(Author's note : The time frame of this story is set after "Half Life". There is a long part written in French but Mak, thank you so much, dear, very kindly provided a translation. You'll find both version : the original french one and the translation by Mak. I'd like to dedicate this story to my brother Karim for his love, support and most importantly forgiveness. )

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She had brought flowers from her garden. Daisies. White.

She was standing alone in the fine drizzle. The drops were hardly visible and clung to her long dark hair like a myriad of silver stars. She wasn't crying as far as he could tell. She just stood there on his grave her eyes staring at the grey tombstone. He knew she hated cemeteries, she had once vowed never to lay foot in one again. She seemed to be reading the inscription in the marble stone over and over again as if to convince herself it was true. It simply said "Michel Samuelle 1965-1984", nothing else, no other mentions.

Michael stayed in the shelter provided by the trees watching her in silence. He remained far enough to avoid being seen but closer to her than he had been in years. 14 to be exact.

She moved and he thought she was about to leave but instead she rummaged through her purse and retrieved what she was looking for, a letter. He watched her kiss tenderly the envelope she was holding. Then, she knelt and placed it on his grave, under the flowers to protect it from the rain. She blow a kiss to his tomb, her fingers trailing on the cold stone for a long moment. Slowly, she got up and left.

Michael waited for a long time before moving, partly because he didn't want to be seen and partly because he was scared. He walked over the tomb and his hands were shaking a little as he took the envelope. It was not sealed. He opened it and carefully slid the letter out. He forced himself not to read it immediately not wanting to take any chances. So, he walked back to his car and only there did he feel safe enough to read his younger sister's words to him.

(Original French version)

Cher Michel,

Après l'enterrement de papa et maman j'avais promis de ne plus jamais mettre les pieds dans un cimetière. J'ai même pris des dispositions pour être incinérée après ma mort. Et j'imagine que où que tu sois, tu sais que je ne suis pas venue à ton enterrement.

Mais aujourd'hui, je vais aller sur ta tombe. Je viens d'apprendre la mort de René et je ne sais pas ce que je dois éprouver : du soulagement ou de la peine. J'ai eu envie de me rapprocher de toi pour comprendre. C'est une visite tardive mais ne crois pas que j'ai jamais cessé de penser à toi. Je ne parle jamais de toi, Michel. Pendant des années, j'ai même évité de prononcer ton nom. Mais je ne t'ai jamais oublié et je ne t'ai jamais détesté. C'est juste que j'étais si triste et si en colère. Si seule aussi malgré la présence de René.

Tu me connais, j'ai toujours l'air d'aller bien même quand ça ne va pas. Je n'aime pas ennuyer les gens avec mes problèmes. Et puis, j'avais tellement honte. De toi mais de moi surtout. Tu as toujours su me comprendre, Michel, et moi j'ai été incapable de voir ta douleur.

Je suis si triste quand je pense à toi et je pense à toi tous les jours. Même après toutes ces années, même après être tombée amoureuse, m'être mariée et avoir eu un fils. J'ai tout pour être heureuse et je le suis, je ne joue pas la comédie. Mais il y a un manque en moi que personne ne viendra jamais combler. C'est ta place dans mon coeur, Michel. Elle est à toi pour toujours et personne ne pourra jamais la prendre.

Je pense à toi tous les jours en voyant grandir son fils. Il s'appelle Michel. Avant sa naissance, je ne pouvais pas envisager de l'appeler comme toi. Pardonnes-moi mais j'avais peur que ça lui porte malheur. Mais quand j'ai vu son regard se poser sur moi pour la première fois, ce sont tes yeux que j'ai vu et alors j'ai su son nom. Il s'est imposé comme une évidence. Mon fils a les mêmes yeux que toi, ceux de maman. Tu sais à quel point j'ai toujours envié vos grands yeux verts. Les miens me viennent de notre père, ils sont noirs, petits, et j'ai tout essayé pour faire pousser mes cils et les recourber comme les tiens! Qu'est ce que j'ai pu t'ennuyer avec ça quand nous étions enfants. Je trouvais que c'était vraiment du gâchis d'avoir d'aussi beaux yeux quand on était un garçon. Je te disais que j'en avais plus besoin de toi! Ca te faisait rire. Ca finissait toujours pas nous faire rire aux éclats.

Tu me manques tellement Michel. Je voudrais que tu connaisses l'homme que j'aime, que tu joues avec ton neveu, que tu me laisses m'occuper de toi un peu en échange de toutes ces années où tu as pris soin de moi. Je ne sais pas ce que je serais devenue après la mort de nos parents si tu n'avais pas été là. Quelque part ta mort a été encore plus difficile à supporter que la leur. Cette fois, je n'avais vraiment plus personne. Plus de famille, rien...

Je n'ai même pas réfléchi à l'aspect matériel de ma situation après ton suicide. Ca m'était bien égal. Je m'en voulais de ne t'avoir jamais remercié de t'être occupé de moi, de ne t'avoir jamais dit que je t'aimais. On a toujours eu du mal à exprimer nos sentiments dans la famille. Ca nous gênait les démonstrations d'affection. Je ne sais pas pourquoi. Nos parents étaient tendres avec nous mais toi et moi on préférait se faire enrager pour déguiser nos sentiments. Tu me disais que j'étais ta soeur préférée parce que tu n'en avais pas d'autre. Et je répondais que tu avais de la chance de m'avoir car c'était ta seule chance d'approcher une fille d'aussi près! Je ne peux pas m'empêcher de sourire en écrivant ces lignes. On a tellement de bons souvenirs en commum avant et même après la mort des parents.

On ne s'est jamais dit qu'on s'aimait mais on le savait alors les mots n'avaient pas d'importance. Mais après ta mort, c'est soudain devenu indispensable pour moi de te dire que je t'aimais. Mais il était trop tard et en plus j'étais si en colère contre toi. Je n'ai jamais pu accepter ton suicide, ta mort oui, mais pas ton suicide, ça te ressemblait tellement peu. Mais je croyais aussi que poser des bombes n'était pas dans ta nature... J'ai eu envie de mourir moi aussi pour vous rejoindre toi et les parents. Sans la présence de René, je me serais tuée, je crois.

René... Je lui dois beaucoup. Il m'a soutenu moralement et financièrement après ta mort. Il m'a aidé à panser mes blessures, à apprendre à vivre de nouveau. C'était ton meilleur ami et en me rapprochant de lui j'avais l'impression de ne pas te perdre tout à fait. Il m'a fallu longtemps pour accepter de le voir sous son vrai jour. Comme la personne qui avait causé ta chute. A sa décharge, je dois dire qu'il n'a jamais tenté de me convertir à ses idées. Il a dû se dire qu'une victime dans la famille par sa faute c'était suffisant!

J'avais 14 ans quand tu es mort et je n'ai jamais voulu savoir comment il s'y était pris mais René s'est arrangé pour que je ne sois pas placée dans un orphelinat. J'ai continué mes études dans un pensionnat à Genève. Un lieu très chic et René venait me voir pendant les vacances. Quand j'ai eu 18 ans j'ai quitté la Suisse pour revenir avec lui en France et c'est là que j'ai commencé à comprendre qui il était. Il y avait des réunions secrètes tard le soir, des gens aux visages durs qui ne semblaient sortir que la nuit tels des fantômes. René ne cessait de leur parler de toi, de leur dire à quel point il fallait te prendre en exemple, de me dire quel patriote et quel héros tu étais. Mort pour ses idées, mort pour la liberté, mort pour une noble cause... Mort, mort, mort! C'est tout ce que j'entendais. C'est lui qui t'as tué Michel. C'est lui qui a transformé mon frère tendre et attentionné en terroriste capable de poser une bombe qui a tué des dizaines de personnes innocentes.

Je sais qu'il n'est pas le seul à blâmer, tu es coupable toi aussi. Mais je m'en veux d'avoir été trop jeune, trop égoïste et trop insouciante pour t'empêcher de commettre une telle horreur. Tu m'as fait haïr le nom de notre père. Quand je me suis mariée j'étais heureuse de ne plus m'appeler Samuelle.

Peu après ton arrestation, alors que je sortais de la visite que je venais de te faire en prison, la mère d'un petit garçon à qui on avait dû couper la jambe après l'attentat m'attendait et elle m'a craché au visage. Je n'ai jamais pu l'oublier, elle et toutes les autres victimes qui te considéraient comme un monstre. J'avais envie de leur hurler que ce n'était pas vrai, que tu n'étais pas comme ça mais je ne pouvais pas. J'avais tellement honte et j'étais si furieuse contre toi que je ne pouvais pas te défendre.

Tu te souviens de cette visite en prison, la seule que je t'ai faite. C'est la dernière fois que je t'ai vu, j'étais trop jeune et ils n'ont pas voulu me montrer ton corps après ta mort. De toute façon, je n'aurais pas voulu rester sur cette image de toi. En tout cas, je suis rentrée au parloir convaincue de ton innocence et j'en suis ressortie convaincue de ta culpabilité. J'ai commencé à te parler en retenant mes larmes en te disant que j'allais te trouver un bon avocat, que je remuerais ciel et terre pour te sortir de là, que je prouverais ton innocence même si je devais y passer ma vie. Et tu m'as interrompu en me disant que ça n'était pas la peine, qu'il fallait que je t'oublie parce que tu étais coupable. Même là, je n'arrivais pas à te croire mais tu l'a répété et répété encore jusqu'à ce que j'éclate en sanglots. Et alors, je crois que je t'ai regardé comme si je ne te connaissais pas, comme si un parfait étranger avait pris la place de mon frère. Tu as dû le voir car quelque chose dans ton regard a changé. Ton visage s'est fermé et c'était comme un masque de mort. Rien, aucune expression, juste un immense désespoir dans tes yeux. Tu t'es levé et tu es parti avant que j'ai eu le temps de dire quoi que ce soit. Trois jours plus tard on m'a appris ton suicide.

Peut-être que si je t'avais dit que je t'aimais malgré tout tu n'aurais pas mis fin à tes jours. Je me suis aussi souvent demandé si je n'étais pas responsable de ta dérive. Peut-être que si j'avais été plus forte, si j'avais grandi plus vite, si j'avais été moins dépendante de toi, tu n'aurais jamais posé cette bombe. Tu étais toujours là pour moi, pour me préparer à manger, m'aider à réviser mes leçons, me consoler quand le souvenir de nos parents me faisait pleurer. Et moi, en échange qu'est ce que j'ai fait pour toi? Je n'ai pas su voir à quel point tu avais mal toi aussi, à quel point ta famille te manquait. Tu étais si fort, Michel. Si solide. Un vrai roc. Je n'ai pas vu les fissures qui te détruisaient de l'intérieur. Tu étais si passionné, j'admirais ta virulence et ta force de conviction. Tu partais manifester le sourire aux lèvres et je ne voyais pas la rage qui t'animait. Je n'ai pas compris ta colère. Tu étais si doux avec moi, si patient. Je sais que je n'ai pas toujours été facile à vivre mais tu ne m'as jamais reproché d'avoir gâché ta jeunesse. J'aurais dû voir l'influence néfaste que René avait sur toi mais j'étais juste heureuse de voir que tu t'étais fait un ami, que tu étais moins seul, que tu avais enfin un autre but dans la vie à part t'occuper de moi.

Après mon retour en France, quand j'ai compris que René préparait d'autres "actions d'éclat", comme il disait, je suis partie. Je n'ai pas claqué la porte par respect pour son dévouement pour moi. Je lui ai dit que j'avais besoin de voler de mes propres ailes, que trop de personnes s'étaient occupés de moi. C'était vrai, j'avais besoin de me débrouiller seule mais je voulais surtout m'éloigner de lui. J'ai décroché une bourse pour étudier l'Anglais dans une université à Bordeaux, j'ai pris un boulot de serveuse et j'ai commencé à vivre. J'ai rencontré Luc et six mois plus tard j'ai abandonné mes études pour me marier, voilà.

J'ai gardé contact avec René, il est venu à mon mariage et pour la naissance de Michel. Je ne voulais pas complètement couper les ponts mais la distance me satisfaisait. Je n'ai jamais voulu connaître les détails de ce qu'il faisait mais je savais instinctivement que c'était mal. J'avais peur qu'un jour il vienne me demander de l'aide, une cachette. Je ne l'aurais pas dénoncé à cause de ce qu'il avait fait pour moi mais je ne voulais pas mettre en danger ma famille. C'est pourquoi j'accueille la nouvelle de sa mort comme un soulagement.

J'ai reçu une lettre aujourd'hui envoyée par un de ses amis que je ne connais pas, il m'annonce la mort de René et m'envoie le numéro d'un compte en banque en Suisse. Il contient de l'argent que René à laissé pour moi. Je ne veux pas de cet argent, je ne sais pas combien il y a mais je sais que c'est de l'argent de sale. J'ai jeté la lettre et le numéro du compte. Je ne toucherai jamais l'argent du sang.

J'ai toujours cru que l'annonce de sa mort signifierait la disparition du dernier lien qui nous unissait encore toi et moi. Mais c'est le contraire qui se passe. Je me sens enfin à nouveau proche de toi comme si c'était René qui nous avait séparé toutes ces années. D'une certaine manière c'est le cas. Si tu ne l'avais pas connu, je suis sure que tu serais encore vivant. C'est toi qui m'aurait servi de témoin à mon mariage et tu serais à présent le parrain de mon fils.

Tu as payé pour tes erreurs, Michel. Et moi, il est temps que je retrouve mon frère. Je ne t'ai jamais vraiment perdu mais je ne veux plus prétendre que tu ne me manques pas. Quand Luc me prend dans ses bras car il voit que quelque chose me chagrine, je ne veux plus lui mentir en lui disant que ce n'est rien. Ce n'est pas rien, c'est toi.

Après être allé sur ta tombe, je vais rentrer chez moi. Je vais embrasser mon mari et serrer mon fils dans mes bras de toutes mes forces. Ensuite, je leur parlerai de toi. Je leur dirai pourquoi j'ai donné ton nom à mon fils, comment tu trouvais toujours le moyen de me faire rire quand j'avais de la peine, à quel point tu m'aimais et comment je t'aimais en retour. Et puis, je vais annoncer à Michel que bientôt je vais lui faire un petit frère ou une petite soeur. Luc et moi en parlons de temps en temps et je crois que le moment est venu. Je veux que Michel connaisse ça, la joie de grandir avec un frère ou une soeur. C'est un amour qui ne ressemble à aucun autre et je veux le lui donner. Tu es toujours avec moi, grand frère. Je ne t'oublierai jamais et je ne cesserai jamais de t'aimer.

J'espère que là où tu es tu as enfin trouvé la paix, Michel. J'espère que maman et papa veillent sur toi.

Ta soeur qui t'aime,

Joséphine

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(English version by Mak)

Dear Michel,

After papa and mama’s funeral, I swore I would never again set foot in a cemetery. I even made arrangements to be cremated after my death. And I imagine that, wherever you may be, you know that I didn’t come to your funeral.

But today, I’m going to go to your grave. I just found out about René's death and I don’t know what I should feel : relief or pain. I wanted to be near you so I could understand. It’s a belated visit, but don't believe I ever stopped thinking about you. I never speak of you, Michel. All these years, I even avoided saying your name. But I never forgot you and I never hated you. It’s just that I was so sad and so angry. So alone also, despite René's presence.

You know me, I always act as if I'm okay even when I'm not. I don’t like to bother people with my problems. And then too, I was so ashamed. Of you, but especially of me. You always understood me, Michel, and I, I wasn’t able to see your pain.

I am so sad when I think of you, and I think of you every day. Even after all these years, even after falling in love, getting married, and having a son. I have everything I need to be happy and I am happy, I’m not acting. But there’s an emptiness inside me that no one can ever fill. It’s your place in my heart, Michel. It’s yours always and no one will ever take it.

I think of you every day as I watch my son growing up. His name is Michel. Before he was born, I couldn’t imagine naming him after you. Forgive me, but I was afraid it would bring him bad luck. But when he looked at me for the first time, it was your eyes that I saw and then I knew his name. It hit me as so obvious. My son has your eyes, mama’s eyes. You know how much I always envied your big green eyes. I got mine from our father, they are small and dark and I tried everything to make my eyelashes grow and curl like yours! I could really annoy you about that when we were kids. I believed it was a real waste for a boy to have such beautiful eyes. I would tell you I needed them more than you did! That made you laugh. It always would end up with both of us in gales of laughter.

I miss you so much, Michel. I wish you could know the man I love, that you could play with your nephew, that you’d let me look after you a little in exchange for all those years you took care of me. I don’t know what would have become of me after our parents’ death if you hadn’t been there. In some ways your death was even worse to bear than theirs. Because this time I really had no one else. No family, nothing...

I didn’t even think about how I was going to make it financially after your suicide. I didn't give a damn. I reproached myself for never having thanked you for taking care of me, never having told you that I loved you. Our family was always bad at expressing emotion. Being demonstrative about our feelings was hard for us. I don’t know why. Our parents were tender with us but you and I preferred to tease each other to disguise our feelings. You would tell me that I was your favourite sister because you had no other. And I would answer by saying you were lucky to have me because that was the only opportunity you’d ever have to be close to a girl! I can’t stop myself from smiling as I write these lines. We have so many good memories together from both before and after our parents’ death.

We never said we loved each other but we knew it, so words didn’t matter. But after your death, it suddenly became essential for me to tell you that I loved you. But it was too late and besides, I was so angry with you. I could never accept your suicide, your death, yes, but not your suicide, that seemed so unlike you. But then, I wouldn’t have believed you were capable of planting bombs either...I wanted to die too so I could be with you and our parents. Without René, I think I would have killed myself.

René...I owe him so much. He took care of me emotionally and financially after your death. He helped me to heal my wounds, to learn to live again. He was your best friend and by being close to him, I felt like I hadn’t completely lost you. It took me a long time to allow myself to see him as he really was. As the person who caused your downfall. To his credit, I have to say he never tried to win me over to his ideas. He must have told himself that one victim in a family was enough!

I was 14 when you died and I never wanted to know how he did it, but René arranged it so I wouldn’t be put in an orphanage. I continued my studies at a boarding school in Geneva. A very chic place and René came to visit me during the holidays. When I was 18 I left Switzerland to come back with him to France, and that’s when I began to understand who he was. There was secret meetings late at night, and people with hard faces who, like ghosts, seemed to go out only at night. René never stopped telling them about you, asking them to take you for an example, and telling me what a patriot and hero you were. Dead for his ideas, dead for freedom, dead for a noble cause.... Dead, dead, dead! That’s all I heard. It was he who killed you, Michel. It was he who changed my tender and caring brother into a terrorist capable of planting a bomb that killed dozens of innocent people.

I know he isn’t the only one to blame, you’re guilty too. But I'm blaming myself because I was too young, too self-absorbed and too carefree to prevent you from committing such a horror. You made me hate our father’s name. When I got married, I was glad to no longer be named Samuelle.

Soon after your arrest, when I was coming out after a visit to you in prison, the mother of a little boy who had his leg amputated because of the explosion was waiting for me, and she spit in my face. I could never forget her and all the other victims who thought you were a monster. I wanted to yell at them that it wasn’t true, that you weren’t like this but I couldn’t. I was so ashamed and so angry with you that I couldn’t defend you.

You remember that prison visit, the only one I made. It was the last time I saw you, I was so young and they didn’t want to show me your body after your death. In any event, I wouldn’t have wanted that image of you to remain with me. Anyway, I went into the visitor room convinced of your innocence and I left it convinced of your guilt. I began talking to you, holding back the tears while telling you that I was going to find you a good lawyer, that I would move heaven and earth to get you out of there, that I would prove your innocence even if I had to spend my whole life doing it. And you interrupted me, telling me it wasn’t worth it, that I needed to forget you because you were guilty. Even then, I wouldn’t believe you, but you repeated it again and again until I burst out sobbing. I believe I looked at you then as if I didn’t know you, as if a total stranger had taken my brother’s place. You must have realized it because something changed in your eyes. Your face closed up and it was like a death mask. Nothing, no expression, just immense despair in your eyes. You got up and left before I had time to speak. Three days later I learnt of your suicide.

Perhaps if I had told you I loved you in spite of everything, you wouldn’t have killed yourself. I have often asked myself if I was responsible for your drifting into this. Perhaps if I had been stronger, if I had grown up faster, if I had been less dependent on you, you wouldn’t have planted the bomb. You were always there for me, to cook my meals, to help me study, to console me when memories of our parents made me cry. And what did I do for you in exchange? I didn’t see how bad you too felt, how much you missed your family. You were so strong, Michel. So solid. A real rock. I never saw the cracks that were destroying you from inside. You were so passionate, I admired your virulence and the strength of your convictions. You went demonstrating with a smile on your lips and I didn’t see the rage that drove you. I didn’t understand your anger. You were so soft with me, so patient. I know I wasn’t always easy to live with, but you never once blamed me for spoiling your youth. I should have seen the bad influence René had on you but I was just so happy to see that you had made a friend, that you were less alone, that you had finally another goal in life besides taking care of me.

After my return to France, when I understood that René was preparing other "feats", as he put it, I left. I didn’t stormed out because I acknowledged his devotion to me. I told him I needed to try my own wings, that too many people had looked after me. It’s true that I needed to be out on my own but I especially wanted to get away from him. I was given a scholarship to study English at the university of Bordeaux, I found a job as a waitress and I began to live. I met Luc and six months later I gave up my studies to marry him, and here I am.

I stayed in touch with René, he came to my wedding and for Michel’s birth. I didn’t want to completely cut our ties but having distance between us pleased me. I never wanted to know the details of what he did but I knew instinctively that it was bad. I was afraid the day would come when he would ask me for help, for a hideout. I wouldn’t have denounced him because of what he had done for me, but I didn’t want to put my family in danger. That’s why I welcomed the news of his death as a relief.

I received a letter today from one of his friends I never heard of, he told me about René’s death and gave me the number of a Swiss bank account. It has money in it that René has left for me. I don’t want this money, I don’t know how much it is but I know it's dirty money. I threw away the letter and the account number. I will never touch blood money.

I always believed that news of his death would mean the disappearance of the last tie that still bound you and me together. But the opposite happened. I feel close to you again at last, as if it were René who had kept us apart all these years. In a way that’s true. If you had never met him, I’m sure you would still be alive. It’s you who would have been the witness at my wedding and you would now be the godfather of my son.

You paid for your mistakes, Michel. And for me, it’s time to reclaim my brother. I never really lost you but I don’t want to pretend anymore that I don’t miss you. When Luc takes me in his arms because he sees that something upsets me, I don’t want to lie to him any longer, telling him it is nothing. It’s not nothing, it’s you.

After I visit your grave, I will go back home. And I’m going to hug my husband and clasp my child in my arms with all my might. Then I’ll talk to them about you. I’ll tell them why I named my son after you, how you always found a way to make me laugh when I was down, how much you loved me and how I loved you back. And then, I’m going to tell Michel that soon I’ll give him a little brother or sister. Luc and I have talked about it from time to time, and I think the moment has come. I want Michel to know the joy of growing up with a brother or sister. It’s a love unlike any other and I want to give it to him. You are always with me, big brother. I will never forget you and I will never stop loving you.

I hope that wherever you are, you have found peace, Michel. I hope that mama and papa watch over you.

Your sister who loves you,

Joséphine

*******

Michael closed his eyes for a long time after reading. He didn't cry because he had no more tears to shed. After a while, he opened them and took off his leather gloves to feel the paper his sister had touched.

After observing her earlier with his binoculars, he had wanted to believe she was okay, that she had forgotten him as if he had only been a dream or even a nightmare. She looked so happy with her husband and little kid who looked so much like Adam they could have been brothers instead of cousins, he had thought everything was for the best. She smiled like she did on the picture René had shown him, as if her brother's death didn't affect her. He had stayed in town for a while to witness more of her joy and when she had left home alone he had followed her.

He had been surprised when she had driven for hours until he realized where she was going. He had taken a shorter route than the one she was using and had waited in the cemetery for her to show up.

He found no comfort in the knowledge she would always miss him, it saddened him on the contrary. For her sake and his. He knew he would have to leave his bogus wife and his very real son one day soon. So far, he had relished in the belief they would end up forgetting about him like he thought Joséphine had. But now, he realized how much he had lied to himself. Had the pain of losing his parents ever diminished over the years, or had the grief over Simone ever ended? No, he had just buried it, so deep he acted as if it was gone, but it was still there, as sharp as ever. He had just gotten used to it. He was used to lose the people he loved by now and he could live with his pain. But the hurt he inflicted on the ones he loved the most was something he had never learnt to deal with. It was the worst kind of pain he knew.

He wondered how his sister could have forgiven him, how she could still care for him after what he had done. Was it because she thought he was dead, or did she love him so much that she would have loved him anyway had he "lived"? He didn't know...

Love came easily to some people. They didn't know how not to love when so many had to learn the ways. Joséphine was like that. She spread her trust, warmth and tenderness around, always surprised when someone returned it because it was never the reason why she did it in the first place. She just couldn't act otherwise. That was the kind of behaviour he had recognised in Nikita. And the main reason why he had named her after his sister. Her codename was nearly like a talisman he had wished to give her for protection. She was inherently like his sister and as much as his job required that he change her nature, he secretly hoped she would find a way to hold on to it. And so far she had.

The choice of her name had been a tangible proof of his growing attachment to his material and of course, he had expected Madeline to notice. That was not his style to deliberately reveal his feelings to Section leaders but given Simone's death and his following despondency, he knew Madeline would interpret it as a sign of recovery and let it be as long as it didn't conflict with Section's best interests. After all, she had "given" Nikita to him for the purpose of bringing him back to life. To an extent, she would be happy to see her plan had succeeded. The ongoing Vaceck mission required a lot of display of humanity on his part and his secluded behaviour had been damaging his cover then. He had become a better father and husband since Nikita, more affectionate and tender, and Madeline was welcoming his progresses. She had validated his choice of codename without any comments.

It gave him a bittersweet pleasure to be able to pronounce his sister's name when he called Nikita. At first, he had wanted to believe that the way he felt about his trainee was nothing more than a brotherly affection. But it was just another lie he had told himself. He was tired of lying and betraying. During the last mission he had wanted it to stop. He had never wanted to die more than after betraying René. But Nikita wouldn't let him, she wanted him to live. Her will was so strong sometimes even he couldn't break it. He guessed he would go on as long as she would want him to. But should she stop fighting for his life, he would die.

For a long moment, he wondered if he shouldn't return to the grave and put back the letter where his sister had left it. It was the right thing to do but he couldn't. He shouldn't have come in the first place. He had broken another Section rule and he would keep the letter. They would just have to add this "mistake" to the list if they ever found out. It wouldn't endanger Joséphine's life if the letter was discovered, it could have been stolen or blown off by the wind and she would never question his death.

He caressed the letter he was still holding before folding it carefully. He put it in his coat's pocket. He would read it again until he knew it by heart and hide it where hopefully Section wouldn't find it.

The letter had revived his guilt over René's death and his own actions, past, present and future. But that was not the reason why he would keep it. In a few hours, Joséphine would be home and would honour her promise to tell her husband and son about him. Not about the killer he was but the brother he had been. And as much as he knew he had changed dramatically over the years and ever since the attempt, he had to admit he still was Josephine's brother and always would be.

Soon, she would talk about him with love. And there was nobody else on the planet who thought about him like that. Elena and Adam didn't really know who he was. Nikita... She loved him enough to save his life but he wasn't sure what she would feel for him when she'd find out about the Vaceck mission. But his sister still loved him. Somehow he was convinced, her feelings wouldn't change if she knew about his life in Section. For their bond was that strong.

He let the memories overwhelm him, the good ones for a change. He was glad she could finally remember them too. There was a play he had taken her to see one day. It was the story of two ghosts realizing that the last person alive who still remembered them was about to die. With him gone, their memory would cease to exist and they would finally disappear, finally "die". As Michael drove away from the cemetery, he realized his sister would keep his memory alive. And the ghost he had become thanks to Section found peace in the knowledge Michel Samuelle would live on.

THE END

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