms around him to give him a quick fierce hug. "There...was that so hard to say?" And bumped her forehead against his as his arms circled her waist.

"It won't be easy. I'm not...easy." said Michael softly.

"Like I didn't already know that?" scoffed Nikita and gave him a kiss on the cheek to take away the sting of those words. "You asked me to be patient once...well, I think I can be patient now. If you still want me to--" And was silenced by his mouth coming down on hers in a deep passionate kiss that made her knees go weak.

Breaking off the kiss, he said huskily, "I want." And drew her back to the blanket to show her his sincerity...

The End