Nikita sat quietly in the neonatal intensive care unit of Saint John's hospital. Around her were the sounds of the seriously ill: the whish of machines pumping oxygen into underdeveloped lungs, the small mews of babies too weak to really cry. The scrap of flesh in her hand moved a bit, and with a small smile hidden under her face mask, Nikita began rocking gently, the baby close to her chest.

So small. This one fit easily into her hand. It was no bigger than a small cat or perhaps a large rat. Its skin hung in limp wrinkles and the skeleton clearly showed through the parchment-like skin. Poor baby. Wires and tubes snaked from its little body, but Nikita, by now a veteran of the Human Touch Crew, skillfully lifted them out of harm's way.

She hummed tunelessly, gently rubbing the baby's back and rocking slowly until the child stilled. One thing she couldn't get used to was how much these babies slept. Well, I guess if I were that small, I'd want to sleep all the time, too, Nikita thought, and, noting the time, she gently replaced the baby in his plastic box.

When she first started, the small bodies scared her. What if she dropped one? What if she did something by accident and killed one? She nearly asked to be reassigned, but the hospital desperately needed volunteers, especially in this unit. Nikita was taking the place of Gladys, an older retired woman who was on a month-long Alaskan cruise.

One of the babies whimpered, weakly turning her head toward the miniature sun lamp. "Trying to get an even tan, hummm?" Nikita asked quietly, gathering her up. "Enjoy it now ..." she checked the name tag, "Sarah; when you get older, you'll have to worry about skin cancer, wrinkles ..." The baby turned a wizened face toward Nikita's voice and Nikita chuckled. "Although it looks like you've accumulated quite a few wrinkles all ready. Come on, Baby ..." She carefully settled the baby on her aqua blue scrub shirt, and tiny hands reached for Nikita's chest. "Oh ... clever one, are you? I'm sorry, sweetie, I don't have anything for you ... not in that direction, anyway."

Patty came in. She was a regular evening shift nurse, and she and Nikita had become friends. Although most of the babies were fed on a regular schedule, whenever the really ill ones showed signs of hunger, they were immediately fed. Behind her own face mask, Patty grinned at Nikita, her eyes crinkling up. "How's it going, Nikita?"

"Fine. Looks like Sarah's getting hungry."

"Yeah? Good sign. She'll be out of here in a day or so, I bet."

"Really?" Nikita looked at the tiny form disbelievingly.

"She's gained nearly a pound. And she's a lot more alert. You want to feed her?"

Nikita accepted the formula and sat down to nurse the baby. Sarah's parents lived several hundred kilometers away and could only see her on weekends. Like the other temporary orphans, she was a favorite among the Human Touchers. After two ounces, Sarah fell asleep, but Patty seemed satisfied. "That's a good amount for her. You all right? Can you stay a little longer?"

"Sure." Nikita put Sarah in her bed, carefully covering her up.

"You're getting to be an old hand at this," Patty approved. "I thought you said you didn't have children."

Nikita hesitated, torn between telling the truth and sticking with her lie. "I don't," she said, busying herself with untangling another infant. "I used to watch them, though."

"Babysitting, right? I paid my way through college by being a nanny," Patty said, beginning to take temperatures. She started at one end of the row and worked her way down, noting the changes in her chart.

Nikita gently settled the next baby against her, and he curled as close as he could to her warmth. Most of the children were really too young to have colored skin; they all seemed to be an ashy color, somewhere between cream and earth, and with some of them race was not immediately apparent. But this one was a dark, healthy black, skin so deep that it looked like velvet. He squinted old man eyes up at Nikita and she grinned. "I bet when you get home, you'll be scared of normal people. You'll expect all grown ups to have face masks, won't you?" Apparently reassured by her voice, his eyes closed, his fist curled close to his tiny chest. Nikita softly hummed no-tune songs, knowing the vibration through her chest would soothe the baby; soon, he was asleep, but she didn't put him down. His time wasn't up, and Nikita was very strict. Everyone needed to be held for at least 20 minutes, and she tried to string it out to 30.

"Well," Patty said, finishing the last baby, who gave a little grunt of displeasure when she poked the thermometer in his ear, "I'll leave you two alone. I think Lauren is coming in an hour or so; can you stay till she gets here?"

"Sure," Nikita said, and when Patty left, she leaned her head against the back of the rocker, closing her eyes.

At first, she'd been extremely offended when Adrian suggested she find outside interests. Wasn't it enough, what she did? Trying to save people's lives wasn't exactly a piece of cake. But then, after she'd thought about it for awhile, Nikita had to admit her life was pretty ... contained. She worked. She ate. She slept. Hobbies? Not unless you counted espionage, murder and spying as hobbies. The truth was, she didn't enjoy work like some people in Section did. It sometimes seemed to Nikita that everyone in Section could point to one thing about his job that he liked: Walter loved fiddling with new inventions. Birkhoff got a rush from designing impenetrable systems. Madeleine enjoyed getting in other people's heads. Even Operations got some kind of thrill, though Nikita was pretty sure she didn't want to know what it was.

The only person she could think of that didn't get any enjoyment out of his job was Michael, but then, she doubted he knew how to enjoy anything anymore. Somehow or other that part of his personality was broken, and without the desire to repair it, Nikita doubted it would ever be fixed.

She shifted the baby away from her and he nearly woke when the contact with her warm scrub suit was broken. She quickly settled him in his incubator and picked up the next child. This one was a boy -- Soloman -- and he was bigger than the others. "Looks like you're about ready to break out of the big house, Sol," Nikita congratulated him, and his short-sighted eyes attempted to focus on her face. She knew all he saw at this stage was a big blur of white, but she kept her voice low and comforting.

They said the human touch was essential to development. Nikita could believe it. Once, on an ill-fated mission to China, she'd stumbled across an orphanage: she still had nightmares about it. Children packed in like animals, their old, sightless eyes ...

She shuddered and drew Sol close to her. He let out a satisfied little grunt, hanging onto her top, and she wrapped her arms around him, slowly rocking to and fro. Well, these babies wouldn't end up like that. They all had destinations. Some were to go to adoptive parents; some back home; some to grandmothers and grandfathers who were better able to raise them than their natural parents.

Some of them would die. Nikita knew it, and though it saddened her, she wasn't heartless enough to wish they would all live. Some had such insurmountable health problems, their little lives would always be filled with pain. Some, no matter the prayers of their parents, wouldn't have the strength to make it. And fifty years ago -- or even thirty -- most of the children in the room would have died long ago.

It was the weakest ones Nikita felt the most compassion for. They had nothing but life, and soon they wouldn't even have that. When she first started at the hospital, she'd gone home and cried for an hour. The babies were so small, so fragile, and she knew some of the ones she'd held wouldn't be there the next time. She almost didn't go back.

But she did. Just because they might die is no reason to give up, she told herself fiercely. You never know. A miracle could happen. And if they're going, then I can make the time they have left comfortable.

All in all, Nikita did not think Adrian would have approved her of her new hobby. Gardening was much more relaxing, she supposed. Or she could've joined one of those ladies' clubs. Maybe taken up canasta or bridge. But this was rewarding, and in the end, wasn't that what a hobby was supposed to be?

Nikita put down the tiny baby, adjusted his blanket, and picked up his neighbor, an extremely small baby who curled into a protective ball. Nikita pulled her close, wrapped the soft blanket around her, and started rocking.

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

For the second time that week, Michael fell into step half a block behind Nikita, and for the millionth time, he contemplated her actions.

Her hospital visits started exactly a month ago. She'd been sent on a mission to take out a diplomat who was inconsiderate enough to survive Michael's supposedly lethal dose of Z24, a brand-new poison Walter developed. Unfortunately, it was a little too new, and the diplomat, assuming he had a touch of food poisoning, checked into Saint John's.

Nikita had been on the back up team stationed in the lobby. Once the job was finished and the diplomat was killed (this time, they waited until he was "good and dead," in Walter's words), they'd all come in. Michael ran the mission from the van, and looking back on it, he realized Nikita had been a little more thoughtful and very quiet when she took her place beside him.

It took him almost two weeks to discover she was a regular visitor to the hospital. He'd tried to catch her one evening leaving Section, but she'd been too quick; he'd decided to meet her at her apartment, but she never showed. The next night, the same thing happened. He'd attempted to follow her, but was sidetracked by Birkhoff. When he finally succeeded, he was more puzzled than angry. What was she doing? Even the night guard knew her.

It was now nearly 4 a.m. The streets were dark and forbidding, but Nikita moved down the sidewalk with the self-assured gait of someone who expects to remain unassaulted. This never failed to surprise Michael. He knew very well what she was capable of, but he also assumed that she was unaware of her talents. Women walking down dark streets should be cautious. Yet, here she was, apparently without a care in the world, strolling down the boulevard as if it were a Sunday afternoon.

You ought (he lectured her in his mind) to take a cab. You aren't invincible.

A shadow detached from a looming building; Nikita faltered, then stopped.

Michael quickened his pace. Nikita made a half-turn and Michael dove for cover. He aimed his gun, squinting down the sight, ready to take out the other man.

Nikita was in the way. She clapped the man on the shoulder and reached into her bag. Instead of pulling out a gun, though, she pulled out $20, then, as an afterthought, something that looked like ... a candy bar?

Baffled, Michael watched Nikita continue down the walk. The man she'd talked with disappeared. After a few moments, Michael resumed following her.

***********

Nikita took a quick roll-call when she entered the nursery. Sarah was still present; Sol was gone; Lucas looked smaller. Nikita frowned and checked his growth; he'd lost a little weight.

"All right, Lucas," she said, pretending to be stern, "What's this I hear about you not eating?"

He was so sick, he didn't even turn toward her voice. "Come on, baby," she said gently, "Come on ..." She lifted him and hugged him close, and he moved feebly. "Shhh-sh-sh-sh-shhhh..." Nikita hissed, mimicking a whishing heart, and the baby relaxed a bit. Continuing her mantra, she sat down in the rocker, carefully keeping his blanket tight around him.

She held Luke a little longer than his allotted time, but then, he was the sickest tonight. Well, besides the ones that couldn't even be held. There were four of them, and the only way she could touch them was by putting her hands in the incubator. Two needed a new heart; one was born with a facial deformity; another was just so small, Nikita didn't understand how it made it this long.

She put Luke back and picked up his neighbor. This one was new. "Lillia," Nikita greeted her, "I'm Nikita. I'll be your holder tonight." Lillia turned toward her voice, her little mouth opened in a wordless protest. "I know, I look a little scary, but really, I'm quite harmless. Most of the time," Nikita amended.

The ICU was in a room separated from the regular nursery by a thick plate of glass. From where she sat, Nikita could look through the regular nursery (now, all the babies there looked huge to her) and through the next window out into the hall. During the day, there were always people pressed up against the glass of the regular nursery. They held balloons, stuffed toys, flowers ... fathers held up young children, pointing to one bassinet or another, and grandparents loitered, their faces lit by huge smiles. At this time of night, the only people gazing in were mothers who couldn't sleep. They'd stand behind the glass, watching their babies; sometimes, a mother collected her child and took it back to her room to nurse.

At first, Nikita enjoyed watching the people on the other side of the glass, but gradually, she forgot they were there. Now she didn't even look their way.

Tonight, there were only two people looking into the nursery. One was a new mother in a new housecoat. The other was a solemn figure in black.

"Which one is yours?" the woman asked shyly.

Michael's eyes flickered, and he nodded in the general direction of the nursery. "A woman I work with ..." he said vaguely, and the mother smiled.

"Mine is that one. The fat one, the one that's just waking up." She tapped on the glass, and one of the nurses smiled at her and pushed the bassinet out of the nursery.

"Here you go, Mrs. Peters," the nurse said, and the woman smiled.

"Thanks ..." Moving carefully, she wheeled her baby back to her room, and the nurse turned toward Michael.

"Can I help you?"

I'm just looking? Michael discarded the response, and instead said politely, "No, thanks. I'm staying with a friend tonight and just needed to walk around for a bit."

She nodded, smiled, and went back to her small charges.

Two rooms over, Nikita, who had been watching the clock, got up and put the premature baby back in its place. She picked up the next one and resumed her seat.

It was pretty quiet tonight. Most of the babies were half-awake; occasionally, they let out yells of impatience or hunger. Dispassionately, Michael watched as the nurses took babies to their mothers or fed them formula.

One of the nurses went into the back room, where Nikita was. They had a quick conversation, and the nurse rapped on the glass window. Another nurse went into the isolated room, the three of them huddled over a bassinet. After a brief flurry of apparently unsuccessful resuscitation efforts, a sheet was pulled over the small form; one of the nurses patted Nikita on the shoulder, and asked her something. Nikita shook her head decisively but wiped her eyes. The nurse gave her a little hug, and Nikita's arm tightened around her.

The excitement over, the nurses returned to duty, moving the dead child to another part of the room until the morgue could be called. Slowly, Nikita picked up another baby and returned to her rocker, adjusting the blanket around the baby and leaning her head back against the back of the rocker. Her eyes closed, and though she wore a face mask, Michael could tell she was upset.

She also acted like a professional. Like she'd been comforting children her whole life. Back and forth, back and forth. Her face eased, and when the little piece of humanity in her arms moved, her eyes smiled down at it. One hand came up to caress a tiny bald head, and her mask seemed to move a bit -- she was talking to the baby, and Michael wondered what she was saying.

The next time a nurse passed, Michael stopped her and nodded toward Nikita. "What's she doing?"

The nurse glanced at Nikita. "She's part of Human Touch. Volunteers come and hold babies, especially the preemies. Some of them have parents that live too far away to visit every day, and so we have volunteers come in until the babies can go home."

"Can anyone do it?"

She smiled. "Mostly women do it. Retired, or sometimes women who don't have to work. We have some older men, but not many. Candidates are screened carefully, and they have to wear scrub suits while they're in the nursery."

"Is that one a nurse?"

"Nikita? No ... she's one of our newer volunteers. She's really good. It takes a certain kind of person to be able to do this without getting depressed. We get a lot of young women in here, they think it sounds fun, but ... the truth is, some of the babies don't make it, and you have to be prepared for that. That's probably why some of the volunteers we've had the longest are older women. Or women like Nikita, who can't have children ..." The nurse looked at Nikita thoughtfully, then said slowly, smiling, "She'd have made a wonderful mother, wouldn't she? It's too bad ..."

It was against every rule he knew to ask, so instead, Michael said quietly, "But with infertility treatments ..."

"They can do marvelous things now, can't they?" The nurse smiled, then her smile faded. "Too bad that wouldn't help Nikita. She was in a bad car accident when she was younger; they were able to save her life, but there was so much internal damage, there wasn't even enough left to reconstruct ... well. We're lucky to have her."

Saved by the wail of a baby, Michael watched the nurse return to the nursery.

He knew he ought to leave. He knew he ought to go home, get into bed and go to sleep. Instead, he continued to watch.

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

Nikita took the elevator from the sixth floor and waited in the lobby for Michael. Not wishing to startle him too much, she stood close to a large palm-type of tree, and when he emerged from the elevator, she fell into step behind him.

"Next time you want to know where I'm going, Michael, all you have to do is ask," she advised him.

Silently, he matched his steps to hers, his hands deep in his coat pockets. He didn't speak, and finally, when they were about a block from the hospital, Nikita stopped him. "Is there a problem with me doing the Human Touch?"

"What?"

"Human Touch. That's what it's called. People volunteer to hold babies. I noticed they needed volunteers when we came to cancel Flores. So I signed up and I've been doing it ever since. I didn't think Section would care one way or another as long as it didn't interfere with work. Was I wrong?"

"No," he said slowly. They resumed their pace.

"Good. It's ... not fun, exactly, but I enjoy it. It's good for the babies, too: it's easy to forget, especially in Section, how important it is to touch."

Michael remained silent, and Nikita bit her lip. Maybe that hadn't been the right thing to say. Michael was such an untouchable person ... but she hadn't meant it as a slight to him. Uneasily, Nikita said, "Well, then, is there something else?"

"Why?"

"Because, Michael, you have questions written all over your face. But I can't answer unless you tell me what they are."

They were passing the building Michael had leapt behind a few nights before; now, as then, a nervous figure detached and approached Nikita.

"Hey, Sam," she said, digging in her purse. "How's it going?"

"N-n-not bad," he shivered. "G-g-got any --"

"Yeah, hang on." She rooted around in her bag and Michael watched as she drew out $10, a pack of cigarettes, a beer and a Snickers bar. "As ordered," she said cheerfully, handing over the loot.

"Thanks." His hands were shaking so badly, Nikita popped the top on the beer for him and wrapped his hands around the can. After a few sips, he relaxed, and, tucking the rest of her provisions in his pocket, he melted into the darkness.

Nikita and Michael continued their walk. Finally, Michael said, "How did you know how to hold them? And was it true about the car accident?"

She'd asked him for questions, but hadn't expected those. Nikita frowned, then slowly said, "You know a lot about me, Michael, but there are some things you don't need to know. I'll answer one question, but not both. Not right now, anyway."

Michael nodded, accepting her answer. "The car accident, then."

She seemed relieved with his choice. "Yeah, it's true. When I was about 14, the car I was riding in was broadsided. Broke my arm, my collarbone, crushed my pelvis, squished a kidney. Luckily, I had two at the time," she joked, but Michael didn't smile back. "I don't know who knows about it in Section; it happened so long ago, it's not really of interest. Lots of people only have one kidney, especially in Section, so I doubt it's even noted on my record. Oh," she said, trying to remember, "I think they had to take out my spleen, too. I can't remember exactly. But since it's kinda nonessential, I don't especially miss it. Even the thing about not having children has worked out all right. You know, it's a real issue for a lot of women in Section. But me, I've always known I couldn't have children, so it's not been a big deal."

That wasn't strictly true. It was a big deal. But she'd accepted it long ago, and besides, it wasn't as if she could change anything. "I always kinda thought I might adopt," Nikita said thoughtfully. "But ... then I was recruited, so that was that."

They were outside her apartment building. From the sidewalk, Nikita could see the dim light she'd left on in her bedroom and she yawned. "You want to come up?"

"No. Thank you."

"Should I call you a cab? Or you can take my car, if you want ..."

"I'd rather walk."

She looked at him uncertainly. "It's a long walk, Michael ..."

"Good night, Nikita." From the tone of his voice, she could tell the conversation was over.

"Good night, Michael." She hesitated, then thought better of it and went inside.

Michael waited until he heard the door clack locked. In a few moments, her bedroom was flooded with bright light as she turned on the overhead light. He watched her pull the shades, and satisfied she was home safely, he turned away and began the journey home.

--end--