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Author's Note: The following story is set between "New Regime" and "Mandatory Refusal." It explores how Nikita and Walter might have been able to get past Nikita's betrayal of him in "New Regime"; it's mostly a character study. It includes spoilers (not surprisingly) for "New Regime," as well as "Nikita" and "Simone." It also has my own personal speculation on both the Michael/Simone relationship and, to a certain extent, Nikita's training. I'd rate it MA-14, I guess; it has some bad language but nothing much more. I just rate everything this to be safe. :) No infringement of any sort is intended with the following.

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It had been a week and a half since Nikita had betrayed Walter's trust by spying on him for Petrosian. As betrayals went--especially in Section One-- it wasn't too devastating, but the fact that it had happened at all was something Walter was finding it hard to forgive.

Nikita had always been one of his favorites. He had been riveted by her from the first time he saw her--crossing across Section behind Michael on her way to meet Madeline. She was a fascinating creature, and he had thoroughly enjoyed every second he had gotten to spend with her on the range during training. Whatever she had done to acquire her place in Section, though, Walter had quickly discovered she had not used a gun; she was a terrible shot, at first. Of course, this just allowed him to spend more time with her.

Nikita had even been totally unprepared for the kickback on the first handgun he had given her; her first shot had scared the crap out of her and nearly landed her on her butt. If Michael hadn't been close by, she probably would have given up; as it was, he had simply locked eyes with her and said quietly, "Try again."

She had taken it as a challenge and set out to prove herself.

By a few weeks after they had first met, Nikita was hanging around Walter's corner of Section almost any time he was there and she wasn't training. She had pumped him for information on Section and everyone in it, and he had told her what he safely could. She was by far the most charming woman to be brought into Section One within recent memory, and he was happy to provide a diversion for her from her new life. He suspected she had needed it.

They developed a flirtatious relationship quickly, Walter making passes-- Nikita happily rebuffing him. He had continued this interplay with her, even after his feelings toward her were no longer primarily sexual; she knew how to take his actions, and they allowed him to stay close to her--to communicate with her, once his emotions became more protective than lascivious.

He became a good judge of her moods, as well, even though she did her best to hide her emotions. She wasn't really very good at it then, however; Section had yet to teach her to distance herself from her feelings.

Nikita, overall, had done quite well with her training and was--in those first two years--getting ready to be a top-flight operative, physically. Emotionally, however, she was usually in about twenty places at once, as she tried to cope with what was to be her new life--or lack thereof. The one aspect which confused her most, though--then, as always--was Michael.

Walter had watched the progression of the relationship between the two operatives in all of its stages. He had been rather amazed at the transformation Nikita had made in Michael. The man who was obviously spending every day plotting his own death, after his wife's loss, became a man in love, although--Walter knew--Michael could not have admitted that to himself. Nikita's trainer had simply told himself that he was looking out for his material, but it was just another lie in the cocoon of denial he had wrapped himself in.

Walter had seen Michael's devotion toward, as well as his lies and manipulations of, Nikita. He had tried to be there for her when she wanted a friend; he had even subtly encouraged the relationship between the two, knowing that they both needed it. He knew that it would probably never be a reality in Section, but he hated Michael nonetheless when he hurt her-- either to keep her distanced or on orders. He hadn't seen a couple in Section so perfect for each other since Michael and Simone; most operatives were too soulless to be capable of love. It infuriated him that they couldn't just be allowed to be happy together.

Michael's cold demeanor had confused and hurt Nikita many times--making her wonder if Michael were even capable of emotion. Walter had known him long enough to know the answer, even if Michael's actions did make him doubt, as well, at times. He tried to encourage Nikita--and comfort her, when she needed it. He had been with her through so much--had been a confidante for so long--that he had never once suspected that she was capable of betrayal.

Nikita had spent the last week feeling guilty as hell. Walter had refused to speak to her, unless necessary, ever since she had hurt him. She didn't blame him. There was a reason Walter didn't hang out with Madeline; why would he want to be around the woman who had been masquerading as her twin?

Nikita needed Walter's trust back, though. The last week and a half had been terrible for her. In the course of a few days, she had managed to alienate most of Section. The smiles she had once gotten there had turned into wary stares.

Things were only beginning to return to normal now, at least with the people she hadn't directly hurt.

Michael had kept well clear of her, though, ever since Petrosian's arranged date for them at the bar, and their relationship hadn't been particularly close for quite a while before that. Birkoff, too, was keeping his distance; Madeline was just *waiting* for her to slip up now, as well, and Operations was, well, Operations.

It was Walter's silence which really hurt, though; all the rest she either didn't want to think about, could understand, or weren't very important, anyway. Walter had been the one constant in her life in Section, however, her one reliable friend. Now, she had knowingly hurt him, and she wasn't sure if their relationship could be saved.

Nikita wasn't willing to let Walter's friendship go without a fight, though. She was now standing across from his corner of Section, taking a deep breath before she launched her final assault.

Walter saw her walk in from the corner of his eye, but he ignored her and continued focusing on the components of the bomb he was building.

"Hey, Walter," she tried brightly.

He said nothing.

Nikita sighed and looked down at the floor. "I came to make peace."

"With who? Yourself?" he finally spoke, still not looking at her. "Go cleanse your conscience somewhere else."

Nikita winced slightly. "You've got a right to be angry with me."

"Damn right, I do," he returned.

She sighed again. "Look, I know you may not be able to forgive me, but I want to talk it over." She looked up at him. "Just give me your attention, while I buy you lunch."

"Why should I?" Walter questioned.

"Because we were friends once," she argued.

Walter snorted slightly. "There are no friends here--no `personal attachments'. . . . We exist for the Section."

"Walter, you're the only other person here who knows what garbage that is," she pleaded, before pausing. "I forgot that. . . . I was stupid, and what I did was wrong." She sighed. "Just give me a chance to explain before you shut me out for good."

Walter set down the instruments in his hands. The pleading sound in her voice was getting to him; he had always hated hearing her so down. He stood up and grabbed his jacket, never once making eye contact. "I get to choose the restaurant," he said, leading the way.

"Deal," Nikita agreed.

A half hour later, they were ensconced in the back of a dimly-lit pizza restaurant, where Walter seemed to be fairly well known by the staff, who sized up his current "date" favorably. He had ordered his usual, which seemed to consist of every topping imaginable piled on top of an extra large pizza. He stared at the mostly empty table, as they waited for their order, never once having made eye contact with Nikita.

"May I explain now?" she asked.

"What's to explain?" he returned. "You got offered power, and you took it . . . old story. You're not the first."

"Walter, it wasn't like that."

"Like hell," he murmured.

"Dammit, Walter!" Nikita slammed her hand on the table. "Would you just look at me?"

"You going to make a scene?"

"If you don't look at me in the next 30 seconds, I'm going to show you the definition of `throwing a fit'," she warned.

Walter considered. When anyone in Section made a real scene, it usually included gunfire. He looked up at her.

Nikita relaxed for a second, before she saw the look in his eyes; he seemed so deeply hurt. It caught at her heart. She rolled her eyes, closed them for a second, sighed, and leaned back in the booth, focusing on him again. It took her another second before she started speaking.

"Walter, I didn't mean to hurt you." She put up her hand and leaned forward before he interrupted her. "I know that's not enough." She sighed, searching for words. "I did what I did," she said slowly--and softly enough to keep the conversation between them, "because--for the first time in years, since I've been in this life--someone offered me a shot at free will."

She leaned further forward and rested her forearms on the table, staring down at it. "I didn't want to hurt anyone--didn't even really want the damn job; I just wanted to be able to have marginally more control over my life." She looked back up.

"That's not an excuse," Walter countered.

"You're right," she agreed. "It's a reason. . . . Petrosian found my weakness and exploited it, and I let him do it."

Walter leaned forward and looked closely at her. "No," he analyzed, "it wasn't really about you, was it? . . . It was about Michael."

Nikita looked a little shocked and leaned back. "What do you mean?"

"You want a life of your own, Nikita," he continued. "You've wanted one for as long as I've known you . . ., but you've never wanted to live that life alone." Nikita shook her head. "I didn't do it because of . . ."

"No, not consciously," Walter went on, "but--somewhere, in the back of your mind--when Petrosian made you his offer, didn't the thought of being with Michael pop up?"

Nikita didn't like this, mostly because she knew he was right. It hadn't been a primary or conscious motive, but it was there. . . . Yeccch. . . . Realizing it now made her feel so . . . pathetic.

Walter read the emotions on her face and knew he was right. "So, was it worth it?"

"Worth it?" Nikita refocused on him. "*Worth* it? . . . Walter, I lied; I manipulated; I betrayed my friends. . . . How can anything be worth that?"

Walter smiled a little. This was the Nikita he knew. "Did you get him?" he wondered.

Nikita laughed slightly. "Has anyone ever really *had* him, Walter?"

"Simone did," he replied.

"Simone," she murmured, looking off. She seemed a little tired of hearing the name.

"Jealous?"

She refocused on him. "Of a woman who was captured and tortured for two years and then blew herself up in a bunker? . . . I don't see a lot to envy there."

"But . . .," Walter prompted.

"I'm just sick of being second bloody best," she admitted, before she realized what she was saying.

Walter smiled at her. "Nikita, I've got news for you. I saw Michael when he lost Simone, and I saw him when he lost you." He shook his head. "If you were ever second best to him, you stopped being that a long time ago."

Nikita looked surprised. "Then, why the hell can't he just admit that?" she asked, her emotions pushing her to question.

"Sugar," Walter responded gently, "sometimes when your feelings are too strong, it's easier to deny them. . . . It can keep you from getting overpowered by them."

Nikita looked away. She didn't know whether to believe; she found herself, therefore, following the path Walter had just described, pushing off all thought of her--or Michael's--emotions. Then, she remembered something and looked back up at Walter.

"I thought you were still angry with me."

Walter looked like he had just remembered this fact himself and leaned back. "I am . . . brat," he added, looking away, as the pizza arrived. Nikita grinned at him.

"Eat your damn pizza," Walter murmured, not looking at her.

Nikita smiled. Walter was still hurt by her actions, and there was still more tension between them than there once had been, but their relationship could heal in time. She maneuvered a slice of overloaded pizza toward her, as they began to eat in a more companionable silence.

The End

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